Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

September 16th.

Two red lines.

Two unmistakable lines, as bold as they were bright, became Marinette’s sole focus. An icy shock flooded through her as the results seared into her vision, and her stomach shifted uncomfortably with the heavy weight of dread. For a moment, she feared she might faint, yet she was grounded only by the chill of the bathroom tile pressing into her knees as she hunched over the floor.

Shit, she thought. 

Marinette turned the positive pregnancy test over in her hands. She glared back at the tiny screen, squinting her eyes in a meager attempt to refocus her vision, hoping she’d somehow misread the results.

The red lines remained, mimicking the response from the previous two tests.

Positive.

Shit.

Now what?

“What does this one say?” Tikki asked, peeking over Marinette’s shoulder. 

Marinette’s tongue felt like a dead worm in her mouth. Useless. She had to fight it to get the words out.

“I’m pregnant,” she breathed, her voice so strained and quiet that she wasn’t sure if she had even spoken.

Tikki cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’m pregnant,” Marinette repeated. She held up the thin white stick for her Kwami to see, her hands trembling. “I’m—there’s—a b-baby. Three positive tests, I—I’m—I...”

Slowly, Tikki’s eyes roamed the test, taking in all the information. Her antenna twitched, and then—glancing back at Marinette—she asked, “How do you feel about it?”

Marinette blinked. Her shoulders tensed as she inhaled deeply before releasing a long sigh and slumping against the wall. 

She wasn't sure how to answer Tikki's question. Her emotions warred in her brain, twisting her gut into a flip-flopping, flighty mess. As she swallowed, she grimaced at the sandpaper-like dryness on the inside of her throat before gradually stretching to set the pregnancy test on the counter next to the two others. 

Her eyes slowly roamed the room. Her head felt foggy, and though she wanted to speak, she found it nearly impossible.

She didn’t feel like herself. It was as if she was detached from her body, floating above, looking in from the outside.

She was… so…

So… what? Lost? Confused? Shocked?

She hadn't planned for this. 

Was she happy? Sad? Angry? Excited? Scared? 

Maybe all of the above. 

She was undoubtedly something. Quite a lot of something, whatever it was.

“I-I don't know,” she finally said, hoping the feeble answer would suffice. “I think… I think I need some time to process...?”

Tikki nodded, her round blue eyes shining with infinite understanding. “It's a lot to take in.”

Marinette glanced at the pregnancy tests again, and the red parallel lines continued taunting her with just how definite they were. 

Tears welled in her eyes, not because she was sad—no, she felt confident she wasn't sad—

Anxiety thrummed through her veins and fluttered in her stomach as fear ate her alive from the inside out.

What was she going to do?

August 31st.

“Can we take a break?” asked Ladybug, placing her yo-yo back on her hip and scanning the street three stories below. “I have to pee again.”

Chat Noir laughed. “Again? Seriously? That’s three times now. Did you drink a litre of water before patrol or something?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Well, it’d be the only explanation.”

“I’m sorry this is such an issue,” she teased. “I don’t know what’s been up with me lately. I was like this yesterday, too.”

“It’s no problem, my Lady,” he reassured her. “I’m just teasing. We can stop as many times as you need. I promise I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? We’ve barely been able to get through our patrol tonight.”

He waved her off with a smile. “I’m sure. Go on, I’ll wait here. There’s a Starbucks below us. I’m sure they’d be delighted to have Ladybug use their restroom.”

She snickered. “They’ll put my photo on the wall next to the toilet.”

“It’ll become a popular selfie spot.”

“I’m sure it will be added to all the tourist travel guides.” She removed her yo-yo from her waist and spun it before her. “I’ll be right back. Behave while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” he responded with a wink.

Rolling her eyes, she leaped off the roof and landed on the sidewalk below, greeting a few startled pedestrians before entering the café.

Being surrounded by so many different sounds and smells briefly disoriented her. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and cheap, poor-quality pastries, all of which had a considerable burnt smell strong enough to induce slight nausea. She tried not to let her discomfort show on her face. Still, it was hard to entertain the Starbucks employees' excitement over her impromptu visit while the queasiness crept up her gut, and the need to use the restroom became increasingly urgent.

When she returned, her expression must have mirrored the sourness in her stomach because Chat Noir leaped to his feet and pulled a slight frown. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You look ill.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, then took a deep breath, thankful the nausea had faded as quickly as it came on. “I think they burnt their espresso beans or something. It smelled bad enough to make me feel nauseous. But I’m okay now.”

His forehead creased. “Should we cancel tonight’s patrol?”

Ladybug shook her head, tossing her yo-yo across the gap between the buildings and latching it onto a chimney. “Nah. I’m fine now. Besides, I like our patrols.”

He smiled back. "Me, too."

“Come on,” she said, “let’s go.”

He twirled his baton between his fingers, his gaze darting from her face to her feet as if he was searching for any sign she was unwell. “Okay… you’re the boss.”

September 3rd.

Veering from her evening patrol route to retch into a park’s trash bin wasn’t precisely how Ladybug had envisioned her night unfolding. Yet there she was, expelling her last meal from her body in a way that never felt pleasant. The nausea had hit fast, triggered by a sharp, foul smell in the air, giving her all of three seconds to leap from a rooftop and find a trashcan before she ended up defiling the perfectly manicured grass.

“My Lady!” Chat Noir rushed to her side as she heaved again. “Oh, shit. Are you alright?”

The gentle pressure of her partner’s hand rubbing her back soothed Ladybug ever so slightly. She shuddered, coughing as she wiped her dribbling nose with the back of her hand. Her cheeks burned, her eyes watered, and a heavy embarrassment settled over her shoulders. She hoped no one else had witnessed her get sick—though even having Chat Noir see her in such a state felt mortifying. Still, he’d seen her at her worst before, and this was hardly the most vulnerable moment they’d shared.

“Fine,” she gasped, catching her breath before swiftly walking away from the bin as if it had never happened. Chat Noir followed her through the small park where they’d decided to take a break from patrol. She sank onto an old bench, its paint chipped and peeling from years of exposure, and he sat down beside her.

“Fine?” he echoed, one corner of his mask quirking upward. “People who are fine don’t typically puke. Are you sick?” He pressed his palm to her forehead, though Ladybug wasn’t sure what good that would do him, considering his gloves. “You don’t feel feverish.”

She gently pushed his hand away. “I’m fine. Probably. I don’t know. I felt fine until just now when I smelled something gross and got super nauseous out of nowhere. What was that?”

Chat Noir glanced over his shoulder, ears dipping slightly as he pointed behind them. “You mean… the café across the street?”

“Yeah. Whatever they’re making smelled nasty enough to make me feel overwhelmingly sick." She dragged her hands down her face. "I-I don’t know.” 

Her partner blinked. He rested his arms along the back of the bench and leaned closer. “It was coffee. The smell of coffee made you sick?”

“Is that what it was?”

“Ladybug, it’s a café. All I smelled was coffee. You love coffee.”

“It didn’t smell like coffee to me,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “It smelled like burnt hair.” The thought made her stomach turn, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Ugh, god, stop talking about it. Thinking about it is going to make me puke again!” 

He frowned. Concern etched its way onto his features in the form of a knitted brow and tilted head. “Are you sure you aren’t sick?”

“Who knows?” she mumbled. “Maybe I ate something bad.”

“Maybe.” With narrowed eyes, he tapped his chin. “Having any other symptoms besides losing your lunch?”

Ladybug shrugged. She was about to shake her head in refusal, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized she hadn’t felt all that great lately. For the past week, her stomach had been churning, and she’d felt so exhausted that all she wanted to do was lie down or sleep—even when she hadn’t worked a long shift or participated in any vigorous activity. 

(And weirdly, her breasts had been abnormally sore, but she chalked that up to being a usual symptom of her menstrual cycle, which she was due for any day now. She had been cramping, after all. 

She had missed her last period due to stress—it had been a heavy crunch time at her job, working overtime as an assistant designer to reach tight deadlines. So, her upcoming cycle was bound to return in full force. Which was also probably the reason she felt so icky.) 

“I think I’m just stressed,” she said. “My job isn’t easy.”

Chat Noir’s frown deepened. “Are you sure that’s the problem?”

“It’s either that or my period.”

“Is throwing up on your period normal?”

“No… but it can make me nauseous sometimes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, then stood from the bench, offering his hand. “Go home and rest, my Lady. I'll finish patrol tonight.”

“What?” She leaped to her feet. “No, I’m fine! I can finish patrolling!” 

“Are you sure? If you’re not feeling good, I can—”

“I’m feeling fine! I swear. Please.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, though the concern didn't fade from his expression. “But if you start feeling ill again, please don’t push yourself. You work hard enough as it is.”

“I’m not going to throw up again,” she grumbled. 

Fifteen minutes later, they passed by a pizzeria, and the smell was so awful that she dry-heaved into some poor citizen’s potted plants as her dutiful partner held her ponytail away from her face.

She didn’t protest his request that she go home after that.

September 10th.

Whatever Monarch was on today, Ladybug wanted none of it.

Today’s Akumatized villain was one of his more absurd creations. A furious child—angry at his parents for insisting he eat less candy—had transformed into a towering monster made entirely of sugary treats, wreaking havoc across Paris by turning structures into candy and making the whole city appear as if it had come out of a children’s picture book. Buildings crumbled into piles of hard confections in every color, the Eiffel Tower was converted into an edible chocolate centerpiece, and fluffy clouds of cotton candy drifted overhead, filling the entirety of Paris with an overwhelmingly sweet scent. 

Ladybug hated it. The smell made her insides churn.

These kinds of Akumas were never hard to defeat. The big, dramatic tantrums were typically the easiest because the Akumatized item was almost always apparent. It should have been a cakewalk—pun intended, as Chat Noir would say. But whatever sickness had continuously plagued her for the past few weeks still hadn't gone away, and today, she was feeling particularly run-down. Despite the ten hours of sleep she’d achieved the night before, her eyelids still felt heavy, and all the muscles in her body begged her to return home, sink into her bed, and accept the siren song of sleep.

But her bed would have to wait until Monarch's latest lackey witnessed defeat. 

At twenty-four, being a Miraculous holder had its perks—like unlimited access to her powers. She rarely needed more than one Lucky Charm, but it was always reassuring to have as a backup. After a decade of fighting side by side, she and Chat Noir had honed their teamwork to near perfection. They moved in sync, anticipating each other’s moves without the need for words—only speaking up when a battle demanded it. More often than not, a single Lucky Charm and his Cataclysm were all that was necessary to win a fight.

And yet, she was already on her second Lucky Charm—a red and black spotted Xylophone, its purpose still a mystery.

Ladybug furrowed her brows, shaking her head as if to clear the haze clouding her thoughts. She barely dodged an incoming attack, her reaction sluggish and her movements just a fraction off.

She felt… strange.

Foggy.

Weird.

She blinked rapidly, her vision swimming for a moment before sharpening again.

Why couldn’t she focus?

Each step felt heavier, each decision slower, like she was wading through dense mist that only thickened as the sun inched across the sky.

She just wasn’t with it today!

“So?” Chat Noir asked as they slipped into an empty alleyway, pressing his back against the brick wall. “Any ideas for what to do with that?” He pointed at the Xylophone in her hands. “Are you going to play us a song? I can sing along if you'd like, though I can't promise my voice is as pretty as my face.”

Normally, she’d roll her eyes and shoot back a quip, maybe even play a note just to indulge him. But right now, she was exhausted, aching, and not in the mood. 

Ladybug sighed, rubbing her temple. "I don’t—I don’t know," she muttered. "The last Lucky Charm didn’t work, so I just need a second to—"

A deafening crash shook the alley as the candy-coated giant pulverized the building behind them. A cloud of sugar-dusted debris burst into the air, thick and blinding. Coughing, Ladybug shielded her face, but it was useless—powdered drywall and saccharine dust filled her lungs. While the child ranted about how he hated the dentist—his teeth were fine, and he didn’t need to eat healthy to avoid cavities, no, thank you—they crept out of the alley, barely dodging another sugar-fueled tantrum.

Ladybug sprinted toward the Seine, desperate for cleaner air. The villain followed, his candy-coated feet slamming into the pavement with thunderous cracks. Each step sent gumballs bouncing wildly across the cobbled streets.

She reached for her yo-yo—just one good swing to the river, and she could—

Her foot landed on a patch of rolling gumballs.

She barely had time to yelp before her feet slid out from under her. She flailed, bracing for impact—

Her Lucky Charm cushioned the fall.

And immediately snapped in half.

…Welp.

There went Lucky Charm #2.

(And ow. That actually hurt. And not just physically—why did she suddenly feel like crying? Or screaming? Or both?)

"Ugh!" She slammed her fist against the pavement, frustration bubbling over.

This was ridiculous. She was so over this. She needed a break. A nap. A snack.

(Ooooh, a peanut butter cookie sounded amazing right now. Or a deli pickle—one of the extra crunchy ones. Maybe both at the same time. Mmm…)

“My Lady!” Chat Noir ran to her side and scooped her into his arms just a moment before the villain crushed her with his foot. With his baton, he vaulted them up to the rooftops and kept running until they were a safe distance from the Akumatized villain. 

Ladybug didn’t even realize she was panting until he set her down. Pressing a hand to her chest, she inhaled deeply, exhaled, and then repeated until the burning in her lungs faded.

"You okay?" Chat Noir asked, scanning her face.

She nodded, dropping onto the ledge with a heavy sigh. "Y-yeah, I just… I need a second," she groaned, flopping backward. "Ugh, I’m so ready for this to be over."

His gaze swept over the city before flicking back to her. "What happened to the Lucky Charm?"

Ladybug buried her face in her hands. "It broke."

“Again?”

“I’m sorry, okay!?” she exploded, surprising herself with how angry she sounded. A sudden rage boiled inside her that had seemingly come out of nowhere, overwhelming her until her face was red and all she wanted to do was scream or cry or—or, UGH. 

UGHHH.

She threw her yo-yo into the air and called for a Lucky Charm a third time, catching the piano wire before it fell off the roof and broke again because that would’ve been just perfect. 

The wire didn’t make her feel any better, though. “What am I supposed to do with this?" she spat.

Chat Noir flinched. His ears flattened, and his eyes widened as he stepped back. “Whoa. Ladybug, are you feeling okay today?”

The heat in her cheeks spread, creeping down her neck. When she met his gaze and noted his hunched shoulders and the uncertainty in his expression, guilt settled like a stone in her gut.

What was wrong with her?

Why had she snapped at him? He hadn’t done anything!

She’d just been so angry that she couldn’t control herself.

(She didn't feel like herself. Why was she acting like this?)

Chat Noir was her partner. Her best friend. He didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of her misplaced frustration.

Her poor Kitty…

He was always so kind to her, and she’d just—)

A lump formed in her throat as she swallowed the sudden urge to cry. “I’m sorry, Chaton,” she said, softer. “I... I’m in a terrible mood today. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Let’s just—let’s just get this over with so I can go home.” 

He frowned and stepped closer. As he placed his hand on her shoulder, the warmth of his touch comforted her slightly. “It’s alright, Ladybug. I’m sorry you’re not feeling good today.”

“Just, f-forget it, it’s fine,” she croaked. Tears stung her eyes. She swiped them away. “Thank you, Kitty. I-I just need a moment to figure out this Lucky Charm. Can you distract him for me? Please?”

His smile returned in full force. “Sure thing! I’ll—”

Her Miraculous beeped.

Both she and Chat Noir fell silent.

Uh.

...Huh?

That… wasn’t normal.

After a moment, it beeped again.

“Why are your earrings beeping?” he asked, eyes wide as he pointed to her ears.

Ladybug blinked back. “I… I don’t know.”

“Something’s wrong.” With sudden haste, Chat Noir grabbed her hands and helped her to her feet. “What’s going on? Why is your Miraculous beeping? That hasn’t happened in years.”

Panic began to rise, making her chest feel tight. “I-I don’t know!” With her eyes flicking from the city, to the villain in the distance, and then her partner, she was nearly immobilized by anxiety. But as her Miraculous beeped a third time, something clicked; the noise was like a trigger, switching her brain into focus mode. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and focused on her Lucky Charm. 

Piano wire, piano wire, what was wire good for… tying things up? Fishing? Cutting soap?

She glanced around the city again, frantic, until her eyes landed on the Seine.

The Seine. A river.

Water.

Candy dissolved in water.

“I know what I have to do,” she said. “Cover me.”

With a determined set of his jaw, Chat Noir nodded.

They returned to where the villain was busy turning a skyscraper into gingerbread, Ladybug’s yo-yo spinning, and Chat Noir’s baton outstretched like a sword. While her partner distracted the villain, she hurried toward the Seine. 

“Hey!” Chat Noir called, catching the Akuma’s attention. “I’m all for a little parental rebellion, but there’s no sugarcoating it: all this candy is making me a bit sour!"

The Akuma yelled and ran forward, candy-coated hands outstretched to snatch.

Chat Noir bolted in Ladybug's direction.

That’s right, she thought, as she used her Lucky Charm to set up a tripwire next to the Seine. Just a little closer.

In mere seconds, Chat Noir lured the Akuma down the street, his boots skidding against the pavement as he led the hulking figure toward the Seine. The villain, towering and sticky with layers of hardened candy armor, roared in frustration, swinging a taffy-coated fist in his direction. Chat Noir dodged with ease, a smirk tugging at his lips.

The tripwire was just ahead.

With a perfectly timed leap, Chat Noir vaulted over it, twisting midair to watch as the Akuma barreled forward—straight into the trap. A startled cry rang out as the villain’s bulk tangled in the wire, throwing him off balance. The momentum sent him toppling over the edge, and with an enormous splash, he plunged into the murky waters of the Seine.

Immediately, the candy coating his body began to dissolve, bubbling away in multicolored ribbons of processed sugar, revealing a boy that couldn't have been older than six or seven.

Ladybug stood on the riverbank, heart pounding as she watched Chat Noir dive in without a second thought. The Seine swallowed him, and her breath caught.

Seconds later, he surfaced with the small, trembling boy clinging to him. The child’s fingers latched onto Chat Noir’s suit, his eyes round with fear as her partner swam them both to safety.

She exhaled in relief the moment Chat Noir reached the bank, hauling himself and the boy onto solid ground. Water streamed from his suit, pooling beneath them as the boy buried his face against Chat Noir’s shoulder. Gently, Chat Noir smoothed back the kid's dripping hair, his voice low and soothing—too soft for Ladybug to hear—as he comforted the child. She didn't need to hear him to know what he was saying, though:

"You’re safe now. I’ve got you."

A lump formed in her throat, and her chest warmed.

He'd always been so good with kids.

The poor child would probably need a bath. Chat Noir, too.

In the child’s hand was a chewed lollipop stick, which Ladybug retrieved and snapped, freeing the infected butterfly from its magical confines. She captured it in her yo-yo and purified it. Waves of relief crashed over her as the de-Akumatized insect fluttered away. 

Triumphantly, she threw the Lucky Charm into the air and watched as the magic ladybugs cleansed the damage, restoring the city to its former glory.

The paramedics on the scene soothed the little boy. Though she wanted to stay and offer her own words of comfort, her earrings beeped one final warning, and the shrill noise was a sign that she needed to go now.

“I have to go,” she said to Chat Noir as he shook his head, spraying water droplets in every direction. “Can you make sure the kid gets home safely?”

He immediately straightened. “Of course,” he responded. Anxiety flickered in his gaze; he reached for her hand before she could escape. “But, Ladybug, your Miraculous...? Is everything okay?”

Her heart raced as she dropped his hand and took a few steps back. “I-I don’t know. I’ll talk to Tikki, but I have to go. I’m sorry.”

With her yo-yo, she zipped into the air and flew away. 

(Admittedly, Ladybug felt a smidge guilty for leaving Chat Noir to do the clean-up alone, especially with how worried he'd seemed.)

She barely had time to reach a safe hiding place inside a secluded Métro tunnel before her transformation fell apart against her will for the first time in years. 

With a weighty sigh, she pressed her back against the wall and slid to the ground, allowing herself a moment to catch her breath. 

“Tikki,” she asked after a beat of silence, “what’s wrong with me? Why is my Miraculous on a timer again?”

Tikki flitted into view and settled on Marinette’s knee, her antenna drooping and tiny face twisted with concern. She spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “There are many reasons an adult could revert to having a timer. It’s a defense mechanism to protect you when your body doesn’t have enough energy to sustain the magic.”

Marinette cocked her head. “You mean… it’s just because I’m tired?”

Tikki opened her mouth, then closed it again, before finally answering, somehow more measured than before. “It generally happens when the holder is sick, incapacitated,  or…” Her forehead screwed together tightly. “Marinette, maybe you should see a doctor.”

Marinette’s heart nearly stopped. “Am I dying?!” she screeched, holding Tikki closer to her face.

Tikki’s eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically, pressing her paws on Marinette’s cheek to help calm the impending hysteria. “No, no! No, Marinette, you’re okay. You’re not dying.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding.

“But…” Tikki continued, “if the symptoms don’t improve in a few days, getting checked out might be a good idea.”

Lip trembling, Marinette asked, “Could I be that sick?”

Tikki looked away. “You might not be sick. Multiple things could be causing it. But I don’t want to say what all those are, in case it makes you panic.”

“What!?”

“See? Just like that,” Tikki teased, offering a small smile as she patted Marinette’s face. 

Marinette sighed, not entirely satisfied with her answer, but it was no use arguing with a thousands-year-old creature. Besides… Tikki was right. She was prone to panic, and if Tikki had mentioned that one possible reason for her Miraculous timing out was due to an unforeseen illness or worse, she likely would’ve spent the next few days sick with anxiety—which in itself would've been a self-fullfilling prophecy.

“Why don’t we go home so you can get some rest?” Her Kwami kissed her forehead. “We both could use some recharging.”

“I… wh… okay. Okay.” Too exhausted to argue, Marinette complied. Even if what Tikki had said was incredibly cryptic and even a little scary, a nap sounded too good to pass up. 

Some sleep would fix her.

Hopefully.

September 15th.

A constant ringing cut through the room, dragging Marinette from the warm embrace of sleep. Her face scrunched as she lifted her head from her pillow. She groaned; the ringtone blared as her phone buzzed insistently on her nightstand. Half-awake, she fumbled for it, accidentally knocking it onto the floor before she retrieved it and somehow managed to answer before the call timed out.

“Hello?” she rasped, her voice still thick with sleep. A cotton-like dryness coated her mouth. Despite her nap, her head was still pounding. 

Alya’s voice came from the other line. “Hey! Glad to see you’re still alive.”

“Huh?” Marinette rubbed her face. Alive? She didn’t necessarily feel alive at the moment, but she supposed the word was accurate.

“I haven’t heard from you in four days,” said Alya. “Is everything alright?”

With a yawn, Marinette sat up from her bed and gulped down another dose of Tylenol with the room-temperature mug of water that had been sitting on her nightstand for who knew how long. “Hey. Sorry, I haven't been feeling too good... I think I’m sick.”

“Sick?” Alya’s voice flooded with concern. “How sick? Are you okay?”

Marinette shrugged, though she knew Alya couldn’t see her. “I don’t know... I’ve been feeling super run-down lately. I think I’m just overworked.”

“What’s going on? Talk to me, girl.”

With a quiet groan, she fell back against her sheets, grabbing the corner of her blanket and pulling it over her head. “Mmh, I dunno… I’ve had a headache all day today, and I’ve been sooo tired literally all week.”

“Aw, that’s rough. I’m sorry. Feeling anything else?”

“General achiness, tired all the time… been nauseous, too.”

“Thrown up at all?”

“Once,” she said. “Ugh, and it was so embarrassing! I puked right in front of Chat Noir.” A whine rose from her throat. “Why couldn’t it have happened when I was alone at home with nobody to judge me?”

“Aw, Marinette,” soothed Alya. “I’m sure he didn’t care. You guys have known each other as long as I’ve known you. He was probably just concerned for your health.”

“Yeah… I mean, he did send me home after I gagged into a flower pot, so—”

“I thought you said you only got sick once?”

“It was only once. The other times, I’ve just been like… dry heaving. Most of the time, I’m not nauseous enough to vomit, but I come close sometimes. The nausea has been coming and going the last two weeks, too.”

Alya was quiet for a few seconds, then asked, “What else is wrong?”

“It’s mostly just the fatigue and occasional nausea. But I’ve been cramping, too, so it might just be my period coming. About time, I guess.”

Alya hummed. She was quiet for a few seconds, almost long enough for Marinette to wonder if she was still there. Then Alya said, “Sorry, this is going to sound weird, but—are you peeing more than normal?”

Marinette’s nose scrunched. “That’s an oddly specific question.”

“Just answer it, please.”

After thinking about it momentarily, she answered, “Now that you mention it… yeah, I am.”

Alya blew a puff of air. “Marinette—”

“But I drink a lot of water, so that’s probably why—honestly, I think all this has to do with stress—you know how my job is—”

“Marinette.”

And yet Marinette rambled. “I’ve been so busy lately, working overtime—I’m really trying to prove myself, you know—and so I’ve been under so much pressure! I’m sure that’s why I’ve missed two periods, which could also be tied to the reason I’m sick, but I’m cramping, so my cycle is probably due any day now. Hopefully. Honestly, part of me wonders if I’m, like, dying or have some type of horrible illness, so I’ve been too afraid to go see a doctor about it while also hoping it’ll just go away on its own, but it hasn’t, and Tikki told me to see one but—”

“Marinette,” Alya said. “Hold on, slow down. You’ve missed how many periods?”

“Uh… two, now.”

“You’ve not had a period for two entire months?”

“Well, no, but like I said, I’ve been stressed from work and not eating regular meals, and I’m having cramps now, so it’s probably—”

“Marinette.” Alya’s voice turned serious. “You need to take a pregnancy test.”

Marinette snorted. “Haha. Very funny.”

It was a good joke, really.

…But Alya wasn’t laughing. “Girl, I’m not kidding. You could be pregnant.”

Silence.

Thick, suffocating silence.

Marinette swallowed hard.

…Oh.

Her blood turned to ice. As she sprung up from her bed, she nearly let her phone slip from her grasp. Her heart, already pounding incessantly, battered against her ribcage, faster, harder, like it might burst. 

Oh, shit!

Of all the things she had considered her sickness could be—an autoimmune disease, food poisoning combined with stress, a new pandemic in which she was patient zero—how had she never considered that?

Because it’s impossible, she thought. There’s no way. I've always used protection.

But protection can fail, she reasoned, in a voice that suspiciously reminded her of her mother.

A cold sweat prickled over her skin, and her vision blurred at the edges. She needed to calm down, preferably before she passed out, but how could she calm down when there could potentially be a human growing inside her!? 

“Breathe, Marinette,” came Alya’s voice, pulling her back to Earth. 

“I’m breathing,” she gasped.

“Listen, I know this is scary, but you need to take a test. These are all common pregnancy symptoms. And even if you aren't pregnant, at least a test would rule it out.”

“I-I’m on birth control,” she protested, her voice squeakier than intended and all the more shaky. 

“You’re still sexually active, though.”

“Yeah, well—sort of. I mean, it’s been a few weeks since the last time, and it’s not like it’s all that frequent anyway! A-and like I said, I’m on the pill! And always use condoms!” 

(It didn’t sound any more convincing out loud.)

Alya echoed her earlier thoughts as she said, “Birth control isn’t always one hundred percent successful, Marinette. Anything can happen. Do you take the pill at the same time every day?”

“W-well, I, uh. Usually, yes. B-but sometimes, it’s not at the exact same time. And I've occasionally missed a day, but I always take it as soon as I remember! I-I can be forgetful, you know that better than anyone.”

“Oh, Marinette.” 

Marinette bit down on her lower lip, her chest tightening and her heart racing.

...She might not have been as careful as she thought.

“Are you still seeing that one guy?” Alya asked. 

“No,” responded Marinette. She took a breath to try and calm her nerves, but it didn’t help much. “And we weren't seeing each other! He only stayed the night, uh... a-a few times.”

She could practically hear the eye-roll in Alya’s voice as she said, “Girl.”

Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine,” she groaned. “But it was just a summer fling!”

“You can still get pregnant from flings, Marinette.”

…She had a point.

Panic nearly overwhelmed her. “Oh, god, I’m gonna throw up.”

"Like right now?"

"Maybe?"

“Are you good?”

“Yeah, no, I’m—I’m fine, I just—I—” What could she even say?! “Are you certain these are all pregnancy symptoms?”

Before Alya could respond, an adorable squeal erupted in the background, followed by an infant’s babbling. “Yes,” said Alya after a moment. “I’m sure.”

Marinette let out a nervous giggle. Right. If anyone was an authority on pregnancy symptoms, it was Alya—her six-month-old daughter was proof enough of that.

“Alright,” conceded Marinette, flopping helplessly onto her pillows and gripping her hair with her free hand. “I-I’ll take a pregnancy test.”

“That’s my girl. Keep me updated, okay? Even if you’re not pregnant, let me know. I’m worried about you.”

Her hands trembled. “Okay. I will.”

How, how was this her life? How had she even let herself get into a situation where she wasn’t careful enough to possibly get pregnant? How could she have been so stupid?

What had happened? Was her birth control pill ineffective due to her taking it a few hours later than she was supposed to on a particular day? Did any other medications interfere with her birth control, like her anxiety medication or ADHD stimulants? Was it an expired condom? A broken condom, unbeknownst to both her partner and herself? All the above?

What was she even going to do if she was pregnant?! She didn’t have a committed partner! The guy she'd been seeing didn't live in Paris—he was just someone she’d met while he was vacationing and only saw for occasional dalliances! 

And, sure, she’d always wanted to be a mom, and the idea that she might be pregnant was kind of exciting, but it was also terrifying. She’d only pictured motherhood happening after marriage when she’d finally found the perfect partner to settle down with and raise a family. 

Not now. Not like this.

(Besides, whenever she’d pictured having children, she’d always imagined those children having one father in particular. And that person wasn’t someone she’d ever been romantically or sexually involved with, no matter how much she may have wanted to be.)

If she was pregnant… would she even keep the baby? Or, uh—zygote? Embryo? Whatever it would be at this stage...?

Yes, she thought. I would.

No, I wouldn't, another part of her fought back. It’s too unexpected.

But…

But I’ve always wanted to be a mom.

I shouldn’t keep it. It wouldn’t be right.

Wait. What would be wrong with keeping it?

Maybe I want it.

But what if it’s not the right time? What if I can't handle it?

Nonsense, I can handle it.

But I'm not ready.

Could I raise a baby independently if the circumstances required it? 

Would that be fair to the child, even if it’s something I want—er, might want?

No, no, no. I am not ready for a baby. And I'm probably not even pregnant. No need to worry about it!

Alya’s voice pulled her out of her spiral. “Hey, Marinette?”

Oops—she was still on the phone. “Y-yeah?”

“No matter what happens… I’ll be there for you.” Her voice was soft, comforting like a best friend’s should be, steady amid her swirling thoughts. “Don't stress. It’s going to be okay.”

Though tears blurred Marinette’s vision, a smile broke across her face. “Okay.”

September 16th.

Marinette turned the pregnancy test over in her hand once more. A small part of her clung to the hope that it was a mistake—that maybe this test was wrong somehow. But it was her third positive, and she knew there was little room for error at this point.

Maybe they were all wrong? A manufacturing error or something…?

Ha.

Ha…

(Fuck.)

The bathroom suddenly felt unbearably small, the air thick and oppressive. Her chest tightened as the walls seemed to press in closer, and she was trapped between feeling too hot and too cold. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.

She needed to get out—out of this room, out into the open. She had to escape, to find a quiet place to clear her head and let her mind absorb the reality that had been so suddenly, so overwhelmingly thrust upon her.

She needed—

Her phone buzzed. An alert appeared on the screen, notifying her of an Akuma attack a few kilometers away.

“Shit,” she cried, wiping the tears from her cheeks. The timing couldn’t have been worse. How could she focus on fighting an Akuma right now? Could she even fight the Akuma, considering the pregnancy?

Looking at Tikki, Marinette sighed at the somber expression on her Kwami’s face.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice right now,” she said, pushing herself to a stand. Her knees ached from crouching on the tile floor, but she drove past the throbbing pain and stared at the third positive pregnancy test on the corner of the sink, its bold red lines just as vibrant as the two others. 

She’d deal with those later. At least she lived alone in her apartment and didn’t have to worry about any nosy roommates digging into her business. 

“So,” she whispered, staring hollowly at herself in the mirror. Dark shadows sagged underneath her eyes, and her hair was an unwashed, unbrushed mess, loose strands sticking up and falling in her face. “This is why I’ve had issues with my Lucky Charm. I’m not sick, I’m just… pregnant.”

Tikki nodded slowly. “Yes. In this case, since your body is already expending a lot of energy to create life, as your pregnancy progresses—should you choose to continue it—you won’t be able to use your Lucky Charm indefinitely, to avoid harming you or the baby. That’s why it didn’t happen immediately after conception. The more the baby grows, the less power you can use without risking damage.”

A barely audible whine slipped past Marinette’s lips. Her hand twitched, inching toward her stomach, and she placed it over her abdomen for just a moment before withdrawing. “I don’t know how I’m feeling right now or if I even want to keep it, but… will it be okay if I transform? If I fight? Right now, and... maybe in the future?”

Though her eyes shone with sympathy, Tikki smiled and nodded again. “Everything will be okay, Marinette. The suit is invulnerable. This early in your pregnancy, the embryo will be safe. If you decide to keep it, we’ll discuss other options when you’re further along.”

Marinette dragged in a deep breath. “Okay, then. Spots on.”

Chapter Text

Ladybug was acting strange.

Of all the words Chat Noir would use to describe his partner of ten years—brilliant, fearless, radiant (and yes, even miraculous, though she always rolled her eyes at that one)—sluggish had never been among them.

Until now.

He could barely focus on the Akumatized villain when Ladybug seemed so... off.

His eyes followed her every move, his brows knitting tighter as she stumbled through the fight, her motions uncoordinated and uneven. Her exhaustion showed in the slump of her shoulders, dragging her down, and in the split-second hesitations behind each attack—subtle enough to fool anyone else, but not him. 

Never him.

Her yo-yo swung wide across the Louvre’s courtyard, missing the monstrous Akumatized lizard-woman by a hair. She barely dodged an incoming tail-whip, her usual carefree agility replaced with gritted teeth and a dark cloud cast over her eyes, accompanied by something tense and brittle.

Gone was the usual banter that made even the worst battles bearable.

No clever quips. No eye contact. Not even the usual eye-roll when he tossed out a lousy pun.

Just silence.

Her jaw was clenched, her eyes distant—fixed on the enemy, yes, but not present.

It was as if her mind was somewhere else entirely.

Chat Noir narrowed his eyes, worry blooming in his chest like a bruise.

This wasn’t the Ladybug he knew.

Something was wrong.

Stopping Monarch’s latest villain was less critical to him than ensuring his partner was okay. However, until the scaly creature was defeated, they wouldn’t have time to sit down for a conversation. While he had no issues maneuvering around the swinging tail and disgusting, lashing tongue, Ladybug was incapacitated more than once, stumbling over the reptile’s tail or tripping over her own two feet. He was used to a certain level of clumsiness outside of combat, of course—it was one of her most endearing traits, after all—but today's change in demeanor wasn’t usual in any sense.

They’d fought hundreds of battles over the years, in a practiced rhythm like two dancers who knew each other’s timing by heart. Now, it was like they were speaking different languages. And though Chat Noir stayed close, guarding Ladybug from the Akuma’s blows, she flinched every time he moved to shield her—as if his help (or mere presence) somehow made things worse.

She hadn’t even responded to his greeting earlier. Didn't offer a smile. Grunts and groans aside, she’d been scarily silent since.

When she finally summoned a flyswatter as her third Lucky Charm, they defeated the Akuma with a pale shadow of their usual precision, and—as unexpected as it was the last time it happened—her Miraculous began to beep.

It was as if the universe wanted to twist the knife steadily making its way into Chat Noir's chest. 

(Had he done something wrong?

Was she mad at him?)

"Ladybug—" he began.

“I have to go,” she replied curtly, her voice so thin and weak that he was only sure she was the one who had spoken out of sheer familiarity. 

She began to stumble away, her arm pulled back to launch her yo-yo. But before she could take off, he placed his fingers on her wrist; not trapping her, but enough to make her pause.

She turned her head to meet his gaze. Her arms fell to her sides, her shoulders sagged, and despite her mask, he could see the dark circles that hung underneath her eyes, heavy and oppressive in their wake.

Chat Noir had to dredge up all his years of trained facial control to keep the shock (or worse, pity) from showing on his face. He wouldn't let the ache in his chest spill onto his expression. “Ladybug,” he said, lightly dragging his fingers down her wrist until he entwined their fingers, which trembled in his grasp. “Talk to me.”

She opened her mouth. Then, glancing around the courtyard, closed it again. Her brows knit together as her Miraculous beeped a second time, and her eyes shifted to the ground. “I-I can’t. Not right now.”

He squeezed her hand. “Then meet me later.” 

Her gaze didn’t lift from her feet.

He braved a step closer, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. “Hey. I don't know what's going on, but something is clearly bothering you. If you need to talk to someone—talk to me about something... I’ll be at our spot tonight at nine.”

She took a deep breath, then nodded. Her voice trembled as she said, “Okay.” 

The third beep sounded. Without another word, she zipped away on her yo-yo. He watched her figure shrink into the night until it vanished down a shadowed alleyway, leaving him behind.

A heavy stillness settled over him.

Chat Noir raked his fingers through his hair, dragging his hand down his face as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He replayed their recent patrols, every conversation, trying to pinpoint the moment something changed.

She’d mentioned being sick. Maybe that was it? 

Or... maybe his fears were correct. Maybe she was mad at him.

Whatever was going on, no matter how bad it was, he wanted to rectify it.

To be there for her.

Ever the loyal friend he’d always been.

Chat Noir had not expected to find Ladybug already waiting for him by the time he reached the roof of Notre Dame. He was often early, but tonight, he’d been even more so, having arrived well before nine. The sun had yet to dip entirely below the horizon, casting the city in a deep amber glow as it slowly sank from the sky.

She was settled on a balcony all by herself, a lone human dwarfed by the magnificent mass of the cathedral. The wind gently danced through her hair, and her ponytail swayed in response. She sat in front of a stained glass window, all its colors on a dazzling display as the setting sun glittered over its panes. It was a dreamy sight—though Chat Noir could hardly care about that when his Lady looked so…

So small.

He was determined to find out what had her so shaken. And if she didn’t want to tell him, well… he’d at least do whatever he could to make her smile. 

Maybe something had happened at her job, which she mentioned every so often in carefully vague detail. If she needed a little cheering up, he’d be happy to provide a few well-timed puns—the kind she pretended to hate, but he knew she loved all the same.

“Evening, my Lady,” he said as he settled beside her on the balcony, swinging his feet over the edge. "You okay?"

She glanced at him. When she smiled, it seemed forced. “Hey,” she rasped. 

(While she’d returned his greeting, Chat Noir noted she had very much avoided the question.)

“Hey,” he responded. The upper corner of his mask rose as his eyebrow quirked, and he leaned a little closer to repeat, “Is everything okay?”

Are you mad at me? he thought.

Ladybug tensed. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Like a wounded animal, a tiny, strained whine fell from her lips, and she shrugged. “Maybe… I-I don’t know. It… It’s huge.”

“Well, I have two pairs of ears perfect for listening,” he said with a humorous lilt to lighten the mood. He marked that as a success from the way Ladybug’s lips twitched slightly upward (so slight, but he knew her so well.)

She slowly dragged in a breath, held it, and then released it, her shoulders slumping forward. For a few seconds, she was silent. Eventually, she found the courage to speak. “I… found out something today,” she said, her voice warbling and tremulous.

He swallowed the sigh of relief that nearly escaped from his lips. 

(Okay. Not mad at him. Good.)

Still, he frowned. “From the look on your face, I assume it’s something bad?”

“No. I-I don’t know. It’s not bad, just… unexpected? Scary? A lot to take in?”

“Whatever it is, you don’t seem too happy about it.”

“I don’t know how I’m feeling yet. I’m in shock.”

“Must’ve been something pretty major,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Is it something you’re comfortable sharing? Or… able to share, considering...?” he trailed off, gesturing between their masks.

“I…” she sniffed. Her lower lip trembled, and before Chat Noir could process her expression, she buried her face in her hands and let out a single, choked sob. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Whoa, hey.” He pulled Ladybug into his arms, wrapping her in a comforting hug. “Whatever happened, it’s gonna be okay, ‘Bug. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Instantly, she melted into his touch, pressing her face against his chest and balling her hands into fists over his torso. She clenched the fabric of his suit in her fingers. With a wet sniffle, she shook her head. “N-no, I don’t think—I mean, I don’t even know if I should tell you. I haven’t decided what to do yet, and if I tell you, it—it could make things worse. I don’t… I don’t want you to hate me or—or think of me differently if I don’t keep it, even though it has nothing to do with you, and I—”

…Keep what?

“Hey, hey,” he soothed. Her tears left damp spots on his suit, but he didn’t care. Something heavy had happened to her, the weight of it as real as her own in his arms. Even if he didn’t quite understand what it was, he wanted to be a source of comfort. For her to feel safe in his embrace. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“It’s not!” she half-sobbed, half-whimpered, shaking as she edged into a panic, her breath quickening into short, wheezy gasps.

“It's okay." He stroked her hair, idly rocking back and forth. "Don't panic, my Lady. I'm here."

Her whole body quivered, and she coughed, choking on her own sobs.

Okay, he thought. Time for a different approach. 

"Ladybug. Hey." He squeezed her. "We’re friends, right?”

She stilled, quiet for a moment before she lifted her head to gaze at him with an eyebrow quirked. Her tears glistened in the moonlight as they streamed down her mask and dripped from her chin. “Y-yes, of course.”

“Good friends?”

Though she didn’t seem in the mood to entertain such a redundant question, she still said, “You’re one of my best friends, Chat Noir.”

“And you’re one of mine,” he said. He delicately cupped her chin, wiping her tears with his thumb. “For ten years, we’ve been there for each other through good times and bad. So trust me when I say I could never hate you, no matter what you tell me. You mean too much to me for me to throw away our friendship that easily.”

She smiled, though it was small and wobbly. Still, she must have had difficulty looking at him because she quickly pulled away from his hand and rested her head on his shoulder instead. “Thank you, Kitty.”

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to, but… can you tell me what’s happening so I can help you figure it out?” He stroked her back and rested his chin on her head, taking in the scent of her strawberry shampoo—a fragrance achingly familiar yet still so foreign. “I’ve been really worried about you.”

Ladybug tensed again. Her sniffles and sobs quieted, and she slowly peeled herself away from his touch—which he mourned, but that wasn’t important.

She wiped her face with a deep, steadying breath—

Then she met his gaze. 

“I’m pregnant,” she stated matter-of-factly, though her voice was quiet. “Y-you... you’re the first person I’ve told.”

His eyes widened, and he gasped—though it was quiet enough that he silently prayed she hadn’t heard it. As he cleared his throat to disguise the noise, he breathed deeply.

…Oh.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Of all the things he’d been expecting—she lost her job, was arguing with a friend, or had even suffered the loss of a parent—that hadn’t crossed his mind.

Chat Noir frantically searched for what to say. He knew that, typically, friends offer their congratulations when another friend announces they're expecting. That had been how it had gone with Alya and Nino when they announced their daughter was on the way. They’d been undeniably happy—with seemingly never-ending smiles and voices radiating excitement. 

"Congratulations” didn't seem like the appropriate response to Ladybug's declaration, though. The tears in her eyes, the wobbling in her tone, and the way she curled into herself all pointed to the idea that she wasn’t ecstatic about the news.

No smiles. Near-panic. Ladybug didn't seem thrilled at all.

She just…

She just seemed scared.

What could he say? He could barely decipher his own emotions, let alone form a coherent response. 

(The brief flare of jealousy was unexpected, but he tampered it down the best he could, trying—and failing—to ignore the twinge of pain in his heart. 

Ladybug had never once mentioned being in a relationship. He’d assumed she was single, especially with how she often returned his flirtatious quips and occasionally riposted with dirty jokes. 

He could begrudgingly admit it made sense, though. Ladybug was the most amazing person he knew; so calculated, strong, and intelligent—not to mention breathtakingly beautiful. It was no wonder she was in a committed relationship with someone.

Someone who wasn’t him.

Which was fine.

He wasn’t entitled to her feelings just because he’d been in love with her for ten years.

Heartbreak, his chest lamented in a mournful song.

But his brain knew better. 

It was wrong of him to feel jealous. He may have loved her, but she didn’t love him. And that was okay. She would always be free to make her own choices, and he couldn’t fault her for any of it.

Even if it hurt a teeny bit.

Well, more than a teeny bit.

Heartbreak.)

“Say something, Chat Noir,” she begged. “Don’t just stare at me like that.”

Whatever muddled feelings plagued him instantly faded when he heard the fear in her voice. How he felt didn’t matter right now—the only thing that mattered was how Ladybug felt! 

“I’m sorry,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I-I think I was just a little surprised. But don't worry about me. How do you feel about it?”

She groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “I don’t know how I feel! I keep being asked how I feel, and I don’t have an answer! I haven’t had time to figure out how I feel. I just found out before the Akuma attack!”

“Okay, that’s okay,” he said, speaking in a quiet, measured tone to avoid stressing her more. “It’s alright, Ladybug. I-”

“It’s not, though!” She gripped her head. “I’m stressed, I’m tired, I’m achy, and I’m scared. But weirdly, I’m also happy, in a way. Is that strange? I didn’t expect this—definitely wasn’t trying for it—but I’m pregnant anyway, and I… I just don’t know what to do or how I’m supposed to feel about it! And that makes me feel even more awful because there are so many people out there who want babies, who would do anything to be in the position I’m in, and here I am, not even knowing what I want! Not even knowing if I'm going to—” She bit back another sob. "—to keep it!"

“You’re not awful,” he soothed, gently leading her hands away from her head before she pulled her hair out. “Ladybug, it’s not awful to be scared or to not know what you want just yet. That’s normal.”

I think it is, anyway…

“I’m so confused right now,” she whispered. “I can’t even process my own emotions. I know I’m scared, I think I’m excited, but am I really? Or is that just the hormones messing with me? Why don't I know whether or not I want this? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It's okay to take some time to think. Have you and your significant other ever discussed kids?”

Ladybug tensed. She let out a loud sigh and fiddled with her hair, turning her back toward him. It took her a moment to admit, “I… um… don’t have a significant other.” 

He blinked. “Oh.”

“That’s part of the problem. I-I mean, obviously, the pregnancy had to come from somewhere,” she laughed awkwardly, pink dusting the tips of her ears, “b-but we weren’t dating. I-I barely knew him. He was just… some guy I met while he was vacationing here, and we hit it off. He was sweet and attractive; I showed him some of my favorite spots in the city, fell in love a little bit, and, well…” She sighed and pulled her legs up to her chest, hugging them as she rested her head on her knees. “The rest doesn’t matter. He’s gone now.”

Chat Noir wasn’t sure what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything so they weren’t sitting in silence, but before he had a chance, Ladybug let out a long sigh. 

“I'll tell him, of course, but..." She sighed heavily. "I doubt he'll want anything to with it. If I decide to keep this—and I’m still not even sure if I want to—I might have to do it alone.”

“Alone?” he echoed, his ears drooping slightly. 

(He ignored the burning rage that threatened to spark to life at the idea of the faceless man abandoning her.)

He swallowed. Emotions he couldn’t quite name clouded his thoughts as he looked at her. Seeing Ladybug—his strong, resilient Ladybug—curled up, seeming smaller and more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her by the moment, hugging her knees as if she could somehow protect herself from the situation at hand… it tore at his heart. 

She had always seemed so unbreakable. Yet there she was, carrying such a profound weight on her shoulders. A decision she could only make for herself.

He couldn’t imagine the turmoil.

Though he could offer comfort and little advice, he couldn’t tell her what to do. That was something she had to decide on her own.

(Still, the idea of Ladybug having to go through this alone gutted him. An idle fantasy had him considering dropping his transformation and promising to be there for her right then and there, to care for her and her baby, should she choose to keep it. Still, he knew that kind of revelation, on top of learning she was unexpectedly pregnant, wouldn’t help in the slightest.

Besides, their identities were secret for good reason. As their Kwamis said, anyway...)

Chat Noir leaned away to give her space yet remained close enough that their legs barely brushed. He wanted to console her, to say something wise or reassuring, but all the words that came to mind felt clumsy or inadequate.

“Ladybug,” he began softly, choosing his words carefully, “you’re… not alone in this, you know? I mean, I know I can’t exactly solve this for you, but I’m here for you in any way you need me to be. You don’t have to shoulder this by yourself.”

She lifted her head slightly, turning just enough for him to catch her eyes, full of fear and uncertainty. “Thank you, Chat Noir,” she whispered. “It’s just so overwhelming.”

He nodded, holding her gaze. “You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed,” he said gently. “This is… well, it’s huge. But you’re one of the strongest people I know, Ladybug. If anyone can handle a decision like this, you can. Just make sure whatever decision you make is what you want. Whether it’s keeping it or not."

Her lips curved into a faint smile, and for a brief moment, he saw that familiar sparkle of confidence in her eyes before she turned her head to gaze at the city lights. “Thank you, Chat Noir."

"Of course." His smile mirrored hers. "And remember what I said: you aren’t alone. You've got me!"

She turned to face him, her voice thick and nasally from her clogged sinuses, even as her tears calmed. "Well, during Akuma attacks and patrols, anyway."

"Eh." He shrugged. "You can always transform and call me, too. I like hearing your voice."

"We aren't supposed to do that."

"I know," he laughed. "Plagg got really annoyed with me last time."

She giggled—the best sound. "Yeah, Tikki scolded me, too."

He rubbed her back. "Ah, I can't blame them for getting mad at us for abusing our powers to chit-chat."

"Was that a pun?"

"Not intentionally. Did you like it?"

She snorted. "Maybe."

He stuck out his tongue.

She released a long, measured breath. "Thank you. Seriously. You're... you're right. If I do choose to continue with this… I wouldn’t be alone. I have my friends, my parents, Tikki…” She glanced at him. “You. So, even though I live alone, I wouldn’t be alone.”

Chat Noir’s heart skipped a beat. “That’s right.”

Her fingers rested over her abdomen for a beat before she pulled away and shook her head. “I just can’t believe there’s a baby in there. It doesn’t feel real. Like I’ll wake up any second, and this will all have been some weird dream. I’m not sure if I’d be relieved or... disappointed.”

He glanced at her stomach, looked away, and then glanced back.

(The urge to protect her was intense.)

Ladybug leaned into him, her body warm as it slotted perfectly against his side. He placed his hand on the small of her back. “Right now, I’m torn in two directions. On the one hand, the logical part of me says it’s not the right time. I’m single and have my career ahead of me. Something I've been working towards all my life. I don't want anything to get in the way of my goals. And I’m scared. But on the other…” She pressed her face against his shoulder. “I want to be a mom so much more.”

Though her face was partly obscured, when he looked down, he could see her smiling.

“I’ve always wanted to be a mother,” she continued. “I’ve daydreamed about it for as long as I can remember. The thought that I have that chance now, instead of waiting a few more years until I settle down with a partner—if I ever find one—is exciting! I… I don't know if I love this baby yet. I don't. I don't know it yet. But I want the potential to love it. And that alone is so thrilling. The potential to have a baby, a person… to love them, nurture them, and watch them grow… I can’t deny how much I want that.”

Her words nearly melted his heart. To hear her speak so confidently about what she wanted made him fall even deeper in love with her.

(As if that was even possible at this point.)

“There’s nothing wrong with being a single parent,” he said.

“But would that be fair to the child? To raise it with only one parent?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. So long as it grows up surrounded by love, and you make sure it knows it's loved and, more importantly, wanted, then I think it’s okay.” He looked across the city toward the Agreste mansion, his childhood home, which sat imposingly in the distance. Only a single light was on. He glanced away as a chill ran up his spine, thankful he didn't ever have to return to the cold confines of its walls. “But you’ve gotta make sure that kid knows it’s wanted. There’s nothing worse than growing up with only one parent who seems like they resent you.” 

She tensed slightly. “Oh, Kitty, I’m sorry. Did you…?”

“It doesn’t matter... it’s in the past.” He shook his head and plastered on a smile. “All that matters is that you make the best decision for you. If you want the baby and can give it a good life, keep it. If you don’t want it or think now isn’t the right time, there’s nothing wrong with doing what needs to be done and trying again later when you’re ready. If you're worried about me judging you for any reason, don't. I'd never fault you for making the decision that's best for you. And anyone that would doesn't deserve the time of day. It’s your life.”

“You’re being very mature about this,” said Ladybug with a smile. “Are you sure you don’t have kids?”

He chuckled. “I’m pawsitive.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For listening and just being cool about it in general. I know it probably came as a shock. It did for me.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

She nuzzled her face against his bicep. “I know.”

“For what it’s worth…” He settled his hand on her waist and squeezed lightly. “If you decide to keep it… I think you’d be an amazing mom.”

A small chuckle rose from her. “Aw, thanks, Kitty. I think so, too. Or, well... at least I’d try to be.”

“That’s the most important part. That you try.”

“I still need time to think about it, but… that means a lot.”

"I speak words of wisdom every now and then."

"In between the god-awful puns."

"You love them."

She huffed.

They sat together in comfortable silence, basking in the golden glow of city lights shimmering against the night sky. A cool breeze brushed past them, a welcome reprieve from the lingering summer warmth. 

Chat Noir’s heart swelled as he took it all in. Moments like this were what he cherished most. Moments where he could simply be by Ladybug’s side, with no Akuma, no duties—just the two of them, close and at ease, as if the world beyond them didn’t exist.

Those were the moments that made him feel whole.

“By the way,” he asked, a question still burning in his mind, “is this why you’ve had issues with your Lucky Charm?”

Ladybug nodded. “Mhm. Tikki told me that because my body is using a lot of energy to create life, I don’t have enough for unlimited Lucky Charms. Which makes as much sense as anything else about the Miraculous, I guess. It’s funny, though—when I first asked her what was going on, she mentioned it could be because I was sick, and I thought I was dying.” 

“Aw,” he laughed. “Well, at least you’re not dying. I’d be pretty sad if that were the case.”

“You and me both. I quite like being alive.”

“Who would appreciate my cat puns if you were dead?”

“I’m sure your hundreds of fans would.”

“But none of them scrunch their nose in the super cute way you do, though.”

She scoffed playfully. “Oh, you never stop flirting with me, do you?”

“I can’t help it. It’s in my nature.”

“Are you still going to flirt with me when I’m nine months pregnant and look like I’m smuggling an overinflated beach ball?”

“Don’t even start,” he chuckled. “You’re beautiful no matter what! Even if you might start appealing to a different audience once the baby arrives.”

Her brow creased. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You—” He wheezed, barely able to squeeze the words out through his laughter. “Y-you’d be a—a MILF.”

Her expression fell flat. “I am going to smack the shit out of you,” she deadpanned.

“And I’ll still think you’re cute while you’re beating me to death!”

“You’re saying that now, but wait until I’m throwing up from morning sickness again, and then tell me how pretty I am!”

His eyes widened in realization. “Ohh. So that’s why you got sick on patrol that one night! I just thought you’d been so overwhelmed by my good looks that you had a physical reaction.”

She shoved him. “Keep talking like that, and next time, it’s going in your lap instead of a trash can.”

Chat Noir raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, I'll behave.”

“You never behave.”

“And you love that,” he teased with a smirk.

She flicked his bell. “Alley cat trying to get snipped?”

“Hey, hey.” He grabbed Ladybug’s hands, an eyebrow raised in challenge as she snickered. “Be nice to me. I still want children someday, thank you very much.”

Ladybug laughed so hard she snorted, which was so adorable it nearly made his heart burst. “Nope, it's too late. You misbehaved. I'm going to ship you off to the vet."

“Ouch. You'd neuter me for bad behavior?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "Fine, then. If I want a baby, I guess I’ll just have to adopt yours.”

She rolled her eyes. “Keep dreaming, Kitty.”

He finally released her hands. His smile stretched so wide it pinched his cheeks, and he felt even better to see that Ladybug was grinning, too. When their eyes met, they broke into a shared fit of laughter.

Only when they'd finally calmed and caught their breath did Chat Noir ask, “Will having limited Lucky Charms make fights more difficult for you?”

She shrugged. “If I continue my pregnancy, it might be a challenge. I’ve dealt with it before, though. When we were teens, we only had a single use of our powers, remember? I’ll be alright. We’ll... we'll figure it out.”

“We always do,” he added with a smile.

She smiled back. “Yeah.” 

His heart fluttered. "We do make quite the good team."

"I'd hope so, after ten years."

"I'd be lost without you."

"You'd manage," she chuckled.

(Not true. Not in the slightest.)

Slowly pushing herself to stand, Ladybug stretched her arms above her head, then regarded him with a glowing warmth in her expression that hadn’t been present before they’d talked. “I should probably go home and sleep,” she said. “Early work day tomorrow and all that. I feel better now, though. Thank you.”

He stood as well. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“I’ve still got a lot of thinking to do," she said, "but… for what it’s worth, thanks again for talking with me about it. And for making me laugh.”

“Of course,” he said, retrieving his baton from his back and extending it. “And try not to worry yourself sick. I know how you get. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Take your time to make a decision. And whatever you decide, I’ll support you one hundred percent.”

Ladybug beamed. “You’re the best partner I could ever ask for, Chat Noir. You know that?"

"You can keep reminding me," he said with a wink.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Have a good night, okay?”

“It’s already good,” he said with a grin. “I got to see you!”

With an amused snort, Ladybug shook her head and spun her yo-yo, leaping into the sea of city lights. 

When Adrien returned to his empty house and sank into his too-big bed, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to turn over and find the other side of his bed warm and smelling like the familiar, sweet fragrance of strawberry shampoo. 

Dreams of babies in red-and-black-spotted onesies danced through his mind like teasing whispers of a future that felt too feeble to grasp.

But that was okay.

They were only dreams. Fleeting things, harmless to hold onto—

As long as he remembered to let them go.

Chapter Text

Marinette tapped her foot against the sidewalk, her fingers wringing the hem of her skirt until the fabric bunched up. A warm, late-summer breeze swept through her hair, teasing the ever-present flyaways into her face. She huffed, brushed an offending strand from her mouth, and pressed her phone tightly against her ear. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip as it rang. Just when she was sure the call would go to voicemail, Alya finally picked up.

“Hey,” said Alya, her voice warmer than usual. “How’d it go?”

Marinette glanced at the clinic behind her, exhaling deeply. “Well, I feel better now that I know for sure.”

“Over-the-counter pregnancy tests are usually pretty accurate,” said Alya. “But, knowing you... I’m still glad you went to a doctor.” 

Marinette took the friendly jab with a small smile as she walked down the street. “Me too. I was nervous at first, but I feel better now.”

“I’m glad to hear it. What did the doctor say?”

“Not much,” Marinette admitted. “All my vitals are fine. I’m a little underweight, but it’s nothing a good meal plan won’t fix.” As the Métro station came into view, she skipped down the stairs, unable to hold back a quiet (albeit nervous) laugh. “I called my OB/GYN before I called you. I, uh… I have my first ultrasound scheduled for next week!”

“Well, that’s exciting!” Alya said, and Marinette could tell she was smiling just by her tone. “Do you want me to come with you?”

A wave of relief flooded through Marinette at the thought of not having to attend her first prenatal appointment alone. “Please? If you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind!” said Alya. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

The distant rumble of the approaching train filled the tunnel. “Thank you. I’ll text you the details when I get off the Métro—I’m about to lose service.”

“Are you free this afternoon?”

Marinette walked toward the platform. “Yeah, why?”

“Good, because I’m coming over! I haven’t seen you in forever, and I miss you.”

With her usual extra care to avoid tripping over the gap, Marinette boarded the subway, sitting near the sliding doors. “Okay. I’ll see you soon,” she laughed just before the call dropped.

Slipping her phone into her bag, Marinette sighed and leaned back in her seat. As the train jolted forward, her gaze drifted downward, settling on her stomach. Unconsciously, she rested a hand over her abdomen, smoothing her fingers over the fabric of her skirt. A mix of awe and trepidation washed over her.

There… was a baby in there.

She knew that already, of course. But getting confirmation from someone with a medical license somehow hit harder.

A smile slowly began to creep along her cheeks.

A baby.

Wow…

Her heart beat a little faster. 

How are you feeling, my little one?

After a comfortable hour spent alone in the quiet of her apartment, Marinette was startled by a knock at the door. She hesitated momentarily, but then a familiar squeak cut through the silence—the telltale sound of Alya’s baby, Mélodie.

“It’s open!” Marinette called, already smiling.

The door swung wide, revealing Alya juggling a large tote bag in one hand while expertly balancing her six-month-old daughter on her hip with the other. She nudged the door closed with her foot. As soon as her eyes met Marinette’s, she brightened. 

Tikki zipped over excitedly. “Hi, Alya!” she peeped.

Alya gently scratched the Kwami’s head. “Hi, Tikki. Good to see you."

After Tikki and Alya finished their greeting, Marinette wrapped Alya in a hug—though it was a little tricky, considering the baby and the bag. 

“Hi,” said Marinette. “How are you?”

“As busy as always,” Alya replied with an airy smile, setting the bag on the kitchen table. “But not too busy to bring you a few things.” 

Marinette smiled, leaning down to greet her friend’s baby. “You mean, besides the world’s sweetest little angel?”

“No, no, don’t let her fool you,” laughed Alya. “Little miss angel pulled out a clump of my hair this morning. Didn’t you, Mélodie?” She bounced her baby. “Watch your hair, by the way. Don’t lean so close.” 

Mélodie cooed in response, offering a wide, gummy grin, before swiping at the strands of hair hanging in front of Marinette’s ears and yanking.

Marinette yelped and reared back. “Holy—ow!"

“Girl, what did I just tell you?”

“I didn’t expect her to pull so hard." Marinette rubbed the side of her head. “So, uh. What’s in the bag?”

Alya gently passed her daughter into Marinette’s arms, and Marinette accepted the baby with natural ease, instinctively propping the little one against her side. The baby released a soft gasp, her tiny fingers curling around a strand of Marinette’s hair again. 

“You’re getting big,” she said, slowly disentangling Mélodie’s fingers from her hair before she lost a few inches. “I remember when you were teensy!”

Mélodie jabbered in response. 

“So talkative,” Marinette cooed.

“Bab-ba-ba-ba,” replied Mélodie.

“And so articulate.”

Alya laughed as she dug through the tote bag. “Yeah, she’s a little chatterbox. She’s been performing daily speeches at home.”

“How lucky you and Nino are to be her audience.”

Alya snorted, pulling a glass container out of the tote. It carried the delicious scent of warm, savory spices and tomato sauce. With a soft clink, she set it on the table . 

Marinette’s stomach instantly growled. Whatever Alya had brought smelled divine. Mélodie tugged on her hair again, but she didn’t care—all she wanted was that food! 

“What is that?” she asked, her mouth watering.

“It’s curry,” Alya said. “Nino made it last night. I figured I’d bring you some, what with your strange habit of forgetting to eat when you’re busy. Plus, if you want that baby, you’ll need the calories. And even if you don’t want the baby, you could use the food anyway. Here,” she placed another container on top. “There’s rice and naan, too.”

For the first time all week, the idea of food was more appetizing than nauseating. Marinette opened her mouth to thank Alya and remind her of how wonderful of a friend she was, but Alya wasn’t done. Mélodie gurgled in her ear as she watched Alya pull out a bottle of pills, an even smaller bottle containing a clear liquid, and a box of tea. 

When Marinette raised an eyebrow, Alya simply smiled and said, “Prenatal vitamins, peppermint oil, and ginger tea. Y’know, just in case.”

“What's peppermint oil for?” asked Marinette, making silly faces to entertain the baby in her arms. 

“When I had awful morning sickness during my first trimester, a whiff of this stuff helped curb my nausea. Trust me—it works. It’s the only way I could get myself to eat some days. The ginger tea will help with nausea, too.”

“Wow,” Marinette breathed. Her chest warmed, her heart swelled with love for her best friend. “Oh, Alya, this is so nice. Thank you, I—” Mélodie squealed in her ear. “I really appreciate this. You’re amazing.”

Alya shrugged. “It’s no trouble. It’s just some things I had left over from when I was pregnant. And Nino honestly made way too much curry, so you’re doing us a favor by helping us eat it.”

“Such a dutiful husband,” giggled Marinette. She bounced Mélodie, repositioning her so her hair was out of tiny, powerful reach. “Um, speaking of Nino… you didn’t happen to tell him, did you?”

With a serious expression, Alya shook her head. “Oh, girl, no. I wouldn’t say anything to anyone unless I have your permission.”

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I just… I don’t want anyone else to know yet."

Alya stepped closer, placing her hand on Marinette’s arm and rubbing gently. “I get it, don’t worry. I promise your secret is safe with me.”

“Again, thanks. I think I’m still sort of in shock,” she admitted. “Even though I’ve known for a whole week now.”

Mélodie squirmed and reached for her Maman, so Marinette returned the baby to Alya before grabbing some flavored sparkling water from the fridge for herself and her friend. As she sat at the table, Alya passed the food, along with a plastic knife and fork. 

“Well, it surprised me, too,” said Alya. “When you first called me, I kind of guessed based on your symptoms, but then, when you told me three tests were positive, I was still like, ‘Aah! Holy shit! My bestie is pregnant!’”

Marinette laughed. Steam puffed into her face as she popped the lid off the glass container, and the electrically spicy aroma of delicious curry danced through her nostrils. Her stomach growled in response. Without hesitation, she dug in, nearly whining at the flavor explosion on her tongue.

“Good?” Alya asked.

Around a mouthful of food, Marinette said, “No wonder you married him.”

Alya chuckled. “Well, I married Nino for more than his cooking!”

“Isn’t your anniversary coming up soon?”

“Yep. Next month. Married four years already, isn't that crazy?”

Mélodie reached for the plastic knife, but Alya snatched it before her daughter could steal it with her chubby little fingers. 

“I can watch Mélodie that night, if you need a babysitter,” Marinette offered.

“Are you sure?” asked Alya. “You know she’s a handful.”

“Eh.” Marinette shrugged, swallowing another mouthful of naan, curry, and rice. “I could use the practice.”

Alya’s eyes widened. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. “Oh?”

Marinette returned Alya’s smile but said nothing, silently finishing the rest of her food. Standing up to place the empty dishes in the dishwasher, she gestured to the couch, inviting Alya to make herself comfortable. Alya gladly did, carefully setting Mélodie on the floor in front of her. 

The little baby bounced excitedly from being granted freedom. Marinette retrieved one of her old stuffed animals from her bedroom, handed it to Mélodie, and then joined Alya on the couch, sinking back with a contented sigh.

“Thank you for feeding me,” she said, patting her stomach. “Hopefully, it doesn’t come back up later. It was too good to waste.”

“Let’s hope not,” Alya replied.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately,” said Marinette, her eyelids feeling heavy. She knew the exhaustion in her voice was apparent, but around Alya, she didn’t mind. “Work is tough, and then there’s fighting Akumas, patrols, caring for myself… add to that being pregnant now, too... I just don’t have the energy for anything these days. But I miss you.”

Alya’s expression softened. She squeezed Marinette’s hand. “Aw, Marinette. It’s okay. I get it. It’s hard to see friends often at our age—especially when other things demand so much time.” She glanced at Mélodie, whose big brown eyes were full of wonder as she gummed the stuffed bear’s ear and soaked the fuzzy pink fabric with drool. “But that’s okay. No matter how often we see each other, you're still my best friend.”

The urge to cry rose in Marinette’s throat. She cried so easily these days. Though Alya’s words were simple, they were still sweet enough to make her eyes misty. She wiped her tears away before they could fall. “And you’re mine. That will never change.”

Alya patted her hand. They shifted their sights to Mélodie, who had abandoned the bear and was now on her tummy, her tiny arms wobbling as she supported herself. A thin line of drool dribbled from her lip to the floor.

“She’s going to start crawling any day now,” Alya remarked with a hint of pride. “I can feel it.”

“You’ll really have your hands full then,” Marinette replied with a grin.

“Ugh, don’t remind me; I already do!”

Marinette giggled, leaning forward and resting her head on her hand as she observed the baby. Mélodie relaxed onto her stomach again and cooed. Then, with a squeal, she straightened her arms and lifted herself halfway off the floor.

Warmth bloomed in Marinette’s chest, and a joyous anticipation buzzed inside her stomach. Her free hand drifted unconsciously to her abdomen as she imagined her own child in Mélodie’s place—chattering, crawling, even drooling on her floor as they reached all the significant milestones.

She could almost feel her future baby’s weight in her arms, the comfort of their tiny head nestled against her, and the delicate wisps of newborn hair tickling her chin. She pictured herself rocking them, singing them the same lullabies her mother used to sing her, and she wondered how nice it would feel to come home after a long day of work and cradle them against her chest. She imagined the good nights when she would sleep soundly, her baby at her bedside, and even the difficult nights where she forwent sleep to console her infant, both of them in tears.

Her thoughts drifted to a future where her child would grow—imagining a bigger apartment or even a house with room for her baby to explore. To play, to run, to call their own. She imagined them developing a personality, and even their own dreams and desires.

She also imagined what her baby would be like fully grown, twenty or so years later. Her baby would be a person—their own person—but they would still be her child.

An overpowering sense of pure longing crashed over Marinette, and her eyes overflowed with tears.

She’d had nearly a week to reflect. Almost a whole week of sleepless nights racking her brain, torn between keeping this baby or letting it go. A week of badgering Tikki for advice and only receiving cryptic responses in return. She had considered the impact either decision would have on her life, weighing what would be best for her and what would be best for the unborn child.

It was agonizing, knowing her life would be completely different if she chose this. Her future would take a sharp left turn from the childhood fantasies she had forever indulged in and what she had always envisioned—

(Adrien as her husband with a beautiful house and three kids, two cats, a dog, and a hamster—)

Well. The future was never set in stone.

(She rarely saw Adrien these days, anyway. They were both busy, and admittedly, her crush had faded from how intense it had been as a teenager. Yet those feelings for him had never gone away. 

They'd dulled, especially when she had been in relationships with other people. 

But she knew they'd never truly fade.

Loving Adrien was as much of a part of her as anything else. 

He'd never wanted her in the way she wanted him.

And that was okay.

...Would he ever want her, if she had a child? 

 A child that wasn't his?)

It didn't matter.

She couldn't deny herself something she wanted on the off chance she might be able to have a different future. A future that had never come to fruition, and probably never would.

And that was okay.

She could still make a beautiful life for herself. 

For her baby.

Her child.

The answer had been with her all along, so much more evident now, so undeniable.

She wanted this baby. She’d known it from the beginning.

Yes.

It was a resounding, overwhelming yes.

“Marinette?” Alya asked. “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Marinette sniffed and wiped the sudden wetness on her cheeks. She hadn't even realized she'd been crying.

“Oh, Alya,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’ve lost so much sleep over the last few days. Not only because I wake up around three A.M. to zombie-walk to my toilet and dry heave, but… because I can’t stop thinking.”

Alya placed her hand on Marinette’s back, rubbing up and down in a slow, comforting motion. She said nothing, and no judgment passed over her expression. She simply sat and listened. 

“Yes, I’m single,” cried Marinette. “Yes, my apartment is small, so I’ll need to move, and yes, I’m Ladybug. I have so much responsibility already. It’d be stupid of me to add even more, but—” Tears poured from her eyes, yet she still held Alya’s gaze, her decision unwavering. “I want this baby so badly, Alya.”

Alya smiled gently. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Marinette said. “I want to be a mother. I see how you are with Mélodie. You’re so wonderful, and she loves you so much. I want that! I want the chance to be a good mom, too. I want this baby. I-I know it’d be expensive, especially by myself, but I can do this. I can! And I don’t care if some people might think it’s cruel to make this child grow up without a second parent. I’ll do whatever I can to ensure they never feel that loss. I-I’d be there for whatever they needed. I’d love them so much. I-I think I already do, I just…”

Oh, goodness, she was a mess. Teardrops and snot streamed down her face, and before she could stop herself, she was choking on sobs. She didn’t even know why she was crying, really—perhaps a mixture of relief from finally figuring out what she wanted or the reality of her situation hitting her like a brick to the face.

She was pregnant. She was going to be a mom! 

It was all… so much.

(A good much. So good.)

Alya pulled her into another hug, squeezing her tight. When Marinette felt dampness on her neck, she realized Alya was crying, too.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, her voice wet. “Oh, Marinette, you’ll be such an amazing mother. I just know it! That baby is so lucky to have you.”

That only made Marinette cry harder.

Alya continued, “But please, for your sake and the baby’s… take care of yourself.”

“I will,” she promised through the tears. She squeezed Alya harder. “I will, I will, I promise. I want this baby to be healthy. I-I’m going to do everything I need to: eat better, see my doctor, take the vitamins. I’ll do anything I can to make sure this baby is taken care of right.”

Alya pulled back from the hug to look her in the eyes. She removed her glasses to wipe her face, then replaced them, grinning broadly. “I’m so proud of you, Marinette.”

Alya was… proud of her?

Why did that make her feel so weird?

Though she appreciated Alya’s words, Marinette didn’t necessarily feel proud of herself. Truthfully, ever since she’d found out about her pregnancy, guilt had been eating her alive—especially now that she had decided to keep the baby.

If she’d known she was pregnant sooner, she would’ve cared better for herself.

This morning, the doctor at the clinic had warned her that she was slightly underweight, and Marinette knew that was her fault. Before she knew she was pregnant, she often skipped her lunch break at work to meet deadlines. Some nights, when she came home, she was far too tired to eat a proper meal and would scarf down a granola bar before taking a hasty shower and then collapsing in bed.

(A few times, she had also eaten the granola bar in the shower... but that was between her, Tikki, and the bathroom tiles.)

And not only did she struggle with keeping herself properly fed, she often went without a whole night’s sleep, too. Not to mention her coffee addiction and the few times she’d drunk alcohol, ignorant of the baby growing inside her.

Marinette needed to start taking better care of herself and her baby today. 

She only hoped her little one was doing alright…

“I should’ve taken a pregnancy test sooner,” she sighed, moisture beading in her eyes again. “I can’t believe this whole time I… I didn’t know!”

“It’s okay, Marinette,” Alya soothed.

“But it’s not. Before I knew, I-I was doing things you shouldn’t while you’re pregnant, like overworking myself, a-and even drinking coffee and wine!” She choked back a sob. “What if I was hurting my baby, and I didn’t even know it? What if there is something wrong with my baby, o-or I lose it, and it’s all my fault? I’d never forgive myself!”

Alya’s eyes clouded with sympathy. “Oh, Marinette… it’s okay. You didn’t know. Please, don’t blame yourself for something out of your control.”

“I should have taken a test sooner,” Marinette cried again.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Alya cupped her cheeks, wiping her tears away. “Shh, hey. Look at me. It’s okay. I’m sure your baby is fine. You’ve got your appointment next week, right?”

Marinette nodded, her lower lip quivering as she struggled to hold herself together. She took a shaky breath, but it was useless; her chest tightened, and her breathing still came too fast. No matter how hard she tried to calm down, tears spilled down her face and dripped from her chin.

Alya’s thumbs traced gentle, comforting circles along Marinette’s cheeks. Her voice was soft as she spoke, each word calm and deliberate. “Okay. I’m sure everything is fine, but they’ll be able to tell you if there’s anything wrong and what you can do to fix it. But babies are stronger than you think, Marinette. You’re strong. Please, don’t feel guilty.”

“I-I can’t help it.”

“Ah, I know, I know, but listen to me.” Alya moved her hands to grab Marinette’s shoulders. “As mothers, we do the best we can with the information we’re given. You didn’t know you were pregnant. You can’t blame yourself for something that happened when you didn’t know yet. What’s important is that you care and are doing good now. Right now, I only see a mother who wants the best for her baby. And that’s good, Marinette. You’re doing good!”

Marinette wiped her eyes, sniffling as she hiccuped.

Alya continued, “I love you, Marinette. This isn’t going to be easy. No baby is easy. It’ll be hard, and there will be times when you’ll think you’re doing it all wrong, but trust me when I say it’s okay."

Marinette nodded. Barely.

"When I was pregnant," Alya said, "and especially when Mélodie was a newborn, there were days I swore I was the worst mother on Earth. Sometimes, I thought I couldn’t go on. I had Nino to remind me that I was doing good just by trying. And right now, you have me.” She gently placed her finger on Marinette’s chin and tilted her head upward to meet her gaze. “But you have to be strong, too. I know you can do it. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re Ladybug! If anyone can do this, you can.”

Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Marinette nodded again. “I—oh. Th-thank you. I-I love you too, Alya. A-and I want this. I really, really do. I just want to make sure I’m doing a good job.”

Alya slowly removed her hands. “You are doing a good job. You’ve got to take time to adjust, and learn what you’re doing before you expect perfection. Okay?”

Marinette took a deep breath, and finally, her breathing evened out. “O-okay.”

“Okay. Good. I’m glad you know that.”

“To be honest,” Marinette said, “I-I think I’m so scared I’ve done something wrong because… b-because this might be my only chance to be a mom, you know? I’ve not had a good track record with relationships… you know that… and now that I have this opportunity… I don't want to mess it up.”

“Marinette,” Alya gently chided, frowning. “I’m happy you want this baby, but… this wouldn’t be your only chance! You’re still young. You’re amazing, talented, and beautiful—I’m confident you’ll meet the right person someday. Please don't tell me you made this decision just because you think it’ll be your only chance.”

“That’s not the only reason I’m doing it,” she insisted. “I’m doing this because I want this baby.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“That’s my girl.” Alya patted her shoulder. “And that’s what matters most. Just remember, Nino and I will be there for you when we can. And I’m sure your parents will, too.”

A sudden shock jolted through Marinette. She gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh, shit! My parents… I have to tell them!”

“You don’t have to just yet, if you need time.”

“I’ll tell them soon,” she promised, more to herself than Alya. “M-maybe I’ll go visit them. This feels like something that should be discussed in person rather than over the phone.”

Alya smiled. “I agree. And… the father…?”

Marinette tensed. The urge to cry struck her again, but she was far too exhausted to let her emotions win. Heaving a sigh, her shoulders hunched forward as she said, “He… doesn’t want to be involved.”

Alya’s face hardened. “That jerk—”

“I get it; we weren’t dating, barely knew each other, and he lives in a different country. It's not like I want to marry him or anything. I just felt he had the right to know.”

“But—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Marinette huffed. “I-I can’t force someone into something they don’t want, especially when it was an accident. That would make me a jerk. I don’t need him, anyway.”

Alya wrinkled her nose. “Even if he doesn’t want to be a father, he needs to pay child support, Marinette.”

“I make enough money to support myself and a baby. I don’t want to go to court, anyway.”

“Marinette—”

Marinette’s glare was almost more of a pout, silently pleading with her eyes for Alya to move on.

Alya sighed, though Marinette suspected this wouldn’t be the last she heard of it. “Fine! Fine. Have you told anyone else?”

“Tikki was the first to find out because she was there with me, but… there was someone I told before you.”

Thankfully, Alya didn’t seem offended—just confused. She blinked a couple of times before asking, “Who?”

Marinette offered a sheepish smile. “I… I told Chat Noir the night I found out.”

Alya blinked again. “Really? I thought you guys had to keep most things secret.”

“Well, right after I found out, there was an Akuma attack, and my pregnancy has sort of been causing issues with my Lucky Charm, so—”

Alya blinked again—then her eyes bugged out. “What? How?”

“I’ve got limited uses and a timer. Tikki says it’s to protect the baby.”

“Huh. Wow. I... I guess that makes sense, though I feel a little ashamed I hadn't taken notice, being the ex-Ladyblogger and all.”

Marinette smiled at that. “It’s fine. Probably for the best that most people haven’t noticed yet." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, last week I... I sort of had a breakdown about the whole, um. Pregnancy thing. And I told Chat Noir.”

Alya spoke slowly, as if measuring her responses. "And… how did that go?”

Marinette smiled. “...Actually, it went very well.”

“Really…?”

“Chat Noir is a really good friend,” she replied. “He always has been. He… he told me that he’d always be there for me. That meant a lot. He... he means a lot to me. Sometimes I forget how much he cares about me in return.”

Alya offered a grin that was slightly teasing. “You forget that he cares about you? The same guy who frequently gives up his life to protect you?”

Marinette’s cheeks burned. “Not what I meant. I just meant that I value him as a friend.”

“Right,” Alya chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you have him.”

Something fluttered in Marinette’s chest. “Me too.”

“And… I know I’ve asked this question before, but…” Alya leaned forward. “It’s been ten years, Marinette. Why haven't you and Chat Noir ever—”

“We can’t,” Marinette interrupted.

Alya’s expression flattened. “You didn’t even let me finish the question.”

“I didn’t have to,” said Marinette, her voice quiet and sad, “when I already knew what it was. I… I wish I could tell Chat Noir who I am. I wish I could know who he is. Trust me, I do. But… we can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“I know who you are. I have for ten years,” said Alya. “And we’ve been fine.”

“It’s different for Chat Noir and me.”

“How is it different?”

“If he and I were to slip up somehow, and Monarch discovered our identities, he could use that information against us. He could capture one of us and torture us for information. Or go after our families, our friends. A-and now that I’m pregnant, I have to be extra careful.” She pressed her hand over her stomach as the urge to protect her baby overwhelmed her. “I… I can’t imagine what Monarch would do if he found out my identity and held my child for ransom or worse. My child, for my Miraculous.”

Alya frowned, but her face softened. “I understand.”

“Besides,” Marinette said. “Even if that wasn’t a concern… it’s not my rule, anyway.”

Glancing at the kitchen, where Tikki was nibbling on a cookie, Alya sighed. “I know.”

Alya’s stay lasted until the cozy glow of twilight filled Marinette’s apartment. As the sun dipped behind the skyline, it washed the city in muted gold and lavender.

Marinette felt the need to sleep creeping back in, and a yawn forced its way out of her throat. Just as she was about to suggest they settle down and watch a movie, Mélodie began fussing. 

Alya scooped her baby up and began bouncing her, shushing her gently. Mélodie’s wails weren’t as loud as usual but quiet and raspy—a telltale sign of a sleepy baby. 

“We should probably get going. It’s past her bedtime,” Alya said, gently propping her baby over her shoulder and patting her back. Her nose wrinkled. “Woof. And she needs a fresh diaper. Do you mind if I change her before I go?”

“Can I do it?” Marinette asked. When Alya raised an eyebrow, Marinette flushed slightly. “Sorry, that sounded weird. It’s just… well, I need to learn. Can… can you teach me?”

“You’ve changed her before,” chuckled Alya.

“I know, but… I just want to make sure I’m doing everything right.”

Alya smiled warmly. “Of course.”

Though Marinette had changed diapers in the past, she appreciated Alya’s patient guidance, even if it mostly covered what she already knew. It was reassuring to have her techniques reaffirmed. Despite Mélodie’s squirming legs and occasional cranky protests, Marinette gave her a new diaper with practiced ease. 

When she finished, Mélodie settled down, her tiny hands waving in the air, and Marinette couldn’t help but smile at the slight sense of accomplishment blooming within her.

She leaned down and kissed Mélodie’s cheek. “You be good for your maman.”

Mélodie gurgled in response.

“And you,” said Alya, smiling at Marinette as she picked Mélodie back up. “Stop being so hard on yourself. I know you worry yourself sick sometimes, but I mean it when I say you’ll be an amazing mom.”

Marinette smiled. “I’ll try.”

Alya kissed both of her cheeks. “You can always call me if you need me.”

Not for the first time tonight, she was so grateful for her best friend. “I know.”

“And Marinette....” Alya paused in the doorway. “I’m so proud of you, girl. And so happy for you, too! I'm excited for Mélodie to have a new friend to play with."

Marinette squeezed her in the tightest hug she could manage without hurting either of their babies. “I love you!”

“I love you, too. Have a good night.”

And then they were gone, leaving Marinette’s apartment feeling small once more.

The familiar ache of loneliness settled in her chest.

But that was okay.

In less than a year, her home would feel more lively than ever.

Chapter Text

Marinette jolted awake to the insistent buzz of her phone announcing an Akuma alert. 

She groaned, arching up from her bed with all the vim and vigor of a zombie. Her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Loose strands of her hair stuck to her cheek, and her nightshirt clung uncomfortably to her back, courtesy of the night sweats she’d just recently developed and immediately loathed. 

She tugged the fabric with a grimace, peeling it away from her skin. Her eyes fell to the empty trash bin near her bed, and she nudged it away with her foot. Not too far, though. She’d probably need it soon enough. Waking today to find it empty was a rare luxury—one she was sure would be temporary.

Mornings had never been her favorite. Now, they were a personal hell.

Her phone buzzed again. She groaned louder, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes like she could rub the exhaustion away. It didn't matter how many hours she managed to sleep;  she could get a full eight or only two, and the bone-deep fatigue would still cling to her like a shadow, unrelenting and wholly unwelcome.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. A wave of nausea hit her, and she loomed over the trash bin—

It subsided after a dizzying moment. Barely.

Tikki flew over, dangling the still-alarming phone in her paws. “Marinette, there’s an Akuma at the Louvre.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks,” Marinette yawned. After a few lethargic misses, she finally hit the button to silence the alert. She dragged herself toward the bathroom. “Just… give me a moment. Gotta pee.”

She always needed to, these days.

Tikki frowned, yet said nothing.

After a bathroom break, a quick tooth-brushing, and an attempt at wrangling her hair into a bun, Marinette felt slightly more alive. Tikki hovered, flitting back and forth with thinly veiled impatience. As usual, she kept her judgment non-verbal, and Marinette wasn't sure whether it was because Tikki knew she was struggling with her pregnancy symptoms or because she feared it would only result in being snapped at. 

Best not to ask.

(Not that she snapped at her Kwami often, or ever at all—but an expectant mother’s emotions were always unpredictable. As Tikki had said a few days ago.

Marinette had bitten her tongue to keep from proving Tikki's point by feeling offended.)

“Alright,” Marinette said, her voice still husky from sleep. “Tikki, spots on.”

There was nothing on the face of the planet more embarrassing than vomiting in front of a reporter—but knowing they caught it on film increased the humiliation tenfold.

Ladybug had tried so hard to control herself. She’d kept the awful churning feeling contained throughout the fight, even while spinning with her yo-yo and leaping from rooftop to rooftop. And all her hard work had been undone in a matter of seconds. Once the fight was over, and the adrenaline had worn off, the nausea had suddenly become so overwhelming that she’d barely been able to mutter a meek “excuse me” before clapping a hand over her mouth, taking three steps toward some bushes, and letting it all out. 

And then she’d been so mortified that she had zipped away without another word.

(At least Monarch’s latest villain had only required one Lucky Charm, so she needn't worry about her transformation timing out. Small blessings.)

Now, she watched from a rooftop as Chat Noir smoothed things over with the camera crew. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but from his loose stance and occasional exaggerated laugh, things seemed to be going well. He hadn’t needed to be forceful, though that was hardly ever necessary. However, reporters were reporters, and they never shied from a juicy story.

Ladybug looked away, blinking fast as tears blurred her vision. She hated that Chat Noir had to clean up her mess. She hated even more that she’d run. That wasn’t how she liked to handle things. Still, she was grateful he'd immediately come to her defense. 

He was a damn good partner.

When she glanced back, half expecting she might still have to go down there and face the shame, Chat Noir was already leaping away. He returned to her side moments later and Ladybug hastily wiped her eyes.

(She cried too easily these days. Hormones and such. Thanks to her pregnancy, the changes in her mood were like flipping a switch.)

Her partner sat beside her and offered his usual charming smile, which made her heartbeat settle. “I got them to delete the video.”

She sniffed. “You did?” she asked, her voice scratchy.

He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, sort of.” He placed a hand on her back, rubbing gently. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “What do you mean, ‘sort of?’”

“They refused to delete it,” he said, shrugging. “So… I kinda just grabbed the camera and deleted it myself.”

Despite how awful she felt, that made her laugh. “Oh, Kitty! Seriously? Did you make them mad?”

He shrugged, wearing that shit-eating grin she always loved. “They'll live.” 

She leaned into him. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for. You sure you’re okay?”

Ladybug let out a long breath, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head on her arms. “I feel like I’m rotting.”

Chat Noir kept rubbing her back, slow and steady, easing the tension from her shoulders. “You’re not rotting. Pretty sure you’re doing the opposite.”

She gave a weak grunt and looked away.

“Why do you feel like you’re rotting?” he asked.

She sighed, long and heavy. “Getting out of bed these last few days has been hard. I’m constantly exhausted and nauseous. Headaches, mood swings, every smell makes me want to throw up—and…" A faint blush colored her cheeks. When the corner of Chat Noir’s mask raised, she dragged her hand through her bangs and sighed, gesturing briefly to her chest. “I’m sensitive and sore in places.”

He blinked. “I’m learning a lot about pregnancy already.”

She snorted. “You and me both.”

“I’m sorry you’re having such a rough time. How long do those symptoms typically last?”

“My friend said it usually gets better after the first trimester, but…” She yawned. Chat Noir’s back rub was almost too relaxing; she was practically falling asleep. “I don’t know exactly how many weeks I am, so it’s hard to judge how long this might last. I'll find out tomorrow, though. First ultrasound.”

Chat Noir’s ears perked up. His smile was immediate. “First ultrasound, huh? Are you excited?”

"Mostly nervous.”

“I think that’s normal,” he said. “I hope it goes well.”

“Me, too.”

They slipped into a comfortable quiet. When Chat Noir removed his hand from her back, Ladybug silently mourned the warmth of his touch. 

It was a shame he stopped. Why had he stopped?

(Could he start again?

His touch had been so nice—nice enough to fall asleep to.

Whyyyy had he stopped...)

She watched people strolling the streets below, but the quiet between them stretched too long. The pressure to speak built in her chest.

Chat Noir was the first person she’d told about the pregnancy. 

What was he thinking?

She hadn’t talked to him since deciding to keep the baby. It had been a few days since they'd last had a real conversation; her heightened sensitivity to smells and constant fatigue recently kept her from patrols, and she always left quickly after Akuma attacks to ensure her identity remained secret, thanks to the return of her timer.

...How would he feel about her keeping the baby?

Not that his feelings would change her decision—it was already made, and she had no regrets. Chat Noir was her partner, her teammate in protecting Paris, and her friend.

He deserved to know. Didn't he?

She... wanted him to know.

Would he resent the added responsibility of handling more work while she rested? The thought made her stomach twist. She wouldn’t blame him if he felt frustrated, especially if it came to a point where she might need to put a pause on being Ladybug.

Oh, god. That was a real possibility. There was no way she'd be able to fight Akuma when she was nine months pregnant, carrying around the weight of a baby with a stomach large enough to prevent her from moving around her apartment with ease, let alone fight!

When her pregnancy reached that point, could she really leave him to face battles alone...?

Would he even be okay with that?

Just tell him, she thought, tension nagging her from the inside. He’s your partner. Your friend. He’ll understand.

But what if he gets mad at me? her anxiety fought back.

He won’t.

He’s Chat Noir. Above all, he has always been supportive.

He's one of my best friends.

Before she could overthink it any further, the words tumbled out of her mouth. “I’m keeping it,” she blurted. “The baby.”

Chat Noir blinked, momentarily taken aback, but his pause lasted only a heartbeat. His expression softened, and a warm smile stretched along his face. There wasn’t a trace of judgment or resentment in his eyes—only kindness.

“That’s wonderful, Ladybug,” he said, his voice carrying genuine warmth. “I’m happy for you. Congratulations.”

“R... really?” she asked hesitantly, her fingers fidgeting with her yo-yo string. “You’re not mad?”

His brow furrowed slightly, head tilting, ever the curious cat. To her surprise, he smiled. “Why would I be mad?”

She shrugged. “Because, I… I won't be attending as many patrols, and as my pregnancy progresses, I... might need to take a break from being Ladybug, which means more work for you. I guess I feel bad because protecting the city is my responsibility, too, and what if I need to stop being Ladybug for a while? If something bad happens while I’m gone, it would be all my fault b-because I wasn’t there— ”

“My Lady.” He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed, granting her the pleasure of a quick hug before he pulled away. “Don’t overthink it. This cat’s got Paris covered. If you need to take a break, you can. Sure, I’d miss having you around, but I know it wouldn’t be forever. Your health—yours and your baby’s—comes first.”

Ladybug exhaled, the tightness knotted in her muscles easing slightly. Relief flooded through her veins.

How could she be silly enough to think that he'd ever be mad at her?

“Thank you, Kitty," she said. "That… that means a lot to me.”

“Your baby is more important than Monarch,” he said. “Do whatever you need to. I’ve got your back.”

Her smile grew. “It feels strange hearing you say that.”

“Hearing me say what?”

“My baby. I guess it still hasn’t fully sunk in yet… that I’m going to be a mom. I just… I hope I’m making the right decision.”

Chat Noir’s playful demeanor faded as he regarded her thoughtfully. After a brief pause, he shifted closer, meeting her eyes. “You want this baby, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “More than anything.”

He beamed. “Then you’ve made the right decision!"

Ladybug returned his grin. She rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers drifting absentmindedly to her stomach. “Sometimes, I think you haven’t changed a bit over the last ten years, but… that’s not true.”

He snorted. “What do you mean?”

She patted his arm. “You’ve grown up.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling softly in his chest. “We both have.”

She closed her eyes. Chat Noir’s shoulder was solid beneath her cheek, and his steady presence made her feel grounded, like she wasn’t carrying the weight of her situation alone.

But she would be.

She would be alone.

It would be just her and the baby. No husband, wife, or even a roommate.

Her parents would probably help when they could, sure—but they had their own lives. The bakery was booming (as always), and they had each other to care for. She couldn’t ask them to drop everything to help her raise her child.

And Alya? Alya already had her hands full with a husband, a baby, and a demanding job. Ladybug couldn't burden her with more, even if Alya insisted she'd help.

No. This was on her.

Just her.

(Oh, god. She was terrified.)

She wanted this. She wanted this. She wanted her baby!

…That didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be hard, though.

That she wasn’t scared out of her wits.

(Would childbirth hurt as much as people said? Would she tear? Would she need to be cut open? Would she die?

She didn’t want to die. If she died, then her baby would have to go into her parents’ custody, and she couldn’t saddle them with that. 

Maybe Alya would adopt it.

Maybe—)

“Hey,” Chat Noir said after a while, his voice holding a playful edge. “I can literally feel you worrying right now. You’re spoiling the good work my back rubs did. Stop that.”

Ladybug flushed slightly, removing her head from his shoulder and looking away. “I can’t help it.”

“My Lady.” He gently cupped her chin, and she instinctively turned to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. The other night, when you first told me you’re pregnant, I meant it when I said you’ll be an amazing mom.”

A small smile danced at the edges of her lips. “Yeah?”

“I know it,” he said, dropping his hand. “You’ve been caring for this city for ten years. You do whatever you can to keep the citizens safe. You always put others first. You’ve got more than enough love and patience to give. Not only that, but you’re the strongest person I know! You’re gonna give that baby a good life. I have no doubt.”

A lump formed in her throat, and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “You make it sound like it'll be easy.”

“It won’t be,” he admitted with a lopsided grin. “But nothing worth it ever is, right?”

She huffed a soft laugh, her chest tightening at his words. Hearing that kind of faith in her felt good—especially when it came from him. Her head found its place on his shoulder once more. “Thanks, Chaton.”

He rested his head on top of hers. “Anytime, my Lady.”

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, the heat of the sun warming her shoulders as it cast its golden rays over their rooftop perch. Ladybug’s hand lingered on her stomach, and her lips curved into a smile.

Chat Noir was right.

It wouldn’t be easy. Being a single mother would be grueling. When her baby arrived, she’d probably never sleep through the night again. She’d be run ragged, and her baby would need every minute of her free time, so her hobbies would have to sit on the back burner for a while.

Her life wouldn’t be just hers anymore. She’d have to spend every waking moment tending to her child. 

But it would be worth it.

Because she’d be a mother. And that was something she’d wanted for as long as she could remember. It had been one of her biggest dreams as a child, and even well into her teen and adult years. Get into the fashion industry, become a famous designer, marry Adrien Agreste, and start a family.

(Well. She could check two of those off her list, at least.)

Now that she had the chance to start a family of her own, she was going to take it. Even if it wasn't in the way she'd always dreamed of.

Even if it was exhausting.

Even if it was the most challenging thing she’d ever do.

She was Ladybug, for crying out loud! And Ladybug never backed down from a challenge.

Besides, she wouldn’t be completely alone. Not all the time, anyway. She didn’t want to have to rely on anyone—it was her decision to go at this alone, after all—but deep down, she knew her parents would jump at the chance to help. Whether she asked for it or not, they'd be there with advice, food, and far too many gifts.

...Oh.

Oh, shit. Her parents.

“I need to tell my parents,” she said softly.

"You haven't yet?" he asked.

“No, I... I’m nervous.”

He tilted his head. “Why? I thought you were close with them.”

“I am. It’s just… they worry. A lot. And the idea of me raising a baby on my own... that’ll probably scare them.”

He frowned slightly. “Ah. Got it.”

“I-I don’t think they’ll be mad,” she said quickly. “I’m just worried I’ll disappoint them somehow. I-I don’t know. They think so highly of me, having a successful career at my age and doing well on my own, and I don’t—” She sighed. Her voice shrank. “I don’t want them to think I’m throwing all that away.”

“You wouldn’t be throwing all that away,” he soothed. “You’d be having a baby! That’s not… that’s not throwing your life away, Ladybug. Not if you want the child. If you didn’t want it, that’d be a different story, but… this is something you want. Wouldn’t they understand that?”

...He wasn’t wrong.

Her parents had always encouraged her to pursue her dreams, whether it was her academic dream of a fashion degree or something silly like becoming a knitting fairy. They supported her dreams no matter how big, small, or unattainable they seemed. 

But this was different. Wasn’t it?

This was an entirely different dream. It required a massive change, and she'd practically have to relearn how to exist. 

Having a baby, especially as a single mother, was... well, it was huge!

“I guess I’m just afraid they’ll think I’m making a bad decision,” she said. "Or a mistake."

Chat Noir's voice was calm, though firm around the edges. “Okay, I’m gonna say something, and I hope it doesn’t sound harsh—”

“Okay.”

"It doesn’t matter what they think," he finished. "This is your life. Not theirs. You get to decide how it goes. If you’re ready—if you want this and you can give your baby a great life—that’s what matters. Not whether anyone else approves.”

She nodded slowly, running her fingers over her stomach. “It’s not even disapproval I’m afraid of. It’s... the look. You know? That anxious look parents give when they’re really worried but trying not to say anything. They know I want kids someday, just... probably not like this. Not... alone.”

“Things don’t always go as we plan,” he said, softer. “Parents have their own picture of how they want their kids to be, the direction they want them to go in. But life isn't that cut and dry. Kids grow into adults who can make their own decisions." His brows furrowed, and a dark shadow clouded over his gaze. "I wish more parents understood that and supported their kids instead of shutting them out. Or pretending they don’t exist just because they don’t grow up how they envisioned. That their kid’s path might not be what they expected, but that doesn’t make it wrong, or make them less worthy of love.”

…Whoa. 

Um. Okay.

(Is that what he assumed about her parents? Or… was he talking about himself?

She felt for him, if he was.)

Her confusion must’ve shown on her face because his eyes widened, the aforementioned cloud dissipating like mist in the wind. He hunched his shoulders and said, “Sorry. I’m sure your parents aren’t like that. I just… I know the sting of parental rejection all too well, I guess.”

Ladybug frowned. She rubbed his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please, continue.”

“...Okay,” she said, figuring it was a sore subject. “I guess I don’t really have a reason to be scared to tell them. I know they’ll accept my decision, I just… I also know they’ll worry. And I hate to make them worry.”

“It’s natural for a parent to worry about their child,” he said, though he wore a somber expression. “Most parents, anyway. But you can’t be afraid to tell them just because they’ll worry. From what you’ve told me about your parents… I think they’d be happy for you. Even if they’re nervous.”

Ladybug smiled. How did her Kitty always know the right thing to say?

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “And come to think of it, my Maman was my age when she had me. Though, she was married to my Papa by then…”

“Ah, marriage,” Chat Noir sighed wistfully, though he wore a playful smile. “That thing everyone our age seems to be doing.”

“Except us,” she replied.

He smirked, and his eyes widened, sparkling with a mischievous glint. “You know, that gives me an idea—”

“Don’t,” she laughed. “Don’t you dare.”

He ignored her, resting his entire body weight against her, and she pushed back with a grunt. 

“We could get married,” he cooed. 

She pushed him off. “And what about our secret identities, huh?”

“Easy. We’ll just wear masks at home. We'd be like superhero roommates, except we're married. You sew, right? You can make us masks.”

“And we'd wear them all the time? That seems uncomfortable.”

“It would be,” he said. “But it’d be worth it to be married to you!”

“I don’t think my parents could handle the idea that I’m pregnant and marrying a superhero.”

“You may have a point,” he sighed, his flair for the dramatics ever present as he pressed the back of his palm against his forehead. “Oh, woe is me! Ladybug has rejected my marriage proposal. Again!”

She snorted. “You ask me to marry you every few months, and you never mean it.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “How do you know I don’t?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “You’ve been joking about the two of us getting married since we were fourteen, and I have never once seen a ring."

"Let's form a marriage pact. If neither of us is married by the time we're thirty—"

"No," she chuckled. "I want to marry for love, not convenience."

"Ouch," he laughed.

"Besides," she said, "I can’t marry someone whose first name I don’t know.”

“I could tell you.”

“It’s against the rules. You know that as well as I do.”

His expression flattened, and he grumbled, “I know.”

“Anyway,” Ladybug said, leaning back against the rooftop and stretching her legs out. “I’ll tell my parents soon. Maybe tomorrow, after my appointment. I don’t know.”

He laid next to her. “What time is your appointment tomorrow?”

“Nine.”

“I hope it goes well. Tell me all about it tomorrow night!”

She released a soft laugh, blowing her bangs out of her face. “You just want an excuse to hang out.”

He grinned and poked her side. “I always love looking for excuses to spend time with you.”

She squeaked and squirmed away from his touch. "Don't! You know I'm ticklish."

He poked her again, and she seized his wrist, admonishing him with a glare. He held up his hands in defense, though his impish grin remained. Like a child, he stuck out his tongue, and even more infantile, Ladybug mimicked him. 

After a moment locked in an absurdly intense staring contest, they both cracked and burst into laughter.

“Sorry for bugging you with this pregnancy stuff so much, by the way,” she said once her laughter faded. “It’s just, I’m really nervous, and talking to you about it is comforting for some reason. You always have good advice.”

Chat Noir’s smile only grew. “You’re not bugging me at all. In fact, I appreciate it. Almost as much as I appreciate that pun.”

She grunted, all the response that deserved.

He smirked, but his expression was sincere. “I promise, I enjoy hearing about it. Getting to know these little details about your life… it’s comforting to me. ”

“Oh.” She felt warm inside. Too warm. Before she could process the fuzziness in her chest, she noted the sun was beginning to dip down the horizon and figured it was best to go home and start dinner before the nausea inevitably returned and rendered her unable to stomach any food. She sat up. “Well, it’s late. I’d better get going. I’ll meet you at our spot tomorrow night?”

“Of course!” His eyes flicked away from her. Then, with feigned nonchalance, he asked, “At this... appointment... do you know if they, by chance, give you a, uh, photo or something? Something you could, maybe, take home... and show a certain somebody...?” He pressed the tips of his pointer fingers together and looked at her with such ridiculously cute kitten eyes that she had no choice but to laugh.

“Yes, they do,” she said. “If you’re good, you can see it. Tomorrow.”

Chat Noir beamed. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my Lady.”

Well.

There they were.

Ladybug stared at the sonogram image in her trembling hands and took a deep breath to try to keep the tears at bay. The little figure on the glossy paper was so small—nothing more than a barely recognizable shape of a person.

And yet—

That was her baby.

She took a shaky breath, willing herself to keep her composure, the sheer intensity of her emotions squeezing her chest like a powerful pair of fists. 

Since the ultrasound appointment, she'd kept the tears at bay. Throughout it all, Alya had been right by her side—rubbing her arm, talking to her, and helping ease her nerves, even if it'd been a bit awkward. And though Marinette hadn't cried, she'd noticed the mist in her best friend’s eyes as they both stared at the fetus and listened to the tiny, flickering heartbeat.

Initially, Marinette had been in too much shock to cry. Too stunned by the enormity of it all.

But now—

Now, as she stared at the sonogram photo in her hands—

Moisture beaded in her eyes, and the first tear finally cascaded down her cheek, sliding along her mask and down her chin. 

That was her baby. Her child. And just hours before, she had seen them for the first time and heard their heartbeat.

Their heartbeat.

It was starting to feel more real by the minute.

Despite everything—her lack of a proper diet, coffee addiction, and improper sleep schedule—her baby was alive and well. 

Relief flooded through Ladybug's veins like a rush of cool water. 

As she waited by Notre Dame’s north tower, bathing in the bright moonlight, she clutched the copy of the sonogram in one hand and wiped her tears with the other. The photo was in black and white and was incredibly grainy, but Ladybug didn’t care. She’d treasure it forever. One copy was already on her fridge at home, another with her parents, and the third remained in her trembling fingers, well-worn from her gaze.

Just... wow!

Wow!

That was a baby! Not just any baby, but her baby!

Her baby!

(Her baby, her baby, oh… she was pregnant, a soon-to-be mother, and that was her baby!)

The thud of someone landing behind her startled Ladybug, but as she turned and saw her partner, she beamed.

“Kitty!” she exclaimed, the giddiness from her appointment overtaking her as she leaped to her feet and wrapped him in a tight hug. “You’re here.”

“Hi,” he laughed, returning the embrace. “Well, look at you! You seem excited.”

“I’m feeling a lot of things right now!”

“I’d be more surprised if you weren’t,” he said. As he sat on the edge of the tower roof, his legs swung over the side, and he patted the spot next to him. 

Ladybug obliged and sat beside him. She clutched the sonogram image to her chest, though Chat Noir—ever the observant cat he was—immediately took notice.

“What’s in your hand?” he asked, ears perked with interest. 

Her fingers began to tremble again. She swallowed, then wordlessly passed the image into his hands. Holding the photo up to his face, he squinted to get a better look. 

He glanced at her. “Is this…?”

She nodded.

With his mouth slightly parted, his eyes sparkled alight with wonder. “Wow,” he breathed, turning the image in his hand—careful not to poke it with his claws. 

“I-I know it’s a little hard to see,” she said, nervously rubbing her arm and glancing back and forth. “Especially in the dark. Oh, you have night vision, um. Never mind. B-but that’s, uh... yeah. That’s it! I mean, that’s… them?”

He whirled his head to look at her. “Twins!?”

Ladybug laughed. “No, no! I mean—god, no. I meant ‘them’ as in… I don’t know their gender yet, and referring to them as 'it' feels slightly wrong.”

“Oh,” he breathed, his gaze returning to the photo. He went silent, simply staring at the sonogram image in awe.

“I-I’m already twelve weeks,” she admitted. “Which is farther than I expected. And everything is looking fine. I’ve been terrified that I’d unknowingly done something wrong before I knew I was pregnant, b-but the baby is healthy. They’re growing as they should be.”

A slow smile began to spread across Chat Noir’s face. He pointed at the photo. “You can already see their little head!”

“I-I know,” she said, sniffling. She wiped her eyes before the tears could spill, but as she watched Chat Noir, she noted that his eyes were slightly wet, too.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“When I visited my parents after the ultrasound,” she continued, “my Maman and Papa started crying. I-I mean, my mom just had a few tears, but my dad…” She laughed. “He was sobbing. He’s so dramatic. He demanded copies of the sonogram to put in his wallet.”

His eyes widened. “You told them?”

She nodded, nervously fidgeting with her fingers. “Y-yeah. I, um. Our conversation yesterday and the ultrasound this morning gave me the courage I needed. I put the sonogram in a little gift box for them to open, and they—" A breathy laugh rose from her lips. "My Papa immediately started bawling. I mean, literal snot and tears. He's so excited to be a Grandpère."

"And... your mom...?"

"She's happy, too," Ladybug responded with a smile. "Worried, of course, but happy. I... I was scared for nothing. Which I knew I was. They support my decision entirely. It’s really nice to know they both have faith in me. They're wonderful parents. I'm really lucky to have them."

His smile was genuine, though something unreadable flickered through his expression. It was gone as quickly as it appeared. “That’s great, Ladybug. I’m glad you have such supportive parents.”

“They’re concerned about me doing this alone, but they offered to help me whenever they can. Which I appreciate, even if I'm determined to do this on my own, too."

She knew her partner was listening; one of his cat ears was tilted toward her. Yet his whole attention was fixed on the image in his hands. He stared at it, a broad smile spreading across his face and something soft dancing through his eyes. 

Something she couldn’t quite put a name to. It felt tender, like a warm hug. 

Since he hadn’t said anything, she continued, “A-anyway, I’m just glad I had a friend with me today because I would’ve been really nervous going for my first ultrasound alone. It was, um. Kinda weird?”

He finally turned his head to look at her. “Weird, how?”

“W-well.” Her cheeks warmed. “Y-you know how most ultrasounds in medical dramas have the radiologist use the big wand on the stomach with the warm, gooey stuff?”

He nodded.

“Well, um.” She tapped her fingers together. “That is not what they did for me."

"What did they do to you?" he asked, an amused lilt to his tone. "Probe you?"

She laughed. "Um. Sort of?"

His eyes grew comically wide. "Ladybug, what? I was joking!"

"I-I know! It's okay! They, uhh... oh, god. I regret saying this now."

"Well, now you have to tell me," he said. "I'm shaking in my boots."

"It's fine, it's normal, they just used a wand that goes… inside? N-not my stomach, but my…”

She glanced down, and her cheeks warmed.

Chat Noir’s eyes widened even larger. Akin to dinner plates.

She quickly elaborated, “B-but it didn’t hurt! It just felt weird. Like you said, an alien probe.”

He burst out laughing. “An alien probe?”

Her cheeks grew hotter as embarrassment welled inside her. “Th-that’s what it felt like!”

He stared at the photo. “Let’s just hope this baby comes out the traditional way and doesn’t burst from your chest like a Xenomorph.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“You’ve lost picture privileges—give me my Chestburster back,” she said, snatching the photo from his hand. 

Chat Noir laughed harder. “You should name them that!”

Ladybug scoffed, clutching the photo against her chest. “Be serious.”

“Fine, fine.” He took a deep breath to steady himself, and as the laughter faded, he wiped his eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you, Ladybug. It’s nice to see you so cheerful. I know you've been really nervous about this whole thing. I keep telling you, but I'll say it again: you’re going to be an amazing mother. I don’t doubt it for a moment.”

She blushed. “Thank you. And thank you for listening to me talk about it. Even though I have to do this as a single parent… it’s nice to have my parents, and friends like you, remind me everything will be okay.”

“And to make you laugh,” he said, gently nudging her with his elbow.

She snorted. “That’s right.”

“Have you thought of names yet?”

“No,” Ladybug admitted with a slight shake of her head. “It’s still too early. I don’t even know the sex yet. And even if I did have something in mind, there’s no way I’d tell you.”

He gasped, feigning outrage. “What? Why not?”

“Do our secret identities ring a bell?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, should we ever accidentally meet in person, telling you my baby's name might reveal my identity.”

“Noted. Can I at least help you think of a few names?”

“No.”

“Why not?” he whined.

“Because,” she said, “I know you’d try to talk me into something ridiculous, like naming my baby after you.”

“Well, of course!” he said, throwing his hands into the air. “What name could possibly be better than Chat Noir? It’s cute, memorable, and ensures your kid has the purrfect role model.”

Ladybug groaned, rolling her eyes even as a laugh bubbled in her chest. “Yeah, no thanks. The last thing I need is my child doing backflips off rooftops and subscribing to Puns Weekly. ”

“I think you’re out of luck there, ‘Bug; you do backflips off rooftops, and you hang out with me. This kid is going to be an acrobatic punster whether you like it or not.”

Ladybug looked down at the picture. “What a cruel fate for an innocent child.”

“What? Becoming like me?”

“Yes.”

Chat Noir clutched his chest dramatically, rearing back as if she’d struck him. “You wound me, my Lady.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Not true. I’m dying right this second.” 

“Oh, no,” she said sarcastically. 

He flopped onto the ground. “Dead now.”

“Dead people can’t speak.”

He didn’t respond.

She gently nudged his ribs with her foot. He clapped a hand tightly over her ankle, and she squealed, jerking it back. 

“Gotcha,” he said with a wink.

“You’re acting childish,” she laughed.

“I’m just preparing you for your future.”

“I think I’m prepared enough, thanks.”

He rested his head on his arms, and a stillness settled between them, broken only by the faint hum of the city below. For a moment, Chat Noir’s usual playful energy seemed to dim as he turned his gaze upward, watching the evening clouds drift lazily across the navy blue sky.

After a moment, he looked over at her with something raw and unguarded in his eyes—then suddenly looked away. Softly, almost as if testing the weight of every word on his tongue, he said, “If it’s a girl, what about... Émilie?”

Ladybug blinked, caught off guard. The name hung in the air, and something about it resonated with her. 

Émilie. 

…Huh.

It was beautiful. Elegant, even. A name she could picture herself saying over and over again.

It also reminded her of the name she’d used to daydream about as a teenager, fantasizing about marrying Adrien and having a daughter named Emma. Émilie was close enough to feel connected, yet offered a more formal grace. Emma could serve as the perfect nickname, or… Émi.

…Émi was cute.

(Something about the name Émilie was achingly familiar, though... like she’d heard it somewhere before.

In fact, she could've sworn she had.

But she couldn’t quite place her finger on it.)

“That’s…” she said, her voice quieter. “That’s a beautiful name.”

Chat Noir glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his lips curving into a soft, almost wistful smile. “Yeah,” he said simply, as if the name meant something more to him than he was letting on.

Ladybug tilted her head, studying him, but decided not to press. If Émilie held some hidden significance, she supposed it was better if she didn’t know. For now, she was just grateful for his suggestion.

“Still,” she added teasingly, “don’t think this means you get to name my baby. I’m not choosing a name yet, so don’t even try it.”

He grinned. “Fair enough.”

“I’ll consider the name in the future,” she said. “But no promises.”

They sat in comfortable silence for only a beat before Chat Noir said, “If your baby is a boy, you should name him Sonic the Hedgehog.”

Ladybug smacked her palm against her forehead and groaned.

Chapter Text

Adrien stood before his mirror, buttoning up his crisp white shirt with practiced ease. He squinted as he styled his bangs in their signature swoop, tousling the loose strands to make them look playfully messy. With one final glance at his reflection, he nodded. 

He'd been looking forward to attending a dinner with his friends all week. It was a rare treat—no mask or responsibilities. Just himself, Nino, Alya, and Marinette.

A familiar mix of nerves and anticipation fluttered in his stomach. Spending time with his friends was always a highlight, but due to conflicting schedules, he rarely got to see them these days. While Alya and Nino were occupied with their careers and their baby, Marinette lived on the other side of the city, often working overtime at her job, and Adrien—

Well. 

He was… busy, he supposed. His students certainly kept him busy. Still, he almost always had evenings free, while his friends seldom shared a day off. 

“You’re going to be late,” Plagg said, hovering nearby with Adrien’s phone in his paws. “And you still haven’t fed me my cheese.”

“Be patient,” Adrien responded, adjusting his shirt collar before accepting his phone from Plagg. “I’m almost ready.”

"You’re putting in an awful lot of effort for dinner with friends," Plagg said, his voice dripping with mischief. 

Adrien rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. "It’s just dinner, Plagg. I haven’t seen them in two months! I want to look somewhat presentable.”

The Kwami floated closer. "You’re wearing your nice shirt.”

“All my shirts are nice shirts.”

“Not the one with cats and tacos printed on it.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Wear it, then.”

Adrien ignored Plagg, his gaze drifting to the small collection of colognes on his dresser, unsure which to use. 

Don’t overthink it, he told himself.

He reached for his go-to bottle, spritzing his wrists and collar.

“Well,” Plagg said, his nose wrinkling, “if you’re trying to impress her, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t wear the taco cat shirt because it would not pair well with that cologne.”

Adrien set the bottle back on his dresser, turning to look at Plagg with an eyebrow raised. “Impress who?”

“Your only friend who’s still single,” teased Plagg. “The one you had the hots for in lycée.”

Adrien’s cheeks reddened slightly. He disregarded the comment. Instead, he left his bedroom and walked downstairs to his kitchen. He pulled a couple of slices of Camembert from the fridge, handed one to Plagg, and placed the other in his shirt pocket for later. Then, he grabbed his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and slipped it on. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said. “Please behave tonight.”

“I always behave,” replied Plagg before disappearing into Adrien’s jacket.

Adrien rolled his eyes. After saying goodbye to his cats, he left his townhouse, locking the door behind him. 

Contrary to Plagg’s warning, Adrien arrived at the restaurant early.

The steady hum of Parisian nightlife filled the air as he stood beside the front doors, his hands tucked into his pockets to keep from nervously fidgeting. The restaurant’s glowing sign illuminated the cobblestone street, its bold letters casting a warm amber light on the sidewalk.

Adrien shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing at his phone for the time.

Eight-fifteen. Fifteen minutes early.

His gaze wandered the street, watching couples strolling hand-in-hand and groups of friends laughing as they passed. The city always seemed so alive at night. His eyes instinctively flicked toward the rooftops, wondering if he’d spot a blur of red strolling through, but he knew there wasn’t much of a chance of seeing Ladybug tonight.

It wasn’t a patrol night, after all. Besides, she’d been teetering off from regular patrols lately due to her pregnancy symptoms. 

He’d see her again in a few days. Probably.

“Adrien! Over here!” a voice called out, pulling him from his thoughts.

Adrien turned his head, and his lips immediately curled into a smile as his eyes landed on Alya and Nino. In Nino’s arms was little Mélodie, her short brown curls bouncing gently in the evening breeze. She wore an adorable pair of overalls, though he noted she was missing one of her shoes. As he glanced at Alya, he saw it in her hand.

Adrien waved, stepping forward to greet them. “Hey! Good to see you.”

Alya wrapped him in a quick hug. “It’s been too long, Sunshine.”

Nino patted him on the back and gave him a fist bump. "‘Sup. You’re looking as polished as always.” 

“I try,” chuckled Adrien. 

“Sorry for bringing our kid,” said Nino. “We had a sitter for tonight, but they bailed.”

Adrien leaned down to tickle under the baby’s chin. “You say that like I mind.”

Mélodie squealed, her tiny legs kicking until her other shoe flew off her foot. It soared through the air before disappearing into a neatly trimmed row of decorative bushes. With an exasperated sigh, Alya crouched down, brushing a few branches aside as she reached in to retrieve it.

“What will it take for you to keep your shoes on, huh?” she asked in mock annoyance, dusting off the shoe before replacing both on her baby’s feet. 

“Don’t harsh on her style,” responded Nino, humor in his voice. “She’s just trying to express herself.”

Adrien laughed, but his attention shifted past them, scanning the street. 

No Marinette. His stomach dipped slightly before he caught himself. 

She’s probably just running a little late, he reasoned. Marinette had a penchant for being late (and delightfully chaotic.)

“She’s on her way,” Alya said, as if reading his mind. “Texted me a few minutes ago. You know how she is.”

Adrien nodded. “Yeah, I figured.”

While they waited outside the restaurant, they chatted. Though he laughed along with Alya’s story about her hectic work day, Adrien glanced at the street occasionally, searching for a familiar face. 

It wasn’t long before she appeared from around the corner, slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed from the subtle evening chill. She wore a simple but tasteful dress, and her hair was pulled back in a loose bun with a few strands framing her face. When she made eye contact with him, she offered a lopsided smile and waved. 

Adrien’s breath caught for just a moment as he waved back.

“I-I’m here!” she said as she approached, adjusting her purse strap. “Sorry, I know I’m late. You wouldn’t believe how packed the Métro was.”

“Oh, girl, it’s fine,” said Alya. “The reservation is for eight-thirty. We only said eight-fifteen so you’d leave a little earlier.”

Marinette scoffed. “Hey!”

Alya smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Despite her annoyance, Marinette laughed. “How do I fall for that every time?”

Mélodie cooed and reached her arms out for Marinette. Nino handed her over, and Marinette melted at the infant’s happy babbling. 

“Well, hi there,” she said, bouncing her. “Isn’t it a little late for you to be out?”

“Sitter bailed last minute,” grumbled Alya.

“Well, that’s okay. She can have fun with us. Isn’t that right?” When Marinette blew a raspberry against her cheek, Mélodie practically screamed in delight. 

“You say that, but just wait until she’s cranky and crying because she’s tired,” Nino said.

Marinette smiled warmly. “I’m prepared for anything.”

Alya returned her grin, and Adrien felt as if a silent conversation passed between their eyes, to which only they were privy. 

He looked at Nino in question, who shrugged, leaned in, and whispered, “I stopped trying to understand their telepathy long ago.”

Adrien snickered.

They entered the restaurant, settling at a booth near a window. The table was a perfect fit for four people, though to accommodate a baby, the staff brought over a high chair, which they placed at the end. Alya set Mélodie in the seat. While Nino and Alya sat together on one side of the table, Adrien stood to the side to allow Marinette to enter the booth first, but she paused and smiled awkwardly, shaking her head.

“Actually, um—do you mind if I sit on the outside?” she asked. “I-I don’t want to be a bother if I need to get up to use the restroom.”

Adrien nodded. “Oh, sure.” He slipped into the booth without complaint. “But you wouldn’t be a bother.”

“You underestimate how many times I might need it,” she laughed. Then her eyes widened, and a blush crept up her neck. “W-wait, no—that sounds bad. I-I promise I’m not like, having stomach problems—”

“It’s okay. I didn’t assume that,” Adrien said, his smile remaining. He bit his lower lip to keep his laughter at bay. Marinette was adorably silly, but he didn’t want to embarrass her any more than she already seemed to be.

She sat down next to him, her cheeks still rosy. Adrien scooted as close to the wall as possible to give her space.

The waiter came around to collect their drink orders. Wanting to treat his friends, Adrien ordered a bottle of white wine for the table, but curiously, Marinette requested a glass of water.

They perused the menus while Nino chatted animatedly about his job as a cinematographer, citing something about one of the cameras at the shoot malfunctioning and losing hours of footage, which set them behind schedule by a whole day. Alya mentioned being busy with her reporting career, working for the local News station. Afterward, Marinette shared details about how she’d been trying not to work so much overtime despite the busy fashion season to give her body a break from the stress.

“How about you, Adrien?” Alya asked. “How’s work?”

“Oh, you know,” he said with a shrug. “The life of a student counselor is busy, as always. But I love counseling. Feels good to be able to help kids with their problems.”

Marinette smiled at that. “I’m sure they appreciate you.”

The waiter returned with the bottle of wine, pouring their first glass into each of them. But when he went to pour some for Marinette, she politely declined. After collecting their food orders, the waiter set the bottle on the table and left them to converse.

Adrien couldn’t help but feel a little curious about why Marinette had declined the wine. Not that he was judging, but she seldom refused a Chardonnay when offered. When it came to alcohol, wine was her poison of choice.

“Taking a break from drinking?” he asked, smiling to assuage any possibility of her thinking he was being judgmental or forceful. 

Alya tensed.

Marinette returned his smile and laughed, though the sound was slightly shaky, tinged with a hint of anxiety. “You could say that.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. 

She nodded. “All good.” 

Again, she and Alya shared a look. It was as if they were having an entire conversation with their eyes alone. Adrien wanted to question it, to ask if everything really was okay, but—

Nino spoke before he had a chance. “Oh, hey! That new revolving sushi restaurant is finally open,” he said, scrolling through his phone. “I’ve been dying to try it out. You guys wanna go next week?”

“I’m in,” Adrien said with a grin. The thought of sharing sushi with his friends was exciting. He knew Marinette would love the idea, too. 

(It brought back fond memories of their lycée days when the four of them would gather at their favorite sushi spot for an after-school treat.

Sometimes, when Alya and Nino had other plans, it was just him and Marinette. The memories of their time alone together held a special place in his heart: quiet conversations over shared plates, how her eyes lit up when she tried something new, and the easy comfort of her presence.

Adrien missed that.)

“Oh.” Marinette chuckled awkwardly, rubbing her arm. “I-I’ll have to pass. Thank you, though.”

His heart sank.

“Whaaaat?” Nino asked. “I have never known you to refuse the chance to get all-you-can-eat nigiri!”

Alya elbowed her husband; he gasped and shot her an incredulous look.

“I-it’s not forever!” Marinette hurried to say. “I just, um… I sort of need to avoid raw fish right now.” She sipped her water, looking anywhere but at her friends.

“What?” snorted Nino. “No alcohol, no sushi… jeez, you sound like Alya when she was pregnant." He smirked. "You got something you need to tell us?”

Marinette gasped, sucking in her water. She choked, coughed, and spat her water onto the table, her face red and eyes wide.

“Nino!” Alya hissed. “You can’t just ask that!”

He raised his hands defensively. “I was joking!”

“It’s not a funny joke!”

Mélodie, wanting to be included in the conversation, began screaming. 

As Marinette continued to cough, Adrien gently patted her back and offered her his napkin. She accepted it, wiping her face and patting the table dry. However, her face was still undeniably red.

Goodness. Nino had really startled her, huh?

“Are you okay?” Adrien asked once her coughing fit subsided. 

Marinette nodded, though she didn’t speak, her eyes watery. He continued to rub her back, but with how taut her muscles were, he figured he was probably doing more harm than good, so he removed his hand. 

He had to admit Nino’s joke had been in poor taste. Though Adrien himself could confess to lacking some social skills, even he knew that asking a woman if she was pregnant, as a joke or otherwise, was just plain rude. 

She certainly didn’t look pregnant. 

(Was that crude to think? Was he also rude by assuming it wouldn’t make sense for her to be pregnant because she was single? If she were still single…?

No, no, no. Stop. It was disrespectful to even think about any of this. It wasn’t his business.)

While Alya and Nino squabbled, Adrien asked, “Are you sure you’re alright, Marinette?”

She took a deep breath, then sat up straight, flashing him a smile—a real smile that reached her eyes. “I-I’m fine. It’s okay. Nino’s question just took me by surprise, is all.”

“I don’t think he realized how rude that joke could seem,” replied Adrien, offering a smile of his own. “Don’t mind him. Your business is private. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.”

Marinette giggled nervously. “O-oh, it’s okay. I figured the question would come sooner or later. I… I was planning on telling everyone tonight, anyway.”

…Huh?

His eyes widened.

Wait, was she actually…?

Alya and Nino clamped their mouths shut, immediately turning their attention to Marinette. Alya said nothing, her expression unreadable, and Nino’s hand clenched around his wine glass, his eyes as round as dinner plates.

Adrien waited with bated breath. 

Just as Marinette opened her mouth to speak, their waiter arrived with their food. He placed each plate on the table and set a small plate of yogurt on the highchair for Mélodie. The baby grabbed a fistful and dug right in, smearing the yogurt across her face and babbling excitedly. 

Marinette waited until the waiter left before she took a deep breath and smiled.

“It’s true,” she said, nonchalantly cutting her meal into smaller pieces. “I am pregnant. And I’m keeping the baby.”

Alya breathed a sigh of relief. She reached across the table to pat Marinette’s hand before focusing on her food.

Nino blinked. After getting over his initial shock, he flashed a bright smile. “Whoa! That’s awesome, Marinette! Congrats.”

Adrien swallowed. When he noticed Marinette glance at him, he figured it was best to offer some sort of response, instead of stupidly staring at her like a gaping fish.

“C-congratulations,” he said, presenting a warm smile that he hoped didn't appear forced. 

“Thank you,” she said, though Adrien couldn’t help but feel an awkward twinge in the air.

He felt happy for her, of course.

But a minor part of him felt a little… weird.

Not a bad weird. At least, he didn’t think it was a bad weird. 

But… wow. 

He couldn’t even recall Marinette mentioning having a partner. 

(Maybe she’d never felt comfortable enough around him to mention it.)

Wait. If Marinette was having a baby, that meant—

...Oh.

Oh.

He was the only single person in their circle of friends.

Not just in their group, but most of his friends from lycée were married, had kids, or both.

A pang of sadness tugged at him.

Nearly everyone he knew had settled into a relationship or started a family.

(Except him.)

Nino and Alya had Mélodie, Ivan and Mylène were raising triplets, Juleka and Rose were searching for a donor, and Chloé had tied the knot with her wife just last year. Félix and Kagami were engaged, as were Marc and Nathaniel.

Even Ladybug was having a baby.

And now Marinette, too.

Adrien was genuinely happy for her—for all of them, truly!

Yet why did he feel so… 

…left behind?

As they ate dinner, Adrien couldn’t help but watch Alya and Nino seamlessly work together to care for Mélodie. When Alya offered her a spoonful of yogurt, Nino was ready to wipe the dribbling mess from her chin with a napkin. When Mélodie began to fuss, Alya swiftly unbuckled her from the highchair and passed her into Nino’s arms. 

He cradled her, his voice soft and soothing. Mélodie giggled, patting Nino’s cheek with her yogurt-covered fingers. Though he grimaced at the mess, his laughter came easily, while Alya wiped her baby’s sticky little hands and face. And then she wiped her husband’s face, too.

A profound feeling of longing cut through Adrien’s heart like a hot knife, branding his soul with the overwhelming sensation of want. 

In less than a month, he’d be twenty-five. As a teenager, he’d always imagined that he’d be married by this age, maybe even starting a family.

But dreams don’t always align with reality, he supposed.

The disconnect left him feeling alienated.

He remained quiet for most of the meal, his thoughts pulling him away from the lively chatter around the table. Guilt gnawed at him for not engaging more, but it was hard to relate when the conversation turned to baby milestones and family stories.

So he just listened. 

After dinner, he bid goodnight to Nino, Alya, and Mélodie. The baby grabbed his sleeves as if she didn’t want him to go. When he leaned in to say goodbye, she planted a wet, slobbery kiss on his cheek, and he melted, his heart giving a bittersweet squeeze.

Finally, it was just him and Marinette.

“Would you like me to walk you home?” he offered to her.

“Hmm?” she asked, releasing a long yawn that seemed to drain what little energy she had left. 

Adrien smiled. “Let me walk you home. It’s dark.”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed lightly. “Okay.”

They began their walk down the quiet streets. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from a nearby garden, but Adrien barely noticed. His mind was too preoccupied, replaying their earlier conversation as remorse ate at his insides.

He should have reacted better when Marinette told them the news—offered her more excitement, more warmth, just… something more worthy of the announcement. He’d just been so shocked that all he’d been able to utter was a mere “congratulations.”

Hopefully, she didn't think ill of him for not reacting with more excitement.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her face was peaceful, if a little tired. 

What was she thinking? Was she upset?

Should he... say something?

Yeah, he should say something.

“I meant it earlier when I said congratulations,” he said, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “I’m really happy for you. Seriously.”

Marinette’s expression warmed. “Thank you. I-I know it probably came as a surprise. It did for me.”

“You’ll be a great mother," he said. 

“Aw, thanks,” she responded, clasping her hands together and shrugging adorably. “I’m scared but mostly excited. Really excited. I, um. I’ve already started knitting baby clothes.”

Adrien smiled. “I could see you making a whole fashion line for your baby.”

“It might happen.”

“That’ll be one stylish kid.”

Marinette giggled. “They’ll be the most stylish person in Paris. Second only to you, maybe.”

“Nah, they’ll be more stylish than me,” he chuckled. “Ever since I stopped modeling, I don’t have to worry so much about looking fancy all the time. Besides, magazines don’t really care much about my outfits anymore.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It is. I enjoy my privacy.”

“Do any of your students know you modeled as a teen?”

“Oh, I’m sure they do. But I’m lucky enough that nobody has ever brought it up. And if they do, I’ll deny it.”

Marinette’s responding laughter was adorably squeaky. “That’s probably for the best!”

They lapsed into a comfortable quiet as they descended the stairs to the Métro and took the short ride back to Marinette’s street. When they reached her apartment complex, Adrien walked her to her door, pausing to bid her goodnight. 

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Marinette looked up at him, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

“W-wait,” she said, swallowing audibly. “Do you, um. Do you want to… come inside?”

Adrien’s eyes widened. 

Marinette’s cheeks bloomed red. “J-just to hang out for a little bit! I-I mean, we rarely get to see each other anymore, a-and I… I mean…” She sighed and pulled her hand back. “Never mind. You can go. It’s okay.”

“No, no,” he said, his heart pounding faster. “I-I can come in!”

“O-okay,” she responded. Then she slowly turned to unlock the door. 

As Marinette pushed open the door to her apartment, the warm, inviting scent of vanilla greeted him. He stepped inside behind her, his gaze sweeping across the familiar space. 

The cozy disarray of her home—sketchbooks stacked precariously on the table, a few stray fabrics spilling onto the floor, potted plants perched on the windowsill, photos of her friends on the wall, and her sewing machine tucked into its usual corner—felt uniquely her.

Careful not to disturb what looked like the middle of a creative breakthrough, Adrien maneuvered around a roll of pink fabric and followed Marinette further in, smiling at the hominess of her space. He hadn’t been inside her apartment in months, yet it still felt like one of her hugs—cozy and perfect.

“Sorry about the mess,” she apologized. “I… didn’t expect to have company. Otherwise, I would have cleaned!”

When Marinette offered to make him a coffee, he accepted to be polite, then removed his jacket and settled at the kitchen island, quietly observing as she prepared the espresso. The rich aroma of freshly ground beans filled the air. He inhaled deeply, appreciating the comforting, nutty scent.

As he watched her work, he noticed Marinette wrinkle her nose and turn her face away, expression sour.

“Are you okay?” he asked, accepting the small cup she handed him. “Thank you, by the way.”

She gave a light smile and waved off his concern. “I’m fine. It’s just…” She smoothed her hand over her stomach. “Ever since I got pregnant, the smell of coffee sometimes makes me nauseous. It’s not as bad as it used to be, though.”

Adrien glanced down at the espresso, suddenly feeling guilty for enjoying something that made her feel ill. “If it bothers you, I can skip it—”

“No, no,” Marinette interrupted, her smile widening. “It’s fine! I promise. I-I’m just happy you’re here.” 

He returned her smile, sipping slowly at the espresso. The deep flavor was smooth on his tongue. “Me, too. It’s been too long since we last spent time together.”

She sat beside him, resting her elbows on the island and placing her head in her hands. “Yeah,” she breathed, and though she looked happy, her voice sounded… sad.

Adrien frowned, leaning closer to look her in the eye. “Are you sure you’re alright, Marinette?”

She nodded. “O-oh, yes. I’m just a little tired. But, um…” She lifted her head. “Are you okay, Adrien?”

He swallowed the last of the espresso and sent the empty cup on the island with a soft clink. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Marinette shrugged. “I… I dunno, you seemed a little… off at dinner. You kind of went quiet for a while.”

“Oh.” So, she noticed. “I’m alright.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Adrien.” Her fingers twitched toward him, and for a moment, he thought she would grab his hand, but then she hesitated and pulled away. “Look, I don’t mean to pry, but… we’ve known each other ten years. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s how to recognize when you’re not okay.”

He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah… it’s silly.”

“Your feelings aren’t silly.”

“I don’t want to bring the mood down.”

“You won’t.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping forward slightly. “I’m sorry… I think something just hit me tonight. When I watched Alya and Nino with Mélodie, and you announced you’re pregnant, it made me think of all our other friends who are married and having children, and I kind of feel like… I don’t know…”

Marinette let him speak, her expression calm and non-judgmental.

“...Like I’m falling behind,” he admitted, and even just saying that made the guilt pour down his back like a gross, sticky sludge. “Which I know is silly. I’m genuinely very happy for you and all our friends! But—”

“—You’re wondering when it’s going to be your turn,” she finished for him, her eyes full of understanding. 

He blinked. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Because I felt the same. For a long time.” 

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He felt a smidge of relief. “You know, it's funny… as a teenager, I always thought I'd be the first of my friends to start a family. But it turns out I'm the last.”

“It's not a race,” Marinette replied.

“I-I know.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “That's not what I meant. I'm sorry.”

She was quiet for a moment, her expression introspective. As she adjusted her seat, she met his gaze and asked, “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nodded.

“I know what it’s like to be lonely,” she said. 

Oh.

His heart clenched. “You… do?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “Seeing Alya and Nino with their baby these past six months has made me long for my own. I'm getting that soon. But seeing them together, the way they love so easily—like they can read each other's thoughts…” Her lips curled downward into a frown. “I want the type of love they have. But, I... I don't have it. And... I've never known it.”

“What?” he breathed, unintentionally glancing at her stomach.

She noticed his eyes flick downward and looked away. "My pregnancy was... unplanned,” she clarified. “And the father wants nothing to do with it.”

Adrien frowned, trying to ignore the brief flare of anger that burned in the pit of his stomach. 

How dare he? he thought. What a coward.

“So, even though I want this baby…” she continued, “I can’t help but wish it’d been conceived out of a loving marriage instead of… a fling.” Her nose scrunched, and her shoulders tightened. “I’m perfectly fine with being a single mother, of course. It's just—I still long for someone to spend my life with. And I, well..." She sighed, shyly meeting his gaze again. "I-I just haven’t found the right connection yet, I guess.”

…Huh.

Maybe she did understand.

(Admittedly, he felt a little surprised by the coincidence of this sort of situation happening to both Ladybug and Marinette. 

If he had a euro for each of his friends who were pregnant yet single, he’d have two euros. Which wasn’t a lot, but it was a bit strange that it happened twice.)

Just how many jerky guys were in Paris?

Maybe it was the same jerk, he mused. But, no. That would be far too massive a coincidence. And Paris had its fair share of slimy men. The City of Love couldn’t exist without a few self-serving dickheads, he supposed. 

“I’m sorry to hear about the father.” The heaviness in his chest became a little lighter. “But… what you said; that’s exactly how I feel, too.”

“You’re pregnant?” joked Marinette.

Adrien snorted. “No, I mean—the loneliness thing. Not finding the right connection.”

Truthfully, he didn’t think he was cut out for the whole dating thing. Dating apps were useless, fostering meaningless connections that led to nowhere, with people desiring nothing more than no-strings-attached intimacy or only wanting to date him because he used to be a celebrity. He didn’t understand how people could find their forever partners on those apps, anyway. He couldn’t fathom falling in love with someone who wasn’t a friend first.

Dating just to date didn’t feel right.

Besides, it was hard to date anyone when he had feelings for someone else. It felt wrong to lead anyone on, letting them think he liked them while he was head over heels for an unobtainable person. 

Yet no matter how hard he tried to dissuade them… his feelings for Ladybug would always remain. 

(Part of him wondered what things would be like if he and Marinette had ever dated. Though he’d harbored feelings for her back in lycée, she’d been dating Zoé then. And now, as an adult… he valued her friendship too much to risk trying anything and failing. Even if he'd tried to will the stubborn little crush to fade, the dying flame flickered back to life now and then.

He’d still run into the same problem. It wouldn’t be fair to date Marinette while he was daydreaming about Ladybug. 

Marinette didn’t like him that way, anyhow. And if she did, wouldn’t she have said something by now?)

“Well,” Marinette sighed. “Here’s hoping the saying ‘there’s someone out there for everyone’ rings true for both of us.”

“We’ll see,” he said with a smile. “And… hey. I really admire you for keeping the baby. I don’t think I’d be able to raise a kid alone. It takes courage.”

“I’m not alone,” she responded. “I have my family and all my wonderful friends.” She nudged his shoulder. “Including you. Don’t be a stranger.”

He laughed softly.

Marinette continued, “I know being lonely is hard, Adrien. But… you don’t have to be lonely. You can call your friends at any time. We’re your family, too.”

A warm, cozy feeling blossomed in his chest, making him feel lighter.

...Family, huh?

He liked the sound of that. 

As a slow smile spread across his face, he nodded. “Thank you, Marinette. You’re a good friend.”

"So are you," she said. 

He stayed a little longer as they chatted in the kitchen, but when Marinette started to yawn more than speak, he figured it was time to let her head to bed. Thanking her for the coffee, he placed the dirty cup in the dishwasher, grabbed his jacket, and slipped it back on, following Marinette as she led him to the door. 

“Thanks again,” he said, hovering in the doorway.

“Of course,” she said. “You’re welcome here any time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

Before he could leave, Marinette said, “By the way, you smell really good. What is that?”

He glanced down at his shirt. “My cologne?”

(So, he'd chosen the right scent earlier. Score!)

“No, no.” She shook her head. “It’s not cologne. It’s something else.”

He blinked. “My… deodorant?”

Marinette shook her head again. “Sorry, this is going to sound so weird—and it’s probably just my pregnancy cravings—but for some reason, you smell like cheese.”

“Cheese,” he repeated, deadpan, absentmindedly running his finger over his shirt pocket, where the slice of Camembert remained. 

Plagg, he thought, I am going to kill you.

Chapter Text

Marinette sighed as she yanked back the shower curtain and stepped onto the bath mat, shivering slightly as cool air met her wet skin.

She toweled off before reaching for the blow dryer. The low hum filled the bathroom as she dried her hair just enough to keep it from dripping, then ran her fingers through the slightly damp strands.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of herself in the standing mirror by her dresser. Though she felt slightly refreshed from the shower, the bags under her eyes didn’t disguise the fact that she was still undeniably tired. With another sigh, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and turned away, focusing on her tasks ahead.

Get dressed. Apply makeup. Be on time for work. For once.

At least the daily morning sickness had finally subsided. Too many Métro rides had been spent clutching her stomach, hoping she didn't embarrass herself by puking in front of strangers while silently pleading with her body to behave.

She pulled on her undergarments and a pair of well-worn jeans, noting how snug they felt as she buttoned the clasp. On her way to the closet, she slowed near the mirror again, hesitating for a second before moving on.

Something looked off, but she didn’t have time to process it, lest she be late for work. Again. 

She shivered again. Her small apartment was drafty—something she’d mentioned to property management before—and yet, as the seasons shifted from fall to winter, nothing changed. The cold settled in, chilling her from skin to bone. It left her with one obvious conclusion: 

If maintenance didn’t fix the draft issue soon, her apartment would not be suitable for an infant.

(And, if they did… her apartment was, admittedly, tiny. Even if the draftiness were to be fixed, would the apartment be a good fit for her baby?

Her lease was ending soon. Maybe it was time to consider a move.)

Marinette wrapped her arms around herself, making a mental note that she needed to pick up her space heater from her parents’ place. She’d been putting it off, exhaustion winning every time, but—

Wait a minute.

Hold on.

Something was off.

Her eyes widened. 

She bolted back to her mirror, her heart pounding. Turning from side to side, she squinted at her appearance and gasped once she finally realized what she was looking at.

It was barely noticeable, but there.

Her stomach, previously toned from her many years as a superhero and daily runs, appeared rounder. Just so—probably not even enough for anyone but her to notice.

But she noticed. 

Her baby was growing.

She’d—she’d popped!

Her baby bump was finally visible!

Marinette yelped. She hopped in place, pressed her hands against her cheeks, and giggled, turning from side to side to admire the swell. 

It was undeniable now—she finally looked pregnant! 

Even if the baby bump was small… it was still there!

“Marinette?” Tikki gasped, zipping into the room. “I heard you scream! Are you okay?”

“Tikki!” Marinette laughed. “Look! Look!”

Tikki turned her gaze to the mirror. When Marinette pointed at her stomach, Tikki reflected her smile. 

“Well,” she said, her voice sounding far more motherly than Marinette was accustomed to. “There you are.”

“That’s my baby, ” Marinette breathed. Her hands rested over her stomach, smoothing along her soft skin. “They’re growing! They’re getting bigger! Big enough for me to grow!”

Tikki floated forward, pressing her tiny paws against Marinette’s abdomen. “Hi, baby,” she chirped. “I’m Tikki!”

Marinette’s throat felt tight.

“Oh!” she gasped, rushing out of the room to grab her phone off the nightstand. “I have to show Alya.” Then, she stood in front of the mirror, took a photo, and immediately sent it to Alya.

Preoccupied with the changes in her body, Marinette ran late for work regardless.

Ladybug always looked forward to evenings with Chat Noir.

Patrols served their purpose in keeping the city under watch, but if she was honest, they often felt more like an excuse to spend time together versus actual hero work. Sure, the occasional petty crime required their intervention when they were bored enough—like a mugging, pickpockets, or robberies. However, for the most part, they left situations like those to the local law enforcement.

Tonight was no different. 

Ladybug sat beside her partner on a rooftop, snacking on a shared box of mini muffins. They watched as a police officer sprinted along the street below in pursuit of a thief, who—in a move equally bold and absurd—had swiped a pizza box from the back of a delivery moped while it was stopped at a red light and taken off running.

But the police officer wasn’t quite as fast. 

“You think he’s gonna get him?” asked Chat Noir.

“He’s gonna get him,” Ladybug replied, her voice muffled from the food in her mouth. “Oh—oh, wait—” The officer tripped and fell, face-planting onto the pavement. “Ah, nope.”

Chat Noir grabbed another muffin, eating it whole. “Should we help?”

Ladybug shook her head. “I’m not getting involved over a petty pizza thief. That’s not our job. If someone gets Akumatized, then we’ll step in.”

Her partner snickered. “I kinda feel sorry for whoever’s pizza that was. That was someone's dinner."

“If they call to complain, the company will probably just send them a new one.” 

“You say that like you’ve had pizza stolen before.”

“No, but… once, I ordered food, and it wasn't there when I went to grab it. And there was a photo of it on my doorstep. So that meant one of my neighbors stole it. The restaurant didn't send me a new order, but they did refund me.” She narrowed her eyes. "I bet it was the dude living above me. But I've never gotten proof."

“Did this happen recently?”

“No. Not while I’ve been pregnant, thankfully.” 

"We could do a stakeout. Order food to your place and watch from the roof to see if he steals it."

Ladybug snorted. "While I'm happy you're willing to bring my food thief to justice... identities, mon Chaton."

His lower lip jutted out slightly. "True. But I'm just saying, anyone who steals your food deserves to face my wrath."

"Your wrath," she chuckled. “Oh, my valiant cat in shining armor. What would I do without you?"

"Be very sad," he said. He pointed to the muffins. "And hungry."

"Well, at least the thief hasn't struck again. I might have cried if those soup dumplings I ordered last night were stolen. But I'm very quick to get my deliveries now."

“I would have bought more for you, if he stole them,” Chat Noir said. "And then I would've given him a stern talking to."

“I was home alone—you wouldn’t have even known!”

“Well, if it ever happens, call me, and I’ll make it right.”

“My hero,” she giggled, selecting a lemon mini muffin from the box and popping the whole thing in her mouth.

“Hey, save some muffins for me,” he said, reaching for the box. He laughed as she gently swatted his hand away.

“Don’t try to take a pregnant woman’s food,” she warned. "Didn't you just say that anyone who steals my food deserves your wrath?"

He raised his hands defensively. “I’m just glad you’ve got your appetite back.”

“You and me both.” She pushed the box of mini muffins toward him. “Here. I probably shouldn’t be eating these, anyway.”

“Oh, let yourself enjoy a treat now and then.” He plucked a chocolate chip muffin from the box and squished it gently between his claws. “How have you been feeling, by the way?”

Ladybug leaned against him, stretching her legs along the roof and patting her stomach. “Much better. The second trimester is so much kinder than the first. I actually feel like myself again. The only thing that’s gotten worse is the cravings.”

“Oh, is that so?” He grinned. “What have you been craving lately? Besides these muffins, of course.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for these. You bought them!”

“Only because I saw you staring into that patisserie’s window, mouth open and drooling.”

Ladybug huffed. “I was not—”

“My Lady, you said to me—and I quote—‘I am so fucking hungry right now; if I can't have those muffins, I am going to go nuclear.’”

“Oh, whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, to answer your question: I’ve been craving lots of things. Like peanut butter, baby carrots, dill pickles, gummy worms… ” As she listed them, she counted with her fingers. “...and—you’ll hate me for this—but cheese. Specifically Camembert.”

Chat Noir’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “My Kwami has tainted you, somehow.”

She laughed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I wasn’t a fan of it before, but now, it’s all I want. And I can’t even eat it because you aren’t supposed to eat soft cheese while pregnant!”

“I wish I could invite you to my house,” he said, lying back against the roof and resting his head on his arms. “My fridge is so full of Camembert that I barely have room for groceries. I’m considering buying a second fridge just for Plagg’s cheese.”

Ladybug lay next to him. “Is that the only reason you’d invite me over? To clear out your Camembert storage?”

“And to meet my cats.”

“Oh, god. How many do you have?”

“Only two.”

She rested her head on his chest, grinning up at him. “You say that like you want more.”

“Two is enough for now,” he said, returning her smile, though his was much softer. “Just like you have your baby, those are my babies.”

“Aw,” she cooed. “Do they cuddle with you at night?”

“Yes. Well, one does. She likes to lie on my chest. The other sleeps at my feet.”

“So your bed is full of cat hair?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Want to find out?”

She snorted, breaking into a fit of laughter. “You’re so bad at flirting, Chaton!”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh. “You’re never going to fall for my feline charms, are you?”

“Not after thinking about all the cat litter on your bed.”

“Hey now, I use a non-tracking litter and wash my sheets frequently."

“Fleas,” she muttered.

“They do not have fleas!" His voice cracked. "They don’t go outside! And even if they did, they’re on a monthly flea preventative.”

“Dirty cat sheets.”

“My house and my cats are clean.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“One day, you’ll meet them. And you’ll love them very much.” He gently poked her nose. “Just like you love me.”

Ladybug patted his chest. Soothed by the feeling of his breathing and the steady sound of his heartbeat, her eyes began to droop closed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Kitty-cat.”

"My cats do."

"Weirdo."

"You're so mean to me," he whined.

"Oh, be quiet," she said. "You know I don't mean a word of it."

"Yeah." His hand rested on her side. "I know."

They lapsed into a comfortable quiet. When her eyes momentarily fluttered open, she found Chat Noir scrolling through the latest news feeds on his baton. She was just about to shut her eyes again before his quiet muttering cut through the sleepy haze.

“Oh, no,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with concern.

Ladybug’s drowsiness vanished instantly, replaced by a sharp jolt of anxiety. “What is it?” she asked, sitting up so quickly that she accidentally kicked the box of mini muffins. They slid down the slanted roof and teetered off the edge, plummeting to their untimely demise. “No!” she gasped, peeking over the rooftop to see the remains scattered across the sidewalk. “My muffins…”

“Don’t worry about those, I’ll get more,” he said. “Worry about this.”

She turned to look at him, still heartbroken over the loss of her snacks. She hadn't even tried the raspberry muffins yet. It was a tragedy. “About what?”

He let out a nervous laugh, silently handing her his baton. Ladybug took it, her brow furrowing as she scrolled through the article. Her eyes narrowed until they landed on a particularly unflattering photo of herself. The awkward angle made her stomach appear rounder than it was, and her cheeks flushed at the sight. Above it was a headline that read:

IS LADYBUG PREGNANT?
Who is the Father? All signs point to Chat Noir!

She gasped, covering her mouth. “Am I really showing that much already?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” he asked.

“Please answer the question.” She stood, turning to the side. “Do I really look like that?!”

Chat Noir squinted. He studied her for a long moment before he said, “Well, you have a noticeable bump, but it’s still pretty small. That photo must be edited.”

“But it’s still noticeable,” she whined, passing the baton back to her partner and dragging her hands down her face, beginning to pace along the rooftop. “Do you think Monarch can tell? Do you think Monarch knows? Do you think he’s going to target us more now that he knows I’m pregnant?” Her breathing came quicker, and her heart began to pound. “What if Monarch sends out, like—a miscarriage-themed Akuma and—”

“Whoa, whoa.” Chat Noir stood in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Breathe, LB. It’s okay. Can you breathe with me?”

She nodded. As Chat Noir breathed in, she did the same, mimicking the slow rise and fall of his chest. Once her anxiety waned, she buried her head in her hands. 

“Monarch knows I’m pregnant.” She trembled. “He knows, doesn’t he?”

Chat Noir's frown deepened, his gaze softening. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and soothing. “It’s going to be okay, Ladybug. Even if he does know.” He rubbed her arms in slow, comforting strokes, his touch easing the tension knotted in her muscles. “He may, or he may not. I wouldn’t worry. Monarch probably doesn’t pay attention to those campy news articles, anyway. They’re full of fake stories. Remember the one last month that said I died, and there was a memorial being held in the Champ de Mars?”

She nodded, releasing a short, quiet laugh. “Y-Yes.”

“Well, clearly, I’m not dead,” he chuckled. “So most people will probably assume that article is fake, too.”

“They’re not wrong, though,” she said. “I am pregnant. And sooner or later, everyone’s going to find out. I mean—” She gestured to her figure. “It's not like I can’t hide it much longer.”

Chat Noir fell silent, his brows furrowing as he leaned back in thought. The gears in his head practically clicked aloud as he tapped his chin. “So don’t hide it, then. Who knows? Maybe Monarch will back off once he knows you’re expecting.”

Ladybug couldn’t help but laugh, though it was sharp with disbelief. “He didn’t hesitate to come after us when we were kids. Why would he have a sudden change of heart now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe evil mellows with age?” he shrugged. 

Her smile faded. “No.”

He mirrored her frown. Reaching forward, he cupped her cheek, and his thumb instinctively brushed along her cheek as she leaned into his touch. “I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. “Both of you. That’s a promise.”

Ladybug met his gaze. “I don’t need you to protect me,” she said. “I can handle myself.”

“I know.” He offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ve kicked Monarch’s ass more times than I can count. If he comes after you, we’ll make him regret it.”

She hesitated before nodding. A sigh slipped through her lips. “You’re right. We’ll... we’ll be okay. It’s you and me against the world, and all that. Right?”

“That’s the spirit,” he said.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she repeated, more to herself than him.

Chat Noir raised his fist, an eyebrow quirked as he grinned at her in silent invitation. Ladybug chuckled, the sound lighter, and bumped her knuckles against his.

“Thank you,” she said. “I suppose, for now, we just ignore the reporters the best we can. It’s not like we can stop them from making up silly stories, but we can at least avoid giving them more information than we need to. We don't want them to make any more outrageous claims.”

“Yeah,” Chat Noir chuckled. “Like the fact I’m your baby’s father.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Almost everyone in Paris assumes we’ve been dating for the past ten years. Understandably, they’d also assume you got me pregnant.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Uh, haha, yeah, I... I guess.”

Ladybug sighed, perhaps a bit too wistfully. She sat on the roof again, flicking a stray pebble from the zinc paneling and watching as it clattered off the edge. “You would’ve been the better option, though.”

Chat Noir’s eyes widened. “What?”

Ladybug froze as the implication of her words caught up to her. “I—” Her cheeks burned. Ah, shit. “I didn’t mean it like that! J-just, like, considering the circumstances, if I knew I was going to get knocked up, I would have preferred it to be you versus the real dad.”

He breathed in sharply, coughing as he nearly choked on his spit. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "What?"

“Wait!” She gripped her hair and gritted her teeth, wishing that, for once, the words that came out of her mouth would match the ones in her brain. “I-I mean—it would have been better for a friend to pret me gregnant—I mean, get me pregnant—instead of someone I barely knew! If I had known this would happen—” She gestured vaguely at her stomach. “I would rather—I mean—I—oh, god.” She buried her head in her hands. “Forget I said anything. Please.”

Her partner cleared his throat once he'd finally caught his breath. “I-it's okay. I understood what you meant… I think.”

She swallowed. “I, um… okay.”

Silence ensued.

Thick, awkward silence.

Abort. Run away. Go home!

Ladybug stood abruptly. “I think… I think I should go home and go to bed.”

Chat Noir nodded. “Me too.”

“Back to my lonely apartment,” she sighed. 

He hummed. “And me to my lonely house.”

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before they shyly looked away.

Chat Noir scratched the back of his neck before he offered his hand. “Let me walk you halfway.”

She shot him a look. “And have you know which direction I live in?”

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’m just trying to be a good partner.”

She patted his cheek. “You are a good partner.”

And to her delight, he blushed. As he opened his mouth to reply, probably with one of his signature puns, a voice called them from behind.

“Ladybug! Chat Noir!” panted a civilian hanging off the fire escape, holding his phone up as he recorded them. 

Ladybug squinted as he shone his phone’s flashlight on her face, shielding her eyes from the blinding white light. “Whoa, um—hi.”

“Hi there,” said Chat Noir. “Were… you spying on us?”

The man shook his head, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. He finally clambered onto the roof. “No, no, I—I just climbed up here. I-I work for Le Monde, and I was just wondering—”

Ladybug gritted her teeth. Oh, here we go.

“Are the rumors true, Ladybug?” The man asked. “Are you pregnant?”

“That's a good question,” she said noncommittally. 

The reporter's eyes brightened. “And… if you are... is Chat Noir the father?”

Chat Noir pulled on his collar, and Ladybug grimaced. 

“I’m not answering that,” she said, grabbing her yo-yo and spinning it. 

The reporter turned to Chat Noir, mouth gaping in question, but her partner just smirked. “I’m not answering that, either.”

“No use asking Chat Noir,” Ladybug said, tugging his cat ear, “I got him neutered. I would be an irresponsible owner if I let an intact male cat roam the streets.”

He doubled over with a laugh. Without another word, Ladybug launched herself into the air and swung away, all while the reporter prattled after her.

The further her pregnancy progressed, and the colder her apartment became, Marinette became increasingly frustrated with her living situation. 

Her one-bedroom unit had barely been enough for her and her sewing supplies. Now, with a baby on the way, it felt like the walls were closing in.

The living room doubled as her workspace, and the corners were already crowded with bins of fabric, spools of thread, loose sketches, and half-finished commissions. There was no room for a crib, let alone a changing table. As she tried to rearrange her belongings in a way that would clear enough room for a baby, it only highlighted how cramped everything already was. Truthfully, she'd been frustrated with her apartment’s lack of space since she’d moved in two years ago, draftiness and poor management aside. 

Part of her kicked herself for not finding a more suitable living space back then, but... she had wanted to be close to work. Apartments in the fashion district were expensive, and this had been all she could afford at the time. The size hadn’t mattered much when she was on her own. She could live messy, make do. The clutter embarrassed her when she had guests, sure—but she was used to making sacrifices for her career. The lack of space was a nuisance, yet it was livable.

Not anymore, though.

Where... where would she put her baby's things?

She couldn’t bear the thought of boxing up her sewing machine and relegating her beloved fabrics to the shadows of a dusty old closet. They were her livelihood—her identity. Every time she considered it, she felt like she was trying to cut away a piece of herself just to make room.

But her child's happiness was more important.

As she considered getting rid of her small dining table to make space for a crib, she huffed, kicked a stray shirt (that she kept tripping over, damn it) and came to a glaringly obvious conclusion: 

She needed to move. 

Now was her chance to find something better. She'd been doing well for herself in the past few months, making more money, so a new place wouldn't be too hard to come by. Hopefully.

As her apartment’s lease crept toward its end, she began her online search, knowing moving now was better than waiting until after the baby arrived and trying to haul boxes with a newborn in tow. Better than breastfeeding on a mattress on the floor surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. Better than recovering from childbirth in a place that didn't yet feel like home. 

Buying a house sounded like a dream—a nursery she could paint any color she wanted, a spacious backyard, and plenty of room for her baby to grow—but the reality was that she didn’t have the luxury of time to weigh such a major decision. The thought of committing to a decades-long mortgage for a hastily-purchased home felt daunting, and frankly, would be a pretty stupid decision anyway, considering she didn't make that much money. It would be smarter to move to an apartment farther away from work that was bigger and cheaper, if one were available. 

After days of scouring listings and dragging her exhausted body through back-to-back tours, she found a modest two-bedroom near her childhood home. The rent was manageable, the neighborhood was calm—as calm as one could be in a big city, anyway—with a small park, decent amenities, and neighbors who seemed friendly enough. And, most importantly, it was just a few blocks away from her parents.

That fact sealed the deal.

(The slightly longer commute to work was a small trade-off for the comfort of knowing her folks were near.

Having a baby meant she wanted to be as close to her parents as possible. For moral support and everything else.)

The day of the move came sooner than she expected. Somehow, despite all the planning and packing, it still felt rushed. The old apartment had been stripped down to bare walls and floors, all her belongings stuffed into boxes and a moving van. 

She hadn’t slept much the night before. Anxiety kept circling her thoughts like a vulture.

What if I forget something important? What if the new apartment isn't as nice as it seemed? What if I hate it? What if my baby hates it?

It didn't matter.

She was here now, standing in front of the door to her new home, keys jingling in her hand.

She unlocked the door. 

The apartment smelled like fresh paint and floor polish. The afternoon sun spilled through the living room windows, casting warm light across the hardwood floor. Save for the few appliances that came with the new place, it was wholly empty.

As she stood in the doorway, taking it all in, Marinette noticed that for the first time in weeks, she couldn’t hear the hum of traffic or her neighbor’s dog barking through the paper-thin walls.

There was space. Real, open space, with leaps of potential for decorating. Enough space that she could breathe.

Her shoulders sagged as she let out a long, relieved sigh.

Her friends were downstairs gathering boxes from the moving van. She turned, planning to go down and grab a few boxes—

When a strange bubbling sensation rose from low in her belly. 

What on Earth…? she thought, squinting at the faint feeling. 

The elevator chimed as someone came up. After a few footsteps came down the hall, Alya appeared in the doorway behind her.

"Hey," she said, a box in her arms. “Everything okay?”

Marinette stepped further into her apartment, giving Alya space to enter. She nodded. “Yeah, I… I think so. I think I just…”

There it was again—like the feeling of fluttering butterfly wings, except inside her.

Movement.

Okay. Either her IBS was acting up again, or—

Flitter, flutter.

Her hand brushed over her stomach. “I think…” Swish, swoosh. “I think my baby is moving,” she breathed.

“Really?” Alya gasped. The corners of her eyes crinkled with excitement. “Ooh, that’s so fun! Is this the first time you’ve felt it?”

Marinette nodded again. “Yeah,” she said, her cheeks pinching from the length of her smile. She looked down at her stomach as the little bubbles rose again. “Oh, wow! They are moving!”

Alya set down the box she was holding. “What does it feel like? The first time I felt Mélodie, it felt like a frog jumping around.”

“It’s like… butterfly wings or bubbles.” She grinned down at her stomach, placing her hand over the lower part of her abdomen. “That’s so weird!”

“It feels strange, right?” Alya asked. 

“It does, but… I love it, too!”

Alya’s expression softened, fondness glowing in her gaze. “Yeah... I remember that.”

Marinette stared down at her stomach, its swell growing slightly rounder day by day. “Hi, baby!” she cooed. “It’s me, your maman. Can you hear me in there?” The fluttering resumed. “Oh, wow, that is such a strange feeling.” 

Alya patted her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. Just wait until you’re in your third trimester and are kept awake all night by baby kicking, rolling, and hiccuping, all at the same time.”

Nino walked through the doorway with several boxes cradled in his arms. “Those were fun nights,” he added, peeking around the boxes. “Alya used to get mad at me for sleeping through it.”

“If I gotta be up, so do you,” Alya said with a laugh.

“That’s still true to this day,” he replied. He set the boxes on the floor and removed his glasses, pointing at his face. “You see these bags under my eyes, Marinette? They weren’t there before I had a kid. Prepare yourself. You’re never going to get a full night’s sleep again.”

Adrien entered last, placing a few boxes on the wooden floor. “I already have chronic eye bags. Does that mean if I had a kid, I’d have double eye bags?”

“Nah, you’d still be beautiful,” Alya said.

“Alya, babe, no,” Nino said, slinging his arm around Adrien’s shoulders. “I think the word you’re looking for is radiant.”

“Or carefree,” Alya chimed in.

Marinette snorted. “How about dreamy?”

Adrien’s expression flattened. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Nope!” the others replied in unison.     

How was an expectant mother supposed to know when she’d bought enough supplies?

No matter how many boxes of diapers, wipes, or toiletries she purchased, Marinette still felt unprepared. She was only in her second trimester, so she still had time—but the first half of her pregnancy had flown by in the blink of an eye, and she knew the second half would probably pass even quicker. She wanted to make sure she was prepared now before she started panic-buying at nine months pregnant, hobbling around retail stores with a heavily protruding stomach, in search of something she needed but had forgotten until days before her baby arrived.

The spare bedroom in her new apartment would be her baby’s nursery. Over the past few days, Marinette had diligently worked to bring the room to life, adding personal touches like hand-sewn curtains, crocheted toys, and a ladybug-shaped rug to make it welcoming and colorful. Her goal was to finish everything well in advance so that when her little one arrived, they’d have a cozy, inviting space ready to call home.

The crib—a beautiful wooden fixture painted in a soft eggshell white—had been a gift from her parents that all three of them had built together. It stood as the nursery's centerpiece, settled next to a white wicker rocking chair adorned with a soft green knitted blanket she'd lovingly crafted over the last few days from one of her excess skeins of yarn.

The nursery was slowly coming together. She still needed a changing table, which she planned to place in front of the window, where the curtains were pulled to the side to allow the sunlight to pool across the hardwood floors. 

Being only a fifteen-minute walk away, her parents had helped her build all the furniture. The baby's dresser was already fully stocked with clothes, socks, mittens, beanies, and everything else an infant could possibly need; though there was a small part of Marinette that still felt like she needed more.

She stuffed the boxes of baby supplies in the closet, wanting to keep the spare diapers and wipes only a short distance away. When the changing table arrived, she would stock that well, too.

And maybe she would make a few more clothes and blankets. If she had the time.

(Her fingers had grown numb from all the sewing and crocheting she’d been doing lately. But she just couldn’t stop. How could she, when she had all this extra fabric and yarn, and her baby needed clothes and accessories?)

Marinette placed her hands on her hips, slightly out of breath as her eyes trailed the room, taking it all in. 

This would be her baby’s bedroom for the foreseeable future. It was very nearly perfect—all she needed was some decorations to spruce up the walls and some more toys, and it would be all set. 

Tikki, who had been assisting the best she could despite her small size, nuzzled Marinette’s cheek. “Looks like you’ve almost got everything ready,” she said. “Your baby is lucky to have you.”

Marinette smiled, cupping her Kwami in her hands and kissing her head. “Thanks, Tikki. I still have a few things left, but... by the time the baby arrives, I hope I'll have everything ready."

“Just a few more months,” Tikki said. "Are you nervous?"

“A little,” Marinette replied. When Tikki tilted her head and smiled knowingly, Marinette chuckled. “Okay, a lot. But above all, I’m just… so excited.”

“Good,” Tikki said. “I am, too.”

"I'm going to be a mom soon," Marinette said, with a sing-songy sort of laughter. "Can you believe it?"

Tikki poked her rounded belly. "I certainly can!"

"I hope my baby is going to be happy here." Marinette glanced around the nursery. "I hope... I hope they're going to love me."

"Oh, Marinette. I'm sure they will!"

"You think so?"

Tikki nuzzled her face. "I'm certain of it."

"I hope you're right." Marinette smiled and smoothed her hand over her stomach. "Because I already love them."

Chapter Text

Chat Noir took pride in his ability to read Ladybug like an open book, even when she hadn’t spoken a word. After a decade of fighting side by side, they’d become so attuned to each other’s expressions and body language that deciphering her thoughts was second nature. 

A scrunched nose could mean she was either disgusted or stifling a laugh. A polite smile for reporters, though outwardly friendly, sometimes carried the subtle tension at the corners of her mouth that revealed she wasn’t in the mood to talk. And during battles, the sharp gestures of her hands were all he needed to understand exactly what she wanted him to do, or where she wanted him to go.

And, of course, she knew him just as well—so well that a simple smirk could prompt her to preemptively groan at a pun he hadn’t even uttered yet.

But now that she was well into her second trimester, understanding her thoughts had grown more challenging. Pregnancy brought a new layer of complexity that Chat Noir wasn’t equipped to navigate, exposing just how little he knew about it.

However, not one to back down from a challenge, he’d dedicated most of his free time to researching pregnancy through books and the internet. While some websites offered a plethora of information, they all stressed that each person's pregnancy was different. Therefore, he couldn’t rely on the web as a foolproof guide to Ladybug's feelings or what exactly she was going through.

(And, wow, some of the things he’d read were downright scary. What the hell was preeclampsia? Frequent nosebleeds were normal? Holy shit, a uterus could expand to the size of a watermelon!?)

Still, he was determined to be as valuable to Ladybug as he could. He’d been studying her facial expressions and body language more often. Sometimes, she’d catch him staring. Not that that was unusual. He'd always had a hard time taking his eyes off her.

“What is it?” she’d ask. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Just beauty," he'd say.

And she’d scoff and smile, in the same way she always did; the way he always loved.

Occasionally, her eyes widened, and then she placed a hand on her stomach, which rounded out more day by day, before a smile appeared. When he asked, he learned she did that whenever her baby was “quickening.”

Flutters in her stomach as the life inside her moved.

(He wondered… if he gently placed his palms on her stomach, would he feel it, too?)

She'd been complaining of back pain as of late, and Chat Noir was more than happy for the opportunity to practice his masseuse skills by massaging her shoulders. Getting to be close to her was a small pleasure on its own; to touch her, ease her pain, and breathe in her familiar scent, which always twirled through his senses like a well-worn song and dance. Easy to remember, hard to forget.

"Thank you for this," Ladybug said as he soothed the knots in her shoulders. "Sorry I keep asking for it."

He smiled. "You say that like I mind."

"Well, I've been needy."

"You can be as needy as you want," he chuckled, careful not to poke her with his claws while his hands worked. "You're growing a person. I'm willing to do whatever I can to make that a little easier for you."

She didn't respond, but she leaned a little closer. Just slightly. 

When she arrived to patrol one night wistfully reminiscing about a soup her late grandmother used to make, there was no doubt in Chat Noir’s mind—he had to try making it for her.

"Describe it for me," he said. 

"It tastes like home," she replied. 

He didn't really know what home felt or tasted like. 

"Give me details," he said. Her eyebrow raised, and he smiled. "What? Maybe I want to try it."

She squinted, a smile playing on her lips as she described the soup—garlic, beef, and spices. It had been her grandmother’s recipe, passed down through her mother. He didn’t say much, just listened closely, quietly tucking the detail into that secret corner of his mind where he kept all the pieces of her—the unmasked version of her—like coveted treasures.

That night, he scoured the internet to find recipes similar to Ladybug’s description. Each click led to another rabbit hole, and after hours of fruitless searching, frustration began to creep in.

The dish deserved perfection. Ladybug deserved perfection. If he couldn’t deliver the soup she’d been dreaming of—what kind of friend was he?

Ultimately, he decided to phone a friend.

If anyone could help him capture the warmth of a home-cooked meal crafted with love, it was Sabine. When he explained that he wanted to make a special dish for a friend, she didn’t hesitate to offer her expertise. She sent him a detailed grocery list and step-by-step instructions for one of her favorite recipes—a dish she assured him she knew like the back of her hand, as her own mother had made it for her when she was a child.

By the next afternoon, Adrien found himself searching the grocery store for the ingredients she’d described for the spicy noodle soup. He had never considered himself much of a cook—only ever making simple meals that didn't require more than a few steps—and though he’d picked up a few things from Nino, he still struggled with being adventurous in the kitchen. He stuck to the meals he was familiar with for fear of setting his house on fire or worse.

For Ladybug, though, he’d do anything.

He stood in his kitchen in mismatched socks and cat-printed pajama pants, staring at the expensive cooking knife set Nathalie had bought him as a housewarming gift that he'd never been brave enough to use.

No better time than the present, he supposed. 

“You have your work cut out for you,” said Plagg, floating over the array of noodles, spices, and produce. “Hey, wait a minute. Why am I not seeing any cheese?”

“Because this dish doesn’t require cheese,” Adrien replied. 

Plagg gasped. “Then I want nothing to do with it!”

“Well, it’s not for you,” Adrien said, laying out his cutting board and selecting a knife before slicing the vegetables. “It’s for Ladybug.”

“Don’t come crying to me when she gets heartburn from those peppers.”

Adrien turned to the prepared pan on the stove and placed the meat into the hot oil, breathing in deeply as his kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of seasoned beef. “She’ll be fine. Ladybug loves spicy food. She told me she grew up on it.”

Plagg flew forward, sniffing the meat as it cooked. “I never understood the appeal of meat. Why eat the animal when you can get it to make cheese instead?”

“Because meat tastes good,” laughed Adrien. 

Drawn by the smell of cooking meat, both his cats padded in, their noses twitching and eyes round. The smallest of the two—his runt of a black cat—lifted his little head and squeaked out a plea while the much larger tabby stretched her paws along Adrien’s legs, pricking his pants with her claws.

“See?” he said to Plagg. “Escargot and Biscuit like it. You should be like other cats.”

Plagg scoffed. “They don’t speak for me.”

Adrien gently shooed the cats, herding them out of the kitchen. “Go on. This isn’t for you.” He turned to Plagg. “And not for you, either.”

Plagg’s whiskers twitched. His face wrinkled in disgust. “Don’t want it, anyway. Ladybug can have it all.”

Once the beef formed a golden crusty goodness, Adrien added the rest of the ingredients, setting the lid on the pot to let it simmer. “I hope she’ll like it,” he said.

“It’s a gift from you,” Plagg yawned. “Of course she’ll like it.”

Adrien smiled. “We’ll see.” 

After a few minutes, he removed the lid and dipped the ladle into the pot, bringing a spoonful of the soup to his lips. The first taste was promising—rich and flavorful, with the flavors perfectly balanced. It tasted damn good. He hoped it would make Ladybug proud.

…Um.

Uhh…

Wait.

The soup was good, but it was also kind of—

Sweat prickled on his brow.

The heat crept up slowly before slamming into him all at once, scorching its way across his mouth and tongue. His eyes instantly watered, his nostrils burned, and his entire body jolted with the realization that he had forgotten about the peppers.

Alarm bells went off in his brain.

SPICY. 

TOO SPICY. 

HELP. 

MALFUNCTIONING!

With a strangled gasp, he bolted to the sink, frantically turning on the faucet and plunging his mouth under the running water. He gulped desperately, ignoring how ridiculous he must have looked as he tried to extinguish the inferno in his mouth.

Behind him, Plagg cackled so hard he drifted to the floor, rolling around the tile as he clutched his stomach.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Adrien choked out, grabbing a paper towel to wipe his watering eyes and dripping nose.

“You’re so weak!” Plagg wheezed between laughter. 

Adrien shot him a glare.

Even though his tongue felt as if it had touched the surface of the sun, if this were the kind of heat Ladybug liked, then he’d happily suffer for it.

When the soup was finished, he sent a photo to Sabine, who congratulated him on a job well done.

Huh.

Praise felt nice.

Cooking felt nice.

Sure, the meal had taken him quite a long time to make, and had practically burned his tongue off, but... he felt... accomplished? 

Yeah. Accomplished.

Funny—he had never really enjoyed cooking before, since he'd only ever really cooked for himself. Yet something about cooking for someone else—putting all that effort into a gift for someone out of pure love—it felt—

It felt... right.

A slow smile spread across his face as he stared at the completed dish. Plagg hovered over his shoulder, sticking his tongue out at the steaming bowl. Adrien rolled his eyes with a chuckle. 

"I think it looks great," he said. 

Plagg shook his head. "If you say so."

"I had fun with it. I think I might start cooking more." He carefully ladled the soup into a large insulated container, packing enough for multiple servings so it would feed Ladybug throughout the next few days. After snapping the lid, he nestled it securely in a sturdy tote bag, double-checking that it was snug enough to avoid spills. "What do you think, Plagg? What should I cook next?"

Plagg's eyes brightened. "You're asking me?"

"Sure am."

"I know," said Plagg, a sparkle in his gaze. "Buy one of those giant Parmesan wheels and make me pasta in it!"

Adrien laughed. "Let's start with something smaller, first."

"Aw, that's no fun."

When he transformed for patrol, he took extra care as he bounded across the rooftops, every leap calculated to keep the soup from leaking. Spilling it now, when he’d been so excited to give it to her, would’ve been heartbreaking.

By the time he arrived at their usual meeting spot, Ladybug was already there. She stood near the rooftop's edge, her hands cradling something he couldn’t quite make out in the dim light. It looked like a piece of paper. Upon his arrival, she stuck it on her yo-yo belt.

As their eyes met, her face lit up with a smile—infectious enough that it pulled his own lips into a matching grin. His chest swooped slightly with nerves, and he instinctively hid the bag behind his back, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. 

It was just a meal.

(Still, the thought of her not liking it made his stomach twist a little.)

“Evening, my Lady,” he purred. “You’re looking pawsitively beautiful tonight.”

And it was true—that “pregnancy glow” people talked about wasn’t just a rumor. With her hair swept back into its usual ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face, and the sprinkle of freckles dotting her nose, Ladybug looked effortlessly radiant. But that wasn’t anything new.

(Surprisingly, Chat Noir found that the growing baby bump only added to her attractiveness. Which was something he needed to unpack on his own time.)

“Hi, Kitty,” she replied, one eyebrow raised curiously. She bent forward to try to peek behind his back. “What are you hiding back there?”

He swallowed, his heart giving a sudden, nervous flutter. “A gift."

"A gift?" Her face brightened, and again she tried to twist around him to peek at the bag, but he moved away with a laugh. "What kind of gift? Can I see?"

"Well… you know how you mentioned craving a specific soup your grandmother used to make you?”

She nodded. “Yeah…?”

His hand retreated to the back of his neck. “Okay, so, I know it’s probably not how your grandmother made it—actually, it definitely isn’t, because I didn't know your grandma, but—” He removed the bag from behind his back, presenting it to Ladybug with a sheepish smile. “Based on the way you said it was prepared… I… tried to cook it for you. Emphasis on tried.”

Ladybug’s eyes widened.

“I-I know it’s probably not as good as your grandmother's,” he said, his heart leaping into his throat. “Still, I hope you enjoy it.”

Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes flicked from the bag in his hand to his face. Based on her silence, Chat Noir worried he’d overstepped a boundary. Yet, as she accepted the bag and withdrew the insulated bowl…

An ecstatic grin burst across her face. She sat on the roof, pressing her back against the wall, then removed the lid to get a better look. Steam pooled around her face, and the delicious scent of savory spices hit the air, warming his senses in the frosty winter breeze. 

Ladybug breathed in deeply, her eyes closed as she savored the smell. She was quiet for a few seconds before her eyes finally fluttered open. 

“Oh, Kitty,” she sighed, cradling the bowl closely. “What did I do to deserve this?”

He sat beside her. When she went to sip the soup from the container, he removed a spoon and a pair of chopsticks from the bag and offered them to her. 

“You don’t have to do anything to deserve kindness,” he replied. “I just felt like doing something nice for you. I know you’ve been having a rough time with your pregnancy. Aches, pains, mood swings, and all that. Growing a baby can’t be easy.”

“Aw, thank you.” She inhaled the scent again. Upon taking her first bite, Ladybug wiggled her legs and giggled, slurping the noodles appreciatively. 

Affection bloomed in his chest. “Do you like it?” he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically. To his amazement, tears sprang to her eyes. She waited to swallow before she cried, “Oh my god! I-it tastes just like my grandma's!”

Relief flooded through him, leaving him feeling warm from head to toe. Ladybug’s seal of approval had never felt so good.

She ate quickly, not stopping until she was full. Once finished, he handed her a napkin so she could wipe the tears (and mess) from her face. She set the container to the side. 

“Can I take the rest of it home?” she asked.

He laughed. “Of course! Please, do.”

She breathed out a long, satiated sigh. “Thank you.”

“So… did I do good?” he asked.

“I don’t know how you did it, but… that soup tasted like home.” She hugged him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

He melted into her touch, his hands slowly gliding along her back. “Well, I can’t take all the credit. I had help from a friend.”

"Well, you did amazing.” Her nose nuzzled his neck; a tingle rose up his spine. “And here I thought my day couldn’t get any better than it already was.”

“Oh?” he asked, curiosity piqued. 

She nodded, pulling away from the hug and taking all her warmth with her, which Chat Noir silently mourned. Her smile, wider than he’d seen in a while, lit up her face, and her eyes sparkled. Without a word, she reached for the paper on her yo-yo belt and handed it to him with trembling fingers.

Oh—

It was another sonogram photo. 

“Your baby?” he asked. 

She nodded. “My baby.”

He smiled as his eyes roamed over the grainy photo. Compared to the first photo, the baby’s features were far clearer. No longer was it in the shape of a little bean that only slightly resembled a person; now, it was obvious that what he was looking at was undeniably human. Tiny hands, feet, and even the faint outline of an adorably small nose were visible.

Huh. Cute baby.

And then it hit him.

Oh.

That was—

That was Ladybug’s baby.

Emotion swelled through him, tightening his throat and rendering him momentarily speechless.

Oh, wow… her baby… her baby…

(Her baby!)

He knew it—had known it—and yet it still amazed him.

Ladybug was practically vibrating beside him. “Look at her,” she gushed, wrapping both hands around his arm and leaning into him. “Isn’t she just adorable?”

"Yeah," he said, glancing at her for a fleeting moment before his eyes naturally wandered back to the photo. "She's—"

Wait. 

His ears perked up, his focus reluctantly shifting from the sonogram to her face. “She?” he asked, quiet enough that he’d almost whispered.

Ladybug nodded again, her teeth pressing into her bottom lip in a futile attempt to contain her excitement.

“A girl?” he breathed. He didn’t know why, but his hands started shaking.

Ladybug nodded again. “That’s her,” she said, love overflowing into her voice as her finger traced the outline of her baby's face. “That’s my daughter. My little girl.”

A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard, fighting the surge of love that threatened to overwhelm him. 

Don’t cry, he told himself. Don’t cry.

He didn’t. But hell, did he want to.

Just—wow!

A girl!

He swallowed again to keep the tears at bay. The wedge in his throat dug deeper. “W-what are you going to name her?” he blurted, knowing well enough that she couldn’t answer the question.

Ladybug chuckled softly, her fingers still tracing the sonogram, following the outline of her baby. “I’m not sure yet. But I have a few names in mind.”

“Whatever you choose, I’m sure it’ll be just as beautiful as her.”

“I’m so excited to meet her,” she said. “And in only a few months, I will.”

He smiled. “That seems like both a short and agonizingly long time.”

“I know. It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

He hummed in agreement, still unable to tear his eyes away from the photo. The smile that stretched across his cheeks began to pinch, but he didn’t care. 

Ladybug chuckled. “You hypnotized, Kitty?”

“Huh?” He glanced at her. “Oh. Nah. It’s just… wow, you know?”

Ladybug sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Oh, trust me… I know.”

“I’m really happy for you,” he said, slowly returning the photo to her. He grieved that he had to stop looking at it, but it wasn’t his to keep.

He knew that. 

“Yeah,” she said, hugging the photo against her chest. “I’m happy, too.”

She slotted himself against his side, and as her head rested on his shoulder, his hand naturally found its place on her waist.

"I'm still having trouble coming to terms with the idea that I'm going to be a mom," she said. "I hope my daughter loves me just as much as I love her."

Chat Noir smiled. His lips brushed over her hair; he restrained himself from giving in to the urge to press his lips against her head. "Oh, she will."

"How do you know that for sure?"

"Because," he replied, "you're very easy to love."

She chuckled softly; the sound leaped into his chest and buried itself in his heart. As he breathed in the strawberry-sweet scent of her hair, and felt the warmth of her body heat curling against his side, he realized he knew what home felt like after all. 

Chat Noir slumped against the weathered brick wall of a rooftop, and his arms crossed defensively over his chest. His lips twitched with the urge to frown, but he schooled his expression to remain as impassive as possible.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong. Didn’t know which of his jokes had tipped the scale from funny to annoying, or when the mood had shifted from amicable to tense. 

Whatever he had done had, unfortunately, ticked his Lady off. Enough that she'd yelled at him. 

Which wasn't all that unusual, if he were being honest. Ladybug occasionally yelled during battles to warn him of danger or to alert him where the Akuma was located. Yelling was typical during tense, high-stakes situations. 

Snapping at him during a quiet patrol was another thing entirely, though.

He had taken a step back to give her space, confused and admittedly a bit hurt. However, he knew pregnancy had its way of messing with her emotions, so he would let it pass.

Still, an apology would be nice.

"Can you please shut up for two minutes?” she’d hissed. “I can’t think!”

And then, when he’d tried to apologize, she had told him to back off, which was even more strange. All it had taken to set her off was one measly pun. Usually, she enjoyed his jokes... but now—

Now, she sat across from him on one of the Eiffel Tower’s iron beams with her head buried in her hands. 

"I'm sorry," she said after a long moment, her voice hoarse. Pulling her hands away from her face, she idly brushed her fingers over the swell of her belly. "I'm sorry, Chaton."

He melted at the nickname. 

Ah, who was he kidding—he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. 

Settling beside her, he gently squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay, Ladybug. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

Her gaze fell to her stomach, where her hand rested. "I thought I was over the mood swings. But I guess they’re still here.”

“It’s alright,” he said.

“It’s not alright.” She pouted. “I was mean to you.”

“People have been meaner,” he said in an attempt to reassure her, but it proved ineffective, as it only made her frown deepen.

Her voice cracked as she said, “People shouldn’t be mean to you. I shouldn’t be mean to you!”

“Aww, Ladybug.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her against his side. “It’s okay, Buguinette! I’m not mad at you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “But you should be!”

“Nah.” He caressed her side. “Never.”

“I’m sorry."

“It’s okay.”

“Do you hate me?”

“No. I could never hate you.”

She sighed. After taking a moment to regain some of her composure, she dried her eyes, then croaked, “God, what’s wrong with me? I don’t get it. My emotions are a mess right now, and I hate it!"

He smiled sympathetically. "Is baby girl causing problems?"

She groaned. "You have no idea.”

Chat Noir chuckled, moving his hand to rub her back. "Are the hormones that bad?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "But it's not even just the mood swings. Sure, pregnancy sucks sometimes, but I'm also— I—" With a groan, she dragged her hands down her face. "Urrghh. It's something else making me tense, too."

"Oh?" he asked, ears pricked forward.

Ladybug's face bloomed the same bright shade of red as her suit. She looked away, nibbling her lower lip between her teeth. For a long moment, she was silent. Then, she shifted her gaze to her feet and finally whispered, "It's… kind of TMI."

"TMI?" he echoed. "You mean, like, identity stuff?"

"...No."

"Then… what?"

"It's so embarrassing."

"You can tell me."

"I-I don’t know. It’s not really something I should share with you. It's too awkward."

What could possibly be so awkward that she’d hesitate to share it with him—her partner, her confidant, her friend of ten years?

He gestured to his two sets of ears, one human and the other feline. "I'm all ears, my Lady."

Ladybug sighed, studied his face for a long moment, then heaved another sigh, one far more weighted and dramatic. "Okay… but don't say I didn't warn you.” She squared her taut shoulders, though her face was still a deep crimson. "Not only has pregnancy been messing with my emotions, but it’s also messing with my… my, um. My…” Her voice grew small. “...libido.”

Oh.

…OH.

Chat Noir's eyes widened, and his cheeks warmed. He disguised his choked noise of surprise by clearing his throat. "O-oh…"

Oh, dear.

"Yeah." She curled into herself. "I'm sorry. I know that’s such a weird thing to say, e-especially to you—”

Especially to him?

“That’s kind of the main reason why I've been so moody lately,” she finished, fidgeting with her fingers. “It’s, um… it’s been a while since I last… y-y’know. I mean, I haven’t been with anyone since I got pregnant, so, I… guess I’m just starting to just… go a little crazy?”

Oh.

Um.

Okay.

How was he supposed to respond to that?

Did he offer his condolences? Tell her that he hopes things will improve soon, or—

(Or offer his help?

No, no, not that. Anything but that.)

“And… the lack of that… is making you moody?” he asked. 

If that were the case, he didn't really understand. He’d gone without it, and he was fine. 

But he wasn’t pregnant. So... maybe it was different for her? 

(Or maybe he was just different in general?)

“It’s making me tense, ” she said. “I even snapped at my mom the other day. Which I never do. And she was the one who told me that could be the reason I’m so… uneasy lately. Which was even more mortifying.”

Ah.

Ahaha.

He rubbed the back of his neck and slowly asked, “And… you have no way to, like… relieve that tension?”

“Well, I’m single,” she said, drawing invisible circles on the iron beam with her finger. “And despite this baby being conceived from a fling, that’s not normally how I roll.”

“O-oh.” He swallowed thickly. “B-but what about, um… by… yourself?”

That felt suffocating to ask.

She shrugged. “It’s not the same.”

“A-and no…” His voice cracked. “N-no friends that would…”

Ladybug laughed and shook her head. “No. Two of my best friends are married, and the other is…” She sighed. “...not interested in me in that way. Never has been.”

“Oh,” he breathed. “I’m… sorry to hear that.”

(He wanted to say that whoever wasn’t interested in her was an utter fool.)

“Besides,” she said. “Who would want me when I look like this?”

She gestured to her baby bump, distinctly visible as she progressed well into her second trimester.

I would, he thought. He wouldn’t dare voice that out loud, though.

“Why would that make a difference?” he asked instead. “In my opinion, your pregnancy only adds to your beauty. You’re glowing, my Lady.”

Something shifted in her expression.

Ladybug stared at him with wide, curious eyes, her cheeks dusted with that same adorable rosy red he always adored. Her brows furrowed and her nose scrunched. And then—

Her eyes wandered all over him, slowly roaming up and down, as if she—

Oh.

As if she were eating him alive with her very gaze.

"What?" he asked, his voice hitching slightly. He couldn’t ignore how warm it made him feel to have her attention focused so intently on him.

Her lips quirked into a smile, and she let out a quiet, nervous laugh. “It’s… nothing,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “J-just a weird idea that popped into my head. Forget I said anything.”

His brows knit together, curiosity tugging at him. Whatever it was, it had her blushing. 

He really wanted to know.

His heart skipped a beat. "Weird, how?"

Ladybug's mouth formed a hard line. She stared at the city below them, wrapping her arms around herself. "N-nothing! It would be too weird."

Chat Noir leaned forward in an attempt to meet her eye. "You can tell me."

With a long sigh, she shyly met his gaze, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I was just thinking, um… maybe… you and I…”

…Oh, shit.

Was she… was she going to ask him if he wanted…?

(He couldn’t even finish that thought without trembling in anticipation.)

Her voice shook. “What if we…”

Please ask me what I think you’re going to ask me, he thought.

His chest fluttered as a brief flicker of hope burst alive inside of him. "Y-yeah?"

Please.

"What if you and I were to…” Her voice rose in pitch. “I-I mean, assuming you’re even interested—we could—I-I don’t know…"

He nodded in encouragement, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Please!

But just before she could finish her question, Ladybug groaned loudly and dropped her head into her hands. “Ugh, n-never mind! Just forget it. Sorry.”

…What?

WHAT!?

Chat Noir's stomach soured with disappointment as a frown tugged at his lips.

(If he was correct in assuming so… had she just been about to ask if he wanted to sleep with her?

If so, the answer would range from a list of 1. Yes, 2. Absolutely, and 3. PLEASE.

But then again, he could have been guessing incorrectly. And, besides… they had their identities to worry about. They couldn’t exactly go to either of their homes, and despite how the internet liked to talk about them, they had not, or would not, ever engage in public indecency.

…Although their suits were able to conform to whatever they wanted, so they could always get a hotel and keep the masks on—)

“Hey, um,” she laughed awkwardly. “Wow. I, um. Is it hot out here to you?”

"Um," he choked. "No, um. I-it's—it's January, so—I'm cold, but—"

I'm cold, he'd wanted to say.

But I'd love to warm up with you.

She didn’t wait for him to finish before she abruptly stood and retrieved her yo-yo from her waist. “N-never mind. I’m gonna bed home. I mean—home head. I mean—head home. Let’s, uh. L-Let’s just pretend this conversation never happened. Please. S-sorry again about, um, yelling at you.”

With an awkward smile, she turned and leaped away, leaving Chat Noir perched on the cold metal beam, staring after her in stunned silence.

…What.

WHAT.

After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he collapsed backward against the beam, gripped his hair, and screamed.

“What were you thinking?” 

Chat Noir cringed at the sharpness in Ladybug’s tone. Instinctively, his cat ears flattened against his head, and he unconsciously stepped back. 

The battle was over, but his heart was still pounding. 

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice softer yet still holding a harsh bite. Her hands trembled as she raked them through her hair, mussing her bangs in a way he’d typically find endearing if not for the fire in her gaze.

“Do what?” he asked. He glanced at the street below them, where paramedics checked on the previously Akumatized man. 

“Don’t play dumb,” she shot back, stepping closer. “You didn’t have to throw yourself in harm’s way! Y-you got hurt again! I had it under control—I could’ve dodged that beam. But you—you just had to leap in like it was nothing; like your life doesn’t matter!”

He raised his hands defensively, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s alright, Buguinette. I’m fine, see? You brought me back. It’s no big deal.”

Ladybug’s hands balled into fists at her sides. Her eyes narrowed, and her lower lip trembled. “It is a big deal when I have to watch you die in front of me, over and over again! You can’t just—just sacrifice yourself like that! You can’t keep doing this—putting yourself in danger for me! You’ve been doing it more often, and I know why. I know it’s because of…”

Her voice faltered and faded. She took a shuddering breath to steady herself, her eyes glistening. He feared she might yell again or even leave, but—

But then she choked back a sob.

Chat Noir’s heart clenched. “Ladybug, I—”

“Let me finish,” she interrupted, her voice cracking as she stepped closer. “I know you’re doing this because I’m pregnant. Because you think you have to protect me more now, especially with Monarch increasing his attacks, since he knows. Because you're scared of losing me. B-but don’t you care how it makes me feel?” Her breath hitched. “Don’t you think I’m just as terrified of losing you?”

...That wasn't something he had considered. 

He wanted to argue or reassure her that he was fine, but the lump in his throat made it impossible to speak.

“What if it hadn’t been fine this time?” she whispered. “What if I couldn’t bring you back? What if… what if I lost you? Forever?”

She stepped closer. Though she was shorter than him, the weight of her words made him feel small. 

“Ladybug…” he breathed.

She pressed her face against his chest. Her hands clutched his suit, her fingers curling into the fabric like she feared he might disappear. (Again.)

“I’m your partner,” she cried, her voice muffled against him. “And I know you’re trying to keep me a-and my baby safe, but you can’t just—just throw yourself away like that. You’re more than just my partner. You’re my friend. Paris needs you.” She sniffed. “I need you.”

Chat Noir hesitated, his arms hovering in the air before wrapping around her. He held her tightly, resting his cheek on top of her head.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face tilting up to meet his gaze. “Promise me,” she said, her voice raw. “Promise me you’ll stop sacrificing yourself like that. I—I can’t lose you, Chat Noir. I can’t do this without you.”

This, as in protecting Paris, or…?

He glanced at her stomach, feeling its round swell pressing against him.

His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He wanted to promise and tell her he’d never do it again, but the thought of standing by while she was in danger… of letting her get hurt, and her losing her baby because of it…

He couldn’t.

“I’ll try,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s not enough,” she insisted, her hands gripping his suit again. “I need you. Please.”

How could he agree to stop? How could he stand by and risk losing her—or the life she carried with her?

He didn’t want to smother her or make her feel like he didn’t trust her strength. But he needed to keep her safe.

It wasn’t just about Paris anymore.

It was about her. And her baby.

Now, more than ever, he needed to protect her.

The thought wasn’t new. He’d sworn to keep her safe since their first battle together. It was second nature, as much a part of him as his mask.

Only the stakes had changed. 

Protecting her meant guarding his partner and safeguarding her baby’s future.

Her baby’s life.

He squeezed her gently. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “I just… I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you or your baby.”

Ladybug took a deep breath. She released his suit from her grip, smoothing her hands over the fabric. “I know you want to protect me,” she said, her voice soft. “And believe me, I want to keep my baby safe, too. But promise me you’ll be a little more careful, okay? I… I can’t imagine if anything happened and I lost not only my daughter... but you, too.”

His resolve crumbled. “O-okay,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Okay.”

Ladybug's shoulders sagged with relief as she rested her forehead against his chest again. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I need you. Please, don’t leave me.”

“I’m here,” he promised.

And he meant it.

Chapter Text

While the first trimester felt like a slow death, and the second trimester was like a breath of fresh air, the third trimester was somehow all of that combined. 

Some days, Marinette felt fine; others, she only wanted to rot in her bed or lounge on her couch, just to keep the discomfort at bay. Depending on the position she sat in, she either felt as if her baby was lying directly on her bladder, or close enough to her lungs that she struggled to breathe. The pressure of all her organs being pushed upward to accommodate her growing baby was practically suffocating. Her back hurt, her breasts were sore, her feet swelled, and she felt gigantic—having to hobble around her apartment like a frail ninety-year-old due to the aches, pains, and the size of her belly, which still had a few more weeks of stretching to do. 

And stretch it did. Stretch marks trailed along her skin, leaving angry red lines in their wake. (Which weren't all that bad. They were a small price to pay for bringing her child into the world. But a small part of her disliked that her previously smooth skin had been marred. She'd expected them to appear on her stomach, of course—but he marks on her breasts and thighs were a surprise.)

Worst of all, the nausea was back, though that was primarily thanks to her acid reflux, which was new and wholly unwelcome.

Marinette wasn’t particularly fond of being woken before dawn. She was especially annoyed whenever she woke up from needing to pee every two hours, or because of the god awful heartburn. One particular instance had been so intense that she thought she might have been having a heart attack. A panicked middle-of-the-night call to her mother was all she’d needed to assuage those concerns.

“It’s just a bad case of heartburn, darling. That means she’s going to have hair,” her mother said, voice raspy from sleep. “Lots of it!”

“Did I have hair when I was born?” Marinette asked, breathing a long sigh of relief as she tried to will her thundering heartbeat to calm.

“Oh, darling,” her mother laughed, “a whole head of it!”

The worst part was how difficult it was becoming to move around. As her belly grew, putting on socks and shoes was challenging and required awkward positioning. Department stores lacked attractive maternity clothes, yet she felt too tired and achy to create any of her own. Even getting comfortable enough to fall asleep was difficult at times. Doing housework was a chore, and though Tikki did what she could to help, it was still so hard to find the energy when she felt like she weighed three hundred kilos.

She sometimes stared at herself in her floor-length mirror, tilting from side to side and admiring the baby bump. (Well, mostly admiring. Periodically, she’d lament to Tikki how she both felt and looked like a whale.)

But all the struggles paled in comparison to how amazing it felt whenever her baby moved. 

Sure, the sensation was strange—sometimes downright uncomfortable or even nauseating—but it was also just… 

Wow.

Her baby was growing inside her, and she was moving.

(Marinette did occasionally worry about her poor organs and ribs when her little one decided to practice what felt like an intense breakdancing routine.)

Yet, despite the discomfort, each flutter and kick filled her with excitement. Nothing compared to the joy of talking to her baby, or singing to her, and feeling a swish or roll in response. Knowing her daughter already recognized her voice was... awe-inspiring.

Emotionally so.

Every time her daughter moved, it reminded Marinette that she was due to be a mother soon. That she had made a little person—a person which was growing inside her. It was natural, billions of women had done this before, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling of just how amazing it was.

She was growing a person.

Her baby.

Her daughter.

And boy, did her baby move. Almost constantly. Rolling, kicking, flailing, switching positions. It was cute, for the most part. Except on nights Marinette had to be up early for work the next day, and her baby kept her awake with what she could only assume was aerobics, making her stomach lurch with the sickly feeling of rolling, or making her get out of bed every few hours to hobble to the bathroom lest she accidentally wet herself.

(That had only happened once, and she vowed she'd never let it happen again.) 

Her baby was so lively that, whenever there was a lull in activity, Marinette would leap into panic, assuming the worst. She often found herself frantically calling her doctor, desperate for reassurance, to know whether or not her daughter was breathing, if she was okay, what if she stopped breathing, oh god—

But every ultrasound brought good news.

Better than good.

Her daughter was thriving. She was on the smaller side, but the doctors were confident in her health and saw no reason for concern.

(And for all her moments of hysteria, deep down, Marinette trusted everything would be okay. Even if she tended to overthink every little thing.)

One night, when her baby was particularly active during a patrol, Ladybug yelped and winced as her daughter kicked her ribs so hard she momentarily lost the ability to breathe. 

“Oh, damn,” she gasped, pressing her hand against a nearby brick wall to steady herself. 

In an instant, Chat Noir was at her side. “Are you okay?” he asked.

With a nod, she sucked in a breath through her teeth, then said, “Y-yeah, all good.” She stood up straight, rubbing her stomach. “Whew! I think I’m gonna give birth to a kickboxer. Baby is bruising my insides.”

Her partner tilted his head. “You can… feel the kicks?”

“Of course I can,” she said. “She’s literally inside me!”

“Does it always hurt?”

“Not usually,” she said, slowly lowering herself to a seat against the wall, which was a feat on its own considering the size of her belly. Chat Noir grabbed her hand and helped ease her down. “Whenever she moves, it feels like pressing or rolling. Sometimes, it’s like... flutters. Other times, it feels like something squirming and trying to bust out.”

“Like a Chestburster?” he joked.

She laughed. “I guess you could say that. It’s so weird. I don’t know how else to explain it. I can literally feel every time she moves. Like any wiggle, kick, or stretch. I can even see it sometimes. Like, her little feet pressing against my skin.”

Chat Noir sat beside her. “That sounds painful.”

“It can be, sometimes.” She gasped, then her hand flew to her stomach as she gritted her teeth. “Oh, my god—she’s got her foot against my ribs.” 

His eyes widened. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s fine,” she said, though her wince said otherwise. “At least she’s not bouncing on my bladder and making me pee myself.”

“...Has that happened—”

She shot him a look. 

“I am so sorry,” he said, though he bit back a laugh.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” she breathed.

His gaze flicked to her stomach. “Pregnancy, or…?”

Ladybug shook her head. “No… I mean—” She gestured to her mask. After a moment, she sighed. “...This is getting really difficult, Kitty.”

“Oh.” He frowned, though it vanished a second later. “Ladybug... if you need to take a break…”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “I don't want to. Not yet. It’s just… it’s getting hard to move around. And not only is being Ladybug becoming more difficult, I’m worried about my baby getting hurt. I know our suits are invulnerable, but…”

“I understand.” He smiled. “Baby comes first.”

“Right.” She returned his grin and patted his leg. Then, with another grimace, she repositioned herself to sit higher, with her back straight. “Oh, my god. I wish she’d let me breathe.”

“Pregnancy sounds like hell,” Chat Noir commented. 

“Oh, no, it’s really not that bad. Like, yes, I'm tired of it and ready to be done, but I’ve also grown to enjoy being pregnant. I like the feeling of knowing my baby is with me at all times. Even if she's already driving me insane.”

“Aw, what? How?"

“The other night, she was rolling and kicking so much that it was making me nauseous, and I couldn’t sleep a wink and was begging her to let me get some rest. But the second she stopped moving, I started panicking.” She chuckled. “Pregnancy is funny that way. You hate how something feels one minute, but you miss it the second it’s gone.”

He smiled down at her belly, leaning toward it. “Hey, you. Baby whose name I don’t know. You be nice to your maman.”

"You listen to Chat Noir," she said to her stomach. "He means business."

"That's right." He leaned closer to her belly. "You hear me, kid? Quit dancing in there. Let your mom sleep."

And then—

Her baby rolled in response.

Ladybug’s heart skipped a beat. “Do that again,” she said to Chat Noir.

“Do what?” he asked.

Another wiggle.

Ladybug placed her hand on her stomach. “I think… I think she’s responding to your voice.”

He whipped his head up to stare at her, eyes sparkling and jaw slightly slack. “Really?”

“I wonder if she recognizes you,” she said.

“You think... she knows my voice?”

A kick, and then the feeling of little hands pressing against her abdomen from the inside. 

“Give me your hand,” she said.

Wordlessly, Chat Noir obliged. Grasping his hand, Ladybug pressed it to her belly over the spot where her baby had just kicked. For a long moment, there was no movement—just the sound of traffic passing through the streets below them. 

Come on, she thought. Do it again!

His eyes briefly met hers before he looked back at her stomach. “I-I don’t feel anything—”

And there it was again—another kick.

Right beneath Chat Noir’s hand.

His sharp intake of breath drew Ladybug’s attention immediately, and when she glanced at him, her chest tightened at the wonder lighting up his face. His eyes widened, and his soft gasp quickly turned into a laugh—a sound so adorable, so full of unfiltered joy and unashamedly him, that she couldn’t help but laugh along.

Another kick.

“She likes me!” he exclaimed, brimming with excitement. He leaned closer, pressing his palm more firmly against her belly as the baby moved again. “Whoa! She—she knows me! She likes my voice!”

Her baby seemed to respond to his enthusiasm, kicking and wiggling more energetically than Ladybug had ever felt. It was a little nauseating, if she were being honest. Yet it was worth it to see the sparkle in her partner's gaze as he experienced the wonders of her unborn child. His cat ears twitched, his belt-tail swished from side to side, and his eyes were blown wide, mouth agape in pure wonder. 

And her daughter just kept on moving. It was as if she was just as delighted by Chat Noir as he was by her.

Ladybug’s laughter softened as warmth blossomed in her chest. She was hardly paying attention to the movements anymore.

Her focus was entirely on her partner.

(He was kind of adorable, in his own way. As adorable as a grown man in a catsuit could be. 

He'd always had the sort of face that was captivating. Not quite in a model-like quality, but in a goofy, boyish charm that had persisted even into adulthood. Especially those eyes—green, as green as a blooming field on a midsummer's day and as bright as the sun. They were warm whenever they looked at her. Warm like daylight on her skin after a lifetime spent in the dark.)

Her gaze lingered on him as she took in the awe etched into his expression.

How could she ever look away?

For a moment, she let herself imagine—just briefly—what it might feel like if the baby growing inside her were theirs.

(If he were the father, not just her partner and very good friend.)

The thought sent a confusing swirl of emotions through her chest.

Ladybug quickly shoved them aside. What a silly thought.

She didn’t like him that way—hadn’t in years.

So why was she thinking about all of this now?

It was silly.

She was silly and he was silly and this whole damn thought process was so damn silly—

And yet—

How he so openly adored her and her baby—

How he hadn’t shied away from hearing about her pregnancy or offering his comfort—

How he seemed so interested in her daughter before she was even born—

Well. It was enough to make Ladybug’s heart feel lighter than it had in months.

(Maybe even years.)

“Kitty,” she began softly, but her voice trailed off as he looked up at her, his gaze so alarmingly full of affection that she didn’t know what she’d been about to say, forgotten it the moment she looked into his eyes.

Words felt unnecessary, anyway.

Instead, she just smiled. A smile that she hoped wouldn't somehow betray the new and confusing thoughts burning inside her. She rested her hand on his head, brushing her fingers through the soft blond strands of his hair. 

(And as he grinned back at her, with a barely perceptible purr rumbling in his chest, she thought to herself that maybe it wasn't such a silly thought.

But she couldn’t go down that path. Not now.)

Besides, Chat Noir’s flirtations were just that—flirtation. His occasional compliment or dirty joke didn’t mean he wanted anything romantic with her. Especially not now, when she was expecting a baby. 

A baby that wasn’t his.

(Why did that thought suddenly make her so sad?)

She cleared her throat. “Well… I think you’re my baby’s new best friend."

He beamed. “I consider that an honor.” His eyes flicked to her stomach. “Can I…?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Can you what?”

Chat Noir briefly leaned forward before hesitating and pulling back. “Ah—nothing. It would be weird of me to ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Well, I was going to ask if I could lay my head on your stomach so I could talk to her, but—”

“Oh!" Ladybug's heart rate spiked. She ignored it in favor of trying to disguise the warm flush on her cheeks by scratching her face. “Go ahead. I-I don’t mind.”

Chat Noir smiled. He leaned forward, placing the side of his head against the swell of her stomach. His cat ear twitched, and his gloved hands smoothed over her belly, careful not to poke her with his claws. 

“Hey,” he said. “Hi, Ladybug’s baby. I’m Chat Noir. Do you know me?”

No response.

He tried again. “Hey, I'm speaking to you. You seemed to like my voice earlier. Did you know that I’m Ladybug’s best friend? I guess that sort of makes me your best friend, too! I’m excited to meet you. Are you excited to meet me?”

Nothing.

His ears drooped as disappointment marred his expression. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You don’t like me anymore? Ignoring me is pretty r—”

Her baby sent a thundering kick directly against Chat Noir’s jaw. Ladybug jolted from the force of it, and Chat Noir reared back with a gasp, placing his hand over his chin as his mouth fell open in a surprised laugh.

“She did that on purpose!” he squawked. “She’s messing with me!”

Ladybug lost herself to a fit of wheezing laughter. “Like mother, like daughter!”

Her partner rubbed his jaw as he grumbled, though his smile was undeniably wide.

“Girl,” Alya said. “You are glowing.”

Marinette smiled, turning from the rack of baby clothes she’d been browsing to face her friend. “Am I?”

“You look like a model right now, even in this bad department store lighting,” Alya laughed. “You know, I never believed the pregnancy glow was a thing, even though people told me I had it when I was pregnant. But I can see it in you.”

“Well, thank you,” Marinette said. “Despite the stretch marks, acid reflux, and inability to move off my couch without nearly peeing myself, I guess it’s nice to know I at least look good.”

Alya snorted. “Oh, come on."

"I feel like sludge."

"Yeah, the third trimester can be brutal. I’m surprised you’re not completely over pregnancy yet.”

“Oh, I’m over it,” Marinette laughed. “Trust me. I’m tired of feeling so heavy all the time. Every day, I wake up disappointed I’m not in labor, and I just want to cry.”

Alya patted her shoulder. “You don’t have much longer to go. You can do it.”

Marinette groaned. “I don’t know if I can! My back is killing me, and I have to run to the bathroom every five minutes. I’m also just so excited to meet my baby—I want her to come out already!”

“Just a few more weeks, Marinette. You’ve got this!” Alya perused the clothing rack, selecting a ladybug-themed matching onesie and beanie, smirking as she held it up for Marinette to see. “Well, this is cute.”

Marinette snorted, accepting the onesie from her friend. “Oh, god, stop. That’s too adorable. But should I, considering...”

“Ladybugs are a popular theme for baby girls. Nobody’s gonna know.”

"You're right." Marinette placed it in the cart. 

Alya glanced at Marinette’s stomach. “You might wanna get more newborn-sized clothes, though. I have a feeling she’s gonna be tiny.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Marinette, peering at a cat-themed onesie before putting it back on the rack, then changing her mind and setting it in her cart. 

“Because you’re in your third trimester, and your belly is still kinda small. Compared to how mine was, I guess. I was huge at thirty-two weeks.”

“Mélodie was a pretty big baby,” chuckled Marinette.

“Well, I hope yours isn’t, for your sake. I tore with her. Those postpartum stitches were a bitch to clean.” When Marinette cringed, Alya smiled apologetically. “B-but don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

Marinette laughed nervously, walking with the cart down the aisle to the baby accessories, where she browsed the hair bows and mittens. “My doctors say she is a bit on the smaller side, but that she’s healthy, so I’m not worried. At least I’ll go on maternity leave soon.”

“That’s a plus.”

“I just hope the birth goes well, and I won’t need a C-section.”

“I hope so, too. But I’ve heard they’re not all bad. Just a longer recovery time.”

“That’s what worries me. I live alone.”

“Well, I’d come over when I can,” said Alya. “And what about your parents?”

Marinette dropped some bibs in her cart. “My mom plans to stay with me the first few nights to help me and the baby settle. She wanted to stay for a few weeks, but…”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “But…?”

Marinette sighed, rubbing her arm. “I don't know, I... I’d hate to uproot her life for that long. She and my Papa have the bakery to worry about. Besides, I decided to have this baby, fully aware I’d have to handle everything myself. I know what I’m getting into, and I’m ready to face the struggles of being a single parent. I don't need anyone to stay with me.”

“Girl," Alya said gently. "With all due respect... you're wrong."

Marinette frowned, her brows knitting together. A twang of irritation festered in her stomach, but she swallowed it down. “What?”

Alya smiled sympathetically. “I don’t mean that in a harsh way, Marinette. I'm just trying to warn you. Trust me—you don’t know what's coming. No parent is one hundred percent prepared. Not really.”

Marinette looked away.

Alya continued, “I know you—you’ve probably read every parenting book out there, watched every online video, and convinced yourself you’re prepared to do this alone. But raising a baby is hard, Marinette. Especially on your own! It’s not something you can fully grasp until you're living it. Babies don’t follow rules. Each one has different challenges. There's no foolproof guide for it.”

As Marinette opened her mouth to respond, Alya stepped closer and took her hands, meeting her gaze with an intensity that left no room for argument.

“There will be moments,” Alya said, her voice firm but kind, “when you haven’t slept in days, you’ve barely eaten, and your baby is screaming at the top of her lungs, and you’re crying harder than she is. Those are the moments that test everything you think you know about motherhood. Your patience and resolve waver, Marinette. Sleep deprivation can make a person do wild things.”

Marinette felt a flare of anger, her instinct to defend herself rising.

But she steadied herself.

Alya wasn’t judging her. She was speaking from experience, relaying her past struggles with Mélodie.

“I had Nino with me every step of the way, of course,” Alya said. “But even with the both of us, a baby is demanding. When Nino returned to work, and I was home alone with a newborn… those days were the hardest. Even felt impossible, at times.”

“I… wh… " Marinette blinked, taken aback by what Alya had said. "What did you do… when it felt impossible?”

“I called my mom,” Alya said.

Ah.

So that's where she was going with this. 

Alya sighed. “Sorry. I’m not trying to undermine your abilities or say I don’t think you can do it. I know you can do it. I believe in you so much, Marinette! You’re amazing, strong, and so, so brave. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to refuse help when it’s offered. And you definitely don’t need to be afraid to ask for help when you need it. From me or your parents. You're going to need someone there with you for the first few weeks. Even if you think you can do it all on your own, it's better to not have to. Trust me.”

Marinette was silent for a long moment, letting Alya’s words sink in. While she wanted to argue—to tell Alya that no, she was wrong, that Marinette was more than capable of doing this on her own and didn't need anyone's help—

That just wasn't true.

She knew Alya was right. 

Alya was always right.

(Marinette did want help. She did want someone there with her while she was recovering from childbirth, to help her with her baby and watch over her. And yet, deep down, guilt gnawed at her at the idea of tearing her mother away from her life for a few weeks. 

But Alya was right.

Marinette wanted nothing more than someone to watch over her. Someone who knew her, whom she didn't feel embarrassed to be vulnerable or emotional around. Someone to soothe her aches, to help her prepare food when her body was in too much pain to move around, or to watch over her baby when she was far too exhausted to function. Someone with hands-on experience who could teach her how to care for her infant when she felt clueless. Someone whose presence brought her comfort; whose voice was woven in memories of lullabies and late-night talks; whose love had always overflowed in every form, unconditional and unwaveringly strong.

Someone she loved. 

And as a new mother learning the ropes for the first time, god—

All she truly wanted was her Maman.)

Without another word, Marinette stepped forward and hugged Alya, squeezing her as tightly as possible without pressing too much against her growing belly. “I’m really glad you’re my friend,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion as she buried her face in Alya’s shoulder.

Alya wrapped her arms around Marinette and patted her back in that reassuring way she always did. “Me too.”

When another store patron gave them a strange look as he walked down the aisle, Marinette broke the hug, returning to the arrangement of baby supplies and patting her stomach. “Well, anyway,” she said. “Might as well get back to spending my whole paycheck on baby stuff.”

“That’s usually how it goes,” Alya chuckled. “Have you decided on a name yet? Deadline’s approaching.”

Marinette smiled. “I have a few in mind.”

“What are the options? Lay ‘em on me.”

“Well, I like Charlotte and Margaux a bit, but… there’s been one name stuck in my head since the beginning.”

“And what’s that?”

Marinette smiled, finding it both silly and endearing that the name Chat Noir had suggested was the one that lingered in her mind the most. “I think I'll call her Émilie.”

Alya returned her smile. “That’s a beautiful name.”

Her chest warmed. “I think so, too.”

The apartment was spotless, yet Marinette still felt the overwhelming urge to clean. 

The floor had been swept, vacuumed, and mopped. Her bedroom was tidy; all her sewing supplies were packed away safely, and even her bed was neatly made. Although the baby would sleep in her bedroom with her for the foreseeable future, tucked safely at her bedside in a small white bassinet, the nursery was clean, decorated, supplied, and ready for its future occupant. 

Both bathrooms sparkled, and the kitchen had been wiped down in every corner imaginable. Her laundry was done, the windows shone brightly, and all the baby bottles and pump parts were freshly sanitized and ready for use. 

She had even dusted the ceiling, for crying out loud! And yet, the urge to scrub wouldn’t go away.

It’s clean, it’s clean, the apartment is clean, she thought. But it’s not clean ENOUGH!

“You’re nesting,” her mother laughed over the phone when she called. “That’s normal. I was the same way.”

“Does it stop?” asked Marinette as she adjusted a painting hanging in her baby’s room, tilting it one way, then the next, until it looked just right. 

“Yes. Usually, after the baby is born,” Sabine said. “I’m surprised you have the energy for it, being so close to full term.”

“It’s like a sudden burst of stamina,” Marinette admitted. “Last week, I didn’t want to do anything but lie around, and now I just want to be up, moving around, and cleaning.”

“Do you have everything you need?”

“I think so, but I keep double-checking because it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Sabine hummed. “You have enough diapers and wipes?”

“Too many.”

“Mittens and hats?”

“Made most of them myself, yes."

"Clothes?"

"A whole dresser and closet full. Same with blankets."

“I know you want to breastfeed. Do you have your pump ready? Enough bags to store milk? And bottles?”

“All stashed in my kitchen and ready,” Marinette said. “And the fridge has plenty of space for milk, too.”

“And your hospital bag is all packed?”

“Packed and waiting by my front door, just in case.”

Her mother chuckled warmly. “My dear, I think you’re wonderfully prepared.”

Marinette smiled, a surge of excitement stirring in her chest as her fingers traced the edge of the crib. She mentally ticked off her preparation checklist as her eyes scanned the nursery.

Baby monitor? Check. 

Changing table? Check. 

A generous supply of blankets, bibs, and baby clothes? Double-check. 

“I really hope so,” she said. “From here on out, I want everything to go smoothly.”

“I’m sure it will,” her mother replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, achy, fed up with pregnancy. I’m so ready to have this baby,” she sighed. “I just want to meet my little girl.”

“You will soon. Just be patient.” Her mother’s voice was soft and knowing. “I know it’s hard, but all you can do now is wait.”

“I keep expecting it to happen any day now,” Marinette said. “Ever since she dropped, every morning I wake up expecting to go into labor. But I guess she’s not done cooking yet.” 

They shared a laugh.

“At least it’s easier to breathe now,” Marinette said. “Though I could go without having to pee every five minutes. Or the lightning crotch.”

“Lightning crotch?” Sabine gave a surprised laugh. “Is that what people call it these days?”

“Trust me, I don’t like the name either, but it’s the only word that accurately describes the feeling. The first time it happened, I screamed.”

(She’d screamed so loud that her poor elderly neighbor knocked on her door to ask her if she was okay.)

“Just a little while longer, darling,” Sabine soothed. “Call me immediately as soon as you enter labor. Your father and I will take you to the hospital. We’ll be with you the whole time, don’t you worry. You aren’t doing this alone.”

Marinette’s smile grew. She smoothed her hand over her belly, feeling her little one kick and wiggle inside. “Thank you, Maman. I love you.” 

“I love you, too. Remember, if you need anything—and I mean anything, whether it’s a question or you just want to talk—I’m always here for you.”

“I know,” Marinette replied, affection in her voice. “I want to be as good a mother to my baby as you are to me.”

Her mother chuckled. “Well, now you’re just spoiling me with compliments.”

“You’re going to be the best Grand-mére, you know.”

“Oh, honey,” Sabine said, “I know.”

Panic began to set in.

Pregnancy was one thing, but the realization that she was due to be a mother within just a few weeks—or sooner, if her baby decided to make an early debut—had Marinette spiraling.

She'd read every book she could. Every online forum, blog post, and guide. She'd spent far too much money on supplies—because a mother can never be too prepared—and double-checked everything around her apartment, to ensure it was a safe space to welcome a newborn. Her baby wouldn't be crawling for many months, yet she'd still secured all her cabinets and electrical sockets.

She'd called her friends with children, begging them to give her a detailed rundown of what to expect. She'd made a step-by-step guide on changing a diaper, complete with illustrated images, just in case she forgot. By her bedside, she kept a first-aid kit and a list of emergency phone numbers: a children’s hospital, a regular hospital, a twenty-four-hour pharmacy, and the poison control hotline. 

To the best of her ability, she'd memorized an internet guide on the “Top 10 Tips for First-Time Parents,” though—

The gist of that was essentially just “Don’t fuck up and kill your kid on accident.”

Babies could die in so many ways. Suffocation, drowning, falling, shaking, suffocation, suffocation, she needed to make sure the bassinet was one-hundred-percent safe, oh god—

Breathe.

Breathe.

Okay.

Her baby’s closet was overflowing with supplies. Diapers, wipes, clothes, bibs, everything.

In reality, Marinette was plenty prepared.

But what if it wasn’t enough?

What if she wasn’t enough?

What if something terrible happened?

What if she wasn’t prepared?

What if—

“Marinette.” Tikki grabbed her cheeks in her tiny paws, staring deep into her eyes. “You’re fine! Relax. Everything is going to be okay.”

“But what if it’s not?” she worried. “What if I mess something up, o-or forget to feed her, or she gets taken away from me—”

“That won’t happen,” Tikki soothed. “Marinette, listen to me. You keep Paris safe every single day. You’re so selfless and strong! And you have so much compassion. If anyone has the capacity to be an amazing mother, it’s you!"

Marinette breathed in deeply. “But—”

Tikki shushed her. “No buts. You’re going to be an amazing mother, okay? Repeat after me: I will be such a good mom!”

“I-I will be such a good mom,” she meekly replied.

“Nuh-uh. With more conviction!”

“I am going to be such a mom,” Marinette said again.

“Again!”

“I will be such a good mom!”

“That’s it!” Tikki cheered. 

Marinette laughed, the weight on her chest lifting. Admittedly, it had made her feel a bit silly to cheer herself on, but hey… if it worked, it worked!

“Thanks, Tikki,” she said. 

“The first step to being a good mother is believing in yourself," Tikki said.

“I think the first step is having a baby,” Marinette replied.

Tikki giggled. She flitted down to her Holder’s round belly and patted it. “Well, you’re almost there.”

“Yeah,” Marinette breathed, pressing her hand against her stomach and smiling as her baby kicked against her palm. “Almost.”

Akuma fights were becoming far too taxing on her body. 

As Ladybug released the purified butterfly from her yo-yo, she whimpered at the discomfort radiating up her spine. Her Miraculous beeped, urging her to flee the scene; she scarcely had the energy to find a safe space to de-transform, too preoccupied with the aches and pains branching from her back, joints, and feet. 

She just felt so heavy. It was hard to find the desire to do anything when her baby was weighing her down and pressing on everything, from her bladder to all the walls in her womb and everything else in between. 

And Monarch knew she was becoming sluggish.

He was taking advantage of it. 

Ever since her pregnancy had become impossible to hide, Akuma attacks had plagued Paris daily—sometimes even multiple times in an afternoon. Ladybug couldn’t figure out what Monarch was hoping to achieve. Was he trying to wear her down until she was too exhausted to fight? Or... was it something far worse?

(Was he trying to make her give up? Make her relinquish her Miraculous to keep her baby safe?

Or trying to harm her child?

She didn't want to consider that.)

Her baby’s due date was just weeks away, though she could technically arrive any day now. And truthfully, Ladybug was beyond ready to be done with pregnancy.

(She was so tired. All the time!)

Her Miraculous let out another warning beep, and she groaned, leaning heavily against a tree for support. Across the park, Chat Noir handled the reporters, keeping their questions and cameras at bay while she struggled to catch her breath. She didn’t want to leave him without saying goodbye, but her time was almost up. If she wanted to find somewhere discreet to recharge, she needed to move—and fast.

Though, moving quickly wasn't something she did well these days.

Clutching her yo-yo, she zipped out of the park, one hand resting protectively over her belly as she leaped and swung through the city. The swoops and jolts made her stomach churn, even if her baby seemed to find the movement entertaining. Thankfully, she reached an abandoned construction zone just in time, ducking behind a stack of pallets moments before her transformation fell around her in a flash of pink and white.

Tikki flitted out from her earrings. Her antenna twitched in concern as she regarded her holder. “Are you alright, Marinette?” 

Marinette shook her head, her legs trembling. She sat on a pile of cinderblocks and heaved a long sigh. “Oh, Tikki… I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” she panted. Her hands retreated to her back to rub the sore spot. It did little to help ease the ache. 

The Kwami sat on her knee, glancing from her holder’s stomach to her face. She was quiet for a long moment, eyebrows knit together in thought, before she smiled sympathetically and said, “I think it’s time to take a break, Marinette.”

Marinette’s head snapped up. “A break? Like… go home?”

Tikki shook her head. “No, Marinette. A break.”

“You mean…” Marinette swallowed. “...from being Ladybug?”

Tikki nodded. “Yes, Marinette. At this point, it’s becoming unsafe for you and your baby to continue fighting Akuma like this. Monarch is aware you’re pregnant, and he’s going to keep targeting you. You're exhausted. I can see how much you're struggling, and I worry for your safety.”

Although Marinette had expected this to happen at some point—and certainly wouldn’t mind the ability to relax for the remaining few weeks of her pregnancy—the idea of giving up being Ladybug, even for a little while, was terrifying. 

“Wh-what about Chat Noir?” she asked. “We could switch Miraculous for the time being, but… I can't expect him to do this alone. Well, he can, but I don’t want to make him.”

“I know.” Tikki smiled. “No, you don’t need to switch Miraculous—we need to find you a replacement.”

“A replacement?”

“A temporary one, yes. Since the other Miraculous are still…” Tikki chose her words carefully. “...lost, there isn’t really another option. Besides, the ladybug Miraculous is the only one that can purify Akumas.” 

A replacement.

Of course.

Temporary, yes, but necessary all the same. 

Marinette instantly knew who she would entrust with her Miraculous. It was the obvious choice—a person she trusted with all her secrets. A person she trusted with her life.

Alya had wielded her Miraculous before, and she'd done an amazing job for the brief time she had been tasked with protecting the city. Marinette couldn't have been more proud of her, and she couldn't imagine trusting anyone else with her Miraculous—other than Chat Noir, of course. 

And yet...

How fair would it be to pull Alya away from her family and ask her to juggle such an enormous responsibility while also caring for her family? She wouldn’t be able to explain to Nino or Mélodie why she would vanish at times. Even if it was only for a little while, the weight of that sacrifice gave Marinette pause.

A pang of guilt tugged at her heart.

“I know who I’ll lend it to,” she said. “But… she has to be okay with it, too.”

Tikki smiled knowingly. “I’m sure Alya will be more than willing to help.”

“I hope so,” said Marinette, retrieving her phone from her purse and dialing her friend’s number. When Alya picked up, Marinette said, “Hey! I know this is sudden, but… are you able to swing by my place sometime tonight? There’s something I need to ask you.”

“Of course,” Alya replied. “Just let me put Mélodie to bed. I’ll be there in an hour.”

•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•

“I’ll do it,” Alya said, interrupting Marinette before she could even complete her question. 

Marinette sputtered. “Y-you didn’t even let me finish!”

“I didn’t have to.” Alya sat beside her on the couch with a smile, gently grasping her hands. “I knew what you were going to ask me as soon as you said you needed a huge favor.”

"...How?"

“I’ve seen the news feeds,” Alya said. “And I’ve seen you in action. It’s clear you’ve been, um…” She chose her words carefully. “...Struggling."

Marinette frowned. Struggling was putting it lightly. She'd still been able to fight Akumas, but her agility was a pale shadow of its usual grace. And each attack required lengthy breaks afterwards, spent lounging in bed or on her couch just trying to catch her breath and recover from the overexertion.

"Girl, it’s a miracle you’re still out there fighting Akuma when you look ready to pop," Alya said. "I’ve been wondering when you’ll finally take a breather. It's about damn time."

Marinette blinked, unable to mask her surprise. “...You think?”

“Yes!” Alya laughed. “Dude, you're eight months pregnant! I'm surprised you waited this long to ask me. And I'm happy to take over for a bit if Ladybug needs to go on maternity leave. I’m the only person who knows your identity and has been Ladybug before, so—”

“B-but what about your family?” Marinette asked, her brows furrowed in concern. “Nino, a-and Mélodie! You know you can’t tell anyone. Won’t that be hard?”

Alya hesitated, then offered a sad smile and nodded. “I know… it’s okay. It’s only for a little while. I… I want to help you, Marinette. You’re my best friend. You do so much to protect the city every day. Let me return the favor for a little bit. Okay?”

Oh, what did she ever do to deserve a friend as lovely as Alya? 

(She couldn't imagine her life without her.)

Marinette smiled, then enveloped her friend, squeezing her as tightly as she could without pressing too hard on her stomach. “Oh, Alya, you’re the most amazing person ever. Thank you!” She glanced at Tikki, who hovered over her shoulder with a bittersweet smile, before returning her focus to Alya. “I know you’ll be a fantastic Ladybug. You have been before. You have my complete faith and utmost trust.”

Alya rubbed her back. “I’ll do my very best. And don’t worry. The city—and Tikki—are in good hands.”

“I-I have to let Chat Noir know first,” Marinette said, pulling away from the hug. "I-I can’t just leave without telling him. It would crush him. It would crush me.”

Alya smirked, a twinkle of something playfully teasing flickering in her eyes. (Whatever it was, Marinette did not want to get into it right that second.)

“Don't worry, I get it," Alya said. "I saw him out on my way over. Do you want me to wait here while you tell him?” 

“He’s out?” Marinette glanced at her window, her gaze flickering across the twinkling city lights. “Now?”

Alya nodded. “Last I saw, he was over by Notre Dame.”

Oh, shit.

"Oh, I forgot," Marinette gasped. "It's a patrol night! Oh, he's probably waiting for me...!"

"Go on," Alya said with that same suspicious smirk. "Go meet him. I'll wait here."

Marinette stood. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” She kissed both of Alya’s cheeks. “Thank you, thank you, I love you!”

She quickly donned her transformation and slipped out her back window, determined to find her partner. Moving across the rooftops took longer than she’d hoped—navigating Paris while nearly full term was no easy feat—but she finally spotted him near Notre Dame, just as Alya had said.

A wave of guilt crashed over her. From all the stress, she’d forgotten entirely about patrol.

And he was still waiting for her, as patient as ever.

Her sweet Chaton. 

“Kitty," she said as soon as she landed. “I-I’m so sorry, I left the scene of the attack without saying anything, a-and then I was so sidetracked I forgot about patrol!”

He turned to face her with that familiar smile, not a trace of irritation in his expression. “It’s alright, my Lady. No biggie.”

She swallowed. Her heart pounded heavily. “U-um, a-about patrol…” She tapped her fingers together nervously. “Can it wait? We need to talk.”

His eyes widened, and his ears perked in alarm. “Of course. Is everything alright?”

Ladybug nodded, slowly lowering herself to a seat on the ledge. The way she struggled to sit was awkward and kind of embarrassing, but Chat Noir wasn’t judging. He walked over and offered a hand, but she waved him off with a smile. 

“It’s nothing bad,” she reassured him. As he sat beside her, she scooted closer and took his hand. There wasn’t any way to sugarcoat what she was about to say, so she figured the best course of action would be to spit it out. “Listen… I need to take a break from being Ladybug. Just for a little while.”

Chat Noir frowned slightly. He glanced at her belly, and though his ears slightly drooped, he nodded. “Because of the baby, right?”

“Yes.” She patted his hand. “It’s getting too hard to fight Akuma, Chaton. Being only a few weeks away from giving birth makes being Ladybug too unsafe for myself and my daughter. Monarch knows I’m pregnant by now—” Her breath hitched. “—and even though Tikki has told me our suits are invulnerable, I can’t risk anything. Besides, now that I only have one Lucky Charm before my transformation times out, fights are even harder.”

Chat Noir was quiet for a moment. Then, he met her gaze, offered her a smile, and entwined their fingers together, squeezing her hands. “I understand, my Lady. Don’t worry—I’ll keep Paris safe in your absence.” 

“You won’t have to do it alone.” At her partner’s raised eyebrow, she chuckled. “I have a friend who will take over as Ladybug until I can return. You’ve met her before—do you remember Scarabella?”

“Yes,” he said hesitantly. 

“She’ll be with you for a little while. All I ask is that you trust her as you would trust me. And be nice, okay?” She patted his cheek. “Don’t get all territorial on me.”

He laughed, resting his hand over hers. “Okay, okay, I’ll be nice! I promise. I trust you enough to know you’re making the right decision.”

“Thank you. It won’t be forever. Just for a few weeks—until my baby is born and I’ve recovered enough to resume my duties.” 

Chat Noir nodded, though his usual playful smile lacked its spark. There was a weight to his gaze that made her chest ache. Then, without a word, he leaned against her, resting his forehead gently on hers. She melted into him.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmured.

Her heart squeezed. “I’ll miss you, too.” The admission felt heavier than expected, but she didn’t dare linger on the thought. Instead, trying to lift the mood, she added, “But, hey… the next time I see you, I might have someone special for you to meet!”

His face brightened then, his smile finally reaching his eyes. “I can’t wait,” he said. “Good luck. With everything. I hope it all goes perfectly.”

Her hand slid down his arm until her fingers found his. She gave his hand a squeeze. “Me too. And I’ll tell you all about it when I come back.”

His snicker broke through the bittersweet tension. “All the gory details?”

“Every single one,” she teased back, her lips quirking into a smile.

The goodbye should have been simple—it wasn’t as if this was forever—yet it was anything but easy. Since becoming Ladybug at fourteen, she had never gone more than a few days without seeing Chat Noir. A week at most. The idea of multiple weeks without him by her side… without his jokes, unwavering support, or the comfort of his touch…

It left her feeling strangely hollow.

He kissed her forehead when she said goodbye; the warmth left behind carried her home. 

Thirty minutes. That’s all it had been. Thirty minutes spent at his side, and yet it felt as if it had been much longer, while far too brief at the same time.

When Marinette returned to her apartment, sorrow settled over her shoulders. She knelt before Tikki, cupping her against her cheek. “I’ll miss you so much,” she whispered. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she kissed Tikki’s forehead.

“I’ll miss you too, Marinette,” Tikki said softly, her own eyes glistening. "I can't wait to meet your daughter!"

Marinette released a wet chuckled. "Me, too."

She took a shaky breath before removing her earrings. They felt unnaturally heavy in her hands. Handing them over to Alya made her chest tighten, but she steadied herself, knowing this was the right thing to do—for her baby, herself, and for Paris.

“Thank you, Alya,” she said earnestly. “For everything.”

Alya hugged her tightly. “You’ve got this, girl. Don’t forget, you can call me anytime. I’m here for you, always.”

As Alya and Tikki prepared to leave, Marinette ran to the kitchen and retrieved a pink Tupperware, passing it into Alya’s hands. It was stuffed with freshly baked cookies. “For the road,” she said with a small smile, though her eyes still shimmered with tears.

"Thank you," Alya said. "Good luck, Marinette. Let me know when you go into labor, okay? I'll be there."

"I will," Marinette promised.

She stood by the door, watching as they disappeared down the hall. Her apartment felt emptier already, and her ears too light.

But as she rested her hand over her growing belly, she reminded herself why this was necessary.

Her baby could come any day now.

And Marinette couldn’t wait to meet her.

Chapter Text

Two weeks, Chat Noir thought. 

He leaned against the side of a building, squinting at the Paris skyline as the sun glinted off the skyscrapers in beams of white.

It had been two long weeks since Ladybug had taken a step back.

Scarabella was an excellent partner—intelligent, capable, and quick on her feet. She carried the mantle with grace, and working with her was easy.

But no matter how much he appreciated having her help—

She just wasn’t Ladybug.

(And he missed his Lady so much.

Her absence had carved an ache in his chest, a longing that no amount of routine patrols or battles could erase. The city felt different without her. And no matter Scarabella's competence, she could never truly replace Ladybug as his partner.

Not in his opinion, anyway.)

Chat Noir sighed, nudging a pebble with his boot and watching it tumble off the roof. They’d just thwarted another Akuma, yet neither he nor Scarabella had moved to leave.

“Good work today,” Scarabella said, holding out her fist.

He hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand for a moment before half-heartedly bumping their knuckles together. It felt wrong to offer her a fist bump when that was his and Ladybug's thing. It would have been even worse to refuse, though. 

“You too,” he responded, his tone lacking the enthusiasm hers had carried.

Her reddish-brown hair caught the sunlight, and her golden eyes twinkled with amusement. “You don't sound too happy.”

Guilt nipped at his heels like an antsy dog. “Sorry. I meant it. Good job.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “You alright? You've barely spoken a word to me today.”

“I'm fine,” he said, quieter than intended. “Just in a weird mood.” 

“Ah.” She stepped closer, absentmindedly twirling her yo-yo string between her fingers. “Missing your Lady?”

He looked away. 

“I get it,” she said. “You're not used to working with someone else. It's a big adjustment. I know you'd rather be here with her than me, and this temporary partnership is probably frustrating."

His ears drooped. “No, I—”

“It's okay.” To his surprise, Scarabella’s smile was genuine, her expression lacking offense. “Like I said, I get it. It’s natural for you to miss her. You guys are close! I know these last two weeks have been weird. It's been a big change for me, too."

"Oh. I'm sorry if it's been difficult for you."

She shrugged. "Ah, don't worry. I'm happy to be here. Believe it or not, I'm having fun. I'm glad to help my friend, and—" She nudged him. "—I get to hang out with you again. Even if you're being mopey."

Despite himself, he smiled. "I am not mopey."

"Yeah, you are," she laughed. "But it's alright. You're allowed to be. Don't worry; she'll be back before you know it.”

"You must know Ladybug personally," he mused. 

She tilted her head, arching a brow beneath her mask, and placed her yo-yo back on her hip. "You know I can't answer that."

He released a long, dramatic sigh, slumping to a seat on the rooftop ledge. The late spring breeze danced around them as the sun warmed his shoulders. “I know,” he said with a pout, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his chin in his hands. “But I know you know her, so don’t deny it. Is she alright? Has she given birth yet? Is the baby okay?”

“I don’t think I should answer any of those questions, either,” Scarabella replied.

Chat Noir’s face soured, and his cat ears pinned back against his head. His hands retreated to the ledge, where his claws scored the metal panels. “Will you at least tell me if she’s okay?”

She responded with a teasing grin. “Easy, loverboy. Ladybug’s doing fine.”

“B-but what about the baby?” His heart beat a little faster. “Has she given birth yet? Is the baby healthy?”

Scarabella crossed her arms, though her smile remained. "You’re awfully nosy.”

His shoulders tensed, and he shot her a sheepish look. "Sorry. I know you can’t say much. I just… I’m worried about her, okay? She’s my best friend. I love—" His eyes widened; Scarabella smirked. "I care about her a lot."

She softened, a gentler smile weaving along her face before she finally gave in and sat beside him. “Alright, alright. No baby yet, but it’ll be soon. I’d say any day now."

"Oh…" Surprisingly, disappointment rose in his stomach. No baby yet meant Ladybug had yet to meet her daughter, which she'd been so excited about. No baby yet meant Ladybug would still be out for a while. No baby yet meant he'd have to mourn her absence a little longer. 

But that was okay. She was allowed to take time away.

Even if it meant he couldn't see her.

"Are they both okay?” he asked. 

"Both fine," Scarabella assured him. "Ladybug’s had a few Braxton Hicks, but nothing major."

Chat Noir blinked. Was… was he supposed to know what those were? "Braxton… what?"

"False alarms. They're small contractions before the real thing."

"Ah." He nodded, though the explanation didn’t entirely ease his anxiety. “Does that mean the baby is coming soon?”

Scarabella shrugged. “It’s a possibility.” When he slumped lower, she patted his shoulder. “Aw, hey. Don't worry, Chat Noir. She'll be alright!”

"I can’t help worrying,” he said. “Pregnancy… childbirth… it’s dangerous, isn’t it? I-I mean, I’ve read enough horror stories to know things could go wrong at any moment. If anything happened to her, I…” 

He stopped there. It was too scary to continue that train of thought.

Scarabella squeezed his shoulder. "Don’t worry yourself sick. Ladybug’s the strongest person I know. She’s got a great support system, and she’ll be in good hands when the time comes. Childbirth can be scary, but it's not all bad."

"You sound like you know a thing or two about this."

"I should hope so. I’ve been through it myself."

Oh?

Oh!

His eyes widened. "You're a mom?"

"I am," she said, her voice full of pride. 

A wistful smile tugged at his lips. "It must be amazing, being a parent. Seems nice to have a kid… someone to love unconditionally, teach, and laugh with. To never feel alone. I-I mean, if I had a kid… there sure wouldn’t ever be a quiet moment in the house. It’d be full of noise. Good noise."

"It’s everything," she admitted. "Difficult, sure, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world."

Below them, a man strode along the street with a toddler clutching his hand. They wandered inside a sweet shop, and moments later, emerged to sit at at an outdoor table and eat ice cream. In his excitement over the treat, the little boy smeared chocolate all over his face, and while he jabbered about something inaudible, his father grabbed a napkin and wiped him clean. 

The scene tugged at something deep within Chat Noir, and he hugged his knees to his chest. 

"I wonder if I’ll ever get to be a parent,” he said. 

Scarabella nudged his shoulder. “Well, I hope so! Based on what Ladybug has told me about you, I think you’d be a great dad.”

His chest warmed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He held onto her words, letting them echo in his mind. If he could, he would’ve cradled them in his hands and pressed them close to his heart.

Maybe one day he’d prove her right.

Two more weeks passed, and Chat Noir could barely function. 

He’d seldom seen Scarabella all week. She hadn’t been around for patrols, only appearing long enough to fight Akuma and offer a quick goodbye before she left. 

No word about Ladybug. No news about her return.

(Not that he was rushing her. Ladybug could take as much time as needed to care for her new baby, if the little one had even been born yet. He didn't want her to strain herself or risk injury by returning to her duties too soon.

But he just wanted to know.)

As he paced the roof of Notre Dame, his hands clenching and unclenching around his baton, he tried to remind himself that everything was fine. Just because Ladybug was taking a break and he’d barely heard from Scarabella all week didn’t mean anything was wrong.

(But what if something had gone wrong? What if the reason Scarabella hadn’t been around much was because Ladybug had been injured—or worse—during childbirth, and she didn’t know how to tell him that his beloved partner would never return? 

What if both she and her baby had died!?)

Releasing a quiet groan of frustration, Chat Noir sat on the roof, clutching his head so tightly he nearly pricked his scalp with his claws.

He just… wanted… something.

Anything.

Any sign that things were fine.

Until then, he’d keep worrying. What else was he supposed to do?

Three days later, as he perched on a secluded rooftop and overlooked the city nightlife, he received the news he’d been begging for.

Scarabella zipped across the rooftops, joining him on the dusty old roof. She wore a pleasant smile as she sat beside him. “Hey,” she said, sounding apologetic. “Sorry, I haven’t been around much. Nice to see you again.”

“You, too,” he said, trying to keep his voice amicable and not immediately jump into panicked questions. “H-how, uh… how are you?”

She chuckled. “I’m fine. But that’s not what you want to know, is it?”

He tensed. "W-well, I—I mean—"

“It's okay,” she said. “I know how much Ladybug means to you. She’s fine.” Her smile grew. “Better than fine, actually.”

Chat Noir’s throat felt tight. A wave of relief washed over him. “She is?”

Scarabella nodded. “She needs some time to recover, but she’ll return soon. I promise.”

Recover…?

So… that meant…?

“She had her baby?” he gasped. 

Scarabella’s expression warmed. “I can’t say exactly when it happened, but… yes. She wanted me to tell you.”

A sudden surge of emotion overwhelmed him. Before he could control himself, tears welled in his eyes, and his chest felt tight with the urge to sob. “O-oh,” he rasped, hoping to disguise the tears behind a cough. “Th-that’s—that’s good. I’m happy for her.”

Ladybug had her baby, he thought. The baby she’s been carrying for the past nine months. 

The baby he’d been dying to meet. Her daughter.

The same baby he’d felt kick against his hands. The baby who knew his touch and voice. The same baby he’d been talking to for months, whose arrival he’d anticipated since hearing the news.

Ladybug’s baby.

Ladybug’s.

Ladybug was a mom now. And despite the last nine months he’d had to prepare, that fact still didn’t feel real.

He cleared his throat, steadying himself before asking, “H-how did the birth go?”

Scarabella’s smile brimmed with pride. “Everything went well. Exceptionally well, especially for a first-time mom. I know it wasn’t easy with my baby. But Ladybug handled it like a champ, as she does with everything.”

“A-and she’s okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but urgent.

“She’s doing as well as anyone can after giving birth. It’s a lot on the body, and rest is hard to come by with a newborn. But don’t worry.” Seeing the concern etched into his face, she patted his knee. “She has help. She’s not doing this alone. I’m sure she’ll be back on her feet in no time.”

“She… she can’t walk?” he gasped, eyes wide with alarm.

Scarabella burst into laughter. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. She’s fine! I just meant she’s adjusting, that’s all.”

“Oh.” He released a long breath, resting his hand over his chest. “I'm so glad she's okay. A-and her baby—she's okay too?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes. Perfectly healthy. And so cute. One of the cutest babies I've ever seen! Besides mine, of course."

Ahhh!

He wanted to see the baby so badly.

He smiled. "Well, of course she's cute. She's Ladybug's baby."

"That's the truth. I'm sure Ladybug would love to have you meet her someday."

"I'd like that, too," he admitted. "But honestly, she should take all the time she needs to recover. I miss her, but… her baby and her health come first. Whenever she’s ready to return… I’ll be here.”

Scarabella’s gaze softened. “You’re a good partner.”

He smiled—the kind that made his eyes crinkle and his chest feel warm. “I try to be.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“No,” he said, “I’m lucky to have her.”

Scarabella chuckled. She rose to her feet, grasping her yo-yo. “Well, I’ve gotta run. My little one needs me. She won't go to bed without a bedtime story from Maman. But I’m glad I got to see you. Ladybug has been nagging me to make sure you know she’s okay.”

“Thank you for telling me,” he replied earnestly. “Can you tell her congratulations from me? And… that I’m really proud of her.”

“Of course. She’ll appreciate that.” Scarabella stepped away but paused, turning back with a glimmer in her eye. “Oh… and for the record? She misses you, too.”

His heart skipped a beat. “She does?”

She scoffed playfully, rolling her eyes. “Are you kidding me? All she talks about is how excited she is to get back to working with you.”

A swell of happiness surged through his veins, spilling into a grin he couldn’t hide. “Hah. You’d think she likes me or something.”

“Yeah,” Scarabella teased with a smirk. “Or something.”

Or something.

With a final wave, she leaped from the roof, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Chat Noir sighed, the lingering warmth in his chest spreading into every corner of his being. No matter how long it took—days, weeks, months, or more—he couldn’t wait to see Ladybug again.

Another two weeks passed.

Every night, he waited at Notre Dame.

Only Scarabella ever appeared.

Sunsets were always pretty in Paris.

Chat Noir sat perched atop the roof of Notre Dame, his legs dangling over the edge as he gazed at the horizon. Soft hues of pink and orange painted the skyline and shimmered off the Seine, and the river flowed like liquid gold.

The city felt calmer tonight, its usual bustling energy dulled to a serene hum. Usually, he’d find peace in the quiet. Tonight, the stillness felt heavier.

A month and a half had passed without even a glimpse of Ladybug. 

The fading summer sun caught in the stained glass below him, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the ancient stone. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and slowly let out a long, weighted breath.

“I bet Ladybug would love this view,” he murmured to the empty air.

As high as he was, the wind had a slight bite, even during the warmer months. So, fed up with his hair blowing in front of his eyes—and knowing there was no point in staying out since he’d already finished his patrol route—he climbed down, leaping across the street and landing on the roof of some apartments nearby. As he walked along the rooftop, he idly tapped the tip of his baton against the old clay chimney pots, resigning himself to another quiet night in his house alone. He'd make a quick dinner, take a shower, and cuddle up in bed with his cats while dreaming of a life a little less lonely. 

As he always did.

The sound of a yo-yo string casting out and latching onto one of the chimney pots almost made Chat Noir spin in excitement, but he knew there was no point in getting his hopes up. 

“I already finished patrol, Scarabella,” he sighed, not even bothering to turn around. “I was just about to head home.”

“Well, that’s not exactly the welcome I was expecting,” a familiar voice, warm and teasing, floated through the air. She released a light laugh—a sound he’d recognize anywhere.

Chat Noir whipped around with a gasp, his heart skipping a beat and nearly leaping right out of his chest. He had to blink several times to ensure he was seeing correctly—that he wasn't waltzing through a dream at home while asleep in his bed. He rubbed his eyes, opened and closed his mouth, and then froze.

There she was, standing in front of him. Orange sunlight painted her suit, bouncing off her hair and making her glow like an ethereal vision that only his fantasies could conjure. But this wasn't a dream—she was all too real. 

Ladybug.

His breath hitched as he took her in—the same blue eyes, same pink lips upturned in a grin, same black hair tied into a high ponytail, messy yet undeniably attractive. Though she looked weary, with dark circles hanging under her eyes like a shadowed mask, she was still the same gorgeous woman he’d come to know and love over the years. Except she looked different, too—appearing slightly older in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. A small part of him thought it strange to see her without the rounded belly, and her suit had changed, too; sporting a different design on the chest, as well as a zipper. As his eyes wandered lower, he realized he couldn’t see all the changes because—

Because a tiny bundle was wrapped snugly against her front.

Was that…?

“Hi,” she said, sounding tired yet happy all the same. 

“Ladybug,” he breathed. He glanced at the tiny form bound against her, held snugly by a woven wrap and supported by her mother’s arms. He swallowed the urge to cry. “Y-you’re back.”

His partner nodded. “I was hoping I could introduce you to someone. But… if you still want to head home…”

“No!” He shook his head frantically. “N-no, I—” He looked at the baby pressed against her chest, her little face obscured, and the desire to cry hit him all over again, but he held firm. “I missed you so much. I-is that…?”

“I missed you, too." She glanced at her daughter. "I've brought someone special. Would you like to say hello?”

His throat felt tight as he asked, “Yes! I mean—a-are you sure?”

"Come here." She slowly lowered herself to a seat. He rushed over to help her; one of his hands enveloped hers while the other supported her back, easing her down. She winced slightly as she sat, then puffed out a breath once finally settled. 

“Thanks,” she said, laughing softly. “Getting up and down is still hard, sometimes.”

He sat beside her. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Better than ever, actually." With a sheepish smile, her gaze dropped to the tiny human cradled snugly against her chest. “Um… here. Sit a little closer.”

Chat Noir obeyed without hesitation, sliding closer until their shoulders brushed. With practiced care, Ladybug unwrapped the baby from her chest and swaddled her. And before he even could fully process what was happening or what he was seeing—

She passed the baby into his arms.

Chat Noir's first reaction was pure panic. His hands froze, stiff and uncertain. 

"It's okay," she said, and he wasn't sure if she was telling the baby or him. Her hands gently adjusted his so the baby was tucked with her back on his forearms and her head nestled in the crook of his arm. “Like this,” she instructed. “Support her head, okay?”

Oh my god. 

Oh my god.

Oh, god.

The baby whimpered, heightening his anxiety.

“Oh no,” he gasped. “Am I holding her right? Is this okay? I’m not—” The baby let out a sharp whine. “Ah! Did I hurt her?”

“No,” chuckled Ladybug. 

When the infant let out another soft whimper, his heart plummeted, guilt eating him from the inside out. “She hates me,” he whispered. 

Ladybug’s reassuring voice cut through his worry. “No, no. No, Kitty. You’re fine. Really. You’re doing great. She just needs a moment to get used to you."

His breathing slowed as he willed his muscles relaxed, shifting slightly to cradle the swaddled infant more securely. And then, finally, he had a chance to fully take her in.

To gaze down upon her face.

And—

Oh—

Oh.

Wide, powder-blue eyes blinked up at him, framed by long, dark lashes fluttering against her chubby cheeks. Her tiny mouth pursed into a curious pout before her pink lips parted with a soft, squeaky grunt. She smacked her tongue, breathed a little faster, and as he offered her a finger—oh—she enclosed her fist around it with a delicate squeeze.

Chat Noir took a deep breath. 

(Don't cry. Don't cry.)

She was utterly, heartbreakingly adorable.

The baby wore a mask—because of course she did. A mask that looked just like her mother’s: red with black spots, with a heart in the middle. 

How...?

When he glanced between them, Ladybug seemed to sense his confusion as she said, “Tikki was able to lend some of her magic to disguise her identity. Don’t worry; like we can’t feel our masks, she can’t feel hers. It doesn’t seem to bother her.”

Chat Noir couldn’t find the words.

He couldn't stop looking at her. The baby.

Ladybug's baby.

Even with the mask, he could see her mother in every feature. The same fair skin, the same blue eyes, the same petite nose. And though her little pink beanie concealed most of her hair, the jet-black strands that peeked out hinted at a striking resemblance to Ladybug. He wouldn’t be surprised if freckles dotted her nose in a few years, just like her mother’s.

A tidal wave of emotion surged through him, stealing the air from his lungs. Warmth, love, awe, and an overwhelming instinct to protect coursed through his chest, expanding until he thought his lungs might burst. His throat constricted, and though he held back the tears that threatened to spill, his bottom lip trembled.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice strained. 

He hadn’t realized how much he was shaking until Ladybug rubbed his arm and said, “It’s alright, Kitty. You aren’t going to hurt her. I’m right here.”

Chat Noir nodded, taking a breath to steady himself. “H-hi,” he said, unable to tear his eyes away from the infant in his arms. She was warm and heavier than expected, but still so small. “Oh, you’re so perfect. Look at you!”

The baby squeaked at his voice. Even with the blanket swaddled around her, she kicked her legs and wriggled her arms. Her eyes blew wide, staring up at him in wonder, and her lips parted as she gasped in that adorable breathy way that newborn babies breathed.

“H-hi,” he said again, finding it difficult to speak around the wedge in his throat. “Hi, angel. Y-you remember me? You… remember my voice?”

The baby squeaked again, her tiny lips forming a small "O" before she shifted and nestled against his chest, her little face pressing into him like—

Like she belonged there.

Like she wanted him. 

Like she... loved him.

"Aw," Ladybug cooed. "She remembers your voice."

And that was it.

The dam broke.

Tears rolled freely down Chat Noir’s cheeks, his breath catching in a choked laugh. He didn’t bother to stop them—didn’t care to. He was too captivated by the tiny baby he held in his arms. He was holding a baby, Ladybug's baby, and she was so damn cute and fit so perfectly in his arms. A life no more than a few weeks old, yet already so full of love and trust. Somehow, impossibly, she recognized his voice, sought him out, and seemed to already love him in her own way.

Oh. Oh, he thought he might burst from how much he adored her already.

Ladybug leaned closer. She trailed her finger down her baby’s cheek. “I cried, too,” she said. “When I saw her for the first time. And once I calmed down, I looked at her face and started crying all over again. Holding your baby for the first time… it’s such a huge feeling.”

Chat Noir swallowed hard, his tears slowing as her words sank in. 

He could understand now—how love for your child could transcend everything.

But—

This wasn’t his baby.

(A bittersweet pang joined the warmth in his chest as a familiar longing slipped into his thoughts. 

How would it feel to hold his own child one day? To have tiny hands reach for him, wanting his affection? To have someone call him "Papa"? 

To have someone who loved him unconditionally, the same as he loved them?

Would he ever know? 

Would he ever have that chance?)

“She’s so special,” Ladybug continued. “Oh, I’ve barely slept since she was born, and my body hurts, but it’s all been worth it. I mean, just look at her…”

He was. He couldn’t stop. He loved her so much already that it just wasn’t fair.

“...I didn’t know it was possible to love something so much,” Ladybug said. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

He let her talk. What could he say?

Words felt impossible, caught somewhere in the lump in his throat. Even if he could speak, he doubted he’d manage to tear his eyes away from the tiny human cradled in his arms.

The baby had him utterly spellbound.

She sighed. “I love her so much, Chaton. It’s been such a whirlwind.”

Chat Noir glanced at his partner, although tearing his gaze away from the baby was difficult. "Y-yeah?"

Ladybug continued, “The day she was born… I was so overwhelmed. I went into labor late at night, so I was already exhausted, and it took such a long time to get to the point of pushing her out. I barely remember it.”

“Really?” he asked. “You barely remember?”

“Well, that’s not true. I mean, I was pretty drugged up,” she laughed, “but I remember my mother there, with me, holding my hand, and encouraging me. I remember how badly it hurt, even with the medicine, which I said I didn’t want, but gave in anyway when the contractions grew to be, like, hell on Earth. And I remember feeling like I couldn’t do it. Telling my mother I couldn’t.”

“But you did,” he said with a smile, meeting her gaze. 

She returned his grin. “I did!"

"You did great."

"It still feels surreal. When they finally handed her to me, I was so out of it and so depleted that it took me a minute to process the shock. At first, I thought, wait? That’s my baby? This can’t be my baby. I’m done? I did it? She’s out?” She laughed again. “But when I held her on my chest for the first time, and I saw her face… heard her noises… oh, Kitty. I cried harder than I ever have. I mean, snot-dripping-down-my-face-and-chin crying. Bawling.”

He laughed with her. 

“I’d never felt that burst of love before,” she said. “That twelve hours of labor suddenly felt like nothing. Hormones work in crazy ways.” 

“Twelve hours?”

She nodded. “It wasn’t all that bad. I mean, it was exhausting and painful, and the adrenaline crash afterward had me shaking and throwing up. It was all worth it to me, though.” Her hand smoothed over her baby’s belly. “When I look at her… I feel this… explosion of emotions inside me, like…”

“...Like?” he asked, although he thought he already knew.

“Like I can't believe I ever existed without her. I can’t really describe it. It’s so huge. I’d do anything for her.”

She leaned down to kiss her baby’s forehead. The infant scrunched her face in response, and Chat Noir wished he could kiss the baby too, but he knew it wouldn't be appropriate. 

"I'm so happy for you," he said. 

She hummed, breathing in for a long moment before exhaling and resting her head on his shoulder. "Mm. I'm happy, too. I know this sounds cliché, but… my life feels like it has more meaning now. Before I was a mother, I was kind of just going through life on autopilot, you know? Waking up, working, coming home, repeat. But now it's like I have something to live for. My life has changed so much over the last few weeks that I can't even remember who I was before.”

He chuckled softly, sniffling as he tried to clear the lingering tears and the stuffy nose they’d left behind. His cheeks felt cool in the evening breeze from the remaining moisture, and the corners of his eyes stung. “I-I think I understand what you mean.”

“Honestly, though... I'm thrilled to finally be back out here,” she admitted. “I love her, of course. But I was starting to go a little insane being constantly cooped up inside. And even though I had help, caring for a newborn is…” She paused, considering her words. Though her expression was outwardly peaceful, he could see a certain cloudiness in her eyes, and as she pressed against him, he could feel the bone-deep fatigue emanating from her bones. “It’s really hard, Chaton.”

He could imagine. Especially since she’d been doing it practically by herself.

“I cried every day straight for the first two weeks,” she said. “Mostly from hormones. And I still do, most days. Being a mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s overwhelming in every way. I hardly sleep, barely eat, rarely shower, and every time I put her down to nap and think I’ve got at least ten minutes to myself, she cries and needs me again. So, um, sorry if I seem a little out of it o-or, uh. Smell bad. I-I mean, I did take a shower before I came here so—"

"You smell fine," he said. "Are you okay?"

She nodded a little too forcefully. "Oh, yes. I'm fine."

Chat Noir glanced at her, then down at the tiny bundle in his arms as she released his finger. "Are you?"

She nodded again. "Peachy. I-I mean, I'm exhausted, and I was so tired last night that I think I was starting to hallucinate, and I'm also pretty hungry but kinda nauseous at the same time, and my boobs are sore, and I feel disgusting, but, y'know, that's motherhood. It'sall worth it, though."

His eyes widened slightly. He knew newborns weren’t easy from the stories he’d heard from his friends, but… wow. Poor Ladybug.

(He wished she had a partner at home to help her. But a small, selfish part of him felt relieved she was single. Which, of course, made him feel even more guilty for having that thought in the first place.

Still. He knew it’d be easier if she had someone else at home with her to give her a break whenever she needed it.

If only he could be there for her.

But she wouldn't want that.)

"Ladybug," he said, a little more firmly. "It's okay to not be okay."

Ladybug hesitated. Then, with an awkward laugh, she tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and shrugged. “Um. I know. But I'm fine. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she repeated, sounding more confident, though she glanced away. “Yeah. I’m okay. Well, I’m trying to be. I’m… I’m getting better. Therapy helps.”

...Therapy?

Therapy?

Had childbirth been that traumatic?

He schooled his expression to prevent any shock (or worse, pity) from showing on his face. That wouldn't help her right now.

Truthfully, he yearned to hug her, or even to squeeze her shoulder in a silent display of comfort, yet he was too nervous to remove either of his hands from the infant for fear of accidentally dropping her. Instead, he pressed his thigh against hers, hoping it would suffice. “Ladybug… if there’s anything you need—anything at all... even if it's just to vent... you know I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thank you.” She smiled, and he was pleased to see it reached her eyes. As the baby wiggled, Ladybug gently rubbed her stomach, and the love Chat Noir saw reflected in her expression was nearly enough to make his heart burst. “I really do love her, though. Despite how tough it’s been, I’m so glad I have her. She’s my special little girl.”

“Do you want to hold her again?” he asked. He didn’t want to let go of the baby, not yet—not ever, really—but if Ladybug wanted her baby back, he wouldn’t hesitate to hand her over.

To his surprise, she shook her head, her voice softened by a yawn as she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder and looped her arm around his as she got comfortable by his side. “Mm, nooo... I like watching you hold her. It’s cute.”

Oh.

His heart skipped a beat, and a fuzzy warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the baby snuggled in his arms.

Cute, huh?

His cheeks colored slightly, and he felt a bit like a silly teenager again, blushing from a simple compliment from his crush. He hoped the soft glow of the nearby streetlights could mask the flush he was sure was spreading.

"I still can't believe you have a baby," he said. "Like, I know, and I've had time to come to terms with that, but it's still... so surreal. You, Ladybug, my best friend, you—you're a mom. You had a baby!"

She chuckled, the sound rising from her throat and vibrating against his shoulder. “I know... I'm still coming to terms with it, too. It's weird to think about, right?"

"Not weird. I think it fits you perfectly."

She beamed. "I hope so. It's amazing how this is just something humans can do. While I was in labor, I kept thinking about my mom, my grandmother, my best friend. All the women in my family who had done this before me. It feels impossible when you’re in the middle of it—like you can’t do it. But then you do. And it’s so… primal, knowing I brought life into this world with my own body.”

Chat Noir watched her in quiet awe, warmth swelling in his chest. “You’re amazing,” he breathed.

Before she could respond, the baby let out a tiny noise, smacking her lips in search of comfort. He offered her his finger again, thinking she would grasp it, but she latched onto it with her lips as if it were a pacifier.

His heart clenched. How was she so damn cute?

Ladybug smiled sleepily, watching as her daughter mouthed his finger. “I was so scared I wasn’t ready to be a mom. And, honestly? I still don’t feel like I am. Not entirely. But I love her. I would die for her. The feeling is indescribable.” She yawned. “The postpartum hormones are crazy, but the love? That’s real.”

Chat Noir mirrored her smile. “Well, if it means anything, you seem like you’ve got a pretty good handle on the whole parenting thing so far.”

“I’m trying. My mom stayed with me for the first few weeks, which helped a lot. And my best friend has been checking in constantly. I don’t know what I would’ve done without them.”

“I’m glad you had help at home.” He hesitated for a second, then added, “Are you healing okay? I mean, you, uh… I know childbirth can be... damaging."

Ladybug snorted. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I still need a few more weeks to heal completely, but I feel way better than I did in the beginning. Postpartum is… weird.”

He tilted his head. “Weird how?”

She smirked at him. “Well, I did promise all the gory details…”

"Only if you’re comfortable sharing.”

“Chat Noir, I could tell you almost anything and not feel weird about it.” Then, playfully, she added, “Well, besides my identity, of course.”

“Right, right,” he laughed.

“The first few days were rough,” she admitted. “The bleeding doesn’t stop. I had to wear these massive pads—like, full-on diapers. And I couldn’t even wipe normally! I had to use this weird little bottle to clean myself.” His eyes widened slightly, especially when she added, “And don’t even get me started on the body odor.”

He shook his head. “You don't stink!"

“Well, like I said, I showered before I came here,” she laughed. “This is the first time we’ve seen each other in two months, and I refused to show up smelling like a barnyard. Anyway, that’s not even the worst part.”

He arched a brow. “Oh?”

Ladybug leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to share a scandalous secret. “Do you know how uncomfortable it is to wake up in the morning completely drenched because your body decides to leak milk at an inhumane rate?”

He coughed, choking out another laugh. “Oh, god.”

She cackled. “And I barely got a break after giving birth! The hospital wanted me up and walking around immediately to make sure everything was working properly. I was so terrified of falling or bleeding out that I had my best friend sit in the bathroom with me while the nurses monitored whether or not I could take a damn shit.”

Chat Noir lost it.

He let out a wheezing laugh, doubling over as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. The baby stirred at the sudden noise, letting out a tiny whimper. He immediately sobered and rocked her apologetically. “Sorry, sorry, little one,” he murmured. Once she settled again, he cleared his throat. “So… how are things at home? Now, I mean.”

Ladybug let out a slow breath, her eyelids fluttering. “The first few weeks were okay. My mom was there, and I had people helping me. But when she left, it was just me, and… well. It’s been... hard."

His smile faded. “Oh…”

“I’m happy, don’t get me wrong,” she said, stretching her legs absentmindedly. “But I’ve been in pure survival mode. The first few days on my own were like re-learning how to be a person.”

“How so?”

“My body hurt, I was starving, exhausted, and running on adrenaline. But I still had to care for a newborn who seems to sleep all the time, but also not at all. It's just—feed, change, bathroom, collapse into bed for a few precious minutes, wake up to crying, feed, change, repeat. And just when I think I'm in the clear—when I finally get the baby settled for the night—” she paused dramatically, “—she has a blowout. And I'm back at square one.”

He winced. “Oof. Like a punch to the gut.”

“Exactly!” she said, shaking her head with a small laugh. “I’m lucky I have people to help me. My mom and my best friend are just a call away. But I also don't want to bother them constantly. Like, I'm doing this alone, yes, but I know I'm not truly alone. You know?”

He rested his head on top of hers, allowing himself a moment to simply enjoy the familiar comfort of her presence—the sweet smell of her strawberry-scented shampoo, the weight of her body against his, and the gentle sound of her breathing, blowing warm against his neck. 

God. He'd missed her so much. 

“I’m glad you’re not alone,” he murmured. "And I... I'm glad you're back."

One of her hands wove down his arm until it met his, resting her fingers over his knuckles as he cradled her baby in his arms. “Me too.”

A spark of electricity jolted up Chat Noir’s spine as Ladybug's hand embraced his. He swallowed hard, desperately trying to suppress the instinctual urge to purr—an urge that only arose when transformed. 

Resistance proved futile. The soft vibrations rumbled up from his chest, faint yet unmistakable.

His face burned with embarrassment. He braced himself for Ladybug’s teasing, prepared for the inevitable quip that would follow.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, she sighed softly. Her eyes closed, and her was expression content as she rested against him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Oh. 

This felt—

Nice.

"I'm glad to be Ladybug again," she said. "And I'm happy to see you, too."

His voice rumbled from his purr. The baby wiggled, and he tightened his grip on her reflexively. "I'm happy, too. A-and I would've been happy to let you take as long a break as you needed. B-but I... I missed you so much, my Lady. Scarabella is great, but it just doesn't feel right if I'm not fighting by your side."

"Aw." She squeezed his hand. "Scarabella did say you were pretty mopey without me. You missed me that much, Chaton?"

"I was not mopey."

"Kitty, don't tell lies."

"I wasn't—"

"You missed me so much that you were like a sad, kicked little kitten."

"Hey, I—"

"But that's okay," she sighed, and he could practically hear the affection in her voice. "I missed you just as much."

His heart somersaulted, bouncing around the walls of his chest. "Oh, did you now?"

"I missed this. Being out in the open, breathing in the night air—" She sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly. "Getting to be... alive. This fresh air, this... freedom, it... well. Let's just say I needed this."

And I need you, he thought.

Instead, he said, "Welcome back, my Lady."

"Thank you, mon Chaton."

He'd kiss her forehead, if only he could. 

Shifting his focus back to the little bundle in his arms, he studied her tiny features. Her scrunched nose, her fluttering lashes, the way she stared up at him with those impossibly big blue eyes—she was everything he'd ever imagined Ladybug’s baby to look like.

Perfect. 

Yet something tugged at him.

What was he supposed to call her?

It felt so impersonal to call the infant “the baby” or “Ladybug’s baby.” He couldn't help wishing that he had another name to call her by. He understood that her real name was off-limits. Still, as she stretched and squirmed before settling in his arms, Chat Noir figured he needed some sort of nickname for her. As he rocked her, her gaze locked onto his.

The same eyes as her mother.

Yep. No doubt about it—this tiny, beautiful human was Ladybug’s little clone.

“She looks so much like you,” Chat Noir murmured, his voice soft with awe. “Like a tiny little Ladybug. A… a mini-bug.”

Ladybug’s lips curved into a warm smile. “Minibug,” she repeated, testing the name. “I like that.”

Chat Noir grinned, rocking the baby back and forth. He lightly tapped her nose with his fingertip, his heart melting at her tiny scrunch in response. “Well, little one,” he said. "Since your name’s a mystery to me, that’s what I’ll call you: Minibug. How does that sound?”

As if on cue, the baby grunted.

His chest tightened, and the love that surged through his veins was all-encompassing. She was...

Everything.

He chuckled. “Minibug it is, then.”

Chapter Text

Motherhood had Marinette relearning how to exist.

Her entire labor had been a blur. Truthfully, she barely remembered any of it—from the lack of sleep and general achiness, her brain seemed determined to forget it all. 

Well. Maybe not all of it.

She remembered the moment she first held her baby. How could she ever forget it? The warmth of a tiny human on her chest, one she had pushed out of her body, smelling of sweet, honeyed milk, a strange earthiness, and the comfort of home.

She remembered the first time she saw her baby’s pale blue eyes squinting up at her, and her little chubby cheeks, pink and raw. She also remembered the feeling of short, soft strands of jet-black hair brushing against her skin as her newborn nursed for the first time. 

And she remembered the baby’s cries the moment she was taken away for an examination—necessary, but painful all the same, to part with her newborn.

Her baby only weighed three kilograms. About the same weight as a bag of sugar or a small cat. She was a tiny baby, yet completely healthy. A wonderful, perfect, beautiful baby girl. 

Her little Émilie. 

(Émi for short.)

Marinette’s mother and Alya, who had been present for the entire birth, encouraging and comforting her, cried when they greeted the baby. As her father stepped into the room to welcome his granddaughter, gifts and flowers overflowing in his arms, he bawled, becoming an inconsolable, blubbering mess when he held the tiny infant for the first time.

(Émi, already so tiny, looked even smaller compared to his massive frame. It was like watching a grizzly bear snuggle a newborn kitten. Cute, even if the new mother in Marinette felt a pinprick of fear seeing her baby dwarfed by his giant hands.)

While her parents went to fetch her some food, and Alya excused herself to use the restroom, even Tikki had the opportunity to meet Émi. She settled on Marinette's pillow, her mouth agape in a silent gasp. Her round eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed upon the infant sleeping on her mother's chest. 

“She’s amazing, Marinette,” said her Kwami.

"She's everything," Marinette agreed. 

It was all a whirlwind. 

Messages from her friends and extended family flooded her phone the moment she announced her daughter’s arrival, congratulating her on the birth and cooing over the adorable baby photos. Friends from all segments of her life left positive comments on the social media post welcoming Émi Dupain-Cheng—even those she hadn't spoken to since lycée. 

And, of course, Adrien sent her a text congratulating her on the birth, even going so far as to ask if she was doing okay. 

That text had done something weird to her heart. 

Nobody besides her parents or Alya had asked her that—if she was okay. Her phone was saturated with messages from friends, all asking about Émi and squealing over her undeniable cuteness. And yet, in none of those messages had anyone bothered to ask how she was feeling.

Except Adrien.

Sweet Adrien.

She was fine, admittedly. Just tired. And a little nauseous. But mostly just tired. And undeniably happy.

Marinette responded to Adrien's text as soon as she could. Part of her wanted to offer for him to come to the hospital to meet the baby, but another, smaller part of her insisted that he could not see her until she'd properly taken a shower and gotten rid of the post-birth funk. Still, she extended the invitation anyway, as an even slighter part of her wanted to see him (and, admittedly, she wanted to see how cute he'd look holding her baby.) But to her surprise, Adrien politely declined. Not because he didn't want to meet her baby—god, did he want to—only because he said he knew she must be overwhelmed with everything, and wanted to let her relax throughout the remainder of her hospital stay without having to entertain a guest. He would come to meet Émi in a few weeks, once they were both comfortably settled at home and Émi's immune system wasn't so new and vulnerable.

And Marinette appreciated him all the more for it.

The rest of the hospital stay passed quickly. She was discharged at the end of the third day, and her parents drove her home. Her mother had her suitcase packed, ready to spend the next few weeks tending to her daughter and grandbaby.

Reality hit her as soon as they walked into her apartment, bringing Émi home for the very first time.

Home.

It felt… surreal to be home. Home, with her new baby.

Her baby.

Her daughter.

She wandered into her bedroom, body aching and head woozy, intending to place Émi in her bassinet and take a nap, but—

As her gaze roamed over her bedroom and took in the array of baby supplies at her bedside, the hand-knitted blankets strewn across her sheets, and the bassinet—ready for its new occupant—a sudden surge of emotion crashed over her.

She sobbed, cradling Émi against her chest.

“I-I have a baby,” she cried to her mother, whose hands smoothed over the bedsheets as she prepared Marinette’s bed so she could rest. 

“You do,” Sabine replied, her smile warm. “And she’s beautiful.”

“Y-you have a grandbaby,” Marinette hiccuped.

Sabine nodded. “I do.”

The tears wouldn’t stop flowing. “I-I’m a mom.”

With a soft laugh, Sabine led her toward the bed. “Yes, dear. You are. And new mothers need their rest!”

“How can I sleep?” asked Marinette, staring at the new infant in her arms. Émi blinked back up at her. “I-I don’t want to stop looking at her, maman. I don’t want to stop holding her. I-I love her so much already, I can’t just… set her down!”

Sabine clicked her tongue disapprovingly, though there was tenderness in her tone as she said, “Marinette, darling, you’ve barely slept the last three days. You’re exhausted—I can see it on your face! You need a nap.”

“I can’t.” Her fingers caressed her baby’s back as she cradled her. “I-I can’t sleep. What if she needs me? What if she gets hungry and needs a feed, o-or needs a diaper change?” She glanced at the bassinet next to her bed. “She really has to sleep that far away from me?”

“It’s not far,” laughed her mother, “it’s right next to you!”

Marinette shook her head. “N-no, I—I can’t.”

Sabine sighed. Then, she sat on the bed and patted the spot beside her. Marinette obliged, slowly lowering herself to a seat next to her mother, careful with Émi in her arms.

“Marinette,” she said. “You want the best for Émilie, right?”

Marinette nodded. “Of course.”

“Well, you won’t be at your best if you don’t get some sleep. I’ll watch over her the entire time, I promise.” Sabine kissed her cheek. “And I’ll watch over you, too! Just because you’re grown and have your own baby, doesn’t mean you aren’t still my baby.”

Warmth filled Marinette’s chest, blooming into intense affection for her mother. “Okay,” she relented, reluctantly handing her baby over—slowly, carefully, gently. Sabine held her with practiced ease, and Émi squeaked when her grandmother stood and walked toward the door. 

Sabine cooed at her grandchild, then said, “I’ll be in the nursery with her. That way, you can get some sleep.”

“Y-you can’t stay with me?” Marinette asked. Her heart spiked with anxiety. For some reason, the thought of her baby being in an entirely different room when they’d been attached for nine months frightened her. 

Sabine paused in the doorway and smiled, returning to her bedside. “Alright,” she said, settling herself on the mattress. “I’ll stay right here.”

Marinette instantly relaxed at the sight of her daughter. “Thank you.”

As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out like a light, sleeping deeper than she had in weeks.

Marinette sat up, blinking in the soft yellow glow of her nightlight and fighting back a yawn. She'd woken in the middle of the night to the sound of her daughter's nose whistling. Before becoming a mother, she'd been an overwhelmingly deep sleeper—often sleeping through multiple alarms. Now, the slightest noise woke her. Her brain was unable to discern whether or not it was her daughter needing her or just the sound of the wind, and opted to wake her at the slightest shift, just in case.

Her eyes roamed around the bedroom. She could hear her mother softly snoring from the living room and glanced at the digital clock at her bedside.

Still dark. Too early to get up.

Émi's nose whistled again.

Marinette leaned over to take a peek at the bassinet. She smiled at Émi as she slept, tucked safely at her bedside. The baby grunted in her sleep, her little fingers twitching as her hands flexed and unflexed.

Babies made lots of noises, Marinette was beginning to learn. At first, she’d been afraid that her daughter was in pain or needed attention. Her mother reassured her that it was normal, though. Babies were just… noisy. 

Marinette liked to think that her daughter simply enjoyed hearing her own voice.

She traced her finger along her baby’s chubby cheek. Émi instinctively leaned into her touch, and as the pad of Marinette’s finger smoothed over her lips, her daughter wrapped her mouth around the tip and began to suckle. A powerful surge of pure love gushed through Marinette’s chest, so wholly overwhelming and all-encompassing, to the point where she felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her from the sheer force of affection. 

“Oh, my Émi,” she cooed, tears brimming in her eyes as love clogged her throat with the urge to sob. Gently, she lifted her daughter into her arms, careful to support her head, and held her against her chest. “You’re so sweet."

She relaxed against the headboard of her bed, the weight of her baby on her chest providing an immense feeling of comfort. As her hand rubbed up and down Émi’s back, the baby’s eyes fluttered open, and their gazes locked. 

“Hi, baby,” Marinette whispered. “Did you sleep well?”

Émi opened her mouth and closed it again, smacking her lips noisily. 

“Are you hungry, ma puce?” asked Marinette. “You tried to eat my finger.”

As if responding to her question, Émi grunted, her lips curving into an "O" shape.

Marinette chuckled, adjusting herself and lifting her shirt so her daughter could eat. She was still learning how to breastfeed, and she often struggled to get her baby to latch right, but there was nothing quite like the feeling of knowing she was nourishing her daughter with her body. It felt powerful, almost. And it bonded her to her daughter in a way she’d never thought was possible. It was an incredible reminder that she was a mother now; caring for her baby felt as natural as breathing.

“I love you, Émi,” she whispered. "Oh, my god. I can't believe I'm a mom."

Émi gurgled in response. 

Marinette’s smile grew.

So this was what love felt like.

Marinette had felt it before. With her parents, with Alya, with Chat Noir, with past relationships. She’d been surrounded by love her entire life, from friends and family, and the entirety of Paris as they cheered for Ladybug. All different forms of love, as potent as any before it, yet none of it quite the same.

She had always known love.

But no love compared to the overwhelming sense of adoration that came with being a mother. 

Having a baby—

A daughter—

It made her feel…

Whole.

Marinette had expected needing to heal from birth, but goodness—those online guides didn’t go into depth with just how much she’d hurt! 

The first week was brutal, leaving her feeling as if she’d been run over by a truck twice. Using the restroom was awkward and painful—having to use a bottle filled with water to cleanse—and dear god, the pads she had to use for the first few days were like both she and her baby were in diapers. 

As her milk began to produce more and more, her breasts became sore, even after feeding Émi and pumping. The only reprieve she would get from the constant whole-body aches was the fitful minutes of sleep she’d acquire now and then and the icy, cool pads tucked against her private bits.

But her mother assured her that these symptoms would pass.

Despite her initial concerns about having her mother stay with her, Marinette was grateful to have company. It was lovely to have her there to help clean, make her meals, and have someone she could rely on in case of an emergency.

Sure, it was a little awkward for her mother to see her in some very vulnerable moments—like struggling to get Émi to latch or sobbing in her bed because of hormones—but she was just… so happy to have help. 

Caring for a newborn felt almost impossible, even with help. Marinette couldn’t begin to imagine doing it alone.

Her mother was endlessly patient, even through the haze of exhaustion that settled over them both. While Sabine looked after Marinette and baby Émi, Marinette’s father made sure they never went hungry. He brought over warm, home-cooked meals and fresh pastries every day, even offering to close the bakery just so he could babysit while the women got some rest.

Émi’s needs were constant. She was completely dependent, and Marinette felt the weight of that insurmountably. Sleep was scarce. Sabine urged her to rest, offering to keep watch, but even then, it was hard to close her eyes.

Worry clung to her like a second skin. What if Émi needed her the moment she drifted off? What if something bad happened? What if—what if—what if—

(Still, knowing she could rest if she needed to, brought her a sense of relief.

A small sense of relief, but a sense all the same.)

Sabine cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and somehow made it all seem effortless while still soothing a fussy baby or changing a diaper in between.

Marinette watched her in awe. Her mother made it look so natural, and Marinette was baffled by how she took everything in stride.

Then again, Sabine had been a mother for twenty-five years.

Marinette had only just begun.

Nothing fazed her mother. Not when Émi spit up on her shirt. Not even when she patiently walked Marinette through how to suction snot from Émi’s tiny nose. She handled everything with the grace only a practiced mother could; never flinching, never complaining, all while wearing a smile.

And every night, after closing the bakery, her father would come by with bags full of freshly-cooked food, and his arms ready for hugs and baby cuddles.

Marinette felt love all around her. Her parents loved her, and loved Émi, their granddaughter, with everything they had—

It meant the world.

(She could only hope that someday, Émi would feel the same love and respect for her as Marinette did for her parents.)

When Sabine stepped out for a few hours one day to assist with a large bakery order, Marinette figured she could use it as an opportunity to practice parenting on her own. However, Alya asked how she was doing and offered her company, and Marinette couldn't deny how nice it would be to have a visitor. 

As she opened the door to her apartment to let Alya in, Alya's face brightened at the sight of Marinette and little Émi in her arms. 

“Hey, girl!” Alya said, shutting the door behind her. "How are you holding up?"

"All good here," rasped Marinette, sounding more tired than she intended.

Alya raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You sure?"

Before Marinette could respond, Tikki immediately flew out of Alya's purse, nuzzling her face against Marinette's cheek. “Marinette!” she squeaked. “Oh, Marinette, I've missed you so much!”

“Aw, Tikki," Marinette replied, kissing Tikki’s head. “I missed you, too. So much!”

“Come on, go sit down," Alya said, leading her to the couch. "You look exhausted."

"I'm okay," Marinette chuckled. She slowly lowered herself to a seat on her couch, wincing slightly at the pain that radiated from between her legs. 

"Liar," Alya teased.

Marinette rolled her eyes with a smile. Tikki settled on her shoulder, gazing down at Émi with a smile.

Though Alya didn't sit next to her, she leaned down to get a better look at the baby. “Oh, wow. Look at her! I saw her on the day she was born, but still… she’s so cute. And so tiny!”

“I know,” giggled Marinette. “I'm still having a hard time believing this is all real and that she's mine. Do you want to hold her?”

“I do,” Alya said, but as Marinette moved to hand her over, Alya shook her head. “Wait. First, have you eaten recently?”

Marinette blinked.

Oh.

She had been so engrossed in caring for her child, loving her and holding her, and being content to just snuggle her baby all day, that food simply hadn’t occurred to her. 

“Oh, um… no,” she said.

“Are you hungry?” Alya asked.

“Now that you mention it, yeah.”

“Okay. I’m going to make you some food. Have you had any water?”

Marinette blinked again. “Um. Not for a while.”

“I’ll get you something to drink, too.” Alya turned toward the kitchen. 

“Alya, what?” laughed Marinette. “I thought you came to see Émi.”

Her best friend turned back to face her with a smile. “I mean, yeah, but I mostly came to see you. You’re busy caring for a new baby, so I know you don’t have as much time to care for yourself. I’m here to help you with whatever you need!”

Marinette’s heart warmed. “Aww, Alya. You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Her smile grew. “But you did it for me.”

It was true. When Mélodie was a newborn, Marinette visited Alya on multiple occasions while Nino was at work. She watched the baby while Alya took some personal time. Marinette recalled making her meals, doing her laundry, and tidying up the house, all while Alya and Mélodie slept.

That was what a best friend was for. That was what a best friend should do.

(And Marinette was so thankful to have Alya in her life.) 

“Have you showered recently?” asked Alya. 

Marinette frowned, her cheeks warming slightly. “Ooh, um. No. I know I probably smell like old milk. Sorry.”

Alya snorted. “You do not. How about this: I’ll make you some food, you eat, and then I can watch Émi while you shower. And if at any point you want a nap, I’m totally fine sitting with her while you sleep. Sound good?”

“Oh, Alya. You really don’t have to—”

“I want to!” Alya beamed. “Marinette, look… if you don’t want me to do any of this, I won’t. But I promise I don’t mind. Trust me, I know how hard it is to have a newborn. Let me help you!”

Marinette's eyes itched with the urge to cry. “O-okay. Thank you.”

While Alya made her a nutritious and filling lunch, Marinette sat with Émi on the couch, lifting her shirt to allow her baby to feed. She didn’t mind being exposed in front of Alya—didn’t care at all, really. In all the years they’d been friends, Alya had seen her in every state of undress (especially during their, uh… more explorative period in university.) 

As Émi began to suckle, she winced at the soreness in her breasts. 

“Ouch,” she sighed. 

“You okay?” Alya asked from the kitchen.

“I’m so sore,” she admitted, glancing between her baby and her friend. “I-I can never tell if she’s latched right. Is breastfeeding supposed to hurt?”

Alya washed her hands and then returned to Marinette’s side. She set a plate holding a delicious-looking sandwich on the side table before sitting on the couch. 

“You’ll probably be sore for the first few days, but it shouldn’t hurt. Here.” She gently adjusted Émi’s head, repositioning her into a more comfortable position with her little chin tucked against Marinette’s breast and her chest and stomach pressed against her mother’s body. “Your nipple should be at the back of her mouth.”

“That far in?” she asked. 

Alya nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I know it looks weird, but that’s how it’s supposed to be. Does that feel better?”

“A little,” Marinette replied. “Thank you.”

“Do you have a nursing pillow?”

“Yeah. In my bedroom.”

“I’ll go grab it.”

"I can help!" Tikki offered, flitting after Alya.

Once Émi had her fill, Marinette handed her over to her Auntie Alya and devoured the sandwich and water she’d provided. Her stomach thanked her for the meal, and she instantly felt a burst of energy. It was enough to propel her to shower and even tackle the dishes in the sink. (Alya offered, but Marinette wanted the satisfaction of being productive instead of sitting around with her baby. That was all she had been doing the last few days.)

When Marinette finally settled back on the couch, with Tikki beside her nibbling a cookie, she smiled at the sight of her baby tucked into her best friend’s arms, sucking on a small pink pacifier.

(A surprising mixture of relief and jealousy stirred in her. She was glad to have a break from her baby, but that was her baby, and she missed her!)

“So,” Alya said, “tell me: how are you really feeling? Are you sure you're doing okay?”

She chuckled, offering a finger to Émi, whose tiny hand curled tightly around the digit. “Oh, you know. I’m good. Amazing, even.”

“You’re good?” Alya asked.

“Yeah! So good.”

Alya scoffed. “No, that’s a lie. I know it is. You do not have a newborn baby that you constantly tend to at your own expense, and feel good.”

Marinette tensed. She released an awkward laugh, then looked away. “It’s not a lie, I’m just—” A yawn. “I’m great. Really! I mean, okay, I barely sleep, and my eyes burn a little, and I'm so tired that I'm not even sure if I'm awake or dreaming right now, but it’s fine. It’s worth it because I’m so happy. I think I’m happy, at least.”

Alya’s brows knit together. “You… think?”

“Yeah, I mean… it’s hard to decipher how I’m feeling, you know? But I’m good. I didn’t know I could feel love like this.” Marinette leaned down to kiss her baby’s head, her soft, wispy hairs tickling her lips. “But it’s weird because even though I’m happy she’s here, I miss being pregnant.”

“Yeah,” Alya sighed. “I know the feeling.”

“I miss carrying her,” Marinette said. “I keep going to rub my belly or expecting to feel kicks and rolls, but there’s just… nothing. It’s so weird how she was just inside me, for nine whole months, and then she’s not. It’s like there’s no proof she was ever in me at all. Well, nothing except for the leaking milk, torn crotch, and weight gain.”

Alya laughed. “Oh, please. You don’t look like you gained any weight.”

Marinette cupped the excess pudge on her stomach that hadn’t been present before her pregnancy. “Alya, I used to be petite and fit. Look at this. Look at this flab. How am I going to look in my Ladybug suit now?”

“Like a sexy mom?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Stop.”

“I’m sure Chat Noir will think so,” Alya teased.

Tikki giggled.

Cheeks warming, Marinette huffed, “Stop.”

Alya’s laughter startled Émi, who squirmed and fussed quietly before drifting back to sleep. Marinette gently stroked her baby’s cheek.

“You look great, Marinette,” Alya said. “I mean it. So what if you gained a little weight? That’s normal. You grew a person, for crying out loud!”

“I know.” Marinette smiled. “I think I was just a little shocked the first time I looked in a mirror. The tummy rolls are one thing, and I know they’ll go away, but the stretch marks… not just on my stomach, but my boobs and butt, too!”

“They’ll fade.”

“I just hope it doesn’t take me too long to bounce back.”

“Bounce back?” Alya scoffed. “Girl, you had a whole child! It’s okay if it takes you years to return to your pre-baby weight. And it’s okay if you don’t at all! It shouldn’t be expected that a mother does. Pregnancy wreaks havoc on the body. If you gotta gain a little weight to birth a human, I say it’s worth it. I mean, look at me! My body changed a lot, that’s for sure.”

Marinette’s smile grew. As Émi slept, her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. “I guess you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Alya replied. 

“It’ll just take me some time to get used to it, is all.”

“That’s understandable. And don’t worry. You look beautiful, as always.”

“I can always rely on you to make me feel good about myself, huh?”

Alya grinned. “You know it. And, if not me… then I’m sure Chat Noir can always remind you.”

Chat Noir...

Though Marinette wanted to laugh, to roll her eyes, or even shake her head, her smile just... fell. 

“What?” Alya asked.

Marinette shrugged. “Nothing, I… I just miss him, I guess.”

“I’d miss my husband if I didn’t see him for a few weeks, too.”

A laugh. "He is not my husband."

"Are you sure?"

“What are you implying?”

“I think you know,” Alya said with a smirk. 

Marinette scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re reading our relationship all wrong.”

“Am I, though?”

Marinette ignored her in favor of cooing at her baby, whose eyes blinked open to gaze up at her.

She wasn’t about to dwell on whether or not Alya was right.

After the second week had passed, her parents were offered a lucrative deal to cater an event out of the country, and Sabine was needed at the bakery to assist Tom with the extensive order. Although she offered to decline the request and stay with her daughter for a few more weeks, Marinette assured her mother she could manage caring for Émi on her own. She'd had half a month of practice now—she was confident she'd gotten the hang of things. For the most part.

That evening, Sabine returned home, but not without making Marinette promise to call if she needed anything, no matter how small.

And then, for the first time in two weeks—

Marinette was alone. 

Well. Not alone.

She'd never be alone. Not anymore. 

Marinette sighed as she flopped onto her couch, her bones feeling heavy. Her gaze drifted to Émi, who lay on her back on the play gym as she gaped up at the colorful, dangling toys. Marinette heaved another sigh, feeling like she could sink into the couch and become one with the cushions.

It was just her and Émi now.

Just herself and her baby.

Nobody else.

Just the two of them.

Her eyes widened.

…Oh.

Oh, shit.

It was just her and Émi now.

She was the only adult responsible for her newborn. The only person in the apartment who would tend to her, wake in the middle of the night, change her diapers, and feed her, all while trying to juggle keeping herself alive. 

And it would be like that forever. Not just for tonight, for the week, or the month—forever. She was solely responsible for a human being forever.

The realization hit her like a brick to the face. She sprang forward, gripped her cheeks, and stared at her baby.

As if on cue, Émi’s face scrunched before she began to cry.

Marinette rose swiftly, lifting her baby in her arms and gently rocking and soothing her. A profound understanding washed over her—one that both thrilled and terrified her in equal measure:

Nothing in her life would ever be the same again.

Exhaustion was Marinette's constant ailment these days. 

With a solemn sigh, she leaned back against her pillows, cradling her baby against her chest. Émi’s weight was a comforting pressure, and she enjoyed keeping her baby close enough to hear her breathe, feel her heartbeat, and drink in her sweet, familiar scent. As the bedside lamp filled her bedroom in soft, yellow light, Marinette’s eyes began to droop closed. It was only eight in the evening, yet all she wanted to do was sleep. 

But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t fall asleep with Émi on top of her. That could be dangerous.

No—she’d stay awake until Émi fell asleep. Then she’d place her in her bassinet and try to get at least an hour or two of rest before her baby inevitably woke again. 

Émi stared up at her with her wide eyes. She blinked, made a small sound, and smacked her lips.

Marinette smiled, gently brushing the pad of her thumb over her baby’s nose to wipe away a mucus trail. A short time ago, she would’ve been grossed out by the prospect of wiping someone’s snot with her bare fingers, but now? It didn’t even occur to her that it might be gross.

(She’d changed too many diapers, cleaned copious vomit stains, and siphoned far too much snot out of her baby’s nose to be disgusted by anything her daughter’s body could produce at this point.

Washing up after her baby was second nature. She didn’t have time to feel squeamish. That was just how a mother had to be.)

Even after nearly three weeks of motherhood, it still felt strange to think that she was a mother now. 

Everything was going to be different for the rest of her life. Everything was already different. 

And though she loved her baby, the last few days alone had been… hard. 

She still had no idea what she was doing. Not really. Before her mother had left, Marinette had thought she'd gotten a good hang of motherhood, but being alone... not having any help, or anyone to coach her—

Dear god. She felt oblivious!

Was she holding her baby right? Feeding her too much, or too little? Being gentle enough when she bathed her? Were her clothes too big, or too tight? Was she hot, cold, itchy, or in pain? Was she tired? Was she sick? Was she dying?

(How many times in a day could a person cry from feeling clueless?)

It didn't matter.

No sleep, no peace. No reprieve from the never-ending task that was motherhood. Which she had expected and prepared for from the moment she’d decided to keep her baby. The loss of freedom didn’t come as a surprise. And yet—

She couldn’t help but miss it. 

The ability to leave the apartment whenever she wanted had been something she took for granted before she’d given birth. Now? Her baby took every ounce of her free time. 

Since Émi was born, Marinette had hardly gone outside, even to her balcony, for fear of the baby crying and needing her. The only times her lungs felt the sweet taste of fresh air were short strolls through the park or walks to doctor’s appointments, pushing Émi in her stroller. 

But Marinette was often far too exhausted to bother leaving. Leaving the apartment meant packing a diaper bag, getting showered, dressed, and dressing Émi, too, all while planning a route to stop and breastfeed if needed.  

Besides, bringing her baby outside meant risking danger. Akuma attacks could happen anywhere, at any time, and without her Miraculous, she felt it was far too risky. All she could do was helplessly watch her television as Scarabella and Chat Noir defeated the latest villains, wishing she could be out there and helping, hating that she couldn't, but also understanding why staying home was necessary.

For now, she was just... stuck.

And that was... um.

It was... fine.

Admittedly, she was going a little stir-crazy, trapped inside her apartment without much entertainment. She missed the crisp smell of the night air, the swoop in her stomach when flying across rooftops, and watching the city twinkle as she and Chat Noir patrolled the skyline. 

She missed being Ladybug.

(She missed Chat Noir.

A lot.

More than she’d ever admit.)

A heavy sadness suddenly weighed on her shoulders, tightening her chest. Her lips tugged downward, and briefly, the urge to cry wedged in her throat. 

Her hormones were still a mess. As she lay in bed with Émi on her chest, the tears began to fall. She allowed herself a short cry, just for the relief tears would bring. However, as her phone buzzed with a video call from Alya, she wiped her wet face and schooled her expression just before she answered. 

“Hi,” Marinette rasped, hoping her voice didn’t betray her tears.

But Alya was as perceptible as always. “Hey,” she greeted, immediately frowning. “Were you crying?” 

“Yeah,” Marinette said. There was no use hiding it. “Sorry.”

“Aw, Marinette…” Concern washed over Alya’s expression. “What’s got you down, girl? Baby blues?”

Was it just the baby blues?

Or was it something else entirely? 

“I... I don't feel right," she admitted. It felt awful to say that, but she had to tell someone. “I-I’m going a little crazy here by myself, is all.”

Alya’s frown deepened. “You alright? Need some help?”

Marinette meant to say “yes.”

She’d meant to nod, or cry, or say something—

To possibly ask Alya if she could come over, just for an hour, just to give her some company—

But instead, what slipped out was, “I wonder if I did the right thing.”

(The admission had guilt eating her alive, feasting on her flesh and bone.)

Alya glanced at Émi, comfortably nestled against her mother. She was quiet for a long moment before she asked, “What do you mean?”

Well. Might as well get it off her chest. 

“Sorry, I-I promise I love my baby, I… I love Émi,” Marinette replied. “But… part of me wonders if I did the right thing by going through with it.” She swallowed heavily. “Having her. And I feel so shitty saying that because I do truly love her and I'm so happy I have her, but—”

“Oh,” Alya said. A sympathetic smile immediately replaced her frown. “Hey, it's okay. This kind of thinking is normal. It’s okay to take time to process. You've gone through a massive life change. Your emotions are going to be all over the place. It’s natural to be a little confused right now. Hormones are intense! They’ll make you feel all sorts of weird. Trust me.”

Marinette sighed, Alya’s words reassuring her slightly. “Motherhood is more emotionally complicated than I thought it would be,” she admitted. “I’m just a little overwhelmed because I’m living it, and it’s a lot different than I expected… I guess I don’t feel worthy of being a mom just yet.”

“Why is that?”

“I… I thought motherhood would come naturally to me, but it’s… it’s a lot harder than it seems. This is something I’ve wanted all my life a-and yet I—” She sniffed. “I feel like a failure b-because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Oh,” Alya chuckled. “That’s okay! I didn’t either. But you’re learning! And hey, if you ever have any questions or need anything at all, you have your mom and me to help you. 

“I know,” she replied. “Thank you.”

Alya smiled knowingly. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing just fine.”

Marinette hoped she was right.

Adrien sent her a text asking if she was okay, since he hadn't heard from her in a while.

She'd let him know that, yes, she was fine, just busy with her new baby. 

It wasn't a lie.

Not really.

After a few more days of being alone with her baby, Marinette began to find a routine. While it was lonely, it also offered a weird sense of peace. 

She cherished the moments spent in bed with her baby, listening to her breathe, grunt, and gurgle as they snuggled in the bedroom’s low light. Émi would squeak whenever she kissed her chubby cheeks, and her little hands would fly up on instinct. Breastfeeding was indescribably special; it was an intimate moment between her and her daughter, bonding and loving each other like the most natural thing in the world. 

Marinette adored her daughter, of course. She loved her so much.

And yet—

Since her mother had left, her apartment had spiraled into disarray. Tending to a newborn consumed nearly every waking moment, leaving no room for tidying up. And when Émi slept, exhaustion weighed her down like a heavy blanket, robbing her of the will to tackle the growing mess. She’d either sleep or lie in bed trying and failing to sleep as the fear that she wasn't doing enough consumed her body until she felt as if she was nothing but skin and sinew. 

And any small noise had her running to check on Émi, because—

Was that the baby?

Laundry piled high in the corner, dishes lingered crusted in the sink, and the once-cozy apartment felt suffocatingly cluttered. It gnawed at her, this sense of neglect, leaving her unsettled and ashamed. While her mother had been there, they’d shared the load—Sabine would watch Émi while Marinette cleaned, and vice versa. Now…

(Was that the baby?)

Now, she was alone, surrounded by a mess that was slowly beginning to drive her insane.

Émi had difficulty falling asleep if she wasn’t in her arms. Each time she’d wake for a feeding, Marinette would have to cradle her afterward, burp her, and soothe her until she fell asleep. And then she’d have to slowly lower her into the bassinet without waking her, which was a challenge in itself. 

Sometimes, Émi would wake the instant she was set down and cry, and cry, and cry, and Marinette would have to start the process all over again. 

She scarcely had a minute to feed herself or shower. And each second she was away from her baby, she felt anxious, like she needed to keep her eyes on her at all times, or else something terrible would happen. 

(Was that the baby?)

At Émi’s last checkup, the pediatrician told Marinette to ensure that, as Émi's primary caretaker, she received at least a four-hour uninterrupted period of sleep every night. But how could Marinette do that when her baby needed her every second of the night?

Marinette knew it would be best for her to sleep when Émi did. Yet she couldn’t. 

How could she fall asleep when anything could happen to her baby? How could she sleep when Émi could stop breathing for any random reason (despite her bassinet following all the safe sleep protocols and despite Émi seeming perfectly fine?)

How could she sleep and leave her daughter without supervision? How could she just… stop watching her?

(And watch her, she did. Marinette could hardly keep her eyes off her. Supervising the slow rise and fall of her stomach as she dozed, sticking a finger in front of her nose to check if she was still breathing, and watching the twitch of her little fingers and lashes fluttering against her cheeks.)

…Sometimes, as Marinette would lie awake and watch her, she would feel strange. 

After nine months of carrying a baby in her womb and becoming adjusted to the constant weight in her abdomen, it still didn’t feel real that her child was here. Her stomach felt too empty. She missed the kicks, flutters, and even the hiccups that kept her from rest. 

She loved her baby, of course. She adored her baby. And yet—

And yet, she felt… weirdly hollow.

Émi was her baby. Her baby, which kept her awake all day and night and needed constant attention—exhausting attention. Her baby, who worried her sick every second of the day. 

Was she breathing? Was she eating enough? Was she feeling sick? Was she sleeping enough? Was she okay? Was she okay? 

(Was she okay?)

The never-ending feedings, diaper changes, pumping sessions, middle-of-the-night blowouts, constantly present exhaustion, body odor from infrequent showers, and the persistent hunger and thirst from lack of proper self-care all began to weigh heavily on her. Friends and extended family had been asking when they could come meet the baby, and Marinette wanted to have them come over, but how—

How could she, when her place was a mess, and she was a mess? Her apartment was in no state to entertain guests, and truthfully, she didn't exactly feel up to socializing much anyway. Most of her friends understood, though she didn't tell them why she wanted to hold off on visitations. She couldn't explain that there was something wrong with her; that she felt broken; that she was scared of fucking up or concerning anyone with the state of herself—

No, it was fine. She'd let them come over. Eventually.

Just... not now. 

This was her life now. She’d made this decision. She was a mother, and there was no going back, no changing that fact.

This was it.

For the rest of her life.

(...What had she done?)

Marinette didn’t regret it. 

(What had she done?)

No, she didn’t. She didn’t. She loved her baby. She loved her, had wanted her for nine months, and would do it all over again if she had to.

(This was her life now.

She’d made this decision.

This was her life now.

…Was that the baby?)

Émi wouldn’t stop crying.

No matter what Marinette tried—no matter what she did—her baby bawled without reprieve.

All Marinette could do was sit on the floor, bury her head in her hands, and sob.

This was so hard. 

It was so hard. 

So hard. 

So hard.

This was so fucking hard and she had decided to do this all on her own so this was all her fault, this was her decision, she wanted this baby, this was her life now, and she—

Émi's wails pierced her ears and stabbed directly into her skull.

Fuck!

If only Émi would stop crying so she could think for a moment!

“Please,” she whimpered, her fingers trembling as they dug into her scalp. “Émi, baby, please.” Marinette sniffed, taking a moment to catch her breath. “I— I don’t know what to do—I don’t know what you want—I’m sorry—”

I should call maman, she thought.

No. No, she couldn’t. It was past midnight. Her mother would be asleep, and Marinette didn’t want to inconvenience her by waking her up. Even if her mother had made her promise to call. Even if she knew it was okay to ask for help. 

Émi’s screams clawed the inside of her head. All Marinette wanted to do was shut them out. And that made her feel even more awful.

What kind of mother was she for letting her baby cry? For not being able to figure out the reason her baby was crying?

It wasn’t like there was anything else she could try. She’d fed her, burped her, changed her diaper, cradled her, played with her, offered her toys, sang to her, swayed with her, bounced with her, gave her a pacifier, rubbed her back, patted her... 

Everything she could think of.

What else could she do?

What would her mother do in this situation? 

What would Alya do?

I should call Alya, she thought next, lifting her head from her hands and glancing at her phone, which sat on the bed.

Could she? No doubt Alya was asleep. It would be rude to—

Émi wept.

Tears streamed down Marinette's cheeks.

It's okay to ask for help, she thought. 

Snatching her phone from the bed, she dialed her best friend, profusely apologizing for waking her as she sobbed and begged for her to come over and offer some reprieve. 

Alya was at her door within minutes. Though a wave of embarrassment swept over her as Alya took in the disarray of her apartment, the overwhelming relief of having her friend there easily eclipsed her mortification.

“S-sorry about the mess,” she cried. “I haven’t had a chance to—”

“Don’t worry about that.” Alya immediately wrapped her in a hug. “Where’s Émi?”

“She’s in her bassinet. I… I’m a bad mother,” Marinette lamented, trembling as Émi cried in the other room. 

“No, you aren’t,” soothed Alya, breaking from the hug and rubbing her hands up and down Marinette's arms. “You’re doing the best you can.”

Émi continued to wail.

Marinette tensed, her heart rate quickening at the sound of her baby crying, her instinct to soothe going haywire. “I-I am! I’ve been having horrible thoughts—thoughts that I shouldn’t have done this, a-and I love her, but why do I—” Émi screamed. Marinette’s fists clenched at her sides as tears welled in her eyes again. “Oh, god. I can’t get her to stop crying! I’ve tried everything! I don’t know what she needs! I-I’m a bad mother…”

“Take a breath,” Alya said, her voice even. “Breathe. It’s okay to let her cry for a moment while you take a breather, Marinette. She’ll be okay. Just breathe.”

With a gasp, Marinette swallowed back the urge to sob and nodded. Hearing Émi cry broke her heart, though she knew Alya was right. She sat on her couch and sucked in a shuddering breath, gripping her shorts with quivering fingers while Alya sat beside her and rubbed her back.

The previously incoming panic faded, but only slightly. As she swallowed around the uncomfortable dryness coating her mouth, she finally stopped shaking. 

“Okay,” Alya said, her voice quiet. “It’s okay. Do you want me to see if I can figure out what’s wrong with her?”

“I…” Marinette felt torn. On the one hand, she wanted her baby to stop crying, but on the other… if she hadn’t been able to figure out why Émi was crying, as her mother, how could Alya?

As Émi’s crying endured, she supposed it was worth a shot.

“Okay,” she rasped.

Alya nodded and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

Even as Alya left the room, the crying persisted. It continued for a few painfully long minutes; Marinette’s fingernails clawed her thighs, digging into her skin and leaving red half-moon indents in her flesh.

Just when Marinette was certain Émi would need to go to the hospital or something equally horrible—

The crying finally subsided. 

Oh.

The apartment was... quiet.

Oh.

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief, slumping into the couch as exhaustion settled over her shoulders like a perched gargoyle, its talons piercing deep into her bones.

A moment later, Alya walked back into the living room, carrying a red-faced, teary-eyed Émi. She sat beside Marinette with a tired smile.

“Wh-what was it?” asked Marinette.

Alya chuckled. “She had a lot of gas.”

Marinette sighed. “I-I tried that! I swear! I tried it, a-and… and she didn’t… I…”

Why did she feel so… defeated?

(How could she not help her baby with something as simple as gas?)

She was happy Alya had resolved the issue, it just...

It hurt to know her baby had needed her, and she hadn’t been able to help.

It hurt to know that someone else had fixed it.

It hurt to fail.

Tears filled her eyes again. “I-I’m sorry, Émi,” she sniffled, gently stroking the baby’s cheek and drying her face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I should've been able to help. I-I’m an awful mother. You deserve better than me.”

Alya shook her head. “Nonsense. You did help her, Marinette. You tried everything you could, and when you couldn’t find a solution, you called for help. That is helping your baby.”

“I... I guess, I mean... I don't know if—"

“No guessing. You’re a good mother. Émi is lucky to have you.”

Marinette coughed, choking back a sob. “N-no, Alya, I… I’m not. What if I’m not cut out for all of this? What if I traumatize her somehow? What if I mess up so badly that she gets taken away? I’m so worried about losing her, and yet, at the same time, all I want to do is lie in bed and sleep, to shut the world out, but I can’t.” Her breath hitched. “Sometimes, I even think about going back in time before I got pregnant and...” She didn’t finish that thought. “This is so hard. Why did I I think I could do this on my own? Why did I…”

“Hey.” Alya adjusted Émi, holding her with one arm and reaching to rub Marinette’s shoulder with the other. “Marinette. Look at me.”

Marinette did as she was told, sniffling around the thick mucus coating her nose and wiping her wet face. Alya’s expression was firm yet not unkind. 

“Marinette,” Alya said. “I know things feel weird right now. One minute, you’re carrying a baby; the next, she’s out, and your whole world is different. It’s a huge adjustment. It’s normal to feel weird about it. It’s normal to have anxiety. But…”

But…?

Alya sighed. “But… it sounds like you may also be dealing with some postpartum depression.”

…Oh.

Marinette’s heart sank.

That… made sense, even if it was alarming to hear. 

She sniffed. “I don’t feel depressed.”

“You don’t necessarily need to feel sad all the time to be depressed, Marinette.”

“I…” she frowned. “Is that why I‘ve been feeling so hollow? So… empty and unmotivated? Like motherhood is an impossible task I’m not cut out for?”

“It could be,” replied Alya. “Maybe you should talk to your doctor about it. I’m sure she can recommend a good therapist.”

Marinette’s jaw fell slightly agape. “You think I need therapy?”

“It couldn’t hurt. But it’s up to you.”

Marinette looked away. She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t even have the energy to consider it right that second. “I’ll think about it,” she said, trying not to sound too dismissive. "Thank you.”

Alya smiled as she continued to bounce Émi. “Of course.”

After a long moment, Marinette said, “I think I’m broken.” 

Alya shook her head. "You’re not broken, Marinette. You’re adjusting to an enormous life change—one that is hard enough with two people, and you're doing it on your own. It’s okay to need support. You know I’m here for you, right?”

Nodding, Marinette glanced at Émi, snuggled comfortably in Alya’s arms. 

Alya was such a good mother.

Marinette didn’t feel she would ever be on the same level as her.

“I know,” replied Marinette, her voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” Alya said.

A small smile cracked across Marinette’s tear-streaked face. “I love you, too.”

As Alya returned Émi to her mother, the baby gasped excitedly at her maman, instinctively pressing close against her chest. Marinette kissed her head; Émi made a small, happy noise.

Her baby loved her. That was all that mattered.

They would figure this out together. 

“You’re a good mother,” Alya repeated. “Okay?”

Marinette nodded. “O-okay.”

She wanted to believe it. 

Later that evening, after Alya had gone, Marinette prepared a warm bath for Émi. She gently cleansed her baby’s head with a soft pink washcloth, careful not to press too hard against her delicate scalp. Émi’s fine black hair felt silky beneath her fingertips. The water was perfectly warm, and the soothing sensation of her touch eased Émi into a contented silence. 

Marinette had quickly learned that bathtime was one of Émi’s favorite routines. It never failed to settle her, making it much easier to lull her to sleep once she was tucked into her bassinet.

As Marinette bathed her daughter, her own weariness became harder to ignore. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep and the remnants of tears, while her nose still felt stuffy from crying. Yet, despite her exhaustion, a small smile tugged at her lips as she noted Émi’s relaxed expression. 

“We’re gonna be okay, Émi,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from crying. “I’m sorry I’ve been going through a rough patch. I love you. I’m going to get better. I want to, for you. I promise.”

Émi blinked up at her, squinting with her big blue eyes. She opened her mouth, made a tiny noise, and then yawned.

Marinette sighed, her heart caught in a bittersweet tangle of love and guilt.

Her daughter relied on her completely for every need and comfort. She wasn’t just responsible for her baby’s survival—she wanted Émi to thrive, grow up joyful and healthy, and always know, without question, how deeply she was loved.

Marinette resolved to do better. To ensure her daughter knew how much she meant to her.

How much she loved her. 

“I love you,” she said, leaning down to kiss her baby’s soft forehead. She smelled like sweet honey and oats from the baby soap. “I do. I mean it. You’re my whole world, Émi. I love you so much. I’m sorry I’ve not been doing my best. But I’m trying. I promise, I’m trying.”

Émi’s arms wiggled from the kiss, and she gasped in what Marinette hoped was joy. As she pulled away, Émi gurgled, and her face scrunched adorably as she yawned a second time.

“You sleepy?” asked Marinette. She slowly poured a small amount of water over her daughter’s body, washing away the suds. “Me too. Let’s dry you off, get some jammies, and feed you. Then we’ll get some rest. Both of us. Okay?”

She had to try to sleep. For Émi. 

For herself.

Marinette removed her baby from the bath and wrapped her in a fuzzy cat-themed towel. She returned to her bedroom and laid Émi on her bed, gently drying her, before leaning over the basket of laundry—clean, yet unfolded—and selected two onesie, one yellow with an embroidered bee and the other green, decorated with a frog’s face, both of which she had made herself. 

“Which one do you want, bébé?” she asked, holding them up. “Bees or frogs?”

Émi’s foot kicked in the direction of the frog onesie.

Marinette smiled. “Froggies it is, then,” she said.

A sense of peace filled her as they snuggled in bed, holding Émi close to her chest while she nursed. Her fingers delicately brushed along her baby’s wispy black hair, then traveled down her cheek, where she stroked the soft skin. Émi’s eyes fluttered shut. 

“Everything is going to be okay,” she whispered, though it was more to reassure herself than her infant. 

This was her life now. She’d made this decision.

And she didn’t regret it. Not for a minute.

She would do everything in her power to be the best mother possible.

Marinette propped her baby against her shoulder, humming softly as she swayed in the kitchen. The morning sun streamed through the curtains, painting the room with ribbons of soft golden light.

Émi had woken her right at sunrise, licking her lips and crying as she begged for a feed. Afterward, Marinette brought her out of the bedroom and into the living room, in search of a change of scenery and some breakfast. The smell of her morning coffee brewing in the kitchen pulled her out of the haze of sleep as she breathed in. She held Émi in one arm while she buttered a croissant with the other, all while occasionally glancing at the television screen. It was muted, as she'd forgotten to turn it off last night when she'd dozed off on the couch before zombie-walking to her bedroom to put both herself and Émi to sleep. 

Her eyes lingered on the screen, watching as Scarabella handled an Akuma attack with the exact skill and expertise Marinette knew she would offer.

"She’s doing great," Marinette murmured to her daughter, though the words felt bittersweet.

(Truthfully, she missed the rush of battling a villain, strategizing with Chat Noir, and feeling the wind whip against her skin as she soared through the air. 

The Ladybug Miraculous was safe with Alya. The city was safe with Alya. That was all that mattered.

Still, that didn’t make the longing any easier.)

She watched the television as Chat Noir wrangled the Akumatized villain and snatched his infected bowtie, throwing it to Scarabella all with a smile on his face.

(She missed... him.)

Her Kitty.)

Émi burped, pulling Marinette out of her thoughts. Once her breakfast was ready, she readjusted her baby, cradling her in the crook of her arm.

She smiled down at her. "Maman misses being Ladybug," she whispered. "Did you know I'm a superhero? I have been for ten years. I love it, even if it's a lot of work. I miss it." 

Émi blinked.

Marinette responded with a chuckle. "You have no idea what I'm saying. That's okay. But maybe one day you'll get to see me in action." She glanced back at the television screen. "Maybe... maybe one day you'll get to meet Chat Noir."

After she ate her breakfast and sipped her coffee, she put Émi down for a nap. While her daughter slept, Marinette cleaned the kitchen and took a nice, long shower—one of the few things that could instantly perk her up and make her feel like herself again. 

Once dressed, she roused Émi, changing her into a fresh onesie. Then, after securing Émi to her chest with her wrap, she left her apartment and began the short walk to her counselor’s office. It was only two blocks away, so she didn’t mind walking. Besides, she was grateful for the fresh air. 

(While she walked, she kept glancing at the rooftops, hoping she might catch sight of Chat Noir. But the Akuma attack had ended an hour ago, and the city had already been cleansed. No doubt he was gone by now. Home, wherever that was.)

Counseling was helpful. Postpartum depression was brutal—relentless in a way—but thankfully, Marinette's experience wasn’t as severe as it could have been. Since starting counseling, the heaviness she'd been carrying had started to lift. Not completely—there were still days when the fog came back thick and blinding—but she could feel a glimmer of her old self returning. Fleeting moments when she recognized herself again. Not just as a mother, but as herself. Of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Ladybug.

On the mornings when she managed to shower, get dressed, feed Émi, and eat something herself, all without crying, she felt something like pride. Not exactly, but something close. Something earned.

Her therapist was a warm, soft-spoken woman in her sixties. She had kind eyes, a calming presence, and a voice that rasped like a chain smoker. From the first session, she’d been gentle, never pushing too hard, and always cooed sweetly at Émi whenever she tagged along.

Today, Marinette sat slouched on the couch, twisting a tissue in her hand while Émi slept on her lap.

“I’ve been feeling so guilty,” she said. “For how stressed I get. I mean, I love Émi. I love my daughter so much. But sometimes it’s… just so hard. And I think about how this is my life now—every day—and I miss my old life. The freedom. Being me.” She stared at the floor. “And then I feel awful. Like I don’t deserve to feel that way because I wanted this. I chose this. And I am happy… but I’m also kind of… grieving my old self. And I hate that. I hate that I feel this way. I feel so guilty for feeling that way.”

The therapist nodded slowly. “That feeling you’re describing, grief, is very common. We often think grief only comes with loss, but it can come with change, too. Even good change.”

Marinette looked up, surprised. “It’s normal to feel like this?”

“I think it’s human,” her therapist responded. “You’re not just adjusting to motherhood. You’re adjusting to the loss of your old identity. Your freedom, your routine, your sense of self—all of it shifted overnight. That’s a lot. Of course you feel torn.”

Marinette exhaled shakily. “It’s like I’m being pulled in two directions. I want to be the best mom, and I love being a mom, really. It's everything I've always dreamed about. I'm literally living out one of my biggest dreams. But I—" Her breath hitched, and the guilt swam up her stomach again, settling heavily in her chest. "I-I also miss my old life. Which I know is so wrong of me. I chose this. I wanted this. And I'm loving it. But I also don't love it sometimes. It's weird."

“Let me ask you something,” the older woman said gently. “Do you think people who are doctors or teachers, who love what they do and even went to school for it—do you think they enjoy every single day of their job?”

Marinette blinked. “No, I… probably not...?"

“Right," the therapist said. "Some days are amazing. Others are draining. But that doesn’t make them any less committed, or any less good at what they do. It’s the same with parenting. You don’t have to love every moment of it to be a good mother. You just have to do it. This is your job now. And it's okay to make mistakes. That's how we learn.”

Marinette fell quiet as she processed her words.

Her therapist leaned forward slightly. “When you start telling yourself you’re a bad mom because you’re tired or overwhelmed, ask yourself: would you say that to a friend in your shoes?”

Marinette thought of Alya. “No. I’d tell her she’s doing the best she can. That she’s allowed to have hard days. That she’s… enough.”

The woman smiled. “Exactly. So why don’t you try offering yourself that same kindness?”

Marinette looked down at Émi, who shifted slightly in her sleep, her tiny mouth and nose twitching.

“I’m doing my best,” she whispered. “And… that’s enough.”

"That's right," her therapist said. "Tell yourself that whenever you start to feel guilty, okay?"

Marinette nodded. "Okay. I'll try."

The ache in her chest didn’t vanish, but it loosened its grip just a little.

When she got home, Émi was still sleeping. Instead of collapsing onto the couch, Marinette put her baby in her bassinet and returned to the living room, where she put on some soft music, sat cross-legged on the floor, and folded the ever-growing piles of laundry. Shirt by shirt. Sock by sock. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for once, it felt like...

Enough. 

Her apartment was still messier than she’d like, but she was making a dent in the mess. She was making progress.

She was doing her best. And that’s what mattered most.

She was a good mother 

She was enough.

Later that evening, as she rocked Émi to sleep, Marinette kissed her daughter’s forehead and whispered, "We’ll be okay, my little Émilie. I promise. I love you. I’m so happy you’re here. I’m so glad I had you."

And she meant every word.

Nearly a month after Émi’s birth—and two months since she’d given up her Miraculous—Marinette finally felt ready to return to her role as Ladybug.

Her body had nearly healed, and Émi was growing stronger and more alert by the day. Though still just a few weeks old, her little girl had begun settling into a rhythm, and so had Marinette. The chaos of new motherhood hadn’t vanished—and it probably never would—but it no longer felt suffocating.

She'd finally begun learning how to breathe again.

With things calmer at home, and her physical health improving, Marinette considered how returning to her hero duties would work. A babysitter for every Akuma attack or patrol wasn’t realistic, and while the idea of bounding across rooftops with a baby was undeniably nerve-wracking, Marinette trusted herself—and Tikki’s magic—to keep them both safe. At least for patrols. She'd have to figure something else out for battles. She wasn't about to bring her daughter to dangerous, high-stakes fights. 

She decided to invite Alya over to talk it through.

“I’ll miss being Scarabella,” Alya admitted. “But honestly? It’ll be kind of nice to get back to regular life. I think Nino’s starting to get suspicious anyway. I can only disappear so much without my husband noticing.”

Marinette smiled warmly. “For what it’s worth, you were an amazing Ladybug.”

“There’s only one Ladybug,” Alya replied with a grin. She turned to Tikki. “It was an honor, Tikki.”

“I’ll miss you, Alya!” Tikki chirped, floating close for a nuzzle.

Alya reached up and unfastened the earrings. She slowly passed them into Marinette’s waiting hands.

Marinette didn’t hesitate to slip the earrings back on, and a familiar warmth rushed over her, like the feeling of coming home. Her smile was wide enough to ache, and her vision blurred with the threat of tears. She cupped Tikki against her cheek.

“I never want to be apart from you that long again,” she whispered.

Tikki’s voice trembled. “Me neither.”

Having her Kwami back by her side reignited a spark within Marinette. She was eager to battle Akumas again, to feel the rush of patrolling the city, and, above all, to reclaim the part of herself she’d set aside in favor of her daughter.

And then, unbidden, a familiar face came to mind.

Chat Noir.

Her heart fluttered.

(She'd get to see him again.

Finally.)

As the sun dipped low and the sky turned golden-pink, Marinette pulled Alya into a hug, kissing both her cheeks.

“Thank you again,” Marinette murmured, her voice thick with gratitude.

“Any time,” Alya said with a smile. "And I'm so happy you're doing better. I've been worried about you."

"I'm okay," Marinette responded, and this time, it was true.

Then Alya left, and Marinette stood in her apartment with Tikki by her side and a renewed fire in her chest.

Marinette stood in Émi's nursery, watching the soft glow of twilight filter through the curtains. She wiped Émi clean, dressed her in a fresh diaper, and smiled as her baby kicked and gurgled happily on the changing table. She was trying to smile, but she hadn't quite learned how to yet.

“Patrol is tonight,” Marinette said softly, stroking Émi’s cheek. “Remember how I said your Maman is a superhero?”

Émi squeaked.

Tikki flitted over. "What are you going to do with Émilie?” she asked. “If you need someone to watch her, I'm sure your parents would love to babysit.”

Marinette shook her head. “No. Émi is coming with me.”

Tikki glanced at the baby. “Are you sure that’s safe, Marinette?”

Marinette lifted her baby into her arms, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then both her cheeks. “Émi’s safety is my top priority. But I trust myself. And you.” She frowned as she studied her baby's face. “I do have one concern, though. Her identity. There’s no way she’ll keep a mask on—I can barely keep her mittens on half the time. Is there any way you can… I don't know, disguise her? Somehow?”

Tikki grinned. “Leave it to me.”

As Marinette called for her transformation and felt it ripple through her body, she felt more alive than she had in weeks. When she smiled down at Émi, she noticed that Tikki’s magic had created a tiny, matching mask for her baby that fit seamlessly on her skin. 

"That doesn't bother you, does it?" she asked.

Émi cooed.

"Good," Marinette said.

Marinette appreciated how Tikki’s magic always felt like a second skin. She’d missed the familiar feeling of her suit—the comfort of being Ladybug. The design had changed, though Marinette supposed that shouldn't have been a surprise.

She had changed, too.

Still, the suit was a bit more, uh... snug these days.

Standing in front of the mirror, Marinette regarded her reflection. Her face looked the same, but her body had changed. Her hips were fuller, her breasts heavier, and her stomach…

Well...

It wasn’t flat anymore.

And that was okay. It was—hm. It was fine. She’d brought life into the world. Her body had changed, and it was beautiful in its own way. She was only a month postpartum, anyhow. 

(Still, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of embarrassment at the thought of Chat Noir seeing her like this—several kilos heavier and softer around the edges.

Not that she was afraid he would judge. He wasn't like that.

She hoped not, anyway.)

After checking and rechecking the wrap that secured Émi to her chest, Marinette gave her daughter one final kiss.

“Are you excited, Émi?” she asked. “You’re going to meet one of my best friends tonight. He’s really sweet, and I think you’ll love him.”

And I hope he loves you too, she thought, her heart fluttering. Though she wasn’t sure why that mattered so much to her.

With a deep breath, Marinette opened her window, the cool night air filling her lungs. 

As she leaped into the night, she enjoyed the familiar rush of freedom and finally—after weeks—felt like her old self again. 

Chapter Text

Ladybug stirred awake to the sound of Chat Noir's voice.

The city sang below, an ambient lullaby of distant traffic and rustling leaves. Settled on the rooftop and nestled beside her partner, enjoying the comforting sensation of his body heat, it had been far too easy to slip into unexpected sleep.

Not that Ladybug could be blamed. The past month had been a whirlwind of sleepless nights, endless feedings, and learning how to navigate life with a newborn. Émi certainly kept her busy, and exhaustion had become her closest companion.

Ladybug didn’t mind, though.

(Well. Not much.)

She couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour. 

As her partner’s voice floated through the air, she blinked open her eyes and rubbed her face, squinting at the golden light from the streetlamps that flickered at the edges of her vision. 

“Look at you,” Chat Noir said. “You’re so beautiful.”

Ladybug smiled curiously. Just as she opened her mouth to respond, her gaze fell to his lap, and she realized that his comment hadn’t been directed at her… but her baby.

Chat Noir cradled Émi in his arms, his entire focus devoted to her. The moon cast silver light over his suit, and the city’s glow glinted in his eyes, making them sparkle like starlight. Émi stared up at him, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Her little legs wiggled beneath her swaddle, and each time he spoke, she smacked her lips as if she were trying to answer.

He tilted his head, his cat ears perked, and his lips curving into a soft grin. Émi was entranced. Her eyes locked on him, and though she squinted, her tiny features were alight with fascination.

“You’re still awake, huh?” he asked. “Your maman’s asleep, but you’re all energized. Is it ‘cuz you like me?”

Émi made a tiny noise.

“I thought so,” he said. “Speaking of your mom… she’s amazing. And so are you! Look at you! You’re so cute, all swaddled up with your beanie and mittens. You’re a whole little person. And look at those eyelashes—so long! You’ve got your maman’s eyes, you know. You’re just as beautiful as her.”

Ladybug’s heart swelled.

Émi gasped, kicked her legs, and made all sorts of little grunts, coos, and tiny squeals. She wasn't usually a fan of being held by strangers, but she responded to Chat Noir in a way Ladybug hadn’t seen with anyone else—not Alya, her father, or even her mother.

She adored him. That much was obvious.

When he spoke again, Émi responded, moving her little body and eyebrows in kind. 

Ladybug’s smile grew.

Aw. Émi really did love his voice. 

Ladybug supposed that made sense. Chat Noir had been her constant companion while she was pregnant, so it was no surprise that Émi recognized his voice to the point of loving it. 

That idea was too damn cute—that her baby loved his voice.

(Loved... him.)

The realization nearly brought tears to her eyes. As Chat Noir cradled Émi, his gentleness was evident in every word and motion. And Émi, her little hands twitching and her face glowing, seemed just as smitten with him.

Although Ladybug was still figuring out the intricacies of being a mom, she didn’t need any unique insight to see the instant connection between her baby and her partner.

Chat Noir hadn’t noticed she’d woken yet. She almost wanted it to stay that way, just so she could watch him speak to her baby.

It was undeniably cute, after all.

“Are you making faces at me?” Chat Noir whispered. His thumb gently grazed the tip of Émi's nose, and she scrunched in response. “You like me, huh? That’s good. I like you, too.”

Ah—

Shit.

He was undeniably cute.

Ladybug couldn’t tear her eyes away. Watching them together was almost too much for her heart to handle. She felt as if her chest might burst!

The way Chat Noir spoke to her baby… how he looked at her as if she had been gifted to him directly from the stars—eyes shining, brows slightly lifted in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was real.

It was almost as if he loved Émi just as much as she did.

Ladybug blinked, taken aback by her thoughts.

No, that was silly. Chat Noir didn't love her baby.

Maybe she was confusing his expression with something else. Or getting her own emotions mixed up. It was probably just her hormones still messing with her. Even being a month post-partum, they hadn't released their grip on her just yet.

…But she just… couldn’t stop looking at him. Her eyes lingered on him longer than necessary, her lips twitching into a smile she tried to hide but couldn't.

As he gazed at Émi, his eyes softened with a tenderness that reminded Ladybug of something, though she couldn’t recall what. 

Her heartbeat quickened, and her cheeks tingled from a sensation she knew wasn’t the cool night air.

An achingly familiar feeling seized Ladybug in its grasp. It drowned her in its warmth—a comforting, fuzzy heat that wrapped around her heart and squeezed like a long hug. 

It was a warmth she knew all too well. 

(And that warmth wasn’t something she should associate with her partner when they already worked so well as friends. At least, not now. Not when she had a baby whom she was now entirely devoted to.)

Though the realization was startling, it wasn’t necessarily unexpected. 

Oh, no, she internally lamented. I can’t do this again.

Before her inner crisis came to fruition, Émilie’s face scrunched up as she began to cry. Chat Noir frowned, rocking and shushing her, but Ladybug knew what her baby wanted—she could tell by the way her lips formed a tiny “O” that simple cuddles wouldn’t suffice. It had been about two hours since her last feed, anyway.

Ladybug yawned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. When she gently tapped him to gain his attention, Chat Noir startled.

“Can I have my baby back?” she asked playfully. 

He nodded, though she could see the reluctance to cease baby cuddles painted clearly on his face. “O-oh, yeah. No problem. Sorry, I hadn’t realized you were awake.” 

Slowly, he passed Émi into her arms, carefully supporting her head. Ladybug cradled her daughter, smiling as the infant instinctively nosed her face against her chest. As she went to pull down the zipper on the front of her suit, she hesitated with her finger on the clasp. 

Shyly, she glanced up at her partner. “I, um… I have to feed her. Would... that bother you?”

Chat Noir shook his head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

Ladybug smiled. However, as she unzipped the front of her suit and helped her baby latch, she noted that he'd pointedly looked away, his gaze focused on the city instead of her chest. 

Polite as ever, her Kitty. 

(Not that she would’ve minded if he looked. It wasn’t like she had any need to be embarrassed over feeding her baby. It was a natural part of life. Besides, after giving birth in front of a group of nurses and doctors, plus having her mother and Alya see her in all states of undress while they assisted her with her newborn, she’d become desensitized to her own nudity. It didn’t bother her anymore. Her body was just that—a body.

Even if it looked a little different than it used to. That she was still coming to terms with.)

Émi’s crying faded the instant she began suckling. Ladybug yawned, unable to resist resting her head back on Chat Noir’s shoulder. Something about his presence was undeniably comforting.

She just… couldn’t get enough.

But she couldn’t fall asleep again. Not while her baby was feeding. Besides, it was late. As soon as Émi was finished, it would be time to head home and get some rest. If her baby permitted her to sleep, of course.

Ladybug yawned again, her eyelids drooping. Chat Noir’s familiar scent was almost enough to pull her back into sleep. She knew that if she kept sitting there quietly, without distraction, soothed by the feeling of her baby in her arms and her partner’s presence, she was bound to fall back asleep. 

“Kitty,” she mumbled, blinking open her eyes, which she hadn’t even realized had closed. “Tell me about your day.”

If she could get him talking, maybe she’d stay awake.

(And maaaaaybe she wanted to hear his voice. Just a little.)

“My day?” he echoed. “Sure. I woke up early, went to work, which was a little crazy today, then came home and made pizza for dinner. Homemade, by the way; I’m trying to get better at cooking. And then I came to patrol. It wasn’t all that exciting, but it’s much better now that you’re here. And I got to meet the cutest baby in the whole world, so I’d say today is officially rated as purrfect.”

Ladybug chuckled. “You should make me a pizza sometime.”

“I will,” Chat Noir replied, his grin widening. Still, he didn't glance at her. “I’d love to cook for you.”

“I still think about that soup you made me when I was pregnant.”

“Really? It was that good?”

“Almost as good as my grandmere’s.”

He smirked. “One of my love languages is gift-giving, you know.”

“Food happens to be one of the ways to woo me,” she countered with a playful smile.

His eyes widened momentarily, and then he said, “I’ll have to bring you food more often.”

“Too bad you can’t invite me to your house for dinner,” she said.

“I don’t need to invite you over. I’d set up a table right here, on this very rooftop, basking in the moonlight.”

She giggled. “As long as É—" Ooh, careful. Don't need to give her baby's name away. What had he called her earlier? Minibug? "I-I mean, Minibug can join us. We’re a package deal now, you know.”

“Of course, she’s welcome,” he assured her. “Though I can’t test my cooking skills on her just yet. Lucky for her, she already has her own all-you-can-eat buffet.”

Ladybug snorted. “And she’s at that buffet every two hours.”

“Every two hours?” The corner of his mask lifted. “No wonder you’re not getting any sleep.”

“It’s okay,” she said, though her words were interrupted by a wide yawn. “It’s all worth it. I’m happy.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He smiled warmly. “I’m happy you’re happy.”

When Émi finally finished feeding, Ladybug fixed her suit and gently propped her baby over her thigh to burp her. Then, readjusting her blanket, she swaddled her tightly to keep out the night’s chill. Émi yawned so wide her whole face seemed to scrunch, and Ladybug took that as her cue. As much as she didn’t want to leave, her baby needed sleep. (And so did she, though rest always seemed like an afterthought these days.)

“I should probably go,” she said reluctantly. “It’s bedtime. For both Minibug and me.”

“Alright,” Chat Noir said, his voice tinged with equal wistfulness. “Will you make it home okay?”

“Yes, I'll be fine."

“Are you sure? If you’re in pain, I can carry you home—”

“No, Chat Noir,” she sighed. “You know we can’t.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

A moment of silence hung between them.

Ladybug carefully secured Émilie against her chest with the wrap, ensuring she was safe for the journey home. She retrieved her yo-yo and stood—slowly—pausing for a heartbeat as Chat Noir rose to his feet.

“When can I see you again?” he asked. When she offered a teasing smile, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s just—it’s good to have you back. I… I really missed you.”

Her heart fluttered. “Soon,” she promised, taking a step closer. Summoning her courage, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, her lips lingering on his skin for a heartbeat too long before she pulled away. “I missed you, too. Have a good night, mon Chaton."

He placed his hand over his cheek where her lips had been and grinned.

Before he could respond, she turned and left, her heart pounding with every swing on the way home.

Over the next week, a new rhythm emerged that balanced heroism with motherhood in a way Marinette had never imagined.

Most nights, Émi accompanied her on patrols, snug against her chest in a specially designed wrap that ensured the baby's safety. Marinette knew taking her infant on patrols wasn’t ideal, but neither was leaving her behind at home. Besides, finding a sitter at odd hours was no easy task. She couldn’t explain to her friends or family why she needed to disappear for a few nights each week, so her parents were out of the question.

Alya was the only person who knew her identity. She'd be the easiest choice, of course... yet Marinette felt as if she had asked her for too much lately.

After the first Akuma attack since her return as Ladybug, she had quickly learned that bringing her baby to a battle was quite possibly one of the worst decisions she could have ever made, as she couldn't focus on the villain when she had her daughter strapped to her chest, and Émi's reaction to the cacophony of loud noises had her—to put it lightly—quite literally shitting her pants.

So she swallowed her pride and asked for help. It was okay to ask for help. That's what therapy had been teaching her.

Alya was always just a phone call away.

Ladybug had apologized profusely to Chat Noir for leaving mid-battle to drop off her baby, and even more to Alya, who’d been working from home at the time. But Alya waved it off, insisting that Émi’s safety came first. She made Marinette promise that, from now on, she’d bring Émi to her during every Akuma attack, as she was more than happy to step in and babysit for the hour or so it took to take down the latest villain.

(And Mélodie seemed to enjoy the arrangement as well. To her, Émi was a new best friend. Even if she didn't understand why Émi couldn't walk around and play like she could.)

Thankfully, Ladybug’s powers had returned to normal. The draining effects of her pregnancy had worn off, and her Lucky Charm was back to its unlimited uses. There was a certain relief in knowing that if an Akuma battle dragged on longer than expected, she wouldn’t need to take multiple breaks to recharge. Even if the anxiety of being separated from her baby made her want to hurry through the fights anyway.

Still, the dual life of superhero and mother was a challenge unlike any she’d faced before. Patrols that once felt routine now required careful planning. She had to consider Émi’s needs—when her last feeding was, whether she’d be warm enough, if her diaper bag was packed with enough supplies, and so on, all while caring for herself and ensuring the city was safe from threats. It was a constant balancing act. 

Ladybug did her best to adapt. Because this was her life now—Ladybug, Paris’s protector. Marinette, single mother. Two roles that felt impossible to reconcile, yet she had no choice but to make it work.

She had to. 

(The post-partum depression clawed at her, some days. There were days when all she wanted to do was cry, and even days when she considered the possibility of needing to give up her Miraculous, thinking that focusing solely on Émi was the only way to keep her head above water. Some days, she just couldn’t understand how she was supposed to hold it all together. To be a mother, Ladybug, and Marinette all at once. 

There were days when she mourned her old self so terribly that it made her chest ache. She grieved the simplicity of her former life, knowing deep down she could never return to who she was before.

Therapy helped. It gave her the tools to get better. Gave her space to breathe.

Most of the time, it was enough.

But she still had bad days.)

"I'm sorry for bringing Minibug on every patrol," Ladybug sighed one night, adjusting the wrap on her chest as her back began to ache. "I just... I can't reasonably find a sitter that many nights a week."

Chat Noir turned to face her, a slight frown marring his face. "Why are you apologizing? I don't mind."

She shrugged. "No, it's just... I know things are different."

He cocked his head to the side. "You have a kid now. I'd be surprised if things weren't different."

She shrank into herself slightly. "N-no, I mean... I bet you miss when it was just the two of us, huh? Without me having to bring a baby around all the time?"

Truthfully, she expected Chat Noir would be slightly annoyed by her bringing her baby along to every patrol, or at least by her constant need to stop and care for her. Which she wouldn’t have blamed him for.

It was fine if he was annoyed by it. 

Change was hard. She understood that more than anyone. 

"Are you kidding?" He stepped forward, leaning down to be eye-level with Émi, who gurgled at him. "Getting to see this adorable baby is the highlight of my evenings."

"Oh," she said.

It was a welcome surprise. 

A surprise that made her feel weirdly… warm. 

"You know," he said, standing up straight. "I can tell your back is hurting. You're making that face you do whenever you're in pain but trying to hide it. If you ever want a break from carrying her, just ask me. I wouldn't mind."

"What?" She glanced down at Émi. "I... it's okay. I'm alright for now."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'll let you know if I need a break," she said. 

"Alright. The offer's open."

"You just wanna snuggle my baby," she teased, the corner of her lips twitching into a grin. 

He returned her smile. "Guilty."

Most nights, Émi was perfectly content snuggled against Ladybug’s chest, wrapped securely in her sling. She didn’t even seem to mind the swinging and leaping through the city. If anything, it lulled her. Ladybug figured the sensation must be familiar by now; after all, Émi had gotten used to the motion long before she was born.

On patrol nights when her baby was more alert, she and Chat Noir took turns entertaining her. He was surprisingly good with her—eager to help, gentle, and completely unfazed by all the less-than-glamorous parts of baby care. Whether Émi spat up on his chest or sneezed directly into his face, he never became angry. It had taken him a moment to adjust, as it would anyone, but then he'd reach for a wipe like it was nothing. 

(Ladybug might’ve laughed a bit too hard at both situations, but karma found her soon enough—like when Émi peed mid-diaper change or had a catastrophic blowout on her leg.)

One evening, as Chat Noir carefully wiped a trail of drool from Émi’s cheek, Ladybug tilted her head and asked, “Why are you so eager to learn how to care for babies?”

He glanced up and gave her a soft smile. “I want to be a dad someday,” he said simply. “Might as well get some practice in now, right?”

Oh.

That stirred something within her.

He sat Émi in his lap, leaning her against his stomach as he played with her little hands. "When will she be able to hold her head up on her own?"

“Not for a while." She reached over to readjust Émi so her head was comfortably nestled against him. "She'll get there, though." 

Émi's face scrunched, brows furrowing and her cheeks puffing.

Ladybug's eyes widened. "She's about to do something," she warned. "But I don't know what."

"Oh?" Chat Noir looked down. "Uh oh. She looks like she's about to—"

Émi burped and spat up part of her dinner. Panic momentarily flared in Chat Noir’s eyes before he ushered his hand forward and caught it in his palm. He realized his mistake a moment later when his expression twisted into a disgusted grimace. 

Ladybug erupted into laughter. “Kitty! Ew!"

Chat Noir shuddered at the frothy white vomit dripping from his glove. “I-I don’t even know why I caught it. It was going to land on her, so I just... I don't know!" 

“It's instinct," she replied, retrieving her baby. "I’ve done it before. You wanted to practice being a dad? Well, there you go! That’s parenthood!” 

“Good to know my fatherly instinct is coded correctly, I guess.”

Ladybug snorted. “Here.” She opened the red-and-black-spotted diaper bag and grabbed a fistful of wet wipes, cleansing his hands. “There. All better.”

He smiled. “My hero.”

Patrol nights quickly became a highlight of her evenings. It gave her something to look forward to.

Chat Noir was a natural with her baby, though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. He'd always been good with kids. He unabashedly adored Émi, never once feeling shy about using silly voices to speak to her or making goofy faces, even if Ladybug occasionally snorted at his antics.

(She couldn’t resist. She wasn’t laughing at him, but how adorable it was.

How adorable he was.

But that was a dangerous thought.)

“There’s that newborn scrunch I love,” he'd say, lifting Émi into his arms. “I know who’s winning the World’s Cutest Baby Award!”

(Ladybug thought she knew who deserved the "World’s Cutest Superhero Award," too.)

It wasn’t just his affection that melted her; it was his curiosity. Chat Noir had a million questions, all asked with the same wide-eyed wonder as if every new thing he learned about babies was the most fascinating discovery in the world.

“Why does she have pimples?” he asked one night, studying Émi’s face. "Are you not washing her face during baths?"

Ladybug bit back a laugh. “It has nothing to do with bathing. It’s just baby acne. Totally normal."

He narrowed his eyes, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced that something so perfect should have to deal with blemishes. "Will it go away?"

"Yes," she said. "It's just from hormonal changes. I think."

"Does it hurt?"

"Does acne ever hurt you?"

"I don't get acne," he said. "I don't think I've ever had a pimple."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying!"

"You were just as hormonal a teenager as I was, if not more. How are you telling me you've never had a pimple? Not even one?"

"I was on a very strict skincare regimen throughout all my teen years," he said. 

Ladybug blinked. "What? No, you're joking."

"I'm telling the truth! Do you have any memories of me having pimples?"

"I..." Her brows furrowed. "...No."

"See? Told you. My skin has always been flawless."

Ladybug huffed. Then, she made a show of gently rubbing her baby's forehead before cupping Chat Noir's cheeks and massaging her thumbs against his skin. "I'm going to give you her acne so you can know her pain."

"No!" he shrieked. "Not the face!" 

Another time, he held Émi in front of Ladybug’s stomach, his expression screwed tightly in thought. “How did she ever fit in there?”

Ladybug snorted. “I still wonder that myself.”

And Émi—oh, Émi adored him.

It was undeniable. The way her hands reached for him, grasping at his fingers with surprising strength, and how her entire face lit up at the sound of his voice, her little body wriggling with excitement whenever he spoke to her. 

It was as if, even at this young age, she knew—knew how safe she was in his presence—

—and how deeply she was loved.

And Ladybug—

Well…

She was captivated.

Watching them together, her partner and her daughter, who meant everything to her… how the way they lit up in each other’s company like nothing else in the world mattered…

How could she ever look away?

Marinette had quickly become accustomed to hosting guests at her apartment as her friends and extended family came to meet her baby. Her parents frequently visited, as did Alya and Nino, but she’d had some new visitors, too. 

Her paternal grandparents came to meet Émi, each on a different day. Seeing her grumpy grand-père Roland melt once he had the little infant in his arms was endearing, though admittedly, she could’ve gone without the lecture about how “in his day, parenting was done differently.”

Some of her friends dropped by on occasion, including Kagami and Zoé. However, Émi didn’t seem necessarily fond of anyone holding her besides Marinette herself. Alya and Sabine were the only two people who could hold her for an extended period of time. Still, even they faced a crying infant if they separated her from her mother for too long. 

Émi was her maman’s girl, through and through.

(Well, she liked Chat Noir, too. But he was the rare exception.)

The only difference was when Adrien visited.

He came alone, bearing a few gifts, and entered her apartment quietly. When his eyes landed on Émi, asleep as she rocked in her electric swing, he melted. 

“Wow,” he whispered. “She’s so cute.”

“Isn’t she?” Marinette whispered back. Her eyes settled on the gifts. “Aw, Adrien, you didn’t have to get any gifts. That’s nice of you.”

He shrugged. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just wanted to do something nice. Most of them are for Émi, but—” He adjusted his grip on the bags as he presented one to her, its glossy pink paper sparkling. “This one is for you.”

Her heart beat a little faster. She glanced between the bag and his face. “F-for me?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Is that okay?”

Hesitantly, she accepted the bag. “W-what… I mean… of course it’s okay, just—what for?”

He raised an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips quirked into a wider grin, as if amused by the question. “What do you mean, what for? You had a baby! You deserve gifts too, don’t you?”

Marinette swallowed. Her gaze fell shyly to the floor as her cheeks warmed. “I… I suppose so. Thank you. Thank you so much!” 

“It’s my pleasure.” He set the remaining bags carefully on the floor. “You don’t have to open them now, if you don’t want to.”

“O-oh, no, I will! But first—” She glanced at Émi. “Do you… want to say hi? To Émi?”

He glanced at the baby, and his expression softened. “I don’t want to wake her…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that! She’s been napping for a while; I-I need to wake her up anyway, or she'll be up all night.” She walked toward the swing and turned it off. The lack of movement immediately made Émi blink open her eyes, and her arms twitched instinctively. Marinette leaned down and scooped her up before she had a chance to cry. “Wakey-wakey, ma puce. We have a visitor.”

She had Adrien take a seat on the couch, then settled beside him. Carefully, she shifted Émi into his arms, expecting the usual awkward fumbling that came with someone holding a newborn for the first time. Most of her friends had needed a little coaching—where to place their hands, how to support her head—but...

Adrien didn’t.

He adjusted his posture, arms steady and instinctive, cradling Émi with a learned gentleness that had Marinette's eyes widening.

It was as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

…Maybe some things just came naturally to some people.

“She might cry,” Marinette warned. “She’s not great with strangers, so… don’t take it personally if she gets fussy.”

That was usually how it went. Whenever she met a new face, Émi would scrunch up, flail, and let out sharp cries the moment unfamiliar arms held her. Marinette braced herself for her to do the same with Adrien.

Émi’s brow did wrinkle at first, and her nose scrunched. Marinette readied herself to step in. But then Adrien smiled down at her and tilted his head.

“Well, hi there,” he said, his voice a pitch higher. “Aren’t you the cutest thing?”

Émi instantly relaxed upon hearing his voice. A tiny gurgle bubbled up from her chest, and her hands twitched, feet kicking excitedly. 

Wait. What?

What in the world?

Adrien adjusted his hold slightly, and Émi didn’t even flinch. She just stared up at him, wide-eyed, completely calm. Enchanted, even.

As Émi opened her mouth, Marinette tensed, awaiting the inevitable delayed cry. Her daughter always cried eventually.

Instead, Émi let out a small gasp and cooed. Louder than she'd ever heard. 

Marinette's jaw dropped.

She stared at them both—at the way Adrien’s fingers absently traced tiny circles on the fabric of Émi’s onesie and how her baby looked utterly at peace in his arms—and blinked, practically at a loss for words.

“…Huh,” Marinette murmured, not entirely sure what she was feeling.

...Why did her baby like him so much?

(She supposed the affinity for Adrien was just something she and Émi had in common.)

“You look so much like your Maman,” he continued. “Same eyes, that’s for sure.”

Marinette squinted. 

(That felt weirdly familiar, for some reason.)

Adrien tickled Émi’s nose, his eyes crinkling at the edges at the squealing sound she made in response. “Oh, my heart. I’m melting!”

Oh. Aww.

Watching Adrien fawn over Émi was almost too much for Marinette’s heart to handle.

(And he was pretty cute, too.

But that was beside the point.)

“All my friends have such adorable babies,” he sighed. “It’s making me yearn.”

“Uh oh,” Marinette giggled. “I think you’re contracting baby fever.”

He didn’t even bother to deny it. “I am, it’s true.”

“You’ll get your chance someday,” she said. 

He chuckled. “Maybe. I don’t know…”

She tilted her head, frowning slightly. “You don’t know?”

“Ah, nothing, it’s just—” He looked away. “I’ve never really—I mean—I’d like to get married and have kids someday, but I don’t know if I ever will. I… I mean… n-never mind. We don’t need to talk about it."

Her frown deepened. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

“Okay,” she said. “If you’re sure. But if you ever want to talk about… I don’t know, marriage or babies…” Her eyes widened as the implication of her words caught up to her. “I-I mean, not with me, just, in general—I-I’m here for you.”

His smile returned. “Thanks. But it’s okay, really. Speaking of babies, though—how are you holding up? Feeling okay? I know you said you’ve been busy.”

She hesitated for a moment, teeth nibbling into her bottom lip, before she nodded. “Yeah, I’m… okay. Better than I was.”

He looked up from Émi to meet her gaze. “What do you mean?”

…Did she tell him?

Was it too heavy a subject?

Sure, she trusted Adrien and considered him one of her best friends—

…but was she really in a good place to talk about the postpartum depression? Was he even in a good place to hear about it? 

Instead, she just shrugged. “Babies are a lot of work. And being only one person, it’s been hard. But… I’m learning. And reminding myself that it’s okay to ask for help.”

“That’s good. You know… if you ever need help, your friends are only a phone call away. Me included.” He gently nudged her shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.”

She chuckled. “Mm, you’re right. Thank you.” She reached toward Émi and stroked her hair. “Not that I’d ever try to steer someone away from having kids, but try to keep that baby fever in check for now, if you can. Babies are a big responsibility. And I expected that, even prepared for it, but I still had no idea what I was getting into.”

“They’re a lot of work, I’ve heard,” he agreed. “But… I’m not scared of that.”

“Oh.” She glanced at her baby, then met his gaze. “Well, that’s good. Because I promise, if you want a baby, it’s worth it. To me, at least.”

His responding smile carried genuine warmth. “It would be to me, too.” 

Her chest felt tight. Though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

(Something about seeing Adrien hold her baby was doing dangerous things to her heart. Of all the years she had dreamed about being with Adrien—of carrying his children—it felt… strange, to see him holding her baby now, when that baby wasn’t his.

Not a bad strange, just…

Strange.)

Not wanting to dwell on it, she opted to change the subject, nervously stuttering, “I-I’m surprised she isn’t fussing. U-um, she... I mean, É-Émi doesn’t really like to be held by anyone but me. Well, me or…”

She didn’t dare finish that thought.

Adrien smiled as Émi wrapped her hand around his finger and squeezed. He stared at her for a long moment, brows furrowed—as if he were thinking about something—before he smiled. “She seems to like me a lot.”

“Yeah…” She smiled. “I guess there’s just something about you.”

“I have that effect on people,” he joked.

Marinette snorted, and even Émi made a sound similar to a giggle, though Marinette knew her baby wouldn’t genuinely laugh for at least another month or two. Still, Émi seemed to enjoy listening to Adrien talk. 

It was sweet.

(And familiar.

But maybe Émi just had a thing for blonds with green eyes.)

“Émi is a cute name,” he said, though he didn’t take his eyes off the baby. “Is it short for something?”

Marinette smiled. “Yeah. It’s short for—” She startled as her phone began ringing. Eyes widening, she pulled it from her back pocket and frowned at the caller ID before turning to Adrien. “It’s Émi’s pediatrician. I’ve been waiting for them to call me back all day. Do you mind if I take this really quick?”

Adrien shook his head, his gaze frozen on Émi. “Go ahead. I don’t mind holding her.”

Marinette smiled in thanks before she stood and answered the call in the kitchen. While she spoke with the pediatrician’s office, she watched Adrien as he cradled her baby on the couch. He wasn’t shy about using silly faces or speaking to Émi in a silly baby-talk voice. He tickled her stomach, and when she twitched and cooed in response, he broke into a wide smile. 

Meanwhile, Marinette’s heart somersaulted in her chest. 

When she finished her call and returned to the couch, she couldn’t remember what they had been discussing before. As she sat beside Adrien, their arms and thighs brushed, and it sent a surge of electricity to her heart. 

“Thank you for watching her,” she said.

“Welcome back,” he said, glancing at her for a moment before his gaze fell back to Émi. “Is everything okay? Since you were on the phone with Émi’s doctor.”

Marinette nodded, letting out a tired sigh as she sank back into the couch cushions. “Oh, yeah. She’s fine, I think. She just, um—she hasn’t pooped in a few days. But they told me that’s normal. If it gets to be longer than a week, then I need to bring her in."

He chuckled. “Oh. Aw, Émi’s constipated?” His brows briefly furrowed in thought, then he smiled as he gently readjusted Émi in his lap so her legs were facing him, and she was relaxed back against his thighs. He grasped her ankles and slowly began moving her legs back and forth as if she were riding an invisible bicycle. “Let’s see if we can get things moving!”

“I’ve tried that,” Marinette said. “And it didn’t work. Though I’ve not been brave enough to attempt it on my lap.”

“Oh,” Adrien said, glancing at her as he pedaled Émi’s feet. “Why?”

Émi’s face scrunched into a scowl, and she grunted and whimpered before she broke into a cry.

Adrien frowned and immediately pulled his hands away. “Aw, oh no! I’m so sorry, Émi!” He looked at Marinette with a slight panic in his eyes. “Did I hurt her?”

Marinette recognized the determined crease of her daughter’s brow. “No, no. She’s alright,” she said, holding back a laugh. “Um, you might want to hand her to me. I think her issue is about to be solved.”

“Oh, um, okay—”

Before he could hand her over, Émi released a loud, wet, and imperceptably long fart. Relief softened her expression, and she relaxed in Adrien’s arms just as a foul odor hit the air.

“Oh,” sighed Adrien. “I see.”

Marinette immediately pulled her baby away from his lap, thankful that her baby had finally relieved herself while also feeling awful that it had happened on Adrien’s lap of all places.

(Though he was the one to blame, she supposed. Which was pretty funny. And she was grateful for it, anyway.)

“I am so sorry,” she said, frowning at the mess Émi had left behind. “Oh, my god. Adrien, I’m so sorry.”

Please don’t hate me, she thought.

Please don’t hate Émi.

But, to her surprise, Adrien just laughed. “No, no, it’s okay! My fault, my fault.”

“You’re a natural with babies,” she said. Something dribbled down Émi’s thigh, and her eyes widened. She hopped from one foot to another as she leaped away from the inevitable drippage on her bare feet. “Oh, shit! She’s leaking!”

Adrien laughed harder as he stood. “Do you need me to get you a towel?"

"No, it's fine, I just—" Oh, god, the smell. She swallowed back a gag. "—I need to change her."

"Sorry about that. At least now you don’t have to worry about her being backed up, right?”

Marinette grimaced as she held her dripping baby out in front of her. Émi’s face was the picture of relaxation. “Thank you for, um... solving her constipation."

"That's what I do best, I guess," he said with a teasing grin. "I think I did that for you once, too... unless it was someone else who'd asked me to buy them pills while I was in London."

Marinette's cheeks immediately flushed a deep, scalding red. She wasn't about to remind him that he was right.

"U-um, haha, well, I...." It was hard to breathe around the lingering cloud of stink. "Still, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe she had a blowout on your designer jeans."

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Adrien glanced at his pants. “Baby poop on Gabriel Agreste branded jeans makes for quite the thought-provoking art piece.”

Despite her embarrassment, Marinette laughed. “I, um… I’ll be right back. I’m going to change her before she ruins these floors.”

“Do you need any help?” he offered.

She smiled. “Nah, but thanks. I’ve got this whole motherhood thing figured out by now. I think.”

“You seem to have a pretty good handle on it,” he said.

Her smile grew. Warmth filled her on the inside. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m trying. You, um… you can wash up in the restroom if you’d like. It’s down the hall on the left.”

“Will do, thanks.”

As she took Émi to the nursery to change what was undoubtedly one of the nastiest shits she’d ever seen (and smelled) in her life, she gagged multiple times before she managed to clean her child. 

And if Adrien heard her dramatic dry-heaving, he didn’t say a word.

When Marinette returned to the couch with a freshly cleaned and dressed Émi, she gently handed her back to Adrien and sat beside him to open the gifts he’d brought.

There was a colorful collection of baby toys, a soft blanket covered in tiny cat prints, baby soaps and lotions that smelled like lavender and chamomile. And then, tucked neatly in a separate bag, a small self-care kit just for her. Inside were bath bombs, herbal teas, fuzzy socks, and a box of chocolates.

Her heart melted on the spot. It took everything in her not to swoon right there on the couch.

“Adrien,” she breathed, touched to the core, “this is… I don’t even know what to say. Thank you.”

He shrugged, sheepish, and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn he was blushing. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to make things a little easier for you. I know how exhausting things have probably been with Émi, and—well, you deserve something nice too.”

“You’re such a wonderful husband—” Her eyes widened in horror. “I mean—friend! You’re a wonderful friend. A-and you’d be a wonderful husband someday! Not to me—I mean, not that you couldn’t be, it’s just—I wasn’t trying to say—” She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Sorry. I have no idea what I’m saying. I just meant… thank you.”

To her immense relief, Adrien didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable. In fact, he looked amused—his smile soft, the corners of his mouth curling just slightly. “You’re welcome, Marinette,” he said.

When it came time for him to leave, Émi cried the instant she left his arms. Marinette tried to soothe her with all her usual tricks, yet nothing worked. It wasn’t until Marinette wrapped her in the cat-printed blanket Adrien had brought that Émi finally quieted. Swaddled in the fuzzy fabric that still carried his scent, her baby quickly fell asleep. 

Even though Adrien had gone, the warmth of his presence remained.

Exhaustion clung to Ladybug’s bones like an oppressive sludge as her body begged her for rest. 

It had been a long night. Patrol stretched later than usual, thanks to a couple of stops due to her fussy baby. The weight of fatigue pressed heavily on her shoulders, and all she wanted to do was head home and go to bed. However, as she and Chat Noir settled on a quiet rooftop garden, and her partner took Émi into his arms to give her a much-needed break, the tension slowly began to melt away. 

Slowly.

The city hummed faintly below, a soft symphony of distant music, traffic, and muffled voices—yet, on the rooftop, it was peaceful. Private. A sanctuary just for them. One they’d been frequenting lately, as nobody visited the gardens after hours.

Ladybug removed a blanket from her diaper bag (which she always carried with her these days, even as it consistently grew heavier and heavier as Émi aged) and spread it across the grass. The cool night air wrapped around them. Thanks to the various plants and trees, they were mostly spared from the wind. 

Chat Noir laid Émi on her back in the center of the blanket. Her tiny fists flexed, and her bright eyes were illuminated by the golden glow of light pouring from nearby windows. At nearly two months old, she was more alert than ever. Every day, she changed—her little body grew bigger, her gaze more focused, and her soft black hair thickened just a little more. 

She blinked at the inky black sky, watching the occasional flicker of movement, like a bat swooping overhead, a plane drifting by, or a stray cloud shifting in the breeze.

But the moment Chat Noir leaned over her, Émi’s attention snapped away from the sky.

She had always been captivated by him. No matter how inquisitive she was about the world, whenever he was close by, it was as if nothing else existed. Her wide eyes locked onto his face, absorbing every detail with the type of curious intensity only a baby could manage.

“She’s always staring at me,” he said, hovering over her as he gently grabbed her hands and wiggled her arms. 

Ladybug lay next to her baby, smiling as Chat Noir relaxed on the other side, with Émi nestled comfortably between them. 

“I think she really likes the color green,” she said.

“Is that so?” Chat Noir asked. He tickled Émi’s tummy, coaxing the cutest little sounds from her lips. Not quite laughs—not yet—but close. Then he scooped her up and peppered her face with kisses. 

Émi’s arms scrunched up, and her mouth fell open in a delighted coo.

(Ladybug wasn’t usually fond of people kissing her baby, and preferred to ask them to refrain for Émi’s safety—but she didn’t mind when Chat Noir did it. In fact… it made her happy, to see him loving on her.)

“You like green, huh?” He asked between smooches. “You have good taste. Green is one of my favorite colors.”

Ladybug giggled as her baby squealed. Émi really seemed to enjoy the attention, judging by the way she wiggled in response. Her eyes were still locked on him as if he were the most fascinating thing in the world.

And then—

Her lips curled.

It wasn’t one of her usual sleepy grimaces or fleeting reflexes, this—

This was something different.

Her eyes crinkled ever so slightly, and her cheeks lifted as she broke into a tiny, unmistakable smile.

Ladybug’s breath hitched.

“Oh,” she whispered, not daring to move.

Chat Noir froze as well, his eyes going comically wide. “What?”

Tears instantly sprang to her eyes. She wished terribly that she’d had her camera with her. In a flash, she retrieved her yo-yo and snapped a photo, making a mental note to send it to herself later. 

“Look,” she whispered.

Her partner pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Émi’s face. When he did, her smile grew, and he let out a breathless laugh, pure awe lighting up his expression. “What! No way! Are you smiling at me?”

Another coo.

“You are!” he gasped. “You’re smiling! Look at that smile!”

Ladybug pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her heart pounding. She felt like she could cry, and maybe she already was, but how could she not? Her baby had smiled, for the very first time! 

And because of Chat Noir, no less.

(She was only a little offended that she hadn't been the person to make Émi smile for the first time. It was alright, though. Totally worth it to see such a beautiful smile. She wanted to bottle this moment and keep it forever.)

“You smiled,” she murmured, caressing Émi’s cheek. “My sweet girl! Good job, baby.”

Émi made a soft gurgle, kicking her legs, and Chat Noir absolutely melted.

“That’s it,” he declared dramatically, holding Émi up with an exaggerated gasp. “I can’t take it anymore. You’re too cute. Must… eat… your cheeks!” He leaned in, pretending to gobble her tiny face, complete with playful growls. 

Émi’s arms flailed as she cooed and squeaked, her smile growing twice its size. 

“Aw! Look, my Lady,” he said, his voice full of pure excitement. “Minibug, look at your maman. Show her that beautiful smile!”

Émi made a noise akin to the same playful growls Chat Noir had made. He snorted, then broke into a laugh. 

"Aw, man," he sighed. "You're killing me, kid. Stop making me yearn for babies more than I already am." 

And then his expression softened. He stared at Émi for a long moment, and his eyes glowed with a love so genuine that it took Ladybug’s breath away. And then he brought her closer to his face, where he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Good job, chérie," he whispered. "I'm—I'm proud of you."

(Something about that statement made his voice crack. Ladybug wondered if that was something he'd ever heard from his own father when growing up.)

Ladybug swallowed.

As she watched him with her baby—the way he spoke to her, held her, kissed her, and encouraged her—she felt...

Whoa.

Um.

She felt...

Ladybug swallowed again, harder.

She felt... something.

Damn, she thought. He’d be such a good dad.

Émi looked at her, her smile still open-mouthed and wide, as if she were waiting for her mother’s stamp of approval.

“That’s a beautiful smile,” cooed Ladybug, tickling her cheek. “Look at you!”

She smiled back at her baby, though her gaze kept drifting to Chat Noir. And that’s when she noticed his eyes were on her, too.

Oh.

Um.

Oh.

There it was again.

That feeling.

The fluttery, warm, exhilarating sensation that stole her breath and sent her heart racing. It lit her chest with a spark she hadn’t felt in years—one that spread like wildfire, leaving her cheeks flushed and head swirling. For all she might’ve tried, she knew she wouldn’t be able to tear her gaze from him. 

Her partner.

(He’d been a lot more than just her partner lately, hadn’t he?

More like—)

She swallowed for the third time. 

Ladybug’s fingers trembled slightly as the realization hit her, filling her chest with a fuzzy heat that buzzed through her nerves and ignited her veins. Sparks flared from the bottom of her stomach to the tip of her fingers and lit a bonfire inside her heart, so intense she feared she might burst from the sheer enormity of it. 

It was shocking; unexpected; a little concerning, even. 

(She hadn’t felt like this since she was fifteen.

And yet, she couldn’t stop it.)

This wasn’t a passing feeling. It wasn’t fleeting admiration or simple gratitude for his help. 

It was so much more.

For the first time since she was a teenager, she let herself truly feel it.

And she knew—

She knew there was no coming back. 

Not this time.

The late summer air wrapped around Marinette, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers and the hum of distant cicadas. As she strolled through the park with Alya, golden afternoon light filtered through the trees. She guided Émi’s stroller with one hand while she held a strawberry lemonade with the other. Alya’s eighteen-month-old daughter, Mélodie, toddled beside her mother, clutching her hand for balance.

The cool breeze made it the perfect day for a picnic. After wandering for a while, they found an inviting spot beneath the sprawling shade of an old oak tree. Together, they spread a soft, woven blanket over the grass, and once everything was set, they carefully settled their little ones on the blanket. Émi cooed as Marinette adjusted her little pink dress and sun hat, while Alya unpacked the snacks.

Mélodie plopped down next to her, her curls bouncing, and she reached for Émi, her little hand outstretched. Alya reminded her to be gentle. Mélodie ran her hand along Émi's stomach, seeming quite interested in the little baby. Unfortunately, at only twelve weeks old, Émi hardly seemed to care. It wasn’t often Émi tore her focus away from her maman, after all.

(Well, her maman, or Chat Noir.)

“Baby,” Mélodie said, pointing. 

“Yes, that is a baby,” Alya replied. “Very good.”

“Mélodie’s getting so good with her words,” Marinette remarked, gently rolling Émi onto her tummy. She beamed as her daughter lifted her head, stretched her legs, and looked around, only to immediately drop back onto the blanket and let out a frustrated grunt before starting to cry.

Ah, well. She tried.

Marinette returned her to her back with practiced ease, offering a smile. “You did so good, my sweet girl,” she cooed, leaning down to pepper Émi’s tiny face with kisses. “We’ll keep practicing, huh?”

Émi squealed, her cries forgotten as she gave her maman a gummy smile. Marinette’s heart swelled, her own grin growing. She tickled her baby’s belly, earning another round of happy wiggles and gasps in return.

Alya watched Mélodie as she plucked blades of grass from the earth. “It’ll get easier for her. She's gotta build up those muscles.”

“She’s growing up too fast,” Marinette sighed.

“They do that,” Alya chuckled, staring wistfully at her own daughter. “You blink, and suddenly they’re a few months away from turning two. Where does the time go?”

“I don’t want to go back to work next week,” Marinette said. “Émi is getting so big, so fast! I’d be heartbroken if I missed a major development while I’m gone…”

“Are you doing daycare?” Alya asked. “We thought about it for Mélodie, but I work from home most of the time, so it's less expensive to keep her with me.”

“No daycare,” Marinette sighed. “I didn’t know you had to call them so far in advance! I thought you could just like... show up, and say, 'hey, I want to enroll my kid.' But they’re already full!" She groaned. "Maybe that's for the best. I don't know how I feel about leaving my baby in the hands of a stranger. You know how she is.”

Alya frowned. “What about a babysitter?”

“Manon offered to watch her after school, but… I don’t know who could watch her during school hours. Honestly, part of me is a little too nervous to leave my baby with a fourteen-year-old.”

“You were babysitting at fourteen.”

“A toddler, not an infant.”

“Touché.”

“I’m going to talk with my boss about working from home some days of the week,” Marinette said. “If not… I may need to find a different job that will let me work remotely. I can’t expect my parents to watch her all the time—they have the bakery.”

Alya rubbed her back. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“I sure hope so.”

Mélodie interrupted by pointing at Émi again. “Baby!”

“That’s Émi,” replied Marinette. “She’s your friend!”

Mélodie smacked her tiny hands against the ground and dug them deep into the dirt as she jabbered nonsense. Her dark brown curls danced gently in the breeze. "Baby, baby, baby, baby," she said, pulling a worm up from the ground. She brought it toward her mouth, but Alya was quick to snatch it from her.

"Girl, ew," she said. "You don't wanna eat that. That's yucky."

"Baby," Mélodie said, pointing to the now discarded worm as it inched across the dirt. 

"That's a worm."

"Baby."

"No. Worm."

"Baby."

Alya sighed.

A sudden gust of wind picked up a stray piece of newspaper from the sidewalk and carried it toward their picnic. Alya caught it mid-air just before it could land on their food. She glanced at it, intending to toss it aside. As her eyes landed on the headline, they widened.

“What is it?” Marinette asked.

“Uh oh,” Alya said with a laugh, holding out the newspaper. “You might want to see this.”

Marinette took it, skimming the article with mild curiosity—until her gaze landed on a photograph. Her breath hitched.

It was a candid shot, clearly taken during patrol. She and Chat Noir sat on a rooftop, her head resting on his shoulder while Émi was nestled securely in his arms. Beneath the photo, in bold letters, the headline read: 

"Ladybug and Chat Noir Celebrate the Birth of Their Baby!
They make a beautiful family."

A wave of warmth surged through her, leaving her cheeks flushed. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment, amusement, or something else entirely, because that damn photo had caught her looking at him. Not just looking, but looking, with all the stupid sappiness in her eyes, all the feelings confusing her as of late laid bare for the world to see. 

She felt almost naked.

“W-whatever,” Marinette huffed, her face burning hotter as she crumpled the paper and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “I… I don’t care what the press thinks! That photo is clearly edited, because I don’t—I don’t look at him like that, Alya—”

“Like what?”

“Like I… you know.”

Alya bit back a laugh. “Oh?”

“Yeah, so, whatever.” She turned her gaze away. “Like I said, I don’t care what the press thinks.”

“Are you sure ?” Alya asked, one eyebrow raised. “Because if you want me to clear this up, I can. I haven’t touched the Ladyblog in ages, but I’d be happy to do an interview and let everyone know—”

“No,” Marinette cut in, shaking her head. Her tone was firm but calm as she turned her attention back to Émi, gently rolling her back onto her tummy. The baby grunted in protest, kicking her legs. “Like I said, I don’t care what the press thinks. I know the truth, and so do you. That’s all that matters.”

Alya studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright… if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Marinette’s smile softened as Émi managed to lift her head for a few seconds before plopping it back down.

Truthfully, she wasn’t bothered by the assumptions most of Paris seemed to have made—that Chat Noir was her baby’s father. In fact, she found it… comforting.

But she wasn’t ready to unpack why.

Not quite yet.

Chapter Text

The wailing never seemed to end.

Marinette cradled her baby against her chest, slowly swaying back and forth in the dim glow of her bedroom’s night light. Émi’s shrieks pierced her ears and burrowed deep into her skull. She took a deep breath, patted Émi’s back, and whispered reassurances in the hope that it would alleviate her baby's distress.

It didn't. 

Marinette heaved a sigh and sank to a seat on her mattress. Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, she braved a glance at the digital clock on her nightstand and, upon seeing just how late it was, instantly regretted her decision. 

One in the morning. 

God, she was exhausted.

Work that day had been grueling. Returning to the workforce full-time after being on maternity leave for so many months was nearly an impossible adjustment. Between work, childcare, therapy, and taking care of herself, Marinette had barely slept a wink since going back. She'd skipped patrol tonight to try to catch up on sleep, yet with Émi’s cries persisting well into the early hours of the morning, that had proved ridiculously futile. 

She had to work the next day, too. And if she didn’t get any sleep…

Ugh. It didn't matter. When did she ever get any sleep?

“Émilie, my love, what’s wrong?” she asked, her tone patient despite the fatigue clinging to her bones. She held her baby against her shoulder, rubbing slow, desperate circles across her tiny back. “Please... I don’t understand.”

Émi’s sobs only grew louder and more insistent. 

A hard lump lodged itself in Marinette's throat, but she fought the urge to sob. If she cried now, she might not stop. Instead, she repositioned Émi so she could lie back in her arms. She rocked her slowly, hoping the motion would pacify her. When that didn’t work, she began to sing a familiar lullaby that her mother had sung to her as a child, blanketed in nostalgia and never failing to help her or her baby relax. 

Still, Émi screamed through it, like it meant nothing.

Nothing was working.

Émi just… cried.

And cried.

And cried.

(And cried.)

Marinette wanted to scream. Or break something. Or disappear for five minutes. Just five minutes. Five quiet minutes spent alone in her closet hiding behind the dresses she hadn’t worn in nearly a year.

She didn't, though. Émi needed her.

(If only she knew how to help.)

What was she supposed to do? She had earnestly tried everything she could think of to alleviate her baby’s discomfort. Émi wasn’t hungry, messy, or ill. She didn’t want toys or a pacifier. Not even a bath had helped. She'd pooped and peed. She refused to sleep—too upset to have even a slight hope of settling down. And Marinette was certain that this time, it wasn’t gas plaguing her baby, considering Émi had both burped and farted. And she was still too young to be teething.

Even Tikki had tried to placate the baby by talking to her or rubbing her tummy.

None of it seemed to work.

So… what was wrong?

“I don’t know what you need,” Marinette whimpered, once again repositioning her daughter against her shoulder and kissing the side of her head as she slowly swayed from side to side. Émi’s tear-streaked face was wet and red. “I wish you could tell me, ma chérie. I wish I could help. I’m sorry I can’t help…”

Émi trembled as another wail tore out of her. Her cries had thinned to a hoarse, rasping sound, but still she screamed.

(She still needed something Marinette couldn’t give.)

The guilt crashed over her like a wave. She’d failed. Again.

(She was failing.)

Her poor baby had cried for so long that her voice was starting to give out. Her vocal cords must hurt so badly from the strain. Marinette was sure that, if she looked, Émi's throat would be raw. 

Nothing Marinette had done had helped. Nothing Marinette could do would help. 

(She felt like the worst mother on Earth.)

“If only I could read minds,” she sighed. 

Her arms ached from holding Émi. Her legs throbbed from hours of pacing. Her chest felt heavy from the constant knot of panic, and her eyes—they burned from the lack of sleep she hadn’t had in... how long now? She didn’t know anymore.

She tried to nurse her again. Émi turned her head away, let out a breathless sob, and pushed at her chest with weak little hands.

Rejected.

Again.

Marinette settled her back into the bassinet, rubbing her belly, her motions robotic as she played some white noise on her phone. Even then, Émi cried, her voice dwindling to a scratchy little mewl.

Everything Marinette provided was not what she wanted. Nothing she did was right!

Frustration bubbled inside her. She wasn’t upset with Émi—it was just frustrating when she couldn’t figure out why her baby was crying, and no matter what she tried, there was nothing she could do to help. 

There was nothing she could do to rectify the situation. 

A mother’s job was to be there for her children, to care for them, soothe them, and ensure they felt loved. To find out why they were crying and help them feel better. To ease their pain in any way she could. 

To comfort them. 

To make them feel safe.

And if she failed to do that… 

…What kind of mother was she?

What kind of mother couldn’t comfort her own baby?

She was a failure.

Her knees gave out, and she slumped to the floor beside the bassinet. She wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her face in her knees, and finally let herself cry.

Ugly sobs, loud and gasping, twisted from deep in her stomach and wracked her body with the overwhelming feeling of uselessness. 

The apartment echoed with both their grief.

She felt ridiculous for crying. But she was at her wits' end. And she was just...

She glanced at the clock again. Her eyes drooped closed, her head dipped forward, heavy as lead, and for a second she drifted. Then jerked awake.

So... fucking... tired. 

Émi still cried.

Marinette still didn’t know why.

(She didn’t know how much longer she could do this.)

Tikki flitted forward. She landed on Marinette's knee and rubbed her arm with her little paw. “It's okay, Marinette. Don’t cry.”

“B-but she’s my baby.” Her breath hitched. “I-it’s my responsibility to know why she’s crying, a-and help her!”

“It’s alright, Marinette.”

“I just wish she could tell me,” she sniffed. “T-tell me what’s bothering her, what’s hurting her, what’s… what’s wrong… because, I…” Another sob caught in her throat. Émi’s cries were shrill in her ears, and she winced. She dug her fingernails into her scalp. “I-I need to help her!”

Her motherly instinct to soothe was going absolutely fucking haywire.

Something was wrong with Émi, clearly, but what was it?

Was she hurt somewhere? Did she have an injury or a rash she hadn’t yet seen? Did she have an infection, a cut, a parasite, o-or—

Or...

Was she dying?

Was her baby dying?

Panic flared in her chest like a fire bursting to life.

Marinette rushed to her feet and lifted Émi from her bassinet. She placed her on her bed, checking her everywhere for any sign of illness, wound, or decay. It felt awful to reposition her child over and over again when she was already crying, but if she was hurt somewhere, if she was dying, Marinette needed to know, because she needed to help her, and she—she—

She couldn’t, she—

Shit!

What happened? What was wrong? It had to be something! Somewhere! 

“Tikki,” Marinette bawled, her whole body trembling fiercely. “W-what do I d-do? Is she dying?”

“Marinette." Tikki flitted forward and gripped Marinette's cheeks in her little paws. She stared deeply into Marinette's eyes, her tone serious. "Breathe."

"I am—"

"You aren't. Breathe."

Marinette swallowed, then nodded, sucking in a deep breath and then releasing it. She repeated the pattern a few times until her heart no longer felt as if it was in danger of bursting through her ribcage. "I'm breathing, I'm breathing."

Tikki patted her face. "Good. Okay. Let's try to figure out what's wrong with Émi, okay?"

Tears streamed down Marinette’s face, dripping from her chin. "My baby is dying, isn't she?"

"No, no. She’s not dying, Marinette.” Tikki’s tone became gentle and careful as her eyes softened with concern. “Look at her, Marinette. She's breathing. She's crying, but she's breathing. She's okay."

As Marinette's attention flicked back to Émi, the crying ceased for a moment, and her breath caught in her throat. 

…Oh.

Was she done? Was she—

Émi glanced around the room. Her lip trembled, and her face crumpled, before another piercing cry tore from her throat.

Marinette let out a quiet, broken sob. “I just want to help her. But I can’t. I… I want to sleep. God, I know how selfish that sounds, but I do. I want to sleep so bad—”

"It's not selfish," Tikki cut in gently. "You need to sleep to be able to care for her. It's normal to want it."

"I can't sleep until she's okay."

Tikki hovered over Émi and studied her for a moment, her brows pinched together. "Maybe you should call someone? It worked the first time, didn’t it? Alya came over. What about your mother? Can you call her?”

“I…” Marinette swayed on her feet. Her knees threatened to buckle. “I don’t know, Tikki… I don’t know…”

She could call Alya or her mother. There wasn’t necessarily anything stopping her.

However… it was so late. Both of them would be asleep, and her parents had already done her a massive favor by watching Émi all day while she’d been working. And Alya had her own kid; her own life. Moreover, Marinette knew it was her duty to understand what was troubling her daughter. Over the past three months, she had leaned on her friends and family for assistance in far too many instances for her comfort. 

She couldn’t keep asking for help every time she fell apart. At some point, she had to get it together. It was time for her to learn how to handle things independently.

(And god, was she trying.)

Even if her therapist had told her that relying on other people was okay—good, even—she still felt like she was taking too much of other people’s time, while hardly giving any in return.

Émi screamed louder, her face wet and snotty. Marinette tensed all over. Her body clenched from the inside out.

(The sound of her baby crying was painful.)

What else was she supposed to do? Let Émi cry it out until she lost her voice? That was cruel! She didn’t want to do that!

She could take her to the hospital, but what if there was nothing wrong? The staff would regard her as a fool, and she'd put her baby through all kinds of uncomfortable tests for nothing. 

“Marinette,” Tikki begged. “Please, call your mother. She’ll be able to help you.”

“I-I don’t want to wake her,” Marinette croaked. She lifted her blubbering baby back into her arms and bounced her. Émi sobbed harder, her fists clenched and her little legs kicking defiantly. “I-I can’t just keep calling people whenever I have a rough patch. I'm Émi's mom—it’s my job to figure stuff like this out!”

Tikki shook her head. “No, Marinette. It’s okay to call for help when you need it. That’s what friends and family are for. No one expects you to do this alone.”

Marinette ignored her. “Are you hurting, baby?” she whispered, holding Émi up to scan her face, as if answers might be hidden behind the curtain of tears and snot. She kissed her forehead, her lips brushing along her baby's soft, wispy hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I knew. Please, stop crying. It’s okay. I promise, whatever is wrong, it will be okay. I’m here, Émilie. Maman's here.”

Émi squirmed, twisting in her arms, trying to push away with her tiny fists and still-developing muscles.

The rejection cut deep.

“You don’t want to be held?” Marinette asked. She laid Émi on the bed, her hands trembling. “Okay. Okay.”

Her daughter relaxed for a brief moment, and she hoped beyond hope that Émi would finally quiet down—

Only to be met with fists and feet flailing in frustration. 

"She's angry about something," Marinette rasped. "But I don't know what."

"Could she be teething?" Tikki asked.

Marinette shook her head. "No, too young for that," she said. She leaned in to check anyway and gently nudged her baby's lip upward to peek at her gums.

No teeth yet. 

Émi turned her head away and screamed.

Marinette took a step back. "Are you mad at me?" she asked, her voice cracking with disbelief. 

Émi’s eyes locked on hers with a furious glare.

Marinette's heart shattered. "You're mad at me," she said. Then, with more devastation, “You’re mad at me? What did I do wrong?”

Tikki flitted forward with Marinette's phone dangling from her paws. "Your mom will know what to do."

“I… I just…” Marinette let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a sob. “I... okay."

Finally, after an agonizingly long span of seemingly endless tears and being at the forefront of as aggressive an expression as her three-month-old baby could manage, Marinette heaved a sigh, held out her hand, and allowed Tikki to pass her her phone.

Only after a moment’s hesitation did she call her mother. She simply couldn’t bear to watch Émi cry any longer. It was breaking her heart. 

(And slowly driving her insane.)

“Marinette?” came her mother’s voice, raspy from sleep. “Is everything alright, dear?”

Émi’s cries pierced through Marinette’s head, carving a fierce headache into her skull. She knew her mother could hear them, no doubt, and it was hard to know whether her mother could hear her over the resounding shrieks. 

“Maman…” she hiccuped. “I’m so sorry to wake you. But did anything happen while you were watching Émilie today?”

Sabine’s voice became more alert. “No, everything was fine. Why?”

“She won’t stop crying. I’ve tried everything. I-I don’t know what to do. Do I take her to the hospital?”

“Is she sick or in pain?”

“N-no, I don’t think so. I checked everywhere.”

“Does she have a fever?”

“No, I checked. Twice. She doesn’t seem sick.”

Tom’s groggy voice came from the other line, muffled in the background. “Émi is sick? Hold on, let me get dressed. We can go over—"

“No, Tom, I don't think Émi is sick,” Sabine gently hushed. “You probably don’t need the hospital, Marinette, but if you’re unsure, it can’t hurt to take her. How have you tried to soothe her?”

“Everything, maman.” Marinette’s voice cracked as she choked back another sob. “I’m so tired. I've barely slept in days. I-I’ve tried everything I can think of. She’s not hungry, sick, soiled, teething, or… or anything! She won’t go to sleep, either. I sang to her, I bounced, swayed, I mean… I don’t…” The sob fought its way through her throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It's alright, Marinette. It'll be okay," Sabine soothed. "Does she do this often?”

It was getting harder and harder to hear her mother over Émi’s relentless wailing. The cries pierced straight through her skull, and Marinette could barely think, let alone concentrate. Her brain felt scrambled, frayed, and overloaded, like a circuit on the verge of frying.

So much noise… so little sleep… so, so tired…

“N-no,” she stammered. “This is the first time this has happened without a clear reason. I mean, it happened once when she was a newborn, but that had been gas. This is different. I don’t know what this is…”

“Sometimes babies just cry, my love,” her mother said. “She may have colic. That, or she wants something.”

“I tried everything,” Marinette muttered, rubbing her temple amidst the cacophony of noise. “Toys, the play mat, her pacifier, music, lullabies—”

“Maybe it’s not a thing she wants,” her mother said softly. “Maybe it’s a person. Someone she misses. Someone she’s bonded to, like Alya, perhaps. Or your father and me. Would you like us to come over?”

Wait.

A person?

A person.

A person who’s…

Not…

There.

Oh.

Marinette nearly dropped her phone as the realization struck her like a semi-truck barreling right into her body and knocking the breath from her lungs.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “I know what she wants.”

“Oh?” her mother asked. "What is it?"

Marinette barely heard her. “Thank you, Maman," she said quickly. "I-I have to go. I love you.”

She hung up before her mother could reply. Her heart pounded as her eyes flicked to Tikki.

“Tikki,” she said. “Spots on.”

“Hey. Kid.”

A familiar voice fought its way through the sweet haze of sleep.

“Adrien.”

Ugh, Plagg.

Adrien groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow as he rolled over. He’d been in the middle of a lovely dream where he was having a picnic with Ladybug, and for some reason, Plagg had the audacity to yank him back to reality. Rude didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Go back to sleep, Plagg,” he mumbled, pulling the blankets over his head. 

Sleep began to claim him once more as his brain dipped back into the sweet, comforting embrace of dreamland—

A hard object slammed against the side of his head.

Adrien shot upright, clutching his head as his cats, startled by the sudden movement, bolted from the bed in a flurry of fur and panic. He mourned the abrupt loss of their warmth, only to spot the remote control on his lap—a telltale sign of Plagg’s less-than-gentle wake-up call.

As his vision adjusted to the dim room, he squinted at his Kwami, a slew of curses dangling at the edges of his lips. However, the sheer intensity of Plagg’s luminous green eyes made Adrien’s stomach twist. 

Adrien reached over to switch on the bedside lamp, rubbing his face with one hand. His head swam with the groggy fog of sleep.  “What is it, Plagg? What’s going on?”

Plagg’s whiskers twitched. “Something’s up. Ladybug needs you.”

That woke him up. 

Adrien’s eyes went wide as he scrambled out of bed. His foot snagged on the tangled sheets, sending him stumbling forward. He barely managed to catch himself against the mattress. “What do you mean? Is she hurt? Is she in danger? What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Plagg shot back. “But I can feel her trying to reach out to you. You’d better—hey, wait!”

Plagg’s protest was cut off as Adrien shouted, “Plagg, claws out!”

The transformation overtook him in a flash of light, and as soon as the last spark faded, Chat Noir was already halfway out the window, leaping into the night with his heart pounding in time with the wind rushing past him.

He didn’t even know what time it was—didn’t care. Anxiety twisted its way through his entire being. The city blurred around him as he bounded across rooftops, racing to—

Wait. 

Chat Noir skidded to a stop atop a secluded roof, his chest heaving as he sucked in the cool midnight air.

He didn’t even know where Ladybug was. Retrieving his baton from his belt, he fumbled with the screen with shaking hands and dialed Ladybug’s number.

She answered on the first ring.

“Kitty,” she rasped, her voice rough but unmistakably hers. 

Relief flooded through him, loosening the vice around his chest. “Ladybug! You're okay.”

“I’m sorry.” She sounded tired and nasally, as if she’d been crying. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, not even trying to disguise his fear as it caused his voice to tremble. “Where are you?”

A piercing wail tore through the speaker. He winced, jerking the baton away from his ear as the sound stabbed straight into his chest. 

Minibug.

His stomach dropped.

That was Minibug. Crying—no, screaming. Louder than he’d ever heard. 

Something was wrong. 

His pulse spiked, his fingers tightening around the baton. If she was hurt—if either of them were hurt—

If anyone touched them—

He didn’t finish the thought. His whole body tensed with a ferocity he didn’t recognize, something primal flickering beneath the panic.

“I’m so sorry if I woke you,” sniffed Ladybug. Her voice was wet and raw. “I-I just sent you my location.” His baton pinged. “Can you meet me there?”

“Of course,” he replied instantly, his voice soft despite the panic still clawing at him. “I’ll be right there.”

The call ended, and Chat Noir bolted forward, pushing his body to its absolute limit. Wind tore past him as he bounded across the rooftops. His muscles burned, but he pushed harder. Countless hypothetical scenarios raced through his head, listing off every possible situation, anything that could have gone wrong, urging him to reach Ladybug as fast as possible to ensure she and Minibug were safe. If anything had happened to either of them, he would never forgive himself.

(He wouldn’t be able to bear the loss. He cared about them both so much—so much that it hurt.)

He heard Minibug’s shrieks just before he spotted Ladybug’s silhouette. His heart rate spiked again.

Chat Noir landed next to her in a breathless blur, eyes sweeping her from head to toe for injuries, for blood, for anything. “Ladybug! What happened? Are you alright? Are either of you hurt?”

She shook her head, her face streaked with tears. Wordlessly, she passed her fussy baby into his arms. 

He accepted Minibug without hesitation, cradling the tiny, bawling baby against his chest. Instinctually, he rocked her, unsure why she was crying but knowing he wanted to soothe the ache of whatever discomfort was plaguing her. Something in him was telling him that he needed to fix it; that his touch could hopefully ease her pain; a certain sort of instinct that urged him to just... hold her, love her, and tell her that everything would be okay. 

He was here, now. And he'd never let anything hurt her. Ever.

"It's alright, ma biche," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I've got you. I'm here." He glanced between Ladybug and the baby in his arms. “What’s…”

Minibug nestled into him, her small body relaxing. Her frantic sobs faded into tiny, hitching breaths, and her tear-streaked face softened before her eyes finally drifted shut.

And just like that—

The crying stopped. 

Chat Noir barely had time to process the sudden stillness before Ladybug crumpled to her knees on the rooftop. Her shoulders sagged with relief, and her hands trembled as she wiped at her face, though the tears continued to fall.

His eyes fell to Minibug, wrapped loosely in a fuzzy blanket, and her cheeks still glistening from leftover tears. Her hand clumsily gripped his finger as she breathed softly and snuggled closer to his chest. 

Silence drowned their rooftop perch.

It was almost too quiet.

“I knew it,” Ladybug whimpered. “I knew…”

Carefully, Chat Noir lowered himself to sit beside her, keeping the baby secure in his arms. He glanced at Ladybug, whose tired eyes watched Minibug with a mixture of gratitude and a lingering, hollow sort of sorrow. Her lower lip trembled. 

“Hey,” he said softly, brushing her shoulder with his free hand. “Are you alright?”

That caused the dam to break. Ladybug sobbed, wilting as she buried her head in her hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I just—she just—she wouldn’t stop. It’d been hours, and I think she—” She took a deep, shuddering breath before choking on another sob. "She wouldn't..." 

Chat Noir’s heart sank. With his free arm, he enveloped her in a hug. Instantly, she melted against him. He could practically feel the exhaustion radiating off of her. Even if it weren’t for the bags underneath her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, or the hoarseness of her voice—which all seemed to be her constant companions these days—it would be easy to tell that her energy stores were utterly depleted. 

“All she wanted was you,” she whispered.

His breath caught. He looked down at Minibug. Her cheek rested against his chest, and her face was peaceful as the lingering tears dried on her cheeks. “...What?” he asked.

“You,” Ladybug said, removing her head from her hands to meet his gaze with an exhausted steeliness. “She wanted you.”

She... wanted him?

...Him?

A wave of pure, unfiltered love hit him like a punch to the chest, stealing his breath. As he gently wiped the dampness from Minibug’s chubby cheeks, she smiled—a small, sleepy curve of her lips. His heart clenched. She nestled closer against him, her hand squeezing around his finger. 

...She wanted him.

He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t think he mattered like that.

But she wanted him.

“That’s why she was crying so much?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby. “She just… wanted me?”

Ladybug nodded, the weight of her fatigue etched into every line of her face. “Yes.”

Oh.

“She usually always wants me,” she continued. “I-I can almost always soothe her because—b-because I'm her mother, and she loves me. But I guess… I guess tonight she just… she didn't want me. She didn’t… want me at all.”

She cracked, releasing another quiet sob.

Guilt stabbed Chat Noir through the chest, wrenching like a knife deep in his heart. 

He didn't want Ladybug to feel as if her baby didn't want her. Forming a special bond with her baby was one of the most important things about motherhood, wasn't it? He certainly didn't want to interfere with that.

He adored Minibug, but... were they doing the wrong thing here…? By letting him spend time with her…?

Before he could respond, Ladybug wiped her face and spoke. “She thinks you’re the greatest thing on Earth, you know. She loves you.”

Chat Noir’s throat constricted with emotion, and he blinked rapidly against the sting of tears threatening to spill. He swallowed hard. “O-oh?”

I love her, too, he thought. Though he didn’t dare speak it out loud.

He turned his gaze to the baby in his arms. “Minibug,” he said, a playful lilt in his tone to try to lighten the mood. “You gave your Maman all that trouble just because you wanted my cuddles?”

Minibug, blissfully asleep, offered no reply.

A smile graced Ladybug’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Another sob wracked her body. 

“Oh, hey,” he soothed, his voice soft as he rubbed her shoulder. “You okay, my Lady?”

“Oh, K-kitty,” she cried. “This is so… so hard. I think I’m doing good, and then something like this happens where nothing I do helps her, and I just... lose complete faith in myself as a mother.”

His hand rubbed slow circles along her back. “No. Ladybug, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re an amazing mother.” 

She simply shook her head. 

Chat Noir tried again. “You can’t help that she wanted a specific person, my Lady. That’s out of your control. And you did the right thing. She had a need; you figured it out and solved that need. That’s good parenting!”

She murmured something so faint he didn’t hear it.

“What was that?” he asked, cat ear twitching. 

“She didn’t want me,” she repeated louder. “After everything I tried tonight… it doesn’t even matter. Because at the end of the day, my baby simply didn’t want me.”

Her voice sounded so… hollow. 

Chat Noir’s heart ached for her. “Don’t be silly,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “You're her maman. She loves you.”

Ladybug said nothing. She simply swallowed and looked away.

“Ladybug,” he tried again. “She loves you.”

She sighed, gripped her hair, and her expression twisted into something akin to frustrated exhaustion. “God, I—ugh! This is so fucking hard! I’m so tired all the time. I hardly ever sleep! I-I think it’s starting to weigh on me. More than it already has. I feel like I'm going to—to snap!"

His eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"I don't even know," she huffed. "I just need a break. I-I know I’m being irrational, but it’s so hard to be rational when I haven’t slept a full night in three months. I said I could do this on my own. I chose to. And I am! But I—” Tears welled in her eyes all over again. “I-I wish I didn’t have to.”

A frown tugged his lips downward. “Oh, Bug—”

“I'm fine by myself. I'm happy by myself. I don’t need a partner, but I—" Her voice cracked. "I wish she’d been born out of a loving relationship, with two parents to care for her instead of one." Her fingers clenched into fists. “Instead of me running myself ragged to the point where she doesn't want me. You should have seen how she looked at me tonight—like she was so angry with me—and I—I felt like I deserved it!” 

He reached for her. “Hey—”

“I love her," she sobbed, wiping at her eyes. "I love her so much it hurts. So much it kills me. And I would do this—all of this—alone, forever, if that’s what it took to make sure she’s okay. I just…"

He rubbed her shoulder in silence.

Her arms wrapped around herself as if she were trying to hold her own body together. ”It’s so hard, waking up in the middle of the night to my baby crying. And I have to get up, because I’m the only person she has. The only person to comfort her and care for her. And then I... I glance at the other side of my bed. And it's empty. Like it always is. So I get up, over and over again. Just… me. Only me. Only ever me." 

Ah. 

He didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to offer to fix it; to tell her he would take that space beside her if she’d let him.

But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when she was exhausted and vulnerable. It wouldn’t be fair to put his feelings on her plate when she was already overwhelmed. She didn’t need romance—she needed rest. 

Still, Chat Noir could sympathize. Though he didn’t have a child, he knew the pain of loneliness all too well. 

“I get it,” he said. “But Ladybug… just because Minibug’s father isn’t in the picture doesn’t mean you have to go at this alone. You don’t have to be afraid to ask for help. You have your family, your friends.” He hesitated. “Me.”

Ladybug nodded. “I-I know. I’ve had much more help than most single mothers do, a-and I’m grateful for that. I guess I’m just… overthinking. I do that a lot. I think too much. About everything.”

“It’s alright. You’re exhausted.”

When she looked at him, her eyes were glassy. “I hate this feeling. This... stupid ache that doesn't seem to go away. And I don’t understand—” she breathed in heavily, “—I don’t understand why I’m even more lonely now that I have a baby! I was only a little lonely before, but now I… I feel… so alone. Even when surrounded by friends and family, I-I just… I feel like… I’m so…" Her voice shrank, tinged with the raspy edge of complete and utter exhaustion. "So... alone.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know what it’s like to feel alone.”

“You... do?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” His eyes fixed on hers. “I do.”

She gave a shuddering sigh. "Loneliness sucks."

“It does.”

“I started feeling it when I was pregnant,” she said. “Not having anyone at home to comfort me when I was sick, to rub my back when it was sore, or to keep me company while my mood swings were at their peak. I thought it’d get better when I had my daughter. When the pregnancy hormones faded, I thought I’d feel less lonely. But—” Her breath hitched. “Sometimes, I feel lonelier than ever.”

He bit his lip, looking down. He couldn’t speak—not without the fear of saying something he shouldn’t, like offering to move in with her to help or something equally stupid.

“I love her more than anything,” she added. "But... is it... bad, that having her makes me more lonely?"

Chat Noir didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer.

Ladybug stared out at the city skyline, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her eyes glistened in the city light, and her lashes, still wet, fluttered against her cheeks.

“I adore her,” she continued. “The love I feel for her—it’s so much. It’s too much. It consumes me. But there’s no one to share it with. She’s just mine. Nobody else’s. I guess it’d just be nice if someone else loved her like I do. If someone held her and looked at her like she was their whole world, too.”

Chat Noir glanced down at the baby cradled against his chest. He raised an eyebrow, and his breath caught for a moment as his eyes flicked between them—Minibug, Ladybug, and himself, settled together on the rooftop.

He swallowed.

His eyes fell to Minibug again. Her tiny fingers clutched a fold of his suit, and her lips parted as she slept, her cheeks still faintly flushed from crying. Without thinking, he moved his hand, brushing a lock of fine hair from her forehead.

He glanced at Ladybug. Her face was turned slightly toward him, quietly watching as something unreadable flickered behind her tired eyes.

...How did he breathe, again? He'd suddenly forgotten.

Silence settled between them. After a moment, he cleared his throat and said, “It takes a village, as the saying goes."

“Yeah,” she rasped. “It really does.”

Another beat of silence passed between them, neither comfortable nor strained. Just silence.

The wind whispered around them, tugging gently at her hair and tickling the back of his neck. Neither of them moved.

Chat Noir wished he could do something to help ease her loneliness, even just by a hair. If he could, he’d offer to stay the night with her, to get up with her when Minibug cried, and let her sleep. He wanted to help her—not out of some sort of obligation or duty as her partner, but because he loved her.

He wanted to be the person who helped her feel less alone.

But doing so would require revealing their identities, or at least learning where Ladybug lived. And that was off-limits.

Painfully off-limits.

(As always.)

“You know,” he said slowly. "If you ever need a break for a day... I could watch her for a little while. Let you rest."

She laughed, though the sound was rough with exhaustion. “That's sweet of you to offer, but… no.” 

Though the answer didn't surprise him, it still stung. 

(Did she not trust him?

Best not to dwell on it.

Even if the idea clawed at his heart.)

Instead, he said, “Ladybug… you don’t have to feel lonely. I-I know saying that doesn't really help, but... if that lonely feeling ever creeps in... just transform and give me a call. I’m here for you. Always.”

She cracked a slight smile. It was small, yet enough to fill Chat Noir’s heart with a tidal wave of love. 

Her head rested gently on his shoulder. “We can be lonely together.”

He chuckled. “You, me, and Minibug.”

She gave a small hum of agreement, eyes drifting closed for just a moment. Just as he assumed she’d drifted off, her voice broke through the quiet. “You know, I was wrong,” she said.

“About what?” he asked.

“About not having anyone there to comfort me while I was pregnant,” she said. “Sure, I was lonely in my apartment, but… you cared for me when I was sick. You rubbed my back when it was sore. And you were always at the forefront of my mood swings.” She laughed softly, and her smile grew. “You’ve been there for me from the start. So… I just want to thank you, I guess.”

“Oh.” His cheeks warmed. “Hey, no need to thank me. That’s what friends do.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Friends.”

The word didn’t sting like it used to. Though Chat Noir still loved her—and Minibug, by extension—he had come to treasure the privilege of simply being part of their lives.

Just getting to be with them was enough. 

It wouldn’t stop him yearning for more, but… it was enough.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Yeah. I think so. I don't know."

"Do you... do you need someone to go home with you? To help you with Minibug?" 

(He knew she'd say no, but he couldn't help asking anyway.)

Ladybug shook her head. "No… I mean, we can’t.” After a moment, she added, “It’d be nice, though.”

Oh.

It’d be nice.

...Okay.

(In his mind, a fantasy unfolded where Ladybug led him back to her apartment with her hand brushing his. He imagined her putting Minibug to bed with practiced ease as dim lamplight warmed the space around them. Then she’d turn to him, tired but happy, and she'd smile, because he was there. And when they crawled under the blankets together, wrapped in each other's embrace, he'd kiss her forehead, and she'd lean into his touch like it was all she needed. Then they'd allow the call of sleep to welcome them. Together. 

And if Minibug happened to cry in the middle of the night, he’d wake first. He'd cradle her, feed her, and rock her back to sleep.

He would be there. For both of them. Whenever they needed him. If they wanted him. 

He dreamt of it often.

That was all it was, though.

Just a dream.)

If anything, he wished they could’ve at least stayed the night there, perched on the rooftop beneath the night sky, with Ladybug relaxing against him and Minibug asleep in his arms.

He knew better, though. It wasn’t safe for the baby, and, truthfully, sleeping on a gravelly rooftop probably wouldn’t do his back any favors, either.

Still… the fantasy lingered.

Ladybug let out a deep yawn, her eyes half-lidded as she watched Minibug's chest rise and fall in time with his. She sighed and then looked up at him with a smile, warm but dimmed at the edges by fatigue. "I, um... I should probably go," she said, though something in her voice almost seemed reluctant. "I have work in the morning."

He nodded. "Oh, um—me too."

(Which was true, but completely irrelevant. If she asked, he’d stay until sunrise. Sleep didn’t matter. They did.)

With Minibug still soundly asleep, he carefully handed her back to Ladybug. The baby stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her fingers curling instinctively around a loose strand of her mother’s hair. 

Ladybug smiled faintly, easing the strand of hair free from her daughter’s grasp. She adjusted the blanket around Minibug, tucking it a little tighter. Her eyes lingered on her baby, then flicked up to him. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?" he asked.

"Everything," she replied. "You… you mean a lot to me.”

His heart skipped, then stumbled, before it tried to settle somewhere beneath his ribs. “You mean a lot to me, too.”

She offered a genuine smile. Instead of responding, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, the warmth lingering long after she pulled away. 

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised.

His face tingled, mimicking the fuzzy sensation that fizzled to life in his chest. 

As she disappeared into the night with Minibug in her arms, Chat Noir remained, his gaze following her silhouette and staring into the distance even long after she'd gone. He could still feel the weight of the baby on his chest and the faint ghost of Ladybug’s kiss on his cheek, the heat she left behind burrowing into his veins and settling snugly like sunlight on his skin.

His heart, as it always did, went home with them. 

And that was okay. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

It was theirs, after all.

And it always would be.

Chapter Text

Marinette exhaled deeply, shutting the door to her apartment with her foot as she balanced groceries in one hand and cradled Émi with the other. 

Finally home.

What an exhausting day, she thought. 

The city hummed quietly outside. Émi blew spit bubbles as she pulled at her shirt, scrunching the already wrinkled fabric. 

"Oohwa," cooed Émi, pulling tighter on her shirt collar.

"Yes, we're home," Marinette chuckled.

She let out a tired sigh as she put her groceries away one-handed, then carried Émi to the nursery. Her mind was foggy, and her body ached for a break. The day had been nonstop, packed full with therapy, job interviews, an Akuma attack, grocery shopping, and picking up Émi from her parents’ place. It was more than enough to cause the already-present fatigue to burrow bone-deep.

At least the job hunt had paid off. She’d landed a remote position similar to her current one, set to start in two weeks. The pay was a little lower, but the trade-off of being home with Émi was more than worth it. She’d just need to keep a closer eye on her budget.

Admittedly, Marinette would miss her old job, but they hadn’t exactly embraced the idea of her working remotely. After scrambling for babysitters five days a week while rushing to and from the office, something had to give. Finding a new role was the only way forward.

Her life would be a little easier now. 

(Just a little.)

After such a busy day, all she wanted was to unwind with some dinner, a relaxing bath, and maaaaybe a visit with her favorite Kitty. If her body had any energy left over for a rooftop run, of course. 

But first, someone had decided to make a stinky, so that took priority. 

The setting sun spilled through the curtains of Émi’s nursery, painting soft golden streaks across the walls. Marinette placed her daughter on the changing table, smiling down at her as she cleaned, powdered, and dressed her in a fresh diaper.

“You smell,” she teased, delighting in how Émi’s nose scrunched. “Who said you could be that stinky?”

Émi responded with a gummy grin, her bright eyes sparkling with something akin to mischief. 

“Alright, little bug,” she said as she lifted her baby into her arms, peppering her chubby little cheeks with kisses. “You hungry?”

Émi gurgled.

“Thought so,” Marinette replied. She settled into the rocking chair, propping Émi on her lap. "You eat, then I'll eat and take a bath, and then if I don't fall asleep on my feet, we can go see Chat Noir."

An adorably wide smile spread across her baby’s face. Émi squealed, waving her fists and squinting her eyes. Marinette laughed, unable to resist the urge to dive back in and smooch the heck out of her daughter’s face. 

(There was just something about those cheeks! She couldn’t stop kissing them.)

"You get so excited when I say his name," she cooed. "You wanna go see him, don't you? You love him?"

Émi babbled in excitement. 

“Alright, alright. Let’s get you fed, first.”

After they both had dinner and a bath, Marinette returned to Émi’s room in search of an outfit for her little girl.

“You’re outgrowing all your clothes so quickly,” she sighed, propping her half-naked baby against her hip and digging through the dresser’s top drawer. “My little chunky lady. Let’s see if we can find something cute for you to wear that isn't already stained."

She turned toward the closet, thumbing through the clothes on the rack before pulling out a black onesie with a cat’s face on the hood. Émi squeaked; Marinette giggled. 

“Yeah," she said. "This is good."

She brought her baby and the onesie back to the changing table. Carefully, she worked the onesie over Émi’s wiggling arms and legs, slipping her daughter into the outfit despite the flails of resistance. 

“Hold still, silly,” she teased as she fastened the last snap. She scooped Émi up to admire her. “Look at you! You’re growing like a weed.” 

Émi gurgled. 

“Oh, you’re breaking my heart, getting so big on me like that,” Marinette sighed. “Stop it.”

A thin trail of drool dribbled from Émi’s lip and down her chin, and Marinette wiped it away with her thumb.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?” she asked. 

Her baby’s lips curled upward into another smile—almost as if she understood. 

She kissed Émi’s chubby cheek, earning another squeal, and ugh, how she adored her baby’s cute little noises. Noises that meant she was happy. Was there anything that sounded better?

(The sleepless nights and endless exhaustion paled compared to how much she loved moments like these.

Just her and her baby, together in their home, their bond growing stronger by the day.)

Marinette couldn’t fathom life without Émi now. Part of her wondered how she’d ever lived before, without this wonderful source of love and happiness and warmth and everything good in life. Without her baby. Her daughter.

(When did the novelty of that title wear off? Would it ever? Would she ever stop feeling amazed by the fact that she was a mother and she had a daughter?)

Even after fourteen weeks, she still found herself dumbfounded by the fact that she’d made her. Émi had come from her. Despite the memories of pregnancy and the twelve hours of labor, it still seemed… impossible, that she’d managed to birth a little person. A person who loved her just as much as she loved her in return. 

Ever since Émi came into her life, Marinette felt as if the world had bloomed with a burst of color. Before, she hadn’t even known she’d been living in monochrome. Now? Everything was so… bright.

How had she ever existed without her?

“Alright,” she said, diving in for one last cheek kiss. “Chat Noir is waiting for us. You ready?”

Her baby, delighted by the sound of his name, gasped and flashed a pink, gummy smile. 

Marinette chuckled. “I thought so.”

Ladybug was a few minutes late when she arrived at their patrol route. 

Dutiful as ever, Chat Noir patiently waited, comfortably perched on the rooftop’s edge. When he heard her land, one of his feline ears tilted backward a millisecond before he turned his head and graced her with one of his signature handsome grins, which only grew when he noticed the baby strapped to her chest. 

Émi released an ear-piercing shriek as she saw him. Ladybug winced; Chat Noir's eyes widened.

"My goodness," Ladybug said. "Don't strain your voice, kid."

Émi screamed again. She wiggled inside the chest wrap, smiling and panting as if she just couldn’t wait another second for Chat Noir to spare her some attention.

Her partner took pity on her and hopped to his feet, striding toward them. “Well, look who it is,” he practically purred. “My two favorite bugs—Ladybug and her larvae!”

Ladybug’s nose scrunched in distaste. “Ew, don’t call her that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that sounded better in my head.” His eyes studied Émi for a moment, his head cocked to the side. Then, a wide grin burst across his face as he asked, “Is that a cat onesie?”

Ladybug brightened. “Yeah! We thought you’d like it.”

“I love it.”

“She wore that just for you."

"Oh, did she now?"

"Yup. She told me she wanted to wear it. She said to me, and I quote, ‘Maman, I want to wear the cat onesie for Chat Noir.’"

Chat Noir placed a hand on his chest. “I’m honored. And surprised that she’s speaking full sentences.” 

“Ah,” said Émi.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning down to the baby's eye level. "Did’ya miss me? It's been a few days."

Émi screamed again. Chat Noir took a step back and made a show of rubbing his ear. "Ouch, Minibug. Have mercy on me. You've got a powerful set of lungs." His eyes widened a second later. “Oh! Before I forget…” He returned to where he’d been sitting and grabbed a bag which Ladybug had only just noticed. “I brought you something.”

“Aw, what?” Ladybug asked. “What’s in the bag?”

“Ahhh!” squealed Émi. She wiggled again, even more impatient, grunting as she reached toward Chat Noir with her fingers outstretched. 

He snorted. “Yeah, I know, Princess. Just one second. I have something for your Maman.” He turned his attention back to Ladybug, and as he lifted the large bag, he removed two stunning bouquets—one of yellow roses and the other pale pink tulips. “I, um. I brought you flowers.”

Ladybug's eyes widened. 

…What?

Why had he—?

When had he—?

What for?

(Oh, those flowers were gorgeous.)

Hesitantly, she grabbed them, her fingers trembling as they wrapped around the crinkly cellophane.

“I wasn’t sure whether you’d like the roses or tulips more,” he said. “So I just got you both. I mean, I know roses are your favorite flower, but your favorite color is pink, and they didn't have any pink roses left, so—”

“Wh-why?” she asked, voice shaking as she struggled to fight back the impending sob. 

(She cried over everything these days. Even being nearly four months postpartum, her hormones still hadn’t entirely returned to normal. She wasn't sure if they ever would.)

Chat Noir shrugged, scuffing the ground with his foot and offering a shy smile. “Ah, well… I know you’ve been having a rough time lately. And you sounded so sad the other night when you talked about feeling lonely, so I thought… what can I do to cheer you up? And, well… I saw the flowers when I was on my way home from work today, and… they made me think of you.” He met her gaze. “And how much you deserve them.”

That did it.

The tears spilled over.

“Oh, Kitty,” she sighed, burying her nose into the soft petals of the flowers and breathing in deeply. They smelled divinely sweet, like honey and nectar, and reminded her of everything good in life. Émi tried to grab them, but she held them away. “Thank you. You’re so kind!”

His smile was warm. “Ah, it’s nothing. I just felt like you needed a reminder of how amazing you are, is all.”

“What?” she laughed. As a tear dripped down her cheek, she wiped it away. 

“You’re amazing,” he repeated. “And an amazing mother, too. You do so much for Minibug. You gave up your whole life for her. You try so hard to be the best mom you can be. And I see that."

“O-oh.” She choked on a sob. “I’m trying. It’s hard, but I’m trying. I love her. I-I don’t want her to see me struggling, I just—I want her to be happy.”

“She is happy!” Chat Noir beamed. “Just look at her face! She’s smiling so big right now.”

As if to emphasize his point, Émi cooed.

“I want her to be happy all the time," Ladybug countered. 

“Ah, well, she’s a baby.” He leaned down to hold his finger toward the infant, who squinted before slowly enveloping her hand around his digit. The little mask on her face crinkled as her brows furrowed. “She’ll have her ups and downs, just like you. But at the end of the day, she’ll be happy. You know why?”

Ladybug sniffed. “Why?”

He stood up straight to meet her gaze. “Because you’re her mother.”

“I—oh, stop that!” she laughed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “You’re making me ugly cry!”

“Not possible,” he added with a wink. "You and the word 'ugly' can't coexist."

She rolled her eyes. Then, breathing in the scent of the flowers for a second time, she said, “Seriously, thank you. You’re the best.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course. Anything for you. I mean, you deserve far more than flowers, but I’m happy they could help.”

A light flush dusted across her face. Just as she was about to reply, Émi squealed, kicking her little legs inside the wrap. She seemed desperate to get free, so Ladybug finally relented, gently tucking the flowers in the crook of her arm before untying the wrap and lifting her baby.

“Here,” she said as she passed her daughter to Chat Noir, “take your beast.”

“My beast?” he laughed, happily accepting the infant. “I didn’t give birth to her."

“She’s yours during patrols.”

“Who made that decision?”

“Minibug did.”

“When!?”

“Last week, when she cried for hours, all because she wanted to see you.”

Chat Noir looked down at Émi. “Is that true, Minibug? Am I in charge of you during patrols?”

“Oo,” cooed Émi.

He gasped. “No! Really?”

“Auhwawa.”

“Well, if you insist.” 

“Here,” she said with a laugh, stepping forward. She removed the straps of the wrap from her chest and began fastening it around Chat Noir, her fingers brushing his arms as she secured it snugly. After she helped him strap Émi to his body, she adjusted the final tie and stepped back. “There. Now you can give my back a break for an hour or two.”

“Gladly,” he replied, glancing down at the baby nestled against his chest. His expression softened as he looked at Émi, sending her heart spiraling in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

…Oh.

Oh, no.

Ladybug took another step back, biting the inside of her cheek as a warm flush crept up her face. 

There he was—Chat Noir, her unfairly handsome partner, standing on the rooftop with her baby strapped to him. 

Her baby. Strapped to him.

And damn it—

He looked good. 

Too good.

Why did seeing him carry a baby—her baby, no less—make him ten times more attractive? 

Was this… a thing for her now? Dads? She hadn’t thought so before, but the sight of him holding her baby was wreaking havoc on her heart.

(Not that he was a dad, but… he looked enough like one that it was doing dangerous things to her insides.)

“My Lady?” he asked. "You alright?"

Shit. She was staring!

Clearing her throat (and praying he hadn’t noticed the crimson blooming on her cheeks), Ladybug secured the bouquets to her waist and grabbed her yo-yo from her hip. She spun it once, twice, trying to focus on something—anything—other than him. "Yep, all good! Let’s, uh… let’s get moving.”

“Yes, maman,” he teased.

Her breath hitched. She shuddered involuntarily, but without missing a beat, she leaped away, leaving Chat Noir to follow—completely unaware of the effect he had on her. 

For the first time since giving birth, Marinette slipped into a dress. It was a light, airy garment with short sleeves and a loose fit around the waist. While she had grown more comfortable with her postpartum body, she still hesitated to wear anything too form-fitting in public. Well, except for her Ladybug suit, but when Paris was under attack, there was hardly time to feel self-conscious.

When Alya told her about an arts and crafts festival occurring over the weekend, Marinette decided it was the perfect excuse to leave the apartment and soak up some sun. Summer was winding down, and she wanted to enjoy her time outdoors before autumn arrived with its crisp chill and frosty breezes. 

After tying her hair into a ponytail, she approached Émi’s bedside sleeper and woke her by brushing her hand over her head. Émi’s soft, black hair easily threaded between Marinette’s fingers. Roused by her mother’s touch, the baby grunted and stretched, her tiny arms reaching upward, and her face scrunching adorably with a yawn.

“Wakey-wakey,” Marinette whispered, running her finger along her daughter’s cheek. “Time to get ready, ma petite puce! We’re going to see Maman’s friends today.”

Émi’s sleepy smile melted her heart.

“You want to see Auntie Alya?” Marinette asked, scooping her up. “And Nino? And Mélodie?”

Émi responded with a happy gurgle, reaching for a loose strand of her mother’s hair. Marinette quickly caught her hand before the inevitable tug.

“Nuh-uh, we’re not starting that,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you dressed. You’re gonna wear a dress today. We’ll match!”

Émi cooed.

Marinette dressed her baby in a tiny green dress with a matching bow. After a quick feed, she slathered sunscreen on herself and Émi before she strapped Émi into her stroller and left their apartment. The Métro line to the festival was bustling with people, but Marinette didn’t mind the wait. She wasn’t in a hurry, and Alya had already texted to say they were running late.

Having kids made punctuality nearly impossible.

(Not that she was ever really on time for anything beforehand, either. At least now she had an excuse.)

When Marinette finally arrived at the festival, a smile tugged at her lips at the sight of it. Booths stretched as far as she could see, offering everything from original canvases to art prints and even handmade clothing and jewelry. A lively crowd moved through the aisles, their chatter mixing with the rustling of shopping bags and the occasional clatter of boxes being set down. 

The sun kissed her skin, and the tantalizing aroma of something delicious danced through her nostrils as it wafted from a nearby food truck. She closed her eyes momentarily and breathed deeply, letting the scent wash over her.

Ahh. Sweet, sweet fresh air. It felt amazing to simply be away from the apartment. Outside, in the sunshine, surrounded by people! Oh, she’d missed it dearly. 

Marinette felt entirely in her element. Art, crafts, and food? Goodness! After being holed up inside her apartment for so long, a festival like this felt like heaven. It was exactly what she needed. Plus, she’d get to enjoy the afternoon with her friends. She couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the day. 

It wasn’t long before Alya and Nino arrived at the entrance, walking hand in hand with a toddling Mélodie. Marinette’s smile grew, and she lifted her hand to wave to them, but faltered slightly when she noticed someone else accompanying them.

Adrien.

…Oh.

Adrien.  

She hadn’t known he was coming.

(Not that it was a problem. Not at all! She was just… surprised to see him.

Looking so cute with his sunglasses and tight-fitting V-neck, ugh—)

“Sorry we’re late,” Alya said, stepping forward to wrap Marinette in a quick hug. “Mélodie threw a tantrum on the way here.”

Marinette laughed, her shoulders relaxing as they broke from the hug. “Oh, no.”

“That’s a two-year-old for you,” Nino said with a sigh. “Mél is so feisty these days.”

"Terrible twos?" Marinette asked, glancing at Mélodie, whose scowl marred her adorable little face. 

"You have no idea," Alya replied.

Just as Marinette was about to respond, her eyes wandered to Adrien, and her breath caught in her throat. The sun danced over his golden hair, and his smile was warm and welcoming. Suddenly, she'd forgotten what she'd been about to say. 

“Hi, Marinette,” Adrien greeted. “I like that dress. You look great!”

Marinette involuntarily released a nervous giggle, and with a slight wave and a wobbly smile, her heart gave a familiar flutter. “O-oh, thank you! I like your, um. Your… sunglasses. They’re very… shady?” 

It was a silly compliment, but he beamed nonetheless. “Thanks!” 

(She wasn’t supposed to like him anymore. And truthfully, she didn’t. Not romantically, at least.

He just happened to be very handsome. Like, breathtakingly, jaw-droppingly handsome. And sometimes that caught her a little off guard. Just a little.)

As Marinette bent down to say hello to Mélodie, the toddler huffed at her, crossing her arms and stomping her foot.

“Oh dear,” Marinette said, standing back upright. "Someone’s not in the best mood today.”

Nino tutted. “She’s mad because we wouldn’t let her dig through a trash bin.”

“How cruel of you,” giggled Marinette. She waved at Mélodie. “Hi, Mélodie!”

The toddler grumbled.

Before Marinette could react to Mélodie's less-than-polite mumbling, Adrien stepped forward, peering into Émi's stroller. 

“Is that Émi?” he asked, sliding his sunglasses onto the top of his head. He leaned down to get a better look. “Wow, she’s getting so big!”

“Oh, I know,” Marinette groaned dramatically. “She’s growing so fast!”

Adrien laughed, his gaze softening. “Look at your dress, Émi! You’re like a little princess.”

Émi squealed from the attention. Her gummy smile stretched as wide as she could manage, and she began wriggling excitedly, arms and legs flailing. Adrien waved at her, but the gesture seemed to spark something more desperate. Her delighted squeals turned into despairing cries, and her tiny hands reached out toward him as if he were all she wanted in the entire world.

Marinette blinked, glancing between Adrien and Émi in shock. 

Adrien immediately stepped back, holding his hands up. “Oh no, did I scare her? I’m so sorry!”

“No, she…” Marinette paused, watching as her daughter stretched her arms toward Adrien and broke down into a quivering fit. “I think she wants you to hold her.”

“Oh. Can I?”

“Be my guest.”

As he leaned down to unbuckle her, Adrien fumbled with the stroller straps. After a few seconds of getting nowhere, he looked up at Marinette with a helpless grin. She bit back a laugh and stepped in, freeing her crying baby from the straps, gently scooping Émi up, and passing her into his arms. 

Émi’s cries immediately stopped. Her whole body relaxed as she nestled against his chest, her tiny hands roaming along his shirt. Then, with a soft, contented sigh, she dropped her head onto him and let out a quiet coo. Adrien rubbed her back, and Émi tilted her face up to him, reaching out to trace his chin and lip with curious fingers.

Oh.

Marinette’s throat suddenly felt tight.

Oh, too cute.

She had to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from squealing.

“Hi, Émi,” Adrien said, his voice dripping with affection. “You just wanted to be held, huh?”

“She’s not too fond of the stroller,” Marinette admitted. 

“Makes sense,” he replied, adjusting her slightly. “Being held is so much more fun. Right, Émi?”

Émi giggled, and Adrien melted. 

“Oh, you're so cute,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “Yes, you are!"

Nino smirked, stepping forward to place a hand on Adrien's shoulder. “Uh oh. Look out, guys. Adrien’s got baby fever. I’m calling it now—he’s gonna have a baby next!”

Adrien whipped his head toward Nino, his cheeks flushing slightly. “What? With whom?”

“You did mention wanting to adopt someday,” Marinette teased, her lips quirking upward.

Adrien chuckled nervously, wincing when Émi grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged with surprising strength. “Hah, yeah, maybe in the future,” he said. “But definitely not—ow—right now.”

Marinette smiled sympathetically as she reached forward to release his hair from her baby's grasp. Adrien smiled in thanks. 

“Ah,” said Émi.

Alya grinned. “Man, she really loves you, Adrien. I’ve never seen Émi this excited over someone who isn’t Marinette.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. Oh, I have, she thought, recalling the way her daughter lit up around a certain cat-suited superhero.

“I think she just has a thing for green eyes,” she said, half-apologetic, as she gently freed the last strands of Adrien’s hair from Émi’s grip. “Or blond guys.”

Alya’s grin turned sly. “So you and Émi have the same taste, huh?”

Marinette’s face went hot. She practically jumped back from Adrien. “Alya!”

Adrien blinked, then smiled—surprised, or maybe a little amused. “Really?”

(Marinette could’ve sworn he sounded hopeful. But that was probably just her imagination.)

“H-hey,” she blurted, eager to change the subject. “Aren’t we here to see the festival? Adrien, y-you, um—you can put Émi back in the stroller if you want.”

Adrien shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind holding her.”

“Oh, um.... okay. Well, if your arms get tired, just say so.”

“She’s not heavy. I can handle it.”

“Try carrying her around all day. She doesn’t seem heavy now, but your arms will get sore. Trust me.”

Meanwhile, Mélodie watched the scene with growing impatience and stretched her arms toward Nino. “Up!” she demanded.

Nino scooped her up with practiced ease, settling her on his hip. He looked over at Adrien and laughed. “Look at us, man. What happened?”

“We grew up,” Adrien replied.

As they wandered through the art festival, Marinette felt immersed in the vibrant energy around her. The market was alive with color and people from all walks of life. Stalls lined the streets, each offering something unique, like handmade ceramics, detailed embroidery, stretched canvases, masterfully painted watercolor landscapes, and even intricate sculptures made from repurposed materials.

Marinette strolled alongside Alya. The two of them were drawn to a jewelry stand where sunlight bounced off polished rings and delicate gemstones. Marinette’s fingers paused on a necklace with a ladybug-shaped pendant. Beside her, Alya held up a pair of orange earrings, turning them in the light.

At the next booth over, Adrien and Nino perused a booth filled with hand-painted anime figurines. Adrien pointed out a character he clearly loved, and Nino cracked up at whatever he said, though Marinette hadn’t been close enough to hear. 

Her gaze kept drifting to Émi. 

Every few seconds, she glanced over at Adrien, ready to step in if her daughter needed her. To her surprise—and relief—Émi seemed perfectly content in his arms. She gazed around with wide, curious eyes, mesmerized by the lively festival atmosphere. The flickering lights, the hum of conversation, and the sounds emanating from nearby booths all seemed to enthrall her. 

Marinette had worried the noise and crowds might overwhelm her, but Émi seemed fascinated, not frightened.

Maybe she felt safe because she was with Adrien. Who knows?

As he chatted with Nino, Adrien gently rubbed Émi’s back, and now and then, his thumb brushed across her tiny hand. He kept glancing down to check on her, even as he talked.

Marinette’s heart swelled at the sight.

Just as she wandered to another booth and began browsing the art prints, Adrien followed, approaching from behind. 

Marinette smiled in greeting. “How’s Émi doing?”

Adrien returned the grin. “Oh, she’s good. Hasn’t fussed. But, uh…” His nose wrinkled. “I think she may need a diaper change.”

“Ah,” she chuckled. “So you’ve returned her to me so I can do the dirty work?”

“Afraid so. There’s one problem, though,” he said. As he moved to hand her over, Émi gripped his shirt and screamed in protest. “That.”

“Uh oh," Marinette said, amused. "She’s glued to you.”

He sighed. “Such is fate.”

"I guess you're going to have to change her diaper."

Adrien laughed, but before he could respond, the artist at the booth leaned forward and grabbed their attention. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” the young woman said, “but I had to ask—are you Adrien Agreste?”

Adrien smiled, though Marinette could tell by the crease in his forehead that he was slightly uncomfortable. “That’s me,” he responded.

“Wow,” the artist breathed, excitement lighting up her freckled face. “I haven’t heard about you in a while! I wasn’t even sure you were still in Paris. I was such a big fan when I was a teenager.”

Adrien glanced at Émi as she pressed her face against his shirt and soaked it with drool. “Yeah, the media doesn’t care much about me anymore. Not since I quit modeling at eighteen. Did you… want an autograph?”

The artist quickly shook her head, hands waving. “Oh, no, no, no! I don’t want to intrude on family time."

Family time? Marinette thought, glancing at Adrien. He appeared equally confused. 

The artist continued, "I just wanted to say, it’s nice to see you doing well. I remember seeing you in all my magazines, and now you’re all grown up!”

“Sure am,” he said, his smile kinder. 

The woman cooed at Émi. “Oh, she is so cute! How old is she?”

"Fifteen weeks," Marinette answered with pride.

"Wow," the woman said. Her eyes flicked back to Adrien. "It seems like only yesterday you were a teen model. I can’t believe you're a dad now!"

Marinette's heart leaped into her throat. She met Adrien’s gaze with wide eyes, and their faces turned identical shades of scarlet.

“O-oh!” Adrien stammered, his laugh awkward and strained. “She’s not—”

“We aren't—” Marinette blurted at the same time.

Émi let out a high-pitched squeal that made Adrien flinch. Seizing the distraction, Marinette plucked her baby from his arms and strapped her back into the stroller. Émi immediately wailed in protest.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, trying to keep her voice steady despite the heat creeping up her neck. “But, um, our baby—I mean, my baby—needs a diaper change, so we’ll just—uh—go. Bye!”

Without waiting for a reply, she steered the stroller away. Adrien trailed behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he said once he’d caught up, his voice tinged with guilt. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward spot.”

Marinette glanced up at him and gave him a reassuring smile. “O-oh, n-no! Don’t be! It’s not your fault that people jump to conclusions. B-besides, we know she’s not your baby, so, um. That’s all that matters!”

He returned her smile, though it carried a trace of wistfulness. His gaze flicked back to the booth before settling on Émi. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess you’re right.”

Later that night, she met Chat Noir for patrol. It went as well as it usually did, though they’d stopped to greet a few young fans and humor them with photos. Émi hadn’t seemed to mind the attention, which Ladybug suspected had everything to do with being in Chat Noir’s arms.

There was just something about him that made her baby feel safe.

When patrol wrapped up, he handed Émi back to her, and she secured her daughter against her chest. They found a quiet rooftop and sat together, just the three of them, per the norm.

“I’m starving,” Ladybug said, her stomach audibly growling. She patted Émi’s back and smiled. “I bet you are, too, huh?”

"Bah," said Émi.

Chat Noir balanced atop a chimney pot, twirling around to face her. “Me too. You want to grab some dinner?”

Ladybug nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I’ll need to find someplace to feed Minibug, too.”

“What are you feeling tonight?” he asked, pulling out his baton and swiping through a list of local eateries. “It’s on me.”

Ladybug pouted. “No. You’ve done enough for me lately. Let me handle it tonight.” 

“Are you sure? Because I don’t mind—”

She retrieved her yo-yo from her waist and opened its magical storage compartment, pulling out a wad of euros and slapping them into his palm. “It’s on me.”

His smile made her heart flutter. Slowly, he enclosed his fist around the banknotes and stuffed them into his pocket. “Oh, how chivalrous. My Lady is treating me to dinner… I’m going to swoon!” 

He made a dramatic show of pressing his hand to his forehead and falling against her. Ladybug caught him and pushed him back to his feet.

“Don’t crush my child!” she laughed. 

“Minibug wouldn’t mind,” he said, grinning at her baby. “Right, Minibug?”

“Ah,” said Émi.

“See?”

"Don't trust her judgment. She'd let you do anything. Even steal her, if you wanted to."

"I wouldn't do that."

"I know, but she'd let you."

"Then I'm glad she trusts me," he said with a smile.

They decided on a small, hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant and placed their order online. 

As they stepped inside, Ladybug was relieved to find it wasn’t too crowded. Over the years, Parisians had gotten used to seeing their local heroes out grabbing a bite, but it was always easier when they weren’t dodging camera flashes or a crowd’s watchful eyes.

Still, a few curious glances followed them as they waited at the pickup counter. When the owner greeted them cheerfully by name, more heads turned.

Ladybug stiffened just as Émi let out a badly-timed squeal.

The owner’s face lit up at the sight of Émi. “Oh, my goodness. She is so cute,” he said, waving at her. "Hello, little baby!"

Ladybug smiled politely. “Oh, thank you—”

“And so pretty!” he exclaimed, glancing between Ladybug and Chat Noir. “She is the spitting image of her mother—the mask and all!” Then, turning to Chat Noir, he added, “You must be a proud papa, having such a beautiful wife and child.”

Ladybug’s cheeks flushed bright red.

Chat Noir’s friendly smile wavered. “Oh, uh… we… we aren’t…”

Émi screamed again and kicked her little legs.

Ladybug gently shushed her. A prickle of embarrassment rose up her spine as the patrons in the restaurant stared. 

Before long, their food was ready. The owner handed the bags to Chat Noir with a beaming smile.

“Always a pleasure to see Ladybug and Chat Noir,” he said warmly, “and their little bambina, too! I threw in some cannolis for you. On the house. Enjoy!”

“I—um—thank you,” Ladybug stammered, her cheeks still burning. “B-bye!”

They exited the restaurant in silence, leaping over alleyways until they reached one of their favorite hideaways: a serene rooftop garden, hidden from the city below. As they sat on the soft grass, surrounded by the privacy of greenery, they unpacked their food, and the awkward tension began to dissolve.

Slowly.

Finally, Ladybug broke the silence. “That’s the second time today,” she breathed, mostly to herself. “Why does this keep happening…?”

Chat Noir glanced up from his food, his mouth full of pasta. “What does?”

She shook her head. “People keep assuming things. It’s fine, though. Don’t worry about it.”

Chat Noir’s ears drooped ever so slightly. He swallowed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m Minibug’s dad. We could do a press release and—”

“No,” she interrupted, perhaps a little too quickly. “It’s nobody’s business. Just speculation. It doesn’t bother me.” She hesitated, studying his expression. “Does it bother you?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“Then it’s fine.”

“...If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Let’s eat.”

Ladybug barely managed a single bite of pasta before Émi started to fuss. She instantly recognized that cry—the urgent, impatient wail that meant, “Feed me now, or you’re in for a meltdown.”

Welp. Such was the life of a mother.

She sighed, setting her takeout aside to unwrap her baby from her chest. Once she unzipped the front of her suit just enough to feed her, and Émi latched, Ladybug’s stomach let out an audible growl, spurred by the mouthwatering aroma of pasta and fresh breadsticks.

Ugh.

She could eat while Émi nursed, but the risk of dropping something hot on her baby’s head wasn’t worth it. So she sat still, staring longingly at the steaming container of pasta just centimeters away, imagining how good it must taste.

Her stomach growled. Then again. And before she could stop it, a small, pitiful whimper slipped out.

She kept her eyes on the food, though she could feel her partner watching her.

Ladybug glanced up. “What?” she asked.

He frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. Then, without a word, he set his food down and scooted closer. Grabbing her takeout dish, he twirled some pasta around the fork and held it out to her.

“Here,” he said softly. “Since your hands are full.”

Ladybug blinked at him. “Aren’t you hungry, too?”

He shrugged casually. “I’m not the one feeding a baby.”

Though a little flustered—and embarrassed—she allowed him to feed her. There was something strangely comforting about it. 

(It almost felt domestic, in a way.)

Her chest filled with a fuzzy warmth, and her heart fluttered wildly as he held out another forkful.

“Thank you,” she murmured between bites, her cheeks tinged with a light blush.

Chat Noir chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. “You’re welcome.”

“This is helping take the edge off how badly my nipples hurt,” she said.

He snorted, then burst into laughter.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she teased, though the grin spreading across her face betrayed her amusement.

“Sorry, sorry.” He attempted to compose himself, clearing his throat. “I’m not laughing at your pain. What you said just caught me off guard.”

As he held out another forkful of pasta, she accepted it, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing and retorting, “You try nursing a baby for nearly four months straight. If your nips don’t end up sore, it’d be a miracle.”

"I'll keep that in mind for when I have a baby," he joked. He held out the fork, offering her another bite, but she shook her head.

“I’m good for now,” she said. “Thank you. Now you eat.”

“Alright.” He set her food aside before digging into his own. “Just let me know if you’re still hungry.”

“I’m saving room for a cannoli.”

"Well, that's good," he said. "Because we have plenty."

A thunderous boom echoed across the city. It startled Émi, and she jerked away from Ladybug's chest as she began to wail. As Ladybug tried to soothe her with soft shushes, Chat Noir leaped to his feet and seized his baton, assuming a protective stance. 

“Akuma,” Ladybug said, strapping Émi back into her chest wrap before rising to a stand.

“Seems like it,” he sighed, eyes flicking to Émi. "Is she okay?"

Ladybug nodded, gently rubbing her daughter’s belly as Émi whimpered, her cheeks wet with tears. “She’s alright. The noise just scared her.”

He leaned down, brushing his hand across Émi’s cheek. “It’s okay, Minibug,” he said. “We’ll take care of the scary stuff. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Her lip wobbled, but the sobs started to taper off.

“Don’t cry,” he coaxed with a bright grin, tapping the tip of her nose with his finger. “It'll be okay! Where’s that beautiful smile I love so much?”

Émi let out a soft coo, then—almost shyly—offered a small smile.

“There it is!” he beamed. “That’s my girl.”

Ladybug’s heart stuttered.

His girl?

She blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks.

(She... wasn't going to dwell on that.

It was just an expression.

Just a phrase.

Nothing she should read into.

Definitely not something that made her chest feel tight in a weirdly good yet terrifying way.)

She cleared her throat, suddenly too aware of how close they were. “I—I, um. I need to drop her off at my friend’s place. Can you hold off the Akuma until I get back?”

Chat Noir straightened, giving her a reassuring nod. “Anything for you, my Lady.”

She gave him a quick smile and turned to go, bolting toward the rooftops with Émi nestled against her, all while her heart kept tripping over those two little words.

The battle didn't last too long. Though it was messy, the fight was easy and took only an hour to defeat the oozing mud monster. Once the Akuma had been vanquished and the city's damages repaired, Ladybug returned to Alya’s to pick up Émi. According to Alya, her baby had not only been given a fresh diaper but also a bath, for which Ladybug was eternally grateful. 

One less thing to handle felt like a small miracle.

Chat Noir was already waiting for her when she returned to the rooftop garden, lounging on the grass as if he hadn’t just been wading through mud-filled streets. When he saw her, he perked up, flashing a grin that made her chest feel lighter.

“You made it just in time,” he said, holding up the bag of cannolis. “They’re not fresh anymore, but they were spared from the mud, so they're still edible.”

Ladybug smiled as she settled beside him, cradling her sleeping daughter. As they dug into their dessert, she noticed how often his eyes drifted toward her, lingering a little too long when he thought she wasn’t looking. But she was. And if she were honest, she’d been sneaking glances, too.

Even now, with a faint trace of dried mud still clinging to his jawline and his hair mussed from the fight, he was… captivating. Effortlessly so. 

(She told herself it was just the lighting, her exhaustion, or the comfort of shared food with familiar company.

But the way her heart quavered when their eyes met said otherwise.)

The cannolis tasted even better after a job well done. A soft sigh escaped Ladybug's lips as she finished the last bite. She rested her head on Chat Noir’s shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed. The day's exhaustion settled deep into her bones, but for once, it didn’t weigh her down. 

When his arm slipped around her waist, it was as though the world around them disappeared.

As Ladybug nestled against her partner, his soothing touch tracing slow circles into her side, she felt something she hadn’t felt in far too long. It wasn’t just comfort or safety—

It was the feeling of coming home.

Chapter Text

“Ladybug!” Chat Noir exclaimed as he watched his partner stumble over her own feet and hit the ground hard.  

He sprang off the curb and struck the pavement running, closing the gap between them in a blink. Dropping to one knee beside Ladybug, his gaze swept over her, checking for any blood or twisted limbs. She seemed fine, so he offered his hand. She took it, and he hauled her upright with a single, effortless pull.

“Ow,” she grumbled.

“Are you alright?” he asked, unable to mask the worry from leaking into his voice.

She groaned, her face twisting in discomfort as she dusted herself off. “I’ll manage,” she sighed. “Let’s make quick work of this Akuma.”

Though he frowned, his ears drooping in concern, Chat Noir nodded, shifting his focus back to the fight. The day's Akuma was a phantom-like woman venting her rage at the world, lamenting being passed over for a promotion or something along those lines. Chat Noir had hardly been paying attention to her monologuing. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was neutralizing the threat.

(And, by extension, keeping Ladybug safe.

She didn’t need his protection—that much was true—but she still seemed off today. Off enough to warrant a little extra caution.)

After her maternity leave, Ladybug’s strength had returned, and their patrols and Akuma battles had settled into a semi-regular rhythm. Her suit no longer timed out after multiple Lucky Charms. On the surface, she seemed okay. Happy, even.

But Chat Noir was no fool.

He'd been her partner for ten years. He could read her like a damn book at this point; had memorized every one of her chapters. And no matter how many times she'd say she was fine or smile like nothing was wrong, he could see the fatigue bleeding into her every move.

Some days, it wasn't as obvious—nothing more than a simple sag of her shoulders or the yawns she tried to muffle behind her hand, thinking he didn’t notice. He always did.

Other days, the exhaustion would cling to her like an oppressive weight, dragging her down until she could barely function.

Like today.

Her movements lacked the precision and sharpness he admired. Her yo-yo missed its targets, and every time she landed, she’d sway. She kept shaking her head as if it were the only way to stay awake. At one point, she’d tripped again, landing directly in front of the Akuma’s attack.

Chat Noir had quickly shielded her, of course, intercepting the blast with a parry, giving her just enough time to recover and hop back to her feet. He didn’t mind protecting her. If she was too slow to dodge, he’d take the hit. Always. He'd give his life for her, if needed. If she asked. 

Still… seeing her so exhausted gnawed at him.

...It just wasn’t her. 

Feeling tired was one thing. Chat Noir had suffered his fair share of sleepless nights and knew the struggle of trying to focus after a bout of insomnia. But even at his worst, he bounced back by the next day. And in Ladybug's case, being a single parent, fatigue was a given. But this—

(The wobble in her legs, the weariness clouding her eyes, and the stubborn dark circles hanging beneath them.)

This wasn't just the weary trials of being a single parent. No, this—

Ladybug tripped over her yo-yo string and face-planted against a wall. From across the street, Chat Noir cringed.

This was a clear sign of drastic sleep deprivation. 

(Single motherhood was still taking its toll on her. How could it not? She had a five-month-old baby at home to care for on her own. It broke his heart to see her struggle and push forward no matter how drained she was.

But she had to. What other choice did she have?)

God, he wished he could do more for her. Something—anything—to help her. To take some of the weight off her shoulders or even help her relax. 

If only he could babysit Minibug for a day so she could have a real break. But she'd already told him that wasn't going to happen.

He didn't really understand why she was so against the idea. She was his partner. He was supposed to have her back, whether they were on the battlefield or not. If that entailed watching her baby to give her a break for a day, so be it.

He helped with Minibug during patrols, which she allowed, so why had his previous suggestion to take the baby for a day been met with a firm no?

(She didn’t trust him alone with her child.

Which was okay.

Sort of.

…No, it hurt to know she didn’t trust him, but he couldn’t exactly fault a first-time mother for having a little separation anxiety.)

Despite her weariness, Ladybug powered through the fight, and together, they defeated the Akuma in a semi-decent timeframe. After she purified and released the butterfly, she let out a massive yawn, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment too long. She swayed slightly, her balance faltering. 

Chat Noir instinctively reached out, ready to catch her, but she steadied herself, shaking her head as if trying to shrug off the fatigue.

“Oh, man,” she groaned, pressing her hands against the small of her back and rubbing with a wince. “What a day!”

He frowned, stepping forward to lightly massage her back. “You okay?”

She nodded and leaned into him. “Fine. So fine. Better than ever, actually. I am so good. Great, even!”

(Her near-maniacal laugh, messy hair, and half-dead expression said otherwise.)

"You don't sound okay," he said.

She huffed and stepped away from him. With another yawn, she grabbed her yo-yo, already turning to leave. “Welp. Gotta pick up my kid and finish work. Bug out!”

“My Lady, wait,” he called. When she turned (well, stumbled) to look at him, he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Ladybug huffed. “I’m fine. Just a long day. Long week, actually.” She blinked, and her face scrunched in thought. “Long month? Long… five months. Long, uh… baby? Yeah. Baby. My baby. I need to go get her. Where… did I put her?”

Oh, god.

She wasn’t fine. Not even close.

Seeing her barely standing tugged painfully at his chest.

(The fatigue wasn’t just obvious today, either; this was a recurrent pattern that became clearer with every patrol and Akuma battle. 

Ladybug was constantly exhausted. 

She needed rest. She needed help. 

She needed a break.)

“You left her with your friend,” he said slowly. “Didn’t you? You’ve said before that you bring her to your friend’s place during Akuma attacks.”

“Oh.” Her brows crumpled together. “That’s right.”

His frown deepened. “Ladybug—”

She waved him off but nearly fell over in the process. “I’m fine, Kitty-cat. Just been busy. Busy with the baby and the new job, and everything else. Constantly busy. So I’m a lil—” A yawn. “Little… sleepy. But fiiiine. I promise!”

Nope.

Nuh-uh.

Not fine.

He was putting his foot down.

“That’s it,” he said. “We need to talk.”

She scowled. “About what?”

“About you," he said.

Her scowl intensified. "Excuse me?"

"If you’re not too busy later, maybe we could meet up?” he asked carefully. “Just to talk.” When she scoffed, he quickly said, “Or not talk! Whatever you need.”

Ladybug studied him, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment, she relented with a nod. “...Fine. But I’m okay, I swear!”

“We both know you’re not.” He grabbed her hand and gave it a tight squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll be at our spot after sunset. You can come meet me whenever you're ready.”

She sighed. It was such a small sound, yet so heavily weighted with exhaustion. Then, with a flick of her yo-yo, she disappeared into the Parisian skyline.

Chat Noir exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he glanced at the horizon. The city was calm, and the evening breeze was cool with a slight bite from the oncoming autumn chill. In the distance, the hum of traffic rose into the air. He tapped his baton against his knee, trying to ease the lingering tension from the fight. Despite that they’d been doing the superhero schtick for ten years, it wasn’t getting any easier. The constant battles kept him fit, but the lingering soreness never faded.

Still, his weariness paled in comparison to just how run-down Ladybug seemed.

When she appeared with Minibug strapped to her chest, he smiled in greeting. As he strode closer, Minibug’s face lit up in the biggest grin she could manage, and Chat Noir’s smile grew in kind. 

“There she is,” he cooed, and the baby wiggled desperately, trying her darndest to fight her way out of the carrier. “Whoa, Ladybug, watch out. You've caught a wild worm!”

“Hold on, honey,” giggled Ladybug, undoing the buckles. As Minibug screamed, reaching for Chat Noir, she only laughed harder. “Just—ah! Wait a minute! I’m going as fast as I can!”

Chat Noir clapped a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter. When Ladybug held the baby out to him, he eagerly took her, propping her against his chest. The moment Minibug settled against him, her wiggling stopped, and her hands immediately wandered over his face before roving upward and latching onto his hair. 

“She’s obsessed with me,” he said.

Ladybug rolled her eyes, though her smile remained. “I’m only slightly offended that you’re my daughter’s favorite person.”

He adjusted Minibug in his arms and smothered her chubby cheeks with kisses. The baby squealed in response. “I can’t help that she’s drawn to my feline charms,” he said. “I just happen to have that effect on people. Everyone loves me.”

"Ah," said Minibug.

"That's right," he responded.

Ladybug giggled, though a yawn cut it short. Heaving a sigh, she sat cross-legged on the roof and rubbed her face, the exhaustion in her expression as evident as earlier that day. "So, um..." she rasped, pausing to release another yawn. "You... wanted to talk?"

Chat Noir sat beside her, settling Minibug in his lap. To entertain the baby, he handed her his tail, which she squeezed in her tiny hands. 

"Yes," he said. To keep her anxiety at bay, he flashed her a gentle smile. "But don't worry. It's nothing bad."

She hummed. Her eyes strained over the skyline as she pointedly avoided looking at him.  

“Ladybug,” he said softly. Observing her slouched posture, he placed a hand on her shoulder, and when she leaned into him, he added another, gently massaging her muscles. She sighed in relief. 

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Hmm?”

He studied the faint dark circles under her eyes, the messy hair haphazardly pulled into a ponytail, and the tension he could feel in her muscles, taut and stiff from stress. "You seem pretty tired today, Bug," he said. “How’re you holding up? Did you manage to sneak in a nap after the Akuma?"

She gave a weak laugh, running a hand through her bangs. “Oh, you know. Of course not.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Who needs sleep?” she asked. Her eyes fluttered open for a brief moment before slipping shut again. "I don't."

"Yes, you do.”

“I’m okay,” she said. Her head lolled forward, but she caught herself before she drifted off.

Minibug released a squeal, reaching her tiny hands toward her mother. Wordlessly, Chat Noir gently passed the baby to Ladybug, who accepted her with a tired but loving smile. Ladybug cradled her baby, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead and nose. The infant cooed and ran her hands against her mother’s cheeks.

“Hello, my love,” Ladybug said, her voice raspy. “You love me, huh? You never let Maman sleep because you love me so much? You stay up all night because you’re a velcro baby and can’t stand to be apart from me?”

Minibug made a squeaky noise.

“You’re worth losing sleep, though.” She blew raspberries against her cheek and neck. “You’re so cute that I just wanna gobble you up! But I can’t because you’re my daughter, and I love you.”

Ladybug laughed, and Minibug giggled in return.

Aw, Chat Noir thought. What a cute laugh!

He blinked.

…Wait a minute.

That sound.

That laugh.

WAIT A MINUTE.

His heart leaped, dancing wildly in his chest. “Did she just—?”

Ladybug nodded enthusiastically, her eyes bright and her smile beaming with pride. “Yeah. She laughs now. Isn’t it the best sound you’ve ever heard?”

Before he could answer, Minibug let out another giggle, high and sweet like tinkly little wind chimes, as if her mother were the funniest person she'd ever known.

It hit him square in the chest.

Oh, that sound was everything.

He laughed, too, though his voice cracked.

(Was he about to cry over a baby laugh? Probably. So what? He didn’t care.)

“When did she start doing that?” he asked.

“Yesterday,” she said, bouncing Minibug on her lap. “I was playing peekaboo with her, and it just happened! Out of nowhere. I didn’t even have my phone to take a video. Which I'm still upset about."

He leaned over and ran his fingers along Minibug’s belly, tickling her. She squealed, legs kicking, arms flailing, and laughing like it was her new favorite thing.

(It was his new favorite thing. That was certain.) 

His throat tightened with emotion. “My heart feels like it's about to explode. She's so cute."

Ladybug’s smile was just as beautiful a sight. “I know, right?” She leaned against him again, resting her back against his chest. 

Chat Noir took the opportunity to resume rubbing her shoulders. The moment his fingers pressed into her rigid muscles, she sighed deeply. The sound sent warmth through his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile as he worked, determined to ease even a fraction of the weight she carried.

“You’re going to make me fall asleep,” she said.

He smiled. “Good. You need it.”

“I’m fine, Kitty. Just a little tired, is all.”

“Oh, yeah? And when was the last time you or Minibug slept through the night?”

“Well, for your information, she’s been going through a sleep regression, so neither of us is getting much sleep. But I have been working on sleep training her."

“How's that going?"

"Good, I think. She slept for five whole hours last night.”

“Oh? Well, that’s good! I’m sure you enjoyed getting to sleep that long.”

“Oh, um.” She laughed awkwardly. “I mean, I’m sure I would’ve if I had.”

He paused his ministrations, resting his hands on her shoulders. “And why didn’t you?”

Ladybug shrugged, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “W-well, I mean… she was sleeping so still that I kept checking her every few minutes to… you know, make sure she was still breathing.”

He blinked. Then, released a long sigh. “Oh, Ladybug...”

“I know, I know,” she said. “I should be sleeping when my baby sleeps. But I can’t! When she sleeps, I have to take the opportunity to do things for me, like clean the apartment, do laundry, take a shower, eat—”

“Or sleep. Sleep is important, too.”

“I try,” she insisted. “But then I feel so anxious that I’m just lying there doing nothing when I could be cleaning or working, o-or I get nervous that she’s just gonna stop breathing or something, that no matter how hard I try, or how tired I am, I just can’t!”

“I understand the need to feel productive,” he said. “But, my Lady… you can’t be productive if you aren’t getting enough sleep. Sleep deprivation is dangerous. Do you have any friends or family members who could watch Minibug for a day or two, to give you time to catch up on sleep and finish your chores? Or anyone who could help you with your housework?”

She shrugged again, gently carding her fingers through Minibug’s hair as the baby rested against her chest and drifted off to sleep. “I-I don’t like to bother people. I mean, my parents are busy—they work six days a week—and my best friend has her own kid and responsibilities. Besides, I decided to have a baby and be a single parent, so I can do this on my own!”

He resumed rubbing her shoulders. "And you're doing a great job. That doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help if needed, though.”

“I don’t need it.”

Ugh.

She was so goddamn stubborn.

He bit back his frustration. 

“Listen,” he said calmly, “I know things have been overwhelming lately. And I know you’re managing, and you say you’re fine, but—"

"I am."

"—I can see how hard this is on you," he finished. "I'm... I'm worried about you, Ladybug."

“I’m fine, ” she said again, though her voice cracked slightly. "You don't need to worry about me!"

“You’re not fine,” he said gently, smoothing out a knot in her back. “And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be tired.”

“Okay, I’m tired,” she said curtly. “But it’s okay. All parents get tired. Taking care of a baby is a tiring job!”

"Ladybug." His voice took on a more serious edge. It was somewhat undercut by the tiny baby in her arms smacking her lips and making the softest little sleeping noises, but he pressed on. "It’s okay to need help."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

"Let me finish," he said gently. "You don’t like asking for help, but what if I offered? I know you already said no, but, well—Minibug likes me, right? She feels safe with me. So… what if I babysat? Just for one day. You could sleep, take a long bath, read a book—whatever you need to recharge. I swear on my mother’s grave, I’d keep her safe."

Ladybug’s entire body tensed. For a moment, she said nothing. He braced himself for an immediate refusal or even a sharp retort. And honestly, he would’ve deserved it for bringing it up again after she’d already said no.

But instead of anger, she sighed. Swallowed hard. Then, she kissed her baby’s forehead, caressed her back, and sighed a second time. "I…" She hesitated before turning to meet his gaze. "I don’t know, Chaton."

"Why not?" he asked softly, keeping his voice gentle. "Ladybug, you’re exhausted. You could barely stand today. You need rest. And if Minibug is preventing you from sleeping, you can ask for help. There's nothing wrong with needing—"

"Ugh! Chat Noir, come on!" she burst out, her voice tight from aggravation—though he wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or the situation as a whole. "I tried, okay? I tried asking someone to babysit for me tomorrow. I know I need to sleep. I can barely function! B-but my parents are busy, and my friend isn’t available. And they’re the only people I'd let watch her because they’re the only ones who have ever watched her. And I... I don't know what else to do! There's nobody else I can ask! I don't trust anyone else enough to watch her, okay? So if they aren't available, it's all on me! Can you please lay off?"

Chat Noir’s heart clenched at the defeated look on her face. He had only wanted to help.

Honestly, he hadn't intended to upset her, and frankly, he wasn't even offended that she'd snapped at him—he deserved it for pressing.

But now, as she turned away, chewing on her lip, something inside him ached.

...She said she only trusted two people to watch Minibug.

And he...

Wasn’t one of them.

"You… don’t trust me?" he asked quietly. He shouldn't have asked—god, he knew it'd only make the situation more stressful for her—

But he had to know.

Her expression faltered, her lips pressing into a thin line as she lowered her gaze. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured. "It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do. But… she’s my baby, Chaton. My little girl." Her arms instinctively tightened around Minibug. "She’s with me all the time, except during Akuma attacks. The idea of not knowing exactly where she is… of not knowing the name of the person she’s with… o-or to have an address in case something goes wrong... to not know if she’s okay… it scares me.”

Chat Noir’s heart twisted. "I get it," he said gently. "I really do. You’ve been her whole world since she was born, and she’s been yours and yours alone. But you don’t have to do it alone, my Lady. You’re allowed to take a break. And…" He hesitated, then took a slow breath. “If... you ever did want a break... I just want you to know that I'm available. No pressure."

She met his gaze.

"I’d treat her like my own," he said. "I’d never let anything happen to her. Ever. I swear. I promise.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I don’t even know where you live, Chat Noir. You don’t have my phone number in case of emergencies. If anything were to happen to her—if she got sick or injured—how would you tell me? It’s just not practical."

“Yeah… I know. That—that makes sense.” He swallowed. "It's alright. You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. I'm sorry for pressing. I just wanted to help."

Silence stretched between them. Ladybug stared down at Minibug, her brows furrowed in deep thought.

Seconds passed. Then, finally, she lifted her gaze to his, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll… think about it.”

Chat Noir exhaled, nodding slowly. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either.

And for now, that was enough.

"Okay," he said softly.

Ladybug turned her gaze back to Minibug, stroking her tiny fingers. Her eyes flicked to the roof, then to him, then back again. Her shoulders sagged as her fingers tightened around her baby. A breath hitched in her throat, and she sagged forward.

Was she considering accepting his offer? Or… was she thinking about running home and forgetting the whole thing altogether?

He wouldn’t push her. This was her decision.

Still, he reached out and gently ran his fingers along her wrist. "Whatever you decide, I’m here," he said. "For both of you."

Ladybug didn’t respond, but her hand turned slightly, her fingers brushing his in silent acknowledgment.

Maybe she would think about it. And maybe one day, she’d realize she didn’t have to carry the weight parenthood alone.

Chat Noir would always be there for her.

Forever.

He was hers, after all. As devoted as he could ever be. As much as she wanted him to be. Whether as a friend or something more. 

He'd hoped she would've known that by now.

It was only a few days later when Plagg, carrying a hefty slice of Camembert, floated over to Adrien's desk with an exasperated sigh.

"Your Lovebug is looking for you,” he said, voice muffled from the mouthful of cheese. "Again!"

“What?” Adrien tore his gaze away from his computer. He'd intended to spend his Saturday relaxing or playing a video game, but it seemed like there would be a change of plans. Not that he minded. Ladybug would always take priority. “Ladybug needs me?”

Plagg swallowed his cheese. “Yup. Right now.”

Adrien leaped to his feet. He transformed in a flash of green and leaped out of his window, bounding across the rooftops with practiced ease. He wasn’t sure where he was going, though he didn't have to guess. Within an instant, his baton pinged with a message from Ladybug sending him her location, and he rushed over. 

The moment he spotted Ladybug standing alone on a rooftop, he knew something was wrong.

She was trembling.

No, not just trembling—crying.

His stomach twisted with worry as he dropped onto the metal panelled roof with a resounding thud. Ladybug stood with Minibug strapped to her back and a heavy diaper bag hanging from her arm. The baby, oblivious to her mother’s distress, let out a happy squeal upon his arrival.

Chat Noir barely registered the sound. His whole attention was on Ladybug. He closed the distance between them, his hands instinctively reaching for her face, and his thumbs wiping away her tears.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, heart pounding. "Hey, Ladybug. It's okay. I'm here. What’s wrong, chérie?"

She sniffled, her breaths uneven. "I—I, um. Oh, I'm so sorry, I just... I was wondering—a-are you free this afternoon?"

He blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. Minibug reached for his bell; he grabbed her hand before she could yank. "Uh… yeah, I am. Why? You okay?""

Ladybug didn’t wait for him to finish. With a shuddering breath, she set the diaper bag on the ground. Then, trembling—like she might break apart at the seams—she unbuckled her baby from the sling and passed her into his arms.

"I thought about it," she said, her voice cracking. "And I—" A sob cut her off. She swallowed hard, trying to hold herself together. "Oh, Kitty. I-I’m going to go insane if I don’t get some sleep. I think I started hallucinating this morning." She let out a weak, breathless laugh—laced with exhaustion and something close to desperation. "I'm starting to see and hear shit that isn't there. I need... I'm... I'm so tired. Please. Just for a few hours. I… please. Please, Kitty."

Wait. Huh?

His heart stuttered in his chest. "W-what? Hold on, LB—"

"You said you’d watch her," she reminded him. Her eyes were wild, red-rimmed from tears and lack of rest. "And I am… I’m about twenty seconds away from losing my sanity and throwing myself off the roof."

He sucked in a breath.

"I love her," she sobbed. "God, I love her, she's my everything, but I can’t… I’m… I need sleep. I just—please?"

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Was she actually asking him to watch Minibug?

She... trusted him with her baby? Her whole world?

She trusted him.

She trusted him.

He hadn’t exactly had time to prepare for this, but—

But nothing!

She needed him! And he would never, ever refuse her.

He nodded without hesitation. "Yes. Of course." With the baby in one arm, he used his other hand to help Ladybug remove the back sling, then put it on himself, and together, they buckled in Minibug securely. "I’d be happy to watch her today. Don't even worry about it."

Her shoulders sagged with relief, the tension draining from her body like air from a punctured balloon. She wiped at her face, sniffling. “Oh, my god. Kitty. Thank you,” she breathed, her voice still shaky but steadier than before.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he added, offering her a smile.

She returned it, though it was wobbly. Then, with renewed urgency, she surged toward the diaper bag, yanking open the main flap and pulling out a notebook. “Okay, um, I have her whole schedule written down here. There are bottles of pre-measured breastmilk in the bag—keep them refrigerated until it’s time to feed her, then warm them up. I wrote down how often to feed her and exactly how long to microwave it. Make sure to check the temperature on your wrist before giving it to her.”

Chat Noir nodded, following along, but she was already moving on.

“Diapers—fuck!” She smacked her forehead. “Do you know how to change a diaper?”

Chat Noir blinked, then quickly nodded. “Yeah, um. I have friends with babies. I mean, I've never changed one myself, but… it can't be that hard.”

Ladybug's eye twitched. “Ahaha. Okay, um. That's... okay! I left a guide!” She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, held it, then released it slowly, before squinting up at him. “Are you sure you're up for this?”

“Absolutely," he assured her. "One hundred percent.”

“Okay. Cool. Um—!” She clapped her hands together, exhaling hard before diving back into the bag. “She already has a mask on, so you won’t have to worry about seeing her face when I detransform. She doesn’t seem to hate it, so it should stay on. Keep her warm—it's chilly out. Everything you could ever need is in the bag—extra clothes, a first-aid kit, teething toys, wipes, blankets, bibs, a pacifier. And! An emergency burner phone—" she shoved it into his hands, "—which I have a matching one for. I got it just for this, so if you have any questions, check the journal or call me. I’m gonna try to sleep, but my ringer will be on the whole time.”

Chat Noir blinked at her, a little overwhelmed.

Holy hell, she'd prepared an entire survival kit.

(He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or nervous.)

He chuckled, adjusting the sling on his back. Minibug nestled into place with a soft coo, warm against his spine. “Ladybug, I’ve got this. Seriously. We’re gonna have fun. Right, Minibug?” He craned his neck to grin at her, and she gurgled back like she was in on the plan. “See? Don't you worry about a thing.”

Ladybug suddenly lunged forward, gripping his chest so fiercely that he nearly stumbled back. Her eyes burned into his, and her fingers dug into the fabric of his suit.

“If anything—" she stressed, “—anything happens to my baby, so help me, I will kill you, burn this city to the ground, and then I will kill myself. Capiche?”

Chat Noir swallowed. Hard. “G-got it.”

She released him with a deep exhale, smoothing her hands down her thighs like she hadn’t just threatened a murder-suicide. “Cool. I’ll be back at seven. Is that too late?”

He shook his head, his heartbeat still recovering from her sudden intensity. “N-no. Even eight's fine if you want more rest.”

And then she smiled.

Before he could process what was happening, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You’re the best, Chaton. Thank you so much!”

His brain short-circuited. The dopey grin hit instantly. Behind him, Minibug giggled.

“Anytime, my Lady," he said. 

“Oh! Be careful," she warned. "She’s in her grabby phase right now. Don't go shirtless around her. She tried to rip my nipples off this morning.”

Chat Noir’s eyes widened.

“Okay, okay, gimme a kiss, sweet girl!” Ladybug said as she rounded him, showering Minibug’s face with kisses. “Maman will see you later. You behave for Chat Noir, alright? He’ll tell me if you’re naughty!”

Chat Noir grinned. “Aw, she’ll be an angel for me.” He turned his head to smile at her. “Won’t you, Minibug?”

Minibug gurgled, a soft coo escaping her tiny mouth and a line of drool dribbling from her bottom lip.

Ladybug took a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll be back in a few hours. Please call me if there’s an emergency. I’m always available if you need me, okay? Seriously, I'll come pick her up if you need me to—just call me and I'll be here!”

He nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. “Got it, my Lady! Don’t worry. We’ll have the time of our lives. I’ll follow the schedule perfectly. You just focus on getting some rest. This cat’s got it covered!”

Ladybug smiled, but there was a flicker of worry in her eyes. “Good!” She peeped. “Because I'm leaving my full trust in you. My child's life is in your hands. Do not fuck this up."

Chat Noir blinked, his grin faltering just a bit. “I won't. She's safe with me. I promise!"

She gave him a final, tight smile before pressing a kiss to Minibug’s forehead. “Goodbye, my loves! Have a wonderful day! Maman is going to sleep like the dead!”

Then, with a wave, she leaped away, leaving Chat Noir holding the baby and suddenly feeling the full weight of the responsibility watching an infant entailed.

Oh.

...Huh.

They... were alone now. 

He’d… never watched a baby by himself before.

Chat Noir glanced back at Minibug, who, without her mother, immediately let out a loud wail, her face scrunching in despair. 

His grin softened, and he bounced gently, trying to soothe her. “Aw, come on. Cheer up, kid,” he said, his voice light and playful. “We’re gonna have a great day! Just you and me.”

Minibug’s lip trembled as she let out another cry, looking up at him with wide, tearful eyes.

Chat Noir laughed nervously.

Oh, god.

“I hope so, at least," he said. 

Chapter Text

Adrien stared at the baby sitting on his couch.

She stared back.

Neither moved.

Adrien tapped his chin, then his foot, his brows knitting together as he watched Minibug practically sink into the couch cushions. She was so tiny—almost swallowed by the oversized pillows, her little face peeking out like a doll misplaced in a world too big for her. The crocheted mask Ladybug had lovingly crafted stayed perfectly in place, though how she managed to keep it from bothering Minibug was beyond him. 

He decided not to question it.

Plagg hovered over his shoulder, scrutinizing the baby with a look of deep suspicion. “Adrien,” he said, his voice far more measured than usual. “Why is that thing in our home?”

Adrien scoffed. “That’s Ladybug’s baby, Plagg. Not a thing.”

“I know what a baby is,” Plagg shot back. “But why is it here?”

Minibug squeaked at Plagg, her tiny hands stretching toward him. Plagg narrowed his eyes and let out a low hiss.

Adrien stepped forward, carefully lifting Minibug into his arms before she disappeared into the couch and was lost forever. “I’m babysitting for a few hours.”

Plagg blinked. “You? Babysitting?”

“Yeah. So?” As Minibug pressed her hands against his cheeks, Adrien grinned. He didn’t know what made them so sticky, but considering the drool glistening on her chin, he had a pretty good guess. “It can’t be that hard.”

Plagg groaned. “Oh, you’re so stupid.”

Minibug, still fixated on the floating Kwami, reached for him again. 

Plagg spat and darted back. “Keep your wet paws away from me!”

Minibug’s lip wobbled, her eyes welled up, and then she wailed. Loudly.

Plagg flattened himself against the ceiling. “Ugh, I hate babies.”

“Plagg, be nice,” Adrien scolded, bouncing Minibug gently. He caressed her cheek. “Hey, hey, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. Don't mind Plagg. He's just a mean old grump."

"I am not a grump."

"You are," said Adrien. Leaning down, he laid the sobbing baby on her tummy over the plush floor rug. "Let’s see what your maman packed for you, huh?”

He rifled through the diaper bag, shoving aside what felt like a never-ending supply of diapers, wipes, and clothes, before finally pulling out a stuffed black cat that jingled when he shook it.

“Oho, what’s this?” He wiggled the toy in front of Minibug. She immediately stopped crying, wide eyes locking onto the plush as she reached for it eagerly.

Adrien passed it into her hands, and she cooed at the jingly sound. Her face scrunched as she studied the toy before she promptly stuffed the entire thing into her mouth and soaked it in drool.

His chest swelled with pride. “See?” He shot a smug look at Plagg. “I know what I’m doing.”

Plagg, still hovering near the ceiling, eyed the drenched toy with utter revulsion. “Sure,” he muttered. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Adrien sat cross-legged on the floor, watching Minibug happily chew on her stuffed toy and roll onto her back, then change her mind and roll onto her stomach.  She dropped the toy and pushed herself up onto her hands, wiggled her back legs, then shifted forward—but just as Adrien had a momentary panic that she might start crawling early, she plunged back onto her stomach with a gasp and sharp cry.

His eyes widened. He immediately lifted her into his arms, holding her up to check for any damage. “You alright?”

She smiled. “Oouh,” she responded. Her hands roamed along his face, brushing over his cheeks, nose, and chin. “Oooooh.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “That’s my face.”

Minibug patted his cheeks. 

“You like my face?” he asked. She grabbed his nose and pulled, and he winced. “Hey, ow, don’t damage the goods!”

The baby laughed before releasing her grip.

Admittedly, he was a little surprised that Minibug hadn’t burst into tears the moment he detransformed. He’d worried she might not recognize him without the suit and cry, thinking he was a stranger. But to his relief, she remained perfectly content.

Maybe it was his voice she remembered. Or his scent?

Whatever it was, something about him told her he was Chat Noir, even without the mask. And that thought settled something warm and unexpected in his chest.

Plagg hovered closer. His whiskers twitched, and his eyes darted between Adrien and the baby, his frown deepening.

“Don’t you think this is a bad idea?” Plagg asked, voice low with unease. “That baby knows what you look like without a mask, now. You’re putting yourself in danger. What if she tells Ladybug your identity?”

Adrien laughed. “Plagg, she’s a baby! She can’t even talk yet.” He set Minibug back on the rug and tickled her belly, earning an adorable giggle in response. “And by the time she can, she won’t remember me well enough to say anything. Besides, I doubt she even knows who I am. It’s not like I interact with babies besides my friends’ kids, and none of my friends are Ladybug.”

Plagg crossed his tiny arms. “As far as you know,” he muttered under his breath.

Adrien barely caught it, too distracted by Minibug’s gummy smile. “What was that?”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “I said, I think you’re being stupid.”

“You always think that.”

“That’s beside the point.”

Grinning, Adrien scooped Minibug into his arms, holding her out toward Plagg. “Aw, come on, Plagg. How can you hate something this cute?”

Minibug reached toward Plagg again, and the Kwami curled his lip, backing away. “Easily.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Oh, what do you know?”

“More than you, apparently.”

Adrien ignored Plagg’s teasing. He bounced Minibug, enjoying how she smelled faintly of baby powder and something sweet—vanilla, maybe, or her mother’s perfume, which had remained on the baby’s clothes. Her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him with surprising strength for someone so small.

Minibug’s jaws stretched as she opened her mouth wide in an enormous yawn. She buried her face against his chest, and her eyes dropped shut, before they slowly opened again. 

Was she falling asleep?

He watched as her eyelids sagged again before they finally settled shut. 

A warm smile spread across his face. 

Yep. Definitely falling asleep.

He loved that she felt so safe around him that she could easily fall asleep. Loved that Ladybug trusted him enough to watch her. Loved that she was here, with him, in his house—the same house that always felt a little too lonely.

It felt… nice.

More than nice.

This felt…

Well. He didn’t want to think about it, really.

(It felt right.

But that didn’t matter.)

Although he’d been residing in his townhouse for a few years now, it still didn’t quite feel like home. It was cozy, sure—three bedrooms, bright cherrywood floors, plenty of natural light, and even a small garden in the back offered plenty of space for one person and two cats. It was a far cry from the cold, cavernous mansion he’d grown up in.

And yet, it still felt too big.

The living room stretched too wide. The kitchen table—meant for four—sat with only one chair ever pulled out. His bedroom, though leagues smaller than his childhood suite, felt like a hollow shell. There were little personal touches, a too-big bed that was only ever occupied by one, and a master bath that offered his-and-hers sinks with only one side showing any sign of use. 

Over the years, he’d tried to fill the space with framed photos and live plants he tried not to kill. The cats helped, being cuddly, purring, companions that followed him from room to room and snuggled in his bed at night. Still, even their presence couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

It was a good home. Comfortable. Cozy. Safe.

(Dreadfully quiet.)

Some nights, he’d find himself standing in the doorway of the guest room with no idea why. Often, he’d find himself talking to his cats, conversing as if they could understand. It would alarm him whenever he’d catch himself, embarrassed that the loneliness ran deep enough to make him have entire one-sided conversations with animals that couldn't talk back.

He liked his home. He did.

(But it didn’t feel like a home should.)

Then again, Adrien had never really experienced any trace of contentment with his childhood home, either. He wasn’t even sure if he knew what a home was supposed to feel like. Maybe a general discomfort was just how things were. Maybe that was how everyone felt.

Maybe everyone had that lingering sense of wanting more—of waiting for something, or someone to arrive.

Adrien often dreamed about raising a family in this house and filling the empty spaces with noise and clutter. If maybe that would ease the hollow feeling in this pit of his stomach. 

That was all that was, though. A dream.

The older he became, the less it seemed like a plausible reality.

Oh well.

C’est la vie.

Minibug pulled him back to reality by smacking her tongue and nuzzling her face against his chest. 

Adrien's lips curled into a small smile. He adjusted the baby in his arms and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.“Your maman is really lucky to have you, you know that?” 

Minibug didn’t respond, her eyes blinking open for a short moment before they closed again. 

He continued anyway, voice quiet and full of something he wouldn’t dare name. “Life is funny, Minibug. One minute, you’re in love with your best friend, and the next, she’s pregnant with someone else’s kid. And you still love her. Then she becomes a mother, and her whole life revolves around her baby, and you… you still love her. You love her daughter, too. And you can’t…” He sighed. “You can’t stop thinking. Thinking about what it’d be like if… if only you had done things a little differently, or said the right thing, years ago. Then maybe… maybe I wouldn’t feel so…”

The baby’s little fists curled into the fabric of his shirt, and her mouth fell open in a silent coo.

He swallowed. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel so lonely.”

Minibug didn’t respond.

Adrien sighed. “It’s okay. You’re too young to understand. And it’s not your fault, anyway. I’m happy things turned out the way they did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you! And I’m so happy I did.”

Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks. After a moment, she opened her eyes and greeted him with a sleepy smile, rendering his heart to warm, gooey mush.

One day, he’d get his chance. For now, he needed to stop thinking. Thinking about what it’d be like to have a family, or a baby like Minibug.

(What it’d be like if Minibug were his.

But she wasn’t. 

Minibug was Ladybug’s baby.

Not his.

He knew that.

And that was okay.)

Adrien exhaled, letting his eyes close for just a second, allowing himself to simply be.

...Okay. That was enough yearning for one day.

“Alright,” he said, pushing himself to a stand and adjusting Minibug in his arms. “Let’s check out this schedule your maman gave me.”

Propping Minibug securely against his hip, he reached into the diaper bag and grabbed the journal with his free hand, flipping it open. As he took in just how ridiculously detailed it was, his eyes widened. Everything he could possibly need to know was meticulously written, complete with color-coded tabs on the side.

Holy hell, Adrien thought, this is so in-depth!

There were sections on feeding times, nap times, reasons she’d cry (separated into hungry, tired, bored, and just being dramatic), a step-by-step guide on diaper changes—complete with surprisingly well-drawn diagrams—and even instructions on how to swap her outfit in case of spit-up or, heaven forbid, a diaper blowout.

“Your mom is very thorough,” he said, deeply impressed.

“Bah,” replied Minibug.

“Well said.” 

Scanning the schedule, Adrien noted it was time for a feed. He double-checked the instructions—no, triple-checked—before carrying Minibug to the kitchen. Holding her in one arm, he opened the fridge and retrieved one of the pre-portioned bottles of milk Ladybug had prepared. He followed the instructions precisely, microwaving it for the correct time and then testing a drop on his wrist just as she’d instructed. Satisfied, he carried the bottle and the baby back to the living room.

His cats, roused by the scent of warm milk, padded after him.

Minibug’s eyes widened as they approached. She gasped, her hands flailing with excitement, and erupted with a loud “ooooooh” as she watched the felines slink around.

“You’ve never seen a cat before, have you?” Adrien chuckled, settling onto the couch. His cats loomed with curious sniffs, and he gently shooed them away. “No, no. This is Minibug’s food. No milk for you.”

Escargot, the sassiest of the two, let out a deeply offended meow as if to say, “Excuse me, how dare you deprive me?” before stalking off, his tail lashing like an angry snake.

Minibug squealed, kicking her little legs. She squirmed in Adrien’s arms, reaching toward the cats with something like desperation.

“You wanna meet them?” Adrien asked. 

“Ahh!” screamed the baby. 

Adrien set the milk bottle on the coffee table. He lowered Minibug to a seat on the floor and called his cats over. Only Biscuit responded, trotting over with cautious curiosity. She stopped short when she saw the baby, her fluffy tail twitching in slow, uncertain sways. After a pause, she crept forward. She leaned in for a sniff, her nose twitching and whiskers flicking. 

Minibug's eyes went wide. She giggled as Biscuit gave her an inspection, sniffing her nose, then her cheek, and then her hands, which must've smelled like something inviting, because the cat paused to huff the baby's fingers. 

Minibug reached out, patting Biscuit’s head in a clumsy gesture, and Biscuit nuzzled her hand. Adrien’s heart melted at the sight.

Then the baby's tiny fist closed around Biscuit's ear and yanked.

Biscuit reared back with a yowl, ears flattening, and paw raising to retaliate. Adrien inhaled sharply, snatching Minibug up from the ground and cradling her protectively against her chest. Biscuit bolted in a flurry of fur. Escargot took off after her, their tails vanishing up the stairs. 

Minibug’s face crumpled. Then she wailed. 

“Oh no, no, no—don’t cry,” Adrien whispered, her sobs piercing into his heart. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her masked cheeks. Her lip trembled as she let out another hiccupping sob.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. He brushed her tears away with his thumb and kissed her forehead, her fine black hairs brushing his lips. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have let you play with Biscuit. You didn’t know.”

His hand rubbed small, slow circles on her back. She began to calm, her sobs fading into quiet, hitching breaths that eventually tapered out. 

“You’re alright,” he whispered. “I’m not mad at you. Promise.”

(He kissed her head again just for good measure. And maybe just because he could.)

God, what had he been thinking? Babies weren’t gentle. Neither were startled cats. It was pure luck that both she and Biscuit had come away from that interaction unscathed. What if he hadn't been quick enough and Minibug had suffered an injury from his cat's claws or teeth? A scratch, even an accidental one, would've been all it took for Ladybug to lose trust in him. And he wouldn’t be able to bear the heartbreak of knowing Minibug had been injured under his watch. 

(He felt bad for Biscuit, too. He’d make it up to her later with treats and apologetic cuddles.)

“You okay now?" he asked, flashing Minibug a smile. She blinked up at him, puffy-eyed, but calm. He retrieved the bottle from the coffee table. “Hungry?”

"Ah," she replied, her voice still watery.

Adrien repositioned the baby so she was in a comfortable feeding position and held the bottle out toward her. He wasn’t really sure if he should wait for her to accept the bottle or if he should just shove the tip into her mouth. Clumsily, he moved the bottle toward her lips, but before he could overthink it, she gripped it in her hands and latched on. 

Well, that made it easy. He didn’t even need to hold the bottle for her—she had that covered with practiced ease. 

Soft suckling sounds filled the quiet room. He smiled as her wide eyes locked onto his, unblinking, like she was memorizing every detail of his face.

He studied her in return.

His gaze drifted over her face, pausing on the little mask, lovingly handmade and secured to her head with a gentle elastic.

It was such a simple thing.

Just a piece of fabric.

The only thing shielding her features from his full view.

He could take it off—easily—and she probably would’ve thanked him for it.

He could.

…No.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Ladybug’s trust in him was of utmost importance. If he betrayed that, then what kind of friend was he? She’d never trust him again. And even if she didn’t find out, he’d know, and the guilt would be more than enough to consume his very soul. 

(That didn’t mean he couldn’t admire the baby with the mask on, though.)

Between the soft tufts of black hair, the delicate button nose, and her powder blue eyes—almost too big for her tiny face—Minibug was unmistakably Ladybug’s child. Truly a miniature clone of her mother. She looked so much like Ladybug that he didn’t recognize a single feature that didn’t remind him of her.

…Maybe that was for the best.

Adrien had never met Minibug’s father. He didn’t even know who the man was or had the faintest idea of what he might’ve looked like. 

(If he could even be called a father. To Adrien, someone who left their partner to raise a child alone was nothing short of a coward. 

But… he also knew that life wasn’t always black and white. Maybe there was more to the story. 

It wasn’t his place to judge.

Still. A seed of rage festered inside of him every time the thought of that man resurfaced.

He couldn’t imagine not wanting to be there to watch his kid grow up.

Spineless piece of shit.)

Parenthood seemed terrifying, sure. It was exhausting and all-consuming, and he’d seen firsthand just how much energy it stole from Ladybug. 

Still, that didn’t change the fact that he wanted to experience it. Desperately.

The idea of being a father filled him with equal parts longing and fear. 

What kind of dad would he be? 

Would he be a good father?

Or… 

Would he repeat the mistakes of his own father? Would he unintentionally scar his child in some way, emotionally or physically?

Would his unconditional love make up for his lack of understanding of what a good father was supposed to be like?

(Would he be good enough?)

Well. If there was one thing he knew, it was what not to do.

He wouldn’t be absent.

He wouldn’t be distant.

He wouldn’t withhold love as some sort of twisted reward.

No.

When the day came that he had a child of his own—if that day ever came, doubtful though it was—he’d be there every step of the way. 

He’d get up in the middle of the night to rock the baby back to sleep, never tiring of cradling his child. He’d be the dad who sat in the front row at every school play, the one cheering the loudest at sports games, and embarrassing them with a hug when he picked them up from school. And when they had a bad day, when they needed someone to listen or a shoulder to cry on, he’d be there, too.

He would always be there.

Always.

The kind of father he’d spent his whole life longing for but had never once felt the warmth of.

(His kids wouldn’t ever be left wondering whether they were wanted.

Whether they were loved.)

Adrien sighed, adjusting Minibug as she finished her bottle. Setting it aside, he chuckled as she grinned up at him.

“What?” he asked.

Her fingers immediately found their way into her mouth.

He stroked his thumb along her cheek, watching as she brightened from the simple touch. “Hi,” he murmured.

Minibug cooed sleepily in response, her tiny eyelids fluttering half open, then shut. Open. Shut.

Adrien smirked. “You tired?”

As if she understood, Minibug let out a dramatic yawn, her mouth stretching comically wide.

“I think it’s nap time.” Adrien glanced around. “Where am I supposed to put you down?”

The floor was too hard, and his bed was too risky—what if she rolled off? He could barricade her with pillows on all sides, but… nah. That would risk suffocation. 

Where was she supposed to—

Minibug pressed her face against his chest. Slowly, her eyes fell closed.

…Well.

She was already comfy in his arms.

And really, what was the harm in letting her nap while he held her? It wasn’t like he was tired. He wouldn’t fall asleep, so there was no danger. It’d only be for an hour or so, right? Was that how long babies napped?

(He wasn’t quite ready to put her down yet, anyway.)

With Minibug nestled securely against his chest, Adrien grabbed the remote and switched on the TV, keeping the volume low. 

He'd meant to watch something while she slept. An episode of his favorite show, a movie, or a documentary.

Instead, he just… watched her.

As Minibug slept, her eyelashes fluttered against her chubby cheeks, and her lips parted slightly. Every so often, she stirred, making tiny, unconscious movements. Her fingers twitched, her nose scrunched, and her little legs kicked softly before settling again.

(Goodness, he'd never expected the amount of noise babies made, even while sleeping. He’d heard them before, when she napped on patrols. But it was much quieter in his house than on the rooftops amidst the bustling city. Little grunts, squeaks, and whistles all rose from her lips and nose. It was a challenge to tear his eyes away.)

Slowly, he reached for his pocket, careful not to wake the baby. He pulled out the burner phone Ladybug had given him, snapped a photo of Minibug, and sent it to the only contact in the address book, which was Ladybug herself.

It would be a pleasant sight when she woke up.

See? said the message attached to the photo. I'm a great babysitter.

To his surprise, Ladybug answered immediately.

Ladybug
how is she doing?
is she okay?
does she have everything she needs?
does she need me?
should i come pick her up?

Chat Noir
She’s fine!
She’s sleeping, see?
Don’t worry. 

Ladybug
i always worry

Chat Noir
Why are you awake?
You should be sleeping too.

Ladybug
i’m trying! honest!
i’ve been trying
it’s just so hard
not knowing where she is
i can't stop worrying
can’t turn by brain off
i dont know where my baby is
it’s freaking me out

Chat Noir
I mean, if you’re that concerned
Want me to tell you my address? 👀

Ladybug
no. do not

Chat Noir
9 Rue Sedaine, 75011 Paris, France

Ladybug
NO WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT
i’m not going to look this up on maps
i’m not
chat noir this is the address for a cat café

Chat Noir
You said you weren’t going to look it up!

Ladybug
i’m weak
please don’t tell me that’s your actual location
did you bring her to a cat café 😭
i assumed you’d take her home or something

Chat Noir
Lol no. I was just joking.
She’s fine.
We’re inside my house.
Which is a very normal house
In a very safe neighborhood
Not a cat café.

Ladybug
doubtful

Chat Noir
I am being 100% honest
I mean, there are cats
But just my two
And they haven't hurt her
But anyway, please try to get some sleep.
You know I’d never let anything happen to her.

Ladybug
i know…
okay i’ll try to sleep
emphasis on try
thank you 🩷

Chat Noir
Of course
Sweet dreams, my Lady 💚

Adrien slipped the phone back into his pocket, his heart giving a slight flutter.

It felt weird to text Ladybug, knowing that on the other side of the phone, she was at home, in her bed, destransformed. No mask. Just… her. As herself. 

It was surreal to know he could text her now, without being transformed.

And he wasn’t going to abuse that.

(Even if he really, really wanted to keep talking to her.

She needed her sleep. And her privacy. That was more important.)

Adrien smiled down at Minibug, slowly tracing his finger along her cheek. She didn't stir, too lost in dreamland, her stomach rising and falling in time with her breaths. 

…Man.

How could one tiny baby be so perfect?

(And how could he want this more than he already did?)

The ache curled deep in his chest, an ever-present longing that refused to fade. Most days, he did his best to ignore it. To push it aside and keep himself from yearning for something he might never have.

But sitting here, with Minibug tucked securely in his arms—

That ache became all-encompassing.

He was already twenty-five. Twenty-six, soon. 

And he… had never even come close to having a successful relationship. 

…Not that he had ever tried very hard. It was nobody’s fault but his own. He’d had plenty of admirers over the years; people interested in the idea of him. None of them really knew him, though. And he wasn’t interested in dating someone who harbored a falsified version of him in their head, who would put him on a pedestal because of his past or last name, just for the sake of not being single. 

Dating apps were a lost cause. He couldn't bring himself to attempt empty-feeling dates with strangers, making forced small talk while his affections stubbornly remained elsewhere.

(And elsewhere had her own feelings, which he was in no way entitled to.

It wouldn’t be fair to date anyone when she still cradled his heart in her palm.)

The only time he'd held genuine feelings for a person other than Ladybug had been in lycée, when he'd developed a crush on Marinette. That was nearly ten years ago. And, well... feelings had a funny way of fading.

For the most part.

Anyway, much like Ladybug, she had a child of her own now, so he understood that her priorities didn’t lie with dating. And he doubted she even saw him that way.

Not that he still had a massive crush on her or anything.

…But if he had to pick someone from his friend group to date—

No!

Thinking like that was dangerous. 

Adrien exhaled softly, letting his thoughts fade as he turned his attention back to Minibug. He smiled and gently brushed a stray curl from her forehead. 

Maybe… this was enough.

Maybe he didn’t need a spouse or a child of his own. Maybe just getting to hold Minibug, to love her in the moments he was allowed, was enough.

Minibug loved him.

And that was enough.

The sudden sound of someone clearing their throat made Adrien look up. His gaze met Plagg’s, who sat on the coffee table, his tiny brows furrowed with concern.

“Adrien,” Plagg said.

Adrien arched an eyebrow. “What?”

Plagg hesitated, then sighed and shook his head. “Don’t.”

Adrien frowned. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t get too attached, kid,” Plagg said, his voice lacking its usual teasing edge. “She’s not yours.”

A sharp pang shot through Adrien’s chest, exploding from one end and out the other like a stray bullet.

He knew that. Obviously.

Of course he did.

He’d be stupid to think otherwise.

(Still… hearing it said out loud… hearing it said so simply, so matter-of-factly…

It stung.)

Adrien’s throat tightened. He glanced down at Minibug, still fast asleep in his arms, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“I know,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow.

Plagg’s ears drooped, and his expression softened. Adrien hadn’t mentioned what he was thinking, but he had a feeling Plagg knew anyway. The Kwami always did.

Plagg floated over, settling on Adrien’s shoulder and nuzzling his head against his neck. “You’ll get your chance someday,” he said.

Adrien forced a small smile. “Maybe.”

“You will.”

“I could always adopt,” he said, half-joking. But as the words left his lips, they lingered, heavier than expected.

…Huh.

Maybe… maybe he could adopt one day.

It was a possibility.

(Though, whether it was a real possibility or just a wild fantasy, he wasn’t sure yet.

Still.

It couldn’t hurt to dream.)

Minibug woke from her nap a short time later, stirring with a tiny stretch and grunt. 

Adrien smiled down at her, opening his mouth to speak—until he felt a bubbling sensation against his thigh, and a foul odor hit the air.

His nose wrinkled. 

Oh. 

Oh, dear.

Well. This was inevitable.

With a resigned sigh, he stood from the couch. “Alright, Mademoiselle Stinky. Let’s take care of that.”

Lacking a proper changing table, he did the next best thing by laying a towel out on the floor and settling the baby over it on her back. 

He had seen plenty of diaper changes before, courtesy of his friends with kids, but actual hands-on experience? That was another story. 

It couldn't be that hard, though. And Ladybug had left a detailed guide.

He reviewed the journal, reading each step thoroughly. And then read them again. And again. Once he felt confident enough to tackle the procedure on his own, he braced himself for whatever horrors awaited him, undressed the baby from her onesie, undid the diaper, and—

“Oh, dear god,” he choked.

The smell hit him like a freight train. His stomach lurched, and he immediately turned his head away to cough and suppress a gag.

“Holy shit,” he wheezed, then mentally chided himself for cursing in front of a child. His eyes watered. “How does a tiny person make such noxious odors? You should be classified as chemical warfare!” 

“I like the smell,” Plagg said, floating closer. “Reminds me of a finely aged cheese!”

“You’re repugnant,” Adrien replied, quelling another gag.

Minibug, the little menace, laughed.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” he asked, blinking through the sting in his eyes. She giggled harder, her tiny legs kicking as if she knew what she was putting him through.

It took him longer than he cared to admit to get her cleaned up. He kept glancing at the journal, double-checking each step. Most importantly, he made sure to follow step seven exactly as written—in bold, red ink and underlined three times: WIPE FROM FRONT TO BACK, NOT BACK TO FRONT!!!

He burned through way more wipes than any baby could reasonably require, and the used ones piled up like a miniature landfill on the towel. When he finally looked down at the mess on his hands, he shuddered.

Minibug, of course, was having the time of her life, kicking, squirming, and squealing.

Adrien wiped his hands with another wipe and mentally promised himself a full surgical scrub once this was over.

“Okay, what’s next…” he muttered, flipping back to the journal. “Uh… powder. Right. Powder.”

He fished the bottle of baby powder out of the bag and lifted it above her. 

Nothing came out.

Wait.

The cap was shut. 

While still holding the bottle above Minibug, he opened the cap—

And white, sweet-smelling baby powder spilled from the bottle and coated the baby and his carpet. 

Adrien coughed and sneezed, waving his hands to help the looming white cloud dissipate. When the powder finally cleared, the infant blinked up at him, as white as a ghost. 

And then she sneezed.

“Shit,” he said, once again internally scolding himself for swearing. “I am so sorry.”

“I don’t think you’re doing this right,” Plagg coughed.

Minibug’s nose twitched. She sneezed again—god, that was the cutest sound— then smiled.

Oops.

“Damn,” Adrien sighed. His eyes widened. “I mean—! I, uh…” He glanced around the living room, grimacing at the white dust coating his carpet and clothes. “Oh, man. I'm going to have to clean.” 

“You think?” Plagg sneered, hastily grooming the powder from his fur. 

Minibug sneezed a third time. 

Adrien lifted her from the floor, carrying the naked, powder-covered baby upstairs to his bathroom. “I’ll start with you.”

As he held Minibug with one arm, he turned on the faucet with the other. He didn’t fill it with too much water and checked the temperature thrice before he gently placed her in the basin. For the entire duration of the bath, he kept her mask on, though it hadn’t been spared from the powder explosion. 

With his back turned, he had Plagg remove and shake off the mask before replacing it. Not that the Kwami was too enthralled by offering his help so freely—he’d needed to be bribed with the promise of ordering a specific brand of fancy cheese that could only be purchased online. 

Minibug babbled, splashing the water with her hands and feet and gifting Adrien with the blessing of wet clothes. He smiled, ensuring he was gentle with her while he cleaned her with a soft washcloth, careful not to get any soap in her eyes or mouth. 

“There,” he said once the last of the powder had been washed from her skin. “All clean!”

Minibug giggled. 

Then, she pooped in the tub.

“No!” Adrien gasped, immediately lifting her out of the dirty water. She was slippery, but he kept a good hold on her. “I just cleaned you!”

If babies could cackle, she would have.

Only once she was clean and dry did he put a fresh diaper on her—struggling to fasten the new diaper correctly, not once, but twice—as well as a change of clothes. When he finally succeeded, he breathed a sigh of relief and returned downstairs to dispose of the dirty diaper he’d left behind. He plucked up the used diaper with two fingers and promptly took it outside to the street trash bin. 

There was no way he would let that stink up his house.

Then he washed his hands. Twice.

With that ordeal behind them, Adrien set Minibug on his reclining chair while he vacuumed the carpet. He glanced over at her every few seconds to ensure she was safe, and thankfully, the baby seemed content to sit and watch him, her eyes wide and curious at the whooshing sound of the vacuum cleaner. 

A faint twinge of fatigue clung to him, weighing down his shoulders. It had only been a few hours, but… man.

He felt exhausted already.

It was fine.

He didn’t mind.

They played for a little while, with Adrien giving her some tummy time or offering her some of the toys her mother had packed. When she grew bored of that, he gave her a tour of his house, acting like she was a prospective buyer and he was the real estate agent trying to score a sale. And when she grew bored of that, he opted for an old-fashioned game of peek-a-boo while speaking in silly voices that made her laugh and Plagg cringe.

(Her laughter was everything.

It filled the house in a way nothing else ever had, seeping into every space, making the walls feel alive. )

After some time playing, he grew tired from running around, so he sat Minibug back on his couch while he took a breather. 

Minibug’s expression shifted. Her giggles faded, her bottom lip trembled, and before Adrien could even process the change, her face scrunched up, and she let out a loud wail.

His stomach dropped. He immediately scooped her up. “Whoa, hey—what’s wrong?”

She cried harder, fists balling as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Shit.

Uh.

Did she want to keep playing?

He bounced her again. When that didn’t work, he lifted her high into the air, making whooshing airplane noises, but that only made her scream louder. 

Oh, no.

Did he… do something wrong?

(Did he hurt her by accident?)

Okay, okay, don’t panic, he thought, mentally running through what he remembered from Ladybug’s checklist. 

Food? Was she hungry again?

He made her another bottle, but she turned away, her cries growing louder. 

Okay. Not hungry.

Messy diaper? 

He checked. 

Nope—still clean.

She couldn’t be tired again, could she? Perhaps all that playing had tuckered her out.

He attempted to rock her to sleep and even sing her a lullaby (with his admittedly lackluster singing voice), but she seemed uninterested in dozing off.

She simply continued to weep.

Shit!

Adrien quickly flipped through the journal, scanning the section under “crying,” hoping there’d been something he missed that would be the solution—

Ah… nope. 

He’d gone through the whole list.

His heart sank.

Maybe she had gas? He propped her over his shoulder, patting her back in what he hoped was the right way to burp her.

Nothing.

He tried positioning her over his knee like the journal suggested—still nothing.

She kept wailing, her chest heaving with each sob.

Plagg groaned from the coffee table, flattening his ears against his head with his tiny paws. “Why is it making that noise?”

“I—I don’t know!” Adrien said, flipping through the pages faster, desperate for an answer. 

“Can you make it stop?”

“I’m trying.”

“Well, try harder!”

Adrien groaned. “Ugh, Plagg! If you aren’t going to be helpful, hush."

The Kwami scoffed. “Now you’re starting to sound like a hormonal parent.”

Adrien didn’t have the energy to fire back. He was too busy trying to figure out what was wrong.

His heart clenched with every sob.

What am I missing? What am I doing wrong?

Minibug's tears dampened his shirt as her sobs morphed into sharp little hiccups. They didn’t let up—and neither did the panic rising in his chest. His own breath hitched, uneven.

Shit.

His heart sank low, settling deep in the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone.

She was upset. She was hurting. And he didn't know how to fix it.

(He was a failure.)

He hated this—hated seeing her so upset and not knowing how to fix it. He glanced at the clock, noting the time, and sighed, knowing he still had some time before Ladybug had agreed to meet. Then he palmed the phone in his pocket. He didn’t want to end their time together, didn’t want to call her for advice and risk waking her, but Ladybug would know what to do—

Oh.

Wait.

Ladybug. 

“Is that it?” he asked softly. “Do you want your Maman?”

Minibug whimpered, meeting his gaze with her watery eyes.

His throat tightened. What do I do if that’s the only thing she wants?

Calling Ladybug crossed his mind again—but no. No. That was the last thing he wanted to do. She was probably asleep. She needed rest, and he would not disturb her.

He could do this. He could do this. He had to do this.

After taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he held Minibug closer to his chest and gently rocked her.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “It’s alright, love. Maman just needed a break, that’s all. She’ll be back soon. She didn’t leave you.”

Minibug sobbed.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I promise. She’ll… Ladybug will come back. She didn’t…” He swallowed. “...disappear.”

(His voice trembled, just a little.)

And yet her cries persisted. 

At his wit’s end, Adrien glanced around the room, searching for something —anything—that might soothe Minibug’s cries. Finally, his gaze landed on the piano tucked against the far wall. It was smaller than the grand one he’d grown up playing, though a perfect size for his small townhouse. He'd bought it intending to hone his skills, but without someone to play for, it'd gathered more dust than memories.

Maybe that could change.

“Here, chérie,” he said, carrying her over to the piano. Settling onto the piano bench, he adjusted her in his lap, making sure she was secure before lifting the lid. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, hesitating, before pressing down into a soft, familiar melody.

The notes floated through the air, light and soothing, filling the quiet space around them.

Minibug hiccupped, her sobs gradually slowing. Her tiny fingers curled into his shirt, her grip strong despite her exhaustion. 

Adrien kept playing, letting muscle memory take over, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys in a tune he knew by heart—one his mother used to play for him when he was small. He’d sit on her lap, just like Minibug sat on his, and he’d watch as she drowned the foyer in song, mesmerized by the comforting cadence of his mother’s musical prowess.

Minutes passed.

The music engulfed him.

Minibug’s cries faded into sniffles. Then sighs. Then slow, even breaths.

And then she was quiet.

Adrien exhaled, relief washing over him. 

Thank goodness.

He glanced down, watching as her damp eyes tracked his fingers, enchanted by the way they danced over the keys. The gentle rise and fall of the song filled the room, wrapping them both in something warm and familiar. When the final note lingered and faded, Minibug looked up at him and smiled.

Adrien blinked, caught off guard by the tiny grin aimed at him.

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Did—did you like that?”

“Ah,” she cooed softly.

A chuckle bubbled from his chest. “You know, you’re the first person to watch me play in years.”

She reached toward the keys, her small hand pressing down on one at random. A single note rang out. She flinched, surprised at the sound she had made, then let out a squeal and did it again.

Adrien’s grin widened. “You want another song?”

She gurgled, kicking her feet against his legs.

“Alright,” he laughed, smoothing his fingers over the keys. “Got any requests?”

“Ba-ba,” she babbled.

“Baa Baa Black Sheep? Solid choice.”

So he played.

Song after song, he let the music flow, watching as her face lit up with each familiar tune. She never seemed to tire of it, and he never tired of watching her.

(Because, even though she was just a baby—even though she couldn’t fully understand—having someone there, someone listening, made all the difference.

For the first time in ages, his music had an audience. Someone who appreciated it.

Someone who appreciated him.)

A few songs later, her little eyelashes fluttered shut. The combination of play, her tears, and the lull of the music had worn her out. She leaned against his chest, her body growing heavier with sleep.

Adrien brushed his thumb over her damp cheek, his heart aching at how peaceful she looked.

At least she wasn’t crying anymore.

(His poor heart couldn’t take much more of it.)

He sighed, scooped her up, and closed the piano before returning to the couch and sinking into the cushions with a heaviness that settled deep in his bones. His eyes drooped, his mind felt foggy, yet he didn’t allow sleep to claim him.

Not yet.

Man.

This was just one day.

How on Earth had Ladybug done this alone all this time?

(She was so incredibly strong. The strongest person he knew.)

Despite his best efforts, he dozed off with the baby sleeping peacefully on his chest. 

When he woke a little while later, he scolded himself for being so lax. Minibug could have fallen off his lap in the short time he’d been asleep. Next time, he’d do better.

(If there would even be a next time.)

When Minibug stirred, he held her up to greet her, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, she projectile vomited all over his shirt.

Adrien’s eye twitched. 

Ah.

So this was what fatherhood was like.

By the time eight o’clock rolled around, Chat Noir sat on the same rooftop where he'd met Ladybug that morning, with Minibug settled comfortably in the back carrier. 

A familiar thud sounded behind him. His ears perked up, and he turned to find Ladybug standing on the rooftop, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights. Her hair was neatly tied, the deep shadows beneath her eyes had faded, and—best of all—she wore a smile. 

A real, radiant smile that reached her eyes.

Chat Noir stood as she approached, warmth blooming in his chest. “Good evening, mon cœur,” he said, embarrassed by the raspiness of his own voice and hoping she didn’t clue into his exhaustion.

Ladybug brightened. “Hi, Kitty!” She patted his chest before she walked around him to face her daughter. “There’s my baby!” she cooed, her voice thick with affection as Minibug squealed and reached eagerly for her mother. 

Chat Noir unstrapped her from the wrap and handed her over without hesitation. Ladybug immediately cradled Minibug against her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and the baby babbled happily in return.

It was enough to make his heart squeeze.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Ladybug sighed, her fingers brushing through Minibug’s hair. “I missed you so much! Did you have a good day?”

Chat Noir stepped back, watching the reunion unfold with a soft smile. “Welcome back,” he said. “You look well-rested.”

Ladybug’s eyes sparkled as she met his gaze. “Oh, I slept like a rock. I even cleaned my apartment and did laundry. It’s a miracle!”

Chat Noir chuckled. “I’m glad.”

“So…” She tilted her head. “How was she?”

“She was great,” he replied automatically.

Ladybug arched a single, knowing brow, lips twitching with amusement.

He exhaled a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, mostly great. She, uh, crapped all over herself, needed a bath, pooped in the bath, and puked on me, but it’s fine. Everything else went well. She’s a great baby.”

Ladybug snickered. “Yeah? Because you look exhausted.”

He waved a dismissive hand. He was exhausted, but that was beside the point. “Ah, it’s nothing. I loved it. It was great having her over.”

Ladybug bounced Minibug gently in her arms. “Did you have fun with Chat Noir?” she asked the baby. “Were you nice to him?”

“Ahhbah,” Minibug babbled in response. "Dah."

Chat Noir grinned. “She was wonderful.”

For a moment, Ladybug simply looked at him, long enough that his heart skipped a beat. There was something contemplative in her gaze; something warm and hesitant all at once. She glanced down at Minibug, then back at him, lips pressing together briefly before she finally spoke.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Really. I mean it. Thank you so much. I know this was super last-minute, and it was a lot to ask. But… you have no idea how much I needed that break.” Her voice wavered just slightly. “I missed her, of course, but… having a few hours just to breathe and catch up on sleep… it helped more than I can explain. I feel like a person again.”

His expression softened. “It’s no problem. Really.”

She glanced away for a moment before exhaling. “…Would you ever be willing to watch her again?” she asked. “Not anytime soon! And I’d give more notice next time, I promise, but—”

His brain nearly short-circuited.

Oh.

She trusted him.

Ladybug trusted him.

He had done well enough that she was asking if she could leave her baby with him again sometime.

She trusted him.

“Yes!” he blurted, nodding so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Of course! I’d love to. Anytime, just say the word, and I’ll be there.”

Ladybug’s smile bloomed, so wide and genuine that the corners of her eyes crinkled around her mask. “Oh, thank you, Chat Noir! You're the best.”

And then, before he could process what was happening, she leaned in—

—and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

His breath stuttered.

This time, it was so close to the corner of his mouth that his skin burned where her lips had branded him. A delicious, shivery warmth spread from the point of contact and flooded through him.

His legs felt like jelly. He could barely keep himself standing upright.

“I appreciate you more than I can describe,” she said.

His heart soared so high it nearly leaped out of his chest.

“A-anything for you,” he stammered, embarrassingly breathless. It took all of his self-control to keep himself from swooning. “You know I-I love… love getting to help you.”

Ladybug stepped back as Minibug let out a tiny yawn against her shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I know firsthand how exhausting this little one can be.”

Chat Noir, still floating somewhere in the stratosphere from that kiss, could only nod dumbly.

“That was an adorable photo you sent me, by the way,” she said. If his eyes were seeing correctly, a faint blush dusted her cheeks. “Too bad your face wasn't in it. Would’ve been even cuter.”

She was teasing, he knew, but a part of him wished he had. 

That would break the rules, though. 

He smirked. “I was sparing you from being overloaded by my sheer beauty.”

Ladybug let out one of her giggle-snort laughs he always adored, and shook her head. “Alright, alright. I need to get this little one home. Thank you again.”

“Anytime,” he said, helping her strap Minibug into the back carrier. “I mean it.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” She stroked his arm. “Have a good night, okay?”

His lips quirked, mischief flickering through the haze of adoration. “It’s always a good night when I see you.”

Ladybug let out another short snort-giggle combo—arguably the cutest sound he had ever heard in his life, save for Minibug’s laugh—and shook her head fondly.

“Goodnight, mon Chaton,” she said.

And then she was gone, vanishing into the Parisian night with Minibug secured on her back.

Chat Noir lingered for a moment longer, staring after her, dazed.

Then, with a deep sigh, he made his way home—only to be met with the absolute mess his house had become in a single afternoon.

He groaned, staring at the scattered toys, the pile of wipes he’d never thrown away, and the dirty towel on his floor. The bathtub still needed to be scrubbed, and he knew he ought to clean the baby powder out of his clothes and vacuum. And then there was the matter of doing his dishes, taking out the trash, feeding his cats, and taking a shower.

Goodness.

It was no mystery why Ladybug was struggling.

(He missed them already.

His house felt hollow again.)

Biscuit meowed and approached, rubbing along his leg and nuzzling her face against his foot. Adrien smiled and picked her up, turning her over on her back so the cat was cradled in his arms much like an infant. She instantly purred. 

“At least I have you,” he chuckled. 

Chapter Text

Half a year.

One hundred and eighty-something days of sleepless nights, diaper changes, persistent feedings, and baby messes. Six months of learning an entirely new kind of love—so vast and consuming that it redefined everything Marinette thought she knew about herself.

Six entire months of her sweet Émi.

It was impossible to fathom life without her. Marinette could barely remember what her world was like before she’d had her daughter. It felt impossible, like trying to remember the details of a dream that had long since faded. 

How had she ever gone a day without Émi? Without her smile first thing in the morning, her photos and toys decorating the apartment, the squeal of her voice as she learned to babble, the weight of her tiny body nestled against her chest, or how her little fingers curled around her own, as if she never wanted to let go?

Sure, sometimes it was overwhelming. There were still days Marinette swore she wasn’t cut out for the daunting task of motherhood. Days the exhaustion cut so deep it made her want to weep. Days when stress built so high that all she could do was sit on the floor of the tub and let the shower rain over her, drowning her sobs in the sound of its stream.

But she never let Émi see her like that. 

Over the last six months, parenthood had become easier. As Émi grew, so did Marinette. She had found her rhythm—how to balance motherhood and herself. And therapy was immensely helpful, as was the support from her family and friends. 

Mornings were Marinette’s favorite part of the day. They were calm and peaceful, as Émi had been sleeping better as of late. When Marinette roused most days, she felt well-rested and alert. Émi liked to sleep in past sunrise, now. And wow, did Marinette enjoy that luxury. The ability to wake from the sun shining in her eyes, not from a crying baby.

It was funny how her sleep schedule had completely shifted. Before she’d had Émi, most mornings she’d sleep well past ten. Now, she would wake bright and early every day, sometimes even before Émi. The anxiety that had spurred the first couple of instances where she woke to silence and panicked over whether her baby had passed in her sleep had waned. Marinette knew now that her daughter mirrored how she used to be before motherhood—not a morning person in any shape or form.

But Marinette was fine with that. Whenever she woke in the mornings, she’d have a few minutes to stretch, go through her morning routine, and eat a quick breakfast before she woke her baby. 

And every morning, Émi never failed to greet her with a smile. 

(Knowing how happy her daughter became just from seeing her maman—that Émi loved her—was all Marinette needed to start her day off right.)

She was even more thankful that her job was mostly remote. During the work days, Marinette would set Émi in her playpen while she sat at her desk, and the sound of her babbling along with the jingles and crinkles of baby toys filled the apartment like music. At first, it had been distracting, but now Marinette couldn’t seem to focus without it. 

Hearing her baby make noise was a sign that everything was okay. 

(Silence had never been scary before having a baby. Now, if things were too quiet, it was terrifying. Silence meant something was wrong.)

In the evenings, their routine was a well-worn melody: a warm bath, lavender-scented baby lotion, cozy pajamas, and tiny fingers clutching Marinette’s as she breastfed her daughter and rocked her to sleep.

The sleep training was paying off. Émi had been sleeping longer stretches, five, sometimes six hours at a time. As Marinette once again was awarded the luxury of hours of uninterrupted rest, her body finally remembered what it was like to feel alive. 

(Though she still sometimes lay awake just to watch her baby’s tiny chest rise and fall, the anxiety never fully loosening its grip.

But that was motherhood, wasn’t it?

To hold so much love and worry in the same breath.)

Her daughter was always growing. Always changing.

Recently, Émi had started wiggling across the floor, her little arms and legs pushing forward with determination. Not quite crawling, but close.

Any day now, she would be.

The thought made Marinette’s heart squeeze. She was caught between overwhelming pride and the bittersweet ache of her baby growing up before her very eyes. She wanted Émi to grow, of course. To flourish, thrive, and become whoever she was meant to be. To become her own person with her own thoughts and feelings.

But… maybe just a little slower.

It felt like she was holding Émi for the first time just yesterday, her tiny body so fragile and new. The newborn stage had been brutal—chronic sleep deprivation, constant crying, and the overwhelming fear that she was doing everything wrong. Now that it was behind her, forever stolen by the eternal passage of time—

She missed it. Terribly.

(Maybe one day, she’d have another baby and experience it all again. 

Doubtful, but… maybe.)

For now, Émi was her entire world. Her greatest joy, and her most important responsibility. As Marinette watched her daughter grow, healthy and happy, she felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

Pride.

She was a good mother.

Her therapist, Alya, and Chat Noir had assured her of that countless times. And yet, for the first time—

She wholeheartedly believed it.

Marinette sat cross-legged on the floor of Émi’s bedroom, setting an old cardboard box in front of her. The plush fibres of the ladybug-shaped rug tickled her bare legs as she opened the box flaps, which had been labeled with a red permanent marker. 

Inside the box was a collection of old onesies, neatly folded.

Marinette sighed as her fingers brushed along the multicolored fabrics. She selected one at random and lifted it to inspect it. The onesie was newborn-sized, its bunny pattern faded and stained with who knows what. Her breath hitched as tears stung the corners of her eyes.

Oh.

It was… so… small.

How had Émi ever been that small?

Before she could stop herself, her eyes overflowed, and moisture beaded down her cheeks. She buried her face in the onesie, the scent of old baby powder and lotion filling her nose as she choked on a sob.

She didn’t hear her mother enter until Sabine’s gentle voice broke through the haze. “Marinette?” she asked, standing in the doorway with Émi propped against her hip. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Marinette let out a shaky laugh, swiping at her damp cheeks. “I’m okay, I just…” She sniffed, voice trembling. “I can’t believe Émi used to be this small!” She held up the onesie for her mother to see. “She barely fit in this when she was born… it was almost too big for her. She was so tiny, a-and now she’s trying to crawl and talk. I don’t understand how she’s growing up so fast!”

Sabine knelt beside her, setting Émi down on the rug near a stack of colorful blocks. The baby gasped, patting at them with clumsy hands, oblivious to her mother’s tears.

Sabine pulled Marinette into a warm embrace. “I know the feeling,” she said. “My baby grew up too fast, too.”

Marinette let out a watery chuckle, melting into the hug. “Oh, Maman…”

Sabine pressed a kiss to her daughter’s temple. “She’ll always be your little girl, no matter how old she gets. Just like you’ll always be mine!”

Marinette exhaled slowly, holding the tiny onesie close to her chest. “I was going to get rid of these old clothes to clear some space, but… how can I get rid of these? I know they don’t fit anymore, a-and some of them are nasty. I just… I… I can’t bring myself to throw them out.”

Sabine smiled. “If you have any friends with young babies, I’m sure they’d appreciate the clean ones. Or… you can keep them for your next baby.”

Marinette’s eyes widened slightly. “My next baby?”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised! I remember how often you would talk about wanting three kids. Besides, I want more grandkids.”

For some reason, Marinette hadn’t considered that having more kids was a real possibility. She blinked at the tiny onesie, running her fingers over the worn fabric. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at her lips. 

She folded the onesie and placed it back in the box.

Maybe, one day, she’d meet someone—someone who would love her and her daughter. Someone she could spend an eternity with. Someone who would want to make a life with her. Someone who would want to grow their family as much as she wanted to. 

Or... maybe she’d do it on her own again.

There was nothing wrong with that.

…Not until Émi was older, though.

Much older. 

“Maybe you’re right,” she said.

Sabine chuckled as she stacked a few blocks in front of Émi. “I always am.”

Marinette watched Émi’s eyes lock onto the colorful tower, her mouth slightly agape. For a brief second, the baby hesitated—then, she swiped her tiny hand through the stack, sending the blocks tumbling.

“Oh, no!” Marinette gasped dramatically, playfully snatching Émi into her arms. The baby squealed as Marinette blew raspberries on her tummy. “An Akumatized baby is attacking Paris! Quick, hide all your toys before she destroys them!”

Émi’s laughter was all Marinette needed to soothe her sentimental heart. 

“Émi,” Marinette laughed, scooping up another spoonful of pureed carrots. “Come on, bébé, you have to at least try them.”

Émi pursed her lips in defiance. Then, she smacked the high chair tray, sending a splatter of orange paste flying, catching her mother in the crossfire. 

Marinette sighed as she wiped a glob of mush from her cheek. “Émilie!” she scolded, though sounding stern when her daughter giggled was hard. “Don’t splash me.”

Émi slapped the tray again, smearing food across the white plastic surface.

Marinette tilted her head, watching her with an exasperated smile. “Are you painting with your food? Huh? My little Picasso?”

Émi’s smile widened, and she let out a shriek. Marinette tried to feed her again. The baby turned her head away with a whine.

“Do you really not like carrots?” asked Marinette.

“Bah,” Émi declared with absolute certainty.

“You loved them while I was pregnant,” she said. “I craved them all the time!” 

Émi scrunched her face and growled. 

Marinette sighed. “Yeah, I can’t blame you,” she mused, capping the jar. “I wasn’t a big fan as a kid, either.”

She took a moment to wipe Émi’s face and hands, though the onesie had seen better days. The bib had caught some of the mess, but inevitably, the high chair—and the floor—had taken a hit. Meal times with a six-month-old were always chaotic, especially now that Émi was trying solid foods. Marinette had long since accepted that her kitchen would never be sparkling clean again.

“Alright,” she sighed, unbuckling Émi and lifting her into her arms. “Let’s clean you up before we bring you to Chat Noir. I’d rather not hand him a sticky, stinky baby.”

“Deh!” Émi exclaimed, kicking her feet.

Marinette carried her to the nursery, stripping her down and wiping her with a warm, damp cloth before slipping her into a fresh diaper and outfit. Glancing out the window, she frowned at the last of the autumn leaves drifting gently from the sky, and dressed her daughter in an extra layer, a hat, and mittens just to be safe. Winter had just begun, and not even Paris was spared from its frosty chill.

Once she’d bundled Émi up, Marinette settled her with a bottle in the playpen, hoping it was enough to keep her occupied while she got dressed. As she pulled on her sweater, she found herself thinking about Chat Noir.

(As she often did these days.)

She wasn’t sure when he had become such a constant in her and Émi’s lives. Though she supposed it had been that way since the beginning. 

Once again, he’d volunteered to babysit. Marinette hadn’t even asked—just casually mentioned a work holiday party she had to attend, and he jumped in before she could finish the sentence. He watched so Émi often that it felt like second nature. At first, it had just been the occasional favor. A last-minute request when she had something urgent to take care of or an unexpected visit where he’d offer to keep Émi entertained for an hour or two while she cleaned her apartment. Somehow, he'd now become her go-to babysitter. 

Someone she indefinitely entrusted with her baby.

Her number one.

Her… partner, in a way she had never quite expected.

Marinette’s face warmed. She pushed the idea aside, shaking her head. She didn’t have time to get lost in that train of thought. Not again.

Once ready, she scooped Émi up, thankful to find the bottle nearly empty. Émi had been practicing her motor skills lately and could now hold her bottle entirely on her own. It filled Marinette with a mix of pride and sadness. Her baby still needed her and depended on her for most things. Yet that strict dependency waned more and more every day. 

She peppered Émi’s face with kisses. “I’m gonna miss you tonight, ma chérie. What am I supposed to do without you? Huh? Are you gonna miss me?”

Émi babbled something which Marinette pretended was “yes.”

Marinette grinned, strapping her baby into the chest sling. “I thought so.”

Tikki zipped over from the pantry, nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie. “Ready to go, Marinette?”

Marinette adjusted Émi, double-checking that she was secure. When she was sure her baby was safe, she said, “Spots on.”

“Greetings, my Ladies,” Chat Noir declared when she landed, sweeping into an exaggerated bow. His grin was nothing short of dazzling. “How are my favorite bugs faring this fine evening?”

Ladybug couldn’t help but smile. Despite the wintery chill, warmth spread throughout her body. The moment their eyes met, her heart stuttered. “Freezing,” she admitted, breath misting in the frosty air.

He chuckled, the sound rich and low, humming through the space between them.

Ladybug swallowed, her pulse fluttering.

(She wanted to keep that sound. Hold it close. Consume it, even.)

She blinked.

Down, girl, she scolded herself.

"Let’s make this quick, then." Chat Noir leaned in, his fingers brushing gently over Émi’s cheek. His brow arched in amusement. “Jeez, kid. How many layers did your mom put you in? You look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.” 

Ladybug sucked her teeth in mild annoyance and gave him a good-natured swat on the arm. He pulled back with a laugh. “Don’t tease! I wanted to make sure she was warm enough.”

Émi, however, enjoyed the praise and attention. “Dah,” she said. 

“What’s that?” asked Chat Noir. “You talkin’ to me?”

“Dah.”

He nodded, placing his hand on his chin. His brows screwed together as if he were deep in thought. “Very introspective.” 

“Okay, okay,” giggled Ladybug, unstrapping her baby and handing her to Chat Noir. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to pick her up. I might not be back until late this evening—is that okay?”

Her partner helped her unfasten the baby sling from her chest. He secured it around himself, adjusting the straps before gently tucking Émi inside and affixing the buckles with practiced ease. “Yep! Have fun. I’ve still got the burner phone, so whenever you're ready to get her, text me, call me, whatever's easiest.” 

"Thank you," she said softly, cradling Émi’s cheeks before pressing a tender kiss to her baby’s face. Then, without hesitation, she rose onto her toes and brushed a kiss against Chat Noir’s cheek as well. “I’ll see you later!”

A cheek kiss was a simple gesture, normal enough in their culture, yet somehow different between them.

Charged with something unspoken.

(They hadn’t done this often before. But now, it was expected—every greeting, every goodbye.

And every time, without fail, her heart soared.)

Just as she was about to leave, Chat Noir called after her. “Oh, wait, wait! I almost forgot.” He unzipped one of the front pockets on his suit. He fumbled with it for a moment before producing a small envelope. 

Ladybug raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He handed it to her. “A gift for you.”

“A gift?” she laughed, taken aback as she stared at the envelope. “What for?”

He shrugged, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. I mean, I know things are getting easier for you since Minibug has been sleeping better, but… I noticed that it seems like your back has been hurting, probably from carrying Minibug around all the time, and you’ve been stressed from work. I just thought you deserved something nice. Y’know, to help you relax. A self-care day, I guess. A self… rejuvenation day?”

Ladybug studied the envelope, her brow quirked as she glanced up at Chat Noir. Carefully, she tore it open, her fingers trembling slightly from the cold. She pulled out a small plastic card. As she turned it over, her eyes widened. 

It was a gift card to a local spa. And not just any spa, either—a fancy one.

Her mouth fell slightly agape as she read the details on the back. An entire spa day. A massage, facial, mani-pedi, sauna… the works!

She blinked, stunned.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “A-and, you know, whenever you want to go—you don’t have to, of course—but just say the word, and I’ll watch Minibug. No problem.”

Holy shit.

A whole day to herself. An entire day to relax…

What?

(How much had that cost?)

“Kitty,” she breathed, staring at the gift card in shock. “Why?”

He shrugged, suddenly bashful of all things. “Well… you take care of Minibug every day. You deserve to be taken care of, too.”

Oh.

Something about hearing that was… nice.

(She could take care of herself just fine, but why did Chat Noir’s offer to take care of her make her feel so giddy and safe?)

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said.

“I know.” His smile softened. “I wanted to.”

Something in her chest tightened. Something velvety and warm and aching.

She swallowed, pressing the certificate against her heart. “Chaton… I don’t know what to say…”

His lips quirked into a teasing smirk. “A ‘thank you’ would suffice, I think.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him, careful not to squish Émi between them. His body tensed for just a second before melting into her embrace.

When she pulled back, she didn’t let go completely. Instead, she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing over the curve of his face and the edge of his mask. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, his breath just slightly uneven.

“You’re amazing,” she said. “Thank you, Kitty.”

To her delight, a light shade of pink bloomed across his cheeks. “A-anytime, chérie.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek again, lingering just long enough for him to notice. Long enough to leave him flustered. When she pulled away, his flush deepened, coloring his face brilliantly red from ears to nose. Her heart did a victorious little flip.

(Hehe.)

Émi shrieked, as if she wholeheartedly approved.

Ladybug laughed. “Okay, okay. I have to go. Remember, she's crawling now—you have your place baby-proofed?”

Chat Noir nodded, still in a somewhat stupor. “Y-yeah, all good.”

“Watch her, she's quick,” she warned. “Turn your back for one second and she'll be in another room.”

He chuckled. “Noted.”

Ladybug grinned, blowing them both a kiss. “Okay, bye! See you later, my bébés.”

Chat Noir flashed her a smile. “Bye, ma belle.”

Then she leaped away.

She was nearly late for the party. But it was worth it.

The burner phone was an easy way for her and Chat Noir to communicate when he babysat.

Their messages were mostly straightforward—pickup times, feeding schedules, and updates on how Émi was doing. Professional. Efficient. Every so often, he'd send her photos. The photos always included Émi. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still, in the background, there were often subtle details—fleeting hints of his life beyond the mask. The light beige of his walls, the textured carpet beneath them, or his bare hands as he interacted with Émi. Details that made her feel slightly more privy to his life, yet small enough not to give away his identity.

Marinette’s burner phone buzzed in her pocket several times during her work party. She tapped her foot against the floor, leg jiggling with nerves as she conversed with her coworkers and enjoyed a few drinks. Once there was a lull in the conversation, she eagerly ran to the restroom to check her phone, expecting the worst—

Only to open the various photos Chat Noir had sent her and break into a laugh. 

He’d dressed her to the nines. Her sweet Émi, usually the type to wear cute, frilly little dresses Marinette had designed herself, wore a fancy suit, adult shades placed over her mask, and a glittering, too-big wristwatch that dangled from her arm. Her baby smiled for the photo, drool dribbling from her bottom lip. 

Chat Noir
We're having our own party tonight.
This baby is too cool for me.
Look at her. Look at those cool shades.
She means business.
Baby business.

Ladybug
is she wearing a rolex
wait a minute
those are gabriel brand sunglasses
chat noir how much money is my baby wearing in that photo
why is she flexing on me
why are YOU flexing on me

Chat Noir
She can’t talk right now, she has an important business meeting in two minutes.
Diaper stocks are up.
Also the watch and glasses were gifts
I did not buy them with my own money
I bought the suit though.
But it wasn’t expensive! 

Ladybug
you are lying to me
you are rich aren't you
you’re letting my daughter embezzle your funds

Chat Noir
She can have whatever she wants.

As he sent her more photos of her daughter dressed in her little suit, Marinette saved them all in her gallery. She was halfway tempted to make one of them her lock screen, but… part of her enjoyed the fact that these photos were something private between Chat Noir and herself. 

It was nice to talk with him.

To joke with him.

To text him, simply because she could.

(If she were honest with herself, all she wanted to do these days was talk to him.

It sounded silly to admit out loud.)

When Marinette finally took her long-awaited spa day, it felt like a breath of fresh air after months of nonstop exhaustion. The tension in her shoulders melted beneath the expert hands of the masseuse, the warmth of the sauna seeped into her bones, and the facial and mani-pedi left her feeling radiant in a way she hadn’t in ages. By the time she stepped out, she felt lighter and refreshed, almost like she was glowing from the inside out.

Snowflakes collected in her hair as she soared through the air with her yo-yo, making her way to the rendezvous spot to retrieve Émi. She landed in front of Chat Noir and flashed him a smile, though she noticed his eyes lingered on her longer than usual. A flicker of something unreadable crossed between them. He greeted her, handed over Émi, and then they hugged goodbye—her usual kiss pressed to his cheek. Before they broke the embrace, he hesitated momentarily before tilting his head ever so slightly, nuzzling his nose against the curve of her neck.

“You smell divine,” he said, his voice soft and deep. 

A shiver ran down Ladybug’s spine, heat blooming beneath her skin where his nose had brushed. It was brief, but it left her breath catching in her throat. Her heart fluttered traitorously.

“Chat Noir,” she giggled. "Behave."

“It’s hard to behave when you smell like that.”

Like what? Like rosewater and fragrant floral oils from the spa? Or…

(Like something he wanted?)

Ladybug chuckled as she reluctantly pulled away, the absence of his embrace leaving a lingering pang. She playfully tapped him on the tip of his nose. “Careful, Kitty. There’s no catnip around here.”

“Maybe not,” he said, gracing her with his signature smirk. “But there’s certainly a treat.”

Oh.

Um.

Hehe.

Another tingle ran up her spine.

(Maybe she needed to behave.)

“Don’t flirt with me in front of my baby,” she joked, covering Émi’s ears. “Unless you want her getting the wrong idea about us.”

His smirk widened. “Wouldn’t dream of misconstruing our platonic relationship, my Lady.”

“Good.” She winked. “Thanks again for watching her. And for the spa day. I really needed that. I feel so much better.”

His smile turned genuine. “I’m happy to hear that. I’m always here to help, you know. Or treat you to a special day if you need it.”

“Are you my sugar daddy?” she teased.

He snorted. “That’s not the kind of daddy I want to be.”

“Dah,” said Émi.

Every day, Émi learned something new. She grew more confident and clever. Whether it was crawling faster, solving puzzles, or babbling in ways that almost resembled words, her quick progress often blew Marinette away. Whenever she’d consult her pediatrician about milestones, Marinette would learn that her little girl was right on track. Exceeding some milestones, even. 

Émi’s curiosity knew no bounds. She was so damn smart for such a young child. Marinette liked to believe she got it from her Maman. After all, she had been her first teacher. And maybe her daughter’s cleverness came from the fact that her mother also happened to moonlight as a certain superhero.

Marinette loved picking out new toys and puzzles to challenge her. It was endlessly rewarding to watch Émi’s tiny brows furrow in concentration as she tried to stack her play rings or figure out how to pull a tissue from a box, then burst into delighted triumph once she cracked the code.

She was growing more social, too. Less scared of unfamiliar faces. Marinette knew that a healthy dose of caution around strangers was a good thing, but Émi crying every time a trusted adult held her hadn’t exactly been ideal. Frequent outings and the once-a-month meetups with her mom friends—rotating playdates at each other’s homes—were gradually easing Émi’s social anxiety. The kids got time to play and build early social skills, while the parents got a much-needed break and a chance to reconnect.

Parenthood allowed little free time to spend with friends. They had to take any opportunities they could. 

Today, they had gathered at Alya’s apartment, and already, it was a scene of barely controlled chaos. Mylène had her hands full with her triplets, who, at three years old, had endless energy. The boys circled the living room while their sister eagerly gave chase. Mélodie, already nearing two, repeatedly pressed a toy musical guitar, restarting its song over and over again in a maddening loop. And Rose and Juleka’s newborn son, only a month old, fussed in Rose’s arms. 

Marinette smiled, bittersweet as she watched the new mothers soothe their child.

It felt strange not having the youngest baby in the group anymore.

It was also strangely validating when Rose and Juleka came to her for advice. Not long ago, she’d been the new mom, panicking over every little thing, unsure if she was doing anything right. Now, she had enough experience to offer guidance—even if she still felt like she was figuring it all out herself.

(But wasn’t that just parenthood? Never knowing if you’re doing things right, but doing your best anyway?)

A loud bang, bang, bang against the tile jolted her from her thoughts.

Émi enthusiastically slammed a wooden spoon against the floor. Whoever had given her a spoon, she wasn’t sure. Why had someone given her a spoon? Where did she get it from? 

Probably one of the older kids.

Marinette winced. “Sorry,” she said, glancing at Alya with an apologetic smile as she settled her hand over Émi's to quiet the racket. “Émi learned how to make noise recently, and she’s really been enjoying it.”

Alya chuckled, waving off the concern. “Oh, don’t even worry about it. I’m used to tuning loud noises out.”

Mélodie, drawn by the commotion, toddled over and watched Émi for a moment. Then, she snatched the spoon from Émi’s grasp and started banging it herself.

Émi froze. Her tiny lips wobbled, her expression crumpling as betrayal set in. As expected, the wails followed.

Her friends fell into a brief silence.

Alya sighed, already kneeling beside her daughter. “Mélodie, that was mean. We don’t take things from people without asking first.”

Mélodie, wholly uninterested in the lesson, continued banging on the floor as if nothing had happened.

Alya’s expression flattened. “Mélodie, give me the spoon.”

“No,” said Mélodie, not even looking up.

Marinette scooped Émi into her arms and sat her on her lap, gently bouncing her as she went to pull her favorite jingly cat toy from her purse. Strangely, it wasn’t there. Guilt bit at her insides as she realized she must have left it at home. Instead, she pulled out her apartment keys and jingled them. The moment the familiar sound reached her ears, Émi's sniffles faltered. Within seconds, her distress over the stolen spoon was forgotten.

“It’s alright, Alya,” Marinette reassured, brushing a soothing hand over Émi’s back. “She’s fine.”

“It’s not alright,” Alya countered, her tone firm but patient. “Mélodie needs to learn she can’t just take things from others.”

Marinette glanced at Mélodie. The toddler seemed to be pretending she hadn't heard a word of what anyone had said.

“Mélodie.” Alya’s voice took on a sharper edge, the kind of no-nonsense tone that made even Marinette sit up straighter. “Give me the spoon. Now.”

Mélodie hesitated. Her eyes flicked from the floor, to the spoon, to Marinette, and then, finally, to her mother.

Alya raised an eyebrow, hand outstretched expectantly.

Slowly, Mélodie handed the spoon over.

“Thank you,” Alya said, her tone softening. “Good job. Now, what do you say to Émi?”

Mélodie shuffled in place, arms crossing stubbornly.

Alya didn’t let up. “Mélodie.”

The little girl sighed dramatically before mumbling, “I sorry.”

Marinette smiled. “Thank you, Mélodie. Émi appreciates your apology. Don't you, Émi?”

But Émi, now thoroughly distracted by the jingling keys, had already moved on.

Mylène laughed from her spot on the couch, glancing at one of her triplets as he tripped and fell. Her eyes widened for a moment, but then her boy righted himself without seldom a peep, and she smiled. “You handled that well, Alya. I remember how defiant mine were at that age. She’ll grow out of it. Hopefully.”

Alya exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Toddlers, man.”

Rose chuckled, her fingers brushing over her baby boy's head. “You’re doing great. Mélodie’s just at that age where everything makes her wanna...” She mimed a growl, though it looked more like she was trying to imitate an angry bear. “You know?”

Juleka murmured in agreement.

Marinette watched as Émi happily jabbered to herself, blissfully unaware of the toddler politics that had just taken place. “I don’t look forward to the day I have to be strict with Émi,” she said. “I don’t know if I could.”

Alya sat beside her, casting a watchful eye on Mélodie as she eagerly pressed the same button on the toy guitar again and again, restarting the same song in the same endless, distracting loop. If it bothered Alya, she didn’t show it, smiling as she turned back to Marinette.

“Sometimes you have to be firm,” Alya said, nodding toward Mélodie. “It’s tough at first, and yeah, you feel guilty. But if we’re too permissive all the time, it’s not good for them. They need to learn boundaries. That actions have consequences and all that.”

Marinette hummed in response, shifting Émi in her arms so she could press a soft kiss to her daughter’s chubby cheek. “Are you gonna give me trouble one day, huh?” she cooed. “Are you gonna drive me up the wall?”

Émi cooed back. “Mah.”

Marinette gasped. Her eyes went wide as she pulled back to look at her baby’s face. “Mah?” she echoed, excitement rising in her chest. “Are you trying to say ‘mama?’”

Émi grinned, reveling in the attention. “Mah.”

“Mama,” Marinette encouraged, holding her up.

“Muh.”

“Mama,” she tried one last time, heart thrumming with anticipation.

Émi opened her mouth, her lips miming the words—

And then she spat up all over herself and Marinette’s shirt.

Marinette deflated. “Okay.”

Over the years he’d lived alone, Adrien had grown to enjoy grocery shopping.

Once a week, he had complete control over what he wanted to eat. He could try new foods, experiment with different cooking methods, and, of course, pick up whatever cheese Plagg demanded. It had become more than just a chore. It was a reminder that he could make his own choices.

Something he hadn’t always been able to do growing up.

And since he’d stopped modeling at eighteen, he had come to appreciate the anonymity that came with being outside the public’s view. Well, when he wasn’t Chat Noir, of course. 

He could walk through the aisles unnoticed, as any other person could, because that’s all he was. Just another person going about his day. An NPC in the background of other people’s lives. No cameras. No expectations. Just a normal twenty-six-year-old guy. And that was nice.

Ever since he’d made soup for Ladybug when she was pregnant, cooking had become one of his favorite hobbies. It was fun, experimenting with flavors, learning from his mistakes, and tweaking recipes until they were just right. In the beginning, he’d burned more meals than he cared to admit, and there had been more than a few nights of regrettable fast-food binges, mourning over the charred food in the trash. Over time, he liked to think he’d improved. Meal kits, online tutorials, cookbooks—he had tried it all. And now he had the privilege of saying he was a pretty decent cook.

This week, he had planned his meals in detail, making a list on his phone of every ingredient he’d need. As he moved through the aisles, he followed his usual route—start with produce, grab his dry goods, then finish in the dairy and frozen section. Meat would come from the butcher on the way home, and he’d make a final stop at Tom and Sabine’s bakery for fresh bread.

(That last stop he consistently looked forward to. Tom and Sabine were always delighted to see him. Back when Marinette still lived with them, it had been a weekly excuse to share conversation with an old friend. 

He didn’t see her as often anymore.

…He missed her.

But that was okay. She had a baby now. She was busy. He understood.)

As Adrien passed the cheese aisle, he casually tossed ten wheels of Camembert into his cart. The cashiers had long since stopped giving him puzzled looks, having accepted that, for whatever reason, he was just the guy who bought an absurd amount of cheese every week. The rare kind of weirdo that only appears in school children's math books.

(At this point, he was pretty sure his sense of smell had been permanently damaged from years of stocking Plagg’s personal stash, but if it kept his Kwami happy, he wasn’t about to complain.)

He could feel Plagg vibrating with excitement in his coat pocket. To keep him occupied, Adrien opened a package and slipped him a piece. He’d just tell the cashier he got hungry while shopping. Even if the idea of eating Camembert as a snack was nauseating. 

As he rounded the corner and pushed his cart down the drink aisle, a familiar squeal rose to his ears. 

A baby’s squeal.

His heart stuttered.

Then it came again. 

He froze in his tracks. 

(He’d know that little shriek anywhere.

Minibug.)

The woman’s laugh that followed was unmistakable; a sweet sound that made warmth bloom in his chest. 

He knew that laugh. He loved that laugh. 

And it was coming from the next aisle over.

And… if Minibug was on the next aisle over, that meant…

Ladybug was on the next aisle over.

Adrien swallowed, gripping the cart handle so tightly that his knuckles went white.

He could walk over there right now. He could pretend he was looking for something, casually push his cart past her, and steal a glance.

After ten years, he could finally know her identity.

It would be so easy.

But—no.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Their partnership—their friendship—was more important than his curiosity.

Her trust in him was far more important. And he would never betray her trust.

He was about to turn and leave when the voice once again floated from the aisle next to him, making him pause. His ears perked up.

“Émi,” she said, drawing closer. “Shh. No screaming.”

Oh.

Wait a minute.

That…

He must’ve been confused, because…

That wasn’t Minibug, or Ladybug. 

That was—

Marinette pushed her cart into his aisle. Émi sat comfortably in the front seat. When Adrien’s eyes met Marinette’s, she straightened, then offered him a warm, if slightly tired, smile.

“Oh,” he said. “Hi, Marinette.”

"A-Adrien," she greeted, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Hi.”

Adrien still felt slightly rattled by how convinced he’d been that he’d heard Minibug’s laugh. He shook the thought away. Maybe he’d just been spending too much time around babies lately. They all sounded kind of similar, right?

(And yet… something still nagged at him.)

Before he could dwell on it, Émi twisted her body to face him and cooed, her little face brightening with recognition. “Dah!” she gasped, eyes wide.

Marinette chuckled, adjusting her hold on the cart. "She's been saying that a lot. No clue what it means yet."

A fond warmth bloomed in Adrien’s chest as he stepped closer. “Maybe she’s just excited to see me.”

Émi stretched her arms toward him, little hands opening and closing, her lower lip jutting in an insistent pout. And then—

She screamed.

Marinette winced, shoulders hunching as she threw Adrien an apologetic look. “Sorry. She’s been learning to use her lungs lately.”

Émi screamed again, louder this time, wriggling from side to side in her seat as she tried to break free with increasing desperation.

Marinette’s cheeks turned a light pink. “Émi, no, honey. Adrien can’t hold you right now. He’s shopping. We don’t want to bother him.”

But it was too late. Tears welled in Émi’s eyes, her face scrunched up, and she wailed.

Adrien’s heart clenched. “I—I can hold her, if she wants me to,” he offered quickly.

Marinette forced a smile as Émi’s cries grew more insistent. “N-no, it’s okay. You’re busy! We won’t keep you.”

Adrien glanced between her cart and his. Both were still mostly empty, save for his usual haul of Camembert and a few produce items. He reached back to scratch his neck, hesitating for a moment before blurting, “I mean… we’re both here. We could, um, shop together? If you want.”

(Truth be told, he could really use the company. He loved his job and students, but outside of patrols and Akuma fights, he spent little time casually catching up with friends.)

Marinette’s tired expression softened. For a moment, her gaze flicked to his cart, and he braced himself for the inevitable comment about the absurd amount of cheese, especially as her eyes narrowed—

But, to his relief, she said nothing.

Her smile returned, a little brighter. “Oh. Y-yeah! Sure! That sounds nice.”

“Here,” Adrien said, stepping up to the front of Marinette’s cart. “Let’s calm her down. Is it okay if I hold her?”

Marinette exhaled, shoulders dropping in relief. “Please.”

He unbuckled Émi from the seat and lifted her into his arms. “Hey, hey,” he soothed. “It’s okay, I’ve got you now. No more tears, alright?”

Émi’s sobs tapered off into little sniffles. Her body trembled for a moment before she finally relaxed, nuzzling against his chest and releasing a sigh that seemed far too heavy for such a little baby.

Adrien felt the dampness seeping into his shirt—baby tears, drool, and probably some snot, too. But he didn’t care.

It just… felt nice.

To be needed.

To be wanted.

“There,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles on her back. “All better, huh? Was that all you needed?”

Marinette let out a breathy chuckle. “Y-yeah. I guess… all she wanted was you.”

…Huh.

Adrien hesitated for a beat, something about the moment striking a familiar chord, but he let it pass. Déjà vu, he supposed.

Instead, he glanced at Marinette’s cart, then at his own, and shifted Émi to one arm.

“Let’s make this easier,” he said. With one hand, he began transferring her groceries into his cart. “That way, I can push the buggy and hold her at the same time. We can split it up at the register later.”

Marinette blinked at him in surprise before a small smile tugged at her lips. She stepped forward and placed her hands firmly on the cart handle. “Here, let me. You’re already dealing with my fussy baby. The least I can do is push the cart.”

“Oh.” He grinned. “Be my guest.”

Grocery shopping with a friend was pleasant.

They moved up and down the aisles, chatting as they grabbed what they needed, seamlessly trading between who held Émi and who pushed the cart. It felt... natural.

For just a moment, Adrien let himself pretend that he was shopping with his family.

But that was just a silly fantasy. A fleeting daydream meant to soothe the ache in his chest and make life feel a little less lonely. Nothing more than a wayward wish that would fade with time, like all the others.

Besides, his heart belonged to Ladybug. He didn’t see Marinette that way.

(Well… not as much as he saw Ladybug that way, at least.)

Once their shopping was done, they took the Métro together. Adrien’s stomach growled on the ride, and despite the noisy train, Marinette still heard it. She laughed, that same adorable, slightly snorty laugh he’d loved since collège.

After a quick stop at her parents’ bakery—where Tom and Sabine eagerly cooed over their granddaughter and all but begged Marinette to let Émi stay for the afternoon—his stomach growled again, and Marinette took pity on him.

“Do you want to grab lunch somewhere?” Marinette asked.

Adrien blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Oh. Uh, yeah! Sure.” His gaze shifted toward the bags in their hands. “But… what about the groceries?”

“Your place is close, right?” she said, already turning toward the street. “Can we drop them off there?”

His smile widened, warmth curling in his chest. “Yeah!”

When they made it to his house and set their groceries down, his cats swarmed them in welcome, weaving between their legs. Marinette stumbled over Escargot—who had a lifelong mission to trip people—and Adrien instinctively reached out, catching her with Émi squished between them.

The baby squealed with laughter.

Adrien's arms tightened reflexively, holding Marinette closer, and for a second, the world shrank to just the three of them. His legs brushed hers, her palms pressed against his chest, and their faces were merely centimeters apart.

Émi giggled between them.

Oh.

Um.

Marinette was…

Very close.

Close enough to smell her perfume—faint, but sweet and subtly floral. 

Close enough that he could see all the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks.

Close enough that he could feel her pulse.

(Close enough to make them both blush.)

Marinette’s breath hitched. Eyes wide, cheeks blooming scarlet. Then she leaped away. “S-sorry! Um. Thanks… for catching me.”

Adrien chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's alright. Sorry about the cats. They get a little too excited around new people.”

“No, no—it’s fine,” she said quickly, crouching to greet the curious pair sniffing her ankles. “They’re adorable! I—uh—I love cats.”

His heart stuttered. “Do you?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t say.”

As Adrien moved to the kitchen to unload their groceries, Marinette knelt to set Émi on the floor. The baby lit up at the sight of the cats and squealed again, reaching out toward them. Curiously, Biscuit hissed at her and bolted away.

That was... odd. Biscuit was his friendliest cat. She loved new people.

Why didn't she like Émi?

...Maybe when Minibug had grabbed her ear that one time, it had scarred her, and now she automatically associated all babies with pain.

That made sense. 

Sad, though.

Adrien glanced back to see Marinette laughing (the kind of laugh that made his chest ache in the best way.) She released Émi, and instead of hesitating or clinging close to her mom, nervous about being in new surroundings, the baby immediately crawled across the room, acting like she owned the damn place.

Huh, that was funny.

Émi made a beeline for the toy bin in the corner, which Adrien kept stocked for Minibug’s visits. She reached right in, pulled out a jingly cat toy, and started gnawing on its head.

Adrien’s brows lifted.

…Huh.

(It was almost like she knew the toy was there.)

Weird.

Maybe it was just baby intuition. Or maybe the toy had been sitting in a way that it caught her eye from across the room. 

Yeah, probably that.

Émi crawled back and held the toy out to Marinette, who accepted it with a puzzled look.

“Thank you, Émi,” she said, forehead creased. “Where did you find this…?”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck again, a little sheepish. “Oh, I, uh… I babysit for a friend sometimes. I keep some toys around just in case.”

(He didn’t remember buying that one, though.)

“Oh,” Marinette said. Still, she didn’t look up from the toy. “That’s funny. Émi has one just like it, but it’s been missing for a few days.”

Ohh, Adrien thought. So that’s why she’d grabbed it. She has the same one at home. 

“She can keep it, if she wants,” he offered. 

Marinette chuckled, passing the toy back to Émi. “No need. I’m sure ours is around the apartment somewhere. But thanks.”

While Adrien resumed putting away the groceries, Marinette sat cross-legged on the floor beside Émi, who happily chewed on the plush toy. 

Something about hearing their voices—their laughter—made Adrien feel warm. 

His house felt fuller. 

Like it was meant to hold more than one voice.

(Like it was meant to hold a family.)

He shook the thought away before it could strengthen the ache in his heart. 

Spending time with Marinette like this was… different. Typically, their hangouts included Alya and Nino, which always incorporated some welcome chaos. But being with just Marinette (and Émi, of course) felt calmer. 

(And Marinette was beautiful. He’d always known that, of course. But sometimes—when she wasn’t looking—he’d catch himself staring. At how the sunlight streaming through the windows turned flecks of her blue eyes to gold, or how the freckles across her cheeks reminded him of tiny constellations. And in those fleeting moments, he forgot how to breathe.)

Before he could lose himself to his reflections, it was Marinette’s turn for her stomach to growl. She glanced up at him, slightly embarrassed.

“I guess we should figure out lunch,” he said. “You know, um… instead of going out… I could cook for us, if you want. I-I mean, we’re already here.”

Marinette’s eyes sparkled. “Since when do you cook?”

He chuckled. “I’ve been cooking a lot, recently. Just wait—I’ll surprise you.”

She smiled, turning back to her baby. “You want Adrien to cook for us, Émi? Huh?”

“Dah,” said Émi.

He figured that was as good a yes as any. So he got to work, returning to his kitchen to whip up a quick meal. He made something easy and familiar—a quick, savory pasta that he hoped would taste as good as it smelled. 

It was nice to have a friend over for a meal. It was certainly a rare occurrence.

He didn’t have a highchair for Émi, so she sat on Marinette’s lap. When he plated their food and set the table, Marinette retrieved a jar of baby food from her diaper bag before taking a seat next to him. She thanked him for the meal, and he beamed proudly at her compliments, especially when she said the food smelled amazing.

Instead of digging into her food, she immediately focused on feeding her daughter, barely sparing a glance at her meal as she spooned mashed peas into Émi’s mouth.

Adrien heard her stomach rumbling. He glanced down at his plate, guilt gnawing at him as he realized he’d already eaten half of his food. “Your food is going to get cold,” he said.

Marinette sighed, offering a small, tired smile. “I know. But it’s okay. I’m used to it. Gotta feed the baby first.”

“Here,” he said, scooting his chair closer. “Let me. You eat.”

She blinked, hesitating. “Are you sure? She’s messy. And fussy. And she might throw food at you, gorgeous—I mean, your gorgeous face—I mean—your... face.”

He chuckled, holding out his hand. “I think I can handle a little mess. Right, Émi?”

The baby smacked the table. “Dah!”

“See? She agrees.” He wiggled his fingers expectantly. “Let me help. Please? If only so you can be a fair judge of my cooking.”

Marinette looked at Émi again before exhaling, finally surrendering the spoon into his waiting hand. “...O-okay. Thank you.”

He scooped Émi up and placed her on his lap. She had no complaints about the switch. If anything, she seemed thrilled, flashing Adrien a massive grin as he carefully fed her another spoonful. She enjoyed being fed, at least. 

(It felt good. To be helpful. 

To be wanted.)

Émi beamed up at him, her bright eyes locking onto his. Then, she reached forward, beckoning him, and he leaned in so her tiny fingers—sticky with baby food—could press against his cheek.

“Dah,” she whispered.

Adrien’s heart squeezed. His smile softened.

(To be loved.)

When their stomachs were full and plates were empty, Marinette offered to do the dishes, but he waved her off with a smile. She was his guest—he was more than happy to do the work.

And later, when she gathered her groceries and finally said her goodbyes, he wilted at the sound of Émi’s wails as she walked away.

His house seemed lonely without them.

But at least his heart felt full.

Chapter Text

“So…” Alya drawled, drumming her fingers against the café table. A smirk already tugged at her lips. “Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.”

Marinette arched a brow, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her cappuccino. “Yep. It is.”

“Got any plans?”

Marinette scoffed good-naturedly and shook her head. “Oh, you know. Staying home. Taking care of my baby.”

From her stroller beside the table, Émi cooed.

Alya’s expression fell flat. “Oh, come on! No plans? Really?”

“I have plans,” Marinette countered. “I just told you.”

“That’s not Valentine’s Day plans. That's just a regular Tuesday plan.”

Marinette smiled. “Well, when you’re a single mom without a date, they’re the same.”

“No fun,” Alya huffed, tapping a manicured nail against her mug. Then her expression brightened. “What if I found you a date?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for dating. If Émi isn’t taking up every second of my day, work is. Among, well…” Her fingers brushed against her earrings. “Other things.”

Alya’s gaze softened. She traced the rim of her coffee cup. “I get it. Really, I do. But, girl, you haven’t gone out for Valentine’s Day since lycée. Don’t you ever want to—I don’t know—meet someone? Have a little fun?”

Marinette snorted. “Alya, the last time I was spontaneous like that, I ended up pregnant.” Émi let out a squeal from her stroller. Marinette reached over to stroke her cheek. “No offense, baby.”

Alya laughed, though the mirth in her eyes faded into something more serious. “Look, I won’t push if you’re really not interested. But, Marinette… you never go out anymore. I know how much time a baby takes—believe me—but do you ever get time for yourself?”

Marinette shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Even as she said it, doubt crept in.

Sure, her parents or Chat Noir would watch Émi for a few hours here and there, but that was usually so she could clean, run errands, or catch up on the mountain of responsibilities that came with being a single mom. 

When was the last time she did something just for herself?

(The spa day came to mind, but Chat Noir had paid for that. She wouldn’t have gone if he hadn’t already spent the money or offered to watch Émi. And that had been well over a month ago.)

The realization settled heavily in her chest. Émi was everything to her—her entire world and greatest joy. And yet, she couldn’t deny how nice the idea of a night out sounded. 

The reality of single parenting was that there was no one to tag in when she just needed a moment to breathe. If she had a partner, maybe she could steal a day for herself now and then. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so guilty at the thought of stepping away.

But she was Émi’s only full-time caretaker. She wasn’t sure she could justify leaving her baby just so she could go out and have fun, even for one night. The idea felt unbearably selfish.

“I… I guess not,” Marinette finally admitted, her fingers tightening around her coffee mug. “My day is always jam-packed with Émi, work, and…” She hesitated, then gestured to her earrings, “other responsibilities. I don’t even think about doing anything for myself anymore. It just doesn’t occur to me that I could, or should.”

Alya frowned. “You never do anything for yourself?”

Marinette let out a small sigh, stirring the foam in her cappuccino with her spoon. “I mean, sometimes I sew or crochet when Émi’s asleep. I’ve been working on a blanket for months, and it’s not even close to being done. Most nights, I’m too exhausted for hobbies, let alone going out with friends.”

Alya reached across the table to squeeze Marinette’s hand. She stayed quiet for a long moment, her brows furrowed in thought. Then, suddenly, her face lit up. “How about you go out with Nino and me tomorrow?”

Marinette smiled, but the idea didn’t exactly spark excitement. “Alya, I love you, but… I don’t want to be a third wheel. No offense.”

Alya waved her hands dismissively. “No, no! Bring a date! Then it’d be a double date. No third-wheeling, no awkwardness—just four people having a great time.”

Marinette took a slow sip of her coffee. “I don’t know, Alya. I don’t have a date. And I definitely don’t have time to find one.”

Alya’s grin turned almost mischievous. “That’s what I’m here for! I’ll find you one.”

Marinette groaned. “Alya…”

But her best friend was already pulling out her phone, fingers flying over the screen at lightning speed. “I know just who to ask.”

Marinette laughed, shaking her head. “H-hold on a second! I haven’t even agreed to this yet. Besides, you can’t just invite me without checking with Nino first. I don’t want to barge into whatever romantic evening you had planned.”

Alya snorted. “Romantic evening? Please. Nino and I have been together for over ten years. You know what our grand Valentine’s Day plans were? Staying home, ordering takeout, and binge-watching crappy reality TV.”

“I don’t want to interrupt that, either!”

“You wouldn’t be interrupting. We’d have way more fun going out with you.” Alya waggled her eyebrows. “Especially if you had a hot date.”

Marinette groaned again, rubbing her temples. “Alya…”

Alya sighed and finally set her phone down. “Fine, fine. I’ll ask Nino first. But if he says yes… will you at least consider it?”

Marinette exhaled slowly, staring into the swirling foam of her cappuccino. The idea of going out, dressing up, laughing over dinner, and feeling like her old self for just one night was tempting. She could certainly use the break. Even so, guilt was funny like that—it had a way of inching in, even when it had no place to. 

Could she really take a night off mom duty just for fun? Would it even be fair to whoever Alya invited? If they ended up hitting it off… what if that person didn’t want to be with someone who already had a kid? 

What if they didn’t want that baggage?

Would her love life once again end up in disappointment?

(Was it even fair to Émi to bring an unfamiliar person into her life, should Marinette enter a relationship with them?

Then again… was it fair to her to remain single forever?)

Ah—she was thinking too hard about this.

It was just one night. Nothing had to happen.

Besides, her parents would be thrilled to watch Émi for a few hours. They’d been begging her to visit anyway. And it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to step outside of the mom role for just one evening.

It was just one night.

She sighed. “I guess I could ask my parents to watch Émi for the night.”

Alya practically beamed. “Yes! You won’t regret this. We’re gonna have so much fun. I promise!”

Though a small part of her still hesitated, Marinette supposed it would be polite to offer a smile. “…If you say so.”

Marinette pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders as another icy gust of wind swept through the street, making her shiver. The remnants of half-melted ice glistened on the road under the dim glow of streetlights. The sky had been heavy with clouds all afternoon, threatening a downpour even into the evening, but so far, the weather had held. She hoped it would stay that way.

She had put way too much effort into her appearance tonight for rain or snow to ruin it.

Though she had lost a good amount of the weight she’d gained since Émi was born, thanks to a mix of frequent rooftop acrobatics, exercises at home, and daily stroller walks through the park, her body still wasn’t quite the same as it had been before pregnancy.

And that was okay.

It might never be the same.

And that was okay, too.

She had long since come to terms with that.

(Mostly.)

Even so, wearing a form-fitting dress beneath her coat left her feeling a little… exposed. She hadn’t had a flat stomach in well over a year and probably never would again. There was still a tiny part of her that felt self-conscious about the soft curve of her belly, and the feeling of her dress clinging to her in places it wouldn’t have before.

But then again, she had grown a whole human being and given birth. That feat was worth a little change. She reminded herself to wear her stretch marks with pride.

Still, the idea of dating again made her hesitant. There were a plethora of reasons she felt apprehensive, including a slight prick of insecurity that she was trying to will away. However, the most prevalent reason was that she simply did not have time for it.

Émi was her world, her first and most important priority. Anyone Marinette considered dating would need to understand that they were always going to come second to her daughter. And if they didn’t, well… they weren’t the right person for her.

(Did she even really want to date anyone?

The idea wasn’t exactly appealing.

Unless, well…)

Her eyes flicked toward the rooftops.

(Well.

Never mind.)

Marinette glanced down at her phone, checking the directions Alya had sent her. The restaurant wasn’t far, just a few more blocks. She had taken the Métro to the closest stop and needed to walk the rest of the way, regretting that she hadn’t dressed warmer.

Tikki peeked her head out of Marinette’s purse. “Who do you think your date will be, Marinette?”

Marinette chuckled, though her stomach felt as if it was tying itself in knots. “I-I don’t know, Tikki.”

“What if it’s someone you know?”

“I hope not. That’d be a little awkward.”

Tikki giggled. “Oh, just let loose and have fun. You deserve a nice night!”

“I’ll try,” she said with a soft smile.

By some miracle, she reached the restaurant on time. That alone felt like a personal victory. As she reached the entrance, already anticipating the reprieve the internal heating would bring as warm, yellow light pooled from the windows, her eyes landed on a familiar face outside the doors.

Her breath hitched. As she exhaled, a puff of frost ghosted from her lips.

Oh—

Adrien stood near the front, dressed as handsomely as always.

He met her gaze with a friendly smile. “Hey, Marinette. You look stunning! Are you joining us this evening?”

Marinette blinked. Then blinked again.

She glanced around, searching for Alya and Nino. They were nowhere in sight.

Her gaze snapped back to Adrien. “I… I, uh…” She swallowed, her voice coming out breathy and unsure. “I was supposed to meet Alya and Nino.”

Adrien perked up. “Oh! So you are joining us. Great!”

Marinette’s brain stuttered.

Alya hadn’t told her Adrien was coming.

Which was… fine. 

Right?

(Still, she felt a little bad that Adrien would be a fifth wheel, with Alya and Nino together, as well as herself and her mystery date.)

She shifted on her feet, clutching the strap of her purse. “I-I guess so,” she said, forcing a small smile despite her growing nerves. “Sorry, um—I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”

(Wait. That sounded rude.)

“I-I mean, nobody told me you were coming,” she stuttered.

(Also rude.)

She winced. “Ugh, sorry… Alya kind of convinced me to come tonight, and I’m really nervous.”

Thankfully, Adrien didn’t seem offended. He tilted his head slightly. “That’s alright. Why are you nervous?”

Marinette’s shoulders hunched. “I-I, um…” She exhaled, rubbing her arm. “Alya set me up on a blind date. I tried to tell her I don’t have time for dating, but… well.” She gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “Here I am.”

Adrien let out a small chuckle, warm and understanding. “That’s funny. Nino did the same thing to me.”

Marinette’s head snapped up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone tonight, too. I wasn’t into the idea, but Nino was so excited to set me up, I figured… well, one date can’t hurt. It’s not like I get many.” His eyes widened, and his face flushed. “Um. Forget I said that last part.”

Marinette’s heart did something weird in her chest. “O-oh. Well… that actually makes me feel better.” She smiled, some of her nerves easing. “At least I won’t have to meet a stranger alone.”

Adrien returned her smile. “Yeah, me too.”

She scuffed her shoe against the pavement. “A-and, um. Don’t worry. I don’t go on dates either. That’s kind of why I agreed to this, since I… I don’t get out much anymore. Not without Émi, at least.”

Adrien’s gaze softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. Does Émi have a babysitter tonight?”

“She’s spending the night with my parents. It’s the first full night I’ll have ever spent without her. I-I’m freaking out a little, haha...”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “Aw, don’t worry. She’s in excellent hands. Just focus on having fun tonight.”

Marinette took a small breath, her lips curving into a grateful smile. “I’ll try.”

When Alya and Nino arrived, Marinette could already sense something was off. Their usual friendly greetings were typical, exchanged with pleasantries, but they were both acting strange. As they noticed Marinette standing next to Adrien, they exchanged glances, stifling laughter.

Marinette narrowed her eyes. 

Suspicious.

Alya immediately pulled Marinette into a tight hug, swaying slightly from side to side. “Girl, you look amazing!” She pulled back to give her a once-over. “Look at you! It’s been too long since I saw you dressed like this. You went all out for your mystery date, huh? You're hot!”

Marinette flushed, tugging at the edges of her coat like it could somehow hide her. “Thanks, Alya,” she giggled, though a nervous edge crept into her voice. Something about her best friend’s tone felt just a little too pleased.

Meanwhile, Nino greeted Adrien with a quick hug, patting his back. “Glad you made it, dude.”

Adrien chuckled. “Yeah, um… me, too.”

The four of them stood outside chatting for a moment, but as another gust of wind sent a shiver through the group, Nino clapped his hands together. “Alright, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m freezing.” He nodded toward the restaurant doors. “Let’s head inside.”

Adrien frowned, glancing around. “Shouldn’t we wait for our dates?”

Marinette’s stomach dropped. She blinked up at him. “Y-yeah, I thought—I mean… I thought you guys arranged for us to meet people tonight. So where are—?”

Alya and Nino shared a smirk.

A smirk that reminded Marinette of two little kids who had gotten away with a scheme, like stealing cookies from the jar or something equally sneaky.

Marinette inhaled sharply as the realization hit her like a brick to the face.

Oh, no.

They didn’t.

“Alya,” she said slowly, carefully, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s just the four of us tonight. Isn’t it?”

“Yup,” she said far too casually. “Just us.”

Adrien blinked, glancing around once more. “Oh… our dates aren’t coming?”

Nino snickered. “You are each other’s dates.”

Silence.

Marinette’s entire body stiffened. Beside her, Adrien’s eyes went comically wide, his cheeks tinting a soft shade of pink.

“Guys!” Marinette gasped, her voice rising an octave as the heat of embarrassment surged through her. “You—what—I mean—why? ” She threw her hands up, then promptly buried her face in them. “Oh, my god.”

Adrien made a choked sound, running a hand through his hair as his face steadily grew redder. “Wow. Okay. Um…”

Nino crossed his arms. “What? You guys agreed to a blind date.” 

“And a blind date is a blind date—even if you know that person,” Alya added.

“I-I need to—” Marinette pointed wildly toward the restaurant, her thoughts a scrambled mess. “I need to use the restroom!”

And then, like an absolute coward, she bolted.

Alya sighed. “I’ll go after her.”

Adrien exhaled sharply, still visibly flustered. “W-wait, um. Let me.”

“Oh.” Despite her surprise, Alya smiled. “Be my guest.”

Marinette locked herself in the restroom stall and bit her tongue to prevent herself from screaming.

Alya should have talked to her about this.

She understood why Alya had done it. She wasn’t even mad. She just—

She didn’t know how to feel.

Two years ago, she would have been over the moon about being set up on a blind date with Adrien. She would have been nervous, sure, but excited. Elated, even!

Now?

Now, it just…

(As she pictured herself sitting at dinner with Adrien, their arms brushing as they shared a dessert, Chat Noir’s face flashed into her head.)

It felt wrong.

“Marinette?”

She jumped as Tikki peeked out of her purse, her tiny features contorted with concern. 

“Are you okay?” the Kwami asked.

Marinette groaned, gripping the sides of her head. “No!”

Tikki frowned. “Are you upset with Alya?”

“No.”

“You sound upset.”

“I’m not upset!” Marinette sighed, letting her hands drop. “I just… I wish she’d asked me first. I know she was trying to do a good thing here, but—but—”

“But…?” Tikki urged gently.

Marinette’s throat tightened. “But I… Adrien and I, we just…” She closed her eyes. “...can’t.”

Tikki blinked. “Why not? You’ve liked him for as long as I can remember, Marinette. Isn’t this kind of a dream come true? A date with Adrien?”

Marinette’s lips parted, but the words caught in her throat.

Because—wasn’t this what she had always wanted?

For so many years, she had imagined a moment like this—finally getting the chance to go on an actual date with Adrien. She had spent so long hoping, wishing, waiting for something like this to happen. And now that the opportunity was being handed to her on a silver platter…

(Images of Chat Noir flickered in her head. His warm laugh, his lopsided grin, and how his eyes softened when he looked at her. The way he melted whenever Émi giggled at him. The way he cradled her baby like she was his whole world.

Like she was his.)

Marinette swallowed hard. “I just… can’t.”

Tikki patted her arm. “It’s okay, Marinette.”

“Besides,” Marinette said, “this isn’t fair to Adrien, either. He didn’t agree to this. I hope he isn’t massively uncomfortable with the idea of going on a date with me.”

“Maybe you should ask him?” Tikki suggested.

Marinette nodded, gripping her purse strap. “Y-yeah. That’s, um. That’s a good idea. It was rude when I ran off earlier, huh?”

“A little.”

“I’ve been in the bathroom a long time. They’re probably wondering where I am.”

“It’s okay,” Tikki said. “Your friends likely think you’re just having a stomachache.”

Marinette’s expression flattened. “Thanks, Tikki. That makes me feel a lot better.” 

When Marinette finally mustered the courage to leave the restroom, she trained her eyes on the floor. Unfortunately, that meant she didn’t see the person standing just outside the door until she bumped straight into them.

She stumbled back, about to mutter an apology, when her eyes lifted and met a familiar green gaze.

Oh.

Adrien smiled at her. “Hi. You okay?”

He’d been waiting for her.

(Oh, she felt so rude.)

“A-Adrien,” she stammered, suddenly feeling like a silly schoolgirl again, as if she were fourteen and completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence around him. “I… I’m sorry.”

Despite everything, his smile remained soft and understanding. “It’s alright, Marinette. What’s there to be sorry for?” 

“I’m sorry Nino put you up to this,” Marinette said, letting out a small laugh, though it lacked amusement. “If Alya had told me who she was setting me up with, I probably wouldn’t have… I mean…” She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Ugh. I’m sorry.”

Adrien tilted his head, his expression relaxed, but something faint danced behind his eyes—something Marinette could almost swear seemed like disappointment. Had she offended him?

“It’s okay. I get it,” he said after a pause. “I know you don’t see me that way, Marinette. I think Alya and Nino just… have wishful thinking, that’s all.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Of course they did. They’ve been trying to set us up for years.”

The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her eyes widened. Adrien’s did, too.

“Oh?” His brows lifted. “Really? I… I never noticed.”

“Y-yeah, um…” She swallowed, suddenly feeling very warm. “I-I know you don’t see me that way, so… I won’t be mad if you wanna go home. I know I’m not who you expected to be meeting tonight, a-and we’re just friends, so this is all kinda awkward—”

“I don’t think this is awkward,” he said.

She blinked.

Oh.

“You… don’t?” she asked hesitantly.

He shook his head, his wavy blond bangs bouncing over his forehead, and offered a reassuring smile. “No. Honestly? I’m glad it’s you. At least now I don’t have to worry about making small talk with a stranger. I get to have dinner with my friend. That’s a win in my book.”

Her cheeks heated. Just a little. “O-oh. Well. That… makes sense. Y-yeah.”

“Just because we’re not a couple doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy dinner together, right?”

“R-right.” She nodded, smiling—maybe a bit too wide, bordering on serial killer-size, but it was hard to control herself when her insides were warring with her outsides. “Yeah! It doesn’t have to be a date date. Just a friend date. No feelings involved whatsoever!”

(And no guilt over betraying her feelings for Chat Noir, either!)

Adrien chuckled. “Exactly. Let’s just focus on having a good time. No pressure.”

“Okay!” she chirped.

He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

For a moment, Marinette paused, glancing toward the exit.

She could still leave. She could walk right past him, step out the door, and text Alya later with some excuse, feigning an IBS flare-up or something. She could go pick up Émi from her parents’ place and forget this ever happened.

It would be so easy.

Then she looked at Adrien again—at the hope in his eyes, the patience in his expression—and sighed.

Leaving now, when he’d seemed so relieved to spend the evening with her instead of a stranger, would be far too mean. She didn’t want to ditch him and make him third-wheel Alya and Nino all night. 

Besides… maybe they would have fun. It was just dinner. They were just friends.

One dinner couldn’t hurt.

She slipped her arm through his. “Sure,” she said, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

The fabric of his dress shirt was smooth under her fingers as she gripped his bicep.

(He had a nice bicep. Lean, yet subtly defined.)

Adrien led her to their table, where Alya and Nino were waiting in a cozy corner booth. Marinette muttered a quick apology before sliding into the seat, hyper-aware of Adrien’s presence as he sat beside her. Close enough that she could feel his warmth and drink in whatever divine scent clung to his skin.

(Whatever cologne he had selected smelled good.

Too good.)

As she removed her coat, she noticed Adrien’s gaze linger on her momentarily. But before she could question it, Alya spoke.

“You alright, girl?” Alya asked.

“Oh, yes,” Marinette said, perhaps a little too quickly. She flashed a very forced smile. “But you and I are going to have a little talk later.”

Alya raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Alright.”

Despite her initial trepidation, dinner was lovely. They enjoyed a meal that included an array of delicious appetizers, a rich, savory entrée of braised beef, and—much to Marinette’s delight—a dessert of six chocolate-covered strawberries to share between Adrien and herself.

She tried not to think too hard about what sharing dessert with him would mean. It wasn’t romantic. It was just convenient. Three for each of them. They weren’t a couple enjoying a dessert meant for two. They were just a couple of friends.  

Nothing more, nothing less.

That thought, however, wavered slightly when Nino playfully fed Alya one of their strawberries, earning a kiss in return. Marinette’s fingers brushed over the stem of one of hers, a fleeting temptation sparking in her mind. Would it be weird if she—?

(Nope. Nope, bad idea.)

Before she could entertain the thought any longer, she quickly popped the strawberry into her mouth.

And, just as dinner had been good, the drinks were even better.

The bold, full-bodied wine chosen for the table had a deep, velvety taste of blackcurrants and a hint of spice. Marinette let the first sip roll over her tongue, savoring the unfamiliar warmth that spread through her chest. It had been far too long since her last drink.

Since having Émi, she hadn’t allowed herself to drink much. She’d become accustomed to refusing alcohol during her pregnancy, and now that she was breastfeeding, she was hyper-aware of everything she put into her body. But tonight, Émi was with her parents, stocked with enough refrigerated supply to last until tomorrow. She even had extra at home, plenty to wait out any lingering traces of alcohol in her system.

So, just for tonight, she let herself enjoy it.

When would she ever have the opportunity again? With her parents babysitting, she figured she might as well take the chance to indulge.

Besides, the drinks helped to ease her nerves.

She was still a little stiff—still very aware of the way Adrien’s knee occasionally bumped against hers under the table—but as she downed her first glass of wine and nursed a second, the tension in her shoulders loosened, her words flowed a little easier, and for the first time that night, she wasn’t obsessing over whether she should’ve stayed home.

They chatted back and forth at the table, stomachs pleasantly full and wine flowing. Jokes danced between them, and before long, all four of them were laughing, perhaps a bit too loudly. The wine was a welcome balm to her anxiety. Without thinking, Marinette found herself leaning closer to Adrien, subconsciously seeking his body heat and the delectable scent of his cologne. His thigh brushed hers, she pressed against his side, and when he flashed her a smile, she returned it with equal fervor. 

And that’s when Marinette realized she was actually having fun.

A lot of fun!

“I think Alya and Nino owe us an apology,” Marinette said, though a smirk played at the corners of her lips. Her fingers fidgeted with his sleeve. “Don’t you think, Adrien?”

Adrien chuckled, his usual polished demeanor a little looser as he regarded her with a grin that could only be described as dopey. “You know what? Yeah! I think they do.”

Maybe they’d both had a little too much to drink.

“Oh, come on,” Alya groaned, laughter in her voice. “We’re all having a good time, aren’t we? This worked out great!”

“Yeah, but you could’ve just invited Adrien and me out as friends,” Marinette argued. “You didn’t have to trick us into a blind date with each other.”

Alya let out a dramatic sigh, swirling her wine. “Okay, maybe. But can you blame us?”

“I just want my best bro to be happy with a decent partner,” Nino added with a grin. “And Marinette, you’re a fantastic girl who also happens to be single. I’m just saying, you’re a good match.”

“For the record, I didn’t know about any of this,” Adrien said, raising a hand in surrender.

Marinette flushed slightly, separating herself from Adrien. “That’s—guys.” She laughed, shaking her head. “You can’t pair two people up just because they’re friends and single. If there aren’t any romantic feelings…” She hesitated, her gaze flickering to Adrien for half a second too long before looking back at her glass. “Well. Why date?”

“To try things out,” Alya offered.

“To have fun,” Nino said at the same time.

Marinette exhaled, giving them a pointed look. “Right. And risk ruining a years-long friendship. Sure. Great idea.”

Alya’s teasing demeanor softened, and she set her glass down before reaching across the table to take Marinette’s hands. “Look, I am sorry for pushing you. You’re right. We should’ve asked first. I guess I was just hoping… I don’t know…”

“That the magic of Valentine’s Day would take over, and we’d fall madly in love?” Adrien joked, taking another sip of wine.

Nino shrugged. “That, or we’d at least get the two of you laid.”

Adrien immediately choked, spewing his wine across the table. Marinette inhaled sharply, only to asphyxiate on her spit in shock.

“Nino!” Alya hissed.

“What? It’s true!” Nino defended.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to say it out loud!”

Marinette’s face burned. 

So.

That had been their intention.

She wasn’t sure if she should feel annoyed or grateful.

No, annoyed. Definitely annoyed. 

After she recovered from nearly choking on her own saliva, she patted Adrien’s back, hastily grabbing a napkin to help him dab at his shirt, now stained a deep purplish-red. His cheeks were also flushed, and Marinette knew it wasn’t just from the alcohol, but likely from sheer mortification.

(Why had Nino said that?)

She hadn’t been thinking about Adrien that way—not for quite some time, at least—but now? Now, the thought was stuck in her brain like a blinking neon sign she couldn’t turn off.

The idea of going home tonight with that thought swirling in her head—of Adrien walking her to her door and coming inside—of them kissing on her couch, his lips dragging a smoldering line down her neck and chest, their clothes littering the hallway to her bedroom, where she’d finally be rewarded with the relief she’d been craving—

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. She would not think about that. Not at this table. Not now. 

(Not when she’d been thinking about a different blond-haired, green-eyed guy in that context lately.)

She shoved the thought away. 

“A-are you okay?” Marinette asked, instinctively rubbing Adrien’s arm in comfort.

He nodded, dabbing at his eyes with the red-stained napkin. “Y-yeah,” he rasped, flashing her a wobbly smile. “You?”

Marinette swallowed, feeling the residual heat of embarrassment lingering in her cheeks. “I-I’m fine.”

Nino sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn, I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Marinette cleared her throat, forcing a smile, although her heart still raced. The air at the table felt thicker, heavier with the awkwardness Nino’s comment had left in its wake. A few minutes ago, they were all laughing and joking—how had things spiraled so quickly?

She needed to fix it.

“I-I, um. I mean…” she started, still a little breathless, “...while I appreciate you two looking out for us, I think Adrien and I are perfectly capable of making our own decisions about our love lives without outside interference.” She shot them a playful look before she took another sip of her wine. “And besides, I had no intention of sleeping with anyone tonight. I don’t need another happy accident, after all.”

Alya snorted. “Was that a joke?”

Marinette grinned, feeling a bit lighter. “It was. Thanks for noticing.”

Adrien, still visibly flustered, opened his mouth as if to respond but quickly shut it again, his cheeks tinged pink.

“Anyway,” Marinette sighed. “I've gone this long without intimacy, and I’m fine. Another Valentine’s Day alone won’t kill me.”

“Wait, wait,” Alya said, eyebrows furrowing. “Hold on. You mean you haven’t been with anyone since—”

“Not since Émi was conceived,” she admitted, shoulders hunching slightly.

“How have you not gone crazy?” Nino asked. 

Adrien glanced at her.

“I almost did, at one point,” she laughed, reminiscing about how her hormones had made her second trimester almost unbearable with how badly she’d wanted to be all over Chat Noir. “It has been frustrating, for lack of a better word. But I’m fine, really. I don’t think about it nowadays. Not much. I don’t have time for it. Combined with work and having an eight-month-old baby to care for, it’s never a priority. Émi takes up too much of my time.” She finished her glass of wine and eyed the bottle, debating a third. “I don’t know how you two manage it with a toddler running around.”

“Gotta be quick,” Nino said with a grin, eyebrows waggling.

“Usually in the shower,” Alya said. 

Marinette chuckled. “Look, I appreciate you guys trying to fix my love life, but I promise, I’m fine. Dating isn’t on my list of priorities these days. Besides, I have a baby. And, well… most people aren’t exactly lining up to date someone with a kid.”

Adrien frowned. “That wouldn’t bother me.”

The table went silent. Marinette’s eyes widened. Alya and Nino’s did, too.

Adrien seemed to realize what he’d just blurted out because he backtracked so fast it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash. “I-I mean, just in general! Like, if someone I was interested in had a child, it wouldn’t be a deal-breaker or anything! I love kids! It wouldn’t matter if that kid wasn’t mine. I mean—”

Marinette’s heart did a little flip, and she found herself smiling. She took pity on him and interrupted his rambling. “That’s sweet, Adrien. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

He clamped his mouth shut. Then, after a moment, his lips formed a small smile. 

Before the moment could stretch too long, Nino cleared his throat, turning his gaze to Adrien. “What about you, dude? I never hear about you seeing anyone or taking anyone home.”

“Because I don’t,” replied Adrien with a shrug.

Alya’s brows knit together. “I don’t believe that for a second. A guy as good-looking as you; I’m surprised you don’t have people lining up around the block just for the chance to snag a date with you.”

Adrien’s gaze fell to the table. “Nah. I mean, people have been interested, of course. But I mostly keep to myself. I don't enjoy the idea of dating or sleeping with strangers.”

Nino tilted his head to the side. “Wait. So, how long has it been since you last—?”

“...Or have you never—?” Alya cut in.

Adrien’s head snapped up, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A faint blush crept up his face as he let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I, uh—”

Marinette scowled as she watched her friends lightheartedly interrogate poor Adrien. The pity in their gaze almost made her feel ill. And if she felt uncomfortable by it, no doubt Adrien was mortified—especially as the heat rose to the tips of his ears and his gaze frantically searched the room for a way out of the conversation.

In fact, she felt guilty for even thinking about the possibility of the two of them returning to her apartment. Adrien wasn’t a piece of meat. He had his own needs and desires. And they certainly had never included her.

“Oh, quit embarrassing him,” Marinette interjected, shaking her head. “Honestly. It’s none of our business. He doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to.”

Alya seemed to remember herself and at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Nino put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop grilling. My bad.”

Adrien let out a small laugh, though he softened with relief. “It’s alright.”

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable blur. Once they’d finished their desserts and drinks, they split the tab, gathered their coats, and stepped out into the crisp night air.

“Well, this was fun,” Alya said, stretching her arms above her head. “But since my parents have Mélodie tonight, I’m ready to go home and spend Valentine’s Day the best way a couple can.”

She shot Nino a smirk. He whooped in agreement, draping an arm around her shoulders.

Marinette rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Well, don’t let us keep you.”

An icy breeze swept through the street, rustling Marinette’s hair as she shivered and adjusted her coat. Adrien turned to her with a soft smile.

“Would you like me to walk you home, Marinette?” he asked.

Before she could answer, Alya shot her a teasing look and waggled her eyebrows. 

Marinette scoffed, playfully shoving her away. “Oh, go home and be gross with your husband!”

Alya winked. “I plan on it!”

They exchanged goodbyes, warm hugs, and cheek kisses before Alya and Nino headed off, leaving Marinette alone with Adrien.

Marinette glanced up at him, her breath misting in the cool air. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be alright.” 

He hesitated, glancing around as if assessing their surroundings. “Are you sure? It’s late, and… you know how the city can be at night.”

Ah.

He was worried about her. That was… sweet. 

(If only he knew that Ladybug was perfectly capable of protecting herself.

Still… he was offering. And it’d be rude to refuse.)

She nodded. “Good point. Alright, then.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed across Adrien’s face before he extended his hand. Marinette hesitated for only a beat before slipping her fingers into his. His palm was cold from the evening air, just like hers, but soon enough, warmth bled between them, spreading up her arm and settling deep in her chest.

They walked in peaceful silence, the distant hum of traffic and soft chatter of late-night pedestrians wrapping around them. As they descended the stairs to the Métro, Marinette felt the tug of lingering nerves, worried that the awkwardness from earlier would creep back in.

“Sorry about tonight,” she murmured, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for.

Adrien glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “What’s there to be sorry for? I had fun.”

She huffed a soft laugh. “Sorry about… I don’t even know. Alya and Nino embarrassing us?”

“That’s not your fault.”

“Still.”

“Hey.” He stopped walking, gently tugging her hand so she turned to face him. His eyes held hers. “Don’t feel guilty, Marinette. I had a wonderful time. You’re a lovely date.”

Her heart gave an unexpected flutter. “A friend date, right?”

“Y-yeah. Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away before looking back at her. “Anyway, don’t worry about what Alya and Nino said. I had no idea they were setting us up, and I promise I never expected anything to happen tonight. I’m walking you home to ensure you get home safe. Not for any other reason.”

The warmth in her chest deepened, spreading through her like sunlight. “I know,” she said softly.

He squeezed her hand. “Good.”

The train arrived, and as they boarded and found their seats, Marinette quietly mourned the loss of Adrien’s hand in hers.

The ride mainly passed in silence, the gentle rocking of the train lulling her into a quiet daze. She stole a glance at Adrien, who sat beside her, his gaze fixed somewhere outside the window. He looked peaceful, lost in thought, and she wondered what was on his mind.

By the time they reached her apartment, a soft hush had blanketed the streets. Marinette hesitated at her front door, briefly toying with the idea of inviting Adrien inside—just for tea or a few more minutes of conversation. But she held back. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. More than that, she didn’t want to have the wrong idea.

And she didn’t fancy the idea of either of them doing something they might regret.

Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his midsection in a warm, lingering hug, squeezing a little tighter than necessary.

“Thanks for walking me,” she murmured, nuzzling her face against his shoulder—just for a moment, to breathe him in one last time. His cologne was warm and familiar, a mix of citrus and something subtly sweet, and it made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t quite name.

She knew that smell from somewhere. No wonder she’d liked it so much. But where had she smelled that before…?

His hand found the small of her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. “Anytime,” he whispered.

His lips brushed her forehead. Not in a kiss—just the delicate encounter of skin on skin—most likely an accident. And then, too soon, he pulled away.

Marinette watched him go, waiting until he disappeared down the street before sighing and stepping inside. The lock clicked softly behind her, the only sound filling the emptiness of her apartment.

By habit, she turned toward Émi’s room, only to stop herself short, remembering that her daughter wasn’t home. Her stomach twisted. She reached for her phone, fingers hovering over the screen, tempted to text her parents for an update. 

She refrained. It was late. They were probably asleep.

Still, unread messages were waiting for her. Opening them, she found a series of texts from her parents, reassuring her that everything was fine. Attached were photos of Émi with mashed fruit smeared across her cheeks, Émi giggling in the bath, and Émi snuggled up on her Grand-Père’s chest, her tiny fingers curled into his sweater.

Marinette smiled, love blooming like fire in her chest.  

She’s okay.

Setting her phone aside, she slipped out of her dress, wiped away her makeup, and showered, sinking into bed soon after. 

Sleep didn’t come.

The apartment was too quiet.

She rolled onto her side, staring at the baby monitor out of habit. The screen glowed faintly, displaying the empty crib in Émi’s nursery. It wasn’t as if she had expected to see her there. Still, something about the sight unsettled her.

Émi had moved to her crib just this past week, and Marinette was still adjusting to the shift. But tonight was different. Tonight was the first night since Émi was born that Marinette was well and truly alone.

She hated it.

She tossed and turned, the sheets suddenly too cold, the bed too big. Eventually, she gave up, slumping from under the covers and padding down the hall to Émi’s room. The nursery was dim, the glow of the nightlight casting soft shadows across the walls. Marinette ran her fingers along the crib's edge, absentmindedly tracing the smooth wood.

The city stretched beyond the window, its golden lights blinking back at her. Somewhere out there, couples were together, spending the evening in each other’s embrace. Whether on dates or curled up on their couches, tangled in blankets and sharing kisses, they were together.

And then there was Marinette.

Another Valentine’s Day, come and gone. 

Another night spent alone.

(She had said she was fine. And mostly, she was. Still, a small, stubborn part of her couldn’t stand it.)

She sighed, turning away from the window and rubbing at her arms. Suddenly, she felt too cold.

Would it always be like this? Would it always just be her and Émi, coming home to an empty apartment?

Not that she regretted anything—Émi was her whole heart, her everything.  

Still, sometimes, late at night, when the loneliness crept in, Marinette longed for something more.

For someone.

A partner. A love that was steady and enduring. Someone to share the weight of everything, to hold her close when the exhaustion felt unbearable, to help with Émi on the long nights, and to look at her with the affection she saw in Alya and Nino’s eyes when they glimpsed at each other.

And for some reason—for some inexplicable, idiotic reason—her thoughts drifted to Chat Noir.

To the way he was always there for her. That he was someone she could lean on without hesitation. To the warmth of his arms around her when she needed comfort, how he’d hold her like he treasured her. To the way he never once hesitated with Émi—how he’d rock her to sleep during patrols, clean up her messes with a smile, and offer his help without her even needing to ask.

The way his gaze lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking. A softness she recognized—had always recognized—but lately, felt different. 

Stronger. Weightier.

Undeniable.

The sound of someone on the roof broke her from her thoughts. A thud, followed by the faint ping of metal against brick.