Marinette

The two weeks vacation hadn't gone as Marinette had expected.

Firstly, the lovely relaxing getaway to a Mediterranean island, ended up being two nights at a smelly, ancient temple in Tibet–not exactly the planned five star retreat.

Next, instead of her boyfriend proposing to her, in what she guessed would have been the most unbelievably romantic way, he had no choice but to do it in her small room in said temple because some overpowered monks were forcing them too.

Then finally, instead of just being loved up with a tan, she was now loved up with a husband.

Yep, not at all as she expected.

She made her way through the bustling crowds, to her parents' boulangerie, not too far away from the Gabriel offices. Her emails this morning had done nothing but made her groan...repeatedly. The whole day was going to be spent with Gabriel and Nathalie, his personal assistant. Meeting after meeting, and many, many discussions about possible lines they may or may not want to release. She knew her head was going to be nothing more than mush by the time she left the office, she just hoped Gabriel was a five p.m. sharp type guy.

The weekend with Chat had been sweet, sweet bliss. They'd spent the whole time hiding out in their apartment, ignoring the world around them.

Monarch had been very considerate too. There had been no akumas. Zilch. Which meant they could really test out their powerdown outfits. They'd have to remember to send him a thank you card through the next akuma.

But yes, married life so far was bliss! Waking up next to the person you love was a great way to start the day. Falling asleep beside them felt so safe and secure. Curling up to binge watch old tv shows was just something she couldn't describe. Who would have thought watching Smallville and eating M&M's would be such a game changer?

She turned the corner, almost colliding with a group of tourists before swerving past them and into the boulangerie. As always, the place was incredibly busy. There had been a lot of promotion over the past few weeks, after all they had made the cake for Ladybug and Chat Noir, so their usual busy crowds had just turned insane.

Giving her parents a smile and a quick wave, Marinette wandered around to the opposite side of the counter, grabbing the box of macarons she'd ordered the previous day.

Checking her watch, Marinette saw she had at least thirty minutes to get to the office and it was only a five minute walk. So, maybe she could make herself useful for a moment or two?

'Want some help?' she called to her Maman.

Her mother looked up, exasperated, from where her head was halfway wedged into the glass display case, the tongs in her hand locked in a tense standoff with a particularly uncooperative batch of Madeleines.

'If you don't mind, love.'

Marinette shot her a grin, stashed her bags behind the counter, and headed to the back to scrub in like a surgeon. When she returned, snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves with theatrical flair, she looked fully prepared to conduct a forensic-level autopsy on the unsuspecting galette.

'Hi, how can I help?'

The woman in front of her suddenly looked like she had been asked what the capital city of Antarctica was.

'I, erm, I...' She stared, wide eyed, as she ran her hands through her hair.

The guy her mother was serving beside her, chimed in with quite the informative choice. 'If I may, I highly recommend the passion fruit macarons, they're delicious and best bought in a two or a three. But you could also pair them with something like a rose or mango.'

'I couldn't have suggested anything better myself,' Marinette said, smiling at the customer. 'This guy knows exactly what he's talking about.'

She turned her attention to thank the customer, only to instead be met with the back of his head. Blond hair, and tall...very tall. 'I don't lie about delicacies. Especially such delicious ones,' he said as he walked towards the door, his bag in hand.

'Thank you,' Marinette called after him. He held up his hand, bag dangling from it and gave her a small wave. His body had disappeared into the crowd yet his blond hair filled her with joy. Not because of this guy, but because she had her own blond at home, one she couldn't stop thinking about, and wanted to get back to.

'Is that okay?' The customer said.

Marinette shook her head wildly to try and think more about blondies than sexy blonds.

She smiled as sweetly as she could. 'I'm sorry. Could you say that again?'

Twenty minutes later, and a lot of macarons served, Marinette finally pushed through the doorway to Gabriel with a spring in her step. This was it! She was finally here and she was going to make every moment count...so why did she suddenly feel like a kid on the first day at school?

Meeting up with Sabrina at the main reception area, she couldn't help the anxiety as she made her way into the world she always wanted to be in, fear flowing freely, teasing her that she was going to mess this up.

*****

Adrien

The day had been a dud!

He'd woken up so positive and full of life. He'd had his breakfast with his lady, discussing the most recent news headlines and broad casted theories about who they were, before strolling down to the Tom and Sabine Boulangerie—getting his usual two Passionfruit macarons and a rose one—before heading to the office and being held in his office all day.

If he thought being at home with his father was like being locked up in prison, he was sorely mistaken, because this...this was prison. Prison with the added excitement of math.

After the meeting he'd had with his father and Nathalie, he'd innocently presumed he'd be the welcoming committee for MDC. However, due to his lock up, he hadn't even managed to meet her today.

And to throw another huge, iron wielding spanner into the works—his father was going into hospital in a couple of weeks time.

What for? Adrien had no idea because he wouldn't tell him. All Adrien knew was that the employees of Gabriel would be informed he was 'working from home', only himself and the new collaborator would know the complete truth. It seemed his father had had this worked out from the very beginning. Bring in a collaborator and sod off for a rhinoplasty or a face lift.

Adrien couldn't help but wonder if she knew, if MDC had been informed about his father's inability to see something through to the end. He was surprised Gabriel remained as a company despite his father's erratic nature of changing and swapping from one thing to the next.

So, before he drove himself insane by sitting in his office and doing nothing, he made his way home and set up his laptop on the table—'just in case'.

He moved around the apartment, studying the walls and the dull colour already on there. They definitely needed an upgrade.

Tramping back to his laptop, he refreshed the screen.

No new messages.

Adrien pouted, glancing between the laptop of the living area. He was quite sure he could be in and out the DIY store quickly, grab some paint and be back before anyone knew he was even gone. Another quick glance to his laptop and he was sure no one would actually care, he hadn't received more than three emails all day.

Slowly edging forward, he reached out and closed the laptop screen with a solid thud. He was going to go and get some paint, then paint the lounge area. At least if nothing was going to be happening at work he could make himself useful now.

'Plagg?'

The kwami surprisingly came on first call, swirling around in front of Adrien guzzling a block of cheese.

'You rang?' He said with his best Lurch expression. Adrien hadn't even realised Plagg was an Addams Family fan.

'What do think of a change up in here? I was thinking...' Adrien turned slightly side to side, studying the room. He'd had his sofa transported from his own room in the mansion, along with the coffee table and tv. So really, furniture-wise, this room was pretty much complete. But it was the colour. It needed sprucing up, something a little more exciting. His sofa was white, the coffee table glass, and the bookcase and floor featured a medium oak. The room needed a focal point, a certain je ne sais quoi to really make it pop!

'Thinking...' Plagg said, staring at him.

'How about...we paint that wall over there?'

'What colour?'

Adrien considered it again. 'Navy? Dark blue would go nicely with the floor and the wood, don't you think?'

Plagg hovered around again. Adrien watched him as he studied the walls with great intent.

'You know what...I actually think that's a good idea. However, I need to say we isn't happening. If you want to paint the wall, go ahead and paint the wall. I am not helping.'

'Who said I wanted you to help? You have a horrible aim. If I let you paint it'll be everywhere but the wall.'

Plagg flew forward, flapping his little fin in front of Adrien's face. He was unsure whether he should worry about the angry kwami cataclysming his ass, or bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. 'Listen, Buddy! I could paint this room before you could even do one wall.'

Adrien pouted, shaking his head from side to side. 'Naa! I think you'd do one strip and go on hunger strike.' Adrien reached up and tickled Plagg's belly. 'We all know you think with your stomach.'

'Are you calling me chubby?'

Adrien stared at the kwami for a moment, his head tilting to the side to try and figure the small creature out with great intent. Did Plagg just call himself chubby?

Completely unconvinced by the direction this was now going in, Adrien continued to stare at the kwami.

'What?' Adrien eventually said, still no clearer to the direction of this peculiar conversation. He'd make more sense out of watching a three hour epic biopic about someone he didn't know, in Ancient Latin Greek.

'Are you calling me chubby?' Plagg asked again, Adrien still none the clearer of how they got here.

'I'll have you know,' his small creature continued, almost petulant in his tone. 'I have been cutting back on the full fat stuff. Instead, I've been trying out eighty percent dairy cheese.'

Again...'What?'

Plagg huffed, turning his back on Adrien with the temper of a pubescent teenage boy being told he smelt. 'You just don't listen to me. No one listens to me.'

His mind ticked over slowly. Plagg's behaviour had been different to say the least. Since knowing they were going to be living with Ladybug...with Tikki. Tikki. His lips turned up mischievously. Everything now made sense. He'd finally figured out the cheat for beating the big bad boss on the last level of the game. Plagg was getting nervous about Tikki coming to live with them. He was anxious....and Adrien couldn't believe he hadn't thought about this sooner.

'I'm sure Tikki will enjoy the extra warmth. I hear she feels the cold easily.'

Plagg gasped, loud and offended. 'So you are indeed calling me fat? I knew it! I knew as soon as you started on your protein and gym kick you'd become this vain, muscley monster.'

'I don't think muscley is a word, Plagg?'

'I haven't finished yet! You and your...look at me and my thigh sized biceps...and you—'

'Plagg, claws out!'

Mid rant, Plagg was sucked into Adrien's ring, sending the once professionally dressed business man into one of every woman's dreams (just ask the latest issues of 'Cosmo' if you don't agree). Setting sail out of the balcony, he headed in the direction of the local DIY store, all he needed was some paint, some brushes and Ladybug to arrive home ready to be surprised.

This was going to be great.

*****

Ladybug

She'd never been more excited to arrive home. The day had been non-stop and Gabriel had been just as (un)friendly as he'd been perceived. Seriously, the guy had made Frankenstein look like a Care Bear, and to add to everything, the collaboration had been a bit of a ruse. He was actually going into hospital for some kind of operation. While he'd been incredibly vague about it, she had her own suspicions—laser eye surgery, or a face lift. Though, the guy hadn't a single line on his stone-like face, a clear sign that he'd never expressed an emotion a day in his life.

So, as Gabriel was setting up to swan off to some private hospital for a nip and tuck, she would be working with his son and design team on the new line. Oh, whoopee do! As far as Marinette was concerned, Adrien Agreste didn't know about fashion, he just knew how to wear it! She was pretty much running the show alone, which was fine, she was skilled, but...sigh..she just didn't quite know how to feel or what to do about everything. And the paycheck, though lucrative, definitely didn't cover her being a one-man band. She needed to make sure all designs were done before he left, that way he was doing some of the work too.

Her diary was gridlocked for the remainder of the week. From meeting the design team, to a photoshoot to promote the collaboration, Gabriel had organised her back to back appointment. But at no point did he think she might want to meet Adrien? After all, if he was her point of call, the least Gabriel could have done was introduce them. She was sure she had five minutes where she could fit in a meet and greet. Maybe she could do it as she stuffed her face with a sandwich as he hadn't even given her a lunch break (all in fairness, he had pinpointed the precise moments she could go to the restroom).

Dragging her feet, she pulled herself up from the Metro and back onto the street of her new apartment. A soft, longing sigh left her lips as she glanced at the ring on her finger. Although she couldn't tell him much about her day, there was something so nice about making her way back to Chat. She just knew he'd be there, arms open and a glass of wine ready for her. Because that was the kind of guy he was. So thoughtful and caring. He would allow her to put her feet up and relax for a couple of hours before helping her cook. A nice, chilled night without issues. Heaven.

As soon as her feet hit the marble floor of their foyer, she hopped from foot to foot, slipping her heels from her feet and marvelling at the feel of cool air wrapping around tootsies. Not to self: Comfort over style going forward. Chat had warned her that heels this high were going to be a challenge, especially as she hadn't broken them in beforehand, but as always she acted like she knew better. Now she was crying at the burning sensation left on the balls of her feet and the harsh pain on the back of her heel.

Stumbling forward, she made her way to the stairs, foregoing the lift. She needed to get to him, to be with her husband, because right now that was the only thought keeping her moving despite every step feeling as though she was stepping on hot coals. Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over... Finally she stopped in front of their apartment's door, tempted to drop down on her knees and kiss the damn thing—but instead, she just called on her transformation, before powering down. Her work clothing—the fashionable blouse and high waisted pants—had changed from the navy blue and patterned yellow and grey top, to one many shades of black and red, the Ladybug theme purposefully placed all over it.

The music hit her head on. The powerful sounds of drums and guitars...and really bad singing. She'd never heard 'Dude looks like a Lady' in such an off key before, and she knew Steven Tyler was no stranger to hitting those high notes. The music was loud, and Ladybug was certain they would be getting complaints from the elderly residents on the floor below. If they were reported for walking too heavily, there was no way this was being left unnoticed.

She gathered her bag from the floor and moved to the side. They'd recently purchased a wooden coat rack to place by the front door, one which matched the wooden effect of the apartment perfectly and was practical at the same time. She moved towards it, stretching and placing it on the top rack, her coat following on the one above it.

'Hello?' she called, certain her husband would not be able to hear her. 'Hello?' She tried again, this time a little louder as she moved deeper into the apartment. The singing grew louder, her nose scrunching as she took in the many awkward tones of Chat Noir crooning about never judging a book by its cover.

Moving in the general direction of the crooning, she stopped in the doorway. There was her husband, roller in hand, dancing and painting like a kwami possessed, swirling colour across the walls as if weaving a spell of joy and chaos at once. But that wasn't all. He was missing one very important piece of attire...

His top.

She couldn't help but take in the moment. The muscles in his back were working as much as his gyrating hips. It was hard to not drool over him. How could she be lucky enough to be married to this man?

And then he bent down, switching off the music on his phone and placing the roller in the paint.

'You know...a picture would last longer.'

Leaving the roller in the palette, Chat stood up and turned to face her. Hands on his hips and paint splattered on his face. He looked like a hero fresh from battle, wild and radiant, every inch the reckless, beautiful idiot she'd fallen for all over again.

'I think I've found my favourite home decor show,' she said, leaning one shower against the door frame. 'Though I gotta say, it's a bold choice—'Disaster Chic'? Very avant-garde. You taking commissions, or is this chaos exclusive to lucky wives?'

His face brightened. His smile blinded her as he stepped forward, the obvious intent to hug or kiss her plastered on his face.

'Wow,' she laughed, holding up a hand to stop him, 'easy there, Picasso Paws—I'd like some of my clothes to stay paint-free.'

'You could just take them off here. I won't mind.' He wiggled his eyebrows. She'd never been more tempted to pick up the paint roller and create one straight line right down his face. But then again, it was such a beautiful thing, she wouldn't want to spoil it.

'As tempting as that offer is, you still have a lot of room to paint if you want to get it done today.'

They both studied the room, Chat letting out a sigh. 'It was harder than I thought it would be. I imagined I'd have it all done to surprise you when you arrived home.'

It wasn't too far from being finished. Just the top section of the walls. 'We can do it! You get the ladder and I'll go and get changed.'

Chat frowned at her like she'd said the weirdest thing ever. 'Ladder?'

'Of course—or a step ladder, whichever we've got.'

His laugh sounded slightly crazed as he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. 'And if we don't have either?'

Now it was her turn to look perplexed. How had he started doing this without his ladder? How did he expect to paint the top of the wall?

'Kitty?' she questioned gently. 'How were you going to paint the top part of the wall?'

His eyes darted between her and the jagged line three quarters up the wall.

Finally, he settled his attention back on her. 'Jump?' he shrugged.

Her eye roll must have been seen in another dimension. 'You can't jump, Chaton. You won't get the pressure right...'

She glanced between the wall and Chat, when an idea hit her.

'Give me a chance to get changed and then we'll try something. I think it'll work.'

Pushing up onto her toes, she kissed him on the cheek and headed to the back of their apartment and to the bedroom. She may not have the relaxing evening she'd originally envisioned. But there was no doubt in her mind that this was going to be fun!

*****

Chat Noir

Chat Noir watched her walk out the room like an akuma released from Monarch's grasp—dangerous, beautiful, and impossible to resist. Damn, he was tempted to chase after her but a quick glance around the room was a clear indicator that he had work to do. A lot of work.

When he'd started his grand plan, he hadn't even considered that he wouldn't reach the top. He was a tall guy — 6 foot 1 inches — with quite an impressive wingspan, but he'd been defeated. The wall was just a couple of inches taller than he could reach comfortably.

Before Ladybug had arrived home from work, he'd been considering just jumping up and down. The neighbours wouldn't have liked it but he was certain there was a chance it would actually work. However, it seems his ever so resourceful wife had a plan, and if she thought it would work, he had no reason to think anything less.

Flicking the on button on the player, music once again rang around the room, Chat picking up the paintbrush and continuing on the parts he could reach.

Could he have done this with his shirt on? Of course. But the reaction from Ladybug was one hundred percent the reason for not wearing it. If you had it, you had to flaunt it after all.

It was just a little bit of a distraction when his Lady played that game too. And right now, she was playing to win.

His attention snapped to the doorway like the magnet that she was. She stood, her eyes challenging him, as his own skimmed over her body. She wore a loose racerback vest, leaving the black sides of her bra on show, and short — veryshort — denim shorts. If there wasn't so much of this wall left to paint he'd be scooping her up and taking her to the shower.

'Are you ready to do the top?'

Chat Noir knew she'd spoken, damn he was sure he'd heard the words, but he couldn't quite piece together what she meant.

'Sorry?' he stuttered, causing her to laugh.

She sauntered over with more finesse than a catwalk model and took the roller out of his hand.

'Squat,' she demanded and he almost passed out.

'W-what?'

'Squat,' she repeated. 'If you bend down, I'll climb on your shoulders. Then I can reach the top, and you can carry on with the rest.'

Chat Noir crouched, placing his hands on her waist, savoring the thrill of touching her. 'You can climb on me any day, M'lady.'

She giggled, stepped onto his leg, and hoisted herself onto his shoulders, paint roller still in hand. 'Okay, stand up.'

Grabbing the second roller from the tray, he steadied her with one hand on her thigh and stood up—shakily. This was not the kind of thigh training he'd ever expected, but it was absolutely the kind he'd sign up for again. There was just something about having her bare thighs wrapped around his head.

He scolded himself for even thinking that, and they got to work—painting in sync, their movements mirroring each other to the rhythm of the upbeat music that filled the room. They talked, they laughed, and even though his shoulders ached from holding her up for so long, the whole experience felt... right. Like home. Like a husband and wife tackling home improvements together.

'I think we're done,' Ladybug said.

He dropped his roller and took a step back, hands steadying her on his shoulders. 'It looks good, doesn't it?'

'Great choice of colour, Kitty. But do you know where it looks even better?'

His brows furrowed as he surveyed the room, turning slightly from side to side beneath her. 'I'm not sure. I mean, we could do the whole room, but that might be a bit much. What do you—'

A cold, wet streak dragged across his chest.

He blinked, glancing down. A thick navy line now cut across his torso, making him look like he was wearing one of Gabriel's latest—and wildly impractical—boob tubes. Above him, his wife burst into laughter.

Before he could respond, she struck again, running the roller from his navel all the way up to his neck.

'Okay,' he said slowly, eyes narrowing. 'So that's how it is.'

Ladybug wiggled her hips just slightly on his shoulders. 'Oh no, what are you gonna do? You're a human ladder, Kitty. I have the high ground.'

'Yeah?' he smirked. 'And I have no shame.'

Before she could react, he lunged toward the tray, dipped his fingers into the paint, and swiped a dramatic streak across her shin. She gasped.

'You did not—!'

'Oh, I did,' he said proudly.

'You're asking for war.'

He was about to make a clever retort when a cold, wet finger painted something across his upper lip — a bold blue mustache by the feel of it.

'Voilà. Now you look like a ridiculous French villain.'

He tilted his head to stare up at her, deadpan, mustache and all. 'Do I at least look like I'm plotting something sophisticated?'

'More like plotting how to sneak into a bakery for the fifth time in a day.'

He chuckled, shifting her weight just enough to make her squeal and grab his hair for balance.

'Careful,' she warned, laughing. 'I'll drop paint down your back.'

'You're going to need a new threat,' he said, turning toward the door. 'Because after this, you are the one helping me scrub navy paint out of my chest hair.'

'You don't have chest hair,' she laughed.

She slid off his shoulders and landed lightly beside him, both of them covered in smudges and streaks. She looked him up and down, then smirked.

'Fine,' she said. 'But I call dibs on the loofah.'

He grinned, slinging an arm around her waist. 'Deal. But I'm controlling the water temperature. Last time you nearly boiled me alive.'

'No promises,' she teased, leaning up to kiss the corner of his paint-smeared mouth. 'You looked good, all steamy.'

They headed toward the bathroom, leaving behind a perfectly painted room—and a very imperfect mess.

Behind them, two rollers sat abandoned in the tray, still dripping slightly.

The room may have been finished, but round two was clearly moving to the shower.

And this time, the only thing getting painted was each other.