Chapter Text
Marinette
Marinette hadn’t meant to spend so long at Luka’s boathouse. What had started as a check in with her friend, had turned into a bottle of wine and a vent.
She verbally vomited out everything in her thoughts — everything except one which she kept buried deep in her chest. As the night progressed and Luka challenged her on the whole Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir reveal, she realised something she’d mentally blocked. It was only now that she knew his identity that this nightmare crept its way back to the surface.
It was only now that Chat Blanc could return.
Her mind drifted backwards and forwards from the past to the now, and panicked for the future. The guardians were scared about what Chat might do. What he might accomplish if he turned to the wrong side? And after her trip to the cancelled future, she knew exactly what would happen.
She saw Chat unleashed. How the black of his suit became pale and void of life. How his eyes, those usually bright green eyes, were dull and cold. It was because Marinette and Adrien knew each other out of the suits, it was because they had revealed.
So, that only meant one thing. She had to keep it quiet. She had to make sure Chat never knew she knew. She’d have to make sure the alternate future never connected with this timeline.
The only saving grace was Bunnyx hadn’t appeared from her cave like a furry Doctor Who, and tried to make her fix this mess. Because that was what it was, a huge, great stinking mess! And she was the reason for it.
‘You need to stop beating yourself up, Marinette.’ Luka’s smooth, calm voice made her want to take off her shoe just to have something to throw at him. Didn’t he know she was going through a crisis right now?
‘How? Go on…give me a four page plan on how to chill down now I’ve figured out my husband is the son of my boss and I shouldn’t know that! They’re going to take my Miraculous and then they’ll take my earrings and the world will be doomed!’
There was also the fact that the world could be doomed anyway, but right now she wasn’t going to dwindle on that.
Luka sat on the chair and picked up his guitar annoyingly. Was he actually going to sit there and strum a tune whilst she was trying to figure out the way to save the world from a terrible fate.
He flicked a couple of chords before tightening his strings. ‘What’s more important? Your Miraculous or your husband?’
What kind of question was that? ‘My husband of course, why would you even think that?’
Luka shrugged. ‘I believe that answers your question, then.’
Gosh she hated that he was always right. Standing up with a stumble on her heels, she grabbed her bag and launched it onto her shoulder. ‘I’m going home.’
Luka chuckled. ‘Do you need a lift?’
Marinette shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’ll walk it and try to sober up a little. I doubt going home after being so aloof with him this morning, drunk, would go in my favour.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Luka stepped forward and wrapped Marinette in a hug, dropping a quick kiss onto her cheek. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’
Marinette couldn’t help the snort. ‘It’s been eight years Luka Puka, it’s time you moved on.’
She tapped him on the cheek as she made her way out of his room and up onto the deck. The fresh air hit her with enough force she couldn’t help but gag! She moved to the side of the boat and hung herself over, eyes closed as she counted backwards from twenty. How much had she drunk? She’d promised Chat after a rather aggressive hangover following Hero's Day last year, she’d cut back on her binges. It wasn’t that she drank often, it was just when she did, she didn’t know when to stop — usually ending with her head down the toilet.
‘Hey Marinette.’ She opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder.
‘Oh, hey Zoé. How are you?’
‘Better than you by the looks of it,’ she laughed.
Marinette groaned in response.
‘Do you need some help getting home? I can see if Luka can take you.’
Marinette waved her hand dismissively. ‘Nah, I’m fine. The air will do me good. My husband will disown me if I come home drunk.’
‘Husband?’ Zoé asked. It was quite funny how confused she looked. Marinette made her way over and gave Zoe a quick squeeze.
‘Come on Zoé,’ Marinette said, hoisting her bra up from where it’d slipped. ‘The whole world knows.’
Zoé chuckled, shaking her head. ‘Whatever you say Marinette.’
With a very Chat Noir salute, Marinette made her way off the boat and onto the dock, turning around to shout back to Zoé.
‘Have fun with Luka. He’s great with his hands.’
And with that, Marinette made her way up onto the streets and walked in the general direction of her home. She had around twenty minutes to sober up. There was no way she was returning home like this.
Chat Noir
Chat Noir felt like a prize winning buffoon. He sat alone, at their dining room table staring at the door like he could manifest her home. It had been at least three hours since he’d last seen her and at least fourteen minutes since the meal had been cooked and placed on the table. It just needed the other person to come and join him to eat it.
He felt like detransforming just to speak to Plagg. Nothing more than friends, his butt! If they were just friends she would have been back ages ago. He wouldn’t be sitting here with a mediocre three course dinner on fine china with a flower arrangement and expensive Champagne.
He glanced at the oven. The meal sat in the top compartment keeping warm.
There was no reason to keep it now. It was ruined. Everything here was ruined, he should just stand up and go and put it in the bin, that was the only place for it.
Picking up the fork, from the napkin, he twisted it around a couple of times before tapping it and putting it back down.
Five minutes.
He’d wait five more minutes then see what was salvageable to eat and bin the rest, his stomach grumbling in gratitude for the consideration.
Four minutes.
Leaning back in his chair, he glanced towards the doorway, staying completely still just in case he could hear her approaching.
Three minutes.
Maybe he should have given her ten. Five minutes was actually a short time, all things considered.
Now he was just talking silliness.
Two minutes.
She had to arrive any minute now, right? It was Friday, and she knew Friday was date night, it was on the calendar. But not just that, she knew to be home around six for dinner, there had to be something happening to her.
But she was Ladybug. No one could take her down.
Flicking his phone over from where it lay face down on the table, he checked for new messages first before opening the akuma app. No akumas in the area, there hadn’t been in weeks. So where was she?
One minute.
A bang sounded loud and clear from outside the apartment. Chat Noir remained still. Waiting. Then he heard the distinct voices of their neighbours.
Not his wife.
‘I knew this was too good to be true,’ muttering under his breath, he pushed himself from the table and made his way towards the oven, turning it off and pulling out the cooked food. Some of it looked like it’d fallen asleep in the sun during an intense session in Benidorm.
Moving around the kitchen in a solemn state, he picked at the chicken whilst binning the potatoes. The vegetables were soggy and the sauce thick and slightly brown around the edges. The more that made its way to the bin, the more depressed he got. He never would have thought him being Adrien Agreste would cause so many issues.
It shouldn’t be about who he was, but what he was. And he was a man obsessed with his wife.
A wife, who thirty minutes later, still wasn’t home.
He flicked off the light switch, before moving into the lounge and turning off the music playing from the stereo. He may as well just call it quits and head to bed.
Just as he was turning off the light, the sound of the front door opening and closing gently alerted him to the presence of his wife, and someone right now he wasn’t entirely happy to see.
‘Hello?’ she called, her voice low, barely a whisper. ‘Chaton?’
He inwardly cringed. Of course she’d pull out the big guns and call him like he was some stray cat in need of a stroke.
‘In here,’ he called, almost embarrassed by how weak he actually was.
A clatter and a bang, was followed by the call of her transformation and eventually there she was, rounding the corner on unsteady legs.
‘M’Lady? Are you okay?’
She shrugged looking at him up and down as if it might give the answer to a question she didn’t even know he had asked.
‘Fine.’
Ladybug started to walk into the room before taking two steps back. Her body remained in the corridor. So she didn’t like the fact he was Adrien Agreste. That had to be the issue.
‘Mari— M’Lady. What’s wrong?’
‘There’s nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Why would you think there’s something wrong when everything is fine. Absolutely fine with nothing to worry about. Because, you know what, I am absolutely fine.’
He stood staring. What? His eyebrows furrowed and he wasn’t entirely sure what he should say to answer that, but there was no chance that she was fine.
‘Um- okay. So… where have you been?’
‘You know I can’t tell you that.’ Yes, he did, but that didn’t stop him from asking. There was something about the way she was standing that made him ask the next question.
‘Are you drunk?’
She stepped back almost as though he’d struck her with some kind of force.
‘I’m going to bed.’
His mouth opened to answer, but it was too slow. She had already left the room and was closing the door to the bathroom. Chat stared after her wondering if she was meant to do that, or if she was meant to go into their bedroom. Two seconds later, when she stepped out of the bathroom and entered their bedroom, his answer arrived. What the hell was going on?
Ladybug
Ladybug knew her arrival home could have been a lot better than it was. Ignoring him, walking away when he asked if she was drunk and then entering the wrong room did nothing at all to prove her innocence. Not that she was guilty of anything, but that still didn’t help the fact, she ran off to another man’s house as soon as she verified her husband's identity, which was still an actual problem in itself.
Swinging her legs out of bed, she studied the room. It still looked the same, yet everything felt different. Cold. A quick glance at the clock told her it was two a.m., so Chat should be asleep with her now. Yet, the empty space beside her sent that awful feeling through her again. Had she annoyed him so much that he’d left her?
Ladybug glanced at the clock again. The second hand struggled to maintain its position on the numbers, vibrating backwards and forward, backwards and forewards… she needed to get that fixed. It must need a new battery.
Her feet hit the floor as she shuffled forward preparing to see if he was around the apartment. She needed to figure out a way to apologise and hopefully make up for arriving back slightly worse for wear.
‘Kitty?’
Making her way out of the room, the intense coldness continued up her legs. An unusual feeling considering it was mid July.
‘Chat?’ she called out again.
As she made her way into the hallway, the soft singing from in the room opposite turned her stomach inside out. She knew that song. She knew it!
Hand trembling, Ladybug stretched out and pushed the door open, bracing herself for what she knew she was going to see.
Chat Blanc, sitting at the seat by the window, singing. But that wasn’t all. Ladybug stood frozen, looking at the room. It had been converted into something different.
A nursery for a baby.
A baby that was in his arms.
Gone were the desks and bookcases, instead all surrounded in subtle pink tones and teddy bears. Perfect for a Princess.
She shook her head, her body vibrating violently as she saw her husband, dressed in white with a small bundle in his arms. A pink blanket and a soft snore.
‘Kitty?’ her voice wavered as she spoke. Fear coming out evident and alerting him to her unease.
‘It’s okay, M’Lady. We created all this out of love.’
His voice was calm, which did nothing for the sheer panic growing inside her.
‘We-we created this?’
Chat Blanc turned his head from where he was gazing at the baby to her. His ice blue eyes sent shockwaves of panic through her.
‘All of this. Come and have a look, Marinette. It’s beautiful.’
‘What happened, Kitty?’ She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. But this was her worst nightmare playing over and over again.
Chat Blanc stood up, moving his way over with the baby still cradled in his arms. ‘Do you want to hold her? She’s just like you, Marinette. The most beautiful baby in the world.’
He moved the blanket from her face, uncovering a small infant with a red and white mask covering her eyes.
Ladybug’s breath hitched, a strangled sound clawing its way out of her throat. The baby’s tiny chest rose and fell, so innocent, so fragile—yet that mask, the colours…they didn’t belong.
‘No…’ She stumbled backward, her shoulder slamming into the doorframe. Her knees nearly buckled, and the sudden jolt of pain grounded her only for a second before dread drowned her again. ‘No, this isn’t real. You’re not real!’
Chat Blanc smiled, and the expression gutted her. It was so soft. So tender. A smile he would give her when they were safe in bed, when the world didn’t demand they be heroes. But those eyes — those terrible, ice-blue shards — were hallowing. Wrong.
‘Real?’ His voice slid across her skin like silk and barbed wire all at once. ‘Of course this is real, M’Lady.’ He moved toward her with an easy grace, each step as steady as her pulse was frantic. ‘This is what we were always meant to have. You…me…and her. Our Emma.’
The words felt like a shackle closing around her throat. She shook her head violently, the world swaying with the motion. ‘No—no, we would never—’
But he didn’t stop. He didn't even falter. The baby whimpered softly in his arms, and her heart lurched, a mix of primal protectiveness and pure horror twisting her gut until she thought she might be sick.
‘Don’t you see?’ He whispered, leaning his head toward the infant, his cheek brushing the pink blanket. ‘I fixed everything. They wanted to separate us when they found out. So I did what I needed to. No more secrets. No more pain. Just us, Marinette. Forever.’
Behind him, the nursery walls pulsed faintly as if alive, painted with soft pink and white. A mobile dangled above a pristine crib, tiny ladybugs and black cats spinning slowly in an endless dance. The lullaby—God, the lullaby—kept playing, the same sweet tune he used to hum when the nights were too quiet, when the darkness between them felt too heavy. Except now it was warped, sour, notes bending and bleeding into something sinister.
Her breath tore out in jagged gasps. She had to move. Had to run. But her feet were rooted leaden, frozen to the floor.
And then the baby’s masked eyes opened.
They glowed, blinding blue, a cold fire burning through her soul.
‘Maman,’ the infant cooed, its tiny voice cracking like a shattered bell.
Ladybug screamed—
She bolted upright with a choked gasp that shredded her throat. Her hands clawed at the sheets, damp with sweat, her chest heaving so violently she thought her ribs might snap.
The room was dark. Familiar. Not the pink nightmare nursery but their bedroom, bathed in pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. She dragged in air that tasted like ash and fear.
A voice cut through the silence. Soft. Gentle. So warm it hurt.
‘Ladybug?’
Her head snapped toward the sound, and there he was – Kitty, hair tousled from sleep, those green eyes hazy and full of concern. Chat Noir. Her husband. Her partner.
But all she could see were those ice-blue eyes. That pink blanket. That mask.
‘Don’t–’ Her voice cracked, raw and trembling, but it came out like a scream. ‘Don’t touch me.’
He froze mid-motion, hand hovering inches from her arm. Confusion flashed across his face, then something deeper, something that looked a lot like hurt.
‘Bugaboo,’ he murmured, voice breaking. ‘What–?’
She stumbled out of bed so fast the sheets twisted around her legs, nearly sending her sprawling. She backed away, heart battering her ribcage, until her spine slammed against the cold wall. Her palms were slick, shaking violently, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts.
‘Stay away from me,’ she rasped, every syllable tasting like acid and guilt. Her gaze darted to the ring on his hand, that golden band gleaming in the dark like a chain. Her chain.
Chat’s expression shattered, cracks spiderwebbing through the calm mask he wore so well. ‘M’Lady…’
And for the first time in years, she used his name like a weapon.
‘Stay. Away. Chat.’
The silence that followed was a scream all its own.
And the worst part? Deep down, under the panic and the shame and the fragments of a dream she couldn’t shake, she wondered if it was a nightmare or a premonition.
Chat Noir
Chat Noir didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
Her words cut through him like a blade, clean and merciless. Stay. Away. Chat.
It wasn’t just what she said – it was how she said it. The sharp edge in her voice, the tremor underneath, the way her eyes looked at him like he was a stranger… like he was something to fear.
His heart dropped into a hollow space in his chest.
He had woken to her scream, a sound that cleaved the night in half, his body lurching upright before his mind even caught up. Instinct told him to reach for her, to do what he’d always done: hold her, calm her, love her through the storm.
But now–
She was pressed against the wall like a cornered animal, trembling so hard the moonlight shook across her skin. Her breaths were sharp, ragged, and every word sounded like it hurt.
Chat Noir swallowed hard, focusing his hands down slowly, palms open. No sudden moves. God, what had she dreamed? What could make her look at him like that?
‘Ladybug,’ he said softly, letting her name fall like silk instead of sleet. ‘It’s me. It’s just me.’
Her eyes flickered, hesitation, fear, something else he couldn’t name. But they stayed wide, glistening with unshed tears.
He kept his voice low, soothing, even as panic gnawed at his ribs. ‘You’re safe. I swear, you’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.’
Her breath hitched. For a split second, he saw her crack, just a hairline fracture in that wall of terror. He stepped closer, inch by inch, his movements slow enough to be almost imperceptible.
She didn’t bolt. That was something.
His heart hammered, but he forced calm into every line of his body. He didn’t want to scare her, or lose her.
‘Can you look at me, Bugaboo?’ His voice wavered on the nickname, but he needed to say it. He needed to remind her.
Her gaze flickered down to him, and God, the sight nearly broke him. She looked shattered–dark curls plastered to her face, eyes wild, lips trembling. The strongest person he knew was breaking right in front of him, and he had no idea why.
Chat extended a hand, palm up, fingers loose. An offering, not a demand. ‘You don't have to say anything. Just… let me stay here with you. Please.’
For a long moment, the only sound was her uneven breathing and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He kept his hand steady even as his muscles ached from the strain of not reaching her.
Then…hesitation, a breath, and finally, her fingers brushed his. Barely a whisper of contact, but enough to snap the tension strangling the air.
Chat’s throat tightened as relief surged through him, raw and aching. He turned her hand gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, tasting salt and sweat and the sharp edge of fear.
‘Whatever it was,’ he murmured against her skin, ‘it’s gone now. I won’t let it touch you again.’
She sagged a little, exhaustion pulling at her like gravity. Chat rose slowly, carefully, and gathered her into his arms. She resisted for half a heartbeat, stiff and trembling–then collapsed against his chest, clutching his arm like a lifeline.
He held her like she was made of glass, rocking her gently, whispering nonsense and promises into her hair until her sobs dulled into shaky breaths.
But as he stared into the darkness over her shoulder, a cold truth settled into his bones: whatever nightmare had found her…it wasn’t gone. Not really.
And the way she’d looked at him–it wasn’t just fear. It was recognition.