sorry i don't remember the if it had a title yet. nut last i checked, a series of drabbles with ladybug falling in love with chat noir and adrien falling in love with marinette? and him asking if she could just (*crying) love him again. im the anon who needs a good cry through a heartbreaking fic. love u
Ah, that one’s called Falling Out, Falling In, which you can find here. And I love you too so here, have some heartbreak.
“I, for one,” Chat Noir declared, “am excited for Autumn.”
“Of course you are,” Ladybug snorted, playfully nudging his shoulder with hers. “Aren’t cats’ regular body temperatures higher than a human’s? Lucky you, always warm.”
“Au contraire, I actually get cold easily! But when it gets cold, then I’ll get to wear my favorite scarf.”
“Pfft, are you a fashionista or something?”
Chat Noir gave her a wink, and Ladybug’s heart–the traitorous thing–gave a skip.
“My scarf,” he continued, one finger absently touching his collar as if the scarf was already there, “my– ah, my friend gave it to me. Or, well, she didn’t give to me, I don’t think, but she made it, for sure. I think there was some kind of mixup and– It was years ago and I don’t know if she even knows that I know–”
A blush crept up to his cheeks then. His human ears were surely red, too; Ladybug didn’t need to see them under his hair to know. And he didn’t have to say anything else to know who the “friend” was, either.
Ah, well. There went her idea to make him a scarf for Christmas. Marinette was amazing at making scarves, she knew that. But his smile wasn’t about the actual scarf; it was about the person. That girl he’s loved for years, apparently.
“–It’s a nice scarf. It’s my favorite.”
Ladybug said nothing in response. Her heart–the traitorous thing–felt heavy and cold. She wrapped her arms around it.
“Hey… Are you cold?”
It had nothing to do with the weather, but– “Yeah.”
“Aw, poor little bug! Come here.” His invitation was wrapped in a fond chuckle and complemented by his open arms. “Cats are warmer than humans, I hear.”
She didn’t wait to be asked twice.
Maybe Chat Noir was wooing some other girl now, maybe his shy smile and his heart wasn’t hers anymore– not hers, maybe never hers to begin with. But this? This sort of warm, safe, friendly comfort during patrols?
This was still hers.