Officiated Archive

*

Marinette bounces out of bed the next morning long before her alarm, floating with a heart that's been inflated like a birthday balloon. She slides down her ladder, beaming, dancing lightly across the yarn and thread strewn over her carpet and throwing herself into her desk chair with a slide toward her desk. Right there, right in front of her computer, is the marriage license that started all this trouble and now is something so very different, and she can’t contain the rising glee as she picks it up, holds it against the light, reads Adrien Laurence Agreste and Marinette Elena Dupain. She spins, pressing it against her chest.

“It’s him, it’s him, it’s him!” she sings, kicking her legs in an attempt to burn off her happy energy. She throws her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m married to Adrien!”

Tikki snorts, settling down on Marinette's desk with a cookie crumb held between her paws. “Oh, please,” she giggles, examining the crumb for Marinette's not sure what. “I knew this was coming since Dark Owl.”

Marinette shoots back upright, slamming the license down onto the desk. “Wait a sec!” she says with a smile, pointing a finger mock-accusingly at her Kwami. “You knew for four years and you just... let me make an idiot of myself!”

Tikki's eyes flick upward. “I couldn't exactly have stopped you from doing that,” she says with a grin that Marinette would almost call catlike.

Marinette’s eyes narrow playfully. “You’ve been spending too much time with Plagg,” she giggles.

Tikki's tiny shoulders slump, and she frowns. “I haven’t been spending enough time with Plagg,” she says. “He’s as much my other half as Adrien is yours.”

Marinette's breath catches in her throat. “Adrien... is my other half,” she says, wonder in her voice. “Oh my gods, Adrien is my other half."

Tikki giggles again. "Just realizing that now?"

Marinette pulls her knees into her chest. "It's weird!" she says. "I never—I never thought..." She shakes her head. "Anyway. Adrien knows, right? You don’t need to hide from him anymore. So you can spend as much time with Plagg as you want."

Tikki smiles. “I’m very much looking forward to it.” She glances at the trapdoor. “Are you going to tell your parents?”

Marinette’s smile falters as her heart leaps into her throat. “I...” she croaks. “Didn’t think of that.”

Her windpipe begins to squeeze, air running ragged through her throat as the wedding license crinkles in her shaking hands. Oh, gods, she didn’t even—didn’t even talk to them about this. They wanted to be part of her wedding and then she went and had one without them—they didn’t even know she was going to have a husband. What are they going to think, that she went behind their backs, that she didn’t trust them? Are they going to be disappointed?

”Okay, Marinette, breathe,” Tikki says, staring her in the eye with her own piercing blues. “Focus on my eyes. Okay?”

Marinette digs into the blue, lets herself drown in it. “I—I’m okay,” she gasps. “I—we need a plan.”

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Officiated Archive

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*

“You’re stalling,” Plagg says, cuddling up to Adrien’s computer mouse. It’s an awkward position—he has to put his head partially through the plastic in order to properly clutch it between his tiny paws.

”Yes,” Adrien says. “I’m stalling. I know I’m stalling.” He twists the ring on his hand, staring at the monitors—the Ladyblog ship forums. It’s the last time he’s going to be able to look at them. “Thank you, Plagg.” It’s not his turn to patrol tonight, but—but he has to see her anyway. Rip off the band-aid.

”You’re welcome,” Plagg responds, apparently having missed his sarcasm. He scootches upward and starts gnawing on the mouse cable.

Adrien grits his teeth. “You won’t eat cheddar because it’s ‘the wrong cheese,’ but you’ll eat rubber?” he snaps.

Plagg looks up at him, then back at the wire, then back at him. “Mouse,” he says, pointing at it. Then he points back at himself. “Cat.”

”That’s not how that works and you know it,” Adrien grumbles.

“Works well enough for—oop!” Plagg suddenly vanishes, like he’s been sucked into the mouse, and Adrien’s heart stops. “Plagg?” he whispers. “You okay?”

”Shut up I’m hiding!” the computer mouse hisses back.

Hiding? From what—?

Four red knuckles knock on his window.

Adrien shrieks, flinging himself backward away from his desk and accidentally rolling himself halfway across the floor, right into the middle of the room, where he’s completely exposed.

In his Ladybug jammies.

He locks eyes with her and his ears start to burn as she closes her eyes and giggles, the sight of which sends sparks shooting through his veins. She’s holding a familiar box in her free hand—a pastry box of some kind, probably a cake?

”Well?” she says with a voice like springtime. “Are you going to let me in?”

Adrien’s jaw drops. “Uh... I, um... yeah!” he manages, surging to his feet. “Lemme just—hang on, I need to...” He dives for the window latch, scrabbling at it with stiff fingers, before finally swinging open the glass pane.

Ladybug steps into his room like a ballerina, all grace and poise—then she slides the box out of her hand onto the desk, and immediately her posture shifts. “Ugh,” she says. “Carrying things over rooftops sucks.”

He narrowly avoids saying mood. She’s not supposed to know who he is, after all—

Wait. Speaking of. “What—what are you doing here?” he says. Then he realizes what he sounded like and throws up his hands. “Not! Not that I mind!” Oh, cats, he’s going to implode. “In fact I’m really happy you’re here—” Why did you say that get it together Agreste! “—it’s just.. unexpected?”

Ladybug launches herself into his recently vacated chair with a smirk, kicking back and crossing her arms behind her head. “What, I can’t visit my favorite civilian?”

Adrien gulps. “F-favorite?”

Ladybug’s smirk widens. “Aww, beau gosse,” she purrs. “Your face is as red as my suit.”

Adrien moans, covering his eyes with his hands. “Kill me now.”

”Ugh, mood,” Ladybug says. “You always turn me into mush, you know that?”

Always? When did... Always? How often has she seen him out of the mask? As far as she knows, she’s only spent a few minutes with Adrien at most—much less than she ever has with Chat. Is this a celebrity thing, or... “Do you know me?” he says. “In real life, I mean.”

Ladybug freezes. Then slips down the chair, her butt squeaking forward across the leather. “Should’ve—practiced more,” she grumbles, not meeting his eyes.

Cat in a Camembert trashcan. It’s taking everything he has not to rush forward and hug her—but that’s... that’s a Chat thing to do. Not an Adrien. He has to be—has to be careful.

He swallows, licks his lips, and very carefully opens his mouth. “What’s—what’s the box... for?”

Ladybug closes her eyes. “I... heard your—your wife... wanted an annulment,” she mumbles. “Consider that a...” Her fingers play against each other, hexagonal spandex squeaking. “An apology gift.”

”Did you give apology gifts to everyone?” he says, reaching for the box. White paperboard. Tom & Sabine’s logo.

”No,” she whispers. “No, just you.”

His fingers quiver just over the box. What—? Why him? She’s—he’s not Chat Noir right now, he’s Adrien. And he loves her, so much, so very, very much, but why in Plagg’s name does he rank so highly for her?

”Just open the box, Adrien,” she says, like it’s a prayer. Like his name is something sacred.

His heart squeezes in his chest. He can’t—if she feels...

His fingers slide in between the top of the box and the walls, and it flips open. He was right—it’s a cake, chocolate. Green lettering across the top.

GOOD LUCK RETURNING ME WITHOUT THE RECEIPT!

”W-What?” he says, staring. There’s a black cat peeking through the Os, like eyes. And a... doodle of a... burning piece of paper? It’s got two sets of initials on it, ALA and MDC. That first one is his.

The cake has a familiar pink rose design across the side, and he knows he should recognize it but his brain won’t let him.

”I... I turned 18 two months ago,” Ladybug says, soft and quiet.

He blinks, turns around. “What do you—?”

Marinette blushes in her pajamas, meeting his eyes for a half second before dropping them to her feet, shrinking into the leather of the chair. “Hi, Chaton,” she says with a shy smile. “Surprise.”

*

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*

Adrien drums his pencil on his desk. His father asked him who he married, again—there’s only so many times “she wants her privacy” can dissuade the man. He’s never bowed to the wishes of his son or any of the people Adrien cares about before, why start now?

Adrien sighs. He wishes he hadn’t let it slip that Officiantado had gotten him. He should’ve kept it secret. Ladybug probably had—he’s willing to bet nobody even knows she got married. She’s always been better at keeping secrets than him.

”You okay, bro?” Nino says, with the signature Soft Look(TM) that he usually reserves for Alya... or when Adrien is really doing badly. He hasn’t seen it directed at himself since last time his dad forced him (at the literal last minute) to cancel a friend outing he’d been planning for two weeks. Does he really look bad enough to merit it?

”Just... dad stuff,” he says, laying his pencil across his notebook.

”Ugh, yikes,” Nino says. “Doesn’t approve of the bride?”

Adrien twists his lips. “I don’t want him knowing about her,” he murmurs.

Nino grimaces. “I get that,” he says. “Your dad kinda sucks.”

”Thanks for the support,” Adrien grumbles.

"I'm just saying," Nino says. "If you feel the way about this girl that it looks like you do, I'd want to keep her away from him too."

"Yeah." Adrien looks down. "Not like it matters anyway." She's leaving me. He shakes his head. You idiot, you knew she was always going to. But something about this is different—something about it is more... final. Like he'd had hope before and now it's been speared like a harpoon through salmon—absolute overkill.

"Hi guys!" Alya says, walking in through the door, pulling Marinette bonelessly behind her. She shoots a glance at Adrien and winks with a sly grin.

Adrien looks at her, confused. "Hi?"

Marinette's staring at him, which isn't itself all that odd. She tends to do that—he hasn't quite figured out why. Is she intimidated? The fact that she always seems to turn away when he tries to meet her eyes seems to indicate yes. But this time is different—her eyes lock on his, unblinking, and he finds he can't look away.

"Adrien?" Nino says. "You okay?"

He feels Marinette's eyes drilling right into his soul. There's something deep beneath them: a mix of shock, panic, and something... else. The fire he's only seen directed at others is flaring, deep beneath her optic nerves.

"Marinette? Uh, Adrien's not breathing," Alya says.

Why is that a big deal? It's not like Marinette's breathing either. Her entire face is going red, almost purple, beautifully contrasting the blue of her eyes. He's lost in them—

"Christ, Dupain-Cheng," Chloé scoffs. "You're such a spaz."

And just like that, the spell is broken. Adrien collapses into his chair, slumping forward. What the hell just happened? What was that? What was she—why was she looking at him like that?

Marinette drops her gaze, stumbles sideways, bangs her side into his desk with a yelp.

Adrien leaps up to steady her, practically throwing himself across the desk. "Are you okay?" he says.

She looks at him, swallows. "Always saving me," she whispers.

Adrien has no idea why, but something about her tone makes him shiver.

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*

Class lets out for lunch, and Kim and Alix bolt off to city hall to get their marriage annulled. Marinette can barely drag herself out of the classroom—she can't deal with the tension. She just wants to go home, stuff herself with croissants, and crawl into bed.

Instead, just outside the school, she feels Alya grab her shoulder and pin her against the wall. "You lied," she hisses.

Marinette rolls her eyes and groans. "What did Lila say now?"

Alya raises her eyebrows. "Oh, Alya, there wasn't anybody," she says with a playful grin. "Come on, Mari, I saw the marriage certificate in your room yesterday."

All of Marinette's joints lock up at once as her heart leaps straight up into her throat and takes a deathgrip on the base of her tongue. She thought she'd been so careful—

"Why didn't you say anything?" Alya says. "I could've—"

Marinette surges forward, grabs Alya's lapels. "Tell nobody," she hisses.

Alya raises her hands in surrender. "Sure, sure!" she laughs. "You just gotta tell me who it was."

*

"Give it back!" Marinette shrieks, attempting to climb Alya, who is holding the certificate just out of her reach.

"Come on!" Alya laughs, waving the paper. "I just want to meet your husband!"

"Alya!" She can't afford to have Alya read it. What if it blurs for her too? What if she realizes she married Chat?

Alya turns the certificate, peers at it. "You... you married Adrien?" she cries, holding up the license. "You lucky girl, why didn't you say anything?"

Marinette sees the license in Alya's hand, and for a moment, the name is still blurry—but then she processes what Alya said. Adrien. She married Adrien.

The whole thing suddenly snaps into focus. Let this document show the legal binding in matrimony of Adrien Laurence Agreste and Marinette Elena Dupain.

Marinette is suddenly struck with the sensation of all of her skin has been flayed from her body and she's been dunked in ice water. She's sitting, freezing, in front fo Alya wearing nothing but her muscles. Adrien? I married... Chat Noir is... I'm married to—

Marinette slides bonelessly onto the floor, curling up into herself, trying to hold in her body heat with her arms. "B-blanket," she rasps. She can't stop shivering.

Alya stares at her in shock, before launching to her feet, bolting up the ladder, and ripping Marinetet's comforter free of her bed. She flings it over her friend, wrapping it tight around her body. "Mari?" Alya says, hugging her. Pressure stim. Keeping her together. "What's—what's wrong?"

Marinette hugs the blanket as tight as possible. "Secret," she whispers. "Not mine."

"Adrien didn't want to tell anyone," Alya says.

Marinette nods. She's wrong, but it's a convenient excuse. Something she'll believe.

"I..." Alya bites her lip. "I don't get it, but... your secret's safe with me." She mimes zipping her lip and grins.

Marinette sighs through her nose with relief. "Thank you," she whispers. The blanket is finally starting to calm her down, her shivering subsiding.

"I do have... one question," Alya says, holding up a finger. "Why did Adrien seem so sad that you were going to annul the marriage?"

Marinette feels her eyes pop.

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*

As many of you noticed, when I started writing this they weren't originally going to be 18. And then I looked up France's marriage laws.

I know the ages/timelines in this don't work so please just... ignore that, because the story is way less funny if I try to go back and make those logistics make sense.

Thanks!

*

She can't help reveling a bit in the way he looks at her. He's absolutely stunned, and for the first time she can see him without his guard up, without the carefully-crafted walls Adrien and Chat Noir erect to hide how fragile, how vulnerable, they really are, and her heart aches for him, for her silly, flirty, dorky partner who was kind to her on the days she needed it most. There's no tension in his muscles whatsoever; if she poked him, she's certain he'd collapse into a puddle of boneless jelly. And he's doing that fish-face thing she's sometimes seen Kim do when he's taken by surprise, his mouth open just a little, like he can't really open it all the way but he can't quite muster the brainpower to close it either.

"That..." he says, finally. He blinks, rapid-fire, and she can see the effort it takes him to tear his eyes from her, to twist his neck to look at the cake. "That's your flower," he says. "Your... that's your signature rose."

"Yep!" Marinette chirps, much louder than she anticipated, and immediately flushes bright red as it echoes through the cavernous room, slapping her hand over her mouth and sinking into the chair with the "farting" sound of leather against skin.

"I—don't understand," Adrien says, staring at the box. At the cake. "This is—that's Chat Noir's colors, that's his—" He points. "But... those are my initials?"

Marinette removes the hand from her mouth, slowly, blinks. "Wait, I—?" Oh, seriously? "Chaton. I know."