Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It begins as a joke one night when he sees a random online ad asking for young people ages eighteen to thirty five to send in an application to the Institute of Love, Marriage, and Relationships for experimental marital matchmaking. After all, who will take a joke of an application from a physics professor who recently moved back to France and hasn’t had a real relationship ever seriously?

(Hi, so my name is Adrien Agreste and I used to be a really famous teenage fashion model a long time ago, and this might surprise you, but I have never had the greatest track record with girls...)

It starts to become real when he receives an e-mail notifying him that he’s been accepted into a pool of bachelors to be a possible candidate. He knows from the beginning that it’s not guaranteed that he’ll be matched, but Adrien puts his heart in the hands of marriage and love experts to hold for the time being.

(If he’s lucky, his heart will be held by his future wife next, but his luck has always been spotty at best).

(But he’s not taking this seriously. He’s not).

However, it is only in this moment now that it hits him that the only thing between him and an interview to be part of an arranged marriage for science is a door. A rather nice door made out of dark wood. Real wood, if he has to be precise, not that cheap plywood stuff.

And after some thought, he thinks he’s okay with that.

Just a normal guy trying to find a normal wife and start a life and--

Okay, maybe his standards are also really just that low and desperate. Either are plausible at the moment, but emphasis on the desperate.  

So, taking a deep breath and putting on a handsome model smile, Adrien twists the knob to prove himself to god knows who.

That was the plan, at least, until he takes his first step inside and he kinda trips--okay, really trips--on the rug and almost has his face and the ground break the fall. Neither have to as he catches himself last second, chuckling awkwardly while trying to hide the embarrassment that colors his cheeks. Standing up fully, he finally locks eyes with the older woman seated in the room, her hand hiding her smile as she laughs.

Rubbing a hand through blond hair, his fingers trail to the back of his neck as he gives her a sheepish grin. “Not my finest strut on the catwalk, to say the least.”

She stands up too, extending her hand across the small white coffee table as he reaches the purple armchair. Her bright teal suit compliments the silver in her hair and the twinkle in her brown eyes.

“Mr. Agreste, I presume?” she asks, her voice filled with mischief. “I’m Doctor Laurens and I am the head sociologist for this experiment.”

Gripping her hand, Adrien hopes he comes off as a confident guy after his stumble, giving her an easy smile. “Nice to meet you, Doctor. I’m really excited that I was even called for the second round.”

They both get comfortable as she smiles, reaching for a large file. “Yes, Father Andrew did write down that during your interview you were very happy about this.”

“Oh,” he gulps, resisting the urge to tug on the nice collar of his dress shirt. “You already have his notes?”

Doctor Laurens smirks, tapping the file on her knee. “That I do. I even have notes from Doctor La Cour and your interview about sex and intimacy.”

At twenty-seven, Adrien didn’t think it was possible for a grown man to blush any more in one day, but here he is, blushing wildly with his face buried in his hands as the woman across from him giggles.

“You’re a bit bashful, aren’t you?” the doctor teases.

Groaning, Adrien forces himself to sit straight up in his seat, his green eyes almost not able to meet hers as he plays with a gold button his sports jacket. “Well...I’ve given a lot of personal information today...you know, about my faith, my sex life, and whatever you’re going to ask, too.”

She smiles, her face warm as she scribbles in her notes. “It’s very refreshing, actually. You really wear your heart on your sleeve despite being so shy.”

He only nods, letting out a breathy laugh.

The air between them is strangely relaxing, the doctor’s face free from judgement like her other partners as she grabs a page from the file and clicks her pen twice before starting.

“So, Adrien,” she starts, her pointed gaze charged with curiosity. “What does love mean to you? How does it fit into your life?”

The words hang in the air for a few moments as his heartbeat sounds in his ears, pounding wildly as love crawls up his throat and makes him feel warm.

“Love is...” he trails, almost afraid to let the word’s out, but finds the courage. “Love is about being equal with someone. Knowing that our lives compliment each other and we’re a team...that there is no fitting, just being.”

“Just being?”

“Yeah,” he smiles fondly, memories of his youth filling his heart. “My first love--we never became anything really, but we were...a team. Partners that depended on each other and I realized early on that that’s how I define love.”

Come on, you silly kitty. We can’t play forever!

I got fur-ever for you, bugaboo.

“She sounds very sweet,” the doctor comments, her pen starching the paper.

He hums. “I hope she still is! I really admired her when we were younger. Wanted to kinda be just like her, too. We were best friends, but then I had to move far away with my father and never saw her again.”

The doctor puts her pen down and stares at him. “Why not try to reconnect with her then?”

To say that the idea hasn’t crossed his mind would be a lie, but Adrien shakes his head, knowing memories are things of the past and today is about his future.

“Because sometimes love ends for whatever reason and between us, it never started and that’s okay. I learned a lot from her and I learned a lot about what I want,” he tells the doctor earnestly, his mind filled with red and blue. “And I want to find someone who has the same values as me, someone who wants to be a team player with me and love me for all my faults, too.”

“And what would be a fault?”

If Plagg were here, he would say everything, but the little kwami is relaxing easy at home today, so Adrien just answers honestly. “That I don’t speak up enough when I need to sometimes or that I’m afraid to take things seriously because I don’t want to be let down.”

“Ah, because of your family?”

He swallows thick, “Yes. My family life is complicated, to say the least. My father never recovered after my mother left...and it took us many years to finally start actually talking again, but like you said,” he pauses, grinning a bit, “I’m a bit bashful and shy.”

Doctor Laurens leans forward, her grin very wide. “I would also say that you’re very hopeful too!” She rests her chin in her hand. “Most of the time, a lot of the people who come in here talk about what they want their spouse to look like, but you’ve only mentioned how you would like her to be like with you. Just an equal. That’s sweet.”

“Well, I used to know a girl whose parents’ owned a bakery, maybe the sugar from there rubbed off on me.”

Doctor Laurens goes back to writing in her file, her eyes never looking up, but she has a hidden smile.

“That may just be.”

But it’s not a joke when there is a knock on his door a few weeks later and his hair's a mess because he has been up all night grading papers for his students and there stands Doctor Laurens, bright and cheery like the morning sun.

It’s also the exact moment when his heart stops because he knows, he knows exactly what this means.

“May I come in?”

“Of--of course,” he stutters, pulling the door open wide to his apartment as he kicks a shoe or two out of her way.

Oh god. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.

“Been busy, I see!”

Does this mean…?

“Midterms, ma’am. Midterms.”

She laughs, warm and kind makes her way to his living room. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not here to go through your things again, though I really did admire your anime and manga collection. Very endearing.”

You really like magical girls, don’t you?

...I always wanted to be a superhero too, you see...and well, Sailor Moon was always better than Tuxedo Mask....

There is only a slight lull in conversation as Adrien rushes to his kitchen to grab his pot of fresh coffee, two mugs, sugar, and cream. His heart is rushing too, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to do anything. He almost slips on a stray piece of paper--but doesn’t, thank god--and makes it back to her in record time.

She takes the coffee pot out of his hand and begins pouring it for both of them, pausing for a second asking if he likes his coffee sweet or bitter, before leaning back into his simple couch and scanning his living room.

It’s simple, too. Nothing too flashy, but homey with a few art pieces from an old friend hanging on the wall. There are some photographs of him and Nino. Some of his family, too.

Okay, don’t drink the coffee, Adrien. Just hold the mug. You’re going to throw up otherwise. Let’s not throw up. Fuck, I have to throw up....

Doctor Laurens nods, looking pleased with herself. “I’m sure you know why I'm here.”

He takes a deep breath, his heart thrumming in his chest. “I hope I know why you’re here.”

Please let me be right.

She grins. “You might know or you might not.”

Don’t puke, please don’t puke.

The doctor smirks as she reaches into her handbag, a solid plum color that is popular each fall. Shuffling around a bit, she finally pulls out an impressive fancy envelope, his gold leafed name reflecting in the lighting.

Doctor Laurens slides it across his light wooden coffee table, letting it sit there between them as Adrien gapes in disbelief. She holds back her laughter as she gestures with her hand for him to pick it up, encouraging him with the twinkle in her eye.

He wipes a clammy hand on his sweats before reaching forward to grab the envelope. His heart is about to jump out of his chest, doing everything it can to breath free as his thumb slips under the folded part of the flap and digs it out. The inside of the envelope is gold leafed too, bright and shiny as it protects the white cardstock he shimmies out easily from its hold.

Adrien closes his eyes for brief second, sending a prayer to the heavens because he has never wanted something or someone as much before as he does right now. He gulps as he pries his eyes open and lets out a shaky breath as he he flips the note open.  

Dear Mr. Adrien Agreste

Congratulations! We are pleased to inform that you have been selected for a match and you will meet your bride at the altar in two weeks. While we can’t disclose her name, please rest assured that she is just as excited to meet you as you are to meet her.

Best Wishes,

Doctor Laurens, Doctor La Cour, and Father Andrew

As he reads the words, there is no way to describe the happiness that bubbles in his soul, that dances on his heart and floods every cell of his body. He has been given a chance, he’s been good enough, he’s good enough for someone on this planet. And this someone, whoever she is--is just as excited as he is too. The moment is surreal as he leaps up from his seat, pulling Doctor Laurens from her feet and grabbing her into a hug.

“I just--I just--” he babbles, unable to truly process what this means, only able to react to the way his heart is soaring.

“Congratulations, Adrien,” the doctor tells him as they let go. “I think you’re going to make a fine husband for your bride.”

My bride, he thinks, a stupid smile spread across his face. I think I like the sound of that.

Later that night he can’t stop giggling, tossing in his bed as Plagg continues to roll his eyes and tease him.

“You don’t even know her!”

“I know!”

“...humans, so ridiculous!”

But if being ridiculous means being happy, Adrien will take it. He presses against his soul and cherishes the way his world has turned anew, refreshed with possibility instead of negativity. It carries him until he is sleepy, nestled in his bed for one with the hope that soon he can share it with someone. Rely on the very fact that there will be a body next to him as he sleeps if he’s ever so lucky.

(He hopes he’s so lucky at least).

And it those thoughts that help him drift off to sleep, thoughts of a wife and a future with someone that make his soul feel light instead of heavy.

Dear wife,

I found out I get to marry you today. I don’t know your name, but I can’t wait for our future. I can’t wait at all to say the least.

Yours,

Me

(Unless you don’t want to actually be mine, I also respect that? Wait, no question. I do respect that and your choices.  Like no pressure. This is an experiment and I can be weird and dear lord, I really, really, really need to go sleep).

It stopped being a joke yesterday after Doctor Laurens left and in this moment as Adrien waits outside a jewelry store waiting for Nino to arrive. His stomach feels jittery with the good news, but also apprehensive about how to tell his best friend too.

As he thumbs through his cell phone, looking up articles how to be a good husband, there is a clap on his shoulder and he’s dragged into a bear hug. “Hey, man! Taking a break from grading?”

His breath mists in the cool autumn air as the season crawls towards winter. “Something like that...” he trails, his hand going to the back of his neck as usual.

Nino eyes him for a moment, but punching him playfully in the shoulder. “Okay, whatever dude. I’m just ticked that you’re only telling me now that you have a girl!”

“Um, what?” he asks, eyes going wide as his friend laughs at him. “How did you know?”

Nino rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. “We’re at a jewelry store, and unless you brought me here to buy me some bling, then I’m going to go with option two: that it’s for a girl.”

“Oh. Right.”

You can do this. You were Chat Noir, most confident guy in all of Paris.

Gesturing to go inside, Nino makes a beeline to some pretty necklaces. “Is it your first month anniversary or something? What’s her birthstone?” Shuffling a bit to the side, he points at some earrings. “Does she wear a lot of earrings? Alya really likes hoops, dude. Expensive. Gold. Hoops.”

“Uh....”

“Or what about a charm bracelet? Marinette, you remember Marinette, right? She always goes on about how it would be sweet to get charms from her guy, if she had one.”

It’s right then and there that Nino spins on his foot and looks at him, almost as if plotting. “So, I’m not trying to jinx anything but--” he starts, “if things don’t well with your girl, you should date Marinette. That would be so rad, dude.”

Adrien laughs and pushes out a big breath of air. “Um, Nino. I’m, uh, that’s sweet, but I hope I’ll be with this girl for a long, long time...maybe?”

Nino relaxes and leans against the glass counter. “Yeah, man? What’s her name?”

Adrien winces, and buries his hands in his coat pocket. “That...I don’t know.”

Nino furrows his brows together, confusion apparent. “How do you not know?”

“Well…” Adrien starts, “do you remember when I told you that I applied to be part of that matchmaking experiment.”

“Yes.”

He peeks at his best friend. “Well…”

He hears Nino take in a big breath of air, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped as he stares at his best friend. “Oh my god…”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god!”

“...yeah...”

It is then then that Nino wraps into a bear hug, lifting him from the ground and squeezing the life out of him so intensely that he knocks his own cap off. “My best bro is getting married! My best dude is getting married!”

“...Nino, put me down--people are staring,” Adrien tries to sound annoyed, but he can’t stop smiling.

After picking up his hat and placing it back on his head, Nino smiles and pushes him towards the wedding rings. The diamonds glitter in the case as Nino starts pointing at several at them.

“Do you know what she likes?”

Adrien shakes his head, “No, I only know her ring size...but…” he trails, the sentence unfinished as one in the back row catches his eye.

“I think I know which one to get.”

One that’s just like my mother’s. For now...that will have to be enough.  

Chapter Text

It doesn’t begin as a joke, the way that she finds herself wanting nothing more than being told yes from a group of people she doesn’t know.

It begins because her plans aren’t aligned with her present situation, for Marinette has grown to define herself by goals and tasks to complete. Fix this, defeat him, win, win, win . She wants to fill her history with memories that are worth revisiting with fondness instead of shame: bright Parisian nights while laughing under the stars as she takes flight. She’s not an ambitious girl by design, but by creation, much like the clothes she sews. The once fragile threads of her soul are woven stronger with her accomplishments to keep her company as she grows older.

Protect Paris. Check. Graduate from the Paris School of Fashion and Design. Check. With honors. Check, check. Open a boutique. Check. Make a profit. Check and check. Start a family. Ch--

This is where her hand hesitates, the ink in her pen useless because there is no box to check. No Emma, no Hugo, no family to call her own. At twenty-six, Marinette’s life is filled with checks, but those ticks off her to-do list are worthless if there is no one to help her complete the rest. Years of hard work and even harder effort don’t amount to much if there is no one there to share it.  

So when she receives an email from a dating website she stopped using--because let’s face it, the string of guys she’s been matched with were only after one thing while she had been more interested in receiving a ring--she almost deletes it. And the word almost is important because she doesn’t; she can’t when there is something of possible value sitting in her inbox. She opens it and lets the words wash over her.

Dear Marinette Dupain-Cheng,

According to our findings, we have learned that you are unsatisfied with your current dating life due to your recent cancellation to letsmeet.com. Your reason for the cancellation of your account stated that you disliked the current pool of bachelors in your area because they did not want long term commitment.

Now, in the age of online dating where it seems that meeting the one is easy, we at the Insitute of Love, Marriage, and Relationships have discovered that to not be the case. We make it our mission to discover the true meaning of love and what makes a successful marriage. We are inviting people in the city of Paris to apply to be part of a six-week experiment in which the Institute will match you with a spouse based on your values and other compatibilities.

If you pass our application review and interview with our staff, we shall find you a spouse that you will meet at the altar. Yes, we know that this sounds like an arranged marriage. It is, but it is your choice if you want to apply and see if science is the answer to your quest in finding true love.  Here is a link to our application in which we want to get to know you better: who you are as a person, your fears, your ambitions, your values, and your beliefs.

It is up to you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng, but sometimes love is found in the strangest ways. Whatever you decide, we hope you’ll be happy with your choice.

Yours,

Doctor Belle Laurens, Doctor Justice La Cour, and Father Andrew Rue

P.S. Here is another link to learn more about our organization and our current research, as well!

Even now, a part of her wants to scoff and delete the email, but Marinette has always been a girl who answers when opportunity knocks. The Institute of Love, Marriage, and Relationships’ knocking doesn’t need to bang like the heartbeat raging against her ribcage. It makes itself known by being a constant, simple rapping.

It begins--this moment, this new path begins when wanting an arranged marriage becomes a tangible desire sizzling under her skin.  And Marinette always knows what she wants, that is never a question.

So she answers the email.

With shaky fingers and no laughter, she fills out the application, misspelling every word in her first draft. (Thank goodness for autocorrect.) She spends the next six hours trying to write the perfect application, answer each question with thought, and not repeat herself.

It’s a grueling process and one she doesn’t take lightly. Not when she can see the value of the chance before her. She knows she can’t screw this up, she just can’t.

(Hello, I’m Marinette, and once upon a time, I was a girl who loved love more than anything in the world, but I know now that happy endings are made, not granted.)

Wanting this to work, wanting to be in an arranged marriage becomes a part of her plan when she wakes up every morning and tells herself I’m going to be accepted . She repeats the phrase for two months, having read in a book somewhere that words have power, and if there is anything that Marinette has learned, it’s that magic does indeed exist.  

It exists in the way nervous girls who stumble through life can become heroines with creation at their trembling fingertips. It exists in the opportunities that come from saying yes, I will. Magic exists in the way that her mantras pay off and on a random Tuesday afternoon she receives a phone call at 3:34 PM from a number she doesn’t recognize.

She’s in her boutique that day. Business is slow and she’s reminded how Tuesday’s proven to be the worst day out of the week because it is too far from the weekend in either direction. But Marinette has luck, she’s worn a bright red suit woven from good things, and knows when fate is funny. Funny as in this can’t be real, funny as in Ladybug really had the luck, not Marinette, funny as in--

Is this actually happening?

Her voice shakes as she answers.

“H-hello?”

“Is this Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” a woman asks, her voice sweet and soft.

“Yes. This is she.”

“Well, today is your lucky day!”

The word lucky echoes in her ears and Marinette is stunned speechless as the woman gives her congratulations. Somehow Marinette schedules an appointment for her to meet with the romantic researchers at the Institue of Love, Marriage, and Relationships. It’s a blur, partly fuzzy from overwhelming joy, but mostly distorted from excessive sobbing. Somehow again Marinette is able to scribble down the time and date before hanging up and sliding behind her counter to the floor, relief flooding every cell as one more thing moves into place.

The satisfying clink of fate aligning correctly is much like how her heels click now as she follows an enthusiastic receptionist to meet with a doctor. The woman is chatting about happy things, but Marinette’s stomach is too knotted to really respond, only able to give small, distracted hums. The walls are lined with motivational romantic quotes and data about relationships.

This is actually happening.

“Doctor La Cour is right here!” the receptionist states as they come to a halt. The doctor’s nameplate etched in shiny silver. “Do you want me to knock or…?”

“I can--can I have a few moments and then knock when I’m ready?” Marinette asks, her lips dry, her mouth drier.

The lady grins as if she has seen this before--she most likely has. “Of course, sweetheart. You’re going to be great. Just be yourself.”

With that, the lady walks back to her desk as Marinette stands outside the door, too nervous to actually hold the knob. Instead she smooths her pink dress, an a-line cut with white polka dots. Spots will always be my armor, she thinks, a little wry smile forming.

Tikki pops out of her small clutch, her bright eyes encouraging. “You’re Ladybug , remember? You got this.”

Looking around, Marinette checks that no one is watching before bringing her purse up to her face and placing a kiss atop Tikki’s head. “Well, of course, silly. I got the best lucky charm in all of Paris.”

Tikki beams, her little cheeks turning more pink. “That you do! Now go ace this interview!”

Marinette laughs, letting tension slip away as she knocks on the door. Squaring her shoulders, she wears her best smile and puts her best foot forward as the door opens and reveals Doctor La Cour,--

“Hi, welcome! I’m so glad you’re here!”

--and tries to hide her surprise because, well...Doctor La Cour does not look much like a doctor at all.

The young woman before her laughs, her bubblegum hair blinding as Marinette stares for a brief moment before thrusting her hand between them. “Hi, I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng! So nice to meet you!” she rushes.

But Doctor La Cour just laughs harder as she grabs her hand and gives Marinette a firm shake before pulling her inside the office. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot, you know,” the small doctor teases, standing just a few inches shorter than Marinette.

The office is bright too, crisp white walls decorated with abstract art in all sorts of colors and shapes: pretty pink circles, bold blue lines, relaxing red squares. By some strange loophole in reality, everything about the office makes sense: the owner’s brightly colored hair, the calming decor on the walls, and even the odd baubles placed upon the desk. Even as the pair sit down in black egg-shaped seats, those fit in place just like everything else.

Black goes with everything, though--just like I hope I can at least go with somebody….

Okay. Just breathe, Marinette. Just breathe.

She’s stiff in her seat though, her knuckles clutching her pristine cream color handbag--wanting to be professional, but--but--nerves seem to get in the way of professionalism. One Marinette Dupain-Cheng feels much like a teenager from forever ago, from those long, long years stretched thin that made her feel constantly on edge, panic coloring her memories. Never good enough, always lonely-- just be yourself, they said, they still say, they still say, say, say. Yet herself, her civilian self, relies on at least half of her former alter ego’s reputation for a minuscule bit of confidence.

There is no losing her Ladybug sight either even after all these years later as blue eyes dart around the room and she hones in on the objects that will best help free her from her current bind. Bright red highlights the pitcher of water, Doctor La Cour’s blouse and the small side table to the left--and--and--

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, please don’t forget to breathe.”

In the mid-thought of seeing herself leaping from the side table to kick down the door, Marinette’s attention snaps back to the doctor seated across from her. Doctor La Cour’s lips twitch, almost as if she is trying to hold back a laugh, but failing to do so as big blue eyes blink unsure of what to do next..

It is then that Marinette realizes the burning in her chest and takes in a big suck of air to only let it out slowly. “I--I guess I did…”

Doctor La Cour lets her smile form, genuine and happy as offers some chocolate for Marinette to try. “It’s scary, huh?”

Marinette grabs the first one she sees, a pretty truffle with sea salt on top, and stuffs it into her mouth. She decides to let the chocolate melt on her tongue, letting sweetness tether her to the here and now to keep her away from her thoughts. After one thoughtful chew, then two, she swallows the sweet along with her heart that had been lodged in her throat since she entered the building.

“It is,” Marinette trails for a brief second, setting her purse beside her, “more overwhelming and surreal than I was imagining?”

She ends it on a questioning note, resisting the urge to shield her face, her hands resting in her lap. “I’m the type of person who has always known what I’ve wanted- Okay, grown to always know what I wanted and--this process is not how I thought I could find love, but at the same time,” she pauses, pushing out the next part with a shuddering breath, “I’ve never been someone to turn away a valuable opportunity.”

Doctor La Cour grins a bit, nodding as she does as she steals her own chocolate. As she takes a bite, she leans back in her seat and crosses her legs. Against the black chair, her pink dress that matches both her hair and her lips stands out like a warning sign, much like a poisonous insect in the wild that has finally caught her prey. But sometimes blaring warning signs are really new paths to take, to try.

“That’s a good quality to have, though, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. To know what you want when you want it.” Taking another bite of her truffle, she asks, “Would you say that you’re also very outspoken? Did you stick up for others when you were younger?”

Marinette feels herself visibility relax, her mind forgetting fluttering overwhelmingness and instead transporting her back to the days of her youth when she travelled across rooftops.  Even the faint scent of citrus that burns from somewhere in the room reminds her of a boy with sunshine hair--which boy, she’s not sure, but it’s warm and sunny all the same. “I tend to be,” she adds with a small chuckle. “I’ve been class president a few times too.”

“Very, very interesting,” the doctor says, much like how they do in movies, though she hams it up a bit for good show.

Leaning to the side, Doctor La Cour picks up a clipboard and writes some things down before giving her attention back to Marinette. “Before we get started, did Margo tell you exactly what I research for this study and how I will be helping with the matchmaking process?

“Oh, um,” Marinette blushes. “No, she didn’t have the time to. I was so worried about being late that I was out of breath by the time I got here and then I needed to fix myself up before coming in--and oh, look now I’m rambling.”

Doctor La Cour giggles, a short and nice note before resting comfortably in her seat. Her voice melodic as she explains, her hand pointed behind her at many framed diplomas on the wall. “I have dabbled a bit here and there as you can see, but mostly I am a couples’ therapist,” she starts, letting a moment sit between them before breaking out in a huge grin. “With an emphasis on how sexual intimacy is integral to most relationships.”

The doctor says it as methodically as possible, but coupled with her mischievous smile sends Marinette’s face aflame and blood pounding in her ears.

“Oh.”

Doctor La Cour remains jovial though. “It’s okay to be embarrassed. Not many people talk about sex as much as I do.”

The words are stuck on Marinette’s tongue, almost glued as she tries to speak. “But I thought--you know, with the--the answers ,” she basically whispers, “on the questionnaire that that would have...been enough?”

Doctor La Cour flips her clipboard towards Marinette and smiles gently. “While yes, these answers were very informative, I want to make sure that I know your sexual habits well to not only help match you with someone similar, but also just learn how you interpret intimacy,” the doctor tells her kindly. “Besides, there are more ways to give affection than just through sex and physicality and I want to find you the best type of support you need and want.”

“Support? What do you mean?” Marinette asks.

“Well, you see, intimacy is more than just being intimate. It’s also being intuitive to your partner and knowing how to help them when they are going through tough times. Let’s just say that I’m very fluent in body language and little quirks--like, what’s one thing you like that isn’t very sexual that a partner does that involves touching?”

The answer tumbles out of Marinette automatically, replaying the special moments when past flames have done it. “Forehead kisses.”

Doctor La Cour’s face lights up, fingers going to her own forehead and tapping the middle. “Yes! That’s perfect. It made you feel safe, right? Cherished, maybe?”

Marinette hums in agreement, finding herself nodding with the doctor’s enthusiasm. “Yes, it always makes my heart race. I think little gestures like that--holding hands, kisses on the cheek, the nose--are just important to me as...well, you know. Actually having sex.”

“Precisely! You said earlier that you’re outspoken and that sticking up for those who need it is important to you so I bet that you want a partner who is just as talkative.”

Marinette’s jaw drops for a second before breaking out in a smile, amazed at how the doctor is able to pick up these things about her. “Yes, I do. I just--well, you know--in the bedroom?” she trails, her train of thought getting derailed by the heat warming her face.

“Yes?”

But Marinette finally gives in and covers her hands with her face. “I just, oh god. I can’t believe that I’m going to say this…”

Marinette can hear Doctor La Cour wriggle in her seat. “Take your time, this is about what you’re comfortable with, after all. I haven’t even had a chance to ask you a single question that are on my list!” the doctor jokes.

Peeking through some of her fingers, Marinette chances and asks. “What questions?”

Doctor La Cour grins again and Marinette is sure it’s not an angelic one. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Sighing, Marinette lets her hands fall from her face because she’ll be damned if she messes up her makeup now that she’s thinking more logically. “Yes, I think it will help.”

“Positive?”

“Yep.”

“Super positive?”

Marinette finds the doctor’s brown eyes, and realizes how close the shade is to her skintone. “Super positive, Doctor.”

Doctor La Cour giggles again and grabs a second chocolate. “Okay, you asked for it!” she laughs off as she eats the candy. Grinning gleefully, she asks. “How much do you enjoy oral sex?”

Well, there goes Marinette’s heart thudding in her chest because yep--she did indeed ask for this. “On second thought--can I take that back?”

The doctor laughs again. “No, you can’t.”

Marinette sighs and sinks into her seat. “...a lot.”

“And do you like to perform it on your partner?” the doctor asks as her follow up.

This makes Marinette sit up straighter, her eyes going wide and refusing to blush. “See, okay. This was what I was kinda trying to talk about earlier? That--well, sex and all that stuff should be reciprocal!” she begins, the words coming out easier now. “I’m a very affectionate person in all ways. I give presents, I’m touchy-feely, I say how I feel and I want that in return.”

“To feel loved?”

The embarrassment recedes a bit as she continues. “Yes, I want to love my partner in all ways that I expect to be loved too. While it was a little hard to talk about this with you, Doctor, usually I’m more upfront with my partners about what I want and what I don’t like. I’ll give as good as I get--if not better to just up the score.”

It is the then that Marinette realizes that Doctor La Cour has been writing her monologue down, her scrawls filling the room. The doctor looks up at her, her brown eyes happy and asks. “And all of this is because you want to be equals, right? Equality is important?”

Marinette laughs, unsure why a black cat flashes in her mind and answers. “Oh absolutely.”

For I’m searching for my life partner, you see. Someone to love and someone to love me.

It never begins as a joke and it stays not being a joke as she still waits patiently a month later to hear back from the Institute. Hope tries to rise in her chest, but it’s constantly crushed by the lack of contact on their end.

Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

Marinette doesn’t let it get to her, can’t let it get to her as she continues to move through her day to day, her hand itching to check her email, but refusing to do so. She knows, knows, knows what happens when someone let’s their emotions get the best of them and she just--can’t, she can’t. Not when that time and now are separated by eight years and she just needs to move on .

Is she not made of red suits woven by good luck and fate's design? Can she be more, be more, be more than superficial godhood? Is she? Can she? Will she ever be?

This you and that you--you’re not the same anymore.

She’s standing over her kitchen sink, her hands clutching the white porcelain as she attempts to breathe, swallowing air because she needs it. To breathe that is--as normal people do because she is normal, she is. She swears she is. Thoughts flutter wildly, manifesting themselves in her chest as memories and transformations repeat in chaotic succession.

Red suit, young girl, small god, her friend, a boy, rooftops, schoolwork, first love, red suit, victims, butterflies, red suit.. So many dots and masks and adoration and butterflies and red suits? Black cats, green eyes, black cats, red suit--a young girl staring in a mirror, a young girl staring in a mirror late at night trying to piece the parts of her life together, a young girl staring in a mirror--

It’s okay now, it’s okay. You are good, you are fine, you are--you are--

“Marinette?”

Yes, you’re Marinette, remember? Just a normal girl with a normal life .

She lets out the breath she’s holding and her thoughts deteriorate like dust to settle on those feelings she tucks back far, far away in the place she hates to touch . She buries them deep inside, the soot of her train of thought being destroyed making her feel heavy. Her back straightens as she dips her hands into the soapy dishwater.

“I’m almost done, Alya!” she shouts, her friend’s footstep creaking in the entryway. “Just watch TV for a bit and then I’ll have the coffee out soon.”

Alya doesn’t listen though, she never really does, as she slides across the kitchen and grabs a clean dishtowel. Without a word, she starts drying the dishes that Marinette puts on the rack. Silence slips between the two: comfortable for one, irritating for the other.

Emotions circle in Marinette’s chest, tangled like yarn left unattended in her bag with too many knots to untie. Red yarn tangling and tangling and tangling into her present. But Alya doesn’t try to untie anything, just lets seconds tick between them, her silence speaking louder than any words she has to offer. Marinette knows she has plenty to offer. She always does.

With the bubble of annoyance fizzing under the surface, Marinette sloppily drops a cup, making the water splash the sides of the sink and spill on her jeans. “Can you not?”

Alya doesn’t react to that, easily fishing the cup out to dry it, not even minding the soapy dishwater. The glass squeaks some as she rubs it with the towel. “I’m not even doing anything.”

“Yeah, right,” Marinette mutters sourly, aggressively snatching a fork and sudsing it up.

Her mood only makes Alya groan, totally fed up and bothered that she deliberately splashes more water onto Marinette’s clothes.

“Hey!”

Alya leans against the counter her arms crossed while looking unamused. “Look, you had it coming.”

Marinette rolls her eyes and childishly crosses her arms too. Giving a sidelong glance, she mumbles, “You make it sound like I asked for it.”

To that, Alya barks a laugh, throwing her head back making her high ponytail go with the motion. “No, love. You see these?” she asks as she points to her earings. “I asked for the golden earrings because I like presents from my boyfriend. Your attitude is no way a gift and the only thing it deserves is punishment.”

Marinette winces, unable to stop the hurt blooming in her chest. “Okay. Ouch.”

Alya sighs and pulls Marinette into a hug, petting her hair as she holds her close. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. You’re annoying me, though.”

Marinette lets out a dry laugh, unsure if she actually means it. Her words are muffled into the crook of Alya’s neck. “You’re annoying, too.”

“Yes, but I’m the type of annoying that is only annoying because I’m tired of not knowing what’s wrong anymore.”

Sighing, Marinette resists to the urge to stomp her feet, and instead pulls back to look at her friend. “I can tell,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat when Alya’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I just…” she starts, swallowing the lump that is forming in her throat, deciding to focus on the other concurrent distress.

The past is the past, no? Yes. It is the past, forever stuck in yesterday and it will still be there tomorrow too .

“I just thought I would have heard back from the matchmaking people, you know? And I haven’t and…” she pauses to take a deep breath. “Alya, what if there is something wrong...with me?”

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Can’t fix, didn’t fix, can’t win, win, win .

The dust on her soul kicks up once more as her heart fissures with self doubt. Past and present knot together, forming in her stomach and hold her hostage to gravity. She’s sinking, she thinks, unable to breathe and caught in a void where screams mean nothing, where she means nothing, where she accomplishes--nothing.

But as Alya never listens and as Alya always has something to say and as Alya knows how to undo knots that hold Marinette captive, she sweeps the dust away momentarily. There is no joking between the two friends as Alya squeezes her tight before pulling back slightly. Big brown eyes burn with determination as kind hands cup Marinette’s face.

“The only thing wrong with you is that you think something is wrong with you,” she says earnestly, a half-smile present as she uses her fingers to pinch Marinette’s cheeks. “You’re my best friend and you are beyond lovable and matchable and many, many other -ables.”

Marinette’s chin quivers still. “But what if--”

“So, what if!” Alya exclaims, her pinching getting harder as she pulls at her cheeks. “That just means there was no one worthy of matching you with!” Letting go, she playfully shoves Marinette’s shoulder. “Jesus, Marinette. I thought you would know by now that it takes two to tango.”

Marinette looks down, letting reality settle her and her thoughts fly away elsewhere. There is breath in her lungs, in and out--out and in. There is the hum of her refrigerator and the dull tapping of Alya’s fingers fidgeting on the counter. There are many things to focus on and the world hasn’t ended and--

“I have two left feet so I don’t tango too often,” she jests, humor feeling odd but welcomed as she scrubs her eyes.

“That was,” Alya says, her tone flat, “awful. Totally awful. Was that a pun? An attempt at a pun?”

There’s normality, too, in friendship and love that doesn’t need science to exist.

“That was,” Marinette pauses with a small laugh. “I don’t know what that was, but c’mon, it was pretty good.”

“Um, sure. You keep telling yourself that, girl.”

Marinette grins and leaps forward some, dragging her best friend into a large hug. “But you love me,” she singsongs.

Alya grunts and leads them both back to the living room, “Yeah, I guess .”

A retort hangs from Marinette’s lips as an unexpected knock at her door echoes in the early evening of her home. Both girls pause their rough housing as Marinette looks confused before detaching herself to briskly walk up to the peephole of her apartment door.

Standing on her tiptoes, she squints her eye as the world outside comes into view and--and--

--she promptly jumps away from the door as if it’s on fire and spins on her heel, panic spewing from her skin.

“Hey? Is everything okay?”

By now, Alya is by her side, unsure of what is going as Marinette crouches down with her head falling between her knees. She can breathe, right? That’s what normal people do, they breathe and Marinette can breathe, but why does it feel like she can’t breathe?

“Marinette?”

The knocking picks up again, rapping with much more force as reality smacks Marinette straight in the face and--words have magic, right? Words have magic and she can’t breathe and she knows that magic exists and--

“Marinette? Are you home?” a voice calls through the door.

Alya’s hands on grips her shoulders, pulling her up. Brown eyes looking at with question, unsurety pitched between her brows. “Okay, who’s at the door?”

In the background, fate keeps knocking and Marinette’s heart is thumping wildly as she swallows. “Bubblegum doctor.”

Confusion only spreads across Alya’s face for a split second before she sucks in a big rush of air and her brown eyes dart to the door. “Oh my god.”

“I know,” Marinette whispers.

“Oh my god!”

“I know…”

It is right then and there that Alya enforces her best friend card shoves Marinette at the door. “Answer it, stupid!”

“But Alya--”

“Answer it!”

Alya roughly puts her hand on the door handle and helps Marinette push it down and pull the door open, the two young women coming face-to-face with the doctor standing in the hallway.  Doctor La Cour’s fist is raised in mid-knock, her brown eyes inquisitive as she stares blankly at them, her mouth twisted with something Marinette can’t quite place.

“Is--is this a bad time?”

“Ye--” she starts to say, but--

“Of course not!” Alya rushes over her, stepping around her and offering her hand to the woman. “You’re Doctor La Cour, correct? Marinette has told me a bit about you!”

Doctor La Cour grins a bit--baffled, yes, but kind as she takes Alya’s hand. “It’s the hair, huh?”

Alya laughs and she guides the doctor inside Marinette’s apartment. “Pink is a good color on you! Really brings out the richness in your skintone.”

Wordlessly, Marinette follows behind them for a brief second before gesturing to her couch. “Would you like to sit, Doctor?”

“Oh yes, that would be lovely, I’m sorry I barged in, but--” the doctor smiles sheepishly. “I really wanted to be the person who told you the good news.”

The world tilts for a moment as her heart hammers against her ribs and she can’t breathe in an entirely new way--not out of pain, but hope. Emotion crawls up her throat and guides her to sit down with fingers curling into her palms, leaving half moons as last second prayer.

Doctor La Cour’s eyes are bright and knowing as she digs into her purse and pulls out a pretty white envelope. “Yes, Marinette. Yes.”

In her living room filled with scraps of fashion and haphazard designs, Marinette reaches out with timid hands to take hold of the note. Her name is in gold, almost as if blended into the cardstock itself, and she sears this moment into her memory as she pulls out the letter.

Dear Ms. Marinette Dupain-Cheng,

Congratulations! We are pleased to inform that you have been selected for a match and you will meet your groom at the altar in two weeks. While we can’t disclose his name, please rest assured that he is just as excited to meet you as you are to meet him.

Best Wishes,

Doctor Laurens, Doctor La Cour, and Father Andrew

Marinette rereads the letter several times, letting every word sink into her soul before looking up with watery eyes at the two women seated across from her. Both Alya and Doctor La Cour wear matching teary grins, happiness thrumming through the air as magic sings around them.

For there is magic in the world, Marinette knows. There is magic and fate and funny things. There is hard work and harder effort and dreams that are only made reality through blood, sweat, and tears. There are to-do lists and to-don’t lists too. There are many things, for she is only as knowledgeable as the sum of her experiences.

But this--this right now, this is real. The way her heart swells and swirls to create a melody of emotions unable to be described in words. It flutters under her skin, blows away the dust that rests upon her soul, and is the final click that makes the world turn a little more right.

I’m...I’m going to be someone’s bride.

Chapter Text

Marinette stands outside her parent’s bakery early on a foggy morning. Her hands are buried deep in the pockets of her teal peacoat, her neck warmed up with a snug scarf. Tikki is wrapped up in the scarf too, humming a jingle as Marinette hesitates outside the glossy glass door. The keys to the bakery are already tangled in her fingers, but Marinette’s nerves have nailed her to the concrete sidewalk.

There’s a lump in her throat again, pressing tight as she tries to breathe. That seems to be a problem as of late too, trying to breathe when her lungs don’t want to. Panic swims in her vision, in tandem with the pulse of her heart as she steels herself for disapproval.

“Marinette,” Tikki sighs. “Everything is going to be okay.” The kwami’s words hang in the air for a moment, suspended as the rolling fog stills, barely crawling any further into the city.

Words have magic echoes in Marinette’s mind, the phrase from that book encircling her. She can see it her mind, the words jumping out of the pages and tying her up with their spells. She’s part of the narrative and Tikki is, too, and the world--the world--

She finally breathes out, pushing the fog back with her puff, refusing to hear her heartbeat ringing in her ears. Everything will be fine, she tells herself. Everything will be fine.

After all, when has Tikki been wrong?

With a gulp, Marinette swallows the lump that has formed in her throat, and she refuses to stay rooted at the door of her childhood home any longer. Gripping the keys tighter, she quickly shoves them in the lock of her parent’s bakery.

Beside her ear, she hears Tikki giggle. “That’s the spirit, Marinette! I like seeing you fired up.”

As the lock clicks open and she pushes down on the doorknob, she lets out a shaky laugh. “Fired up isn’t the exactly how I’m feeling, Tik. More like…” she pauses, letting the thought sit on her tongue, “...it’s too late to turn back now.”

Tikki grins and presses a kiss to Marinette’s cheek. “That is also true, but you’re my Ladybug. Luck always comes her way.” And though Marinette can’t see her, she’s positive that there was a little wink with that last line.

Marinette hums, accepting the statement as she pushes the door open, welcoming the heat from inside to warm her face and scare away the cold. The scent of bread stirs memories in her heart, and she can’t help but smile as she walks quietly towards the kitchen, her father’s soft singing echoing in the back. In front of her, she sees half-full display cases too--her father’s work as well--as she drops off her coat and slips on an apron hanging at the back counter.

Peeking into the large kitchen, Marinette pauses, blue eyes filling with fondness at Tom, who is elbow deep in flour. Her mother, Sabine, is swaying and dancing with a mixing bowl too, humming to her husband’s tune. It takes her a few seconds, but Marinette quickly realizes that it’s her parent’s wedding song--an old school ditty that she’s heard played constantly through the years.

“And I? I love you, for you’re mine--”

“And I’m yours too,” her mother finishes the lyric softly, mellow in the early morning.

Taking his large hands out of the flour, her father hoists them high in the air before crossing a few paces and placing a kiss atop his wife’s head. “I would hope so, love.”

Her mother says something quietly, something most likely naughty the way her father bends down to kiss her again and--

“Ahem,” Marinette coughs from where she stands in the doorway. She’s grinning behind her hand, her brows quirked in a smug way. “Good morning, parental units.”

Tom lets out a large yelp, raining flour everywhere as Sabine laughs and greets her daughter at the threshold with a kiss. “Oh, Angel, you should have told me you were coming by! I would have made breakfast!”

Marinette hugs her mother back and chuckles, pulling on the apron she found. “Well, I decided to surprise you and help out,” she states. “Besides, I’m sure I can find something to find to eat around here, maman.”

“She’s not wrong, dear,” Tom pipes up, backing to kneading dough. “Good morning, darling.”

With one skip, then two, Marinette is at her father’s side and hugs his middle. “Good morning, papa.”

And in seconds, she’s pulling sugar from the cabinet and reaching for eggs and reliving her memories of girlhood where her life revolved around this kitchen. Even though she took so many steps forward to get here, walked from her apartment, walked into the bakery--the kitchen--it’s like she’s walked back into the past. There is no need for time machines when comforts from childhood never change, practically multiples of the same memories repeating in time.  

“Make sure you tell the sugar you love it, Marinette,” her father says with a seriousness he reserved for baking.

She can’t stop the grin that’s spreading across her face as she pours the sugar into a flour mixture.“Yes, Papa, but sugar doesn’t have feelings.”

In the background, her father gasps, grumbling as he starts on a rant about the importance of feelings and food.

“Listen to your father, Marinette,” her mother’s calm voice cuts through his growling. “Tell the sugar you love it.”

“Yes, maman,” the twenty-six year old says, attempting her best to keep her voice very professional and befitting an adult. “On this day, I, Marinette, tell you, white sugar, that I love you.”

And as her father mutters to himself in the corner, both daughter and mother share a knowing look that has always been apart of Marinette’s life. The balance of her family has always been a trinity--just the three of them, forever and always. It’s knowing that jokes can be said again and again and never lose their humor. That warmth is provided from hot ovens and fresh loaves for breads and cookies. That sugar needs to be told you love it to make sure it’s sweet enough.

Her whole life has been filled with I love you, been filled with strong arms that hold her close when the world falls apart, been filled to the brim with abundant affection. It’s familiar and safe and there is nothing more familiar and safe than being home, with being with her family.

They love me, she thinks. It’s not a question, but a statement. She never doubts it either, for their love is as true as the fact that the sun will rise tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

A timer rings, which makes her turn around and watch with fondness as both her mother and father help take fresh buns out of the oven. They’re gentle as they lift the pans and place them on cooling racks. Her father brushes away stray flour from earlier that fell into Sabine’s hair.

“Silly wife,” her father mumbles, his smile tucked under his mustache.

“Don’t you mean pretty wife?” her mother teases playfully.

Happiness stitches itself upon Marinette’s heart as she leans against the counter, soaking this moment into memory. Courage dances up her spine, and she feels a small tug at her lips as her heart beats steadily in her chest.

“I’m getting married,” Marinette says, confident and content as her parents tease each other before her. “In two weeks. To a stranger.”

Seconds tick, her mother and father’s playful attention to each other slowly crawling towards their daughter, their laughter falling away to silence. The air in the bakery becomes heated with a crackling undercurrent, and her parents stare at her, gaping with wide eyes and jaws dropped.

Her mother clears her throat first. “What did you say, dear?”

Panic tries to scale the walls of her throat, but Marinette stuffs it down with a small swallow. Pushing herself off the counter, she digs into her purse and grabs the white cardstock invitation. “I applied to be part of a marriage research study a few months ago,” she starts, her back turned to them as she shuffles in her bag. “It’s like blind dating, you know. But--well, an arranged marriage instead. For six weeks. At least the length of the experiment...we could stay married longer if we wanted too though?”

When she turns around, her parents are still staring, their expressions unreadable, so she just continues talking as she crosses the room. “They used science--behavioral science like sociology and psychology--to find me a match and..well, they did.”

She presses the envelope that has her name in gold into their hands, wanting them to read it as her voice falls quieter. “And I really want this. I just--I want what you have and I think this is the best way to go about it…”

Marinette casts her eyes downwards, only knowing that they opened the envelope when she hears the rough sound of cardstock being drawn out from the smooth edges. She wants to peek through black bangs and look, but she just can’t. She used up all her courage on words rather than on actions.

It’s her father’s hand that lifts her chin, making her look up at him as she chews on her lip. His eyes are soft, grey peppering his hair and mustache, and he gives her a gentle smile. “And you want this?”

She lets out a shaky shudder, but steels her gaze. “Yes.”

“Well,” Sabine says, engulfing her daughter in a hug. “That settles it, I’d say!” Pulling back, her hands go to cup her daughter’s face, her voice wavering. “My baby is going to be a bride.”

Tom wraps both of them in his embrace too, peppering kisses atop their heads with the biggest grin Marinette has ever seen on his face. “And we get to make the cake!”

At that, Marinette laughs, feeling light and airy like the products her parents make. “Geez, Papa. All you ever think about is baking!”

She says it be biting, to take offense, but all that’s there is happiness bubbling out of her chest.

Dear Husband,

I told my family today. I hope you like hugs and fresh baked goods because really--that’s all there is to be a Dupain-Cheng.

Adrien waits awkwardly in a restaurant, dressed up stiffly in a suit and tie, hoping that his company will arrive sooner rather than later. It’s his father’s favorite restaurant, actually--one of the few places in the world where diets don’t matter.

But Adrien’s mind is far from fine dining and places with ambient lighting. There are no deep maroon tablecloths and suits and ties and waiters stopping by every five minutes asking if he’d like another glass of wine.  He’s caught in memories where he’s running, not sitting, sprinting towards his father’s office on a sunny afternoon.

They don’t live in the mansion yet, still in the small apartment towards the outskirts of Paris. Peeling, old wallpaper isn’t a problem either when there’s a roof over their heads, his parents would say. Not that Adrien would care--he never did, just happy to run to and fro down the wooden hallway, this time into his father’s lap as he creates a design, always drawing.

“Oomf!” Gabriel grunts, his pencil clattering to the desk before wrapping his arms around his son’s belly.

Adrien gives him a big toothy grin, emitting happiness as he looks across his father’s desk. “These are pretty dresses, papa.”

His father’s hair is longer in memory, not always slicked back, but parted down the side. Gabriel leans his chin on his son’s head, his words vibrating against Adrien’s back. “They’re wedding dresses.”

The child squeals in delight, pointing to a photo on the desk, practically bouncing with glee. “Like the one you made mama?”

His father laughs, a rich, not drawn out sound. “Yes, son.”

Adrien reaches forward and grabs the fallen pencil, his father swiftly placing a piece of paper underneath the tip.

“And when you get married, son, I’ll design a beautiful gown for your bride too.”

Peeking over his shoulder, Adrien smiles widely. “She’ll be so pretty, Papa!”

The memory is hazy around the edges, choppy in the motions such as when Gabriel smooths back his son’s hair or the way his father’s fingers tickle his ribs. It’s a memory that’s only reinforced with nostalgia, but Adrien’s not sure which part is fact and which part is fiction, for he read somewhere that memories are only remembered how people last remembered them, not from the actual event. His fingers dig into the tablecloth, wondering where his mind filled in the cracks--if he needed to at all--if all those happy moments were never real, but they had to be--they had to be.

Adrien waits awkwardly in a restaurant, his heart pounding in his chest, and he stops breathing because all he can hear are sirens, see them flash red and blue. People are speaking too quickly--people talking too quickly, and he can’t understand because English isn’t his native tongue, but there are sirens outside his house and he’s twenty-one and there is a stretcher being pulled out, a white sheet over it.

And Adrien can feel the way the officer grabs hold of his shoulders, tethers him to the moment when the world falls silent because he sees his father’s wedding band glinting in the afternoon sun.

“Son,” the officer says, said, says in memory. “He’s gone.”

There’s a note pressed into his hand and all he can see is the metal of his father’s ring reflecting the light, blinding him and his eyes are blurry because all he sees is--

Adrien, I’m sorry. I love you very much. I’m sorry.

It is here where both memories collide, the childhood happiness tangling with adulthood grief. I’ll design a gown for your bride and I love you repeating endlessly in his mind. A part of him wants to throw up and run away and he’s forgetting how to breathe because all of this happening and there is a wedding ring in his pocket for a woman he doesn’t know and there is--

So, you see, Adrien. You want there to be an embedded diamond, or diamonds, so they don’t snag on anything. And rather than just a circle, an interesting design instead, such as a knot as to make her band unique but also functional.

A screeching chair being pulled out cracks the intensity of his thoughts, but does not shatter them completely. With wild eyes, Adrien looks up to find both Natalie and Gorilla, soft concern wrinkled between their brows.

“You all right?” Natalie asks as Gorilla pulls out her chair.

There’s a thick silence that follows as Adrien tries to piece himself back together and Gorilla sits too. There are still sirens in the edges of his visions, still laughter in his ears. It snuck up on him, he thinks, the feeling of his world crashing and burning and being leveled to the ground. It comes back from time to time and rears its ugly head when things are joyous and good.

I’m sorry, Adrien. I’m sorry. I’m no better than black butterflies. Even though we came here, both promising to leave those lives behind, I am just black and useless and the world can’t be fixed--I can’t fix it. Ladybugs and black cats can’t undo the pain I’ve done to you--to them. To us. Between the two of us, I’m the only one who has brought destruction and chaos. At least I’ll meet your mother on the other side. If she’ll even have me in the afterlife, though I failed her while alive.

“Adrien?”

The sound of his name finally rips the memories away and centers him in the present where there is maroon tablecloths and dim lighting. Natalie leans forward with her hand palm up in a rare display of affection for him to grasp. He slides his own across the table and briefly lets their fingers touch, her guarded love felt through her cool grasp.

Adrien takes a breath and smiles weakly as he retracts his hand and digs into his suit pocket for the wedding ring box he purchased last night. The velvet texture of the box is a reminder that there are better tomorrows to follow rather than poor yesterdays to repeat. The action of putting the ring box on the table helps suture old wounds as both Natalie and Gorilla's eyes go wide at the implication.

“I’m--well, I’m getting married in two weeks, and I want you there,” he says directly, a part of him wondering if his father would be proud.

Wordlessly, Natalie slides the ring towards them and opens the box, letting out a small gasp as her blue eyes question. “Like your mother’s?” she whispers.

She says the word mother as if it will burn him if said too loudly. She’s not wrong, for mother is not necessarily associated with happiness, but complications.

(A woman with short blonde hair and a black veil finds him after the funeral . He’s positive he’s seen a ghost, but those eyes are his eyes and her mouth is frowning and the note is burning in his pocket and she raises her hand and--

“Hello, Adrien. It’s been a very, very long time.”)   

He clears his throat. “Well, Father always spoke about how this was the perfect style, you know,” he says as he takes a sip of water.

Across the table, Gorilla nods as he picks the box up. “He would have liked it. The knot especially.”

Time shifts forward fully as Natalie hums, a small sound bouncing between agreement and nostalgia. “Yes, he would have been pleased.”

Adrien lets out a shuddering sigh. “I thought so too.”

Conversation lulls slightly between them  as the waiter comes and takes their orders, the three of them ordering meals full of fat and rich flavors as they’re supposed to. Old habits die hard, complicated grey moments of the past still seeping to the present. Even now as Natalie orders the same dish--her favorite rare steak in a buttered sauce--Adrien is positive he can see the outline of his father’s ghostly smirk.

That’s the spirit, Natalie. These are moments worth savoring.

Family--family is an anomaly, Adrien decides as he sits across from the two caretakers of his youth. It can be made up of ghosts--some dead, some living (though sometimes the dead should not be living and living should never die). It can be made of strict rules and regulations that keep people an arm’s distance away, but loyalty effectively fills the cracks between professional and personal all the same.

It is the choice not to interact with people who try to claim you years later when you needed them long ago. It’s the ability to decide which bonds are worth keeping and which are not. Family--family--

It is the decision to love someone because you find them worth loving despite all their faults, all the darkness that haunts them, all the evils that make them less than perfect.

It is choice and it is his to make.

Dear Wife,

My family does not fit easily within a box. In some aspects, it is beyond repair, and in others, it’s exactly what I need it to be. But with you, my wife, we can make something worth keeping.

It is a cool, late autumn evening as two people leave their respective families to make their way home to where no one is waiting for them.

Not yet.

In one direction, a young woman’s step is light and cheery as she hums with delight left over from the warmth of her home. Her design is embroidered with the love of her parents, the love they have for her, and the love they have for each other.

In the other direction walks a young man whose steps are thoughtful and quiet as he carries loyalty close to his heart that he’s always known. Like her, his base design is composed of love, but the parts that made him whole--his mother, his father--have stopped being a part of his narrative long ago.

They tread a life where their stories have already been woven once, stitched together once as they stepped forward and answered destiny’s call. Magic works in funny ways, fate works in funny ways in the way that it makes history repeat itself constantly in one lifetime. Together they were one, together they were two equal parts, together--they were always, always together. One and one that still equaled one when they multiplied their efforts together.

It is a cool autumn evening when fate repeats itself as two ones walk the same path again to meet in the middle. There is no crash this time, there are not masks this time, there is no youth this time as blue eyes flash up from a cell phone screen and happiness illuminates the night.

“Adrien?”

Adrien looks around when he hears his name and lets out a surprised sound when youth finds him again, childhood recognized in the face of a beautiful woman. The smile is instantaneous, immediate as memories draw their pasts together, and he steps towards her quickly with his arms open in greeting.

“Marinette! It’s been so long!”

She nods as her small arms wrap around him briefly, smelling of baked goods like the youth they no longer possess. “You, too! Nino said that you were moving back, but I didn’t realize,” she starts.

“Yeah,” he finishes for her, pulling her to the side so that foot traffic can continue. “I was going to wait till spring of next year, but you know--they needed a professor now.”

Marinette grins wide, the cold air reddening her nose. “That’s great. I’m so happy for you!” Sweeping her thick bangs to the side, she asks with bright eyes, “Anything new with you besides that?”

He doesn’t know why he says it, but he can’t stop the good news spilling from his mouth. Maybe because the air around them is comfortable, and for some reason he’s always been at ease when he’s seen Marinette. My first friend, he thinks, a happy memory of two young children standing outside where a boy hands an umbrella to a girl.

“I’m--I’m getting married soon actually,” he tells her, happiness bubbling from his stomach to spring from his tongue.

There’s a beat of silence though, Marinette’s face blanks and a part of him wonders if he’s said the wrong and--then, her face lights up, animated and alive as she clasps her hands together in front of her, beaming. “Oh my goodness, Adrien! That’s so great! Congratulations!”

Cool air is comforting to the heat at his neck. “Yeah, I’m really excited…”

Marinette hums, digging her hands into teal peacoat pockets. “I bet,” she says thoughtfully. “Whoever you’re marrying is going to be so lucky.”  

There’s a tapping on his heart when she says that too, her gaze soft like she’s saying something so profound. It makes his heart feel full, emotion spilling over the edges and he doesn’t know why.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “I hope so. I really do.”

It is then, when he feels there will be lull in conversation, that he rushes forward to fill the silence. “And you? What do you do? Are you,” he stumbles when he says the word, “m-married?”

She lets out a surprised laugh, grinning. “Oh, um, not yet. Soon, too, actually,” she sighs, content and pleased. “And I opened my own boutique last year and it’s going well.”

“That’s amazing, Marinette. You’ve always been so amazing,” he tells her kindly, shuffling from one foot to the other.

“What?” she asks surprised, humor in her inflection. With the flick of her hand, she dismisses it.  “No, I just--I just try, I guess? But thank you,” she finishes with a warm smile.

Time feels like it’s standing still, in this moment, in this strange meet up between old classmates as people move to and fro to their destinations. Marinette breaks the quiet first.

“I’m really happy for you, you know,” she tells him, her blue eyes meeting his with such sincerity. “I used to--well--” she pauses, her eyes drifting to the ground.

Adrien leans in a little bit, trying his best to be engaged. “Yes?”

She closes her eyes for a second before looking up again, her cheeks pink. “Well, when we were kids, I was kinda in love with you,” she says, looking everywhere but at him. “And I’m just happy you’re happy. Fourteen year old me is really happy for you.”

There is a surge of emotion sparking from his mind to his heart as surprise washes over him. “I had--Marinette--I had no--” he babbles, but--

She laughs, waving him off. “No, no! I never told you, but,” she says. “I’m so glad I did now, and I hope your marriage is everything you want it to be.”

He tethers himself to her kindness, to her confession and lets his beating heart feel happy, just as he would have if he were still a child. “Well, fourteen year old Adrien is glad you finally told him too,” he tells her with a slight blush. “And I hope everything goes well for you.”

She giggles. “That would be nice!” Marinette opens her mouth, about to say something, but her phone beeps and her eyes go wide. “Gah!”

Adrien laughs, pleased that some things don’t change about people. “Time to go?”

She sighs. “Yes, but it was so good to see you again,” she finishes with a smile.

“Yeah, you too, Marinette.”

There is second hug exchanged, a promise to meet up soon, and before they know it, each are going their separate ways back to a home where no one is waiting for them.

Not yet.  

Chapter Text

“Oh, Marinette,” her mother breathes, her chin quivering, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “You look beautiful.”

Sabine’s hands whisper my Marinette in the way that she smooths the flyaways atop her daughter’s head while she adjusts the bejeweled headpiece one last time. Her fingers slide down to cup her child’s cheeks, beaming lovingly at Marinette as if this is goodbye. It’s not, they both know that. It’s not...just--just a new beginning instead.

Emotion crawls up into Marinette’s throat as she rapidly blinks tears away. “Maman,” she scolds softly.

Sabine swallows a deep breath and leans forward to place a kiss on her daughter’s cheek. “You just don’t understand, Angel,” she laughs, shaking her head. “You’re a bride today.”

“...maman.”

There’s a brief pause between the two before Alya’s warm hands find Marinette’s shoulders and tug her attention to the mirror. “Just look, girl,” her friend teases.

“Aly--” Marinette starts to say, a playful chiding phrase about to roll off her tongue, but it does not. Her words die before they even reach her teeth.

It is her wedding day and Marinette is seeing herself as a bride for the very first time and she is--she is- A gasp is caught in her throat as elation swells in her chest at herself, her dress, two weeks of sleepless nights resulting into something beyond imaginable.  

I’m actually...pretty, she thinks, her mind stunned as her mouth does not move.

There is beauty in this world, just like there is magic, Marinette knows, but there is nothing more magical than finding beauty in yourself she thinks as her eyes rove from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes in the length of the mirror. She’s wearing her late grandmother’s headpiece that pins her hair back in a half up-do, twinkling crystals shaped like a blooming flower to hold her soft pink veil as it waterfalls down her back. Her hair is lightly curled to frame her face, and it showcases a soft pink mauve lip with a subtle brown smoky eye.

She looks the part of the bride--her hair, her makeup done just right, but looking is not being, not complete without the way she sighs blissfully at how right everything feels. She’s getting married today, surrounded by her loved ones while wearing a dress she designed that flows delicately to the floor with champagne pink lace and stitchwork created with every ounce of self love she was able to muster.

Starting at the collar, a slight sweetheart elongates her neck, glittering beads and lace intertwine down the bodice, weaving into opening roses and baby buds, swirling like colored bubbling rose champagne. The collar also sweeps up over her sharp shoulders, the same swirls following a simpler pattern than her bodice, diving about three quarters of the way down her arms where the hem of the tight sleeve is finished with swooping knots. The full flowers travel down her waist, the beading receding as petals fall into a bubbling tulle skirt that becomes a shade darker.

Some pads of her fingers still feel raw from gripping her needle too tightly from transforming threads into flowers, but the woman in the mirror is wearing a dress blessed by the heavens above. Marinette cannot be more pleased with herself--delighted even as the image before her only reaffirms that she’s getting married today.

I'm getting married today, echoes in her mind happily for a moment, a slight hum where the world seems right. The hum turns into a grind, as if metal screeching when the moment suddenly becomes very, very wrong.

I’m. Getting. Married. Today.

“Marinette?”

At her name, she spins around, her veil swishing behind her as she stares at Alya’s worried face, a question wrinkled between her brows. Her mother wears a similar expression.

“I’m--I’m---” she babbles, her hands outstretched as she looks for the nearest seat. “Oh god.”

Her mother’s cool hands grasp hers and lead her to sit in an overly plush armchair. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Cold feet?”

Wild eyes look up and the edges of her vision pulse with the erratic beating of her heart. “I just--what--” Marinette starts, her tongue getting tied. “Why am I doing this ?”

Alya sits on the arm of the chair, placing a friendly arm around her. “Because you want to get married, babe,” she tells her. “And I think you’d really  want to marry this guy,” Alya adds quietly.

“To a stranger?” she asks, her voice rising on shrill.

“Now, Angel, no need to panic,” her mother soothes as she sits on the other arm of the chair. “This is what you wanted, right? To find true love and get married and all of that.”

She doesn’t know who to look at now, so instead she focuses her gaze to the floor and lets their words wash over her like water kissing the sand. Yes, I wanted this.

Correction: I want this. Yes.

And the affirmation soaks her like an unexpected wave as the world tilts more into order because this--marriage is not disorder, it is a choice and it is one that she wants. It dances under the skin, skipping her heartbeat, and crawls up her throat into words that do not exist with human pronunciation. Marinette has no way to describe the feeling when intangible childhood dreams collide with the reality of adulthood to become something good and corporeal.

She is a bride today, wearing a beautiful dress she’s always wanted to create and the assurance that after today, perhaps she won’t be quite as alone in the world either.  For she wants equality and a partner and she trusts--trusts in the way a young girl used to trust a young boy while they both freefell--that the experts have given her just that.

Her heart pulses one beat, then two when she lets out a shuddering breath, then composes herself and glances up at her worried loved ones. Marinette smiles and reaches for both her mother and her best friend with a gentle touch, giving each a squeeze.

“I’m getting married today,” she says softly, the words woven with a joyful note. It is an afterthought when she adds, with a giggle, “Oh, I wonder if Adrien had his wedding yet too. I know it was last second, but I was sad when Nino told me they would both be out of town. Maybe Adrien could have given us some advice!”

Marinette doesn’t see the way that Alya stiffens, her eyes widening a fraction more as Sabine lets out a chuckle. “Are you still  keeping tabs on that one model boy?”

She rolls her eyes, huffing slightly at her mother’s words. “Geez, maman! No!” she pouts. “You act like I’m still fourteen or something…”

Sabine playfully pats her arm. “Well, you did have photos of him all over your room, darling. It was cute how lovesick you were. I hope you act the same in this marriage too, if your husband be so lucky,” she finishes with a wink.  

“Well, I for one hope that Marinette actually says something this time,” Alya blurts out before slapping her hands over her mouth.

Marinette quirks an eyebrow in question. “This time?”

Alya sheepishly grins as she removes the hand from her mouth and smooths the silky gold fabric of her bridesmaid dress. “Um, you know,” she drawls. “With your new hubby.”  

Marinette purses her lips together for a moment, careful not to smudge her lipstick. “Meaning?”

“You know,” Alya gestures, her hand moving in a large circle. “With um--with Adrien when you were, uh, younger,” she stumbles on her sentence. Odd. “You didn’t tell him how you felt and I just want you to tell your--mmm--groom how you feel. And stuff, right?”

Marinette lets the words sink in for a few moments, her mind travelling to the times when she was a very infatuated young girl. She remembers the way her heart would race, the heat of blush painting her skin when he would smile at her or say her name. They are happy memories where her heart feels warm, and she can’t stop the small smile that creeps onto her face.

She also remembers the few weeks ago when she finally told him, oh, how her heart pounded against her ribcage, thumping in her ears when she rushed out her words. A confession ten years too late is better than no confession at all, she learned, seeing the way he smiled at her words, the way she made him happy, too.

Well, fourteen year old Adrien is glad you finally told him, too, he said. She’ll never forget the way the moment felt frozen in time, the way peace seeped into her skin as that chapter in her life was able to close on a good note.

Tugging her best friend’s hand, Marinette gives it a tight squeeze. “I promise to be honest about my feelings with my new husband,” she assures. “Might talk nonsense for a while, but I hope he’ll understand my weirdness soon,” she beams with a small laugh.   

Alya’s grip around her fingers tightens too. “Maybe I should write him a manual: How to Deal with Marinette in 10 Easy Steps. What do you say, Sabine? Want to be my co-author?”

“Oh, I would be delighted!” Sabine gleefully says. “I’m sure Tom would have an entire tutorial how to get her out of bed.”

“Can I get this tutorial because lord knows this one sleeps like a log!”

“...um, guys?”

Alya cups her mouth to her hand. “Tom, I need to ask you some questions!”

“Yes, honey--come quick! It’s essential for Marinette’s marriage!”

“I’m literally right here…” Marinette mumbles, but no one hears her.

Marinette leans back into the armchair as her father comes rushing into the room, his tie undone and his face half covered in shaving cream as both her mother and best friend bombard him with countless questions. It’s a comical sight, the way his brows crease together in confusion for a second before he throws his head back, full of laughter, shaving cream flying in the air.

There is slight chaos in the way that everyone laughs and tries to get the stain out of Alya’s floor-length gown, but there is warmth within it much like there is love floating between them all.

In these last final moments before she gets married, Marinette is surrounded by those she holds dearest to her heart. It is a perfect way to usher in the next step of her life. And though the finger on her left hand feels a little bare, she wants to hold on to this moment just a bit longer.

Just a bit longer.

“Your father would have approved of this color scheme,” Natalie states dryly.

Her fingers fix Adrien’s golden tie, precise and direct as she smoothes it and tucks into the front of his buttoned tuxedo jacket. With a gentle hand, she pushes him until he catches his reflection from the corner of this eye, gold hair and black and--

I look like Father, he thinks for a moment.

Turning fully, he examines his entire reflection and it’s his own face he sees, a sigh of relief seeping out of him as he recognizes his own jawline, mouth, nose--face. They’re his.

He’s wearing a neatly pressed classic tuxedo and a dark golden tie with striped silver embroidery is tucked into the jacket. The silver stitching is slight in the way it swirls and forms crests of waves down the length of the silky fabric. Circling swells curl into the next like flower petals raining, almost paisley, but not quite. The patterns match the silver and gold cufflinks he received as a gift this morning from his bride, with a braided golden knot on a square silver stud.

“I hope she isn’t too upset that I haven’t sent over her gift yet,” he mumbles.

Nino throws an arm over his shoulder, careful not to wrinkle his suit’s jacket, smiling widely at the man in the mirror. “Nah, dude. I have a feeling that she’s super chill.”

Adrien gives a sidelong glance to his friend, his mouth quirked in a half grin. “What makes you say that?”

Nino taps his temples and smirks. “I’m a man of many talents, Agreste.”

Behind them, Natalie clears her throat, tapping her watch in silence as her only indication that it’s time to go. Some things never change, like her strict need to be punctual or how she can always be found wearing a slick pantsuit, but the grey in her hair is welcomed as the fondness in her eyes peeks through her sternness.

“You guys go on ahead and I’ll be there in a minute,” Adrien tells them as he pushes Nino out the door and in Natalie’s direction. “I kinda want a moment to process everything, you know. Getting married and all that.”  

In the corner of the hotel room, Gorilla gives a grunt of acknowledgement and guides the other two occupants out of the room, Nino attempting to make small talk with both of Adrien’s former caregivers but failing miserably.

“So, do you have any juicy stories about baby Adrien?”

“No.”

“Okay, well--”

“No.”

The door shuts with a soft click and something flies from his breast pocket, ruining the very same tie that Natalie spent so long straightening in its wake.

“God,” Plagg groans as he stretches his back. “When did that woman get so talkative and sentimental?” Flipping once, he puts on his most serious face and tries his best to imitate Natalie.

“Your father would have approved of these color schemes, Adrien. Oh, you’ve grown into such a nice man, Adrien. Why don’t you just take over the fashion empire, Adrien?” The small kwami emphasizes each mocking sentence with a dramatic swing of his tail, walking on air as if he was strutting down a catwalk. “Honestly, can’t she just be direct and say she’s happy?”

Adrien laughs, rolling his eyes while he fixes his tie. “Doubt it, but I’m glad she’s here.” Holding a hand for Plagg to land on, he adds with a grin. “And I’m glad you’re here too, buddy.”

The black cat floats lazily unto his hand, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, we both know that between Nino and me, I’m the real best man.”

“Best cat.”

“Whatever.”

There’s a moment where there is nothing said between the two, Plagg pouting as Adrien bites back a smirk in the quiet. Outside the door, they both can feel the impending event that will change their lives forever. It’s a presence that needs no words, the idea strong enough to crawl into their very bones and nest there.

“You know,” Plagg starts, floating until he is eye to eye with Adrien. “If she doesn’t like cats, I hope you know that your marriage won’t last and you should divorce her ass immediately.”

Adrien bursts out laughing, almost headbutting the small god in the process. He’s doubled over, trying his very best not to wrinkle his clothes.

“Jesus, Plagg! Can’t you ever say anything encouraging?”

The kwami throws his arms up in exasperation. “What do you want me to do, kid? Drink the same stuff ol’ Nat is drinking? No thank you!”

Adrien sighs as he lifts himself up, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. “I don’t know, how about good luck for a start?”

“Kid.”

When Adrien glances up, he almost loses his composure again. Plagg rests in mid air with his eyes narrowed and the most deadpan look Adrien has ever seen on his face. At the same time, he looks very personally offended, if that’s possible too.

“I am the being of bad luck and destruction,” Plagg punches out. “And you want me to wish you of all people good luck ?”

Adrien lets the words vibrate between them, his mind caught up in memories of childhood where he wore black cat suits and saved the city. Sometimes if he moves his fingers just right, it feels like he’s still wearing claws, ready to scale buildings and follow a trail of red wherever she may go.

It’s a comforting thought as in this moment he can see the years from then till now stretch between him and his old friend, a small god tied to him through happenstance with a spot of luck. For them, they had no red strings, just rope made from shadows that threaded their lives together till death. And as the evidence points out, he’s still living, the black ropes still there, but not as tight they used to be.

“Why, yes, Plagg,” Adrien hums as he pats the top of the god’s head. “I do want you to say that.”

Plagg bats his hand away and lets out a defeated sigh. “Well, I guess,” he mumbles to no in particular.

Taking a deep breath, Plagg checks both ways before rushing to hug Adrien’s cheek. “You’re gonna do great, Adrien,” he says softly. “You’re going to be a great husband.”

Adrien’s hand flies to his cheek, rubbing the small of his friend’s back. “Thank you, Plagg.”

Thank you.

The ornate door’s metal hinges whine some while Adrien steps into the ceremony hall with an anxious heart and an even more anxious stomach. All eyes in the room turn on him and a hush falls over everyone as they begin to recognize that he’s entered before everyone breaks out into huge, knowing smiles. Relief floods his cells when he realizes that most of his guests were able to make it, minus two.

Giving everyone a small wave and a nod, Adrien practically runs to the altar to stand beside Nino.

For a moment, he allows himself to admire the decorations his bride-to-be has chosen, the silver and gold ribbons lining the aisle with large bows. Small candles light the pathway in glass bulbs. Looking over his shoulder, he sees a large flowered arch covered in blooming dark pink roses. It is a simple and clean concept, the small details for the ceremony hall precise, but still charming.

It’s romantic, but not obnoxious with hot pink or hearts. No, it’s a soft dark pink that reminds him of old photographs and memories one finds in a scrapbook. Definitely feminine as well with the roses and candles, yet the gold and silver add a touch of neutrality that compliments him too. He likes it. A lot. Likes the way she’s tried to incorporate him into the design instead of just fulfill girlish dreams.

It strikes him then how much he realizes that this is just his ceremony as it is hers.   

He can barely hear his own voice the way his heart is drumming in his ears. “I’m so surprised that everyone was able to make it last minute,” he says. “Though it’s a shame that Alya and Marinette weren’t able to come.”  

A bit louder than needed, Nino practically shouts. “Yeah!” he starts, making Adrien wince slightly. “It’s a shame that Alya and Marinette weren’t able to come today. Because. Out of town. And stuff.”

“Um?”

“Because Marinette’s not totally-- oomf.”

“Shut. Up,” Chloe hisses at Nino before looking up at Adrien. She stills for a moment, her expression shifting into something else entirely.  “Some of us are pregnant here,” she sniffs, retracting her fist from Nino’s stomach.

“Sorry,” his best man wheezes. “My bad.”

Chloe rolls her eyes exasperatedly before turning her attention on Adrien. The years have treated her well and motherhood has treated her even better with the way that Chloe’s hard lines have softened to become more palatable. Her long hair is now cropped short and despite being eight months pregnant, Adrien is positive she’s still one of the most fashionable women in the room.

Her touch is gentle as she adjusts his tie and coat. “Okay, Adri,” she warns. “If you’re going to change your mind, do it now.”

“I’m not going to change my mind, Chloe,” he tells her with a small smile.

As if not hearing him, she continues. “And you missed your chance in marrying me so either accept your fate in about five minutes or run away and forever hold your peace.”

Adrien laughs, shaking his hand as he cups a hand to his mouth. “Nathanael, come get your crazy wife!”

Across the room, Nathanael’s bright red hair sticks out amongst their former classmates. Looking over his shoulder, he grins. “Nah, you can keep her!”

Nino pops over Adrien’s shoulder and sticks out his tongue. “Ouch, Chloe. Looks like Nathanael finally smartened up some.”

She smirks, her pink fingertips gesturing to the space beside them. “And I see that your plus one is the lovely thin air.”

“Hey--”

“Um, guys,” Adrien says as he stands between them. “This is my wedding, not a playground.”

Behind him, Nino mutters. “Chloe started it.”

“Well, young man, I’m going to say that I’m going to have to finish it,” interrupts a deep voice.

The three turn around with startled yelp as Father Andrew stands tall, his chest puffed out and his grin lazy with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s not what Adrien thought a priest would look like--he thought the man would look more frail; however, Father Andrew is anything but with bulging muscles and tattoos that peek through the collar of his dressing gown. His fingers are fierce-looking, crooked from never setting correctly after fist fights.

Yet he does not reach for Adrien to knock his lights out, but instead grabs him into a hearty hug and lifts him off the floor. “Congrats, Adrien! You’re going to love your bride, I can feel it!”

With air being pushed out of his lungs, he exhales tightly. “Yep, you picked her out. Hope so at least.”

Father Andrew sets him down easily, as if he weighed nothing, and slaps his back. “Trust me, you two kids couldn’t have created a better match even if I tried.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that, sir.”

Father Andrew shrugs--a bit too similar to someone that Adrien knows. “Look, I took a vow of celibacy and Jesus is my best friend so let me live vicariously through you tykes.”

To that, Adrien laughs. “You’re only a few years older than me! Like what? 35? 40 at most?”

The priest gives him a sly look. “In heaven, I’ll live for all eternity.”

Adrien is about to reply when a runner pops up, a clipboard in hand and a serious look on her face. “Your bride is ready, Mr. Agreste.”  

And he forgets how to breathe, his heart thudding hard as Nino laughs at his predicament and guides him to stand in his designated spot. “Don’t worry, dude. I promise that everything is going to be just fine.”

The ceremony hall is slightly noisy as everyone hurries back to their seats, but Adrien whispers nonetheless. “What if she--I don’t know--hates me?”

The music starts and the door opens, and a little girl with a large basket of flowers grins brightly. She tosses petals merrily, high in the air and giggles as they fall onto the ground. It’s not the usual wedding march either, but Adrien doesn’t think he can focus on the pretty notes that ring in the air, the piano notes perfect in their placement.

“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you, but I know her, okay? And she won’t hate you.”

In the distance, everyone coos at the cute child, but Adrien is only staring at Nino. “Wh-what? How?”

Nino fidgets for a moment, yet his attention is taken away from Adrien when he turns to look at the entrance way. Adrien follows his gaze and he’s not sure exactly what he’s seeing, but--

“Alya?”

“Yeah, man,” Nino confirms, releasing a loving sigh. “That’s Alya.”  

Alya is walking down the aisle in a long golden bridesmaid gown, smiling sheepishly at him. Time is stopping, not making any sense as she climbs up the steps to stand on his bride’s side. She looks beautiful, her dress a gorgeous color on her skin, but out of place in a wedding she’s supposed to be too busy to be at. Unless...unless--the only reason she would be the maid of honor would be because--

She gives a little wave. “Hi.”

He swallows, attempting to swallow the truth at least, but not knowing if it’s real or not. He waves back wordlessly, his heartbeat a drum against his ribcage. His head is starting to spin, but his eyes are glued to the door now because he cannot, cannot miss the face of the person who walks through that door.  He refuses.

It started off as a joke, he thinks ironically. His application, the interview, the entire situation, this wedding even. It started off as joke one night because he was lonely and by the will of God, he was chosen and now he’s wearing a tuxedo with a wedding ring burning in his pocket seconds before he can see his bride.

He’s dreamt of her for two weeks, fourteen nights of a beautiful woman with a face he could not replicate. In every rendition, she was different. Sometimes brash and loud and full of life. Others quiet and nurturing with the kindest hands he’s ever felt. He’s longed for a person he’s never met--for a person he’s sure he never met, but here he is on the cusp of uncertainty surrounded by everyone he knows. And she knows too, incidentally, maybe--just maybe if he’s right? Because he’s not sure really, not yet when he hasn’t seen her, but--

He knows her parents when he sees them, her petite mother and gargantuan father on either side of her looking towards the front of the hall with surprised expressions. Together, always together, they are walking their daughter down the aisle, arms linked together. Mrs. Dupain-Cheng whispers into her daughter’s ear and everything starts moving in slow motion.

His bride lifts her eyes from the ground, a shy smile gracing her pretty pink lips. She’s bathed in pink from head to toe with glittering gems refracting light like fairy dust. Her hair frames her face perfectly, almost as if someone drew the way her strands would fall. When they finally make eye contact across the room, he swears it’s electric. Electric like her rich blue eyes that sizzle with energy and fate and happenstance. He can’t breathe because--because Marinette is the most beautiful bride he has ever seen.

Are you m-married?

Oh, um, not yet. Soon, too, actually.

She’s...wow--Marinette, Marinette is going to marry  me, he thinks, his heart flipping ecstatically between precious memories and good things to come.

There is luck in this world, Adrien knows. He’s seen his first love capture it, utilize it, and heal things that were forever lost. He knows the way it can bring a chaotic god to interfere with the life of the most obedient boy in existence because that is exactly what he needed. He’s seen the way luck shows up in mysterious way to unite a father and son after so many disjointed years.

He knows it exists now, too, when his bride, the woman he’s been dreaming of for the past two weeks is none other than his first friend. Luck is real in the way a boy and a girl stand, a mirror image of each other, an umbrella between them with the soft pitter patter of rain to signify their renewed beginning. Their fingers only brushed against each other then, but now--now, their lives will intertwine.

Adrien can’t stop the rush of fondness that explodes from his heart as Marinette takes her first step into the hall. It seeps into his smile and outlines his form as her foot lands onto the ground and brings them physically closer together for, perhaps, the rest of their lives. His soul swims with affection too as everything about this moment aligns perfectly into where it’s meant to be today.

He, as the groom; Marinette, as the bride; and both of them are meeting as soon-to-be husband and wife for the very first time.

To say it’s an overwhelming experience is an understatement. It’s a good one though, Adrien thinks, his eyes soaking in every detail of the perfection that is his bride. It’s definitely a good, overwhelming, heady and unexpected experience.

Marinette’s panicked expression, however, seems to state otherwise. Her mouth pinches into an awful frown, and she shakes her head from side to side as she gathers the body of her skirt in her hands. Then there is a sharp whirl of pink lace and beads and flowers as chaos erupts around Adrien, leaving him frozen at the altar with a final thought, his gaze following the trail of her train until it no longer remains.

As there is good luck in the world, Adrien knows, he forgot there is bad luck too. And Adrien has always had the worst luck of all.  

Chapter Text

The people in the room are stunned silent as the last of Marinette and her pink, flowing dress disappear from view,  Mr. and Mrs. Dupain-Cheng chasing after their daughter.

“Marinette!” her mother calls.

“Angel!” her father shouts.

The doors slam loudly with a thud, and Adrien stands frozen in place.  

Adrien isn't sure exactly what happened, but all he knows is that--well, his bride did not come to the altar and he's left here alone and now all of the guests’ eyes are focusing back on him. He swallows thickly as he meets Natalie's gaze, her mouth together in a firm, frowning line, seeming very much like the same look his father used to wear when he was unsure about something.  If he could, and if there was a visible exit, Adrien would like to run for the hills too, but currently, that isn't quite an option.

He feels frozen and stuck, time no longer moving forward as the room continues to pulse with discomfort.

"Well," Nino starts, his quiet voice almost booming in the silent room. "I definitely thought she would have taken it much better than that."

Adrien turns around at his friend's voice, Nino looking guilty. His eyes flash to Alya and--

Right then and there, the room shifts into motion, and Adrien watches everything with suspended disbelief.

Alya screams with frustration, her heels stomping the carpeted ground as she stalks towards her boyfriend. She's clutching her bouquet of pink flowers much like how one holds a club.

"I told you," she snarls, her perfectly manicured finger jabbing Nino's chest. "I told you that she was going to freak out, but no!" She drags the "o" in "no" across the room like she would Nino's body if she could.

Nino winces as he tries to speak, but she slaps a hand over his mouth.

"But no," she begins again. "It will be fine, babe, you said. Don't worry about it, babe, you said. She's going to love this and we have to honor the experiment, babe, you said." Alya's words are biting as she continues to seethe, her voice getting louder and more powerful. "Well, I'm worrying about it now, you--you--you big idiot!"

Stepping back, Nino raises his hands in defeat. "Look, you were right, and, well...we should have told her," he finishes lamely.

Alya crosses her arms and huffs, her gaze trailing the path her friend did not walk. "Yeah, we should have."

Somehow Adrien finds his voice again, his heart in his stomach as he looks at his two friends. "You guys knew? "

It comes out a lot harsher--maybe even desperate--than he wanted it to be, but his mind races a mile a minute as he tries to piece everything together.  He whirls around and everyone else is wearing the same sheepish guilty grins. Even Chloe, haughty, proud Chloe, looks ashamed as she leans into her husband's arm, not wanting to make eye contact.

Alya places a hand on his shoulder, startling him for a moment and confirming what he already knows. "All the classmates knew, at least. None of the families did. We wanted to honor the experiment so Nino and I agreed not to tell you both."

A part of him knows he should be grateful, but he can't be, not with the way anger rises up and burns him, not with the way the image of Marinette fleeing from the hall repeats in his mind, not with the way everyone else decided for them without their consent. Adrien usually doesn't give in to anger or bad thoughts, can't when he's been conditioned to know that bad thoughts lead to bad transformations, but when he looks back at Alya and Nino, he feels betrayed.

And it leaves him feeling cold, like he’s stranded - lost in the middle of a tundra.

"Neither of you had that right," he bites out in a low tone. "Experiment or not, you two don’t get to decide that." He drags a hand over his face in annoyance and frustration. "While you might have thought it was a cute game to see two friends paired up together, this entire time, we--Marinette and I--we’ve been thinking non-stop about a stranger and you--don't get what that feels like..."

They don’t get what it feels like to dream of someone and pray that you’re not making them too perfect. It’s staying up late at night trying not to be childish, but putting your hope in an absolute stranger and training yourself to have an open heart. They don’t know what it’s like to forget all past transgressions and hope that this marriage won’t destroy the way you view love.

It might have started as a joke, but it’s not, not when Adrien feels like he lost something important without it even beginning.

Nino clears his throat and shuffles behind him. "Dude--"

But Adrien cuts him off firmly. "Just don't. I don't want to talk to you right now."

He lets his words echo as he walks down the aisle towards the large ornate doors he watched Marinette flee through. The edges of his vision are red and he can't help the feeling of betrayal springing up and sinking into his soul as everyone looks away, acting as if they weren't part of the chaos. The gilded doors offer a reprieve when he escapes through them just like his would-be bride had, finding the getaway a good way to clear his head.

Looking around the grand hotel lobby, there is no sign of a pink dress or a worried family, so Adrien decides the best thing to do is start walking. He looks near the bathrooms and doesn't find them there, near plush couches by a water fixture leading to zero luck, to peer out into a stunning courtyard to find it empty save for some birds and old ladies.

Raking a hand through his hair, he pauses by a large pillar, trying to think where a runaway bride would scurry off to when he sees Mr. Dupain-Cheng cross the hallway on the other side of the lobby. Relief courses through him as he gets up and walks briskly in that direction, moving quicker and quicker until he reaches the same corner he saw Marinette's father go to as well.

Turning said corner, he sees Marinette huddled a long way down the never-ending hall, her mother and father beside her. He can't hear them, but he can see that they are trying their best to soothe her, but she keeps shaking her head, obviously overwhelmed by the morning's events.

As he starts to head toward her, he catches a brief exchange between two hotel staff members, staring openly at his bride with judgmental expressions.

"Well, it's her fault for wanting to get married without thinking about it," the first one says, her mouth turned in a nasty smirk.

Her co-worker agrees, the man sneering in the same way. "She could have said no and saved us all the trouble of putting the hall together. Good God."

The woman goes to open her mouth once, most likely to say something unnecessary and hurtful when Adrien steps in, standing at his full height and shooting them both a sharp look. "You're right," he says in a flat tone. "She could have said no, and I believe she has."

The staff members freeze immediately when they hear his voice. The woman dons her best smile, trying to not look panicked. "Oh no, sir--we weren't implying --"

He raises a hand to silence her. "Just because there's a wedding doesn't mean she's obligated to marry me, nor anyone else for the matter." Adrien watches as they both gulp helplessly. "Now get back to work instead of gossiping about your patrons."

The two workers leave right away while anger simmers under his skin, irritated at the amount of expectations people have placed on Marinette and she--she hasn't--

He isn't exactly sure where that train of thought is going, but he knows it's unfair, not right and he doesn't even realize that he's practically sprinting to her until he's right in front of her and her parents. Slightly out of breath, he waves a hand in greeting.

Mrs. Dupain-Cheng looks up first, her mouth forming in a surprised "o". "Adrien," she greets gently, giving him a small, hesitant smile.

Marinette visibly stiffens when she hears her mother call his name and when she looks up, her face is covered in tears, her chin quivering.

"I'm--I'm-m-m s-s-sorry, Adrien," she cries, more tears streaming down her face, falling prettily into her lap.

Her crying face isn't pretty though, it's bright red and splotchy and her nose is runny, but it's raw and heartfelt as he crouches down and puts a hand on her arm, rubbing soothingly up and down. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not mad," he tells her honestly. "I'm not mad at you, Marinette. We were both blindsided."

She shakes her head violently. "I ran away," she sobs. "I ran away and I left you there all by yourself ."

Rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand, he lets out a small sigh. "Yeah, you did," he agrees. "But you were scared and that's okay." Adrien swallows a bit and says the thing he really doesn't want to say. "You don't have to marry me, Marinette. It's okay."

However, what she says next just about takes his breath away.

"But I want to marry you!" she assures him. She gathers his hand in hers and grips it tightly, confidently.

Though tears are still falling a bit, her blue eyes are fire. "I'm just really overwhelmed that you were there because I never thought in a million years I would be marrying you!” She rushes. “Like you? And me? I never thought that but--!" Taking a deep breath, she wipes some of her tears away with her free hand. "I literally thought you were marrying someone else and--well, you weren't," she finishes softly. "You were up there and waiting to marry me..."

At that, she smiles and it's sparkling as she looks up at him with such sincerity and fondness that Adrien forgets how to breathe. A very beautiful woman just told him that she wants to marry him and smiles at him and holds his hand and-- it's one of his first friends-- somehow years later through everything, fate has led them both to a research experiment for matchmaking and now here they are on their wedding day, and-- it's a lot to take in.

"...Adrien?"

Marinette's small voice snaps him out of his tangled thoughts, not even realizing that her parents have left them both alone in the hallway sitting on the floor. He moves to sit beside her, the firmness of the wall a good anchor to reality. He makes it a point to not let go of her hand.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

Looking over, she grins again and she's stopped crying. She swallows and holds his hand tighter. "Would you still like to marry me too?"

He rubs his thumb absentmindedly over the back of her hand, but happiness bubbles from his heart in response to her innocent question. "I would like that very much, if you would too."

She laughs as she wipes her eyes again with her other hand, smiling more broadly. "I do," she hums.

Reaching into his pocket he grabs a handkerchief and begins to dab her face, amazed at how natural this feels. Maybe it’s because he knows her, watched her grow up through pictures and stories told by friends, but nothing about this feels strange. It's the softest of touches, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he soaks up her tears. Beside her, he notices a small makeup pouch and undoes the clasp easily, fingering through it until he finds a big, fluffy powder brush. Marinette eyes him suspiciously, not sure what he's going to do, but he reaches for her translucent powder and unscrews the cap.

"I, uh, I was a model, remember?" he says as he swirls the brush and taps off the excess powder. “So I know my way around a brush or two…”

She chuckles and nods, leaning closer while closing her eyes. "Yeah, I used to have a bunch of cutouts of you all over my room when I was younger."

He grins as he lightly buffs the brush on her skin to touch up her makeup, being careful not to smudge anything in the wrong direction. "Was this when you had a huge crush on me?"

Her fingers fiddle with her gown, twisting in the lovely lace flowers stitched into her skirt. "...perhaps.”

Adrien tries to ignore the way her lips pop each syllable.

Putting the brush and the powder back into the pouch, Adrien leans back and examines his bride, his heart thumping in his chest as he watches her open her eyes. It's a surreal moment, suspended somewhere far away that somehow, some way they both agreed to continue doing this. Marrying each other not as strangers, but as separated friends who found each other along the way.

It is then that Marinette rises to her feet, ascending with ease like an angel soaring toward the heavens. Behind her, the pink veil flutters out as she puts it back into place while smoothing the tulle of her gown. Reality sinks in faster as she tentatively holds out her hand in invitation to pull him up, palm up in friendliness and not fear. Slowly, he lifts his hand to hers, his fingers grazing the softness of her skin before holding it tight to stand equal to his bride.

She doesn't let go, and instead laces their fingers together, her hands clammy and a blush sprawling across her neck. She doesn't look at him as she tugs them forward, back to the ceremony hall, and he easily falls into step with her, the straightness of her back reminding him of someone he can't quite place.

She chews on her inner lip, not wanting to damage her light mauve lipstick. "This is okay, right?"

But the phrase am I okay (for you)? is heard loud and clear.

Her shyness shoots an arrow through his heart and he can't help but drag her straight into his side. Marinette lets out a small squeak as he rests his fingers in the dip of her waist, walking them towards their future with more certainty than he expected to feel or to ever know.

This is my choice , he thinks. This is my choice and her choice and--

"Marinette," he says, her name rolling off his tongue with new meaning. "This is more than okay."

I don't know what's going to happen, but you--me--we're more than okay .

Marinette's heart pounds hard in her chest, beating so forcefully that it's awfully painful and she can't breathe just right, but--but--Adrien holds her hand and together they are walking back towards their wedding where their future will forever change by choice. It's almost too much, the way he smiles at her, willingly and wants this too, and moves happily with her toward something new.

They don't speak as they cross the lobby to the large doors, the designs pretty in the way that they glimmer upon the metal door. Adrien unwraps his arm from around Marinette's side and instead offers the crook of his elbow for Marinette to hold.

His smile is nervous, jittering at the edges. "I hope it's okay? For me to walk you down the aisle?" he questions. "I mean, if you want me to go get your dad then--"

She shakes her head and quickly rests her hand on his arm. "No, I think this is good. This is our choice, yeah?"

He lets out the breath he was holding. "Yeah."

I hope no one has left , she thinks, fear crawling into her heart at the thought.

She is awarded when she hears the slight echo of chatter from the room. With Adrien at her side, only a grandiose door between her and their wedding, and it is--intimidating.  

There is a reason she ran away, the notion that she was the one to be his bride felt too much like an intense delusional hallucination from when she was a teenager. Reality set in when he smiled at her in a way she was not able to recreate in even her wildest daydreams. The aisle stretched between them, endless miles almost, and he was dazzling upon recognition, knowing exactly who she was the moment she met his gaze.

He was not the stranger she thought of, not the mystery man with whom she could only see her future in dark silhouettes. Adrien was concrete and real and someone she knew and daydreams and reality crashed down, eerily similar to a wave that drowns the earth.

And at her feet was the rushing tide, wetting her shoes and her dress as she hurried away, her heart thudding in her chest as the crest came up and--

Adrien was behind her, chasing her, seeking her with kind eyes and an even gentler heart that filled the chasm between them when he offered her a way out, a chance to run away, to leave, to not face the change of something new with him.

She digs her fingers into his elbow for a split second, anchoring herself to him as she takes a calming breath. They exchange an encouraging glance and the green of his eyes reminds her of climbing vines that seek the sun.

And Marinette wants to be his sunlight. She does.

Together with their free hands, they each push open one large door, letting the creaking metal alert everyone that they’re here.

All eyes on her again--on them again--as the faces of friends and family pause in surprise before everyone erupts in a cheer. Marinette refuses to freeze and instead gathers the courage she always keeps tucked away and smiles. Everyone is beaming, so happy and ecstatic, and their enthusiasm is palpable in the air.

Toward the front of the room with Nino, Marinette can see Alya jumping up, her fist high in the air. "I knew it! I knew you two would come back!"

Alya's shouts get lost when her father's loud voice booms. "That's my baby girl!"

To that, Marinette can't help but duck her face against Adrien's shoulder, becoming overwhelmed again, but this time from happiness.

She can feel Adrien laugh, the vibrations of it tickling her forehead. "Looks like everyone was rooting for us."

Not being able to look at him, she keeps her eyes cast downward. "I guess..."

Adrien laughs again, finally getting them moving towards the altar.

Nino and Alya meet them halfway, both smiling but strained with a little shame. Alya flanks her left while Nino goes to Adrien’s right. Each wrap their arms around them in apology.

“So, we’re sorry,” Nino says bluntly and looking over, Marinette can see the way his cheeks are stained red.

“Super sorry, actually,” Alya adds. “We honestly thought we were helping.”

Marinette sighs, demeanor forgiving, and leans into her friend’s touch. “I take this is what you meant when you said that I would want to marry the groom?”

Alya leaves a friendly kiss to Marinette's hairline. “Pretty much,” she grins. “Thought you would like him at least a little bit.”

From Adrien’s side, Nino coughs, “A lot a bit.”

All three sets of eyes snap in his direction as he holds up his other hand in defense. “What! Adrien likes that Marinette is his bride a lot a bit too!”

Alya puts her hand on her forehead, her compromise to her usual facepalm and shakes her head. “Babe.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Shut up.”

Marinette giggles as her friends take their leave to stand in their designated spots at the altar. Waiting for them are both of their families and Adrien lets her go as she moves to hug her parents.

“Hi,” she says meekly as her family holds her close.

Her mother grins a watery smile. "My Angel," she coos as she pulls her daughter close.

Tom comes from around and hugs both his wife and child. "Knew you would come back, dear. You've always been one to do things backwards."

At his words, Marinette bristles playfully. "I swear, if this about me putting in milk before cereal again--"

But Sabine smacks her husband before he can cause any more mischief. "Thomas--you cut that out and let your daughter get married."

Her father only pulls back and uses a large hand to cup his daughter's cheek. "Be good, my darling. Be you."

Love and affection and change swim in Marinette's heart as she nods, tears threatening to fall if she doesn't blink them away. With a loving smile, she beams up at her her father. "Always, Papa."

Turning around, Marinette sees Adrien receiving the most awkward hug from his late father's former assistant, the stoic woman breaking character to smile as she pats the top of his head. His ever silent ex-bodyguard claps him on the back in a positive gesture before motioning for him to turn around. But Adrien rushes his two caregivers with one last, surprising hug as his goodbye before turning to his face his bride.

I can't believe I'm his bride ...

Adrien beams at her and offers his hand. "Ready?"

Marinette takes a deep breath and nods. "I think so."

"Good."

Together they walk up a few steps towards Father Andrew, the holy man waiting patiently with the most knowing smile Marinette has ever seen.

Leaning forward, he taps Marinette on the nose. "I see you took a page out of Julia Roberts’ book, my dear,” he says. “When I told you Runaway Bride was my favorite movie, I didn’t mean for you to take it literally.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose at the old reference, blushing a bit as he openly calls her out. "I came back though!"

Father Andrew hums for a moment, his eyes glancing at Adrien, sweeping over him from head to toe. "I suppose he's no Richard Gere, but he'll do," he says thoughtfully.

Adrien sputters, trying to think of something to say, but the Father talks over him, lifting his arms high into the air and happily shouts to the guests, while making the bride and groom stand mirror image of the other.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to honor the union of Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng!"

The opening line of the ceremony makes everything become reality as Marinette realizes that there is no turning back now. This is it. This is what she signed up for and it's happening with Adrien and there are no more chances to run away.

Adrien must feel the same because he looks just as flustered, but he gives her a shy smile.

"Now, this is no normal union by any means," the Father jokes. "For who gets an arranged marriage nowadays?" He pauses for a moment before adding with a smirk. "Desperate people."

Of course, the crowd laughs, and so do the bride and groom as Father Andrew continues. "But desperation is oftentimes the thing we need to begin anew and start the next chapter of our lives. Marinette and Adrien? They know that," he says while looking fondly at both them. "They know that and decided to take a chance on something, something not normal, and that led them here ."

Magic dances around them and Marinette feels its movement electrify her skin as she looks over and meets Adrien's gaze. Yes, something led them here, a long strand of miraculous string that was able to weather missed connections and lost opportunities. She feels it encircling them, pulling them closer together as the sermon continues.

Father Andrew turns to Marinette, a gleam in his eye before looking over at her groom. "Here is the right now, where the best and worst of you will come together and walk into a new life. And with a bit of luck, I feel like both of you will find what you're looking for."

At the Father’s pause, Marinette soaks up the easy affection that is radiating from Adrien, the way he opens his heart and smiles widely. He’s wearing her wedding presents, she notices, the cuff links and tie a wonderful compliment to her dress. They are not cut from the same cloth, but together through marriage, they will be able to become something together.

Father Andrew takes a breath and helps guide Adrien and Marinette to the most important part of the ceremony.

“Do you, Adrien, welcome Marinette as your wife, offering her your love and encouragement, your trust and respect, as together, you create your future?”

He could still say no, he can still say no. I mean, I ran away and he can still say no and I won’t be mad at him, but dear god--please--

Adrien catches her gaze, his green eyes glistening with certainty. “I do”.

It makes her head spin, her skin afire and she wants nothing more than to throw her arms around him and never let go.

“Do you, Marinette, welcome Adrien as your husband, offering him your love and encouragement, your trust and respect, as together, you create your future?”

“I do!” She says a bit too loudly, a bit too quickly. The crowd laughs a little as she clears her throat and says it softer. “I do.”

Adrien, bless him, his face flushes bright pink, no longer able to look at her, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth. That only makes the crowd giggle more.

Emotion wells up in Marinette's throat as Father Andrew brings their hands together. "Now, Marinette," he says kindly.  "Do you have any vows to say?"

Marinette nods enthusiastically, her fingers warmed by Adrien's touch. "You know, today I thought I was marrying a stranger," she begins, laughing a bit as he smiles. "But instead I found out that I'm marrying the very first boy I fell in love with."

Her heart hammers in her chest as she blushes at her own honesty. "Today I thought I was marrying a stranger, but I'm not. I'm marrying you, Adrien and well--I promise not to jump to conclusions without hearing your side of the story yet and I will try--hopefully--to finally speak up and tell you all the things I wish to say. I promise to listen and to be patient and to care for you. I know our marriage will not be easy despite knowing each other, but I will not give up just because things are not picture perfect."

Adrien ducks his head a bit, staring at their hands before shyly meeting her gaze. "Like you, I thought I was marrying a stranger and instead I found out I'm marrying one of my first friends and couldn't be happier." He takes a deep breath, "I promise to always chase after you if you run away, I promise to listen and to care for you. I promise to give our marriage a chance to shine."

Shuffling a hand into his pocket, Adrien pulls out a ring. "With this ring, I thee wed," he says softly. "Through sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for the good days and the bad."

He slides it onto her left ring finger effortlessly, and Marinette gasps at its beauty. It’s a braided white metal with diamonds embedded around the entire band. The outline of the braid gleams gold, much like the wedding colors she chose and she can’t but help think that it’s perfect.

Father Andrew hands Marinette her own ring, her voice shaky as she speaks. "With this ring, I thee wed. Through sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for the good days and the bad."

Taking her simple band, a lovely tungsten metal closer to a deep gray, she puts it on his ring finger, symbolizing their union. Adrien stares down on the ring on his hand and smiles.

Their fingers curl around each other as Father Andrew pipes up. "Together the two of you will make your own future! I now pronounce you man and wife! You may now kiss your bride."

Everyone hoots and hollers, catcalls from the back screaming that they better make the kiss worthwhile. Marinette is pretty sure she heard Alix yell that it better be hot and steamy.

Adrien chuckles and steps into the small space between them, shaking his head, and he presses a simple kiss to her forehead. His lips are warm and soft and Marinette can't help the way fondness floods her soul at the sweet gesture. It tickles her skin, her throat, and before she knows it, she's tipping her head up and standing on her tiptoes.

It’s sudden, the way she buries her fingers in his jacket lapels to stay balanced, and his hand automatically goes to touch the small of her back. He blinks down at her with the most bemused look before she grins and closes the space between them. Her lips barely touche his, but it’s a kiss all the same.

Adrien’s palm presses her closer, his lips just as warm on her lips as they were against her forehead. Together they are smiling as they break apart, innocent and awkward, but hopeful for good things to come.

And, she prays, there will only be good things to come.

Chapter Text

Nino’s enthusiastic voice pours from the surround sound speakers.

“Introducing Mr. and Mrs. Agreste!”

There is a roar of applause and cheerful whooping as Adrien and Marinette grip each other’s hands tightly. Cameras flash as they enter the ballroom and slowly follow their way along a trail of flowers to the sweetheart table. The colors she chose, the soft pink and luminous gold and silver, create a heavenly halo around the room.

Love surges throughout the room for their intimate reception. Only the most beloved and precious people were invited to the wedding. Most of the guests, unsurprisingly now, are mutual friends between the two of them. But their families meander here and there, though Marinette is positive her side is far larger compared to Adrien’s.

Together they wave and high five their friends as they walk. Marinette catches their reflections in a shiny mirrored pillar and sees that they--the bride and groom--wear tense smiles. She feels it in the way her shoulders are stiff, her back just too straight, her hand clasped too tightly around Adrien’s. Right now, neither fight nor flight is an option.

The high energy from the wedding ceremony is still tucked beside Marinette’s heart, and that grants her senses a baseline of peace. The vows and promises said to each other anchor her to the now, but she has to admit: this is extremely overwhelming.

And that seems to be the word for today as she sits beside her new husband, her first unrequited love. Everything is overwhelming. It’s too much, too little, too--too--

The reception quickly blurs together: the extravagant dinner, the warm congratulations, free-flowing wine, and even the wedding cake. Marinette doesn’t register what it looked like, how tall, what flavors, doesn’t remember any of the little details minus that her parents made it and she for sure ate some as she can still taste the sugar.

She and Adrien had their first wedding dance as well, something that was a little bit in focus as he put his hand on her lower back and they swayed to a song she didn't choose. It was a slight pause of welcomed joy in the face of an intense and unpredictable future.

But now reality has painted lines for itself again, smoothed out its edges as she and Adrien stand outside their hotel room door. Alone. On their wedding night and Marinette is just about to puke.

For the love of God, Marinette. Do. Not. Puke.

They are no longer holding hands as they were at the start of the reception. Both keep their arms pinned to their sides as they stare at the room number nailed into the door.  The hallway is devoid of people save for them.

Adrien fiddles with the keycard in his pocket as Marinette gives him a sidelong glance. He looks nervous too and she's reminded of the tense smiles they both wore at the reception. She kept seeing those smiles throughout the evening, catching little glimpses of them in the reflection from someone's champagne flute or glasses. Sometimes from the mirrored pillars scattered through the room or in a photo someone took with their smart phone.

Her heart crawls up into her throat and it's hard to breathe because by law they're married, and the legality of it all hangs over their heads in a way she can't explain. Is it fear she feels right now? She's not certain, but it's not regret. That's for sure. Perhaps it's the unknown, the unknown of him, of her, the unknown of whatever is behind the honeymoon suite door.

Adrien clears his throat and interrupts her thoughts.

"So, uh, we're married now."

Is this the first time she's been alone with him? They've been married for a few hours but this has to be the first time she's really been alone with him. For she is--

Well, the first time she's been alone with him as Mrs. Agreste.

(Not that she’s actually changed her last name yet, but it’s the principle of the matter.)

And he is now her Mr. Agreste.

Thinking any longer on it makes her head and her heart spin, but Marinette decided since she said "I do" that she will try, and trying involves not running away.

She lets out a shaky breath and lightly bumps his shoulder. "Well, you're stuck with me now, husband ."

Words have magic, and Marinette hopes if you repeat something enough times, it will be true. That’s been her mantra from day one, so what better day to start than now?

It's enough to break the tension between them as Adrien warmly stares at her, a cheeky grin forming as the word husband echoes between them. It feels nice to say it out loud and remember saying it too, letting the moment last long and not blur like the reception.

His smile grows wider as he steps forward and quickly sweeps Marinette into his arms. She lets out a girlish gasp, shocked and bemused when Adrien adjusts her in his arms and she wraps her own around his neck.

...he is a lot stronger than she expected. That's for sure.

"Well, wife ," he says, his breath warm by her ear. "I'm glad to be stuck with someone like glue ."

Marinette instantly recoils and groans, throwing her head back. "Oh god--"

"What? Don't like puns?"

And the way he says it, playful and silly, makes Marinette roll her eyes.

"Didn't know my husband would be very punny..."

Adrien laughs and takes the keycard out of his pocket. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you for... meow .”

And she’s a teenager again, when she hears that, a young man beside her teasing and Marinette feels warms at the memory despite that it makes her nose wrinkle in disgust. “Ugh, cat puns are the worst of all!”

Adrien chuckles quietly, entirely pleased with himself and swipes it once and the door lock gives a happy chirp. All puns are forgotten then, with Marinette in Adrien's arms while he kicks the door open. The room inside is dark from where they stand, but the invisible line of the threshold is a marker for the next step of their lives.

It is almost more important than being at the altar, the two of them about to walk into a private space out of public eye as she feels Adrien take a deep breath. Her arms tighten around his neck in a reassuring squeeze.

"Ready?"

Marinette nods and tips her head back to smile at him. "As I'll ever be!"

He grins and steps into their room.

She knows there isn't a real difference, that in the grand scheme of things, nothing really changed. For they are just a man and and a woman crossing a threshold into their hotel room, but to her, to them maybe, things did change. The magic of tradition works many wonders for those that are unsteady, unstable, unsure, un--un--

It's in the way her heart beats faster, her soul feels surer, and her spirit feels more connected to the man who holds her in his arms on their wedding day. Their wedding day, a union that brought the two of together to be something new.

Newness does not need to be grand, does not need magic. It does not need to be flashy and showy and demand that everyone in vicinity pays attention to it. No, newness, Marinette thinks, can be subtle, can be the little things, can be as simple as saying you belong to me and I to you .

That is new enough.

Adrien fumbles with a light switch along the way and the darkness and the unknown that filled their honeymoon suite evaporates when soft light washes over the room. He lets out a low whistle while Marinette gasps at the lavish decor and pristine conditions of everything.

The room is cozy red and comforting white. A bright red accent wall spans the largest side with a immaculate and colossal white bed in the middle. Across from the bed is a spacious balcony overlooking a stunning Parisian landscape, the city's lights twinkling like an ocean of stars for them to see. Delicate art pieces hang on the walls, abstract expressions of love and desire that complement the room's warm colors.

Adrien slowly lets Marinette slide from his arms, and her feet touch the ground. Both are still stunned silent as she soaks in the image of the large sofa and an even more massive lit fireplace that is connected to the en-suite bathroom. When she turns and surveys the room, she notices a bottle of champagne sitting on a small glass table by the sliding doors to the outside.

Her fingers skim across the bedding, and it feel even better than silk. A part of her wants to just crawl into bed and sleep tomorrow away, but that thought leaves her when she hears the champagne bottle's ever-famous pop. Turning around, Adrien sheepishly holds out a glass for her.

"It'd be a shame for it to go to waste?" he asks sheepishly.

He's just as unsure as she is, and for some reason that anchors her.

She smiles at him and crosses the room with more ease than she's had the entire day. Her dress flutters after behind her much like her heart at his expression. Her fingers briefly touch his as he holds out her glass, which reminds her of when they were children, of the first day she fell in love with him. She smiles wider at the memory.

Pouring his own glass of champagne, Adrien wonders aloud. "What are you thinking about?"

Marinette hums, the bubbly liquid in her glass tickling her lips. "That I'm married."

Even in the room's soft lights, she doesn't miss the way he blushes and ducks his head to stare at his own drink as it almost spills over. "Oh."

"Mmmhmm," she hums again, but there is only mirth left in her body as she's just too tired to be anxious anymore.

She lets out a sigh of relief and repeats herself. "I'm really married..."

Adrien laughs and moves towards her. "And that's a good thing, right?"

(She can hear the subtle question that I'm a good thing, right? loud and clear.)

Marinette lets herself be brave and leans against his side. "I think so."

She feels her husband, her new husband, let out a shuddering breath. "Oh thank god..." Running a hand through his hair, he smiles weakly at her. "I know that this is totally crazy and all, but it's just so good to know that you're happy about this."

Marinette puts her glass down and her brows pinch questioningly. "What do you mean?"

He fiddles with his tie, loosening it some, but doesn't look at her. "Well, you know," he starts. "You kinda..."

...ran away .

The way he doesn't look at her makes her heart twist. Without a second thought, she grabs both of his hands and leads him to sit on the rather large couch in their room. He doesn't tighten his hold around hers, but he lets her drag him anyway.

They sit face to face and Marinette brings up her knees until they press against his thigh. Leaning in, she squeezes his hands with affection. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I made a promise to you and I'm going to stick it out."

Adrien nods wordlessly, his eyes catching hers, and the intensity of his gaze burns her. She doesn't back down.

"I didn't run away from you , I ran away because of the situation, and because of that, I'm sorry. There is nothing wrong with you, actually. You're pretty much perfect," she chuckles.

But when Adrien doesn't say anything, her heart stops. His expression is completely open, painted with shock and awe as he blinks at her, unsure if he heard her right. His lips are parted slightly and redness travels up his neck to the tip of his ears.

And before she knows it, he pulls her into the tightest hug she's ever felt. His arms wrap around her back with ease and she's nestled perfectly into the crook of his neck, able to inhale the slight scent of musky cologne he put on hours ago. His voice murmurs into her hairline and she's able to feel the way honesty drips with every word.

"You're really something, Marinette," he says. "I'm so glad it was you."

Her heart stutters against her chest, just like the words she speaks. "M-me t-too."

Me too.

Marriage is an unknown, Adrien learns fast. It's something he wasn't able to describe, but the new union between him and Marinette slowly reveals that the unknown doesn't need to be scary. It can be hopeful. And there is nothing more hopeful than holding Marinette in his arms and for the world to make some sense.

After all, life usually doesn't make sense, but there is stability in the right now.

Pulling back, he brushes some of her hair out of her face, his fingertips trailing the shell of her ear. "Did you really mean that?"

He doesn’t miss the way her skin pricks with goosebumps at his touch.

She quirks her head to the side, but waits for him to continue.

"That I was your first love?"

Marinette giggles and readjusts, bringing her feet to curl underneath the folds of her dress. "Yeah, I did," she admits, her eyes tender. "Was I really one of your first friends?"

Adrien nods. "Yeah, you and Nino and everyone. But it was always so hard to get you talk to me!"

His wife, his wife, rolls her eyes and scoots to lean against the couch, breaking the connection of her knees against his thigh. "That's because I liked you!"

"I thought you were in love with me?" he teases.

Marinette fumbles over her words. "Hey--you can't--weren't you just--look--!"

He smiles and all the nervousness from before melts away. It's true that he thought he was marrying a stranger, but there is something wonderful about getting to know someone from days past instead. And in a new light too.

For Adrien has never realized how truly vivid was Marinette when he was younger until now, until she became his bride, until she became his wife. She's unpredictable and kind, her emotions flowing freely like water and vulnerability in rapid succession. He's learning quickly that if blinks, he might just miss a new shift. There is a connection there too, on several levels.

Watching her blush now, he remembers happily the way she pressed her lips to his, how it was a chaste kiss, but her lips were warm and inviting. She's painted with bold lines and even bolder actions as she continuously moves forward despite being afraid.

He thought of her as an angel, something soft and to be protected before the ceremony, but angels are not always soft. Sometimes they are also made of fire, and that reminds him that this woman is stronger than she appears. There is power and courage simmering underneath her skin, in how she assures him, how she continues on, in how she doesn’t give up.

Truly, there is a lot admire about her.

And there is a lot things to discover too, in the way she yawns so wide, her small hand is barely able to cover her mouth.

He gets up first and offers her his hand. "C'mon, we've had a long day. We can turn in early."

She grabs it instantly, her eyes sleepy. "That sounds nice.."

He grins as she makes her way to the bathroom, shutting the door with a quiet thud after grabbing her belongings. In a moment, she turns on the shower and the roaring sound of rushing water fills the hotel room.

Instantly, he collapses back on the couch and throws his head back over the edge. In an almost fatal crash, the entire day washes over him and he realizes just how exhausted he really is. There have been so many highs and lows, and Adrien feels his mind going down the drain too.

Fatigue seeps into his pores and he feels like he can finally breathe. A part of him misses Plagg because by now he would have something funny to say, but they both decided it would be better for him to stay the night with Natalie in a nearby hotel room. Granted, he still feels a little lonely without his other “unfortunate” half.

He sits there for a few seconds in silence before the bathroom door creaks open and Marinette peeks her head out.

"Adrien?"

"Mmmm?" he answers, his eyes feeling heavy as steam billows out of the restroom.

She fidgets a bit before opening the door wider and fiddles with her fingers. "Can you," she starts. "Can you help me unzip my dress?"

She doesn't meet his gaze as she asks, her eyes downcast as he feels that they both start to take in the enormity of her words. He nods slowly before picking himself up from the couch and crosses the room quickly.

He hesitates a second before touching her shoulder. "Turn around?"

Marinette looks up at him and pink fans across her cheeks and slips down her neck, a pink that’s a similar color to her dress. "O-of course."

She does as he asks, and Adrien gulps as he gathers the waterfall of her hair and places it over her shoulder, exposing the nape of her neck. His fingers trail the smooth skin and silky strands of her hair before going to the top button of her dress. It's a large white fastener that creates an open back between her shoulder blades in an inverted triangle.

He swears his hands tremble as he undoes the button before going to the zipper at the tip of the triangle. One hand holds the metal clasp while the other travels to the bottom end of the teeth right at her tail bone. Holding it firmly, he carefully unzips her gown, revealing supple skin that flows down her spine. He stops when he sees the frilly edges of lace and lets go.

"Is that good?" he asks, but his voice is deeper than intended.

Marinette looks over her shoulder and it's almost beyond intimate in the way the bathroom light hits her face and creates distracting shadows on her cheekbones. Her mouth is curved in a gentle smile. "Thank you," she whispers.

Adrien feels breathless. "Anytime."

She grins a bit wider before going back to her shower, leaving Adrien with phantom feel of her spine and her skin underneath his hands.

His mind is a muddled mess when he goes to his suitcase, conveniently placed right next to hers, and searches for his pajamas. They're simple cotton shorts and tshirt, appropriate enough to share a bed with his wife for the first time.

Though, I wonder if I should sleep on the couch?

He wrinkles his nose and shakes that thought away as quickly as it came because--well, he would like to at least sleep next to his wife. Even before he knew it was Marinette, he selfishly wished for that to happen, and so far, Marinette doesn't hate his touch completely.

She might not be in love with him as she used to be when they were younger, but sharing a bed with him seemed like something she wouldn't be opposed to. Besides, if it did make her uncomfortable, he would go to the couch in a heartbeat.

Gathering the courage to just fulfill his selfish desire, he quickly changes and places his clothes neatly on the dresser before crawling into bed. His heart beats a little faster as he crawls between the covers, but as he settles onto the side closest to the door, he has zero regrets about how comfortable he is right now.

He's almost dozing when Marinette finishes her shower and the scent of berries travels through the air. He blearily opens his eyes and grins when he sees her.

"Dis okay?"

Marinette pauses as she drops her clothes by her bag and giggles as she makes her way to the bed. She looks like an angel again, Adrien thinks, an angel wearing a cotton top and capris as she turns off the side table lamp.

The mattress sinks under her weight, the sheets rustling as she makes herself comfortable on her side of the bed. Adrien is still facing the door, but he can feel her eyes burn him through his back and it takes everything he has to keep a straight face when he flips onto his other side to look at her.

Moonlight filters through the large window and he cherishes the way he feels at peace, his heart warm and the world right. He sneaks his hands across the gap between them and steals Marinette’s hand.

Her little fingers fit perfectly in his. Cool to his warm touch, filling up the spaces like they were always meant to be there, he thinks.  

He absentmindedly kisses her knuckles and whispers,  “Good night, wife...”

He briefly hears her say,  “Good night, husband. Sweet dreams…”

Her words are the last he hears before he sleeps and dreams and rests underneath the moonlight that pours through their window, letting the last remnants of a day filled with love fade for now as they travel towards something new, towards something unknown.

And they do, hand in hand, heart in heart, until--for now--death do them part.

Chapter Text

Adrien slams the courtesy phone into the receiver with a frustrated groan.  The weather matches his mood as icy wind kicks up fresh snow and howls into the dark night. They had hotel reservations for Palma, Majorca—a sunny little island off the coast of Spain via Nathalie and yet—

How they got to this dinky little frozen hellhole is a mystery, but here they are. In the middle of nowhere, with a snowstorm starting outside, in one of the smallest airports Marinette has ever seen. Freezing and cold and Marinette is wearing sandals. Sandals with a wedge heel, jeans, and soft cardigan ready to greet sunshine and sand in a Mediterranean climate. But they’re not. They’re stuck elsewhere as she envies the airport attendants bundled up in goose-down coats and hats and scarves.  

(She gave whatever scarf she had to Tikki. Hell can claim her for all she cares before she lets it have little ladybugs.)

“The only hotel is booked for a Norse mythology enthusiasts convection. Apparently. Which makes perfect sense because we’re in—” he pauses mid-rant to think of the name.

“Faroe Islands,” she supplies from a hard airport seat.

Adrien runs a stressed hand through his hair and frowning. “Faroe Islands!” he spits. “Of course, exactly where we—”

It’s eleven at night and they’re stranded in an airport in a country—territory of Denmark, she corrects herself—and she learned very early on today that Adrien does not have the patience for traveling. Not that she blames him, but they’re tired. They’ve only been married for a little over twenty-four hours and everything is going wrong.

A part of her wonders if it’s because she has always had bad luck, the way the air traffic controls gave the wrong coordinates apparently to the new Agreste family pilot as they were told. Or maybe it was fate that decided that their marriage just can’t just start off easy and it leaves both newlyweds stranded for the time being—

And maybe, if she just found love the normal way, she wouldn’t be in this predicament, but she got selfish early on and impatience because just as Adrien is a poor traveller, she’s a poor waiter and just went on and messed everything up in the universe. Because—

Okay, breathe, Marinette. The world isn’t over .

Adrien is still rambling about their trials of the day, like how there was so much traffic and he almost left his passport at home (because goodness, Marinette, what if we had gone out of the EU? ) and dear god, he got motion sickness during the turbulence and people only speak Danish in this country—

“Adrien?”

At his name, her frazzled new husband whirls around with noticeable bags under his eyes and his hair sticking up in every direction. He looks a mess and defeated and—

(Honestly, it’s adorable because he’s always seemed so picture perfect.)

He takes a deep breath. “Yes?”

Adrien answers her with practiced sincerity, his expression poised smooth and flawless. Almost like he’s in front of the camera. Almost as if she were the camera and his default reaction is to be pleasant. And maybe it’s because it’s eleven at night and she’s tired and it’s cold and everything is awful, but it annoys her to see him look at her like that.

Marinette smiles sharply and pats the seat next to her. “Come sit and warm me with your salt.”

His face twists into a grimace again, his brows scrunched together. “I’m not—”

She leans forward and snags his hand and drags him closer to her. “Fine, not salty. Let your appropriate anger at the situation warm your new wife.”

Adrien concedes, giving up and plopping down next to her. Wordlessly, Adrien wraps an arm around her and rubs his hand to create some friction to heat her up. The gesture staves off goosebumps that prickle her skin and she in turn wraps an arm around him too. There’s a stone on her ring that snags on the knitted material of his sweater from time to time and it’s a rewarding reminder of what they are now.

Two people who are familiar, but not comfortable with each other completely yet. They’re trying to be just that in the way he awkwardly leans his head against hers, similar to teenagers dating for the first time. He lets a small sigh in their moment of quiet.  

“I’m...sorry,” he hesitates. “Today’s been awful and yesterday was—”

“Overwhelming?”

He chuckles. “I was gonna say that yesterday was fantastic while today...” he sighs. “Not so much. I feel like we’ve flown into the Bermuda Triangle.”

She hums, a glint in her eye. “No, just to a Danish territory.”

He straightens and pulls away to face her, his eyes intensely boring into hers as he asks. “How are you so—not freaking out?”

It takes her aback some, unsure where this conversation is going because she thought everything was good and what if it’s not good and oh god, don’t panic Marinette. But she can’t help the way her brows pinch together as she leans backwards too because she needs to really see what he’s saying because now she can’t.

“Uh, about?”

And Adrien blushes and ducks his head. “I don’t know. We just got married! And I’ve had a bad attitude for most of the day and like all our friends knew we were getting married and we didn’t and we know each other but you’re not weirded out? Because, like, I’m really weird! Like super weird. I make awful puns and sometimes I’m just as dramatic as an old hollywood actress. I’ve been known to faint on command on my bed after a long day and—”

He rushes, it’s all out in one breath. Like he’s afraid the slower he talks about it the less things he can explain. Adrien’s shoulders pick up with his words stretched between them before falling with defeat.

Fondness caresses her heart and she can’t stop the warmth she so needed from spreading in her chest. Sure, they’re somewhere random and sure, her toes are freezing and she just got married to her first love by way of social experiment, but this —this makes her happy no matter the odds. No matter if she’s impatient, if she’s going against fate’s design, if she’s greedy.

She’s beyond happy with her choice.

With those thoughts in mind, she grabs his hand, tracing the patterns. Love lines, life lines, all lines. These lines will tangle with hers for at least six weeks and that’s exciting.

“Well, I knew what I signed up for,” she admits. “No matter who I was marrying, I planned on having an open mind and even more open heart. So, yeah. I’m not weirded out. I meant my vows, Adrien.

“So, you had a bad day,” she shrugs. “It happened just like how we happened and I’m...glad we’re happening.” Lifting her head, she meets his gaze shyly through her lashes. “I’m really glad we’re happening.”

Adrien sucks in a deep breath before tearing his eyes away from her, his free hand covering his mouth. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You can’t just go saying things like that!”

Marinette laughs, feels so at ease despite the situation. Her heart flutters in her chest as she drops his hand and playfully pushes his arm. “Ha ha, what are ya gonna do ‘bout it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe fall in love with you?”

He says it without thinking and it’s confirmed in the way he freezes and his face twists in complete embarrassment. The air between them becomes tense with an added layer of pressure and possibility because wasn’t that the goal? To fall in love with your spouse, but for him to say that, to point out the obvious, is far too much for Marinette to process. She has stopped computing at the prospect that Adrien Agreste—her now husband—could somehow fall in love with her.

Fourteen-year-old Marinette has died and gone to heaven. All of her wildest dreams have come true that there is no longer a reason to live because hashtag life goals were met. Twenty-six-year-old Marinette, on the other hand, has to be a normal person and her husband wants to fall in love with her . Like okay, breathe Marinette. Breathe!

“I—okay—like—look—”

It seems that both fourteen-year-old and twenty-seven-year-old Adrien are having problems being normal too.

She doesn’t know how to respond to that though. He looks like he wants to take it back and she kinda wants him to take it back because holy shit, that’s intense . But the other part of her wants him to not refute it, to keep it like he wants to keep her because she wants to be kept. She wants to be his and that is something very important.

Not like she can convey that right now though. She’s gaping like a fish, her jaw opening and closing, but no sound comes out because what do you say to your new husband that you want them to fall in love with you but wow—you’re really getting ahead of yourself there buddy.

You don’t.

Because ninety-nine percent of the time your husband is already in love with you and you’re in love with him and your friends know you’re marrying each other because you told them. With formal invitations with both your names printed on pretty cardstock. Both of you planning your wedding together, picking the cake together, looking forward to it. Together.

So, Marinette stretches a strained smile because she doesn’t know what to say and—

“Excuse me? You both came in on the charter plane, yes?”

( Thank god.)

Delight consumes Adrien instantly as he sees a young man wearing a dark brown coat. “You speak French! Finally, a langauge I can understand because, errrr, Faroe….”

The young man laughs and extends his hand. “Faroese. It’s the native language around here. Minus Danish. I’m Ebbi.”

“Adrien,” he says grabbing his hand in a firm shake. “And this is, um, my wife, Mariette,” he finishes bashfully.

Ebbi smiles warmly at Marinette, his red hair lively against his freckled pale skin. He shakes her hand with mischief dancing in his sea colored eyes. “I heard you both were trying to get to Palma. A bit different weather, I gather, than you intended.”

Marinette sighs, slightly frustrated, slightly joking. “A bit, to say the least. We’re stuck here for the night because of the snow and the hotel is booked.”

Ebbi nods and his smile widens. “Well, you’re just in luck. My family owns a small bed and breakfast. We can always use the guests.”

Holding out his phone, Ebbi shows them homepage of the bed and breakfast. It’s quaint and small, tucked near the city center, it seems. All in all, it’s legitimate.

“And we could use a place to stay that’s warm,” Adrien quips, relief rolling off him in waves.

“Good thing my mother likes to keep the place warm. Always making me and my brothers chop firewood.”

Marinette giggles. “Well, as potential customers, I think that sold me right then and there.”  

They reach The Little Faroe Inn close to midnight, the wind biting at her skin as she runs inside, trying not to get frostbite. Despite not knowing much about the Faroe Islands, Marinette is grateful that their hospitality knows no bounds as airport workers find spare coats and shoes for her and Adrien to wear. In record time, both she and her husband are dressed in a hodgepodge of coats and scarves while they rushed to the car and then from the car to inside the inn.

Marinette wants to say that she and Adrien enter the house with grace, but they don’t. She slips on the sidewalk outside and he drops his carry-on down the stairs once they are inside, the bag thudding the entire way down. Ebbi laughs at them, they laugh at themselves, and both want to cry at the absurdity of their day.

And Marinette also wants to say that she spends the rest of the wee hours of the morning curled up to her husband and having deep pillow talk until they both fall asleep where they are in each other’s dreams. But they don’t. They sluggishly make it to the bedroom a bit after midnight, Marinette changing into to her pajamas in the on-suite bathroom and Adrien passing out, sprawled across the bed, before she comes out.

(Tikki presses a kiss to her forehead, tells her to be brave and assures her that she’ll be okay. She’s Ladybug after all and Ladybugs are always okay.)

She’s out like a light before she knows it, huddling under the blankets and trying to get Adrien to scoot over in the small double bed.

Now, there are some things the experts or her parents failed to mention as she signed up for this process. Simple things, like—more likely than not, her partner would snore. And also that he would be a pillow thief and try to horde all the pillows. Oh, and that husbands are practically furnaces when sleeping. Needless to say, Marinette doesn’t get much sleep by the time day rolls around and she’s only been married for a little over one day and some change.

(And it’s wonderful.)

She wakes up to Adrien reaching over to turn off the alarm on his phone.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

His chest brushes against her shoulder, his weight pressing her down into the mattress. Her chest tightens, breathless in the intimacy of her partner crawling over her. Her heartbeat quickens and she’s positive he can see it bounce from under her skin, all her nerves aware that he’s right next to her.

Adrien finally turns off his phone and falls back onto his side of the bed, laying down facing her with messy hair and sleepy, smiling eyes. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Marinette buries her face into her pillow, catching a scent of his hair in it. “Kinda. You’re a bed hog.”

Her husband lets out a surprised laugh. “Well, in my defense, you move a lot. Never staying still.” Adrien’s hand rubs the spot between her shoulder blades. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

His fingers move in soothing circles and it makes Marinette want to fall back to sleep. “Hmm?”

He pauses and slowly removes his hand. The action shifts her attention fully to him as she faces him. There’s a question between his brow and somewhat stuck on his tongue as he bites his lower lip, wondering if he should ask. Marinette smiles at him, hoping that gives him all the encouragement he’d need.

“Ah,” he starts, hesitating. “Do you...you know…”

“...yes?”

He lets out a puff of air. “Don’t make me fun of me, but do you, like to, uh, cuddle?”

He says it so awkwardly, a light pink dusting his cheeks as he doesn’t break eye contact.  And Marinette tries not to giggle, she swears, she really doesn’t want to, but he makes it impossible because he asks so seriously but not seriously and she’s gasping for air, laughing fully as fading moonlight welcomes the pre-dawn.

Adrien groans and rolls over, his back facing her. “Shouldn’t have said anything,” he grumbles.

Marinette shakes her head and...pauses for a moment before she remembers her kwami’s words. With courage blazing her soul, she scoots over and snakes an arm around him, pressing close. Her head rests at the groove of his neck, her sense of touch in hyperdrive as he stiffens before melding to her mold.

“Sometimes,” she says, her breath tickling the hairs on his nape. “Before bed usually and when I wake up, just not really while I’m sleeping. It...takes a while...for me to become comfortable to be held by someone for a long time…” she trails. “I do like being the big spoon though when we go to sleep.”

“...we?”

She’s brave and smiles against his skin. “Well, unless you don’t wanna be little spoon.”

Adrien quickly snags her hand and squeezes it. “No! I like being little spoon! Little spoon is best spoon.” He finishes and presses a kiss to her back of her palm.

She’s glad he can’t see her right now because—

Dear god, I might really—you know—

(Fall in love with him.)

The second alarm blaring is a blessing and Marinette uses the distraction to break the contact with her husband. Sitting up, she puts it on silent and shoots him a shaky half smile. The kind where her heart is pounding and she might be exposed and she’s nervous because oh my god, I could really fall in love with him. Like real love. Adult love. Married love, gah!

“C’mon, let’s get dressed and get some food, yeah?”

(The way Adrien pouts as he buries himself back under the covers is something she swears she will forever keep close to her heart.)

Adrien doesn’t understand how, but...marriage makes a woman attractive in a way he never understood before. Especially when said woman is married to him and smiles at him and makes vows to him and—

—he never knew that citrus scented shampoo and lotion would make him giddy as she dries her hair with a blow dryer and glares at him to hurry up because he’s still just wearing his PJs, but it’s—fascinating to watch Marinette get ready for the day in their very small room. It’s different than yesterday, the day after the wedding because both were distracted by families and friends and—

Here it is only them. And Plagg. Not that Marinette knows that, thank god. He doesn’t know yet how to tell her about the little black cat, but he needs to. Soon? Because Adrien kinda wants this marriage to work for a lot of reasons. Mainly that he’s hopeful. Okay, totally because he’s hopeful and really, the best course of action is optimism and he’d really hate to fail and well...he’s never been one for failure, anyway.

(He’s more the type to punch failure in the face. He can still punch. A little.)

So, he’s hopeful and wildly attracted to his new wife that wants to be the big spoon and actually listens to him?  He doesn’t know what’s more intoxicating, the fact that they were matched because of the potential to be perfect together or the fact that it’s someone he never thought of and now he does and they could potentially be perfect together.

Honestly, he feels like a teenager again. Lovestruck and stupid, but instead of having a mask to buffer between him and his lady love….all that remains is Adrien. In all ways and all forms, it’s him and Marinette for the next six weeks and he—is terrified and excited that they might fall in love because being in love is terribly exciting.

Love lifts you up where you belong.

Marinette flicks off the hair dryer and tugs an extra sweater over her, a baggy something that Ebbi’s mother left by the door for them in the morning. She plucks her hair out from under the neck hem and flips it out a bit before giving him a pointed look.

“C’mon, go get ready and I’ll be downstairs, okay?”

As if tipping a hat, Adrien salutes her. “Yes, dear.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Taking pointers from Nino?”

He shrugs. “Never hurts to agree. What was it, happy wife, happy life?”

Marinette shakes her head, grinning. “You’re ridiculous. Get ready and let’s go...do something, I guess,” she finishes with a laugh.

In moments, she’s waving her goodbye and is out the door, a little bag at her hip. Once the door closes, Plagg flies from his hiding spot faster than Adrien can blink. He jumps back in surprise, almost letting out a scream. Instead, he clutches a hand to his chest.

The black god floats in the air, his arms crossed, giving him the once over.

“I cannot believe you’re my charge.”

“Uh,” Adrien says. “Thanks?”

Plagg rolls his eyes and puts a little hand to his large forehead, sighing. “No, seriously, Adrien. You’re an adult and you—oh my god, I can’t even tell you because I’m sworn to ‘secrecy’, but…” he pauses, letting out a huff. “Fate’s laughing at me.”

Pulling off his shirt, Adrien gets up and rummages through his duffel bag. “Plagg, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you need cheese or something?”

Plagg groans and then wistfully sighs. “I can’t even eat right now I’m so stressed out because of your stupid marriage thing and—argh, please just know that I think you’re stupid.”

“Did you just...turn down cheese?”

Remorseful eyes meet Adrien’s. “Yeah?”

Adrien drops what he’s doing and stares at the kwami for long moment. “Are you...are you having a kwami life crisis?” Then his eyes widen, “Are you dying!? Oh my god, Plagg—”

“Adrien.”

“—I should have seen the signs. I thought we would always be together—”

“Adrien.”

“—and I didn’t realize my marriage could have ruined everything! I’ll divorce Marinette. Is she not a cat person, is that why you’re gonna—”

“Adrien!”

Adrien stops pacing and looks at him. “What?”

Plagg sighs. “I’m not dying, kid. My pride’s just hurt and I—you’re stupid. And I want cheese now...”

Adrien laughs, letting the insult roll off his back. “Oh good, normal Plagg who thinks I’m stupid and needs cheese,” he says putting a hand over his heart.  “But why are you stressed out?” he asks with a small frown. “Does being around Marinette bother you?”

“Marinette’s not the problem...more like a red devil.” Plagg mumbles. Letting out another sigh, he makes a large circling gesture with his hands. “Let’s just say I lost a bet. Big time. About who you would marry.”

By now, Adrien is shimmying into his jeans. Not looking at him, he replies. “I didn’t even know who I was gonna marry.”

“I know!” Plagg exclaims. “Which makes this all worse and more stupid. I swear when I can finally tell you, you’re going to, I don’t know: either laugh or cry!” he finishes dramatically, flipping this way and that way.

Giving him a bemused look, Adrien asks. “Who are you even making bets with? Who do you talk to besides me? We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“...Just a kwami here and there, you know,” he says while buffing his claws.

Adrien stops fiddling with his hair, whirling around to stare at the little cat. “What other kwami? What are you talking about? When?”

Plagg lazily floats over and pats him on the head. “Just know figurative godly money on you. New bet and all that. I see the odds in my favor...muhaha.”

Confusion does not even begin to describe how Adrien feels. Rolling his eyes and turning around to finish getting ready per Marinette’s request. “Can you not talk so cryptic about superhero god stuff?”

And the only normalcy in their conversation is when Plagg lets out a guffaw and lands on his head. “Course not. Now, get me some smelly cheese, human slave.”

Smelly cheese is not forgotten when Adrien makes his way downstairs, but it sure is not on the top of his list when he makes his way into the kitchen, surprised to see it jam packed with people sitting at a large table all munching on breads, meats, and eggs. Everyone stops chatting and quiets when he enters the room before smiling and waving, almost hollering for him to sit down.

“Hi!”

“Hello!”

And some other greetings he’s pretty sure is either Danish or Faroese, but that doesn’t matter as he squeezes into a spot next to Marinette right across from Ebbi. Swiftly, an older woman places a big plate of food in front of him, piled high with eggs, bacon, potatoes—food.

She mumbles something and pinches his cheek before going back to counter with some of the other ladies. Whatever she said, Ebbi bursts out laughing, making Marinette giggle too.

Adrien sighs. “She said I was too skinny, huh?”

The redhead nods and gestures to Marinette. “Said the same thing about your wife. That’s my ma, and well—she likes people to have meat on their ribs. Makes sure you don’t get blown away or freeze to death.”

Adrien shakes his head before taking a bite of his food and then promptly melting in his seat. “This is literally what my dreams taste of. Salty bacon and breakfast foods.”

“You know my parents own a bakery, right?” Marinette jokes as she sips a cup of coffee. “My dad’s amazing at cooking and baking everything really! Breakfast is his favorite to make though.”

“Glad to know that my father-in-law and I have something in common!”

What Marinette is about to reply, what Adrien doesn’t know when Ebbi pipes up. “Did you...not know your father-in-law before you got married? Marinette said it just happened a few days ago.”  

That halts the couple for a moment. Marinette bashfully looks down and Adrien rubs the back of his neck, unsure what to say. “Well, you see—” Marinette starts. “I mean, we’re married and um—”

“It was a rushed thing,” Adrien lends. “I mean, she and I are still quite new, but we decided to get married and well, here we are!” he summarizes with a smile.  Under the table, he grabs Marinette’s hand and smooths his thumb across her knuckles. “We kinda go wherever the wind takes us, but we used to be middle school and high school classmates, so it’s not like we don’t know each other, you know.”

Ebbi quirks his head to the side before nodding to himself then grinning. “You two are quite a funny pair!” he laughs and digs into his food.

Leaning over, Adrien whispers into his wife’s ear. “Don’t feel like you have to explain yourself if you don’t want to, okay?”

She nods, becoming more relaxed. “Okay. I just—yeah, I guess, uh. Just. Thanks for the save,” she mumbles.

He frowns slightly, annoyed that she was put on the spot indirectly because she never needs to be. They’re in this together and he’ll protect her. Because that’s what husbands do and he wants more than anything to be a good husband.

(God, everything is so backwards and his emotions feel all over the place and—he can’t breathe just right because he honestly married Marinette and for some reason the future seems bright.)

Feeling...bold? Yes, bold and brash and happy that he was able to help his wife, Adrien pecks her cheek, not caring that his heart feels like it’s in his throat or that his palm gets super sweaty for no reason because—well, he just kissed his wife’s cheek and they’ve barely been married and it was in a room full of strangers and—

He’s happy.

And delighted when Marinette gasps quietly.

(They cuddled this morning and slept besides each other last night and—)

“Hey, hey, lovebirds!” Ebbi shouts. “Not at the table!”

Adrien moves away from her side and goes back to eating his food, quietly laughing to himself. Beside him, Marinette is silent for a moment, muttering something under breath before clearing her throat. “So, um,” she begins. “I have some, uh, interesting news.”

Adrien glances over at her. “Yeah?”

She gives him a tense smile. “Yeah, like the kind that says we’re grounded for about a week because the ice damaged the plane so…”

“...so, we’re stuck here.”

“Yep.”

A part of him wants to throw his head back and groan, but he catches the a glimpse of fresh snow out the window. It’s dazzling and white and the inside of the inn is cozy, wrapping him up with comfort he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

It’s like—all the before times, he thinks. Of when he was young and he and his mother used to sit by the fire waiting for his father to come home. Before his mother left, before his father lost his way, before his home broke beyond repair.

It reminds him of the slightly new start he had years later, with his father at his side as they left Paris behind, said goodbye to memories and masks and little lies. A new chance where their love was supposed to sustain them, but—

—it didn’t.

(It didn’t and it wasn’t enough for his father. Not because Adrien wasn’t enough for his father, but because there wasn’t much left of the man who used to be him.)

And it hurts to think of what was and what could have been. It hurts and it makes his heart...ache with the sharpness and memories all over again when he saw his father’s body in the morgue. Not breathing, not breathing and certainly not living, though that had always been a tentative state since—well, since everything.

(And he resists the urge to grit his teeth in public because he will always think of the way his mother showed up alive and well at his father’s funeral and it always comes back to him when there’s a sudden pang of longing for his father because well—

—it’s her fault. It has always been her fault and—

God, he can’t dwell on this. Not now. Fuck—not...he’s newly married and he can’t think of her.)

Marinette bumps into his shoulder. “Adrien, you okay?”

He blinks and the roar of the kitchen rushes back and Marinette’s blue eyes are filled with concern and worry and he—

—breathes because that’s what people do. They breathe.

“Yeah, just got caught up in my head. Sorry ‘bout that,” he waves off. This time he clears his throat and sends her a smile he’s positive is at least ninety percent real.

“Let’s just spend our honeymoon here and enjoy an adventure. What do you think?”

Marinette mulls over his words for a quick second before breaking out the most dazzling grin. “That’s what I was gonna say! It’ll be just as fun and well—I don’t know, different!”

(His heart clamors and trembles, not knowing what to do with the endless possibilities before him, but for now he’s only going to pick out the good ones. He doesn’t have time to dwell on all the bad ones. He’s had enough of those.

And Marinette is the best possibility of all.)

Chapter Text

Marinette only opens the bedroom door a fraction before checking the hallway again to make sure the coast is clear. Looking to her left, then her right, she’s positive she’s alone as she hears nothing aside from the chatter in the kitchen floating up the stairs. Relief pours through her as she enters the bedroom.

“Tikki!” she sings, a smile rounding out her call.  

There is slight shuffling somewhere high up in the room and then Marinette hears the little kwami groan, not wanting to wake up. She isn’t surprised. Tikki isn’t the biggest fan of the cold, and when she told her they’re staying here for a week, she almost blew their cover. Marinette sits on the bed and waits, grinning to herself, pondering the snacks she’s gathered. In her hands, she snuck some of Tikki’s usual favorites: cookies, a danish, some jelly and bread. Sweet things for the sweetest little god of good luck to ever exist, if she does say so herself.  

But, there was one thing...that was not as usual. An odd, and quite random, request for cheese. Savory cheese, more on the smelly side than sweet, much to Marinette’s confusion. It didn’t really go with the rest of the sweets that she brought up from the kitchen.

Not that she’s following the train of thought that whispers that Tikki is having a midlife—blink of a life?—crisis because of Marinette’s marriage. That would be absurd. Her kwami is a professional. A bonafide god that is used to people getting married because that’s what Ladybugs do, right? She can get married and she’s positive that Tikki has been to a billion weddings along the way because Tikki—

And here is where she reminds herself to breathe because that’s what people do and she reminds herself of the task at hand. Ha! As if Tikki’s going to just leave her because she got married. That’s absurd.

“Tikki, I’m only supposed to be up for a little bit,” she scolds. “Come out and eat!”

To that, the little god finally peeks out from atop the bookshelf near the heat vent and glares .

“Look here, little missus , I am an all powerful god who has been the companion to humans for thousands of years bringing good things, and you repay me by bringing me to the freezing cold…”

Marinette stills for a moment before giggling in complete amusement,  ignoring the outburst. “Who in the world are you impersonating? A new Korean drama love interest?”

“What? No!” Tikki protests, flying away to zoom around the room.  “Jun is the sweetest love interest I’ve seen this season. He’s like—a dorky guy who just wants to be a vet, but of course, he falls for the girl who is allergic to pet dander—”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Kimi is just—she loves animals too! But insects because she’s not allergic to them, but Jun has this huge phobia of beetles, which of course I’m only slightly offended by, and—”

“Tikki.”

“Honestly, Marinette, they’re such losers and it’s wonderful and have I told you lately that I’m so happy you bought me my own cell phone to—”

Marinette nods quietly as Tikki continues to babble. Jun this , Kimi that , we should watch a kdrama together— Tikki doesn’t get to finish that sentence as Marinette pulls Tikki away from her fluttering flight around the room.

“You’re crazy, Tikki Tikk,” she says. “If not your new loverboy, then who were you pretending to be?”  

Tikki smiles when she’s caught and eagerly nuzzles her charge’s cheek. “A friend, actually. You’d be surprised who you meet when you leave France,” she giggles.

Marinette stills as she gives Tikki a little squeeze and absentmindedly ushers her to eat. “I didn’t know you had friends. Is this…?” she pauses, unsure how to finish that thought.

“Another kwami?” Tikki says between bites. “You bet!”

You bet , she says. Like it’s nothing. Like she meets with other kwamis all the time. Maybe she does. Maybe she always does, but there are only so many little gods that Marinette knows of and most of them are in Paris. Minus one. Or two.  

“Uh...um!”

“What is it, Marinette?” Tikki asks, putting down her cookie.

Marinette gives the little god a good stare. “I’m just wondering, Tikk. Just…who’s the other kwami?”

Tikki pauses for a moment before wrinkling her snout. “The one who likes cheese.”

Well, that solves one mystery, but then adds another , Marinette thinks.

Leaning forward, she takes a cookie and almost whispers. “Could I...could I...maybe... meet them?”

I thought they were always meant to be together. But here’s one kwami by themselves. Away from Paris. Away from us and the others. I...I wonder.

Tikki stops chewing entirely and swallows, looking up at the spot atop the bookcase and hums. Seconds tick on by as the little god looks torn. Marinette knows that all things kwami related are a bit fuzzy and there are many things she doesn’t know , but she wonders—even hopes—if Tikki is willing to bend her rules.

After taking one more bite, Tikki wipes her little nubs on a napkin and nods. “You know, why not. Besides, I won a bet, so he has to do what I say.”

Marinette doesn’t get to ask her new question this time. She’s learned long ago that sometimes talking with Tikki provides more questions that it does answers. And sometimes the best thing is to just go along with it because that’s what little gods of creations do. She wonders if other Ladybugs have ever felt the same bizarre confusion as often as she does.

Tikki flies to the spot atop the shelf and starts chattering to her companion.

“You heard her, Plagg, she wants to meet you,” she says. “And I’m pretty sure she got you cheese . As I requested. For you. Come tell her thank you.”

A new voice pops up, a mix between raspy and squeaky . “Nope! No way, Tikki! I’m all for breaking rules—”

“This isn’t even breaking a rule! She just wants to meet you!”

“And that’s fine!” the other voice, Plagg, yells. “That’s totally!—fine!. But look. I’m already bursting at the seams trying to keep the secret from my kid and now you want to formally introduce me to Ladybug? Are you crazy?!”

“This is my prize. If you win the next bet, then you get to pick yours,” Tikki finishes stiffly.

From her stop on the bed, Marinette hears a loud groan. “Argh, never should have introduced you to betting. Biggest mistake I’ve made this millennium for sure.”

“There’s cheese,” Tikki singsongs, happy that it seems she got her way.

Marinette stifles a giggle behind her hand as she prepares to meet Plagg when—

The door opens and Adrien pops his head in. “Marinette, everything okay in here?”

And she jumps, a small scream escaping her at the sudden intrusion, and places a hand over her racing heart. She almost knocked over the plate of food, but luckily catches it in time. Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiles weakly at him, feeling fluttery when she thinks of him as her husband.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Was just thinking.”

“Well, I’m ready to go anytime you are. See you downstairs?”

Marinette nods and waggles her fingers in a small goodbye. He smiles warmly at the gesture and closes the door just as quick as he came. Sighing to herself, Marinette hoists herself up and grabs a jacket.

“Well, it was nice to almost meet you, Plagg,” she says when she’s at the door. She’s looking over her shoulder, smirking. “I’ll meet you later, right?”

It takes a few seconds, but a little black figure with bright green eyes peeks over the top of the bookshelf with big pointed ears. He blinks once, then twice before giving a hesitant wave.

“Yeah, next time, Ladybug,” she hears him call.

She’s out the door—excitement tapping on her heart—as she follows the same path her husband took moments before.

Ice crunches quietly under her feet as the sun warms the frozen little lakeside town. The heat feels good on Marinette’s face, and she finds herself following the sun’s rays like a sunflower. The world is bright and merry, much unlike last night—gone is the the darkness of the blizzard, the biting chill of the bubbling frustration, and the bitter taste of everything seemingly going wrong.

Yet today is a new day and she’s had a cup of coffee or two plus good company to lift her spirits high as both she and Adrien meander down little streets. Her tensions have all but slipped away as Adrien’s smiles plant seeds of joy to bloom in her heart. They take root firmly, digging slowly through all the dread in her heart.

His enthusiasm is just as charming as his hands move through the air, telling his story, but she can’t help but be distracted by the way the glistening, freshly-fallen snow illuminates the sunny highlights of his hair, making it shine like strands of gold. From the center of her chest to the tip of her soul, warmth blossoms through her being, still walking on the precipice of surrealism and reality.  

“So, like, this one day, my dad and I decided to go sightseeing in New York and since I was no longer modeling full time, I decided it would be a great idea to get a half kilo of jellybeans…”

“Oh no...Adrien, this doesn’t end well, does it?”

He laughs, ducking his head and raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. “No, not at all. I downed the whole bag in an hour, and fifteen minutes later I’m upchucking all over the sidewalk in the middle of summer. And here’s my dad, muttering under his breath the whole time how he told me so and that this wasn’t what fashion designers were supposed to do blah, blah blah.”

Marinette digs her hands into her pockets of her borrowed coat, the hand warmers seeping through her mittens, pinching back a wide smile. “Mr. Agreste always seemed...a bit serious.”

They’re not too far from the lake now, the breeze skipping across the water and fanning the wisps of hair that fall from her hat around her face. It’s like inhaling mint, feeling the calm from the coolness that spreads.

Adrien rolls his eyes. “Gravely serious. All the time. But,” he starts, his voice going softer and his lips thinning, “sometimes it was easy to coax him into having fun. Like the Christmas party when we lived in France.” His lips quirk into a devilish smile. “Or one time I got him to go skydiving!”

“Skydiving?!” Marinette gasps, her eyes going wide at the idea.

She thinks of freefalling, of the air hugging her body, of the Earth’s gravity working. She thinks of the trust she had in her yo-yo, of the way she would grab Chat Noir’s hand, of never knowing when everything would end. She thinks of longing and excitement and wonders if Adrien knows what that feels like, if he felt like that too in the moment where you can touch the sky and let your fingers caress the blue.

“Yeah!” he answers with a laugh. “My English was awful then, but I knew what swear words were. Because, you know. Movies and stuff,” he says offhandedly. “But there’s my dad, swearing like Samuel L Jackson like no tomorrow as we’re plummeting to our apparent doom. Spoiler alert: we both lived.”

They lived , echoes between them. A statement that is only true for the past moment because Marinette knows that the true ending is that father’s story ended far before the son’s. It settles over them, a feeling of slight melancholy despite the sun’s rays that create a halo around Adrien’s profile as he stares out at the water. Pristine white snow surround the edges of the lake.

Marinette...doesn’t know what it’s like to miss a parent, she realizes. She doesn’t know at all and the way that Adrien quiets after speaking about his father makes the air hard to breathe because he…does he always feel this way? Do all good things remind him of sad things? Do—

“Okay, enough about me! Your turn, ask a question!”

He says it so brightly and warmly and in one nanosecond, it’s as if the air between them was never heavy, as if he wasn’t caught up in memories, as if she wasn’t caught up in not knowing. As if everything that transpired was okay and fine and supposed to happen because that is the course of life.

And Marinette takes the easy way out and plays along because she doesn’t know how to broach the topic of what’s it like to miss your parents and does it ever get easier and what do I do when you get sad and it makes sense but it sucks anyway . She rolls her eyes and huffs because that’s part of the show.

“Oh my god, Adrien, do I have to? This game is...so...high school!”

Adrien holds a hand up in pause and whips out his phone. While he fumbles with it, he says, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng-maybe-one-day-Agreste, are you saying that you’re trying to get out of homework because it clearly says right here, and I quote,” he tells her as he reads an email. “Congrats on getting married, kids! Your homework is to learn more about the other. Ask questions! The sillier, the better. Besides, everyone knows that this is the best part of dating. Getting to know the other person. You both just have the security of knowing you’re already married. You’re in this for the long haul, so there really isn’t a wrong answer!”

He says it all in one breath as if he’s in class reading for the first time and they’re about to play popcorn and he needs to read it as fast as possible. She tries her best to ignore how adorable it is to watch him gasp.

“I feel like Doctor La Cour wrote that…” Marinette says at last as she leans over the rail. Water laps up from the lake and splashes on the concrete below.

He shrugs. “She probably did. They’re all a bit wacky. But do your assignment, Marinette,” he playfully chastises. “You married a professor, after all. You can’t get out of this!”

She sighs. “Uh, okay. Let me see,” she ponders. Something that isn’t overdone, but still easy enough to answer. Something that tells you a lot about a person right away. Something good. “Ah, an oldie, but a goodie: Ladybug or Chat Noir?”

“What?!” he balks. “No, you go first.”

She twirls to face him and waggles her finger. “No way. It’s my turn to ask, as you wanted, professor !”

Adrien makes a face, but slumps in defeat easily. “Ugh, fine. On three?”

“Sure.”

“1.”

I wonder who he’s going to say.

“2.”

If he says Chat Noir—I’d be really pleased.  

“3!”

But if he says Ladybug, oh—

“Ladybug—”

“—Chat Noir!”

Both pause at their conflicting answers. She, of course, said Chat Noir, and, well—a part of her has always hoped that Adrien would choose Ladybug.

(She’s just gonna ignore the fact that her fourteen-year-old self is having a dramatic moment squealing and enjoying this.)

Adrien is stunned for a moment before laughing with disbelief. “Chat Noir? But that guy was super lame! Definitely not as cool or heroic as Ladybug!”

Okay, so Marinette has decided to chalk that up to preference and is going to pretend that that didn’t sound like a jab at one of the most beloved people in her life. Because. Well, she just got married and she really doesn’t want to break out that old powerpoint from forever ago about how her partner was literally the best thing ever.

Instead, she focuses on what she can with the truth and gives Adrien the benefit of the doubt. After all, he’s not totally wrong. Chat Noir was one weird cat.  

Clearing her throat, she makes sure she doesn’t look away from him. She wants him to know just how much Chat meant to her. She refuses to get embarrassed. “I, uh, I was there...the first time Ladybug and Chat Noir saved Paris,” she starts. The words feel heavy on her tongue because she doesn’t get to tell people this often, but it’s important. “And...Ladybug wasn’t that cool that day at all. She was really skittish and scared and she only became heroic after Chat Noir said something to her. Because of that, she was able to stand up to Hawkmoth time and time again and, well, protect the city.”

This time, she starts rushing because Adrien doesn’t break his gaze away from hers. All she sees is green and sunshine and gold and good things and she just can’t stop talking and babbling and—

“Besides! I met him a couple of times actually and he wasn’t so bad! Silly, yes, but very eager to help and kind! He really laid on the charm when I had to help him and Ladybug that one time Nathaniel became an akuma, but it was cute in retrospect!”

There’s the smallest of grins tracing his lips, but his eyes look happy. “...I’m sure he would have been honored if you ever told him that,” he says quietly. “I know I would be.”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” she replies, finally looking away. In the distance, she creates an outline of Paris and of her youth. It makes her heart feel tight, to remember what isn’t anymore. “It was a long time ago...though, if I ever met him again, I would tell him I’m his biggest fan in a heartbeat...and that I loved and admired him very much...but, um….Ladybug, right?”   

“God,” he groans. His head thuds against the wooden railing. “Okay. Don’t make fun of me.”

“No promises,” she laughs.

“Marinette,” he whines. “You vowed in sickness and in health, for better or for worse.”

Turning to face him, she cocks an eyebrow. “I mean, yeah. So?”

A few seconds tick between them when Adrien finally tosses his hands up in the air. “Argh, I can’t believe I feel so embarrassed,” he says. “But I was like—super madly in love with Ladybug when I was younger. Like hardcore she-was-my-wallpaper kind of love. Stalked-the-Ladyblog kind of love. Would-have-stalked-her-if-possible kind of love! It’s honestly gross.”

Marinette awkwardly smiles at her blushing husband. Is it wrong she finds it endearing that he would have kinda stalked her if possible? Because she kinda gets that. In more ways than she’d like to explain.

She can’t help herself from asking. “And?”

“It’s true. I was totally head over heels for her and she didn’t even really know me? I mean, she kinda did? She—um, well she had to watch over me a few times so I got to spend some real one on one time with her and she was— Like wow. But really, I just wanted senpai to notice me.”

Dear Lord in Heaven, what good deeds in my life have I done to deserve this?

Marinette rolls her eyes and laughs instead. “Oh my god, Adrien. Talk about being lovesick!” She’s enjoying every second of this. Because she gets it. Like a lot.

“I was...it was...it was really bad!”

He turns away from her then, but she tugs at his shoulder until they’re face to face once again. His expression is priceless. A mix between a frown, a pout, and a grin because he knows that she’s being silly and he knows that she knows that he’s being silly. Everything feels whirlwind-like and light and Marinette loves it.  

“Well, I think that’s okay,” she tells him, her hand patting his upper arm. “She was a celebrity. Not like...you were super creepily crazy about a classmate. I mean, I was serious when I said I had pictures of you all over my room.”

“That’s totally different, Marinette! You’re anything but crazy!”

“I had magazine cutouts of you all over my room!”

Marinette can feel herself flushing across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. It helps her forget the cold, but only reminds her of all the secrets she’s already told. This is insane. She’s married her childhood love and she’s told him of her deep dark feelings like it’s nothing and—

“So?” he scoffs. “Chloe, my best friend, had multiple signed autographed things from me when we were teenagers. When she had this odd crush on me? It’s normal for people to have pictures of people that they like. I did. It’s cool though. Besides, I think it’s kinda cute.”

She peers up through her lashes. “What’s kinda cute?”  

“Well,” he pauses. He takes one of her hands in his and gives it a tight squeeze.  “That my now wife had pictures of me all over her room. That she thought I was cute enough or whatever to even post them and more than one of them at that! If I had known then about your feelings, maybe I would...have...I don’t know, asked you out on a date years ago!”

“What about Ladybug?”

Marinette has walked into a surreal reality where Adrien says a) that he was in love with Ladybug and she was Ladybug. And b) tells her that he would have asked her out on a date had he had known she liked him. Though she’s across the ocean right now, Marinette is pretty sure Alya’s so-called “Adrienette” meter is going haywire.

He laughs. “Well, she totally occupied my heart when I was fifteen, but I was really...drawn to you. I really wanted you to like me after we first met and, well, looking back on it, a lot of things make sense.”

“That I was an awkward dork?” she remarks.

Without skipping a beat, Adrien deadpans, “No, that you had a crush.”

Well, that did it. Marinette can no longer deal with anything so she just buries her face in her hands. “Oh my goodness, I never should have told you…”

“No, no! I’m glad you did,” he says, prying her hands away. His voice is soft and kind, much like the breeze that swirls around them.

When she looks up at him, he smiles and the seeds he’s planted in her heart take stronger root and grip the soil of her soul. “So glad. It makes me feel warm and happy and, well, no one has ever made me feel like this before you, Marinette. I’ve never felt this happy before because of a woman. Maybe a girl when I was younger, but definitely not because of a woman.”

Marinette blanks for a moment and—wow. He can’t just say things like that, right? That’s totally unfair. But he did and she feels warm too and happy so she leans her head against his chest and doesn’t care about the consequences.  “This is the exact reason why we needed professionals to even get married. We’re...kinda terrible at dating.”

He wraps an arm around her slowly, hesitant but willing to go forward. “Yeah, I’m awful at it, but...I’m really glad you’re my wife. Makes it a lot easier that I know you.”

“I’m glad you’re my husband too, Adrien. Makes it less scary.”

He rests his head against hers and they both enjoy the view of the shimmering lake for a couple of minutes together in the silence.  “Okay, I think enough of the mushy stuff. It’s my turn to ask a question, I believe.”

“Mmmhmm. Shoot.”

He pulls back slightly and averts his eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

Marinette balks. “I thought you said no more mushy stuff!”

Fishing into his pocket, Adrien grabs his cellphone again. “But the extra credit says that if we work on physical intimacy, we’ll get gold stars.”

“Oh, so you only want gold stars, huh?”

“No,” he admits. “I also want to kiss you again. We...we only kissed on our wedding day and I really liked when you pulled me down for a kiss. That was—well, that was,” his voice dips lower, “attractive.”

Marinette forgets to breathe before breaking out in giggles, from nerves she’s sure, when she hears ringing echoing not too far away. Looking to the source of the sound, she sees some school aged kids with big signs further down the dock and people jumping into the freezing water. A mischievous idea strikes her then.

“Sure, husband,” she says. “You can kiss me again. On one condition.”

Adrien grins. “What?”

Gesturing to the lake, she smirks. “Take a dip lakeside, why don’t you?”

“Wh-what?”

Marinette laughs. “I’ll even do it with you! It looks like it’s for charity! C’mon! The first one in gets a kiss for their reward!”

“Um! I don’t really think this is actually for charity, Marinette!”

She beams over her shoulder and shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not, but look at the sign! People jumping into the lake. Put money in the jar and bam, off you go! That’s why there’s a polar bear. It looks fun! ”

“...a polar bear?”

She shoots him a look. “Uh, yeah. Because you plunge into the freezing water like a polar bear.”  

They approach the kids—two boys, dressed warmly in their winter coats, sitting in lawn chairs with the big sign—as Marinette struts confidently while Adrien relishes how his wife is definitely fire—always changing, roaring bright and sometimes dim.

Ironically and comically enough, it’s easy for a fire to snuff out when the four of them realize they don’t all speak the same language. Even an odd game of charades doesn’t help, for neither Marinette nor Adrien are great at Danish and really aren’t understanding these “sounds like” cues. Like at all. But a lightbulb goes off as one boy takes out his phone and starts typing away.

Through a swift exchange of Google Translate, they do learn that it’s kinda for charity: to help get the kids to Ireland for a school trip. And names. The taller one is Emil while the smaller one is Jakob. Adrien didn’t need a translation to see that they thought Marinette was pretty, both boys grinning madly and speaking a few phrases in English.

“Beautiful girl.”

“Pretty lady.”

Marinette blushes and combs some air behind her air, whispering to Adrien. “I hope they know I don’t speak English.”

Adrien nudges her playfully. “Yeah, but you know what they’re saying is true.”

Taking pity on their very empty jar, Adrien pulls out his wallet, trying to find some krona—or really, any type of cash—when a very folded piece of paper slips and falls to the ground. Emil picks it up and gasps, thrusting it into Adrien’s hands just quickly. At the sight of bright purple, Marinette pokes him.

“What in the world are you doing carrying around a 500 note?!”

“I, uh...I forgot it was in there?

“You just...keep 500 notes in your wallet. Like whatever?”

“...Father always said never to leave the house with less than a thousand euros?”

Marinette takes a deep breath of air, not knowing exactly what to say, her mouth pinched together and she looks likes she’s forgetting to breathe. After a few seconds, she lets out a shaky breath. Holding up the finger to the boys to wait for a few moments, she pulls Adrien further down the dock out of earshot.

“It...it didn’t hit me till now that I married a very rich man…”

Adrien plays with the hair peeking under his hat, “Yeah. I don’t...I mean, I thought the private plane was enough to tip you off, but yeah.”

She shoots him a confused look before realization strikes. “You own that plane?! Like you have enough money to own. A. Plane. Your own plane. I knew you hired the pilot, but when you said he’s an Agreste family pilot, I thought you meant one you used often!”

“Uh, I do? He flies our planes?”

“Planes?”

“Well...I own a few...actually. Like, I think… five?”

He counts them in his head. There’s the one with the red stripe, the all-white one, the one with super nice black seats, the super old one, the—

“You think?”

After careful consideration, he nods. “Yeah.”

“I married someone who doesn’t know how many planes he owns,” she breathes, her hands winding to twist her hair. “What in the world?”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks.

He has to know. His heart is beating faster the more Marinette becomes bewildered and he didn’t realize that money would be an issue because he was taught that having money was a security. She should feel safe, right?

“No...just very baffling!” she says. Her tone is shrill as she starts to rant. “I own a Vespa and my parents have two cars: a delivery truck and a personal car and—we own no planes!”

“Marinette—”

“You own a fashion empire, Adrien. Of course, you’d have planes! You own an empire and I only have a little boutique and—”

“Marinette.”

His wife is like a flame, sometimes larger than life and her fires burn her skin. Sometimes gentle and kind as she warms you on cold nights. And now, sometimes low and about to be snuffed out because security usually comes when you’re not comparing two entirely different situations.

“You’re just always so—so—”

He touches her elbow. “Hey, please breathe.”

She snaps her attention to him, her blue eyes hazy with adrenaline before she sucks in a deep breath. Slowly, she lets it out and swallows.

“I’m breathing.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. She isn’t upset at him, he realizes. She’s overwhelmed and that’s understandable. He thinks he would be too if learned he married someone extremely wealthy. After all, she has a point. He doesn’t even know how many planes he actually has.

“How about we pay these kids handsomely, jump for some god awful reason into the freezing water, and first one gets a kiss. We can talk about my finances anytime, but let’s have fun for now, ‘kay?”  

She nods slowly and tugs on her braid that’s flopped over her shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. This is our honeymoon. Let’s have fun.”

Feeling brave, he steps forward and presses his lips to her forehead. “Good.”

Before she can say anything, he steps away and walks back over the lawn chairs, the boys watching his every move like hawks. Flashing them a grin, he unfurls the 500 note from his hand and tucks it into their very empty jar. Emil and Jakob stare more intently at the money than they did at him before they rush to try and take it out, attempting to put in Adrien’s hands. He laughs, resisting by shoving it back in the jar.

“For Ireland,” he says.

Silence envelops them for a few seconds before the boys start jumping up and down, hollering with glee. They grab onto Adrien, then Marinette as she comes back over, making them both partners in a victory dance.

“Okay, okay!” Adrien says. He gestures to the sign. “Polar bear?”

“Polar! Bear! Polar! Bear!” Emil and Jakob chant, rushing to grab some spare clothes from the boathouse a few feet away.

It’s haphazard and random, but a few baggy tshirts and some trunks later, both Adrien and Marinette stand at the edge of the dock, starting to shiver in the freezing weather. The lake is grey, the water moving calmly in one direction.

“This was a stupid idea,” Marinette’s teeth chatters.

“Wife, this was your idea.”

She bumps into him. “And you’re my supporting my idea!”

“Eh, I’ve always been more a support character than a true tank.”

“Was that—did you—” Marinette begins to question, but—

—Adrien pushes her in, her screams accompanying her as she splashes into the water.

He jumps right after her, the water biting in his skin like a million needles. This was a really stupid idea , he thinks, finding it hard to breathe.  He aggressively kicks to the surface and grabs hold the first ring of the wooden ladder. Marinette, to his surprise, is already almost over the ladder when the boys hand her a big fluffy towel and usher her inside the little boathouse. They do the same for him just as quickly, bringing him inside too to join his bride to escape being sopping wet and freezing cold

Thankfully, there are a few heaters set up, and their dry clothes are warming next to them. The boys swiftly close the door to not let any of the heat out. Needless to say, he feels like maybe 500 was a tad bit too much for the experience, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

They stand alone in the boathouse, the heaters crackling with warmth. There is a silence that stretches between them before she speaks. “You pushed me in.”

He freezes, hoping that she isn’t too mad. “Yes. Yes, I did,” he affirms before stepping closer. “I really wanted to kiss you.”

Marinette’s huddled sopping wet under her big fluffy towel, pulling it closer around her neck. “You were going to kiss me regardless of who jumped in or not.”

Adrien shrugs his shoulders before letting his towel drop. He’s still cold, but it doesn’t matter. Clothes sticking awkwardly to him like a second skin, but it doesn’t matter. “I wanted to give you that kiss.”

Gently, he rests one hand on her hip before cupping her cheek with his other one. His heart thuds in his chest when she leans into his touch. His thumb absentmindedly strokes her cheek as he leans in. “Can I?”

Marinette’s words puff against his skin. “Can you what?”

He grins and moves closer still, his nose brushing against hers. “Can I kiss my wife, please?”

Her breath ghosts against Adrien’s. “I would like that very much…”

Her lips are chapped from the cold, but under her touch, he feels like there is a sun circling his heart. It’s new, it’s his. This feeling—well, it’s really hers. She was chosen for him. To maybe fall in love with. And maybe he might because—

He finds himself falling into her kiss, the way her towel drops as she throws her arms around his neck and nips at his bottom lip. He pulls her closer to his body, pressing as close as possible, wanting her warmth to spread over him like how the sun inside him dances in his veins.

He breathes and she’s his breath. Marinette is filling his lungs and he squeezes her tighter, wanting her to hold him just as closely because he doesn’t want to breathe at all if she’s not his air.

Her tongue strokes the part of his lips and—

There’s a knock at the door.

“Hello? Bonjour?”

Adrien groans as he feels Marinette shake with laughter. He buries his forehead in the crook of her neck while she shouts. “Be right there!”

Marinette smooths her hands over his wet hair, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Pulling back she cups his face and grins.

“Let’s get dressed and head back, ‘kay?”

He nods, his face flushed and his heart pounding because—

—wow, she’s really his.

They awkwardly say goodbye to Emil and Jakob, the two kids who can’t help but making kissy noises as they walk back towards the inn. The couple wears matching blushes, but it doesn’t matter. This time they are walking hand in hand, enjoying peaceful company and stolen glances as snow starts to drift from the sky and the sun sets in the early afternoon.

It’s wondrous and new, the way the pink sky reflects off the glowing snow.

“Tell me a secret,” Adrien says.

Homework and extra credit buzz in his mind, but he needs no gold stars to motivate him this time. Not when there’s something happening. Something magical. Something wonderful.

Maybe it’s because the sun is setting and it’s barely past three in the afternoon and maybe it’s because it’s the second time he’s kissed Marinette and maybe it’s because nothing makes sense and that’s the best thing to ever happen since he was a superhero.

Because being a superhero didn’t make any sense either.

Not by a long shot.

Through her mittens, her fingers drum against the back of his hand.

“A secret?”

“Yes. I’ve just been talking about me and, well, I want to know more about you too.”

Adrien catches their reflections in a store window and enjoys the way they look side by side. His tall frame next to her smaller one, her hand in his. He feels his heart skip a beat.

“I mean, compared to you, what would there really be to tell? I’m just...Marinette,” she trails off, her eyes fixated on the ground.  

He shakes his head. “No, you’re not just Marinette . You’re more than that. And you’ve got to have some sort of secret.”

She smiles and it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I mean, I do, but the only thing I can think of is something that you might be mad about….”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

She hesitates.“It’s not an issue anymore, but important. You’ll know why when I tell you...but do you promise?”

She says it so seriously, but he doesn’t know what she’s thinking, her gaze back on the ground. He feels a little cold without her eyes on him.  

“I..of course, I promise,” he says, giving her hand a little squeeze. “You know I didn’t mean like a deep dark secret, I was just being silly.”

“Oh.”

She says it so quietly, his heart twists. Tugging on her a little bit, he says. “But, if you want to tell me, I’d love to hear.”

Marinette opens her mouth, but then closes it, shaking her head. “Can I tell you another time then...I just...it’s a big one and wow, I didn’t realize you meant something small and ugh, I’m awful at this.”

“No, you’re not!” he tells her, stopping them. Around them, snow starts to fall, but this time they don’t have an umbrella to break the tension. They only have each other. “You’re awesome at this,” he says. “This is really new and really fast and I don’t need to know your whole life story right now. We’ve been married for like...two days. If even! So, can you at least answer this instead?”

Marinette’s mouth twists, like she’s being stubborn.“What?”
Well, Adrien thinks, she is kinda stubborn.

Without letting it deter him, he asks her with a lopsided grin. “Do you like spending time with me?”

She stills for a moment. “Wha—of course! Of course, I love spending time with you!”

And there is she is, back to being a roaring flame that’s gentle and kind and refuses to be snuffed out for whatever reason. This is the Marinette that Adrien likes best, he thinks. He’s still learning, but so far she’s his favorite.  

“See, then everything’s okay because I love spending time with you too.”

She ducks her head away and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t either, so they enjoy the comfortable silence that falls over them as they turn the corner. Up the street, Little Faroe Inn is in the distance, but instead they zigzag through the streets and take the long way around.  

Marinette hums, breaking the silence with her spoken thoughts. “You know, when we get back to France, I think...I think I’m going to introduce you to my most precious person sometime.”

“Are...are you talking about Alya? I know her. Like really well.”

“No, silly. I love her even more than I love Alya. She’s...she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Um.

What?

“...Not that I’m saying I have a problem with this at all,” Adrien treads carefully, because is she saying what he thinks she’s saying? Because if she is, oh god . “But you know how curiosity kills the cat?”

“Yes?”

“Are you, maybe, kinda, possibly,” he gulps, “talking...about a child?”

Marinette doesn’t say anything, her expression falling flat. Her mouth moves as if she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. Like she doesn’t know how to explain...

Marinette has a kid. She had a kid. A child. Her own child—

“Uh. What?”

“Because if you are, that’s totally fine! I just need a second to process that because—”

“Adrien, hold on a second!”

“—kids are super cool. But a lot of work and holy shit, does that mean I could be their dad? Oh my god, Marinette...I think I’m having a panic attack.”

He’s totally having a panic attack, he thinks. His stomach is twisting into knots and he feels like he’s about to throw up. Just this time no jellybeans were involved in the making of this meltdown.   

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“I don’t have to be their dad right away, right?” he asks urgently, his eyes going wide. “I could just be like—a cool Uncle Adrien married to their mom because, Marinette, I hate to break it to you, but my track record with families is kinda...well, it’s fucked up and you have a whole kid and I’m just—I still eat cereal at midnight, Marinette!”

Seriously, the night before the wedding he was doing just that!

“Adrien, just let me explain so—” her hands are tugging on his, but it’s no use.

"A whole kid. Oh god. Am I hyperventilating?  I think I'm hyperventilating.  I can't be a dad, I'm not even thirty yet, oh god, what are we going to do?"

“Oh my god, Adrien,” she snaps. “I don’t have a kid!”

“...you...don’t?”

She lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs her forehead. “Not that I know of! I just—I’ve been talking about my friend who is like…let’s say a very hip old lady and she’d love to meet you. That’s all. And also, I don’t think you noticed this, but I’m the type of person to sign up for an arranged marriage study because I suck at dating.” Absentmindedly, she adds with a mutter, “And one night stands.”  

That catches his attention.

“What? One night stands?”

And this is when he realizes that they’re sitting on a bench. Marinette is beside him and props her elbows on her thighs, looking off into the distance.

“...Maybe a handful of times. They weren’t my thing, you know. And they always ended  terribly!” she laughs. “Like once, before anything happened, I punched the guy by accident and had to take him the ER. When we got there, I forgot his name and basically just called him like...John Doe.”

“You punched your...hook-up?” he asks, his head tilted to the side.

“Yes. Totally square in the face,” she sighs. “He went to get a glass of water and I went to undress but I was drunk, right? And I forgot that I was supposed to be hooking up with this dude and so when I heard the door open as I’m taking off my top, my gut reaction is to freaking attack people.”  

“Oh my god, Marinette. I swear I’m not laughing at you, but oh my god this is hilarious! My wife is a weapon.”

“Yeah, so,” she rolls her eyes and leans back against the bench seat. “Alya banned me from racy hookups after that because I was not to be trusted with strangers. For their safety!”

Leaning against her, he asks. “Do you think I’ll be safe with you?”

She gives him a sidelong glance and grins. “Ah, I think you have a good chance of not getting obliterated. I mean, it’s not like I’m like a black belt in wing chun or anything.”

“You’re a black belt?!”

“I said I’m not! Silly, I’m a blue belt,” she says. “Anyway, do you feel better? Not freaking out anymore about my nonexistent kid?”

“Yeah, I am. Sorry I freaked?” he apologizes.

“Don’t be. I have… Well, I’m anxious too, if you can’t tell. Like all the time. So, it’s whatever..”

“Then maybe we should relax when we get back, yeah? Watch a movie or something?”

“Maybe watch the snowfall too?”

“Anything you’d like. This is our honeymoon after all.”

She blinks before standing up and reaching for his hand. Adrien can’t help but follow.

“You know, my dad said something really sweet before we left.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that he always knew that I was going to marry you. Somehow, some way. Ever since you came to my house to play video games. He just knew.”

“Really?” he wonders, feeling happiness bubble inside his chest.

“Uh-huh,” she nods and swings their arms wildly. “My dad also knew he was going to marry my mom the moment he saw her. They went to the same culinary school, but were always in different classes. It wasn’t until there was a school wide competition that my dad finally got the balls to talk to her. He asked her if she wanted to compete with him and my mom was like…’um, do I know you?’

“And here’s my dad, grasping at straws and he just blurts, ‘I heard you’re really good at making pies’ and my mom was so flattered because pies are her speciality and that’s how they started talking. A few years later they got married and opened up the bakery. And then I came along eventually.”

The story sinks in, the warm feeling expanding to his bones.“Your parents are really happily married. It’s nice.”

Really, really nice .

“Yeah,” she hums. “It is. They’re real proof that marriage is totally worth it and, well, I hope maybe we can have what they have...if we’re lucky,” she adds quietly.

Adrien feels like he’s going to explode when he wraps an arm around her, trying to keep her close as they walk up the steps of the inn.“I’d like that.”

And Adrien has never felt more at home when she snakes an arm around him too, answering in kind.

“Good. Me too.”

Me too .

Chapter Text

The morning air is crisp, an icy wind settling into her lungs as Marinette gazes into the Atlantic Ocean shining brightly from the warm sun. They have oddly been blessed by good weather despite the first snowstorm that trapped them here. Not that Marinette is complaining; Faroe Islands—Vagar, to be exact—has been wonderful and a breath of fresh air.

It’s almost like magic, she thinks. The quaint little villages, the supple snowfall, the way her heart easily and speedily beats with her husband. It’s almost like magic, she can maybe see the way that things are more than what they seem, almost as if some greater force in this universe planned everything to be more than happenstance.

She tucks that thought behind her ribs and opens her arms wide to catch sunshine that beams from the heavens above her. Warmth trickles through her borrowed clothes, sinking through the well-loved fabric and seeping into her bones. The snow from yesterday melted and has left a world of green where white once laid.

She’s only slightly winded after sprinting past Adrien to reach the top of the cliff, the ocean before her as if that is more than a reward. Little islands pebble her view, just as green as the grass that lays at her feet. To the right, a waterfall cascades into the sea, and to the left, a small village weathers daily ocean breezes.

She stands at the edge of the world, ocean waves washing over her, leaving an impression on her soul. In this moment, it is only her and the sea, cradled lovingly by the sun. Light and water blend together, stitching up her seams and her heart is full with the simplicity.  

“Wow, it’s—breathtaking,” Marinette mumbles, words only half-forming on her lips.

Her fingers itch for her sketchbook: she can see the way the grasses could become a fringe, can see the way the ocean waves puff out a skirt, can see the way gold stitching swirls into blue. If she holds out her thumb and her forefinger and frames the world with her hands, maybe she can commit it all to memory; let magic be part of the memory instead of relying on a photograph.

Not that she has anything against photos, no. That would be silly, but sometimes memories that are hazy are better for documenting the world between reality and dreams, and Marinette feels like she’s been walking in a dream for days now.

“God, I am out of shape,” Adrien groans, interrupting her thoughts and snapping her back to reality. He was a few steps behind her when she had raced forward, unable to contain her excitement at reaching the top.

(She’s only slightly competitive. Only slightly. Just slightly.)

Marinette tears her gaze away from the endless inspirations before her and lets her eyes fall on her huffing husband, a smile dancing at her lips. “You don’t play basketball, fence, or whatever else you used to do?”

His eyes narrow slightly as he digs into his backpack, trying to paw at a water bottle seemingly lost among his things. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. Make fun of the rich kid who did every extracurricular under the sun.”

She unclips hers first from her strap and hands it to him. Their fingers touch, sparking electricity and lightning through her skin. “Not making fun,” she says a second later. “Just stating a fact. You were always so busy, but never dropping the ball? It was kinda cool.”

“Cool?” Adrien asks, his glare softening and stumbling into a gratuitous grin as he flips open the lid. A silent thank you is exchanged between them for the water as he drinks half of it in haste.

Which makes him choke, much to Marinette’s amusement. He narrows his eyes at her again and she schools her smile into a trembling and haphazard mess. She feels so mischievous with him that it strikes her funny sometimes, almost if he’s been a friend she’s actually had all along. Not that he hasn’t per say, but—

It’s hard to not remember Adrien when he was a child, Marinette thinks. That’s who she knew best, figuratively speaking. She really didn’t know him at all, but her memories of him then are always with her now. Always surfacing in the way he smiles or laughs, there at the edges when he talks about his family, breaking through when they talk about their friends.

But she also forgets that Adrien didn’t know she knew him. Didn’t know that she loved him. Were only friends because their friends were friends. Didn’t keep in touch after high school because theirs was a relationship that required being classmates to continue.

Instead, she tells him. “But yeah, to be so busy but still be so amazing.”

He pauses for a moment before grinning broadly and walking towards the drop-off. “Thanks, Marinette. That’s really nice of you to say.”

“I’m just saying the truth!” she laughs and skips to his side.

Shly, she takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. “Really, I meant it. You’re a really hard worker.”

Adrien doesn’t say anything in return, his own fingers tightening around hers.

They bask in the sun for a few moments, Marinette grabbing her phone and making the two of them take selfies together. It’s natural the way the fit against each other, the way her back sinks into his chest and his arms come around her. Adrien presses his cheek to hers, his chin resting on her shoulder and she swears he can feel how big her smile is despite that he can see it on the screen. She’s happy.

(She labels the words #honeymoonbabes over the photo. Add a few hearts, a couple of smiley faces and—perfect. It’s sent to Alya in a heartbeat. )

The dirt crunches beside her and Marinette finds that Adrien has perched himself on the edge of the cliff, his feet dangling thousands of feet in the air without a care. She’s done the same countless times, sometimes feeling more at home above a city’s skyline than beneath it. He must feel the same with the ease he displays when he pats the spot next to him.

She counts the seconds as the waves lap against the rocks below them. One, two, a cymbal crash signifying the water smacking into land. One, two, the water climbs up as if it wants to be a man. One, two—

“So, let’s see today’s homework. Oh, um,” Adrien says, his brows pinched together as he reads the newest email from the doctors.

Marinette leans into his shoulder. “Yes?”

He leans back. “It says we should talk about failed relationships.”

She laughs, surprise bubbling at the thought. “Oh god. Wow. Okay, should I go first?”

“Please?”

She takes a deep breath, anchoring herself to the wind and the waves and the heat from the man beside her. There is nothing wrong with what she’s about to say. They’re married now. And he might not be in love with her, but they’re married now.

It’s the assignment , she tells herself. Kill two birds with one stone .

“Okay. So. I’ve had a few partners. Not many, but I think the most important one I had was the one that was the shortest. Kinda. In that we-were-dating way. We were unoffical for a lot longer, but we were only really together for a bit.”

“How come?”

Marinette sighs, bittersweetness swelling through her being.. “Well, first off, I’m happy to say I don’t have any ill feelings towards her....”

Adrien waits a half second longer than usual to reply. “...her?”

This is fine, Marinette , she tells herself. He’s allowed to be curious.

She fights the need to be defensive, to be aggressive, to maybe pretend she actually said him instead of her, blame it on the slip of the tongue. “Uh, yeah...sometimes, not usually. I usually like men, but this time...it was a her.”

“Cool. Go on?”

She lets out a breath that had tucked itself between her ribs, pressing up against her heart. “Thanks,” she breathes, then continues. “I went to Italy for a summer and I fell head over heels for her. This girl named Francesca. A beautiful Italian girl with sun-kissed skin and the most mysterious dark eyes. She was. Yeah, she was wow .

“We both were in the same program and we shared a room together. It was...I was instantly attracted to her and I clicked with her so much and I really fell for her. We had so much in common! I’ve never been with someone where we had so much in common. And her designs were breathtaking…”

Adrien grabs her hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles.“What happened?”

Marinette sighed. “Well, the summer ended, you know. We kept in touch for a while, but it was hard to be in a long distance relationship like that. She did come for Christmas once, but while my family was accepting...hers was not…” she trails off.

She remembers the snow in Paris as Francesa said goodbye, the way her lips felt upon hers, the sorrow they left behind when they parted. Hairline fragments of what could've been shattered by distance and unacceptance.   

“In the end, she wasn’t happy and neither was I,” Marinette says says quietly. “And, well—she’s happy and I’m happy now. A part of me will always belong to her, but it’s okay. We never could be.”

She says the last part with her eyes fixed on the light reflecting off the water. Sunshine and Francesca go hand in hand. Bright, beautiful, vivacious beings that although Marinette loves both deeply, she also can’t particularly keep either contained. And that’s okay.

Adrien brings her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “You love people so intensely. I think it’s amazing how you’re not jaded by that relationship, but it sounds like you grew from it. Doesn’t sound like a failure at all.”

“Well, Francesca was an easy lover,” she chuckles.  “Kind and understanding. My real last relationship actually wasn’t as great. I became a doormat and I hated every second of it. He was a real douche, but I don’t want to talk about him right now, if that’s okay.”

Adrien squeezes her fingers. “That’s totally okay,” he assures her. “You said your piece and now it’s mine, I guess.”

Marinette gives a small smile and nods. “Yes, let me guess, you were a heartbreaker, right?”

He wrinkles his nose and rakes his other hand through his hair. “I guess? I don’t know...I don’t really have much to say. They were nice, but that’s about it…”

“Just nice?” she teases.

“Yeah, just nice. Like I had a few girlfriends and they were nice. Our first dates were nice. Our, you know,” he blushes, “sex lives were, uh, nice. But that was it. Everything was just—we dated.

“And you know, I thought I would fall super head over heels for them, but I never did. I was happy, but not ecstatic or thrilled or—well, I never felt as excited as I do right now. With you.”

Marinette’s heart skips a beat. She grips the ground to not tumble over the cliff, her mind reeling. “You feel ecstatic?! With me?!”

He—how can he? Be so happy with her? It just doesn’t make sense. He’s had this whole life to live thus far, but with her—?   

“Haha, yeah,” he says, blushing more, his gaze far from hers. “Like when I was young, I was able to crush really hard, but that’s just a crush. When I got older, dating didn’t excite me much, so I thought that maybe something was wrong with me. Maybe I only liked the idea of love, not actually being in love. I wasn’t sure, but when I saw the ad for the arranged marriage, I applied on a whim….” he admits softly. “Because I didn’t think they would want me, but they did and I realized that I really wanted it too! I forgot what it was like to want someone...”

“Oh,” she says, dumbfounded with lips parted.  

Marinette is stuck staring at the smile buried in his cheek as he looks fondly over the ocean. The sun always finds him, making his hair gleam, and she wonders how she got so lucky. She—wow. Adrien looks at her then, his face prompted into a bemusing smile at her expression.

“Hmmm?”

“I just...you wanted me?” she asks, heat crawling up her neck.

Oh god, that sounds so dumb to say out loud, she thinks and wishes she could stuff the previous words back into her mouth.

(A part of her whispers that she won’t be good enough, that he’s going to realize the ugliness that hides under all her pretty fabric, that she’s just going to be nice in the way the others were nice .

Another part of her tells that little voice to fuck off.)

Adrien rubs the back of his neck, bashful and happy. “Of course I did. I— actually filmed a video diary for my future bride— you,” he emphasizes. “It’s really grossly sappy and I’ve been meaning to give it to you…so you could see how happy I was when I found out I had a match, but—after I learned that you were my wife I was so embarrassed.  Because we knew each other, ha ha. It’s part of your wedding gift, actually...”

Marinette stops breathing before scampering to her feet. “Up, up, up!”

She pulls her husband up to stand with her, a good bit away from the edge, and she shuffles her feet, feeling herself swinging side to side.

“Yes?” Adrien asks, amused at her antics.

With no grace and complete wiggling, she blurts. “I—can I hug you? I really want to hug you.”

“Uh.”

“Like, I know we just started kissing and things and cuddle,” she starts, halfway to shouting awkwardly. “Like yesterday!  But I just—really want to throw myself at you and have you catch me and oh my god, who says these things to their husband?!” she finishes, throwing her hands up in the air.

Adrien’s face goes blank, his grey scarf flapping in the wind before he breaks down in laughter, doubling over. “Oh my god, Marinette,” he wheezes. “You’re—you’re—”

Mortification crawls up her throat and Marinette covers her face with her hands, turning around so he can’t look at her. Embarrassment rolls off her in waves.   

Adrien laughter settles down and a kind hand is at her shoulder, dragging her into his arms. “You never have to ask to hug or kiss me, Marinette,” he tells her, mirth and good things intertwined with his words. “I’m yours, anytime. And it’s okay! I feel like a dweeb too just about every second. I feel really exposed. This is...hard, and I get that.”

She buries her face at the base of his throat. “Yeah. Exposed is a great way to put it, you know. We’re already married and everything is moving fast.”

His touch feels warm through her jacket. “G-good fast?” he swallows.

“I think so,” she hums and sinks into his embrace. “They told me that this would happen. The doctors. That this wouldn’t be easy.”

He lays his head atop hers and takes a little breath. “Yeah. Me too. It’s different when it’s happening than when you think about it.”

Peace caresses over them and Marinette feels so warm. And protected, if she has to be honest. She’d didn’t think her husband would make her feel at such ease, but maybe that’s the benefit of marrying someone you know in a blind marriage. You can let your guard down around them a lot better and—

It’s been a long, long time since someone has made her feel as comfortable as this. She grins to herself a bit, different green eyes flashing in her mind followed by some god awful pun.

Cat-ch you later, my favorite Bugaboo.   

“Gah, okay, you know what,” she declares as she pulls back from his embrace. “Let’s stop being sappy. I don’t think I can handle baring my soul anymore for today!”

Adrien rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “Okay, wife,” he says as he brushes his lips against her forehead. “What do you have in mind?”

Marinette smirks, looking devilish. “Well, I think I saw a pub or two in town. And there should be some music. I think that would be an awesome way to end our honeymoon.”

“You want to go out?”

“Nah,” she dismisses playfully. “I want to go drinking. Think you can keep up?”

Adrien waits a moment to respond before breaking out in a challenging grin. “Oh, I’ll drink you under the table!”

Marinette laughs and pushes him away. “Ha, I highly doubt that. I’m practically a tank!”

She dances away from him, her step springy with her excitement. The sun is higher in the sky now, trickling further towards noontime than morning.    

“A tank?”

“Yeah, dude. I outdrink everyone. It’s like my special power.”

“Okay, Nino,” Adrien snorts before saying, “Look, I was a model. I think I know how to party.”

Marinette puts her hands up in a mock sign of surrender. “Not saying you don’t, but I’m just saying I know how to better. That’s all.”

Adrien laughs and grabs her hand, leading her back towards the path they took before. Their steps are in line as they descend away from the cliff. “Okay, you’re so on. Tonight, I shall show you who the real victor will be.”

All around them, the mountains are green and alive and Marinette feels just the same. She feels just as tall, just as powerful, just as everlasting.

“Sounds good, but let’s play a game.”

“What do you have in mind? I don’t know many drinking games for two...”

Marinette kisses the back of his hand. “The bigger the drink, the bigger the secret. I mean, since you’re totally able to handle it, you should be able to open up. Right, husband?”

“Doesn't that seem counterproductive? Who needs to take the shot? You or me?”

“If I want to learn something big about you, I need to take the drink. Same goes for you. Fair?”

“...did you just come up with this on the fly?”

Marinette laughs. “No! Alya and I play it, though now that we know everything about each other, we just drink our sad lives away.”

Adrien shakes his head. “Ah, a noble pastime,” he responds sagely. “Anyway, you’re on! I hope you’re prepared to bare your soul to me again. I gotta beat Alya now.”

“In your dreams, Adrien. You’re the one who is going to have to tell me everything.”

“Do you think you’re ready?” he jokes. “I mean. We have only been married for four days. We can just, you know, take things slow?”

“Adrien, let me tell you something,” she says. “If I didn’t jump feet first, I would never do anything. So. We’re gonna do this!”

He laughs. “Okay, Marinette. Whatever you want. I just want you to know that we have all the time in the world. I am excited to go out though. It will be a fun way to spend the last night. I’m a little sad that the plane got fixed so quickly.”

They take a swift left and find some other hikers on the path going the way they just came. Both couples exchange pleasantries, waves and big smiles and Marinette would be lying if she didn’t say that she liked the way everyone thought she and Adrien were a real couple. They don’t know them, but to strangers, they seem happy.

“Me too,” she agrees. “We’ll have to come back when the weather is warmer. And I know that we can take things slow, but I’m just—I don’t know, itching to do something crazy?”

“Like marry a stranger?” he teases.

“Mmmm. Pretty sure I’ve done that.”

“Ah, you’re right. You have,” he says. “God, I hope there’s no turbulence tomorrow.”

“Eh, we’re leaving in the evening, right? So we can just sleep through most of it. Plus, even if we’re hungover, we can have some of Ebbi’s mom’s breakfast.”

“Thank god for that, but I’m going to miss her cooking.”

“Well, we’ll just have to go to my parents’ the morning after we get back. My dad seriously loves breakfast.”

Adrien dramatically faces the heavens, mouthing praises. Marinette tries her best not to laugh, but fails miserably.

He’s kinda perfect, she thinks. She hasn’t laughed so easily with someone in a long time.

His face shifts and as he slows his pace, she matches his. They take their time, just like the clouds rolling in overhead.

“That reminds me,” he starts, “we’re supposed to go house hunting when we get back. Find a place that’s ours rather than staying at mine or yours. Do you have any preferences?”

Marinette remembers that email, the one that said that house hunting is to start immediately after they get back from the honeymoon. Truthfully, she just wants to rest, but apparently when you’re part of a six week study, there is no such thing.

“My shop isn’t too far from the university you work at, if I remember correctly,” she mentions. “So, we can try my neighborhood? I just—not to talk about finances right now,” she quickly adds, “but you do know that I can help pay for things. Even if you’re, like, super rich.”

“I know,” he says, his fingers drumming on the back of her hand. “We’ll figure it out when we get home. There’s no rush and even if you can, I don’t mind paying for everything.”

She presses her lips together, annoyance starting to surface. “Well, yes. I know, but I do. I just—”

Adrien must feel the same. “Marinette, I’m serious. I’ll take care of you. If you’ll let me.”

“And Adrien,” she says. “I’m serious. I’ll help and take care of you.”

“Mari—” he starts to say.

But she cuts him off, determined and keeping her growing irritation at bay. “Can we drop this? I really don’t want to talk about money.”

Adrien sighs and takes a deep breath. “No, I understand. This isn’t the time and place. We can talk more about it later.”

“Exactly,” she says, and the mood shifts back into something lighter. “Besides, I just want to enjoy what time we have left before we go home.”

Adrien hums in agreement as they wind around some trees, their fingers grazing over moss covered rocks. They don’t say much, the air between them better but not the same as when they found the ocean, the sun shining and bright.

“Oh my god,” Adrien says before breaking out in hysterical laughter.

Marinette shoots him a funny look, raising an eyebrow. “Um, are you okay?”

“I just remembered.”

“What?”

Gesturing to the air, Adrien manages to calm down enough, gasping in between breaths until he keeps his smile only slightly twitching. “When I was trying to tell Nino, I took him to come pick out wedding rings, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Marinette says, curious and confused.

“When we were there, he mentioned that if things didn’t go with my girl because I was obviously buying jewelry for a girl, I should date you .”

And it might be because her left hand is clasped in his, the glittering diamond refracting the rays streaming through the trees above them and—

This is real, isn’t it? We’re real, you and me.

A smile tugs at her mouth. “He did not.”

“He did! I was like, dude, I’m actually getting married and lo and behold,” he says, throwing an arm around her as they walk side by side, “here we are.”

Marinette wraps her own arm around his side, his hip digging into her waist. “Here we are.”

Their steps align like the sun at high noon as they descend the mountain back to civilization.

The moon is fat as Adrien and Marinette walk to the pub bundled up in thick coats, breath misting in the night air. Snowfall from a few days ago has turned to slush, the sidewalks black and illuminated by store lights instead. Laughter rings in the air, people rushing to and fro from pub to restaurant to pub again.

Ebbi is with them too, carrying a large guitar case slung over a shoulder. His bright red hair is pulled back, and he reminds Adrien of Jagged Stone. Easygoing, tall, and cool. No pet alligator though.

“I’m so glad you both decided to come out tonight,” Ebbi says. “My band is playing and I promise you that it’s going to be awesome.”

Marinette grins, her pink lipstick looking plum in the darkness. “I’m sure you’re going to be great! Do you sing too?”

Ebbi awkwardly tugs on his scarf. “Kinda. I’m getting better at it. My cousin is a lot better and her voice is kill-er.”

“Which one is she again? Was she at the big breakfast?”

Ebbis snorts. “She’s always at the big breakfast. Ah, but Alice was the one manning the stove. If she never lives her dream of being a rock star, she wants to open a really fancy restaurant on the island. Serve celebrities and whatnot.”

Adrien pipes up and a part of him wonders why he must always talk about food. “That’s really dope. I hope she gets both though. A rock star chef would be super awesome. She’d serenade me while serving some soup.”

Marinette laughs. “Wow, say that five times fast.”

“Well, I think she’d sere—”

“Adrien! I was kidding!”

“Sure you were, that’s why you dared me to say it.”

“Wow, Kim much?” Marinette huffs. “I didn’t dare you!”

He doesn’t say anything, but her nose crinkles when she’s miffed. It’s kinda really adorable. Okay, super really adorable. Her hair is pinned away from her face and her cheeks are rosy from both the cold and her blush. Also, if he has to be honest—and he’s usually always honest—her eyeliner makes her eyes look more dangerous, and, well—  

—Adrien might have a thing for dangerous women who could definitely punch someone’s lights out when needed.    

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously—”

“Okay, lovebirds,” Ebbi says, breaking their banter with an easy smile. “Enough fighting. We’re here. I hope you brought some strong stomachs. Prepare to drink, motherfuckers.”

“You gonna drink with us too, Ebbi?” Marinette asks.

He shakes his head. “Most likely not. I can’t drink when I perform or I’ll throw up, but I will come check on you guys later!”  

“Sounds good, man,” Adrien says, giving his friend a strong handshake.

Ebbi heads inside as Adrien and Marinette stand outside the small venue. It looks like any other bar he’s seen. Brown walls and dark windows. Voices from inside pour outside and music plays a little loudly.

Adrien grabs Marinette’s hand and opens the door. “Are you ready to lose, my dear ?”

She smirks. “In your dreams, sweetheart .”

Sweat, booze, and good vibes instantly hit them in the face. It’s mildly crowded and the atmosphere is lively, everyone happy as they chat and grab drinks from the bar. On the stage the band sets up, Ebbi greeting his fellow bandmates with an enthusiastic cheer. They pause for a moment to say hello before going back to setting up.

Marinette pulls Adrien to the bar. “What’ll be your poison?”

Adrien smirks. “Ladies first. I’ll have what you’ll have. I’ll even pay this round.”

She rolls her eyes, stifling a laugh. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Moneybags. Okay, let’s see. Let’s start easy,” she says. Turning to the bartender, she points at an expensive bottle of vodka. “Two shots!”  

(She says it in minced Faroese learned from a haphazard lesson taught on the walk down from the inn.)

Adrien opens up his phone and loosely translates the words to put it on a tab when the man delivers the drinks. Both he and Marinette grab their glasses. “So, how big is a shot versus a sip before we start? For secrets, that is,” he asks.

She taps her chin in thought. “I think a sip is something simple like favorite colors, a shot is like a medium secret, and to drink the whole glass or whoever buys the next round gets a big secret. Sound fair?”

Adrien laughs. “I hope you brought your wallet, Mrs. Moneybags, because if not, then I get lots of big secrets.”

Marinette points at her purse at her side, smirking. “Don’t worry, I got cash, so it’ll be even-stevens.”

“Alright, alright. Drink your drink, wife, and tell me a medium-sized secret.”

Marinette smiles and downs her drink, visibly shaking as the icy drink goes through her. “Ah, okay,” she starts. “Let’s see, for a medium-sized secret. I was actually rejected from my fashion school when I first applied.”

Adrien blinks, a bit stunned. Had he heard right? “What?”

“Yep, totally rejected. Little letter in a little envelope and everything. It was awful. I just—couldn’t accept that I was rejected, so…I might have...you know, gone back and demanded that they evaluate my application. I’m, what do they say, headstrong and stubborn? So yeah, that’s what I did.”    

“Oh my god, Marinette, what did they do?”

She looks so satisfied when he asks, smug and pleased as she leans against the bar. Adrien is right, he thinks he likes dangerous women, and there is nothing more dangerous than Marinette—a woman who at first glance appears cute and calm, but if you peel back a few of her layers, she is ruthless and cunning. It’s…intoxicating, and he’s not talking about the vodka.

“So,” she starts, her finger tracing the rim of her shotglass, acting coy. “The director actually came out and stood really important-like and told me if I was able to create a brand new dress using a potato sack and a garbage bag that was actually stylish and wear it to the office the next day, he’d admit me. So I did. Much to his surprise.

“We found out a few days later that they wanted to accept me,” she adds sheepishly, her coy demeanor slipping away and becoming awkward, “but my high school didn’t put the correct graduation date so they thought I didn’t have my basic education. Which was really embarrassing? But commendable, he told me.”

Adrien wheezes with laughter. “Oh my god, so you really marched up to the school wearing a sack and a trash bag. That’s so wonderful.”

“It was summer and really hot so yeah, not so much, but,” she singsongs. “Your turn!”

“Ah, yes. My turn. Hmm, okay. Um, well, did you know that when I moved to America I did acting for a little bit and starred in an indie film?” he tells her with a cringe.

“Um, what?” Marinette asks, somewhat giggling.

Adrien pulls out his phone and googles it for her. The movie is titled The One In Your Arms and the cover is Adrien and this pretty redhead laying in the grass. Underneath it, Marinette can clearly see that it has 3/10 stars.

Marinette steals the phone and clicks the description.

Meet Tristan, lonely French boy far from home. Meet Annie, the quirky country girl trying to see the world. They meet at a crossroads when one is trying to settle somewhere while the other is trying to run away. Of course, love tends to get in the way.

Marinette lets out a peal of laughter. “Oh my god, Adrien. This looks glorious. Can we please watch it? How long is it?”

He sighs with defeat, but smiles. “It’s a little over an hour. And we can watch it. It’s awful, but it’s a good movie to watch when drinking.”

“Excellent! Okay, we need more drinks. Let’s get some actual drinks.”

Marinette fishes out some cash from her wallet and hands it to the bartender. Adrien orders a whiskey sour while Marinette gets a margarita. Two tangy drinks for some tangy people, Adrien thinks, but doesn’t say. That would be extremely weird.  

“Okay, now that we both have ordered drinks, big secrets are up for grabs!” she exclaims as they settle into a secluded booth on the other side of the bar.

Adrien smiles, holding his glass up to clink hers. “Easy there tiger, let me sip some, okay?”

They exchange small secrets for a while.  His favorite color is green, hers is pink. They both enjoy cracking the shell of a creme brule. She’s never had enchiladas before, and Adrien has never tried crawfish. Adrien learned Chinese because at first he thought that was the language people in anime spoke when he was little. It all started with a tutor who only had Dragonball dubbed in Chinese, didn’t even realize that Japan was an actual place until he was about nine. Marinette didn’t learn to tie her shoes until she was ten.

Adrien finishes his drink first. “Ah! Tell me something big!” he demands with an easy smile.

Marinette sighs and downs her drink right after. “Okay, so we both know that I had a big crush on you, right?”

Adrien nods, his face flush and smile wide. “Yes, this has been brought up many times now, much to my amusement.”

She narrows her eyes at him and kicks his shoe, making him yelp in surprise. “Anyway,” she says loudly. “I may have been a crazy girl with a crush. Only slightly. Intensely?” she says, wincing. “And I tried asking you to the movies and may have left you a voicemail calling you hot stuff…”

Adrien pauses for a moment, thinking back, tapping his chin. “I..I don’t remember this?”

Marinette takes a deep breath and stares at the ice in her glass, her straw swirling the cubes. “Exactly. Because, well, I might have stolen your phone and deleted the voicemail?”

In the background, the band introduces themselves and starts to play, people in the crowd cheering. Adrien says nothing and neither does Marinette.

He swallows and quietly asks. “What?”

Marinette awkwardly looks up at him, fiddling with a lock of her hair that slipped from behind her ear. “I stole your phone to delete a voicemail because I accidentally called you hot stuff when trying to ask you to the movies.”

“Hot stuff?”

“Yes,” she confirms, eyes looking away.

“As you thought I was hot? Stuff?”

“...Yes.”

“And you deleted the voicemail?”

Marinette doesn’t say anything this time, her eyes far away, her cheeks darkening from the light of the room as he stares at her profile. She looks beautiful, he thinks, the shiney silver of her necklace turning technicolor. The black leather of her jacket sloping her over her shoulder, the magenta color of her top, the way her hair is slicked behind her ears. She looks like an editorial piece. But she’s still Marinette, nervous and sweet in the way her body shakes in the way her knees are bouncing, chewing on the inside of her cheek, her blush crawling up her neck.

This moment is perfect and Adrien decides that he’s happy.

He laughs deeply from his belly and clutches his sides, in part at finally reacting to Marinette and in part finally relishing in his own feelings. “Oh my god, Marinette, you should have left the voicemail! That would have been the best! I wouldn’t have known what to do and would have been so confused. Oh my god!”

He can see it now, fourteen year old him panicking and asking Plagg what to do, but the little god would have gave awful advice. Most likely would have told him to just stick to cheese than girls. He could see himself asking Ladybug, blushing and stumbling and utterly a mess. It would have been fun he thinks.

He briefly wonders if he would have said yes.  

Marinette’s tension slips from her shoulders. “You’re not mad?”

Adrien wipes his eyes, feeling warm and light. Contentment washes over him as he leans back in his plush seat. “Why would I be mad?  This happened years ago! I honestly think this is hysterical.”

“Oh, good to know,” she says with a small smile.

He reaches across the table and takes her hand, his thumb rubbing her knuckles. “Just one thing.”

“Yes?” Marinette asks, leaning closer.

If Adrien was a smidge braver, he’d kiss her right now. He wants too, but they’re in a room filled with people and the things between him and Marinette are overwhelming. Wonderful, but overwhelming and he’s constantly on edge. In the best of ways though.

“You have to call me hot stuff for now on when you ask me out on dates,” he smirks. “Like it’s now a requirement.”

She throws rolls her eyes and chuckles. “Haha, sure. I’ll be sure to ask you every other Friday, okay?”

“As long as I get to ask you out on those Fridays you’re not asking me out.”

Marinette places her other hand on top of his, her fingertips cool to his skin. “Let me check my calendar, but I think there’s an opening for you.”

Adrien sends her an appreciative smile and kisses her fingers. “I’ll take any day you’ll give me.”

Marinette grins and the still moment between them hits Adrien that it’s his turn to tell her something big .  

He takes a deep breath and composes himself before moving to sit beside of her. Marinette only shoots him a questioning look, but scoots over, twisting her body to face him. Their knees knock as he reaches for her hands again.  “Okay, so my turn for a big secret. Let’s see. It’s going to be less fun, but I promise you it’s quite drama filled and important for you to know. And I’m gonna chicken out if I don’t tell you now.”

“Oh...okay?” she says, her brow quirking. “Whatever it is, I’m all ears.”  

“So, you know how I didn’t have a mom? Kinda?”

She pets the back of his hand. “Yeah. I thought she passed away,” she says softly.

“Well, yeah. We thought so too,” he groans, trying to keep his voice even. “Like ‘went missing and never came home because she was dead’ kind of thing, you know. Like in a soap opera.”

“That does...like a soap opera plot line,” she concedes.

Adrien closes his eyes for a moment, trying to get gather the words he wants to say. His heart is beating his chest and he’s torn because he can still remember the way his mother’s hand would comb his hair, the way she would tuck him into bed at night. She was his best friend for so long until she was gone.

He lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah well, here’s the goddamn plot twist.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” he sighs. Twirling his finger he says, “Ding dong, my beloved mama is not actually dead and is alive and well and shows up to my dad’s funeral.”

Marinette blinks at him a moment, before her lips curl into an unpleasant frown.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yep,” he says bitterly with a tight smile. “Reveals her living self at my dad’s funeral,” he sneers. “Mourning him and looking like she hasn’t aged a damn day and I’m here crying, thinking I lost both my parents…” he trails, trying to reel in his burning feelings. “One to an “accident” and the other one because he was so heartbroken that he couldn't live without her.”

Marinette’s smiles solemnly for a moment before throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek. “I’m so, so, so, sorry.”

Her breath tickles the crook of his neck and he feels better as he wraps his arms around her and holds her close too. She’s a good anchor point and keeps the bad thoughts from that day away.

He settles his cheek atop her head. “Of course you’re sorry. You’re a good person,” he says. He then sighs and plays with the edges of her hair. “I’m sorry for telling you this. I told you this wasn’t a fun secret, but I really need to tell you this since you’re my wife.”

He kisses her cheek too before pulling away slightly, and bluntly says. “Anyway, long story short is that my mom is alive and is not of sound mind? She will show up from time to time despite the fact that I have a restraining order against her. She claims she’s from a different timeline and she, my father, and I are supposed to be a happy family. Also , she swears that I should still be thirteen.”

“Wow, Adrien. What the actual fuck,” she awkwardly laughs.

He doesn’t blame her. It’s either laugh and cry and it’s easier to laugh how bizarre his mom is and the whole not being dead thing then cry about it.

(And he hates being angry about it. He hates it the most of all.)

“Yeah, but she’s pretty harmless, just not well. And I know that I should be more sympathetic towards her, but I can’t. She can’t even tell me where she was for all those years,” he says flatly. “I do give her money though, I just can’t be around her. And she will most likely pop up when we get home and—”

Marinette places a hand on Adrien’s face, stilling him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you told me. This is. Wow. A lot to take in, but thank you. I’m sorry your life is a soap opera. You know, missing moms who actually are alive and blind arranged marriages to people you actually know. Quite a tough life for a rich ex-model turned physics professor who happens to be the king of a fashion empire.”

Adrien smiles, and this time it’s real. “Well, the blind marriage part isn’t so bad. Nor is being a professor. That’s fun too.”

“Okay, professor, do you have some dancing shoes?” Marinette wonderfully says for a change of topic.

He chuckles and is ever thankful that she’s his wife.

“Ah, m’lady,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “I possess the best dancing shoes.”

Marinette glances down at his feet, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes, kind sir. I see your sneakers are quite the glass slippers this footwear season.”

“Pshh. As if these are sneakers. Laces do not sneakers make; these are casual dress shoes,” he defends. “See, it even has a little flare with three black stripes on the side against some nice grey suede. C’mon Marinette, you’re a designer.”

She rolls her eyes and shrugs. “Men’s fashion is okay. I will admit my shoe designs for men are more basic and extremely casual. Shoes are just their own animal.”

“Nah, I agree,” he nods. “But I’d love to see your designs! And you’re more than welcome to look at my father’s designs if you wanted, you know? He has thousands of them that we keep stored away.”

Marinette gapes at him, speechless. “Seriously? You’d let me see your father’s designs?”

Adrien smiles, wondering how she couldn’t have known that already. “Of course. You’re my wife, Marinette. And you’re also my friend.”

Marinette doesn’t say anything but leans forward, brushing her lips against Adrien’s in a soft and simple kiss. He feels like he’s been zapped. “You’re amazing, you know?” she whispers before kissing him once more. Before he can reply, she grabs his hand and pushes him out of the seat. “Dance with me!”

Marinette guides him to the dance floor, weaving in and out of people, and he feels like he’s stepped into a blessed dream. One where he’s safe and happy and warm and—

Adrien’s heart fills as the lights flash off Marinette’s skin. She looks like an ethereal spirit, grinning in the darkness as she loops her arms around his neck. He places his hands on the small of her back, his thumbs brushing her hip bones. She’s beautiful and for the millionth time, takes his breath away.

He leans down and kisses her, captures her mouth with his and Marinette closes the space between them. She tastes like good things and a bright future. Things are so natural and effortless with her, the way her mouth is warm against his and he feels so light. Like she’s always been by his side. He—

—well, he doesn’t know that for sure, but he feels like he could. Give him a week and he’s positive that Marinette will own every space in his heart.

From the stage, they hear Ebbi start to sing, enticing the crowd to dance and holler with them. The atmosphere is intoxicating, the beat syncing with their hearts as they drag their hands up and down the other’s body. Her fingers wind into his hair, her nails grazing the base of his skull and his knees feel weak. He holds her closer, pressing her to him as if he can’t breathe anymore. She holds him just as close, her breath filling his lungs.

He nips at her bottom lip and wickedly grins in the kiss when she moans at the way his hands hold the back of her neck. The world is perfect, the way he feels fire burning under his skin, joy blossoming in his chest, and desire rushing to his head.

Marinette pulls away breathless. “Wow.”

He kisses the tip of her nose.”Wow, indeed.”

She wrinkles his nose and looks fondly at him. Marinette brushes her lips against his for a moment for skipping out of his hold, laughing madly as she disappears into the crowd. Adrien blinks before laughing to himself, running his hands in his already mussed hair, never wanting this dream to end. She’s back minutes later holding some Jell-O shots and a wondrous, dangerous grin.  

Adrien balks, laughter at the edge of his voice. “Those are sneaky things and you know it.”

“Maybe I’m a sneaky thing,” she says with a wink.

His heart jumps at that, twisting with pleasure, breathlessly.

“Oh, I know that at least.”

They share more medium-sized secrets. Marinette didn’t have any friends until Alya. Adrien almost ran away from home when his mother disappeared, but he couldn’t leave his father alone. Marinette was almost engaged in her last relationship but said no because she found out the guy was cheating. Adrien started up a charity in his father’s name for children to go to art school.

Ebbi jumps down the from the stage a while later, happy and smiling and puts an arm around each of them. “Okay, I can drink now,” he wolfishly grins.

And drink they do. Long forgotten is the game, no more secrets, just smiles and laughs as they all drink, sing bad karaoke, and drink shot after shot.

It’s a blur, a wonderful and crazy blur as everyone dances and the booze tastes like Marinette’s kisses.Or Marinette’s kisses taste like booze. He’s not quite sure, but it doesn’t matter at the moment as they walk back to their hotel in the chilly, still night, stopping at every other lamppost or wall to kiss each other. On the mouth, on their necks, taste the other and keep warm in the below-freezing temperatures.

It’s like a hazy dream, not real, but too real to be fake. It’s wonderful as they try to tiptoe upstairs to their room, trying not wake everyone by their laughter. In the back of his mind, he knows that Plagg will be annoyed that he stumbled in at two in the morning, but hopefully the little god will understand that there is a beautiful woman who is demanding his attention at this hour and he’s married to her.

Marinette sheds her coat and he does the same, and he kisses her hard on the mouth and pushes her to lay on the bed. She follows his lead and giggles, her hands in his hair and bringing his mouth to hers. Her tongue traces his lips and he’s helpless at her touch.

She bites at his lower lip, kissing him fiercely before breaking them apart. Sighing happily, she rolls them to lay on their sides.“Hi,” she slurs, her eyes wide and bright.

Her mascara has smudged a little, her lipstick gone from her mouth, but Adrien has never seen someone more alluring.

Adrien feels lightheaded—happily drunk—as he giggles too. “Hi.”

“Did ya drink more than me?” she asks.

Adrien tries to count, he really does, but he just blurts. “15. I had 15.”

It seems like the right answer. How is he supposed to count anyway when there’s such a stunning woman in front of him? And she’s his wife? Counting is impossible. Just impossible.

“Aw man, you did drink more than me,” Marinette yawns before kisses his nose. “Okay, I have a big secret for you.”

He settles in on his side of the mattress, his hand resting in the dip of her waist. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmmm. Biggest best secret ever.”

“Tell ‘e,” he slurs,  because of both sleep and drink. Sh

She giggles again and gets up from the bed, swaying a little bit. “Okay,” she says to herself and tries to make a serious expression. “Just kidding! No big secret for you right now!”

Adrien pouts, drunk and sleepily. “What, really? We—I played your game.”

Marinette sits down on the bed, the light illuminating her like an angel. His angel. She gins and boops his nose. “And I won. Or you won,” she mumbles to herself. She looks back at him and smirks though, holding her chin in her hand. “But like I’d ever say spots on—” she scoffs.

Marinette’s eyes become enormous then, her words seeming to have sobered her up as she brings her hands to her face in horror.

“No, no, no! I take it back!”

Her hands fly to her ears, trying to take off her earrings when—     

In the distance, he only slightly hears a little scream before the room is bathed in pink before—

Ladybug stands before him, alert and beautiful and in his room and her face is twisted in terror.  Her costume hugs her womanly curves, her chest and thighs covered in all black in addition to her trademark red and black spots—she looks lethal with sharp blue eyes and her yo-yo modified to look more deadly at her hip.  

“Shit, shit, shit!” she says and he’s not sure if he’s ever heard his lady actually swear before, but—

“Ladybug?” he stupidly asks.

She winces, nervously chewing her lip. “You’re dreaming!” she blurts.

Adrien tries to sit up on the bed, shaking his head. “I, uh, I’m pretty sure I’m not dreaming.”

His brain is really foggy right now, the light the superhero look fuzzy. He wonders where Marinette is though he wants to ask if, well, if Ladybug is—

“...Marinette?”

Ladybug inhales a deep breath before steeling herself with a grim expression. She swallows hard, her fingers trembling at her sides for a moment, before she tightens her hands into fists.  

“I’m sorry, Adrien,” she whispers.

He doesn’t get to ask her why she’s sorry or why Marinette isn't here or why Marinette doesn’t just say that she's Ladybug. Can’t  when her right hand swinging towards the side of his head and—

(Nothing, you see, because it’s just as Ladybug said. He’s dreaming.)

(He has to be.)

Chapter Text

Paris is dark by the time they make it home, the airport chilly, but not as frosty as the Faroe Islands. Remnants of magic grab at his clothes, tendrils tugging him somewhere cozy and safe. But bright lights and no stars in the sky remind him that he’s home again and that’s both exciting and terrifying.

(Like free from tall buildings and jumping out of planes and leaping over rooftops and—)    

He cranes his neck back and tries to close his eyes, take in this moment of bustling life on the tarmac but winces. Adrien hisses in pain though, the side of his head still a dull ache.

Last night only flashes in bits and pieces towards in the early morning hours. Marinette’s soft body against his, the less than chaste kisses on an icy sidewalk. Laughter sounding through the air as they made their way upstairs.

It blurs when he hits the bed, the last of his memories of Marinette’s mouth against his, of blue eyes and pink lights and—

Dreams of Ladybug bathed in lamplight.

He rolls his eyes, his heart caught up in the past and in the present, an old love that’s gentle like a flame and...something new he doesn’t know how to name. It is brighter and warmer though, the promise more than great, hope washing over him like an ocean’s wave.

“Goddamn it,” he whines, “please remind me to never drink again, okay?”

Marinette’s face twists for a moment in sympathy and she gingerly rubs his back.“Yeah, wouldn’t want you to, um, fall again.”

She’s cute. Her midnight hair loosely frames her face, mussed slightly from sleeping on the plane. Even with chapped lips, she’s imperfectly gorgeous. Effortless and real. And in some ways, his.

“Yeah. No kidding. God, I just remember laying down in bed with you and nada. Besides waking up to this splitting headache.”

She tangles her fingers with his. “I know, you told me.” A nervous smile awkwardly paints her features, spread a little too tight and thin.

Adrien decides to focus on the now instead of the then. None of this is Marinette’s fault, he knows. He just...got stupid and fell and this is his reward: to have a sore noggin with a bruise spreading under his hairline.   

He lets out a yawn, “I know, I know. You’ve been listening to me complain all day about it, but yeah, it’s been a long day anyway.”

The wind whips at her grey coat as she gives his fingers a gentle squeeze.  “I don’t mind listening to you complain though. Not about...this at least...or anything really. Complain away!”

Despite the poor lighting, Adrien swears he can see a healthy rose dust her cheeks. Marinette’s heart is stitched into her sleeve whether she knows it or not. She’s a cautious girl in theory, but in application, he’s only met a few that are so brave. His wife leads much more with her heart that he thinks she’d care to admit.

Adrien shrugs, enjoying the warmth from her hand. “Nah, I think I’m okay for now. I’m just cranky from the flight. Not even the longest one, but the short ones always make me a little green around the gills.”

“Ah yes, I’ve married quite the world traveler. How soon I have forgotten,” she says with a coy grin.

Lights reflect off her eyes like a starry sky, gleaming bright pinpricks of color. He stares a moment longer than he should. Her smile becomes shy, like moonlight through curtained bedroom windows. He never knew that night could be so soft and kind.

Adrien wraps an arm around her, breaking eye contact. He hugs Marinette close to his body, enjoying the small gasp she emits.  “You’re just jealous of my passport. I saw you eyeing it.”

Marinette chuckles, with a playful accusatory tone. “It just has a billion stamps, Adrien! A billion! I’ve only had a few since I rarely leave France, let alone the EU.”

He beams at the envy, the unspoken praise his spouse gives him and the awe in her voice.

“Good thing I didn’t get any stamps this week or that would really suck for you,” he teases.  “But it’s okay. We can get more together. That should be fun, right?”

Her reply hangs in the air, shifting the atmosphere to something heavier. Marinette’s fingers curl into his coat, at the spot between his shoulder blades. “...are you sure?”

Her voice is a small, a low thing that could easily be caught on a chilly breeze. These are the moments where Adrien can see the purple outline of his wife’s anxiety, the obscurity in the unknown. Unsurety clouds her brave spirit.

Adrien blinks. “Marinette!” he says. “Of course I’m sure. I married you, didn’t I? Who else am I supposed to travel with?”

“I don’t know. Nino?” she wonders, her foot scuffing the ground.

He bumps into her shoulder. “Nino is an awful flight companion. He also snores.”

Marinette finally relaxes, her body less tense. Her mind travels far away though, no response to his retort. A dreamy haze envelops her form.

She gets like that sometimes, he learns. Like at the hill overlooking the water, he felt when he saw her there, that she would fade away if he spoke. She’s a shadow out of the corner of his eye. If he turns too quick, she won’t remain.

“Marinette?”

Her gaze settles back on him, clarity registering. “Oh yeah, I was just thinking.”

Adrien takes a step closer, rubbing his thumb where he thinks her heart would be on her sleeve. “About?”

She can be skittish too, his new wife. It’s best to sometimes step lightly and speak in a low voice. Almost cat-like, he thinks, much to his amusement.

“Where are we gonna sleep tonight? I mean, we don’t have a place that’s...ours, you know. I know that we’re supposed to start house hunting tomorrow.”

Adrien chews on that bit of information for a bit and tries to be as nonchalant as possible. “I mean, you live all away across the city and...I don’t know...don’t. So, um, you see, uh, if you don’t mind, we can sleep at mine tonight?” he babbles. “And, uh, tomorrow, we could...always head over to yours?”

He inwardly cringes at himself. Just. Wow.

(This is what he gets though. Applying as the start of a joke and then actually getting married to a wonderful person. How in the hell is he supposed to measure up? Just. He’s. Yeah.)

Marinette shuffles her foot for a moment before slightly grinning, easing the erratic beating of Adrien’s heart. “That should be fine, I think. Do you have any PJs for me though?”

Adrien stares at his wife for a moment and tries not to swallow, anticipation sizzling under his skin. “We’ll manage something.”

Marinette blinks for a second and tugs him to the re-entry area. “Oh my god, Adrien. I don’t even want to know where your mind is going,” she says, humor warm in her voice.

It takes a moment for him to reply, mock annoyance coming out as he grips her hand harder. “Hey!”

His wife laughs and pulls him with more force this time, the cool air fanning their faces as they tease and bicker with each other. He still feels caught in a dream, the faint looming doom that he might wake up and none of this was real lurking at the back of his mind. He chooses to ignore it.

It doesn’t take long for them to be verified as French citizens. Once through immigration, they make it through to baggage claim easy enough. It’s warm, this feeling of not being alone.

When was the last time he took a trip for fun? Let alone with family?

(Adrien remembers the flight to New York. The somber silence that rested between his father and him remained almost impenetrable as they flew across the Atlantic. A suffocating end to lives they both promise they would never revisit. Not as long as they had each other.)

At baggage claim, they are surprised by happy faces.

Holding up a big sign that says: Welcome home Mr. and Mrs. Agreste are Mr. and Mrs. Dupain-Cheng. Marinette screams with glee and lets go of Adrien’s hand instantly, making her way to her parents with an extra bounce in her step.

“What you doing here?” she says as she launches herself into her father’s arm.

“Surprise, Angel!”

Adrien watches from the side. Plagg looks up from his big coat pocket and offers a rare soft smile and pats his knuckles. Adrien curls his finger under his chin, rubbing the point with affection.

Family is an “us versus them” thing sometimes, an invisible wall of where he feels like he’s on the outside looking in, a relationship that he’s not—

(meant to have, he wants to say)

—but Mr. Dupain-Cheng looks over the top of Marinette’s head. He surges forward, curls a large arm over his shoulders and wraps him up too, memories of when he was a child springing forth as his father used to do the same. The warmth hits him automatically, cracking the glass and the world becomes snugger as his wife slips an arm around his waist, a point to follow because it’s like the world...the world is more than it was before two seconds ago. More—loving and kind and—he didn’t think that could be possible.

“Tom, you’re crushing your new son-in-law,” Mrs. Dupain-Cheng says, laughter in her voice as she tugs husband away.

Tom laughs, boisterously and full of heart. “It’s tradition, my dear. Father-in-laws have to smother new son-in-laws.”

Sabine gives him a pointed look, raising a brow, completely unimpressed. “Just because my father was crazy, doesn’t mean that you have to go and—and—” she fumbles before looking at her daughter. “Marinette, what’s the word you used to say when you were a teenager and liked all that Japanese stuff?”

Marinette colors pink and Adrien can barely contain an unattractive laugh. He answers instead, feeling like he’s finding wondrous new ground with his wife. “I think you’re trying to say glomp.”

“Yes! That’s it!” his mother-in-law says with a snap of her fingers. Scolding her husband, she juts a finger at him. “You can’t just go and glomp the poor boy, Tom!”

Out of the corner of Adrien’s eye, Marinette cringes and covers her eyes. Under her breath, he hears her, “Why me?”

Adrien wraps an arm around her shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. “You were a weeb,” he sing-songs.

Marinette peeks from her fingers and glares. “Shush you. I remember Nino telling me about your weeb phase.”

Adrien shrugs. “What phase? I’m still a weeb, through and through.”     

“Oh my god,” she groans before her parents turn their attention back to them.

“Anyway,” Mr. Dupain-Cheng says loudly while looking at his wife. “As I was saying, it’s tradition and welcome back and we’re here to take you home.”

“But dad, we live all over the city.”

Her mother laughs. “Not your homes, our home! At the bakery! With lots of warm food and a good place to sleep.”

“But—” Marinette says, looking up at Adrien sheepishly. “We were, um—maybe…”

Oh, she looks so shy. A part of him inwardly wants to decline, wants to spend time alone with his new wife; however, looking at his in-laws, they are eagerly waiting to hear their reply.

Adrien decides then and there, giving his wife a quick squeeze while saying goodbye to alone time.

“Sounds good, Mrs. Dupain-Cheng. Thank you. We’re kinda tired anyway.”

His mother-in-law smiles and throws her arms around them much like how her husband did. “No! Thank you, sweetheart. And you can call me Sabine.”

“And Tom is fine for me, son,”

(Oh god, son. No one has called him that in a long, long, long time.)

 Sabine and Tom are off to get the car, leaving Marinette and Adrien alone surrounded by many busy and honking taxis. With her parents finally out of sight, Adrien releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The night air seeps into his lungs with a chill.

Beside him, Marinette laughs. “Sorry. They’re a bit overwhelming, huh?”

Adrien warms his hands with his mouth and nods. “I didn’t realize—,” he starts, yawning again, “that I would be getting a real family too out of this experiment.”

Marinette hums in agreement. “I know, from the way the doctors were telling me, it seems like families are a bit more distant, but maybe because my family knows you and they’re just more excited about it than others.”

“Oh yes,” he teases. “I bet they’re just cackling on how you got to marry your girlhood crush.”

(He will never tire of that, of the sweetness that melts his heart. His wife loved him once—and that is...wow.)

(Adrien remembers always looking at her back, how tall she would stand and laugh with her friends. Marinette both timid and bold, creative and daring, quiet and loud. A paradox only noticeable if you saw her shift between situations. Shy and awkward with him, quirky and funny with Nino, driven and sweet with Alya.)

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Seriously, you’re never, ever going to let that go, are you?”

“What proper husband would I be if I didn’t constantly seek ways for you to stroke my ego?”

Marinette gives him a flippant response. “Oh, I’ll show you stroking.”

Adrien stills, breathing ceasing to be a function. “What?”

Marinette huffs, absentmindedly repeating herself. “I said, I’ll show you strok—” before her face twists with mortification. “Oh my god! Um, no—not like that—but like—well, maybe?”

“Maybe!?”

“I don’t know, maybe?!” she squeals. “Maybe later? Don’t ask me these things,” she whines.

“Maybe what?” Tom says.

In horror, both Marinette and Adrien snap, “Nothing!”

Sabine looks at them then at her husband. “Oh, oh dear, honey—this is definitely something we don’t want to know.”

“Maman!”

Tom throws a thumb, grinning wildly. “Anyhoo, car’s this way kiddos. Please leave all marital embarrassment on your honeymoon and come back to reality. Right this way.”

“Papa!”

 The trip to Marinette’s house is pleasant. Idle chitchat as her parents ask about the honeymoon and all of the mishaps. From incorrect flights to big breakfasts on a hidden gem of an island. It boggles the mind, they say. Even slightly soap opera dramatic, but—well, what about their marriage isn’t a soap opera?

Tom drives the car around the back of the bakery and pulls into their garage. It strikes Adrien then, as the door is lowering itself behind them at this is really happening. He’s spending the night at his in-laws with his new wife and it’s a bit—exciting.

He stifles a large yawn behind his hand when Marinette catches his eye and gestures towards the house door. Looking at her father, she pleads. “Papa, please tell me there’s food.”

The trunk pops open with a satisfying click. Tom chuckles as he lifts both suitcases, a smirk in his voice. “Darling, did you hear that? Our child asked us if there’s food.”

Sabine ushers everyone inside, her fingers brushing against the mid of his back.  Smiling from ear to ear, she shrugs. “It’s like she thinks we don’t live in a bakery.”

Marinette huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway! We’re going up to my room!”

They both kick off their shoes by the back door and Adrien takes a moment to admire the way the family lines their shoes together. Nice and neat. It’s adorable. He places his pair of shoes a smidge closer to his wife’s.

Marinette laces her fingers between his. “Ever since they got the floor redone, they’re very anal about scuffs on it.”

Adrien knocks into her shoulder. “It’s not a problem. Makes sense. I personally don’t wear my shoes inside for the same reason. I hate the mess.”

“Adrien, don’t listen to her,” Tom calls. “We’re a very Chinese household! I was born there, you know!”

He turns at the sound of the voice, unsure exactly where Tom could be. Marinette shakes her head as her mother’s laughter rings somewhere not too far away.

“Don’t humor him. He already thinks he’s a very funny man.”

“He kinda is a funny man.”

Mariette sends him a mock glare, mirth clinging to her voice. “Don’t!”

With that, she drags him up the stairs two at a time into the main living room. Adrien smiles broadly all the way. It’s a dream, he thinks, it has to be a dream made of good things as she looks back at her eyes sparkle with mischief. She leads him up the slight ladder and pushes her floorboard open. It’s almost like entering a different realm, the way the moment vibrates with magic.

Or as if the time-traveled and they’re both teenagers again.

It’s still completely pink, Adrien realizes when he enters and Marinette flicks on a light. It’s neater though, more mature. Stocks of fabric hang everywhere in a corner, taking up most of the room. Mannequins display work in progress pieces for various gowns and outfits. He’s instantly reminded of his father’s studio.

(A cramped office with swaths of fabric in every direction. Beads in containers and a singular mannequin with brown stains. An old lamp with a bright bulb sways overhead.)

“I use this place a lot for storage or when I design wedding dresses,” she says.

Her words interrupt his thoughts, his fingers admiring the embroidery on a satin gown.

Adrien turns to her. “You design wedding dresses besides for your own wedding?”

She rubs the sleep out of her eye. “Sometimes. On commission. I design a lot of things though.”

“Yeah, enough for your own shop and it’s doing—?” he asks.

Marinette wears a bemused smile, idly folding wayward fabric scattered on a nearby table. “Well. It’s doing surprisingly well. I get asked to do a lot of fashion shows and I even have three of my own employees.”

“Wow. How did you manage that?”

Marinette coughs. Her hands still as she folds another piece of fabric for a second, before ruffling it all up and starting over. “Um. Your dad actually. He—so many scholarships and things...I won a lot of them…”

(I am the future, Adrien. And to be the future, you have to help people along the way. )

Serendipity and happenstance pull at this moment, tug at him and want him to notice. Point out the alignment of how too much is happening at once. That his tremulous past is converging with his present in paving something new.

Pride warms his heart, but the edges remain brittle from ghosts he doesn’t want to name. He doesn’t show her the duality of his conflicting emotions in his praise.

“That’s amazing, Marinette!” Adrien pulls her into a tight and affection hug. “He would have been so happy! God, he loved those scholarship things!”

Her laughter buries into his shirt, over his heart, and helps chase away the cold that tries to come forth. She’s quickly becoming—

(—all that he needs, his heart wants to say, but it won’t. Not yet.)  

Marinette peers up at him, her blue eyes sparkling gems. “Did he now?”

Adrien leans back and cups her face. “Yes. Yes, he did. He wanted talent to matter, not connections. God, wow, Marinette. You’re spectacular!”

He presses a quick kiss to her forehead, her cheeks warm in his hands.

“...thank you,” she blinks, stunned for a moment before looking down bashfully.

Adrien swallows and releases his wife, sticking his hands in his pocket. However, before he turns away, he doesn’t miss how her fingers go to her forehead, coupled with a small beaming smile.

The room falls oddly silent before Marinette blurts out. “Why become a professor? Why not work for your father’s company?”

Adrien finds her own chaise and sits on it, patting for her to follow. “Well, a lot of things.”

Maybe because he’s told the story so many times or maybe because there’s a lot of good things in his life and those good things outweigh the bad. Like when his dad helped her become an amazing designer from far, far away. Like his wife being amazing.

He starts as his fingers curl around her hand. “I’ve always liked science. Always. I mean, yeah, I was a good model, but science. Now that’s the stuff,” he says fondly. “When my dad and I left France after high school and moved to New York, I started taking heavy English classes and fell in love with school again. It was a good move for us, to be happy, you know?”

(Happiness is subjective, he thinks. Happiness never meant the same thing for the two of them.)

“I was about 21 at the time and I got my acceptance letter to NYU and well—my dad—he passed away,” Adrien says, swallowing over the lump that wants to form.

He won’t cry this time. He’s cried too many times before so he refuses to do so now. Refuses.

He blinks once and finds his voice again. “So, like, he was controlling the company overseas and when he passed, I decided to do it. But running a company is hard,” he emphasizes. “Six months of sleepless night plus grief and let me tell you, I don’t have a strong business sense,” he laughs, “I just...don’t. So, I made Natalie the CEO and we moved me to the position of the owner. She gets to make the hard calls and all  I’m required to do is help pick new designs. I do a get a lot of the final say so with our fashion trends which is a bit fun.”

(Marinette patiently listens, doesn’t mind his rambling, doesn’t mind the emotion that leaks into his voice as he talks about his father. Her fingers only tighten around his in solidarity and in comfort.)

“Really?”

“Yeah, which is part of the reason I’m relaunching a lot of my dad’s older products from the start of his career.”

“Ah, I noticed that,” she says softly. She rests her head on his shoulder. “It’s been so refreshing to see all his old pieces! I really loved the re-release of some of his printed graphic pants. The one with triangles or the one with palm trees. They’re so sleek now, the cut much more modern.”

Adrien preens at the praise. “That may have been my personal suggestion. The new cut on the pants.”

Marinette happily sighs. “Oh, you know, I never thought I would have gotten a husband who was into fashion, but I’m so glad I did.”

“Well,” he starts. “I’m just happy to have you.”

They sit side by side for a breath, capturing the moment and enjoying that comes with it. Downstairs, his in-laws hobble around and their joyous laughter comes muffled through the floorboards. Adrien wonders briefly where Plagg has disappeared to, the black cat hiding somewhere in his wife’s old bedroom.  

Marinette lifts her head and places her hand face to move him in her direction. Her fingers warm the apple of his cheek. “No, I’m the lucky one,” she whispers leaning closer. “Truly. You’re amazing.”

She kisses him lightly on the mouth and Adrien sighs into the kiss. It’s so easy to kiss her, so wonderful. His palm slides up her spine, her body melding closer to him as she grins with pleasure.

Her nails scrape the collar of his shirt and Adrien begins to push her down and—  

There’s a knock at Marinette’s trap door, revealing Sabine as both Marinette and Adrien spring apart.

She grins at them, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Dinner’s ready kiddos.”

Marinette smooths her hair and clears her throat. “Kay.”

His wife gets up and stretches her back, rolling her neck from side to side. Looking over her shoulder, she extends her hand. “Ready?”

“I’ll meet you in a second. Gonna run to the bathroom first.”

Marinette nods. “Sounds good,” she says as she makes her way downstairs.

Adrien waits for the trapdoor to click. “The coast is clear, Plagg.”

Plagg zips out and yawns. “Thank god. I was too warm. This is why I hate when you wear sweatshirts. They make me extra sleepy.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “Well, if you promise not to get caught, when I head downstairs, you can go sleep in my bag. And well,” he pauses. “I think I’m going to have to tell Marinette about you much sooner than I intended.”

Plagg stops stretching his body and narrows his eyes at Adrien. “What brought this up?”

“Mostly that I can’t keep you scrunched up all the time? I hate doing that to you?”

Plagg looks thoughtful for a moment before smirking. “You know I love to exploit your kindness.”

Adrien rolls his eyes and makes his way downstairs. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon O God of Destruction and Chaos.”

“Don’t yeah, yeah, me!” Plagg starts. “I—I want my own cell phone!”

Adrien stops and turns back. “A cell phone? Why?”

Plagg crosses his arms. “Well, other kwamis get cell phones! I should get one too!”  

“Other? Kwamis?”

“Yeah. L—,” he starts to say, but clamps his mouth instead. “Just! Other kwamies have cell phones and awesome data plans and I want to watch TV shows and stuff. And maybe text and call my friends.”

Adrien’s brows furrow together before he shakes his head, lifting the trap door. “I—look, okay. We’ll talk about this. I don’t see why not, but yeah. I’m too tired and hungry to figure out the logistics, but yeah. Sure, whatever. I’ll buy you a cell phone with an awesome data plan.”

Plagg preens before zipping away into the shadows, swelling pride in every movement as he flies out of Adrien’s sight.  

Going down the stairs, Adrien admires the photos that line the wall and sit on the bookcase. Dozens of family photos everywhere. From school pictures to family vacations to portraits. And much to his surprise, there’s a snapshot including all four of them. They all look very—happy.  

Hearing his name pulls him out of his reprieve and he joins his new family at their breakfast nook. The clinking of bowls and silverware echo. Heat insulates the kitchen as warm spices fragrant the air. Set up neatly on their breakfast nook are little dishes with sliced red meats and vegetables. In the center, a large pot sits on a burner and Marinette squeals with delight as she bounces to her chosen spot by the window.

"Really? Hotpot and fried lotus root too? Is that pickled eggplant and...kimchi?"

Tom rubs his nose and beams. "Well, yeah. It’s easy and your mom has been on a bit Korean kick lately. You keep recommending those dramas to her!"

Marinette giggles. “My friend has really good taste so I trust totally trust her when she says one is good.”

Sabine turns to Adrien and guides him to sit next to her daughter. "I hope you don't mind. It's one of Marinette's favorites. The broth is pork bone and I didn’t make it spicy."

Adrien smiles. "No, it's fine. I love spices. And hot pot is always good."

"Oh, that reminds me! Marinette used to be so amazed that you spoke Chinese! My uncle was really fond of you when you came helped translate when the two of you were in school."

At the mention of Uncle Wang, he laughs."Yeah. I'm still nearly fluent. I try to keep up with it if I can."

"See, Mari. I told you'd marry a smart man one day," Tom jibes, pointing his fingers in her direction.

The rice cooker next to Marinette dings and automatically she pops it, adding a starchy scent to the aroma of the kitchen. She takes the plastic paddle and starts to pile rice into a well-loved matching set of bowls.

Marinette rolls her eyes, sarcasm dripping with every word. "Ah yes. You knew this would exactly happen."

(He doesn’t ignore how she serves him, edges into his personal space and places a bowl of rice in front of him. Naturally banters with her father as she feeds the people she loves mos and Adrien happens to be apart of that too.)

"Well..." Tom side-eyes, smirking his wife with mischief.

"Papa!"

Sabine heaves a great sigh and lightly smacks her husband. "This is why she doesn't want to come home all the time, Tom. You always tease her." As she places onions, pumpkin, and small mushrooms in the pot, she looks to Adrien, giving him a defeated look. "Adrien, please, don't let my husband scare you away. I need you to bring my Angel home to me."

He grins, nudging her shoulder. "No worries, ma'am. I'm sure we can have weekly dinners, huh, Marinette.”

She scoffs, cracking a few eggs and letting them disappear underneath the broth’s surface, much to Adrien’s fascination. "Adrien, don't let my parents fool you. I'm here several times a week at all different hours. They're just upset because they only had me and now they have no one else to smother."

"Well, excuse us, my love, if we love to smother our dear daughter," Tom pouts, placing a generous heap of kimchi on Sabine’s plate. "We just love you."

"Papa, I love you too,” she says, adding some red meat into the pot. “But we all know that I'm here all the time and that is apparently not enough."

"We just miss being able to bother you, that's all."

"You bother me fine. All the time. Every day!"

Adrien laughs, enjoying the togetherness as he takes a bite of lotus root. "Well, I'm free for both bothering and smothering, if you must. Gives a chance for my wife to have a break."

(It’s different—the lotus root. Pretty when sliced revealing a flower.  Almost chalky like water chestnuts, but better because it’s fried and crispy. He doesn’t really like water chestnuts anyway.)

"You hear that, Sabine. The boy wants us to smother him. He's perfect." Turning towards his daughter, pouring beer into four glasses. "Divorce or no at the end of this experiment thing, I'm adopting him now."

Marinette sighs and steals a piece of pickled eggplant Tom was eyeing. "Papa. I don't know why you're always so dramatic. You're such a drama queen."

Adrien relishes in the closeness between Marinette and her family as he picks meat and vegetables out of the pot to eat. He finds a nice piece of meat and shyly places it atop Marinette’s rice, hoping she doesn’t mind.

(The surprised smile she sends his way proves that she doesn’t.)

Her father frowns for a moment, before quickly grabbing a piece of pumpkin."Ah, my love, but the best men for you are men like your papa. We are romantic and I'm sure Adrien is the romantic sort, yes, son?"

Adrien slurps his broth a little too quickly and burns his throat. He coughs as he settles his ceramic spoon on the side of his bowl. "I guess you can say that. I'm more cheesy if anything."

Tom blinks before breaking out in boisterous laughter. "Marinette loves cheese! It's her favorite danish! And fondue is her other favorite. As well as smelly cheese."

The new information strikes him oddly funny. Because of irony and things related to cosmic little gods. "Of course," he snorts. "Good to know."

Marinette shrugs, fishing out a hard-boiled egg from the soup. "What? I'm a lover of all things salty. And cheese is God's gift to man."

"Marinette, when in doubt, you still can't survive off cheese," Sabine says, warmth in her voice as she chews on kimchi.

"No, Maman, I can't survive off sweets. I've tried."

“Well, here, darling. Have some more onions so you can grow big and strong.”

“Mother. I’m twenty-six years old.”

Sabine scoops more things out of the pot and puts more side dishes on her plate. “Well, you’re not twenty-seven yet. So, still growing.” She pauses for a moment and then puts more food on Adrien’s plate. “And some for my new son-in-law too!”

Adrien blushes. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Tom takes a swig of his beer, some of the foam caught in his mustache. "Should've just been a baker like her mama and papa, but no! Had to be a fashion designer," Tom mutters. "Did you know that my daughter is a fantastic wedding cake decorator. She could have joined the family business, but she decided to go follow her own dream." He picks at his meat before shoving some rice into his mouth.

Sabine takes a sip of her beer and gazes fondly at her husband. "But she's following her own dream just like her father, right, dear? Because if I remember correctly, your father wanted you to take over mortuary."

He grumbles, his fingers tapping the condensation on his glass. "So? Running a bakery and running a funeral parlor are two different things! And my father came around to my bakery."

Marinette giggles and reaches across the table to lay her hand atop her father’s. "Yes, but Papa, you've always supported me and fashion."

To that, Tom gives a small smile and pats her hand. "I know, my love, I'm just being playful.”

Marinette flicks his hand, her expression changing lightening quick into a scowl. “Well, stop being playful then and eat your dinner!”

"Goodness," Tom says, faking a sniffle. "What a bossy and mean daughter I have. All I want...is to love you..."

(Across the table, Sabine shakes her head with fondness, giving Adrien a look that states that both father and daughter are always like this.

He swallows the bubbling happiness that rises in his chest, wanting to almost cry for something he can’t explain. Maybe for all the good things.)

Marinette groans and puts her hand on Adrien's shoulder. "Look here, Papa. I've given you a son. A son up for your constant smothering and dad jokes."

Adrien looks him straight in the eye with an affirmative nod. "I do love dad jokes, sir. I need a daily dose along with puns."

Tom perks up and grins like a madman. "Puns? You love puns too?"

Sabine stage whispers towards her daughter. "Look what you've done. I've been training him not to do that."

Marinette whines and wiggles in her seat. "I'm sorry, Maman. I've unleashed the apocalypse."

Sabine sighs. "All I wanted was to spend a nice evening with my daughter and new son-in-law, and yet my ham of a husband and child have made my life very difficult."

"Oh, but my darling, if I didn't make your life difficult, you would have left me long ago. For some dashing bad boy."

"You were supposed to be my dashing bad boy. Do you remember how we first met?

Tom looks to Adrien as Marinette blissfully sighs and rests her head on Adrien’s shoulder. “This is such a good story,” she whispers. “You’ll like it.”

Adrien nods and wraps an arm around Marinette for a quick squeeze, intent on listening.

"So, I first met Sabine when I was in my early twenties and at this fancy bar in London,” Tom starts, with a twinkle in his eye. “We were both on holiday apparently. But, there's this pretty girl and she's wearing this pretty dress, completely stunning. It was a bright red dress and her hair was long and framed her face,” he says fondly as he grabs his wife’s hand.

"Either way!” he continues. “I never got around to learning English, really. Just never suited me much, but I didn't let that stop me! Couldn’t really when there was this gorgeous girl and my mates were all chatting up other ladies anyway and this other man was eyeing the same pretty girl I was!.”

Adrien chuckles at that, Tom’s expression so annoyed at reminiscing the past. He wonders if he’ll feel the same in the future—tell his story to someone with such expression.  

Sabine chimes in, playfully rolling her eyes. "So, I see this cool looking man come up to me and my friends. He's super tall of course, and just as big-shouldered, wearing this leather jacket. Now, I had recently broken off an engagement to someone. So my cousin convinced our parents to let us and some girl friends go across the Channel and I was out on the town to flirt a bit and maybe dance.

"And Tom used to look far more menacing looking back then. He's always been a sweetheart, but with his slicked back hair and dark clothes, he could have been a mobster. Anyway, this supposed bad boy comes up to me and I assume asks me if I want a drink in English, but I don't speak English. I speak French and Chinese.”

“But I didn’t know that, you know! Had no clue!” Tom interjects. "So, Sabine and I speak in broken English at the bar talking about the weather and it was awkward because I already said all the words I knew!  But then! But then, she mutters some French under her breath and I was like--wait, I speak French! And the rest is history."

"Well, no, not history,” Sabine sighs happily. “More like a new beginning, but I forgot to give you my number and address and we didn't meet again until a year later in culinary school when you asked me about pies. However, I only started taking you seriously when one of my relatives passed and I ended up in your family's funeral parlor."

Marinette turns her head to whisper in Adrien’s ear. Her breath fans his neck and he wants to shiver. “The infamous funeral parlor my father refused to inherit,” she says, laughing quietly.

Sabine catches his attention again, wearing a bittersweet smile. "It was my favorite cousin. She was very sick, but when I told her about the man, the one I met in London, she always told me that she would help me find him. And she did, in a way, because we met in culinary school because she thought I should open my own bakery. When I told her I found him, she told me I was going to marry him. She was right about that too."

Tom nods, just as wistful. “Marie was right about a lot of things.”

Sabine grins up at her husband before locking eyes with Adrien. “But yes, that’s how Tom and I met, honey. That’s our love story.”  

"Wow. That’s...some love story," Adrien says slowly, unable to form a more coherent sentence.

Marinette giggles. "You have no idea. These two are like romance novel constantly. I love it."

Adrien opens his mouth to reply when Tom cuts in. "No, you don't! You tell us all the time how gross we are. Like a baby."

"But I'm your baby, Papa. And it is gross sometimes. You two are ridiculous."

"We are your ridiculous then."

"More like ridonkulous."

And Adrien doesn't know why that strikes him funny, maybe a way to ease the tension of being with such a warm and loving family. They love each other and argue over silly things, but he remembers love like this once too, a long, long time ago.

Between his mother and father before everything went wrong.

And yet, Adrien lets out a snort, a kind of laugh that he definitely categorizes as his most ugly: the kind of sound that tickles your throat because you got too much air going up your nose and it becomes a half sneeze, a choke, and a whine. A bit mucusy too as some spit went down the wrong way. It only happens at the worst of times.

Like now, when all three members of the Dupain-Cheng house snap their attention to him and Tom's face washes with panic. He shoots from his seat as Adrien reaches for a glass of water and wraps his two bear arms around him to perform a Heimlich maneuver.

Expect when Tom's hands fist too hard under Adrien's ribcage, trying to expel something that isn't there.

"C'mon, son! I got you! Let's get that out," Tom grunts.

Adrien makes another choking sound, this time from being punched in the gut one too many times.

Marinette scrambles to her father's side. "Dad! Dad! You're hurting him!"

"He's choking, Marinette!"

Adrien is finally able to tap Tom's hand, trying to get him to stop. Tom lets go as if he was burned and Adrien falls to the ground.

Marinette rushes to him and touches his face. "Adrien, are you okay? Oh God!"

Through all of the chaos, Sabine sighs and grabs her cell phone. "112? Hi, so my husband tried performing a Heimlich maneuver on my new son-in-law, but I think he caused more damage than good...no, no. He actually wasn't choking—just had an awful laugh...."

 Heart monitors beep out of sync, the air chilling her to the bones as the doctor scribbles notes on a clipboard. He’s pinned two x-rays up on a board, illuminating Adrien’s ribs. Nothing is broken. Thank goodness.

The doctor tears a note from his pad, the sound ripping through the air as he glances at her husband. His lips twitch. "Well, at least your father-in-law tried to save you. Mine isn’t as kind."

Adrien weakly laughs a stunned breath before grimacing. "Yeah, that’s good at least. I guess he likes me?"

The doctor smirks. “It’ll make Christmas go smoother. Trust me.” Looking at Marinette, the doctor gives her a prescription. "I gave him some painkillers earlier, but you can pick those up in the morning for him. He's to have bed rest and take it easy. Luckily, there was only some minor bruising to his abdomen area. My nurse will give you a numbing ointment at the desk and you can pick up a full size over the counter as well tomorrow."

"Thank you, doctor,” she says, gently taking the paper from him. “I hope you continue having an easy night.”

He nods. "Anytime, Mrs. Agreste. And believe me, me too! Must be a blue moon out tonight! Either way, good night to the both of you, and remember, take it easy!"

The doctor shuts the curtains behind him, closing the pair off from the rest of the ward. Marinette awkwardly smiles at her husband, her fingers digging into the material of sweater. "I am so sorry. So, so, so sorry."

Adrien shakes his head, happily experasted. "Marinette. It’s fine. I’m okay!"

"Uh, but my father indirectly assaulted you! And he’s my father and oh my goodness, does this mean I participated in indirect spousal abuse?!"

Adrien eases himself off the examining table, hissing. "Please, don't make me laugh. I hurt."

Marinette darts to his side. "I’m being serious, Adrien," she pouts. “I don’t like you injured.”

Mostly by my family. Whoops.

"Yeah, I'm starting to think that you Dupain-Chengs are a bit of the unlucky sort."

Marinette chuckles. "If only. C'mon, let's go back to my parents. My dad will most likely feed you until you’re nice and round."

“Mmmmm. Breakfast.”

“Not until tomorrow, you silly goose.”

Adrien wraps his arms around her and they make their way to the car. He playfully swats her on the shoulder. “I’m a cat for your information.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle. “Ah, yes. My apologies Mr. Kitty.”

His body is warm like his voice as they hobble down the halls together. “That’s Husband Kitty to you.”

Her reply is a quiet giggle as she holds him closer. There’s an easiness with Adrien, she realizes. Almost as if they’ve danced this sequence before in a past life. They always revolved around each other in school, but she was never this comfortable, this calm, this—

(She’s reminded of rooftops and close fistfights where he’d pull her in close and keep her out of harm’s way. In a life where her fingers skimmed the sky and her best friend taught her to fly. Because once upon a time, a little ladybug and black cat were—)

Marinette snaps back to reality when the cabbie pulls up to the front of the bakery, displaying his fare for her to pay. She slips him a fifty euro bill and runs around to the other side to help Adrien out of the car.

“I got you.”

“Thanks, babe,” he says offhandedly.

(And Marinette prays to everything under the blinding sun that she can keep her focus.)

The climb upstairs to her bedroom is a more daunting task than she expected, but Adrien champions through it all, taking each step at a time despite that his face is always on the edge of crumbling. She silently promises that he just can’t get hurt again on her watch.

They enter her room with a mighty huff, her husband collapsing on her chaise.

"See? That was good step in the right direction," he says as he stares at the light scattered upon her ceiling.

With her hands on her knees, Marinette pushes herself upright. "I'll show you the right direction."

"Like you'll show me stroking?"

Marinette's mouth hangs open before snapping shut. Propped up on her chair, Adrien is more than pleased. He’s more than tired, but joyful as she straightens her posture. As she crosses the room, he only becomes happier.

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"'Course not. That's what fantastic husbands do. Annoy their wives."

"Stop taking notes from my father," she sighs.

"I think I should take notes from your father," he says. "Your parents...wow, that's magic."

Marinette fondly smiles. "Yeah. They definitely have a one in a million kind of love. I really would love to have a marriage like theirs."

Adrien's eyes go downward. "We can try if you'd like. To have a marriage like that."

Her fingers brush his hair, sweeping his bangs out of his face.  "That would be very nice. But how about we have our own marriage first and complete the experiment,” she replies. “Time is flying by so fast already and my head is spinning. I feel like we've been married for ages in a way, but at the same time, I barely know you. Like all the odds and ends of you."

A car honks outside, the moment stilling. "I think we were the lucky ones out of the experiment, Marinette,” he confesses, voice low. “I mean, to know each other, even a little bit, that puts us in a whole new category. We can take our time and I don't feel—very rushed at all, do you?"

Her fingers trace his jaw. "No. I don't. That's what I was a bit afraid of. That my new husband would want to have sex like...the night of...which would have been fun, but I'm glad we haven't yet. I feel...like we’re maybe more genuine this way..."

"Maybe because we see less of an expiration date," Adrien mumbles as she kisses the center of her palm.

"Maybe."

Marinette wraps her arms around him and rests her chin atop his head. She closes her eyes and enjoys the quiet that envelops the room. Like a piece of herself is settling into its new mold just right.

"Would you,” he starts, his breath warm through her shirt. “Would you be open...to having sex with me during the experiment?"

She stills for a moment and strokes his hair, letting the words flow from her with honesty. "I'm not against it. Let's just see where it takes us, okay? We're dating, but plus all the heavy commitment."

Adrien smiles against her shirt, almost over her heart. “I married such a smart woman.”

Marinette chuckles. “You know, some of my favorite romance novels have been the arranged marriage kind.”

“And why is that?” he asks, pulling back to peer at her. Adrien’s green eyes are jade in the low light. Luck and good things combined. “Are you saying you’re the reason we’re married.”

She shrugs. “Don’t think I’d go that far, but...there’s just something so beautiful about watching two people being open to love. Those were the best ones,” she says, caught up in dreams of romances she’s adored. “The ones where the couple opened up their hearts to the other since the day one.”

Warmth tickles her throat, sitting above her heart as she gazes down at the man she’s tied herself to by both chance and choice. Bliss permeates her skin and drowns her soul.  

Adrien reaches up cups her cheek. “Is your heart open for me?”

She blushes, her heart hammering in her chest. “Is yours?”

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Yes.”

At his admission, her world closes in on this moment, her heart swelling in her chest, taking her very breath away. Affection leaves prickling goosebumps on her skin, coating her veins with utter captivation. Ever gently, she stands on her tiptoes and brushes her mouth against his, savoring the simplicity of them.

“Let’s get ready for bed and I’ll help put the cream on for you,” she whispers against his lips.

He wrinkles his nose. “What a kind wife I have.”

“Extremely kind,” she taps his nose.

Leading Adrien to her loft, she guides him to carefully sit on her bed, her heart twisting at his hiss of pain. Placing his pajama pants beside him, she pulls back the covers and then disappears to get changed.

When she comes back, his jeans are crumpled on the ground and his eyes find hers as she makes her way to her loft.

“What’s wrong?”

He plays with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t think...I can take this off by myself.”

“Oh. That,” she swallows, “does seem like it’d be hard.”

Adrien blinks, his mouth twitching. “Do you just...know what you just said?”

Marinette tilts her head to the side as she places a knee on the bed. It dips with her weight. “Not at all. I mean, this is what wives do. Sometimes. Undress their spouse?”

“Oh my god,” Adrien says under his breath. “You’re so unknowingly funny, but don’t make me laugh. Please.”

“Unknowingly?”

Adrien nods and winces as he lifts his arms in the air.“You have no clue how funny you are.”

“...I’m funny?”

“More than you’d know. Now, just...I feel like a child.”

Marinette suppresses a smirk and peels his shirt away. “You’re supposed to feel like a husband.”

(She doesn’t realize this, but her palm rests on his shoulder, burning him to his bones and—)

“Well,” he says, licking his lips. “If we continue down this course of undress, then, believe me, I’d feel like a husband.”

Her mouth feels dry. “Oh?”

He wears a small smile and a part of Marinette feels like for some reason it’s fragile. Like if he moves it one degree in any direction, he’d shatter, leaving her nothing but glass.

Adrien rests his hands on her hips and strokes up to her waist. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Adrien sighs, his hands holding her firmly. “But  much as I want to continue and find out what exactly can happen, I’m going to use my upper head and say no.”

Marinette smiles and pecks his forehead. “Okay. One day?”

His voice is quiet, but full of promise. “Most definitely one day.”

Chapter Text

Magic spells weave their way into existence when girls fall in love for the first time. Little threads that flow across years, stitching together from the beginning when thunder sounds and lighting strikes. A soft pitter-patter of rain traps budding love under an umbrella, the sound mimicking the thudding in her chest.

The steady heartbeat under Marinette’s ear years later echoes that same youthful wish, a reassuring reminder that this is all real. Her husband strokes the notches of her spine as they doze through peppered rays of morning sun.

Words have magic, Marinette knows, but to think a startled hello could lead to this is mind boggling.

(I now pronounce you husband and wife.)

Adrien’s voice is rough with sleep. “I’m gonna miss you.”

She smiles against the fabric of his shirt, curling her fingers in the cotton. “It’s only for one day.”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling her closer. “But I like this.”

His arms are heavy and present around her, making her sink into the mattress in her childhood bedroom. She relishes this moment, letting it soak into her bones because there will never be another one quite as perfect. She pecks his shoulder in agreement before cuddling into the twilight of dreams and reality.

Adrien hums with sleepy delight, pushing her closer to memories of young superheroes with destruction and creation at their fingertips. Bright smiles and laughter ring happily in her ears, helping her forget the layers of unrest that are buried inches deep. Yet children grow up as days go by and Ladybug finds herself very much—

alone.

(Her yo-yo grapples with the edge of a building, but she slips mid-swing into nothingness. She falls and falls and falls...)

Marinette jolts awake seconds later, her heart pounding, but Chat Noir is not there to save her.

(Where did you go?)

Adrien hisses in pain, not completely awake, but getting there. He rubs his side with grimace. “You okay?”

(“Whoa. Be careful there, Bug.”)

She sends him an apologetic smile and sneaks a cool hand over his ribs. “Sorry. You ever hear about how your heart goes too slow so your brain freaks out because it thinks you’re dying so it wakes you up? So it makes you have falling dreams to give you a little jumpstart?”

“I’m gonna go with a solid no, but I take it that’s what happened? Your heart rate went too slow? Even with this handsome guy right next to you?”

Marinette giggles and shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t think I would call you handsome.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Adrien muses, his mouth quirking into a lopsided grin. “I’m hot stuff to you. I remember now.”

Marinette shakes her head and affectionately ruffles his hair. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“I completely disagree,” her husband says, snatching her hand and placing a kiss on her palm. “I’m glad to have all this blackmail on you.”

“Whatever. Let’s get up. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

Adrien pulls her down and she falls backwards on the bed. “Can’t. I’m broken.”

“Ha! I really think you’re not broken.”

“I feel broken. Brokenhearted that we won’t be able to spend all day together.”

Marinette rolls over and carefully rests her chin on his chest. Adrien grins and hugs her, silently gloating in his own personal victory. A tiny flame strokes her heart, feeding happily on his joy.  

“It’s only for one day, you silly goose.”

“Believe I told you I was cat,” he retorts, unable to be swayed.

Playful exasperation rolls through her, yet she still smiles. “Adrien,” she warns.

“Marinette,” he replies, much the same.

“Gah, Adrien!” she pouts. “You’re making it impossible for me want to leave this bed now.”

“Ah, yes, my evil plans are working. If we stay in bed, then we don’t have to do work things.”

Marinette laughs and squirms out of his grasp. “Okay, but I actually have to do work things today. Like check on my shop and clean my apartment.”

“Your apartment can’t be that bad.”

“Sadly, my apartment is terrible. Pre-wedding disaster and all that,” she says. “Can’t have you over tomorrow when I don’t even remember what the floor looks like.”  

Adrien sighs in defeat. “Yeah, mine is just as bad. Damn. Too bad we can’t live in a hotel or something.” He grins, patting her leg. “Or here! With your nice and fabulous parents!”

Marinette’s eyes go wide before crossing her arms into an x. “Nope! No, no, no,” she says sternly. “We are most definitely apartment hunting like a proper married couple and that’s that.”

She huffs for good measure, catching Adrien’s cheesy grin. She lightly leans into him. “What?”

He laughs and slowly gets up. “Nothing. You just remind me of someone I used to know. She could be very serious and sensible. I really admired that about her growing up.”

“Oh? What happened?”

He shrugs, eyes drifting elsewhere for a moment. “Eh, we fell out of touch when I moved away.” But he leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. “But thank you for being the practical partner right now.”

The little flame that rests inside her heart sparks bright as she turns her head and brushes her lips against his. “Should I show you just how practical I can really be?”

He halts for a moment, but then kisses her through his words. “Only if you give a thorough demonstration.”

Marinette smirks as her fingers caresses the side of his neck. “Of course, Professor,” she adds with a dramatic purr.

Adrien sucks in a startled, shuddering breath as she peppers kisses down his jawline and settles on the spot under his ear, and licking lavishly to bite the lobe. His fingers press into the skin underneath her nightshirt, resting precariously on the band of her shorts and the exposed parts of her hips. He moans slightly at the back of his throat as Marinette bites down on his neck.

“I thought,” he gasps, “you weren’t a morning person.”

She kisses the skin she almost bruised. “This morning wood be different if you weren’t here.” she whispers.

Adrien gulps, going still. “Oh.”

Marinette giggles in the crook of his neck and revels in his timidness. Oh, how the tables have turned. She preens as she kisses him again, her pride coming through her smile much to Adrien’s amusement.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he says, his voice deeper than usual.

“Mmm hmm,” she hums. “This is kinda my favorite morning pick-me up.”

Adrien laughs breathlessly as he snakes his hands to cradle the base of her neck, his light touch causing goosebumps to prickle at her flesh. Sensing the change in her attitude, he smirks as he kisses her, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. He nibbles at her lower lip before the velvet of his tongue touches the inside of her mouth.

Marinette moans into the kiss, her face flaming hot as Adrien touches her shoulders and her back, holding her so close that all she can taste is him. She melts into his hold, content to be thoroughly kissed while their shirts rise up and they are skin to skin. Need sparks at this touch and temptations whisper in her ear to seek more.

She clings to him, her hands lost in his hair as she brings him closer, never wanting to let go. Adrien partially lays atop her, his weight a pleasant sensation and she squeals girlishly in delight. Wandering hands travel up the curve of his spine, and he kisses her harder for a brief moment.   

Adrien pulls away panting seconds later, hair disheveled and green eyes bright with want. He smiles, small and tender, touching a part of her soul she didn't know she had, and cups her face. His thumb strokes the apple of her cheek.

They lay in silence, Marinette under his gaze, her world vibrant green with flecks of gold. She swallows as her eyes travel to his swollen mouth, his lips red and gorgeous. He smirks.

“Good morning.”

Marinette blinks before she laughs, her nose wrinkling as she leans to kiss him again. “Good morn—”      

There is a loud knock at the trap door, and both Marinette and Adrien spring apart.

“Marinette! Adrien! Breakfast is ready!”

Adrien’s head whips toward the sound of her mother’s voice, his stomach grumbling.

Marinette laughs and stands, offering her hand. “Come on, hot stuff. Let’s go eat the most important meal of the day.”

Her husband presses his lips to her hand and winks. “It sounds like a date.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Adrien slowly stands with little help, but joy echoes in his voice. “Hey, you’re the one who willingly married me.”

The tray settles on the coffee table with a quiet thud in her parent’s living room. Freshly dressed and slightly nervous, Marinette and Adrien greet Doctor Laurens for their first marriage counseling meeting. She pours hot, steaming liquid into wintery white mugs without spilling a drop. Crisp aromatic coffee creates a cozy scent that she hopes settles into the appointment.

“Thank you for meeting us at the bakery,” Marinette says.

Adrien hums in agreement, a knife in his hand clinking against the plate as he hands the doctor a piece of dark chocolate cake. “Yeah, no. Thank you. We really appreciate it.”

The doctor laughs, delight etched in her features as she forks a piece of cake in anticipation. “We can have all our meetings here if your parents continue to bake for us. It all smells so good.”

Marinette warms at the praise. “Wait till you taste it. It’s even better.”

Doctor Laurens does as instructed and melts under the taste. Sipping her black coffee, she basks in the generous hospitality. “Oh, the other two are going to be so jealous that I came here today and they didn’t,” she says.

Marinette preens again and pours coffee both for herself and Adrien. Nerves dance under her skin, but so far, she keeps the dark doubts at bay. Playing a good host helps her be brave.

Adrien sighs happily as he takes a bite of his own cake. “Seriously, your family bakes so well.”

Marinette peeks at her husband from the corner of her eye, mug perched at her lips. “Wait until Papa actually bakes. A simple chocolate cake like this? Done in his sleep.”

“And your mom?”

“Ah, Maman creates the most stunning spun sugar creations. She wins a lot of competitions! Really my parents could be executive pastry chefs to the most famous hotels in the world, but they like running a simple and sweet bakery instead,” she says dreamily. “They are by far the sweetest and most humble people I know. I really love them…”

At everyone’s silence, Marinette blinks and blushes at her own rambling. She hastily sips her coffee, but slightly burns her tongue. Adrien rushes to hand her a napkin as some dribbles down her chin.

Doctor Laurens chuckles as she eyes them both, a pleasant smile on her face. Taking reprieve in one bite of cake, she grabs her notebook. Adjusting her glasses on her nose, she focuses on the newlyweds across the table. “Shall we get started?”

Marinette takes a breath and nods. “I think so.”

(She hopes.)

Adrien squeezes her knee in solidarity.

Doctor Laurens leans forward. “First and foremost, my colleagues and I want to apologize for somehow missing the fact that the two of you knew each other before the wedding, but…” she trails off, mouth twisting with mischief. “You two have certainly become the most fascinating outliers in our experiment in more ways than one. And your updates about doing your assignments have been generally positive.”

Adrien lets out a little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, um, it really caught us off guard, but...I don’t know...it’s been really nice…” he says, taking a quick glance at Marinette. “Marinette is a very wonderful person to be married to…”

This is the part where Marinette reminds herself to breathe before she forgets how, but her skin is on fire from head to toe from Adrien’s praise and it’s only been a little over a week since they’ve been married and—

(Once upon a time, a little girl used to not like herself at all. She thought she was useless and clumsy and not cool and even though she’s grown up, that little girl still speaks up from time to time, still—

—wishes she’d just get things right.)

“Do you worry that this is all too good to be true?”

Adrien whips toward her direction, his laughter gone. The world becomes purple, doubts outlining her vision and she refuses to look at him right now.  

Doctor Laurens tilts her head to the side. “Oh?”

All eyes on her and Marinette’s heart is ramming in her chest, about to pop out, spilling all her secrets. Tension rolls off her husband in waves and a part of her wishes she could take back the last five seconds, but she won’t.

She can’t.

(Words have magic, she knows, and sometimes curses need to be cast first.)

She swallows, fingers clenched into tight fists. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I really do.”

“Why is that, Marinette?”

The question is expected, but she inwardly flinches. Briefly glancing at her husband, Adrien’s mouth in a firm line. Yet she refuses to back down, her resolve already made. She’s not the same girl she used to be, not afraid of failing.

“What if,” she starts before pausing, carefully chewing on the words she wants to say. “What if we fuck it all up so much we end up in a divorce? What if I fuck it up so badly that we never want to speak to each other again?” she says, gaining momentum. “I married Adrien Agreste, a boy I used to know, and now we’re legally bound to each other? That’s just...that’s just a lot to ask someone.” 

Doctor Laurens gaze is calm, her voice simple, without accusation. “But you knew divorce was a possibly when you signed up. You knew that it might not work out.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just—Adrien’s not a stranger to me. He’s much more important than that for me to treat him like a stranger. And maybe I’m just processing everything still, but I feel if I don’t take this seriously then it’s all going to fall apart and I am terrified—”   

Her words come to a swift halt with a gentle hand atop of hers.

She stutters a gasp, the room coming into focus as green fills her view.

“Hey,” her husband says. “I’m scared too. Just as terrified . Just as scared for the same reasons.” He runs his other hand through his hair, shifting more to face her. “Look, I was ready to walk away from all of this on our wedding day when I came and found you, but then—Marinette,” he pauses, a shy smile peeking through. “I don’t think I’ve told you this, but you were the reason I decided to go through with this.”

“Wh-what? Me?”

Adrien chuckles. “Yes, you. When I was about to call everything off, you just—you were so passionate in that moment when you said you wanted to marry me, there was no way in hell I was going to walk away from such a declaration. I had to, well, I had to marry you,” he says warmly. “If only for a moment, I didn’t want to lose my chance to be your husband.”

Marinette’s heart skips a beat, warmth rushing through her body. There’s a ringing sound squealing from somewhere, but she’s not sure where, until she feels cool tears drip down cheeks as she chokes out a sob and tries to compose herself.

Oh, I’m surprise wailing. Oh dear.

“Marinette? No, no, don’t cry!”

She nods and sucks in deep breath, her chest heaving slightly still, but she’s no longer wailing. She lets out a watery laugh. “Ugh, I’m sorry,” she says. “You just...caught me off guard! And I’m just...really touched,” she laughs again. “Wow, I forgot how wild therapy can be!”

Doctor Laurens hands hands her a tissue packet. “It’s even more intense when there are two people. Do you feel better now? That was quite an emotional display.”

Marinette blushes deep red and turns towards Adrien. “I’m not sure exactly how I feel, but it’s a good weird, to say the least…” She smiles and grabs his hand again. “But, thank you. I don’t know how to respond to that eloquently, but just know I’m glad I married you. I’m just still...processing, I guess?”

His fingers are her tether. “Thank you. Me too. Processing and stuff.”

“And when you came after me, by the way, you’re the reason I didn’t give up. I wanted to. Badly,” she admits. “But you looked very princely chasing after me and well, how can a girl say no to that?”

Adrien laughs. “Good to know then, my princess.”

Marinette pauses at that, a memory in the back of her mind getting caught on the nickname, but she’s not exactly sure why. As she searches for the memory on the tip of her tongue, Doctor Laurens’ voice pulls her out of her thinking.

“I’m really proud of you both,” the doctor says. “I think despite how much the two of you have had to process, I am beyond amazed at how well the both of you are able to keep positive attitudes. Really, that’s the number one reason these marriages fail: they have poor attitudes.”

“Oh?” Adrien asks. “How come?”

“Well,” she explains “It is awfully scary to marry someone you don’t know. While there is only so much trust you can have in us to match you with someone who will compliment you and your values, people are still unpredictable.” Taking a moment to sip her coffee, she continues. “For example, a large reason the two of you were paired was because how much you both focused on equality and being partners in your marriage. But, who knows? Maybe things won’t be so even in practice. After all, have you two talked about what type of place you want to rent in the meantime?”

“It doesn’t matter,” they both say, then laugh.

“As long as it’s a good compromise between work for both of us, I’m sure we can figure something out,” Marinette adds.

Adrien looks at her and nods. “Yeah, and money won’t be an issue, so whatever Marinette wants.”

“Yeah—wait, what?”

“What?”

The mood changes with Marinette’s next sentence. “What do you mean money won’t be an issue?”  

“Um, Marinette? I kinda own a fashion empire?”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything. We still have to budget no matter how much money you have. I don’t want you to—to just pay for everything!”

Sweet feelings gone, Adrien straightens his shoulders. “Not to sound like a douche, but it really isn’t going to make a dent in my wallet.”

“...you still sound like a douche and that doesn’t mean it’s not going to make a dent in mine.”

Adrien huffs. “Okay, fair. But I want to at least pay the rent. That seems like a husbandly thing to do.”

“And while the offer is sweet, I would rather if we could split it because that seems like the modern thing to do.”

“It’s just rent, Marinette,” Adrien argues. “You can pick whatever you like as long as you’re happy. Why won’t you let me do this for you?”

 Marinette sighs, suddenly feeling exhausted. “And I do want to be happy, but it doesn’t feel right for you to just all for rent for some fancy-ass apartment.”

“Fancy-ass? What—”

“Okay, okay. Hold on here, you two,” Doctor Laurens interrupts. Rubbing her forehead, she mumbles to herself. “Wow, I did not see money being such an issue for you two.”

Marinette pins her gaze on her. “Why do you say that?”

The doctor sighs. “In the grand scheme of things, Marinette, isn’t it nice to have a partner who can help with the bills while you’re so busy with your business?”

Marinette blinks and forces herself to take a calming breath. “Yes, I do think it’d be nice to have my husband financially support me, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to take advantage of Adrien in the middle of this experiment. Despite that we’re legally married, it’s not like we planned this. It’s not like—” she pauses. “It’s not like we had time to plan a life together since we were never together when we got married. I just don’t think I can take his money.”

“Marinette,” Adrien says, sounding just as tired as she feels. “No one is accusing you of taking my money. Can’t you just at least think about it? About me paying the rent.”

“I…”

Doctor Laurens clears her throat. “Marinette, let me put it this way for you: Adrien paying the rent doesn’t make you less than equals, you see? In a marriage, you share what you have.”

“But—our marriage is still so new!”

The doctor continues, wearing a small smile. “Before we end today’s session, let me offer this suggestion to you both: you are not obligated to take care of each other in a marriage, but do so willingly because you want to. You do not have to do each task fifty-fifty, but instead find a balance in all your tasks to make sure the work is divided as best as it can be in the moment. Sometimes that means you will be the sole provider financially, but you’ll need lots of emotional support. Sometimes you’ll be the sick one and sometimes you’ll be the caretaker. At the end of the day, you are a team, and each thing you do is important. For both of you will always be equal if you work together however you deem fit, okay?”

Marinette nods, tentatively agreeing.

“Okay,” Adrien says, his tone not completely convinced either, but trying.

Doctor Laurens stands and grabs her purse, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. “I think the two of you have some things to think about,” she says cheerily. “Don’t worry about me, I can show myself out. See you both soon for our next appointment!”

Both husband and wife nod and watch wordlessly as she leaves the apartment before the door shuts with a small click.

The buzzing in Adrien’s pocket fills the room. He quietly drags his phone out of his pocket and silences it. There’s a figurative ticking that Marinette can hear as seconds go by, neither saying anything.

“Well—” Adrien says, trying to break the silence, but comes up short.

Marinette swallows and bobs her head. “Yeah...I feel kinda weird now.”

Adrien drops his head to his knees and heaves a large sigh. “Me too, and I have to go….do you...do you want to walk me out?”

Marinette straightens up and nods awkwardly. “Yeah, sure. I’d—that sounds like a good idea.”

They both get up and Adrien grabs his coat off the rack. Shrugging it on, he picks up his packed duffle bag and rocks stiffly on his heels. Marinette takes time with her steps, not exactly sure how to complete this conversation when everything feels a bit...off...now with so many emotions spent between them.

“Well, um, I’ll see you tomorrow? And uh, have a good day at work?”

Adrien smiles tightly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His fingers fidget with the strap of his bag across his chest.

“Marinette—”

“—Adrien.”

They both speak at the same time, but interrupt the other. Both shut their mouths immediately and try to encourage their spouse to speak.

“You were saying—”

“No, no—you first.”

Adrien sighs and walks forward, pulling her into a hug. “I’m still—processing whatever that was but, I meant what I said this morning. I’m gonna miss you today.”

Marinette breathes deep and catches the cool scent of his cologne. “Yeah, me too....fights are normal I guess?”

His chest vibrates under her ear. “Very normal, I think.”

“I don’t like it,” she whispers.

Soft lips find her forehead. “Same.”

Marinette looks up at her husband and steps on her tiptoes. “Be safe and come back soon.”

And despite everything, the wide smile on Adrien’s face made things a bit better.

“Will do.”

To: Marinette Dupain-Cheng

From: Emilie A.

Subject: Commission Appointment?

Dear Ms. Dupain-Cheng,

Hello, my name is Emilie. I truly do adore your work. There is such a quiet beauty to your pieces that create a timeless look. I would like to meet in person to commission some unique outfits from you. What is the best way to go about that?

Thank you.

Best,

Emilie

To: Emilie A.

From: Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Subject: Re: Commission Appointment?

 

Dear Emilie,

 

Thank you so much for the kind words! I have been developing my style for a long time now and it has finally taken its shape that I am more than happy enough to create.

 

I would love to meet in person so that you can try on pieces that I have already. We can meet at my store W-F of this week.

 

Which would be better: a morning or afternoon appointment?

 

Sincerely,

Marinette

 

Marinette tucks her phone into her back pocket, a small smile on her face despite her uneasy heart. She rubs the ache out of her shoulder and leans against the counter. Tikki lounges on a little sofa while chewing a stray chocolate chip as if it was a kwami-sized bon bon. The song and dance number of a bollywood movie echo in the kitchen.

Her eyes linger on the golden outfits and upbeat love song in the movie. A beautiful woman and a handsome man play hide and seek but never fully catch the other. Tikki doesn’t need subtitles to understand what it’s saying, so Marinette isn’t exactly sure what is happening in the plot, but it at least sounds fun.

Thoughts drifting back to the recent email, Marinette stretches her back and sighs contentedly. The center of her chest hurts, but she pushes it away.

“At least that’s one good thing,” she mumbles to herself.

Tikki’s antenna moves in her direction and she pauses the movie. “What’s wrong, Marinette? Is it the apartment? I think you’ve made great progress! It wasn’t as bad as I remembered…”

Marinette laughs and picks up one of Tikki’s cookies. “I should take offense to that, but I gotta say, it really helped with you picking up all the stray wrappers you stashed everywhere!”

“I stashed away? Excuse me?!”

Marinette lightly pokes the small god’s forehead. “Uh-huh. You and that big sweet-tooth of yours. I thought I was going to be stepping on candy and cookie wrappers for weeks!”

Tikkie puffs out her cheeks and pouts. “You make it sound like I have a problem.”

“Oh, you definitely have a problem. Full-on sugar addiction. But I think retirement has made some kwami a little lazy,” Marinette sing-songs with a giggle.

Tikki bounces up from her seat and points a little nub at herself. “Lazy?! Me? Lazy!??”

Marinette bites back a grin. “Yes. You.”

Tikki flies up and becomes eye level with her charge. She gestures to herself again, adorably infuriated by Marinette’s claims. Marinette has to remind herself to not laugh as she’s lectured by a creature that fits in the palm of her hand.

“I am a kwami,” Tikki emphasizes. “A being of creation, a god of good luck who has in turn created hundreds of demi-gods spanning eons and yet you dare call me lazy?!” Tikki moves her little nubs, utterly flabbergasted. “Am I getting fat by human standards? Is that the problem?”

Marinette finally breaks and she buries her face in her arms while she laughs. She feels Tikki tug on her hair lightly, whining to tell her what’s going on. When Marinette finally peers up, she is met with one ruffled little god.

She affectionately pets the side of Tikki’s bobblehead. “I’m sorry,” Marinette apologies. Her eyes crinkle at the corners from her smile. “I just love to get you all riled up sometimes. It’s cute~”

Tikki blinks for a moment, but then her face twists with annoyance. Throwing her head back, she groans her displeasure. “Marinette~” she whines. “You know how gullible I can be!”

“Of course I know, oh wise god of creation,” she retorts. “Why do you think I gotta exploit it when I can for….THIS.”

Marinette’s hand dart from her side and she tickles her little god. Tikki’s laughter rings through the air as she begs for mercy, but Marinette is having too much fun.

“All the tickles for Tikki!”

“Ma-Marinette!” Tikkie cries. “You’re too big! No fair! Mercy, mercy!”

After one final onslaught, Marinette relents, giggling at the way Tikki slightly pants from being so winded. She rests her chin in her hand and offers her finger as a truce. “You’re the most important thing in my life, you know?”

Tikki looks at her and hugs her finger. “I love you too, Marinette.”

Marinette whispers her love when she is most comfortable in the quietness of the moment or so she’s been told. She lets her affections fall easily from her lips and from her hands as she appreciates those she cherishes most. In these moments, like after intense laughter or in the wee hours of the morning, her heart thinks more than her brain.

The refrigerator kicks on with a hum, the overhead light buzzing.

“What’s wrong, Marinette?” Tikki asks.

With such a simple statement, the mood veers from silly to serious. Marinette sighs and lets the unease that’s been weighing her shoulders since this morning speak.

“Do you I think I rushed into this whole arranged marriage thing?”

The red kwami gives a small smile. “In my experience, arranged marriages are usually a rushed thing unless you’re a prince or a princess.”

“I don’t know him, Tikki. Like, really know him.” Marinette confesses in the small walls of her home. In her space. In a place she is going to have to give up for thirty days after the end of this week.

Tikki hums thoughtfully. “I think you know him better than you think. And marriage, no matter how well you have known someone, no matter how long you were with them, ends up creating two new people anyway. Like a metamorphosis.

“But,” she adds, booping Marinette on the nose, “the change will be a good thing. I can feel it. Trust me, Ladybug, as you have done for all these years.”

Marinette swallows down tangled emotions and weakly nods. “Okay. I will.”

“Good, because you’re my current favorite Ladybug.”

Marinette scoffs. “I’m your only current Ladybug.”

Looking over at the window, the sun has set and makes her wistful of when she would patrol after doing homework on school nights. An idea strikes her then and she finds it in herself to smile.

“Hey. Do you know what we should do?”

Tikki eyes her, curious at her excited tone. “What?”

Marinette kisses her kwami’s head. “Become Ladybug and remind Paris that their luckiest gal still likes to be seen in the evenings.”

Tikki gasps and beams. “Let’s do it!”

Marinette smirks and says the phrase she didn’t know she missed so much until today.

“Tikki, spots on!”

The transition from autumn to winter leaves Paris chilly, stuck with a sleepiness that covers the city. Lights twinkle like a starry sky, and Ladybug trapezes over rooftops with ease. She knows Paris like an intimate lover, knows her every curve, her every line. Her yo-yo catches on steel beams before she throws herself to fly over streets again.

She can hear the people’s whispers and shouts as they see her rush by, call after her in good cheers and Ladybug feels the weight of her life melt away until she walks on air. The world happily turns this evening and Ladybug is glad to be a part of it.

Peace kisses her skin with tenderness after all these years, but in its touch, a part of her still rings empty. Peacetime follows Ladybug into adulthood without half her heart.

She doesn’t let it hold her down anymore aside from wistful wishing.

("When we defeat Hawkmoth, we should go on a real vacation together. Just you, me, and our kwamis. It'll be perfect!")

Melancholy doesn’t suit red or hope, but in all the new things in her life, Ladybug wishes for a moment she can revel in familiar people and things. Her dream comes back from this morning in which Chat Noir didn’t catch her, but—

—for a split second, she thought she heard his voice.

Loneliness presents in weird ways, she reminds herself and finds herself at their old homebase.

The symbol of Paris greets her without words as Ladybug takes a seat in one of the many steel beams. There is comfort here as she leans against the cool metal, catching glimpses of lovers walking down below, clasped hand in hand. Random reminiscing reminds her of a time when she moved her hand too close to her partner’s and the way her face heated up afterwards. Oh, how that confused her for months afterward, she remembers fondly.  

"Oh, Chat, where are you?" she wonders to the Eiffel Tower. "Can't you come home now?”

Ladybug asks this time and time again and yet, the world never changes. Paris is still Paris as she is still Marinette. Never a sign that her other half will come, never anything, neither a hello nor a goodbye and yet—

The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, as if with one blink her soul knows something is about to change. She swallows as air shifts into something heavy, a little vibration tingling through the metal under her seat.  

"Is there still a home for me to come back to?"

A chill goes down her spine. Her heart sticks in her throat as she peers over her shoulder, and time stands still.

Outlined by moonlight, Chat Noir wears a weak smile. Taller and older, Ladybug knows that smile anywhere, from the curve of his lips to the white of his teeth. Her heart knows even quicker when she tries to stand up, but she can't move.

"Wh-when—" she tries to quip, but everything gets caught on her tongue. "Of course," she rasps.

She's not sure exactly who moves first or how they end up this way, but the relief that sinks into her very bones by his embrace is all she can hold on to in this moment. Her face burrows into his chest and his chin rests atop her head and they cling to each other like every hello and goodbye they've missed over the years.

Every moment, every smile, every—time they didn't say "I love you" and "Be safe" one last time and—

—well, they cry.

(There'll be time to kill him later. He has nine lives for a reason.)

Chapter Text

There is magic in the world, Chat Noir knows. He feels in it in his very bones, in the utterance of an incantation, integral to the deepest pit of his soul. Paris becomes home again as Chat Noir clings to Ladybug's welcoming, magical embrace.

He holds her close, never wanting to let go again. How he survive all these years without her by his own volition is something that he can’t understand. How did he go this long without the solace of her friendship?

Ladybug sobs into his chest as his tears soak her hair. This is the truest form of homecoming, love so powerful that no words are needed to say “I missed you”. No words are worth speaking. The ghost of Chat Noir’s past finally meets him in the present and nothing has felt more right than this moment. It only took a while to get here.

Below them, Paris is unaware the relief they feel at their reunion. All transgressions forgiven with hiccups and hellos buried in tight hugs. The stars above are the only witnesses to a wish spent years in the making.

Another part of him wishes that they wouldn’t have to discuss the years long of pain he’s caused them. His biting betrayal that’s haunted them both. But he’s no longer a child who can pretend the hurt away, especially if he’s the one who caused it. Magic isn't strong enough for that.

Somewhere in Paris, a final church bell rings and Chat Noir’s  heart aches with penance. “I missed you so, so much.”

Ladybug stiffens in his arms, her breath in time with the hollow bells across the city. Silence blankets over them, their crying fading as reality catches up to them. There is no more running.

Ladybug hugs him tighter, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

“So much,” she says, her voice cracking.

Her admission knocks the wind out of him, punches him straight in the gut. Guilt spirals through his veins, making it hard to breathe. “I know.”

The air crackles between them as Ladybug pulls back.  Determination blazes fierce in her expression as the moon hangs behind her. It encases her in a silvery halo of retribution and she has never looked more beautiful.

She pinches his side, causing him to yelp and oh, how he has missed the steely gaze in her bluebell eyes. “No, you don't know,” Ladybug grits. “You have no way of knowing because—believe me, I've practiced this conversation a thousand times."  She points an accusing finger at him, frustration rich with her every action. “You are going to listen.”

Chat Noir nods, knowing when to be quiet. Choosing to be quiet because she deserves to have this. Her anger, her righteous fury. She deserves to let it free and aim it at her target.

Ladybug takes a deep breath, her body poised as if to yell, but then she deflates. She wraps her arms around herself, makes herself so small. “I don’t even—I don’t even know what I want to say anymore…”

“That’s a lie.” He laughs, mirthless and hallow. “How about the way I hurt you? Or about how I was selfish? Or how I was inconsiderate? Or—”

In a blink, she’s in front of him, her hand on his bicep, her smile kind. “Or how about you stop that? There’s no point in being angry anymore. What’s done is done, Chat.”

Chat Noir feels his heart crawl into his throat. “I don’t know about that, LB. I hurt you. I hurt us.”

Her fingers give a loving squeeze, become his lifeline as she becomes all the world that he sees. “You did, but you came back. You’re here with me right now.”

Loathing sears across the bridge of his nose, disgust heaving in his chest. “I shouldn’t have left in the first place. God, I was so stupid,” he says, scrubbing his eyes.

Once again, her fingers bring clarity and hope, this time as she takes them from his eyes. She holds them with love and lets out a weary, exasperated breath.  

“Then why did you leave? Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

He stills, his heart rampant in his chest. “Do you want the whole truth or only half?”

Ladybug interlaces their fingers together, her wrist and pulse point aligned with his. “It’s been a long time, Chat. I think we deserve the whole truth. Don’t you think so, too?” She bites her lip before continuing. “Is it because...is it because I didn’t fall in love with you?”

“Me-ouch, Bugaboo. Way to assume to worst of me,” he scolds playfully, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “But no. It had nothing to do with you. It had everything to do with me and my family.”

“Like what?”

“Again, do you want the whole truth or only half of it?”

“The whole, please.”

A few seconds tick by and then he lets go of her hands, her warmth missed . With a sigh, Chat Noir sits down and pats the space besides him. “I don’t think I can tell you while looking at you. And you should...well, sitting would be good?”

Ladybug studies him, trying to understand what he means. She sits as he directed, their arms only inches apart and it reminds him of the years that spanned between them. So close, but so far. The steel from the Eiffel Tower is a cold reminder of the regret that lays deep in his heart.

“Why did you leave, Chat? I promise I won’t be mad. I’m tired of being mad.”

He snorts. “I’m not worried about you being mad. I just—I couldn’t bear if you hated me. That’s why I never told you…” he trails off. With another sigh, he focuses on the twinkling lights of Paris, a sight he’s memorized in all the years of his longing. “You were my most precious friend growing up. I loved no one more than you. And I don’t think I’ll love anyone like you. You were my best friend, Ladybug. You meant the world to me.”

She catches him by surprise by knocking into his shoulder. Giving her a sidelong glance, he gives her soft and sweet smile. “You still mean the world to me, Chat. I’ve been half a hero since you’ve been gone.”

Knowing when he’s been defeated, he wraps an arm around her and holds her close. “You’re always a hero, Bug. No matter what you do or where you are, you are a hero. In the mask or not. That I have no doubt.”

Ladybug places her head on his shoulder,  as if she’s allowing her heart to rule over her brain. “When I’m Ladybug, you’ve always been half my heart. And when you left, you took half of it with you.”

Her truth sings crisp and clear through the moment, unable to be taken back with her honesty. Chat Noir’s heart quivers and quakes, his soul shaking at the simpleness of her statement. Years apart has helped him forget how awe inspiring she can be when she cares about something. The way Ladybug still cares about him, her affection tangible as she rubs his back as if they were never apart.

He laughs despite himself, words lost in the familiarity. He leans over and rests his head upon hers and shuts his eyes. For a moment, he pretends a shooting star falls and he wishes with all his might that everything will be okay. Somehow, someway, he prays he doesn’t wreck his second chance before it even begins.

“One day,” he starts, but his voice heavy in the back of his throat. He swallows and tries again. “One day when were about eighteen, don’t you wonder why Hawk Moth disappeared?”

Ladybug ponders to herself, her fingers taking purchase in his leather suit. When ready, she hums with thought, the sound tickling his shoulder. “I thought he was planning something big. We both thought that. The last time—the last time I saw you, we agreed that. And you told me that we should lay low too…”

“That’s right. I did. Because I wanted us to fade from public view.”

Ladybug takes a deep breath before she whispers, “I didn’t think that would be the last time I saw you.” Her voice wavers, the watery wobble drowns him.

He flexes his fist, his claws digging into his palm. “It wasn’t the goodbye I intended, but I didn’t feel very brave in the moment to state otherwise.”

Her only response is another hitch of breath.

“...I had it all planned out,” he says, letting out a puff of air.  “I was going to tell you the truth, reveal myself to you, and then disappear. But I only did one of those things. The cowardly thing.”   

Ladybug lifts her head up from his shoulder and angles herself towards him. Her blue eyes beseeching answers. “Chat, tell me. Please. I promise it won’t change anything.”

He closes his eyes, unable to look at her and shakes his head. “No, Ladybug. It will change everything. I assure you.”

“Chat, please...”

Time ticks endlessly forward, in this moment and in beyond. There is no going back, he knows, but a part of him wants nothing more than that. With his heart hammering in his chest, he opens his eyes and finds her gaze again, always kind and inviting. It gives him the last bit of resolve he needed.

“My father was Hawk Moth.”

The world does not stop at his darkest secret hangs between them. No magic is strong enough to do that, but it does still Ladybug in her tracks. She blinks, her mouth parted in disbelief. “Oh.” Ladybug doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Was?”

“Yes.”

“So...so, he’s no longer Hawk Moth?” She ask, hesitation in her voice, her world not the same.

Chat Noir knows the feeling. He gives her a wane smile, only stating fact and quenching memories that hurt more so than usual. “He’s no longer alive.”

“Oh.” A beat. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

It’s not the first time someone has said these things to him, but it strikes him funny that Ladybug would pay his father the same courtesy. Despite that there were plenty of afternoons where she wanted nothing more than to throttle Paris’s own Gabriel Agreste.

Oddity and peculiarity find him well in this moment. “It’s...it’s okay. He wasn’t perfect. He was fucking Hawk Moth, but he loved me. And...we were happy. When we left Paris. We were a family for that little while,” he admits.

He feels young again, not for the first time since he’s come back home and certainly not the last. The childhood nostalgic that calls him now has nothing to do with falling in love or almost noticing a pretty girl. It lies in the one love Adrien wanted all along. Even now, transformed and invulnerable,  he’s still chasing after his father’s shadow.

“I’m still sorry. I—I understand why you didn’t tell me when we were kids. I can’t even imagine…” she whispers. “It’s brave that you told me. Really brave. Thank you.”

Chat Noir follows her gaze as she stares at the city. There was always something in the distance that caught her eye too when they were younger. It is only hitting him now that Ladybug looks towards home in dark moments. To making sure family is safe before any fight.

A star flickers above and catches his attention. “I wanted to. Believe me I wanted to. So much.”

“If my dad was Hawk Moth…you’re a kinder person than me, Chat. I’m not sure if I could ever forgive him.” She lets outs a dry laugh. “Yeah, pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to forgive him.”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever forgive him. He was...a controlled disaster, but I loved him even with all his faults. He called me foolish one night when we got drunk together. Told me that I was stupid to stick by him despite all the wrong he’s done. All the evil’s he’s done. But...but, I told him if I’m foolish than he better count his lucky stars because a fool of a son is all he’s ever gonna get.”

“That’s a nice story, Chat, but you’re no fool. Just someone who loves a lot.”

“You would know.”

“That’s right,” she says. “I would know.”

Maybe it’s because magic finds him fast, but Ladybug’s smile is still much like starlight. It is sweet and soft when the world is quiet. He can’t even begin to count how many times he’s swooned because of that smile. Even now, there is an unknown beauty at her edges. Her effervescent self still otherworldly all these years later. His first love, without a doubt, has matured into an even more remarkable woman.

“When did you find out? About your dad being Hawk Moth?”

Chat Noir welcomes her question with slight hesitation, a bit of fear picking up his pulse. There is no lying or hiding now, not when the hardest part of the truth spoken.

“Ah….sometime in our last year during school,” he admits. “Before I left for sure. He found out first when we were younger, but then I found out that he found out that I was Chat Noir. And he was Hawk Moth and—god, the amount of times he freaking possessed me one way or another. So pissed. I’m still pissed actually.”

Her eyes go wide and her voice cuts through the night. “And you stayed with him? You willingly stayed with him?” She repeats the question again in disbelief. Rage simmers in her small frame, the fire in her eyes reflected by the moonlight.

But a defensive heart grows inside Chat Noir’s chest, taking root in his past. He puffs up, not knowing how to explain the complicated relationship with his father. Or how to convey to another person the intricate maze of twisted familial love yet he tries anyway.

“Well, yeah,” he says. “He was my dad and I loved him. Even though he was stupid. So, so stupid. But anyway, after a particularly tough fight where we won. Again. I went home and punched him in the face.”

“You punched him?”

“Socked him square in the face.  Not my finest moment, but so worth it. Then we got to talking and well, I found out why which didn’t make it better, but it made it understandable. So I gave him an ultimatum. Give up being Hawk Moth or—”

“Or?”

“He’d lose me too. That was the deal. And he took it.”

“Wow. That's all it took? He stopped because you asked?” she scoffs. “Not that I’m doubting you, but I just...I find that so hard to believe.” Her anger is red hot and bright, matching her suit. “He tortured the entirety of Paris, tortured you and all we—actually, you! All you had to do is ask for him to stop?”

Adrien smiles again, but there is no positive emotion tied to it. He understands where she’s coming from. The same hurt, the same pain of your enemy giving up and yet…

He takes her hand and squeezes it, hoping for a moment that his touch can transfer his years long patience. “...I think he wanted an end too. That the dream he desired would never come true.”

Ladybug’s mouth wobbles at the edges. “What did he want to do in the end? With our Miraculouses?”

He swallows a deep breath and ignores his own rising anger. “He wanted to bring my mom back.” He doesn’t say that it didn’t matter because Emilie Agreste found her way back all on her own, but far too late.

That’s a story for another day.

“I guess—I guess I can understand why you didn’t tell me. This is a lot to process,” Ladybug babbles. “It’s almost like out of a t.v. show.”

Chat Noir barks a laugh and rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad I know now. I’m still hurt, don’t get me wrong...but, this can be our new beginning.”

Now that he's told her the truth, Adrien feels lighter than he has in a long time. “My Lady, you’re far too sweet. I knew there was a reason I thought you were the best thing when I met you. Like sliced bread.”

She chuckles, a twinkle in her eye about some private joke. “I do happen to like sliced bread.” She sighs with relief before nudging him. “Can I ask another question?”

“You can ask all the questions you’d like. I owe you a bunch of answers.”

Ladybug stares out into the distance again, as if looking at him would bring an answer she doesn’t want to hear. “Are you...going away again? After this.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. I moved back to France recently. I got married too.”

Ladybug chokes on her surprise. “You? Married?! But you’re such a flirt!” She pokes his side, teasing in her jabs.

He swats her away. “Only when I like someone! And I happened to like you when we were young so that’s why you think I’m flirt. I’m terrible with women actually. Which I know is quite surprising.”

She clicks her tongue. “I doubt that. You’re Chat Noir! The coolest guy I know.  I’m sure you’ve had lots of girlfriends! And look at you, married now. Your wife has to be something special,” she coos, her smile affectionate.

The unexpected praise for Marinette warms his heart as she is something special. Thinking about her makes him realize that she’s indescribable, powerful, and remarkable. Even Paris’s most beloved superhero also realizes that Marinette is phenomenal.

“She is,” he softly says. He remembers this morning, in the way it felt to kiss her with sunshine as her halo. He thinks of the way she laughs at little things and is quick to blush when her parents dote on her.  He smiles, “I’m learning new things about her every day. Being married...well, she’s the best thing that’s happened to me as an adult. That’s for sure. And not to mention, she’s beyond beautiful.”

“Oh Chat, she sounds so lovely,” Ladybug sighs, much like a hopeless romantic.

He blushes, feeling bashful as he remembers the ring under his glove. He never thought marriage was for him, but now being a husband is now part of his identity. Much like how it happen when he became Chat Noir.

“One day I’ll be able to introduce you two. I think you’d both have a lot in common.”

“Well, we both love you so that’s plenty in common,” Ladybug says. “Does she know you’re Chat Noir?”

Her innocent question forces him to a full stop. It would be normal for a husband to tell his wife if he was a superhero. Because that’s what people do when they trust each other. And dear lord...it hits him like a ton of bricks—what Marinette was saying this morning.  About trust and not wanting him to have to pay for everything.

“God, I am such an idiot,” he mutters to himself.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing. Wow, just know that when you’re married, Ladybug, you’re most likely always going to be right.”   

She quirks her head to the side, her mouth in a confused but amused line. “I am married? So I guess I am always right?” She holds up her left hand and taps her ring finger.

He rolls his eyes, not knowing why he's surprised she's married. “And how does Mr. Ladybug feel about Mrs. Ladybug always being right?”

Ladybug bites her lower lip and looks at him awkwardly. “Um. Mr. Ladybug might not know that he’s...Mr. Ladybug yet…” she trails.

“Wow,” he says, his chuckle more like a scoff. “Pot meet kettle.”

“Hey!” she says, her voice punching the air. “I wasn’t even judging you! I was asking a legitimate question! And Mr. Ladybug will find out soon enough. Maybe when Mrs. Noir finds out, huh? How about them apples?”

Chat weighs his options and nods. “Okay, fair. I mean, I get where you’re coming from. So yeah, but to be honest, I’m happy for you. You deserve a good husband. What’s he like?”

She blinks for a moment before burying her face in her hands, her voice muffled.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She mumbles again, though this time a little louder.

“Uh….what was that?”

And this time, she shouts. “I married my crush, okay?! I married my crush who I was in love with since I was fourteen!”

Her words ring with such girlish adoration that Chat Noir can’t stop himself from giggling. It’s precious, watching Ladybug be flustered by her own outburst despite that no one in the world can hear them.

His giddiness is palatable. “Oh my god, what? Are you telling me that that dope you liked for all those years is your husband? He finally noticed you!? Senpai finally noticed you?!”

“I’m not sure if I should take that as an insult or a compliment,” she sniffs.

“It's an insult on his part, but dang. To think LB would get the man of her dreams,” he says, putting his hands behind his head, smirking.

Ladybug curls her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop them, pouting and scowling. “...I take back missing you if all you’re gonna do is tease me. You can go home now.”

He pats her back, with a touch too much affection at the tune of the resounding smack and glare she gives him. He winces with a silent apology and pats her softer this time, picking his words with tender care. “But Ladybug, I’m already home.”

She smiles and pushes him. “Go home to your wife, Chat. I’m sure she’s wondering where you are.”

“I’m sure your husband is thinking the same about you.”

Ladybug grins again, her smile goofy at the edges. He laughs to himself at her childlike expression.

She stands up and stretches before looking down at him. “Do you—hey, do you want to, I don’t know. Meet up for superhero coffee sometime soon?”

He stands up as well, excitement in his bones. “Like patrol? Kinda like we used to?”

She nods. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t go out very often, but I know the city likes it when I pop my head in and say hi every now and then.”

“Yeah—you know, that would be fun. We can meet in a few days? I’ll send you an email for a time.”

“Sounds good, Chat. I’ll see you then.”  She nods again and holds out her first, the words “pound it” very much on her lips.

The sight makes his heart crawl into this throat and he wants to cry again, but this time in a good way. He knocks his fist against hers and everything about his past and present slide into place.

“Bye, Ladybug. See you soon, 'kay?”

“Bye, Kitty,” she says, her hand playing with her yo-yo before she pitches it.

He waves once more before setting up to extend his baton and leap over Paris. Ladybug calls to him as his thumb hovers the button. He turns around, confused by the desperate sound in her voice.

“Yes, My L— omph!”  

He doesn't get a chance to finish his question because Ladybug launches at him into a tight hug. She squeezes the breath out of him and she cuddles close.

She peers at him through her bangs, her quiet joy etched into her cheeks. “I’m happy you’re home.”

He swallows thick and doesn’t mind when laugh he hears when his voice cracks. “Me too, Ladybug. Me too.”

There is magic in the world, Marinette knows, in the same vein that wayward black cats find their way home. If dreams are wishes the heart make, then never in her wildest ones would she ever think her dearest friend would end up at her feet. Yet only an hour before, under the same sky she’s seen a thousand times, she spent it the same boy she never thought she would see again. Magic still clings to her skin as she remembers his visceral hug, the warmth of his blood under her hands as proof enough.

Marinette lumbers up the stairs to her apartment, the echo a much needed tug of her current reality. Candy bars crackle in the swing of her wrinkly shopping bag. The beat of her steps is enough to dull the intense velocity of her mind, so much to process in so little time.  Relief sings in her bones at the sight of her floor, today ending on such a unique and almost impossible note.

Chat Noir is finally home and still wants to be her friend.

And of course, the biggest bombshell of all—his father was Hawk Moth.

The tragedy is not lost on her, in the way misfortune strikes and pins families apart. She wonders what role she had to play in all this family drama, minus being her partner’s teenage love interest. Unfortunately, she wishes that this would have stayed in Shakespearean plays.

But, he’s home now. Her dearest and most precious friend. Chat Noir has grown up into a man, but there’s still the same boy in his features, in his grin. Her heart splits between elation and outrage, but forgiveness has already claimed her. Marinette sighs to herself in defeat, knowing that she’s beyond happy that he’s home.

Tikki nestles in the hood of her jacket and tickles her ear. “No point in trying to be angry, Marinette. You already hugged him.”

Marinette scowls as she pauses at the top stair, catching her own gaze in the mirror. She feels much like the girl she used to be, young and fourteen and disgruntled about boys. She scuffs her shoe. “Can’t I at least pretend? A little bit?”

Tikki laughs and tugs on her earlobe. “You’d lost that chance when you didn’t even yell at him. I told you so,” the little god sings. “I told you when you saw him again you’d forgive him on the spot.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. You don’t have to rub it in, Tikki Tik,” she mumbles, trying her best to frown despite the cheer surging through her.

Tikki snickers before going back to resting in Marinette’s hood. “I love being right,” the little god says, mischief in each word.

Marinette halts, scheming playfulness stopped when she sees someone from the corner of her eye.  She whirls around with a fist pulled back ready to strike.

Adrien puts his hands up in defense. “Whoa! Princess, it’s me! Your husband!” Fear is audible in his last note, uncertainty in his voice.

The fight flees Marinette the moment she recognizes him and she puts a hand over her racing heart. “What are you doing outside my apartment this late?” she asks. As an afterthought, she adds. “And also, princess?”

Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, uh,  it slipped out? It suits you too, I think. Princess.” He says the nickname again with an air of authority, confirming that he likes it. “It’s cute.”

Her nose twitches, deja vu tingling her brain.  “Ah, Chat Noir used to call me that so I find it funny.”

Adrien’s eyes widen. “Aha-ha, yeah. That seems like a Chat Noir thing, I guess. That flirt, that guy…”

“Uh, yeah—is everything okay? I thought you were coming over tomorrow?”

“Oh. Um. Things are fine, I don’t know. Just missed you? And I wanted to say good night and uh, give you these!”

He digs in his pocket and pulls out a thumb drive. “The videos. I made. While waiting for you. I wanted to give them to you. Like a diary...Anyway...” Shaking his bag, he holds it up too. “Anyway! These were my father’s sketchbooks! And I realized I didn’t get you a wedding present despite you got me the cuff links. Which were awesome, by the way. Very awesome. And…” His shoulders slump as be stumbles through his words. “So, you’re a designer. Yeah. I’m, I’m gonna go home now.”

Eyes downcast and he pouts, Adrien reminds Marinette of Chole every time she felt she didn't impress Ladybug enough. The memory plus the moment makes her smile.

Marinette giggles as he starts to walk away. “Hey, hey, hey! Can’t give me presents and then try to leave with them.”

Adrien stops mid step. “Oh, right. You might want these.” He comes back towards her, then something changes in his expression. He cups her face and rubs a thumb over her cheek. “Have you been crying?”

Marinette blinks for a moment and swallows thick.  “I, uh, I was watching a sad movie. Which is why I went and got...some snacks…”

He drags his hand down her neck, smoothing her shoulder then her arm. Marinette shivers with pleasure. It's distracting.

“I was wondering where you went. It’s a little late,” he murmurs.

Adrien leans in a little closer and Marinette can count the different specks in his green eyes. Usually, there is so much gold, but in her hallway, his eyes are darker, more mischievous than sweet. She wonders where she's seen that look before, but her thoughts disperse with his sneeze.

At least he has the manners to turn away and sneeze into the crook of his elbow , she thinks with amusement.

Her “bless you” is automatic. She snorts as he rubs his nose. “Says the guy who shows up at my apartment to give me wedding gifts and biological warfare.”

“I—I—”

She's not sure why, but she's enjoying being this playful with him. It's a refreshing change from constant stuttering. Besides, seeing him bright red and tongue tied is an adorable sight.

She catches his hand with hers  “Do you want to come in? It’s a little early technically, but I can give you the tour. Place’s clean now.”

Adrien pauses, his mouth parted in surprise before giving her a brilliant grin. “Yeah, that’d be great,” he says, eagerness woven in his voice.

With ease and her own smile, Marinette unlocks the door and invites him inside. She ignores the quickening pace of her heart and hastily flicks on the light. The ceiling lamp illuminates a soft yellow light over her modest kitchen and living room, a slight buzz above them. She turns on a lamp by the table too, hating how the singular light makes everything too dim.

“It’s not fanciest apartment,” she confesses as she drops her keys in a bowl. “But it’s a two bedroom which works for me.”

Adrien glances at her and fondness softens his lips. “Reminds me of the place I used to live when I was little. Before my dad made it big. It’s nice.”

The little memory throws her for a loop as she looks over her apartment. It’s not much, but it’s enough, she thinks. She wonders if Gabriel had the same thoughts as her when he was her age. And at the way Adrien soaks up the interior of her home, she thinks maybe he did.

The silence between runs for a beat or two before she rushes and starts her tour. “As you can see, this is the living room and that’s the kitchen! Somewhat open concept, but not really because of the half-walled counter,” she directs. She points at one side of her apartment, “That door right there is the bathroom and the one next to it is my room. And the door on the other side is my studio. It’s a very straightforward design to be honest.”

“Not bad. And not to bring up my rich boy sensibilities, but it's a little cramped?

Marinette laughs. “I see why hallways are a thing now. Having a courtyard living room is...stifling.”

Adrien looks at her bookcase, humming to himself in thought. Something catches his eye as he snatches something off the shelf. “Hey! It’s a picture of we graduated! Oh wow. I remember this day.”

Marinette peers over his shoulder to find a late night group photo with her and all her friends. “Yeah, it was a lot of fun. Disneyland is always a blast!”

“You had the cutest little mouse ears too. Man, I can’t remember the last time I went to a theme park.”

“Let’s go together, sometime soon?”

Looking over at her, Adrien blinks and nods again. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Before she can ask him anything else, he points to the other side of her apartment. “That’s your studio, right? In there?”

Marinette finds his line of sight and nods. “Yep! I work on my custom things here. My more day to day designs I do at the shop.”

Adrien stops and stares. “Wait, so you’re telling me you also sew all your pieces yourself at your shop?”

Marinette beams, pride warm in her heart. “Mmhmm! I have a seamstress too, but between the two of us, we sew most of the designs. For more complicated ones, like with a lot beading, I’ll hire a few extra hands for a few weekends and we’ll all knock them out. It’s fun that way.”

“Please tell me you’re marketing that you’re making everything by hand in house,” he begs.

“Haha, yes, I do,” she says.

Adrien puts a hand over his heart. “Thank you, Jesus,” he whispers.

Marinette shrugs bashfully and continues. “I also have an online store and get a lot of business from overseas. The boutique is doing well. That and commissions I do and the contests I win from time to time.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was doing well.”

Her husband regards her for a moment, the glint in his eye indescribable. Then suddenly, he sweeps across the room and places his hands on her shoulders. “I married such an incredible woman,” Adrien says and then kisses her forehead.

Her heart stops in her chest, the warmth from his lips causing her to blush from the head to toe. She peers up at him, face hot and red as he strokes her cheek again. “Thank you,” she mumbles. Embarrassed, she pulls away from him and opens up her studio, proud that she put everything in place earlier.

Adrien walks in after her. “Oh, it’s empty…” he lament

Marinette fingers a drawer of beads. “Sorry. My last big project was my wedding dress and I haven’t started a new one yet. But, I’d like your opinion when I start it.”

A pair of arms circle her and Adrien rests his chin on her shoulder. “You know, that’s what I miss the most about my dad—when he was designing, it was one of the few times you got to see him out of sorts. I wasn’t ever allowed in his workroom, but sometimes if I was up late studying and he was working, I’d bring him coffee. And sometimes he’d ask my opinion on his designs. Those were the best times.”

The little hum of his voice tickles, reminding her again that she is lucky to know him—lucky enough to learn about him all these years later after being a pining girl. She places a hand atop his and squeezes it.  

“That sounds lovely, Adrien. My dad helps me too. He has an eye for colors when I’m stuck. And hopefully, we can make new memories. You and I, that is—and make a design together too.”  

Adrien nuzzles into her cheek. “You’re the best, you know that? Simply the best. I’d love to design something with you.”

Marinette tries to respond, but she yawns instead.

Adrien looks down at his watch and sighs. “I should get going. You’re sleepy and it’s late.”

“But I’m not sleepy,” she says through another yawn. “I’m a big girl, I swear.”

“Well, even big girls need to get to bed, I’m afraid.”

“You...you could spend the night,” she says, a smile digging into her cheek.

He untangles himself from her. “Ha, tempting, but alas, I have to clean my apartment actually. I got distracted and, well, that’s how I ended up here.

“I’m not complaining. I got sketchbooks and cute videos out of the deal.”

“We’ll still meet at our original time?”

She shakes her head. “No, stay here, Adrien. Please? It’s late,” she pouts. “I’d be worried about my husband. We can meet up again tomorrow afternoon after lunchtime and have dinner at yours when we’re done with apartment hunting.” For one final measure, she takes his hand and leaves a quick kiss.

Adrien shuffles his feet for a moment and hangs his head. “I guess this is a time I should just say you’re right, right?”

Marinette smiles and hugs him. “Yes. And, I want you to know because I’ve been thinking about this since this morning, but,” she starts, “I’ll be fine with whatever apartment you pick. As long as I get to buy the groceries.”

“Wh-what? Marinette, what changed your mind?”

She shrugs and lays her cheek on his chest, playing with his hoodie string. “I don’t know, I guess this wasn’t something worth getting bent out of shape about in the end. I mean, you’re my friend, Adrien and I don’t think my friend would want to hurt me. So, yeah, I’m going to—let go of my pride and let you pay for most things. Minus the groceries and whatever odds and ends we need that are within my budget.”

Adrien squeezes her. “Oh my god, Marinette. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re an amazing wife, you know that?”

“That’s what my husband tells me, at least,” she laughs into his shoulder.

“Your husband is a very smart man, then.”

“Mmhmm. Also, incredibly kind and generous. I’m the lucky one, I think.”

“I don’t know about that…”

She pinches his side. “Well, I do. Now, let’s get to bed. It’s late.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. “And if you’re nice to me, I might even tell you sweet dreams.”

Adrien smirks. “Oh, do I get a good night kiss too?”

Marinette looks over her shoulder, mischief sounding in her being and heads to her bedroom. “Maybe.”

To that, Adrien laughs and chases after her. “Marinette, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

It’s the sound of quiet talking that wakes Adrien in the morning. Marinette sleeps beside him, her face under a pillow and squished much like a fish. He tries not to laugh when he gets out of bed. He tiptoes to the door and hears indistinct arguing from the kitchen. His eyes go wide when he recognizes one of the voices.

“C’mon, Tikki!” Plagg says, “Find me the cheese!”

Ever carefully, he enters Marinette’s living and kitchen and shuts the door behind him. He remembers to count to five before he strangles the little god, but even that seems impossible.

Plagg floats carelessly and in plain sight in Marinette’s apartment, as if he owns the place, while barking orders at someone. “Cheese, cheese, cheese,” he chants.

The voice from fridge snaps at him. “You lazy bum,” she seethes. “I’m not the one who wants this!”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who knows—” As if sensing Adrien’s rage, Plagg whirls around. “Adrien! Uh, hi! Good morning.”

“What in the world are you doing?”

Plagg purses his lips together and grimaces. “I was hungry and—”

“Found it!” the voice says and out flies another kwami, bright red and cute. In her hands, she carries a thing of camembert, but pauses when she sees Adrien. “Oh, hello. You must be Adrien. I’ve heard a lot about you.”   

Adrien tilts his head to the side. “Uh, yes. And you are?”

“Oh, I’m Tikki! I’m Ladybug’s kwami!” Her grin wide and bright.

“L-Ladybug’s?”

“Mmhmm. But she’s, uh, sleeping right now and I—mmm—wanted to see Plagg since it’s been a long, long time.”

To that, Plagg jumps in. “Yeah! Tikki here was just visiting me since she missed me and all that! Since you know. That’s the only reason why Ladybug’s kwami would be, uh, here with us. In this particular apartment.”

“You invited Ladybug’s kwami to Marinette’s apartment? The apartment that I don’t own?”

Plagg rolls his eyes. “Look here, newlywed. I didn’t say I was smart about it. I'm famished and Tikki off—has a knack for finding cheese! So here we are.”

“Yes, so here we are,” Tikki adds, if not a bit too quickly.

Adrien rubs a hand down his face. “It is way too early for this. I need coffee.”

“I could make you coffee!”

Adrien stops, a bit confused but musters a smile anyway. “While I appreciate the gesture, Tikki, you don’t live here.”   

Beside her, Plagg snickers. “Yeah, Tikki. You don’t live here. Not at all. You live with Ladybug and not his wife.”

She blinks and nods. “Yes, yes. You’re right. I don’t live here. Nope, nope. Not with your wife who is definitely not Ladybug.”

“Right,” he says, unsure where to continue with that. Then it hits him. “Tikki, was Ladybug okay last night? You know with me?” he asks timidly.

Tikki’s eyes widen in surprise before she flies up to his face, placing a little nub on his cheek. “Ladybug loves you, Adrien. And she’s already forgiven you or you wouldn’t be standing right now. Trust me.”

He nervously laughs, placing a hand at the base of his neck. “Y-yeah….if Ladybug was pissed, I would be dead now.”

Tikki hums. “Exactly, I mean, she had plenty of time to think about it, but look! Here you are! Not dead and going to live another day.”

“Yay…” he says weakly.

In the bedroom, an alarm goes off. Tikki sighs and then places a kiss on Adrien’s cheek. “I best be going now. Welcome home, Chat Noir. You have no idea how happy we are to have you back.”

He puts a hand to his cheek. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Tikki giggles before glaring at Plagg. “See you soon. And make sure you clean up after yourself! Since you definitely don’t live here.”

Plagg sticks out his tongue. “Yeah, yeah. Get out here and scurry back to your Ladybug.”

Tikki takes a deep breath. “Bye-bye, Adrien. It was lovely meeting you. Hope to see you again!” And with that, she’s gone.

Plagg munches on his cheese, pleased with his food.

Adrien decides to break the silence between them. “So what did you do to Tikki to get her so upset.”

Plagg waves his little nub. “Eh, she’s sour because I’m gonna win a bet again. And no, I can’t tell you and I won’t tell you. Now, get in there and wake up your wife, pal. We got places to be today!

Ladybug softly lands in the park, hearing hollering hellos from citizens as she scans her surroundings. Not too far, she notices Chat Noir playing with some children and grins to herself. He must feel her stare because he looks up and beams and makes his way towards her.

“People are a lot happier to see me than I expected,” he says when he ends up at her side.

Ladybug shrugs. “Well, they love you. I’m glad we tweeted we’d be at the park before anyone had a chance to come up with something crazy.”

Chat Noir hums in agreement. “So, is this what you do these days? Just chat with the people and hang out.”

“Yeah, pretty much. We decided as long as there is no supernatural stuff then I don’t need to help fight day to day crime. Though, I do come out if there’s something huge—like an invasion or something.”

“Oh my god, has Paris been invaded?”

Ladybug snorts. “No, Chat. We have never been invaded that’s silly. Besides, if we had, the Ladyblog would have been all over that.”

“Is that still a thing? The Ladyblog?"

Ladybug is about to reply when a very familiar voice interrupts.

“Why, yes, Chat Noir,” Alya says, smug and proud. “The Ladyblog is very much still a thing. Good to see you, you mangy cat.”

At her side, Nino throws a casual thumbs-up. “Hey, dude. It’s been a minute. Welcome back to Paris.”

Chat Noir blushes and scuffs his boot in the dirt. “Hey, guys. Good to see you too. I’ve…I’ve moved back to the area.”  

Alya taps something in on her cellphone, refusing to tear her eyes away from the screen. “So we’ve noticed.” She then holds up her phone with the front facing camera on. “Smile!”

The shutter sound clicks and Alya seems pleased it the photo as she posts it to the web. “#welcomeback. #Reunitedanditfeelsogood. #ParishasTWOsuperheroes. #checkoutthishandsometomcat. #...”

“Alya, babe, I think that’s enough hashtags,” Nino says.

His girlfriend scoffs and uploads the photo. “No such thing as too many hashtags, babe,” she says. Then her attention snaps back to Chat Noir and Ladybug swears she hears him gulp. “Now, care comment what you’ve been up all these years? What’s the real reason you’re back. The Ladyblog wants the scoop!”

Marinette’s heart swoons with affection, never tiring how passionate her best friend takes journalism. All these years later and she’s still Ladybug’s number one fan too. But no love can allow Chat to be eaten alive by the best reporter in all of Paris.

“Alya, give us some time to figure out what we want to tell the public. When we’re ready to announce, you’ll get our first exclusive.”

Marinette can see it takes all of Alya’s willpower not to pout, but somehow she manages. “Fine. I guess,” she says, her lips pursed together. She sighs and then smiles, looking fondly at Chat Noir. “I really am glad you’re back though. The city’s missed you!”

There’s a long pause, as Chat Noir doesn’t say anything, his eyes to the sky. His face is pale, as if he’s seen a ghost. Ladybug tilts her head to the sky, not understanding his refusal to respond.

“Chat? Are you okay? What are you looking at?”  

Chat Noir points upwards. “That.”

Ladybug follows his hand and her mouth drops. “Are those...are those what I think they are?”

“Yeah,” he swallows audibly. “Butterflies.”

In the background, people start to cry in terror as Alya begins recording a live stream. “Breaking news, Paris! As you can see above me, we have a swarm of black butterflies that look exactly like Akuma? Does that mean that Hawk Moth is back?”

Ladybug drowns out her friend’s voice, unable to shake the feeling of dread that sticks to her ribs. Her partner’s body vibrates with tension, with energy that needs an outlet. A part of her wonders if he knows who it is, but no—his fury is mixed with confusion. He’s just as surprised as the rest of Paris.  

With the flapping of black butterfly wings, Ladybug says the only thing that seems appropriate.

“Fuck.”