A/N: I think I've wanted to write a Miraculous Ladybug fanfic for months now. But it's so difficult to pick a topic. You've got LadyNoir (the original ship), Adrienette (the fluff ship), MariChat (the sin ship), Ladrien (the sad ship), and literally all of the other broad ranges from Alya and Nino to Juleka and Rose. It's hard. So, I went with good old fashion identity reveals! This was originally going to be a whole Adrien and Marinette kiss and then he remembers the Dark Cupid kiss, but then I realized that I had to put in a lot of effort to do that. So I went with something considerably easier.
I found the idea while looking around tumblr on my fandom account for inspiration. There's this two-part comic-type thing by tumblr user spatziline that absolutely broke my heart, and I could not stop thinking of ideas for it. Really, go look up the art because it will also make you feel things and be sad. Oh, and the cover art is by taylordraws, also on tumblr (literally one of my favorite artists).
Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug. That privilege belongs to HawkDaddy. If I did own it, the love square would've been over and their identities would've been revealed a long time ago. Because I'm an impatient piece of trash.
Side note: The only episodes made reference to are Horrificator and Dark Cupid, which are in English, so if you only watch the English dubbed versions (like some people ugh), you're in luck. No spoilers.
The disappointed look on Tikki's usually alight face after she detransformed would probably never leave her.
"I know, I know," she said, walking around her kwami towards the steps to her bed.
Tikki didn't say anything, so unlike her. She simply followed her somberly to her bed, perching on the edge and watching her intently.
Marinette plopped down next to her, sighing. She had let him down easy, right? He'd be fine. He would. He always was. Since when did anything ever bring Chat Noir down? And she was certainly the last person he'd be hurt by. Certainly.
Her brow furrowed together, a small frown tugging the corners of her mouth down as she reconsidered her thought process. Maybe she made a mistake. Maybe she should've given him a chance. He seemed so genuine . . . No, she thought. No, he's just infatuated. He flirts with everyone, remember? You're no different. He doesn't really love you.
She tried to take comfort in that, remembering that he flirted with her as Ladybug and her as Marinette sometimes and . . . and who else? She struggled to recall him flirting with anyone but her.
Biting her lip, she shook away the thoughts. No, she did the right thing. She didn't lead him on, and she told him exactly how she felt. Besides, she'd known ever since the minute she met Adrien that she loved him . . . Okay, maybe not the minute she met him, but it still was fairly close. She loved Adrien so purely, so wholly. Accepting Chat Noir's advances would have just been problematic, surely.
She drummed her fingers against her thighs, feeling antsy. Pressured, even. Like a million butterflies were trapped beneath her skin, trying to spread their wings, make room, and take flight. Had he ever taken this long to come see her before?
Recently he'd been making a habit out of visiting her at her house after patrol; something about relieving stress and the like. Though she did occasionally grow weary of him, she liked that he wanted to hang out with her. It gave her the opportunity to see how he acted when she wasn't Ladybug. Which honestly wasn't much of a difference, but at least she could gain his insights through another means. Marinette had become some sort of friend to him, and he confided in her a lot. Plus hanging out with him like this was pretty fun! Except she knew that this time, it wouldn't be joyous . . .
Tonight she was fully expecting him to come and talk to her about his encounter with Ladybug, when he professed his feelings then was shot down almost immediately. He'd spoken to her many times about his crush on Ladybug, and so she she'd figured that when he'd come talk to her it would be about just that: a crush getting crushed. Though she had no desire to actually speak to him about the matter, blowing him off could possibly give him an idea who she was, and that was the last thing she wanted. Besides, aside from the guilt she felt at seeing his crestfallen face, she was curious to see what he'd say about the whole ordeal. Maybe crack a joke or two?
She heard him pacing about above her room, and told Tikki to hide inside her jacket. She would definitely need to talk to Tikki about everything after he left.
As she opened the hatch to the roof, she fully expected him to be staring at her gleefully, ready to gossip about his crush. But no. He was gracefully sitting on the railing, looking out over Paris, though not in a light, happy way, prepared to go out and face whatever akumatized villain they'd find. No, he seemed the exact opposite of that. In fact, he looked exhausted and weak. It made her grimace.
"Chat Noir?" she asked, climbing fully up on top of the roof and closing the door softly so that her parents couldn't hear.
His shoulders sagged. "Hey, Princess . . ."
She would have either smiled or smacked him for that if it were any other day. This was so much different, though. But her acting skills had to come in to play, so she faked a groan. "Still calling me that?"
"Yeah," he mumbled. He turned around to face her, far more clumsily than he should've, given he could fall if his balance wasn't perfect. Her inner Ladybug almost came out as she bit back the urge to scold him. Why was he being so reckless?
She forced her solemn look into a beam of excitement. The feign happiness made her feel treacherous and untrustworthy. "So! What brings you here?"
"It's–" He stopped himself, frowning. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Nothing, actually. Forget it. I think I should go. I'm sorry I came so late. I don't know why I even . . . I'm sorry."
He turned, pulling out his staff to leave. She stood staring at him, her mouth agape. That wasn't the response she was expecting.
"W-Wait!" she called.
She ran over to grab his arm, not really realizing she was moving towards him until she was right in front of him. He looked at her, and she was almost scared by how distressed he seemed. There was an aura of dark negativity around him, an aura he never, ever had. She couldn't let him go like that.
And she wanted answers. She had to understand. Why was he so sad? It could not have been from her turning him down earlier. That couldn't have put him under such duress.
She let go of his arm quickly. "Don't think you're getting away so easily. What's wrong? Why did you come?"
His lips parted, then his face fell. He turned to fully face her again, his posture unusually tense and poor at the same time. He buried both hands in his hair, blowing air out of his mouth again.
When he glanced back up at her, she felt that positive resolve of hers crumbling. Maybe it was the darkness of night and shimmering of the moon, or the chill of the wind that bit at her cheeks. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was with him moments earlier under a different persona. Maybe it was just because she cared for him. But when he looked at her with that unmitigated despair and heartbreak in his eyes, it felt unnatural. Chat Noir wasn't supposed to look like that. There was no playful simper along his lips or cocky titter escaping him. He was so purely pained and it wasn't right!
All it told her was that this was serious. Far more serious than her premonitions had led her to believe.
He rested his elbows by his knees, relaxing in the slightest. "You're my friend, right?"
"Of course," she said, compelling a half smile to form on her face.
He nodded, muttering 'good' under his breath, like he was trying to remind himself that she was there for him. "So if I told you something that's embarrassing, you wouldn't laugh, right?"
She bobbed her head up and down. Where was he going with all this?
"You promise?"
She nodded again, slower this time.
"I–" He sighed. "I need to hear you say it."
"Yes," she said without skipping a beat. She couldn't refuse him like that.
For a brief moment he was quiet, stark in comparison to how he typically acted. She wondered what in the world was going on in that head of his at the moment . . . or at any moment. She imagined it was like a broken kaleidoscope of brilliant colors that made it so simple and complex that even he had touble navigating it. Or something like that.
He fiddled with his fingers, finally opening his mouth to speak. "I know you never really cared for me and Ladybug's relationship, but . . . Well, you remember my feelings for her. I think I . . . I think I made a mistake today."
She crossed her arms over her abdomen, shivering in the freezing cold. Or maybe she was shivering because of something else.
"Tell me about it," she encouraged, gritting her teeth.
"It's just that . . . Look, it's stupid, okay?" He paused, pursing his lips. He looked at her again, with that echo of saddness and pain. "I told her. I don't know why," he breathed out, almost choking out a laugh. "I don't know, I don't know . . . It was so stupid. I shouldn't have . . . Ugh."
He shook his head, a hand on his forehead, then shot his head up. His laugh was maniacal, maniacal of a man who was losing a piece of himself. It made her look away from him briefly. She didn't want to see him like that.
"I don't even know why I ever thought I had a chance with her!" he continued.
This time her expression was real and somber. "So she rejected you . . ." she stated, acting like it was news to her even though she'd been thinking about it since it happened. And even though she could see it hurt him, she had to affirm Ladybug's feelings. "You know? Maybe that was for the best. She might not even be the person you think she is . . ."
She meant that wholeheartedly. She knew so very well that Ladybug was not who everyone thought she was. She had imagined the disappointed looks on the people's faces as they realize that their favorite heroine is actually just Marinette Dupain-Cheng far too many times. Marinette and Ladybug were so impossibly different. Ladybug was not actually Ladybug, and, well, Chat deserved to know that. Only he was always so wrapped up in his fantasies to ever realize it or accept it.
Maybe now he'd finally get it through his head that 'His Lady' wasn't as perfect as he thought.
He put a hand up to cover one eye, his fingers digging into his skin and his expression ragged and crazy. The other hand gripped the railing tighter as if he was afraid he was going to fall. His eyes were glassy and fragile.
"You're right . . ." he said, a smile on his face. She could see all too clearly, though, that it was not a blissful one by any means. It was one of a poor boy dying of dreadful comprehension. "I . . . I don't even know her . . ."
She gave him a small sympathetic smile, trying to make everything seem okay even though she knew he was going downhill very fast. "See?" she said. "You'll be–"
Her words cut off when his face slowly contorted in grief. He covered his eyes with his hand, his body shaking. His shoulders were tense and jerked with each sob. The tears that escaped him fell to the tiles on the floor with tiny little plop! sounds.
"Chat?" she asked, uncrossing her arms. Her smile had fallen quicker than any ever had.
He whimpered in response, making a few attempts to wipe his eyes. He gasped as if to gain control of himself, moving a hand into his hair. Then he gave up, covering his face with the back of his palm and letting the tears come again. He even gagged, his cries of mourning so intense and visceral it seemed like he would throw up.
His sobs were wicked and deep, each one feeling like a two hundred pound weight was added to her burden. She had never seen him like this. She had never seen anyone like this. She didn't even know something so unrestrained existed. In all the movies she'd seen and in all the books she'd read, whenever a character cries they look so beautiful and graceful and regal–elegant, even. But the sight before her was not pretty or dignified in any way. It was raw and unrestrained, uninhibited; so graphic it was like torture to watch.
Because she had caused it. She had caused all of it.
This was him. She could see the pure recesses of his heart, thrown out before her for her to do whatever she pleased with it. And she was the person who pushed him to this sheer moment of desperation and vulnerability. He was coming to her for comfort when she was the one who had shattered his gentle kaleidoscopic brain, had mercilessly twisted that elastic heart of his until it snapped. How could she have done this?!
And he . . . he loved her. She could see that so nonsensically clear now. Why now? All that time she spent thinking that she was nothing special–that she was just another girl he liked to flirt with–was misplaced! He was suffering from unrequited love and she was the reason for it, all while judging him without even trying to give him a chance at proving himself genuine. What kind of superhero was she? She was controlling her partner's heartstrings, manipulating him in an emotionally sadistic way for so long. She threw this scourge upon him without a second thought.
All of the signs he loved her had been there, hadn't they? Her wishes had always been his commands, he would stand by her even if he thought differently, he never once willingly tried to harm her. What about all of the times he renewed her faith in herself like no one ever could? What about each and every time he sacrificed himself for her without even questioning it? Could she even count on all her fingers every time he did that? All of those times she thought he was being reckless and devil-may-care he was really protecting her . . . She had tried many times to convince herself she didn't need him, but she always did. Always.
Why had she been so cruel? Playing with him like that?
Watching him fall apart before her, watching him suffering in his own purgatory, broke something within the innermost reaches of her. Her own tears pooled in her eyes, blurrying her vision in a way that made her feel even more guilty. She didn't have the right to cry. She didn't earn that reprieve.
He was trembling and she was still as a statue. She begged her limbs to move, but they couldn't. She was too stricken with sudden anger and frustration at herself . . . She could only watch him as his tears slowly dried, staining his sweet face. Oh, how he looked like an absolute mess . . . because of her . . .
"You really love her, don't you?" she asked, barely recognizing her soft voice. Her throat felt hoarse as her tears welled further, threatening to spill. She felt so weak. "She . . ."
His protective instincts kicked in so quickly, she almost thought she was Ladybug for a moment. He wiped away the remainder of his tears, hopping off the railing so he could reach out to her. "Princess?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
She exhaled, wishing he wouldn't show her that precious honeycomb sympathy she wasn't worthy of. He took a few daring steps towards her, looking worried and caring. She wanted to beg him to stop.
He sounded so beautifully dulcet and tender, compassionate and serene. She was so horrible for pushing him away before! "Why are you crying?" he asked, sounding melancholy at the prospect and even more sad while he gazed at her.
Was she crying already? She hadn't noticed. She was wallowing in pity too much to notice. She was too busy screaming at herself for not paying more attention to her most beloved companion . . .
"I'm . . ." he started, his voice cracking in the slightest. He looked desperate and unduly contrite. "I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean to make you–"
"She doesn't deserve your feelings!" she yelled, all her self-hate erupting before them. She couldn't help it, she just spoke. She had to make it known. She couldn't let him think the agony he endured was his fault.
He stopped moving towards her. His concern dropped, replaced by a perplexed, surprised look. "What . . . What do you mean?"
Oh, did she have to spell it out for him?
She raised her hand, a distasteful, emotional expression veiling her features. She began listing everything off, pleading with him to make him realize his crush wasn't as perfect as he so deeply believed. She was more flawed than any human on the planet.
She extended a finger with each point she made. Her voice was shaky and fragile. "She's clumsy, she can't do anything right, she's insecure . . ."
He sneered at her harshly, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He was getting angry, fast. "How can you say that about her?" he asked, an accusatory tone in his voice. "I won't let you–"
"Because I know the girl behind the mask!" she cut off, perhaps a bit more forcefully than she intended.
He looked hurt, which sent another pang of guilt soaring through her (this was just one more painful thing she was responsible for), but she had to get this through his head. She didn't want to let him be in love with an imperfect girl, someone so lesser compared what he truly deserved. She would stand defiantly by the fact that she could never be what he needed.
She yelled more, her anger taking over her senses, fizzing and bubbling, the sparks igniting a flame inside her scattered brain. "She's the opposite of what you think!"
He shook his head. "She's not like that . . ."
Frustratedly, she groaned through clenched teeth. "WHY IS THIS SO DIFFICULT FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND?!"
"Because a mask doesn't define who we are, Marinette!" he retorted, his defenses fully up.
She stared at him incredulously. A trigger inside of her was pulled. Her breaths started coming out more raggedly, sporadically. Her silent tears were falling faster. A throbbing headache formed and made her weary and disgusted. It was only when her first heave came that she suddenly realized that she might actually be the one to throw up that night. And she would deserve it, too.
She screwed her eyes tight shut. She couldn't think straight, her buzzing thoughts going haywire, her mind going into overdrive. She struggled to cough out a hoarse,humorless laugh as she took a few steps away from him. "Look at you," she whispered, trying to catch her breath. "A narcissistic cannibal. Defending her even after she broke your heart." She gulped, to try and gain composure. "Do you want to know who she really is? Do you?!"
He didn't respond, glowering down at her. She paced around him, wringing her hands. What was she thinking? Was she really going to go through with this? Her guilt only told her that she had to in order to vindicate herself. This was the only way.
"Tikki," she whispered. "Spots on."
She kept her eyes closed the entire transformation, not daring to see his reaction. And only when it was over and she could feel her suit and mask grafted to her skin did she look at him.
She would never forget the flurry of emotions that flashed across his face. He was dumbfounded at her. He stumbled, backed up towards the railing, then collapsed to the ground against it. Tears sprung fresh in his eyes again.
"You . . ." he breathed out, his mouth curling into both a smile and a wince. His eyes were unfocused. "You're . . ."
She glanced at him through her lashes. Emotion dripped in her tone of voice. "Do you understand now? That girl you think you love is nothing but a . . ." Her voice cracked. "But a . . ."
"A what?" he asked weakly. "What do you see yourself as, Marinette?"
Biting her lip, she turned away from him. This night was nothing like she had expected it would be. And all she was telling herself was, Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
Finally, she forced herself to spin around and face him, her mouth open to give him her answer, but stopped dead in her tracks. Chat Noir was gone. And Adrien was there. A desolate smirk was dancing across his lips.
"My Lady," he said.
She stared at him, transfixed. Shock, horror, and even more complete and utter regret raced through her. Then she felt rage. Anger at him, anger at Hawk Moth, anger at herself. Snarling, she glared down at her spotted hands, detransforming back into her old self. She couldn't stand looking like the person who caused now (technically) two people she cared for torment.
She fell on her kees the floor facing him, apathetic to the world now more than ever.
"Adrien . . ." she mumbled, her face passionless and blank. Her entire universe had just imploded.
He chuckled exhaustedly. "Still can't believe it. We've been in love with each other . . . hurting each other in each other's names . . . For each other."
She exhaled like the wind had just been knocked out of her. She couldn't do anything else.
He wasn't looking at her, instead staring at the diamonds arbitrarily sealed in the sky. "You said that you're a different person behind the mask . . . Well, you're not. Not really. I've always seen a little bit of Ladybug in you. And you know what? I don't care that you're Marinette. Sure, I'm really glad it's you and completely want you over Chloé and all, but . . . in the end . . ." He paused, biting his lip. "In the end, I can be proud to say that I love Ladybug. And I love you, Marinette."
Her lower lip quivered. This was everything she'd been dreaming of for the longest time . . . And yet why did it feel unearned?
He laughed once. "I know what you're thinking. 'How can I love Chat Noir?' He and I are so different . . . And you fell in love with Adrien." He shrugged his shoulders. "You fell in love with me as what I portrayed instead of as I what really want to be and . . . I guess I can't change that."
She shook her head, disagreeing with him entirely. Did she find Chat Noir appealing? Of course, who wouldn't? Did she find him endearing? Completely. She had even made it clear to herself before that she would give him a chance if she didn't already love Adrien. That's why she always pushed him away.
So she hurt and hurt time and time again the boy she loved . . . For the boy she loved. She could say wholeheartedly that she was in love with Adrien. And that just meant that she was in love with Chat Noir, too.
Putting her hand on his knee, she shook her head again. "I've always found Chat Noir to be cute, you know. I just . . . I never accepted any of your advances because, well, you, as Adrien, already had my heart. I was too devoted to you. But if you weren't in the picture . . ." She sighed, unsure how to put it. "I would've given you a shot."
He smiled. "That's reassuring. This cat almost had you in the bag."
She unexpectantly giggled, then stopped, erupting into another abrupt laugh. There it was. There was the love she had for Chat Noir. He was still Adrien. He always was. And this other love was too always there, just hidden beneath him, in another layer of him. This was real.
"I think you already do," she murmured.
And like she had wanted so frustratingly badly at school the day Nino was filming his short film, like she had reluctantly (yet enjoyably) done the day Kim was akumatized and she had to break the spell, she leaned forward and kissed him.
It was short and fleeting, no fireworks setting off in the distance or anything like that. But it was the sweet sensation of his lips against hers that solidified so much for her. She could recall these exact same pliant lips in every perfectly tempting aspect. She could finally have closure on the kiss that escaped her right before her victory. And deep within her heart, contentment settled. She felt like they could live and go on forever.
When they pulled away, she could still catch a faint vanilla smell coming from him, making her blush and internally giggle. Chat Noir always smelled like vanilla. She could always associate that with him. And now she could place that distinctive smell with Adrien, too. How beautiful that with her eyes closed she sensed her partner, and with them open she could see her friend. Simply serendipitous.
It took him a moment to process everything, and for a second, he just sat there, eyes glazed over. Then he broke out in a grin so exhilarated, ecstatic, euphoric, that only the sun could compete with his bliss. He put an arm around her, pulling her close to him with a resounding sigh. She beamed up at him. He was so undeniably happy . . . and she was, too.
Then her smile faded. Her guilt returned.
"Adrien," she started. "Chat . . . whatever. Kitty," she settled on. "I don't . . . I'm sorry that it took me so long to realize all of this. And I'm sorry I hurt you so–"
He held up a finger, closing his eyes. "Don't. Just . . . Look, it's fine, okay? I have you now. That's all that matters. Trust me, My Lady, I've suffered way worse for you."
"Yeah, but–"
"My Ladybug, you must realize by now that people do crazy things when they're in love. I've done some pretty crazy things. You denying me?" He shrugged. "Also a pretty crazy thing." The ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. After four counts, he exhaled, tranquil. "This is going to be one wild love story to tell, isn't it?"
What a peculiar thought. "It is," she said, a small smile forming. "It really is . . . I'm just worried . . . Our powers might not last, Adrien."
He pulled her closer, kissing her hair and making her core feel warm inside. "That's okay. We will. Forever."
And in that moment, all of the butterflies trapped under her skin broke out, flying far away from her and any recollection she held of them. Then she was free, at last. She was safe and she could finally be free.
Bye-bye, little butterflies!
A/N: I was going to make Adrien smell like camembert, but where's the originality in that? It would be funny. though. Yeah, this whole thing was pretty rocky and rough, but, hey, someone had to do it. How did ya like all those references? Pretty slick, right?
Go on and leave me a review of what you thought of it! Note that I did write this at 2:48AM and did not proofread it before publishing it because I'm a lazy piece of crap.
Have a lovely day, Miraculers!
Update: Edits have been made and it's been roughly proofread! Although my boyfriend did it, so I may have to go back and read it again for myself. Love you all!