Thanks Tumblr for getting me into this show. I will go down with this ship like the sack of trash I am. The idea of Mari designing her own lingerie would not get out of my head. For all intents and purposes they are 18-19 in this fic, because underage brats getting it on is a NO.

Warnings: M for sexual situations and general porn

Enjoy you bunch of sinners :)

A shadow moves across the darkened corners of a slumbering Paris, fluid and free.

Mystery wrapped in midnight leather.

Mischief dashing against starlight.

A cat on his way to a lone princess.

It isn't as often as he likes, but Chat Noir has become quite fond of his nocturnal excursions to visit Marinette. There was a time when he'd fret at thought of disturbing her. But that was before learning that she favors these late hours in which to do magic.

At least, it seems to be so.

During the hours in which the moon rules the skies Marinette takes to her talent, he knows. Sketching like mad until a gleam of triumph signals her complete satisfaction. Wielding a needle like a knight in cotton armor who's set to slay her fabric foes and stitch them into harmony; the rough lines of her imagination wrought to life.

It has to be some sort of witchcraft at hand, Chat thinks as he leaps across rooftops, that allows her to birth beauty from scraps. She's sassy but kind, his princess. Nervous but brilliantly determined. On the days in which he's bored or quietly haunted by his heroic lifestyle Chat Noir is soothed simply by watching her work.

Sometimes neither of them speaks. Other times they push at one another in a flurry of hushed laughter. When the wind is harsh and the cold creeps in, Marinette will offer him cocoa that smells divine and tastes like warmed dreams.

Together they speak of broken hearts and dreams unfulfilled until either twilight or timing brings their exchanges to an end.

"Be a good kitty." She'll whisper into the dawn as the insistent timbre of his miraculous warns of impending exposure. Marinette never asks who he really is. Has never tried to puzzle it out. Simply allows the cat to be whoever he wishes to be.

Somehow the girl he'd never taken notice of in his daily life has become a sanctuary, for in the bubble they build he feels whole. Free to be the wise-mouthed Chat Noir and the amenable Adrien Agreste both, though he never lets the latter show in excess. Mere blocks away Chat Noir begins to wonder what feats of wizardry he may witness tonight.

A dress, perhaps?

All four of his limbs touch upon her balcony effortlessly.

Hats? A matching set of scarf and gloves?

Clawed fingers slide the door to Marinette's room- left open solely for him- and he freezes.

Oh.

She stands like a ballerina, svelte yet curvaceous, awash in moonlight. Admiring her reflection with joy and doubt and then joy once more. Raven hair is set free- he's never seen it that way before- settling along the curve of her shoulders. Black lace covers the swell of her breasts, silken straps rising above them in delicate arches. Chiffon bursts forth from the bottom of her sternum, parting down the center only to join behind her under one large bow. There it becomes a bustle of ruffled layers that cascade downward to brush against mid-thigh.

Her decency is held together by a scrap of intricate black that covers her most coveted place, matching perfectly with the top of the negligee. Which, the awed cat discovers, shows the barest hint of what lies beneath; sweet pink pearls chilled by his entrance.

Marinette whirls as the cold creeps against her pale skin.

"Holy Chat!" She gasps as she clutches her own heart. Normally he would struggle not to cackle. It was a pun! But even frightened she is heart-achingly gorgeous, the new keeper of his voice and ability to articulate.

"H-Hello, Princess." Chat Noir bows. He mustn't look. Shouldn't let his emerald eyes wander.

"I had no idea you were going to come tonight!" The seamstress fumes. Rather loudly, actually.

"Your family?" He asks as he straightens back up.

"Gone to London for some sort of baker's convention."

"Were you dressed to… await someone tonight?"

It is entirely the wrong question. Marinette's cheeks blossom with bright red embarrassment as she scowls. "It's my first time designing l-lingerie! The fabrics are delicate and harder to work with and I just wanted to see if I could manage-!"

"Princess, I'm almost positive your hands can manage anything you set them to." Chat purrs softly, distance well kept. The words tumble past his lips thoughtlessly. "It's lovely. You look beautiful."

"It's silly, isn't it. I'm like a little kid playing dress up. And at my age. Don't look, you pervy cat."

"I won't." He promises. There it is. Noble, chivalrous Adrien seeping through the cracks. "But please wear it. I've never seen you look more like a real princess than you do right now. It'd be a shame to kill the moment just because I'm here."

With few strides he finds her bed and sits cross-legged. Facing the wall and preserving whatever is left of her dignity. Silence hangs in the air before Marinette huffs, tentative footsteps echoing ever closer. Chat feels the press of her back on his own as she mirrors his stance, the soft strands of her hair tickling his neck as she leans against him.

"How are you, kitty?" His princess asks as if nothing were ever the matter.

"Fine, thank you. You know I wasn't planning on this, don't you? I guess my timing is just cat-astrophic."

"So are your puns." She rolls her eyes; he can feel it.

"I expected a night of wounded fingers and bakery snacks, Marinette. Not…"

She stiffens. "Not what?"

Not her in his signature color. Not her in the throes of self-admiration, everything she's ever failed to believe about her own beauty stoking fire in her eyes. Not a mostly naked Marinette.

"You... like that."

"Like… what? Is it that bad?"

Chat inhales. She smells of linen and lavender and hot skin. It fogs his mind and rubs against his skull until it polishes a single forbidden thought, molding it into action. Eyes sheathed behind closed lids, the unlucky hero faces her. His heart leaps into his throat, and up, and out, and right into Marinette's hands.

"You're foolish." Chat murmurs behind her, close enough for his breath to graze her ear if her shudder is to be taken seriously. "Foolish and absolutely gorgeous, Princess. Mistake aside, it was a sight to remember. A sight I wish you'd grant me a little more of."

He's said too much and is liable to be punished with a sound whacking. At least Chat Noir thinks so, until Marinette speaks. "O-okay. You already saw it. I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."

But it matters.

Infinitely.

For while the feline beside her has always been torn between his Lady and his Princess, Marinette suddenly encompasses his entire world. He's blinded and more foolish than she is. She's always been here, always been waiting, always been falling for him and dragging him with her one smile at a time.

The thundering of his heart must be what love sounds like as it comes into bloom.

Chat opens his eyes to drink her in anew and his pulse leaps with wishes of love and desire. Leads to the soft caress of clawed fingers along the ridges of her spine. "May I?" he asks raggedly, drawing up towards the line of her neck, and her moaned approval shatters doubts and fears and perhaps nine lives.

"Chat," she exhales shakily, "I've never. None of it. Not even this."

It compels his own confession. "Me neither, I can promise you. I'm honored." Nuzzling her gently, he croons, "I'm nervous." Gloved hands traverse either side of her hips, running underneath the fabric of her underwear as he stretches his legs out to ensnare her between them. "What am I supposed to do with a pretty thing like you?"

A single nail drags lightly beneath the swell of her clothed chest. Lips press to the skin beneath her ear. One hand sweeps up her thigh, ribs, and cheek, cupping her face and stroking her lips.

She's panting.

"…God…"

"I guess I could be one of those."

"Not now!"

"Then when?"

"When you aren't driving me crazy like this."

"Like what?"

He nips. Bites. Licks the salty-sweet of her skin, and she trembles with a cry like wild music. She's sensitive, every reaction the first of it's kind. The thought drives him mad. Chat Noir needs to see her more so than he needs to breathe.

"Face me, Princess."

She does.

There's a veil of adoration glazing her blue eyes.

Marinette is so unbelievably precious.

A growl bubbles in his throat as he kisses her. Devours her. Drags her into the hold of his unpracticed hands. It's loving and carnal, new yet magnificently ancient, this dance that they do with their tongues. Her teeth are slick and her lips petal soft and oh, oh, she's clasping his hair in her hands.

They duel and she yields, sinking to the bed and submitting to a place beneath him. Groans as he catches her mouth with his. Wails when their hips kiss with unprecedented friction.

He's straining against his suit, her panties, her body. She feels him everywhere around her and finds that she wants him no where else. He's mine, and mine, and mine, Marinette declares with a moan of his name.

A purr erupts from his throat when the damsel underneath him suckles his lower lip and runs hands along the barrier of black that shields him from her. A wall he's finally prepared to shed. The mask remains but the suit retires, and the sleekness of him makes Marinette stare. Even the bit she'd never thought she'd see is beautiful- flushed, thick, and straining up towards his blushing face.

Chat Noir undresses his princess with care, some part of his sanity reminding him that her attire is a work of art he must not ruin. Then he tugs at her mouth and breasts and the pink little soul of her very need until the shine of it weeps onto the sheets. Marinette's moans scar him as he feasts on her, her scent and flavor new. Heady. Inexplicably wonderful. A scream tears the night when he suckles softly… flick, flick, flicking.

"Chat… Dieu!" Comes his name intersped with a sinful little prayer she sighs in practiced French.

Ready. He's so ready to twine the fabric of his being to her own. Murmurs that he's prepared to protect them both before doing so. Can barely contain himself as she watches him don thin latex with her lip caught between her teeth.

"Are you sure?" He whispers as he slides against the folds of this beginning.

"Are you?" She replies softly. But she's serious. The worship hasn't quite convinced her that she owns him. Not yet. Chat laughs low and soothing. Kisses her cheek and forehead and gazes at her.

It's enough.

They join.

Light bursts. Worlds end. Stars collide.

Pain roils then ceases and is born anew as delight.

Chat Noir confesses everything he's ever thought about her, his apologies thrusting deep and sweet and relentless. Marinette accepts. Receives him over and over, and it nearly never ends.

But something twists and pulls and breaks them both- they're breaking each other- and oh, heaven sent, this woman-

This man-

Is the epitome of what a screaming heart never knew it sought.

Sunrise peeks gingerly over the horizon. The miraculous rings its warning.

"Please stay." Marinette begs far too sweetly.

"Okay." Chat Noir concedes, burying his face into her neck as he cocoons her. "But don't look."

"I won't."

She never does.

"I love you, Princess." Chat sighs raggedly. His raw, real self is all he is now. "Do you feel the same?"

Marinette takes his hand. Up and over and against her chest so that her heart is a caged flutter in his palm.

It quickens, and whispers, and beats.

Fin

Please show me some love and review if you think I should give this pairing another go!