AN: I don't own the song Luck Be A Lady, nor do I own Miraculous Ladybug. I just really want these dorks to be happy. Rated T for some mild friskiness and language. If that's not your thing, turn back now! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

She shatters him sometimes, in very small ways.

He's fully aware that it's never on purpose. She thinks he's just a flirt, and her affections lie elsewhere, and blah blah blah. It is what it is, and therefore he's shit out of luck, ironically enough. He's not unaccustomed to being second fiddle to more important matters and people, so maybe he should really just suck it up. No one else gets to be her partner like this, to fight alongside her and keep her safe on the rare occasions she can't do that herself.

He's lucky, in that respect.

Ironically enough.

Today he was supposed to work on a group project in biology. Of course, the whole damn city started to fall apart just before lunch break. Six hours, eight transformations, an absurd amount of bruises, twelve missed calls from Nino, eighteen from Alya, and four godforsaken akuma later, there's no end in sight. Dread turns in his stomach like curdled cream. Calling either of them right now is ill advised, and to be frank, he doesn't have the damned energy for it.

Marinette, though. She didn't leave him any threatening voicemail, or concerned texts. Which is a lovely little pocket of solace he'd like to bury himself in, the idea that maybe someone isn't expecting something from him.

Or maybe her way of expressing anger or disappointment is the silent treatment, hell if he knows.

But he supposes he's about to find out.

He collapses into his bed the moment his transformation wears off, face pressed into pristine pillows, and he wonders just how well they might soundproof his suppressed screams of frustration.

He decides against testing the theory, just nestles himself deeper into his bed. He missed dinner, but it doesn't really matter, no one will notice anyway. There's a fashion show this weekend (that he blessedly does not have to partake in) and Natalie is far too preoccupied with helping his father to be able to spare a moment for Adrien. He knows if she were able, she would, and that has to be enough.

Plagg is already rooting through the mini fridge, and Adrien knows he has to get up, has to work on his portion of the project, has to eat and shower and do normal, everyday stuff, but it's taking a herculean effort for him to not just wallow. Ladybug seemed distracted today, distant and a little cool, and he knows that's never a good sign. Ever since he jokingly offered to walk her to school, it's like she's frosted over, glittering in the sun and unattainable, encased in icy dread that makes his heart ache. She's never reacted too poorly to his advances, and they're always made in good fun.

He may be in love with her, but he's fully aware he's not entitled to her attention or affection, and that's just fine.

Sort of.

He respects her feelings, damn it. Which doesn't mean that he doesn't wish they were a bit more romantically oriented, it just means that he loves her, damn it, and if what makes her happy isn't him, then that's just how it is.

Still, he wishes she would talk to him, instead of shutting down like this.

He groans, musters all the strength he can to roll over and drag himself upright, rummaging through his bag until he finds his phone. He doesn't listen to any of the voicemail.

Finger hovering over the send button, he hesitates, wondering if he should bother her. She doesn't seem to really enjoy talking to him, or at the very least, rarely has anything to say to him.

However…

However.

She seems to have no trouble talking to him when he's Chat. In fact, when he's Chat, she seems to open up far more, even gets sassy with him, which is just a tiny bit delightful.

So maybe he's not going to get any project work done, but seeing a friend who has zero expectations is something that he needs right now. Plagg nearly throws a fit when Adrien asks him to transform, and he has to promise the little brat a particularly expensive wheel of edible gold to get him to comply. It'll be worth it, probably. Marinette is always pleasant to talk to, when she can manage words…

He doesn't think about the fact that she's probably having dinner with her family until he's already staring at the trapdoor on her roof. There's been a miscalculation, this was a terrible idea, why didn't he just call-

"Chat?"

It's reflex, the "Princess," that slips from him with a smile. Her blush makes him strangely smug, and he grabs that feeling by the scruff and shoves it down somewhere deep, the gleeful pride muffled in the back of his mind. He had a mission, right? A reason to be here? Picking up homework for a friend?

He didn't think this through, shit.

"Why are you out and about? There can't be another akuma, i swear-"

It's at this moment that he realizes that she looks absolutely exhausted. Marinette, as long as he's known her, has never allowed her vibrant optimism slip. She's always been the one to give a film worthy pep talk to everyone, light a fire under their asses and bring them all together.

Right now, she looks like she's ready to crumble to ash. She's quite pretty, clearly, but her entire aura buzzes with discomfort, and his ears ring with her frustration.

He places a hand on her shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture, tells her that no, there's no akuma around, no ruckus to be had tonight.

"I actually, uh. Just wanted to say hello." It comes out stilted and foreign and uncomfortably truthful, but she smiles in a way that seems to light up her whole face, and the way his heart races makes him feel an aching, unwarranted guilt. He's an idiot.

"Ah, hi. I um, actually have a project I should work on, even though all I want to do is sleep, ugh."

He leaps at the chance with a kind of smooth grace that would make Nino proud.

"I can help you, if you'd like. If you'd let me, Princess."

"W-well actually, I was going to call my classmate. I missed the work session and now Alya won't stop calling me. I'm really not ready to face her yet…" He tries to suppress a chuckle, and fails pretty spectacularly judging by the glare she shoots him. Hands raised in surrender, he smiles. Then he realizes that his phone is actually, stupidly, idiotically tucked in the front pocket of his suit.

Shit.

"Nonsense! Your classmate sounds lame. Let me help. We'll be done by nine, you have my word."

Getting socked in the arm was unexpected, but at least there's little heart behind it. Gorgeous blue eyes rolling, she crosses her arms, says fine with a poorly hidden smile that makes him very aware of how cold his lips are. November air, must be.

"He isn't lame."

"Huh?" he replies intelligently, barely resisting the need to smack himself in the forehead. Talk much, Adrien?

"My classmate. He isn't lame. In fact, he's one of the coolest people I know. So ha."

Adrien flushes from his shoulders. He chances, "Then why are you letting me help instead? If Mr. Cool is so great-"

"You offered, you dork! And besides, I think he deserves some peace."

...huh?

"What makes you say that?"

"He just does. I think he's been stressed lately. I don't want to bother him with this, I'm sure I can manage. As long as you actually help, Kitty."

The pet name is like a spear through the heart coming from any lips other than Ladybug's. He needs to get over this, it's seriously messing him up. Nothing in the world could ever make him stop loving Ladybug, but he needs to get a handle on the romantic aspect of the affection he holds for her.

And Marinette, as awful as he may feel for thinking so, is really a beautiful girl. Not just aesthetically, but in a soul deep kind of way that makes him hopeful for humanity. She's not his Lady, but maybe she's his princess. Maybe that would be enough.

It's also a giant ego booster to know that she likes who he is out of costume. For the longest time he's been fairly convinced that her feelings about him were lukewarm at best.

But she thinks he's cool.

Not just Chat, but Adrien.

She cares enough to take on their portion of the project on her own, to spare him the time and energy and hassle.

Such a lovely heart. He wishes he'd gotten to know that earlier in their lives.

He doesn't realize he's been staring until she waves a hand in front of her own pink face, and he blinks owlishly, still dazed by her. Maybe, being closer to her isn't a terrible idea. It isn't a betrayal. Ladybug is his partner, his soulmate, but she isn't his girlfriend. That's her choice, and he respects it. Moving on would actually be an uncharacteristically wise choice on his part.

"What's the matter? Chat got your tongue?"

He blinks at her.

Snorts inelegantly.

Giggles, which turns into hearty laughter when he hears her girlish giggles joining his own.

"I thought it impawsible that anyone could give me a run for my money, but i stand purrected."

"That was terrible. You have to analyze the dissection pictures now, I hope you're not squeamish, Kitty."

"With you, princess, I can take on anything." It should feel like a lie, silky and saccharine and deceitful on his tongue, but it doesn't. She tsks with disapproval, but her lips curve and her eyes shine, so inviting and dangerous he thinks he might drown.

He uses her(their assignment) as a buoy, flopping on her bed. She shoves him playfully, pulls him upright before he even has a fraction of a second to entertain the idea of taking a nice little cat nap in her cozy, delicious smelling nest.

They sit shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, sharing her book, her warmth, her intoxicating scent of girl, cherry blossom shampoo, and fresh baked sugary delight, and just her. It's achingly familiar, but he can't think about that, has to stop thinking about that, about his lady who will never be his lady. He's here, right now, with a beautiful, kind, strong willed girl, and he's not going to ruin it for himself. She points to a certain section of the reading, and he leans closer, pretending that he actually sees and understands the words, pretending that he isn't totally lost in how warmwarmwarm she makes him, god.

The guilt for thinking of any girl other than Ladybug in a romantic light is insistent, sharp and ruthless, icy like his- like Ladybug had been.

"Chat? Are you alright?"

He notices then that he's biting down on his tongue, hard, and his arms fold across his torso involuntarily, protectively, like if he keeps them there, maybe he can still hold onto a bit of his heart.

"I'm fine, princess, don't you worry about me. Let's just focus on finishing this project. You don't want to flunk out, do you?"

She pays no mind to his half hearted jest, the crinkle in her brow making it clear she isn't going to drop the issue, and when she leans in towards him, closer and closer, all he hears in his mind is white noise static with a whispery undertone of holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit.

His moral compass points very definitively south, and he mentally kicks himself for being disappointed when her lips press to his forehead, checking his temperature. He can smell the sweetness of the skin of her throat, practically hear her pulse in her veins, excited and vital and perfect. Her breath is peppermint and her hair vanilla and his brain is pudding, useless, goopy, emotional, irrational mush.

He inhales, shivering, and her little hum of concern tears what's left of his heart right out of his chest, tucks it into her pocket, and he's gone.

He leans in, his lips ghosting across her pulse, but she freezes, and he's ice.

"Chat, there's someone I- I don't-"

"I know," he whispers, chest gaping and raw. "Me too, princess."

Neither of them breathes for a moment, and then she sighs, her arms encircling his hollowed chest, pressing the pieces of him back together as she says, "Okay."

He can almost taste her, but doesn't dare to move.

"O-okay?"

"Please."

He smiles into her skin at her breathy sigh, says, "As you wish, princess," before making it his personal mission to erase all thoughts in her mind other than his name and his lips on her neck. She tastes like vanilla, feels like sin in his arms, and the way she holds him closer, wraps him up in her and stretches to expose more of her neck and shoulder to him.

When a little moan slips from her, his brain short circuits, and he realizes that he needs to taste her lips, immediately, yesterday, needsneedsneeds. She gasps when he kisses up her jaw, but stops just before reaching her mouth, his chest heaving, hardly whole, but closer than he's felt in a while, the chasm filled up with her. She says it again, please, but doesn't wait for him, pressing her parted lips to his. His heart pounds in his ears, and he would swear his mind goes entirely blank when the tip of her tongue brushes along his bottom lip. He gasps, and she presses her tongue to his, gently, curiously, as her fingers curl into the back of his hair. Everything about her feels like home, a real home, her voice musical in his ears, his name tasting like a dream as she moans it into his mouth.

He's going to hell and he can't find it within himself to give a damn.

The feeling of deja vu, though, it pulses in his brain, insistent and obnoxious. Her frame, he knows it, her voice so familiar.

And when she pulls away to catch her breath, her blue eyes melted from that cold, cold ice, he knows her.

"Je t'aime, my Lady," he smiles, his forehead pressed to hers as he throws caution to the wind and releases his transformation. She deserves to know, if he knows, and even if this means that he never again gets to taste her perfect mouth, never again gets to hold her in his arms beyond their missions, at least he can finally say that someone knows him. All of him. Their foreheads are still touching, and he closes his eyes, as if he could make himself invisible by doing so.

"A-adrien, I-don't, I'm- oh my god."

"Sorry, princess. That was cowardly of me. The person you care for doesn't know how lucky they are."

She's silent for a moment, eyes wide and and full of wonder, and the flush in his cheeks creeps all the way down his neck, burning his shoulders and the tips of his ears. Panic is itching just beneath his skin, and the flight instinct is screaming at him, telling him run, run before there's nothing left to run from.

But Marinette, his Lady, she starts to giggle, her arms tightening around him as she presses her smiling lips to his again, and again, and again, until his head is spinning and his face is sore from how widely he's grinning into her kisses.

"Silly kitty. There's only you. Always, only you."