Another villain defeated. Another explosion in the background. Another evening of Paris saved by its most iconic duo—now not just partners, but a full-blown couple whose love could probably bench press a building.

You stood side by side on a rooftop, catching your breath. Marinette—suit slightly torn, cheeks flushed from the thrill of the fight—held up her fist with that classic smirk.

“Pound it?” she asked.

“Always,” you grinned, bumping your fist against hers like you’d done a hundred times before.

But this time… something was different.

As you turned to head off the roof, you caught the tiniest mumble escape her lips—barely above a whisper, half-laughing to herself.

“…Maybe you could pound something else later…”

Your brain did a hard reboot.

Marinette’s soul visibly left her body.

“I-I didn’t—! I meant—I was talking about, like—cookies! I was gonna bake! With a rolling pin! And dough! You pound dough!” she stammered and lied, flailing her arms like that would physically swat the words from the air.