Chat Noir gets a strange message from Ladybug, and checks in on Marinette.
Adrien returned home from school still caught up in the lingering sense of guilt that was only assuaged by Marinette's desperate hug. It made him feel like he was actually doing something to help her when all of this was his fault.
Much of the late afternoon and early evening progressed as usual, as he ate a healthy but lonely meal with Nathalie popping in only briefly to inform him of his schedule for the weekend. He was also expected to devote at least one hour to practice for his next recital for his father.
Homework, followed by piano, followed by a transformation into Chat Noir because he had a friend to care for, and no one would check up on him, no matter how late he returned.
A message was waiting for him when he unhooked his baton from his belt, ready to hit the Parisian night.
Bugaboo: Hey, Chat. You remember that girl that I asked you to look after when you fought the Evillustrator: Marinette Dupain-Cheng? I caught up with her on a solo patrol tonight, and she wants to talk to you. Could you go see her?
He and his Lady were surely meant for one another if they thought in sync like that.
As if true love needed any more confirmation.
It took no time at all to reach the Dupain-Cheng bakery after sending a confirmation text over to his Bugaboo. As he pole-vaulted onto a nearby rooftop, he was able to gaze down onto the Dupain-Cheng rooftop balcony and his heart swelled up with cocky-kitty pride as he hugged himself while thinking about how warm Marinette had felt in his arms.
Affixed to the roof, out of sight of the foot traffic and concealed from most nearby windows, was a massive, hastily-constructed banner that read Thanks Chat! Marinette was waving up at him, having already seen him. She had just stood up from a small table that was laden with pastries and the buttery-embodiments-of-temptation that Tom Dupain called his croissants.
Seduced by Marinette's smile – because you could totally like a friend's smiles like that when they seemed to brighten up the evening like a sunrise – and the sweet smell of forbidden fruit – by which he meant pastries and croissants, of course, model diet and all – Chat leapt down to her roof.
Then his heart stopped for a minute before kicking into overdrive when Marinette almost soared into his arms, all softness and smells sweeter than her foodstuffs and a bulge that was just kind of crushed into his leg, though she didn't seem to notice either instance of swelling as they grew.
Like he said: not his fault. A guy ... or a girl who had that kind of equipment, akuma victim or otherwise, couldn't help that, and there was nothing wrong with either.
"Whoa, there, Marinette!" Chat reeled back as Marinette nuzzled his chest. "What's going on?"
"Thank you, Chat." She garbled into his leather costume, hands almost squeezing the air out of him.
"What'd I do, Marinette?"
She pulled back from his arms, smile radiant, but he kind of whined a little bit because she had felt really warm against him and ... and cats needed to recharge on hugs frequently. Their purrs ran on hug-powered batteries, or so he understood.
"You know exactly what you did, you mangy cat, and that's why-" he yelped when she nearly tore his arm off, her face set with a determined but adorably happy smile, and dragged him over to the table - "I'm going to stuff you like a Christmas turkey."
Yes please!
... What?
She gestured to the myriad pastries, still holding his hand
Oh. With pastries.
That was good.
That was totally what he'd been thinking about.
Right.
You keep telling yourself that.
What?
"Um, not that I wouldn't love to scarf down around a thousand of your best pastries, Marinette, but isn't – I mean, uh-" His head shook as she forced him down into a seat at the table and then slid in beside him to start piling a plate with croissants (she was an angel). Nonetheless, she was a bit of a whirlwind and he had to get off the ride.
But not, like, get the ride off or get off on the ride, or ...
Screw you, brain!
"What is going on?" he asked, grabbing her wrist as she tried to shovel what appeared to be an apple tarte onto the mound of other goodies.
Marinette rolled her eyes and him, but slowed down. When she relented, he released her hand, only to be surprised by her reaching out to pat his pec... though that didn't stop him from flexing to try to show off.
The way her eyes widened appreciably and her fingers squeezed just a little bit (and her thighs squeezed together a little bit more) told him that his hours in the gym were totally worth it.
Because those pecs would totally impress Ladycock – uh, Ladybug.
Yeah.
He loved Ladyc-BUG!
Ladybug! Whom he loved.
He wasn't trying to show off to Marinette and he really wasn't checking out her sleep pants to see how the outline of something that he wasn't looking at in any way was growing more pronounced.
A gentleman didn't do that kind of thing.
Marinette picked up a macaron and nibbled on it like a cute little mouse that he really wanted to eat.
Friends could want to eat other friends.
He learned that from having no friends while being home-schooled.
"When I got home," Marinette began, putting her hand to his thigh and was that too close to little chat or not close enough, "there was a social services official speaking with my parents about counselling services that were opened up for all of the victims of the latest akuma. The mayor pushed through an emergency act to free up funds. Just knowing that is- it makes a huge difference."
Chat began to sweat lightly.
"Well, good for him for being proactive for once," he said. "That'd be enough to get my vote."
"Kitty." She drew back, rolling her eyes. "I know what you did. She mentioned that Chat Noir himself had talked to the mayor into it."
At least she didn't know about Adrien Agreste speaking with Monsieur Bourgeois and implying that his father's support in the upcoming elections was directly related to his proper handling of this situation.
"Oh." Hopefully his smile wasn't becoming too awkward and abashed. "She knew about that?"
"Apparently the Mayor wanted people to know, and I hope that everyone in Paris knows that you are the best hero this city could have."
"While your praise and adulation are entirely warranted," he boasted while tearing up a croissant and stuffing it into his mouth, "'e 'owe Ladybub'-" he swallowed "- has me beat."
Marinette was kind enough to forgive him for talking with his mouth full, and she clearly understood the mumble.
"Not from where I'm sitting, Chat. She mucked up, and you're cleaning up the mess since she couldn't stop this latest akuma."
"That's not the case at all, Marinette." His guilty paws dug into a poor, innocent croissant. He didn't deserve such praise when he'd let her down so badly. "We're both at fault for this. Mostly me."
"Nonsense. And even if it was true, I don't see Ladybug petitioning the mayor for mental health services."
"I just ... want everyone to feel good about themselves and the bodies they have because... I have this friend whose father wants him to keep up a ... really hard diet." He fidgeted in his seat, strumming his claws on the table to work out excess energy as he looked to her adoring face that gave him strength to go on. "I know it's nothing compared to your situation, but I see how he has to be perfect, like- like Ken-doll perfect. Not too muscly or too thin. One pound too heavy or too light and it's like the world is going to end. I don't want people to feel like – like they aren't good enough because of their bodies."
"Oh, kitty," Marinette sighed, putting a hand to his exposed neck and giving him a heavenly scritch. "That- that's so sweet of you. I didn't realize that you knew people like that."
"But it's not just that, Marinette," he purred as she hit just the right spot. He had to be careful; he was already losing himself to that bliss.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, sometimes, it's okay to – to not be alright with your body."
"Sure. If you're not happy with your weight or something you should be motivated to work on it. It's not always healthy to be completely fine with how you look. We should always want to improve ourselves, but it has to be for ourselves."
"True. How else would I get like this?" He showed off his guns, which had her loosing a snarky laugh as she shoved him in the face, and he preened until he had to go back to being honest. Being Adrien for a moment. "But I was thinking about that friend of mine. You, uh, you know him."
Interested, she leaned in, setting down her own half-eaten croissant.
Should he? His flapping mouth made the decision for him.
"His name's Adrien Agreste."
"You know Adrien?" she almost shrieked, glancing around the rooftop as if she was afraid that his alter-ego was going to pop out from the bushes to molest her. Sad. She hadn't seemed to mind his hugs this afternoon. Had he crossed a boundary? He had to make it up to her.
"Yeah. I stop by his room sometimes for a chat. See, this one time, he told me about a girl he worked with-"
Marinette frowned when he said 'girl' and leapt in at that point.
"Is that the girl he's in love with?"
"Uh. No." He waved her off with a hand. "She was sweet, but it's not her."
"Oh," she muttered, not looking entirely eased for some reason, but he couldn't understand why she'd be either relieved or anxious. "Sorry. Go on."
"Like I was saying. She- she was really kinda brave, I guess, and when he met her, she was going to do a special photo shoot because she wanted everyone to know... that she was comfortable with her body. It was important for her to show people that, but- but it took a long time for her to get that way. She wasn't always."
"Uh." A hand rose to Marinette's brow. "I'm not sure I follow, Chat."
"What I mean, is that she- It's okay if you feel like you can't get comfortable with this. We'll set everything right, and even if I want you to feel good about yourself, you don't have to. No one is saying that you should be alright with... this. If who you are doesn't really fit with your body, you know? That's okay too."
She seemed to mull over that for a while, picking at her croissant and taking a sip of juice while he fiddled with his claws.
"Yeah, Chat. I – I guess that makes sense. I mean, I don't want to compare myself to her, because it's not the same, and I'd never pretend to understand, but- I get what you're saying. And you're right. I don't have to like being stuck like this." Her face darkened. "Being hideous."
"Marinette," Chat said, having to hold back a scoff because he didn't want to make it seem like he was invalidating her feelings, even as he admired the rounded curves of his friend's face and the rosiness of her cheeks and brilliant blue eyes, all the same and just as adorable as they ever were even though she was downcast. "You're gorgeous."
"Please, Chat." The croissant in her hand hit the table. "You've done enough. You don't need to lie too."
"I'm serious, Marinette," Chat insisted even more vehemently when she stood and clenched her hands. "I wouldn't lie to you about that."
"Yes," she deadpanned without hesitation. "You really would."
"Okay. Maybe I would lie to make someone feel better, but I'm not."
"Stop it," she sulked, pulling away, trying to escape, heading for the hatch to her room.
It felt like she was leaving him, and didn't trust him to be honest.
"It's true!" he cried, rising to follow her even as she winced and shrunk. "You're beautiful, and cute, and hot-" That might have been too much honesty. "And- and"-"
And she whirled on him, face aflame, the fire wiping away all the joy and happiness and the smiles that he should have realized were only vaguely real because he knew how to tell himself a lie that he was trying to convince himself was the truth.
"Oh, yeah! Well take a look, then, and tell me if this is so beautiful!" With that, thumbs slipping under the elastic waistband of her sleeping pants, she tugged downwards so quickly that he didn't even have time to look away out of an instinctive desire to preserve her modesty.
...
She was wearing boy-shorts.
Like. Boxers.
Her underwear hugged her surprisingly shapely hips and billowed out around her thighs, making them seem slender and highlighting the fine lines of muscle. The outline of her cock, completely at odds with her womanly shapeliness most assuredly did not have him trembling, hot, desperate, dry-mouthed, or hard because...
With her flushed, defiant face challenging him to not be revolted as she seemed certain he would, little cracks appearing in her façade that showed just how panicked and desperate she was, he knew there was only one thing to do.
Because this was all about her.
Gliding over to her, he took her trembling hands in his own and drew them away from her pants, letting them fall to the ground forgotten. His clawed hand ran up and down her arms in an effort to ease out the mannequin-like stiffness of her limbs as he leaned in, tentative, assessing her reactions as she stared up at him in disbelief.
"Marinette," he began slowly, making sure she was listening and watching, her eyes seemingly fixed on the slow motions of his lips. "No matter what, I don't think it's possible for you to be anything other than the beautiful girl you are."
That seemed like a more gentlemanly and supportive thing to say than 'I now have a kink for girls wearing boys' underwear and might also just possibly like dicks,' although both were equally true.
He went on to fill his tummy with pastries and they chatted about the latest superhero films and Say Yes to the Dress, which they both loved because she was a designer and he was a bit of a romantic dork who loved weddings.
The smile she gave him as he left was small, but Adrien knew that one too.
That one was actually real.
A solid first step. Tomorrow, he would try to help her take another.
At least, if Hawkmoth's akuma didn't show up again before then so that he and his Lady could set all this right.
Either way, he'd keep on lending a helping hand to his good friend Marinette.