(I told myself I wouldn't, but ehh, I'm weak for this ship.)

Here are my submissions for Marichat May 2018. (Yes, I know I'm more than a month late, but RL sucks, my loves.) If you follow the tag on tumblr, you may notice that some days are missing, and some are out of order. That is because the ones that wanted to turn into more of a story are actually in their own little stories. Some of these may come back later, but... we'll see.

Enjoy.

Injured

Chat Noir glared at his captor.

"Let me go," he demanded.

"No."

"Please let me go?" he tried.

"No."

"I'll Cataclysm my way out," he warned.

Marinette scoffed. "You will not. That's your favorite color and you've been begging me to make a scarf for you for the past two weeks! Now, stop being such a baby," she admonished as she came closer.

"I'll get you more. I'll get you dozens of colors! I'll—OW! Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

"Baby."

"Am not," he grumbled.

"Are too."

"Am no—OW! You did that on purpose!" he cried, trying to squirm away from her. The fact that she'd hogtied him with yarn and was currently sitting on his chest, so he couldn't get away, was making that a bit difficult.

"It has to be disinfected, Chat," Marinette said patiently as she dabbed at the wound on his forehead with antiseptic.

"So, how did you get this again?" she asked. He didn't answer. From the wound, it looked like he'd hit the corner of a building, so she wasn't really surprised when he didn't own up to it.

Not for the first time, she wondered why their indestructible suits didn't include helmets. Sure, they looked cool with their hair blowing in the wind, but was it really worth it if her partner kept getting hit in the head?

She'd found him on her balcony, sitting there dazed, bleeding, and unable to locate the baton still strapped to his back. She'd gotten him inside with promises of snacks and drinks, and he'd fallen down the stairs! (So much for cat-like reflexes!) Now, here he was: Hero of Paris, incapacitated by a ball of yarn.

Sighing, she tried to be gentle as she bandaged the wound and pressed some ice against it.

Chat whined. "That's cold."

He sounded like a pathetic kitten instead of the sharp-witted fighter she knew him to be.

"It's supposed to be," she said. "Now, I'm going to untie your hands, so you can hold the ice pack instead of me. Don't you dare try to run. I will catch you," she warned. She flicked on a light to see what she was doing and happened to watch her friend's eyes as he flinched away.

His eyes weren't reacting right.

"Chat? Chat, how many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, holding up three fingers. He blinked at her for a moment and then turned away. "Chat Noir?"

"I see six, but I… I know that's not right, okay?" he muttered. "I just need a minute."

"You have a concussion. You need more than a minute," Marinette declared as she finished untying his hands. "You're staying here for the night."

"I can't."

"You can, and you will."

"You don't understand. My father—"

"I do not give a damn about your father, Chat Noir!" Marinette seethed, having heard enough about the man on late-night patrols. "If he's half the parent he should be, he will not want you out, jumping buildings when you have a bleeding head wound!"

Marinette stopped yelling as she took in her partner's wide eyes.

"You're injured," she said, much more softly. "Please stay the night. Please. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Okay," he said, just as softly.

"Okay?" she repeated hopefully.

Chat nodded, then winced again. "Could you… untie my feet?" he asked. "This position is really uncomfortable."

Marinette laughed and went to do just that.

End.