Tim and Marinette lived busy lives.
It was by choice, of course.
They were both prominent figures in their fields that could pick and choose the assignments they wished to take, had more money than they could ever dream of using thanks to the hefty trust fund that being even tangentially related to Bruce Wayne provided, and no one would blame them if they were to lessen or give up their vigilantism. If they wished, there was nothing stopping them from taking a smaller workload, from using up all of their sick days, from taking vacations, from quitting their jobs entirely...
That being said, they likely never would.
And the tabloids loved to speculate on their relationship because of it. How could they spend much time together if Tim was always at work, developing new technology for Wayne Enterprises? Marinette was cheating, how could she not when so much of her job as a designer involved getting up close and personal with models? Not to mention all of the business trips. Surely, the relationship had some kind of monetary motivation, or maybe it was just to more seamlessly merge their companies, or it had only happened for PR reasons.
They let them speculate. They simply didn’t know better.
The tabloids didn’t get to see how they acted behind closed doors, after all.
There would be days where neither of them went in to work. It wasn’t due to some sort of sickness that Tim had caught thanks to his lack of spleen, nor would it be because Marinette had hit some kind of artist’s block. No, it was simply because they wanted to spend time together.
They took breaks. Technically. If you squint.
There would be days where neither of them went into work. It wasn’t due to some sort of sickness that Tim had caught thanks to his lack of spleen, nor would it be because Marinette had hit some kind of artist’s block. No, it was simply because they wanted to spend time together.
They would turn on the coffee machine and then make their way over to the sofa. Marinette would nestle herself into his side and smile as he wrapped his arm around her. He would pull her as close as he possibly could so he could still use both arms to type.
He usually took video calls like this. It was always so much easier to maintain a pleasant smile, even when people often looked down on him for his age, because whenever he felt it start to waver he could simply look down at his girlfriend and suddenly he would find that it would be back in full force.
She would prop her sketchbook on her legs and start on some new designs. The designs she did like this were always, inexplicably, more lively than the other ones -- full of vibrant colors and swooping curves in a way that some of her other works lacked. If asked, Marinette would joke that the secret ingredient was love.
And, sure, this wasn’t technically taking a break from work. They were still productive, still did tasks...
But they counted it. They always came back to work the next day with the same euphoric feelings in their chests, the same springs in their steps. How could they not? They’d spent the entire day doing what they loved with the person that they loved. Who could ever want a break from that?
Every time one of them came back from a business trip, they made sure to spend the night together.
Tim would lay back in bed, Marinette on top of him. Her head would come to rest on his chest, clutching the back of his shirt tightly. His fingers would find their way to her hair and she would huff a little, knowing that her hair was about to get hopelessly tangled as he fidgeted with the silky strands, but she would nuzzle into his chest all the same.
They would watch a TV show. It didn’t matter whether it was good or bad. As long as there were people and some semblance of a plot, they would gladly stay wrapped up in each other’s arms to watch it.
Tim would rattle off whatever theories he had developed as they came to mind. Some of them were absolutely insane, he knew, and would never happen… but it was worth making a fool of himself if it got Marinette’s face to light up or if he earned one of those little giggles that escaped her when he was instantly proven wrong.
Marinette would, at least, pause the show whenever she wanted to talk, though it wasn’t out of an understanding of how time works. No, it was so she could sit up a little in his lap and point at whichever character had offended her this time. She would go on long rants about how makeup was just as important as outfits in costuming, but it was often overlooked in favor of making the actors look pretty. And, maybe she had already said all of this before, but it’s important, Tim! And he would just nod his agreement. Because it was important -- a TV night certainly wouldn’t feel like a TV night without at least one rant.
And then the screen would go black, the most recent episode done.
Tim would draw back a little and then pretend to be shocked when his hands were stuck in her hair.
“Oh noooooo,” he’d say. “I guess I can’t let go yet.”
“How unfortunate,” she would deadpan.
He’d smile cheekily at her.
“But I didn’t even say anything!” He’d argue with overexaggerated offense.
She would smile, shaking her head as much as she could with the fingers in her hair. “You didn’t have to. You have a presence about you.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he’d say.
And, sometimes, she’d bring her hands up to cup his face. “Not sure if it was a compliment, but I definitely wouldn’t have it any other way,” she’d whisper before pulling him closer for a kiss.
… but, most of the time she would just laugh and say: “It wasn’t one.”
Once a month, Marinette tried to teach Tim to cook. Of course, they both knew it was a hopeless endeavor. He’d failed to make mac n’ cheese once, and Marinette -- who had lived the first eighteen years of her life in a Parisian bakery -- wasn’t good at discerning which meals were ‘easy to do’.
But that didn’t stop her from trying.
She would come up with a new recipe, would claim that this one was truly dummy proof…
And then Tim, dummy that he was, would manage to mess it up. Without fail, he would find some way to do something wrong. He would leave the milk on the stove and then be surprised when said milk on the stove decided to revolt against the system. He would raise the temperature on the thing they were baking so it would go faster and then be shocked when the cake didn’t rise at all. He would put too much in the mixer and then not understand why the contents had exploded over the two of them.
Worst thing was, she was pretty sure he was actually trying. He just… couldn’t seem to do it.
So, she would just kiss the disappointed frown off of his face and promise that they would do better next time.
And, every time without fail, he would light up.
“There will be a next time?” He would ask.
“Yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute, I can’t say I love being covered in ingredients.”
Tim would kiss her cheek, and then draw back and lick his lips. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. Something about my girlfriend being covered in tasty food really does something for me.”
“Like I said: you’re lucky you’re cute.”
And, even though she would say that, there was no mistaking the amusement dancing in her eyes.
They weren’t particularly religious, it was hard to be when Marinette had a god living in her earrings that obeyed her every command…
Which meant celebrations for the two of them were few and far between.
But, at least, they celebrated their anniversary.
They would sit on the rooftop, the blankets doing nothing to keep the hard tiles of the roof from digging into them and they did even less against the chilly Gotham air.
She’d stare up at the sky with him.
And, since it was Gotham, there were very few stars to be seen through the dark red and black haze of clouds that hung over the city.
Marinette smiled. “It’s our colors.”
He didn’t look over, watching the colors swirl above them. “Even the sky thinks we’re a good couple.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. The sky god really does have a thing for love.”
He gave a short puff of laughter and finally tore his eyes away from the sky. “Really?”
She shrugged, grinning at him. “No clue. There might not even be a sky god.”
He scoffed and untangled his hand from its blanket prison to give her a tiny shove. She could have dodged the attempt with ease, but she allowed the hand to make contact.
To her surprise, he grabbed ahold of her shoulder and pulled her into him. She gave an undignified little squeak and, if it weren’t for the fact that he was right there, she would have probably faceplanted onto the tile.
But, instead, her face came crashing into his soft, pillowy shoulder.
She looked up at the crooked grin that she had come to love over the years and huffed, pulling her own arms free so she could shove him. For real.
He flopped back, the hand he’d managed to get out coming to rest over his chest as if he were hurt.
“How could you? Roofs hurt, you know.”
“Well, yeah, if you throw yourself down on tiles it’s not going to feel too great.”
He cracked a grin, though he quickly tamped it down to keep up the act: “Victim blaming at its finest.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned over him. One of her hands cradled his cheek, her thumb tracing the tiny scar on his cheekbone.
He looked up at her. And she thought, somewhere, that maybe the reason the pollution in the city was just some kind of coverup so no one would know that they all resided in Tim’s eyes.
And then she cursed herself mentally for thinking something so cheesy.
She had to make up for it somehow:
“You’re the worst, I hope you know that.”
“I am. But you love me anyway.”
Dang it. How was she supposed to feign being annoyed when he looked at her like that? With that soft smile and thick lashes and hair that framed his face just so.
She decided it wasn’t worth trying to pretend.
Marinette let herself match his smile.
“Save those words for our wedding,” he joked softly.
She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t even proposed yet.”
“I could be doing that right now. Who knows, this could all be my plan.”
“It’d be a good plan,” she said. “I’d probably say yes.”
He narrowed his eyes just slightly. “Isn’t that essentially you proposing to me?”
She tipped her head to the side, considering, then she laughed a little. “I guess it kind of is. So, Tim, will you marry me?”
His eyes widened to an almost comical degree.
And then his face lit up with a smile that made her heart flutter.
“I hope you know I want a ring.”
She giggled. “Just say yes, you idiot. We can always get the ring tomorrow.”
His smile only stretched further. “Yes. I’d love to marry you.”
“I love you,” she whispered, leaning closer until her lips brushed against his.
“I love you, too,” he breathed.
Marinette didn’t hesitate any longer, tilting her head to give him a proper kiss. He freed himself of the blanket and she gasped a little against his lips as he wrapped her up in it as well, drawing her close.
She pulled away just a little, her forehead coming to rest against his. She couldn’t seem to get the dopey smile off of her face, but she wasn't completely sure she even wanted it gone.
“I proposed first, so I won,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him playfully.
