Chapter Text
It was the trademark joke of struggling students across the globe: the classic “guess I’ll have to get a Sugar Daddy” spiel.
The thing was, as university life continued to take its toll on her bank account, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had stopped laughing and began to see it as less of a joke and more like an… option. An increasingly attractive option, in light of certain circumstances.
When one of her roommates (one of the three she was currently sharing an apartment with in the fifth arrondissement) had jokingly suggested it as a solution to her dire financial situation, she couldn’t help but pause. Transportation costs, utilities… even her fabric budget was getting out of control. And with her savings nearly gone and graduation looming on the horizon, the thought of having to take out student loans right when she was so close to putting herself through a degree dug at Marinette in a deeply unsettling manner.
True, France was particularly generous when it came to providing affordable housing and tuition. True, her parents had offered to help chip in from their own meagre bank account to help get her over this last hump. But it was also true that Marinette was a stubborn being, someone who was dead set on making it on her wits alone.
Day after day she toiled in her hilariously small bedroom, hunched over a sewing machine as she laboriously churned out commissions to help get her through the month. She prided herself on being a studious person — hell, she wouldn’t have made it through three years of design school if she wasn’t! — but Marinette also prided herself on knowing when it was time to take further measures. She knew that sometimes it paid to work smarter, not harder, so the idea of having someone around to help ease the burden of her costly final year was an attractive prospect to say the least.
There was only the small matter of what she’d need to give up in return…
Marinette considered herself to be an informed and empowered young woman, so she would never stoop to judge a sister on her consensual sexual decisions. Even so, Marinette didn’t know if she was cut out to handle a life spent pursuing a physical relationship with someone who’d be monetarily reimbursing her. Her college years had done wonders for breaking down her sometimes-awkward exterior (suffice to say she wasn’t completely new to the world of intimacy thank-you-very-much), but she was still unsure whether she had the stones to even consider dipping her toe into the “sugar lifestyle”.
In the end it had taken a fair amount of research, countless hours of mental wrestling (tonight only, folks, watch the no-holds-barred pit match of morals vs. reason!), and more than a bit of wheedling from a certain red-headed friend-slash-enabler of hers, but Marinette had eventually convinced herself to begin the arduous process of enlisting a sugar daddy.
‘Lord help me if my parents ever catch wind of this…’
Her journey began, as most of her questionable life decisions did, on a coffee date with Alya. Having lived the sugar life for nearly a year before snagging a decently paying job at the local news station, her friend was an incredible wealth of knowledge, and perhaps the only person Marinette could ever feel comfortable discussing something like this with.
“So tell me everything I need to know before I prostitute myself for art supplies,” Marinette said, swallowing her trepidation along with a sip from her small hot chocolate (the cheapest thing on the menu). The inquiry immediately earned her a tut from the woman across the table.
“Okay, first off, being a sugar baby is not prostitution,” Alya chastised with a firm shake of her head, “so get that idea out of your head. Truth be told, there’s plenty of lonely guys out there who’ll pay you just to have dinner with them. All you’ve gotta do is look pretty and act interested in what they’re saying, and you could conceivably end the night with a free meal and some pocket cash!”
“So you’re saying you never actually… did things with your…” Marinette wasn’t sure what to call Alya’s “patrons”. ‘Is it considered a breach of etiquette to address someone else’s partner as 'Daddy'?’ she wondered, electing to use a vague hand gesture instead.
It seemed she had a lot to learn.
“Oh, hell no,” Alya laughed. “I’ve definitely sucked a dick or two in my time, but that’s because I was aiming higher.” She steepled her fingers, giving her friend a significant look. “All I’m saying is you could get away with having a strictly platonic relationship, if you’re targeting a little chump change. But seeing as you’ve got a budding fashion empire to fund…”
“You don’t suppose I’ll get a kind old man to take me under his wing as a sort of grandfatherly figure and give me money in exchange for talking over a nice cup of tea?”
“Not a chance.”
Marinette sighed. “I didn’t think so.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to go all red light district from the get-go!” Alya rushed to assure her. “There’s a million different mutually beneficial arrangements you could work out, with varying amounts of… let's just call it sugar.”
The seamstress tweaked an eyebrow at that.
“All right, so tell about these low-sugar options,” Marinette inquired, leaning back in her chair but paying close attention as Alya launched into her speech.
“Arrangements are made on a case by case basis, so there’s no one set formula for what makes up a sugar relationship," the reporter explained. "I had one sugar daddy who liked to take me out one or two nights a month for drinks and dirty dancing, then slip me some cash on the way out. I had another sugar daddy who watched me clean his house naked a few times a week, and arranged for my electricity bill to be withdrawn from his account. I had a sugar daddy who granted me a monthly allowance of spending money and gave me gifts every time I came over to spend the night with him.”
Alya paused for a breath while Marinette processed the new information. “What I’m saying is, these are all common examples of what’s called a mutually beneficial arrangement," Alya pointed out. "It’s important to go over your terms with any potential suitors beforehand so you both head into the relationship with a clear understanding of each other’s expectations. Just like real dating, communication is key when it comes to sugar dating, so promise me you’ll be smart and pick a guy who's eager to listen to what you have to say.”
“Find a guy who listens, got it.”
“It shouldn’t be that hard — most sugar daddies share the endearing quality of being eager to please. Hence the gifts and spoiling.”
Marinette toyed with her cup. “I’m almost reluctant to ask, but… please elaborate on this whole spoiling thing.”
“Well, you see,” Alya prosed, waving her hands as if delivering a Shakespearian soliloquy, “being a sugar baby can sometimes feel a full time job, especially if you’re juggling multiple daddies. But the spoiling is what makes it all worth it. I’m talking shopping sprees, I’m talking back rubs, I’m talking lonely men who just want to lavish their attention on pretty young women.”
“That sounds like it could get weird…”
“Oh, it can for sure, but if you find a daddy you feel comfortable with, the spoiling can actually be quite a nice experience. For example, I once partnered with this man in his late 40’s. He was a quiet sort of guy, a divorced lawyer whose looks were nothing to write home about, but goddamn was he generous. When we first made our arrangement, he made it clear that he wouldn’t pressure me into doing anything I wasn’t comfortable with, that he just wanted to pay off my credit cards and give me a back rub once a week in exchange for a sympathetic ear… but I tell you Mari, that man had magic hands, and it wasn’t more than a month before I was actually asking him if he wanted to step up the intimacy factor!” Alya laughed, shaking her head as if she could hardly believe her own story. “And from then on, I not only got a rocking massage and some average dick from a stressed but sweet lawyer, I also went home 500€ richer each month. Best arrangement I’ve had by far!”
Marinette’s head spun a bit as she chewed the information she’d been given. She never knew there were so many intricacies that came with such a seemingly flippant concept, but now it seemed as though her decision to seek out some guidance was a good one, and she was thankful she hadn’t just blindly jumped in.
Their conversation whiled on for the next half hour or so, Marinette firing off questions until the two of them had to part for other engagements, but she'd left far more knowledgeable about (and far more comfortable with) the idea of sugar dating than she ever thought possible.
Which led her to now: bent over her laptop at two in the morning, praying for her ancestors to look away as she registered for an account on Alya’s preferred site for so-called “mutually beneficial arrangements". The platform was highly rated as far as Marinette could see, touted as one of the safest and most reliable spaces for finding a partner, and the fact every member was background checked helped ease her lingering worry.
After a nearly an hour of fiddling with her profile, writing and rewriting her bio and endlessly swapping out her pictures, Marinette sat back to survey her page. Her goal was to sound willing but not desperate, fun but not crazy, and opinionated but not stringent. The kind of girl who knew what she wanted and knew what she was willing to do to get it. …Ne mind the fact she had yet to decide how far she was willing to go in her “arrangement”.
Once she was satisfied, Marinette closed down shop for the night. She slid into her twin bed with a harsh grind of springs while ruminating on what came next for her newly “on-the-market" self.
That night, she dreamt of leering old men pressing rumpled bills into her hand.
Contrary to his public image, Adrien Agreste was now fairly certain he could be classified as a loser.
Here he was, at the peak of his youth on a Saturday night, 21 years old and eating cereal in his pajamas as his best friend (who just so happened to be a tiny, anthropomorphic cat god) snoozed atop the couch.
Never mind the fact his face had graced the cover of every major fashion magazine currently in publication. Never mind that his cereal was some whole-grain monstrosity imported from Tibet to sit in his expensive, hand-spun bowl, or that his pajamas had a designer label stitched into the waistband.
Never mind that Plagg’s resting spot was a ridiculously overpriced piece of furniture, nestled amongst a half dozen other pieces of similarly overpriced furniture in his unnecessarily large apartment. Never mind that he was stupidly famous for doing nothing beside posing and smiling (or pouting, depending on the photographer).
Just. Never mind.
A gold-plated loser was a loser nonetheless, and he was 24 karats of lonely.
Loneliness wasn’t exactly a new sensation for Adrien, having lived most of his life under the strict thumb of his father. But now that he'd entered his second year of freedom (he used the term in the loosest possible way, given that his schedule was still strictly controlled by the head of the Agreste empire), Adrien couldn’t help but feel weighed down by his solitude. In a twist ending that shocked exactly no one, his twelve years of home schooling had done little to actually teach him about how to build lasting human relationships. Now that Adrien found himself in the outside world, making connections was turning out to be a daunting task for the young man.
Besides Plagg and Ladybug (two equally puzzling, vaguely otherworldly figures he still knew very little about), Adrien didn’t have many people he could comfortably call his friends. Sure, he had contacts like his ex-girlfriend (don’t ask) Chloe, or the multitude of models and designers he was forced to interact with on a weekly basis, but they weren't anyone he would actually choose to spend his time with. People like the mayor’s daughter were the kind of acquaintances Adrien’s father would push him to socialize with: people who were useful, people who had connections.
People who were boring as shit.
After being force-fed that superficial brand of fake flattery for over two decades, Adrien was more than tired of it. He wanted someone to talk to, another human body to help fill the empty space of his couch and eat gross cereal out of one of the seven other bowls that sat unused in his kitchen. Adrien wanted someone out of the public eye, someone who didn’t chase him to further their own image and who spent time with him purely because they wanted to.
Which is why it was probably ironic that he was registering for a sugar daddy dating site.
With the company he kept (read: rich lonely snobs), the idea of having an “arrangement” wasn’t at all foreign to Adrien. He couldn’t tell you how many young, attractive men and women he’d shaken hands with as they clung to geezers twice their age. The fashion industry was notorious for its ever-changing arm candy, and sugar couples were hardly a thing to bat an eye at when they populated every show and banquet — but still, the idea of buying someone’s affection had always seemed a bit underhanded to Adrien.
Or it had until he’d overheard an unexpectedly frank discussion between his fellow models a week prior.
It had started off like almost all their conversation did: just some idle chatter as Adrien and about four other twenty-somethings stood around being measured and prodded. But this time the blonde hadn’t immediately tuned out when the topic of sugar babies arose, instead listening in and actually gaining some surprising insight as his coworkers swapped stories.
The first thing that shocked Adrien was their age. When he thought “sugar daddy”, he pictured some balding sixty year old with a bum leg and abandonment issues, not a supermodel at the height of their desirability. The idea that even young men could pursue sugar relationships was one he’d never paused to consider.
The second, and even more interesting, thing he’d gleaned from the conversation was that his coworkers seemed to genuinely enjoy lavishing attention on their partners.
Adrien remembered leaning atop his podium with one eyebrow quirked, listening intently as the young man next to him had recounted his time spent treating his sugar baby to shopping trips and spa days.
“I mean, as someone who's fawned over all the time, it’s really nice to focus on someone else for a while, you know?” the model (Adrien couldn’t quite place his name) had said, getting a faraway look in his eye before straightening at his seamstress’ command. “It’s not like my money is going towards better things anyway, so I don’t mind helping her pay her rent — and honestly, she’s so down to earth about everything! I can’t tell you how many times she’s been game to just come over, eat take-out with me, and listen to my problems for a few hours, no expectation whatsoever. I swear, my baby is the realest friend I’ve got at this point, and I probably would have gone off the deep end months ago if not for her.”
That’s when Adrien couldn’t help but cut in.
“How do you know she’s not just sticking around for the money?” he’d asked, surprising his co-models with an uncharacteristic interjection. “How do you deal with knowing she only hangs out with you because she needs to?” The question had come out more hostile than Adrien had intended, but the young man across from him just shrugged.
“Maybe she is just trying to use me, but how is that any different from the people we meet every day in our line of work?” he'd retorted. “If I’m being frank, I really don’t mind if my baby is just sticking around for the money, because at least she’s up front about it. She didn’t try and be my friend first and then start asking favors, we both entered our partnership knowing full well what the other person was after, and so far she’s given me that.”
The model had looked Adrien straight in the eye then, speaking openly and without concern. “She needs money, I’ve got money. I need companionship, and she’s my companion. We help each other because we want to, and we have fun together. How could I regret that?”
Adrien hadn’t had an answer.
He still didn’t have an answer, even now, and the conversation had been stewing in his thoughts for the past week or so until he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. The concept just seemed so attractive, and the way his co-model had explained it made everything sound far less complicated than Adrien had originally imagined.
“We help each other because we want to, and we have fun together.”
He made it sound doable — smart, even — and perhaps that was why Adrien now found himself scouring some sugar dating website at asscrack-o'-clock in the morning as his kwami continued to snooze.
He’d signed up for the site a few days prior and had been lurking ever since. To keep some measure of anonymity (oh, the press would have a field day if they ever found his profile), Adrien had yet to upload a picture of himself. His unwillingness to share his face had predictably turned off more than a few potential suitors already.
‘Well, it can’t be helped,’ he thought, watching as another one of his matches disconnected. ‘God knows what kind of harpies I’d get swarming me if they saw I was the model from the billboard on Fifth and Main.’
Though it was frustrating, Adrien couldn’t exactly blame the naysayers. Despite being background certified and having written what he judged to be a fairly eloquent bio, he had to admit the lack of a face really brought a sort of creepy vibe to his profile. Like he was some trench coat-clad weirdo luring his next target into some hellish death trap.
He silently hoped his company wasn’t that bad.
It was past five AM now, with pale light filtering in to illuminate his cavernous living room, and the brightness only seemed to emphasize how very empty the space was. Growing a bit discouraged, Adrien was about to quit for the night when he idly clicked over to the new member tab out of sheer habit. The page was updated fairly often, with fresh faces popping up every few minutes or so, and the young man scrolled for a bit before his eyes were caught by a likely-looking profile.
Beneath the image of a sweetly smiling woman who looked to be around his age was the tag line “Fashion student looking for a friend :)” — and hell if it didn’t seem like fate.
Indulging his curiosity, Adrien navigated to her profile to see her full biography.
“Hi, my name is Marinette, a college senior new to this whole sugar dating concept. I’ve lived in Paris my whole life and am currently studying fashion design at IFA. My days mostly consist of classes and work (I sew custom commission between working on my own line), but in my free time I like going to the farmer’s market or taking trips to the cinema. I’m looking for a like-minded individual who can help me support my passion while I in turn support theirs in any way I can. Don’t be shy, leave me a message! <3”
Well, there didn't seem to be any immediate red flags.
If anything, Adrien was refreshed to see a bio that wasn’t as overtly sexual as the others he’d come across. The simple but sweet summation seemed to match up perfectly with the face attached to it.
‘Marinette,’ he thought to himself, tossing the name about as he swiped through her pictures.
Marinette had dark hair, with swooping bangs that fell above her gorgeous blue eyes and pale skin patterned with the slightest hint of freckles. Half of her shots were selfies, but the other half were full body shots, giving Adrien a peek at not only her lean physique (not that he was looking at her like that — he was a gentleman, after all) but also her colorfully playful wardrobe. True to her major, the lady had a keen fashion sense.
Maybe it was due to his lack of sleep, but Adrien felt a dopey grin stretch his face when he came across the picture of her in pink rubber rain boots, stomping into a puddle with her face frozen in mid-laugh. "Cute" seemed the wrong word to describe her — "cute" was better exchanged between middle school sweethearts — but Adrien struggled to find a more apt descriptor for the utterly adorable person before him.
He settled on "genuine".
Marinette seemed like a genuine person, someone who’d quite literally learned to dance in the rain. She seemed like the type of person he needed in his thunderstorm of a life.
She seemed like the sun.
‘All right, cool it, Jane Austen,’ Adrien chided himself, pushing away his overly sentimental musings and pressing the message button. ‘Maybe talk to her a bit before you go writing sonnets on her beauty.' He made an additional mental note to stop eating past midnight, as his late meals were most definitely turning him into a sap.
His message was brief, and far less mushy than his previous thoughts cried out for. Just a quick, “Hi, I’m Adrien. How are you?”
‘No sense in spooking her,’ he reasoned with a yawn, peeking out of his windows only to be greeted by the sight of the rising sun. Adrien groaned, setting his bowl in the sink to soak before silently giving thanks he had nowhere to be until after six in the evening. With one last look at Plagg (how in the world did he manage to sleep for a solid twelve hours?) the boy dragged himself off to his room and promptly crashed down on his king-sized bed.
He dreamt of blue eyes and pink rain boots.
“I thought you said you were going to be smart about this!” Alya wailed over the phone. “You promised me you were going to be smart about this!”
“I am being smart,” Marinette replied, wincing a bit at her friend’s volume. “I found a guy who listens, just like you said!”
She was met with a scoff.
It had been three days since their lunch date, and three days since Marinette had decided to take the plunge and sign up for the sugar dating site. Things had really taken off quickly for the newly-minted sugar baby. Within the first 24 hours she'd had an inbox full of requests, the sheer volume of messages bowling her over a bit as she'd scrolled through them all in wonder.
Most had been fairly standard hellos and introductions.
Some had been a bit more — ahem — forward in their content, but Marinette had disposed of them fairly quickly.
Others had been downright baffling, and those too were unceremoniously deleted.
Once she had knocked out a good half of the obvious no’s, it had been a matter of simply visiting the profiles of her potential yes's and weeding out the top contenders.
Marinette couldn’t help but be picky (if she was going to do this, by golly it was going to be on her terms), and something as simple as an uneasy vibe was enough grounds to un-match a man. She’d tossed out the message from Mr. “Let-Me-Take-You-On-Cruises”, as well as the one from Sir “I-Don’t-Have-Money-But-I-Can-Mentor”, deeming both an ill fit for her needs. She’d paused when she came across Dr. (yes, doctor) “Loves-To-Go-On-Shopping-Sprees”, but one peek through his pictures had only confirmed that she couldn’t bring herself to flirt with someone who looked old enough to be her grandfather.
The search had dragged on.
Down and down her inbox had shrunk, the requests dwindling until only a select few remained, and — against the voice of her better judgement — Marinette had found her eye drawn to the one man without an icon.
“Adrien,” she'd read off, tentatively navigating to his profile.
Adrien’s bio had been well formed, and everything else about his page had seemed to be in order. He was background certified, a premium member and (presumably) her same age, but the lack of pictures had still set off a tiny alarm in Marinette’s head. Common sense told her not to risk it (how many nights had she spent watching Dateline episodes featuring cyber abductions by anonymous creepers?) but Marinette had found herself inexplicably returning his greeting anyway.
‘Besides,’ she’d thought, sending nearly identical responses to the other two men in her inbox before pushing out of bed for the day, ‘one message doesn’t mean I’m automatically interested.’
And she was right, one message didn’t mean a thing.
Neither did two.
Of course by the time Marinette was sending her faceless suitor a tenth message, then an eleventh…
“You found a guy without a face!” Alya lectured, poking a hole in her friend’s musing. “Seriously, Mari, I didn’t think I had to tell you, but anonymous profiles are a major no-go.”
“I know it sounds hinky — trust me, I know — but I haven’t found anyone else who matches up with my needs as well as he does!” Marinette sighed, flopping down on her lumpy bed. “Honestly, he’s been a perfect gentleman, and he’s the only person I’ve talked to who I feel comfortable with.”
“And the fact you don’t know what he looks like doesn’t bother you?” came Alya’s dubious reply.
“You know better than I do that I can’t be too picky with looks here,” Marinette deadpanned.
“It’s just suspicious, is all.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons.”
Alya gave a hum. “Well, hinkiness aside, what is he like? I need to have some knowledge of this Adrien fellow if the police investigating your disappearance want to build a suspect profile.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” Marinette said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re a real comedian.”
“You know I am,” Alya replied with an almost audible smirk. “But I’m also the love of your life and your best friend… so spill the beans.”
Marinette mulled her answer over carefully, recalling what information she’d gleaned from their brief interactions before crafting her response.
“What I’ve gathered from him so far is that he’s lonely…”
“Typical.”
“He told me his day job doesn’t really leave the opportunity for more traditional dating, so he’s looking for a casual thing.”
“And you’re sure he’s not just a cheating husband? You’ve gotta stay away from those types.”
“I don’t think so,” Marinette said with a shake of her head against the phone. “He says he’s twenty one, and I'd assume that’s a bit young for the whole unfaithful spouse thing. Question: He gave me his number so we wouldn’t have to deal with the laggy emails. Should I text him?”
“Hhhmmm,” Alaya drawled over the line. “I’ve always been more comfortable with texting in the past, but it’s a matter of personal preference. Are you seriously considering meeting up with this guy or what?”
“I… think I am?” Marinette answered cautiously, picking at her comforter in indecision. So far Adrien had been nothing but cordial towards her in their days of conversation, but she couldn’t fight down a wave of trepidation at the thought of actually scheduling a meeting. The idea of it made everything seem so real. “What do you even do on a first sugar date?”
“Basically, the same thing you’d do on any first date,” Alya said. “You get to know the person, feel them out, and then decide where you go from there.”
“Huh, I would have expected it to seem more… well…”
“Like a job interview? No, negotiating terms is best left for the second date, after you’ve both made the decision you’d like to begin an arrangement. The first time you meet with Adrien should just be purely casual, then you can pull out your briefcases and discuss logistics. ” A pause. “So what are you thinking?”
Marinette tossed the words about, chewing on her bottom lip before speaking out in a determined tone. “I think I will meet up with him,” she affirmed. “I’ll text Adrien tonight and we’ll set up a date.”
“And…” Alya prompted with her Mom Friend™ voice. Marinette grinned.
“And then I’ll text you with all the details so you can inevitably keep tabs on me during said date.”
“That’s my girl. Now go get that sugar!”
[ Hi, is this Adrien? ]
[ It is, I’m guessing this is Marinette? ]
[ It is! ]
[ Hey Marinette, I’m glad you decided to text me ]
[ Yeah, the whole emailing thing was getting to be a bit of a bother, this is much quicker. ]
[ Agreed… ]
[ So I have to confess, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, and I apologize if I seem a bit awkward. This is just all very new to me. ]
[ Oh thank goodness, I thought I was the only one new to this whole thing! Honestly, you’re the first person I actually replied to, so trust me when I say I’ll probably be the awkward one. ]
[ You chose to message me (the guy with no profile picture) first? I’m both flattered and a little confused??? ]
[ I figured you had your reasons for remaining anonymous. Your profile says you’re 21 so I’m guessing you haven’t been on the run from the law for the past decade, and as long as you aren’t a serial killer… ]
[ (wow, im really bad at this) ]
[ Don’t worry, I’ve only been on the lam for the past three years, and for larceny, not murder. (you aren’t any worse at this than I am) ]
[ Truthfully, I have kind of a… unique face, so I thought avoiding pictures would help avoid drama. ]
[ I hate to push but… what do you mean by unique? Feel free to not answer if it’s too rude. ]
[ No, it’s fine, I’d be worried if you weren’t a little curious. I’m not disfigured or anything, just recognizable is all. Let’s just say there are people out there who could really do some damage if they got their hands on a dating profile with my face on it, so I thought it best to remain anonymous. ]
[ …I feel like I made that sound more creepy than it is…I could send you a picture if it bothers you? ]
[Actually… I was hoping maybe you’d like to meet up? I’d definitely see your face then (unless you wear a ski mask or something) ]
[ I’d love to meet up! What’s a good time for you? (and I promise only to wear a ski mask if our date is at a ski resort) ]
[ Oh right, you’re NOT a serial killer. I’m free the entire weekend so time-wise it’s up to you. ]
[ How about Saturday? I get off at six. ]
[ Saturday is great. Where would you like to go? ]
[ Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? ]
[ Oh, right… Is dinner and a movie okay? ]
[ A classic choice, sounds fun! Any requests for venue? ]
[ How about you choose the restaurant and I choose the show? ]
[ Deal. I’ll send you the address and meet you at seven on Saturday? ]
[ Sounds great, see you this weekend :) ]
[ See you this weekend :) ]
Adrien had never really gone on dates in high school — for obvious reasons — so the eagerness he felt bubbling in his chest as he stood outside the restaurant was something of a new experience for him.
Lately he struggled to find things that excited him (with the exception of his outings as Chat Noir, Adrien didn’t have all that much going for him in terms of adventure), but the past week had passed in blur of anticipation for his meet-up with Marinette. Likewise, Saturday’s workday had been blessedly brief, and that meant he'd had plenty of time to run home and agonize over his wardrobe like a sophomore who was late to homecoming.
Thankfully, Adrien’s hair had still been expertly styled from his prior photoshoot, so that saved him from incurring that particular crisis. But there had still been the matter of what he was going to wear.
‘She’s a design student,’ he’d thought desperately, rifling through his piles of designer clothes with a sigh. ‘She’ll know if my shirt doesn’t match my pants, or my jacket is tailored wrong, or…’
For someone who spent his days surrounded by the biggest names in fashion, Adrien sure had lost his marbles over simple dinner attire.
In the end he’d elected to stick with a classic look: collared shirt, dark slacks, brown leather Oxfords, and a coat to take the edge off the October chill.
It was a nice look. A clean look.
Yet Adrien couldn’t help but feel as though he should have worn his most expensive tuxedo the moment he caught sight of his date.
He’d only been waiting a scant five minutes before a dark-haired woman rounded the street corner, sporting a navy peacoat layered over a knee-length floral dress, her sweet face recognizable even from a distance. The restaurant Adrien had chosen for them was just shy of black tie, meaning Marinette was by no means overdressed, but her look was the kind of effortless fashion people paid big money on stylists to arrange for them — he of all people could attest to that.
Her natural grace, paired with the way she strode down the sidewalk, blue eyes searching and heels lightly clicking on the pavement, made Adrien feel both woefully lackluster and instantly smitten with the young woman making her way towards their meeting spot.
‘Oh gosh, oh no.’ Adrien rose from the bench he’d snagged just outside the restaurant, affecting his carefully tailored smile as he made his way over to the lost-looking Marinette. ‘She’s cute. She’s really, really cute.’
With each step he took towards her turned back, Adrien’s already rising anticipation doubled. By the time he worked up the courage to finally tap her on the shoulder with a friendly “Hey”, his heartbeat was fluttering like the aforementioned high school sophomore.
Marinette turned at the sound, face strung with a smile. “Hi—“
Her expression grew incredulous as she took in his appearance, large eyes widening as they roved over his face, and Adrien held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t turn tail and run. He’d never fully understood the reaction people often had upon encountering him, so he'd learned to just roll with it.
‘She probably wasn’t expecting you to be a model,’ he reminded himself, maintaining his casual stance while allowing her a second to process. ‘Just let her adjust to the idea that—‘
“You!” Marinette squeaked, peering up at him in near shock. “Y-you’re…”
“Not super old and-or a convicted arsonist?” Adrien cut in with a polite grin, shoulders tensing just a bit at her overly adoring stare. A part of him had been hoping she wouldn’t recognize him, but Adrien now realized that was an outlandish wish given that she was studying fashion.
And lived in Paris.
And had eyes.
“I was going to say 'Adrien Agreste',” Marinette said, blinking rapidly as if to clear her head. “But also that.”
Adrien gave a soft chuckle, pulling his hands out of his pockets and offering his right towards her.
“It’s nice to finally meet you…” He let the greeting dangle and Marinette winced as she realized she’d yet to introduce herself properly.
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she responded, slipping her white-gloved hand into his and giving it a friendly shake. “I-it’s nice to meet you too. Officially, that is.”
As Adrien opened his mouth to speak again, a chilly wind rose up from their ankles and Marinette gave a tell-tale shiver. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders before he’d even made the conscious decision to do so, gentleman senses kicking in to overdrive as his mind screamed “LADY” and “COLD”.
Of course the second he settled against her, Marinette stiffening just a bit at the contact, Adrien realized the intimacy of the position and quickly withdrew with a flush.
“I— um… Sorry about that,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You looked cold, but I probably should have just suggested we go inside, huh?”
Marinette shook her head kindly. “That’s fine,” she replied, pulling her coat tight around her with a small smile. “I get cold fairly easy. Guess I should have worn something better tonight…”
“You look great,” Adrien assured her, earning another bashful duck of her dark head. “But maybe we should find some place warmer to continue the conversation?”
He received no argument.
Dinner raced by, and the somewhat awkward note their date had begun on dissipated quickly as the wine and conversation began to flow. They talked about their jobs, with Marinette listening raptly as he described his toilsome fitting sessions and Adrien marvelling as she recounted her rigorous school schedule. They talked about their favorite shows, their favorite games, things they liked to do in their spare time.
Adrien cracked the biggest smile as he listened to the petite woman extol her bloodiest kills in MK in graphic detail, leaning forward and planting his chin atop his hands in total enthralment. With sweeping arm gestures fit for a true brawler, Marinette artfully described the exact crack of her enemy’s spine, really laying on the imagery before seeming to recall they were mid-meal at a fancy restaurant and ending her rant with a blush.
Cute and nerdy. He was a total goner.
By the time their dessert arrived (the model would beg forgiveness from his dietician later), Adrien was completely at ease with his date, his words flowing smoother and his shoulders less tensed than they had been in months. Possibly years.
Marinette’s presence was at once invigorating and soothing, with the young woman bouncing between her more demure self and her eccentric side almost seamlessly. Her duality, her effortless confidence and ability to listen, everything about her seemed to lull him into a state of comfort… and Adrien found himself trying to recall just why those characteristics felt so familiar.
When they reached the cinema down the street — dinner eaten and drinks polished off — that overwhelming sense of familiarity doubled as Adrien watched Marinette’s inquisitive blue eyes catch on a show poster for some action flick. She turned to him, placing her hands on her hips and inquiring whether or not he was down to watch “Megapunch” or if he’d rather she choose a tamer film. The challenging glance (which Adrien was only too keen on accepting) stirred something in the young man, weird feelings of déjà vu that followed him even as they settled into the seats of the darkened theater.
‘You’re overthinking things,’ he told himself, shifting in excitement and unable to keep from glancing over at Marinette’s eager grin as the previews rolled.
'You’d sure as hell know if you’d met someone like her before…’
“Wait, so that was seriously your first time watching a movie in a theater?”
About two hours after they'd first set foot in the cinema, Adrien and Marinette made their way out, dropping their glasses into the plastic bin and making their way around to the lobby. Adrien shrugged at her question, heart still thumping pleasantly in response to the action-packed final sequence as they dumped their empty popcorn bowls.
With pyrotechnics and shredding guitar solos, Megapunch hadn’t disappointed.
“More or less,” Adrien answered, casting back through his memory. There was never any time in his rigorously policed schedule for trips to the movies, but it wasn’t really a topic he wanted to bring up now. Not when they were having so much fun.
“Well, actually, I take that back,” he amended, stepping closer to his date as the crowd moved them towards the exit. “I did make an appearance at Sundance when I was seventeen or so, but I mostly just walked the red carpet in one of my dad’s suits and sat through a 90 minute film about how snails are a metaphor for genocide.” Marinette gave him a dubious look, and he returned with a sheepish shrug. “Not exactly a favorite of mine.”
“I can imagine,” she said, laughing as they pushed their way through the double doors leading outside.
Adrien found himself thrown off his bearings for a second, blinking at the building’s exterior lights as they cut through the evening dim. The duo had entered the cinema when it was light out, and having not been outside for a few hours, stepping out onto the now-dark sidewalk was jarring to his senses.
“Woah,” Adrien said, looking up at the starless night sky. “I didn’t think it was this late.”
“Not 'late', really,” Marinette cut in, flashing her phone screen with its bright 9:36. “Just dark.”
The young woman chewed her lip, pulling her periwinkle overcoat tight around her shoulders and glancing down the street with trepidation. “Of course if I’d known it was going to be this dark, I would have had my friend pick me up…”
‘She doesn’t seriously think I’m about to let her walk home at this time of night, does she?’ Adrien thought with an incredulous shake of the head.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get you a cab,” he said, stepping up to the curb. Marinette let her mouth fall open, looking for second as if she was going to protest his offer before pressing her lips back together in a tentative smile.
“Oh, that’s… that’s really nice of you.”
“It’s the least I could do after you showed me such an awesome night.”
“I’m glad to hear you h-had fun,” Marinette responded, wincing just a bit at her stutter. If not for the fact it indicated she was uncomfortable, Adrien would have found the tick endearing, adorable even. As it was, he just nodded warmly, enjoying the way she returned his smile with one of her own.
‘God, she’s so cute…’ he thought a bit dreamily, pulling his eyes away from where Marinette tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear to hail a passing taxi.
“I did have fun,” Adrien said, leading her towards the newly arrived car, “and I’d really love to do this again sometime. You know, if you also want to?”
They both knew the silent implication of his words, both knew what their second date would entail, and for a second the question hung heavy between them.
But only for a second.
“Absolutely,” Marinette replied with a nod, her voice soft but sincere. Adrien’s smile only brightened, the young man giving a breathless “okay” before he scrambled for his wallet under the driver’s sharp eye.
Being new to the whole “sugar lifestyle”, Adrien hadn’t really known what to expect from tonight, and his internet searching had yielded varied results. Some people said first dates should be strictly business (discussion of terms et al), while others said the first meet-up should be fun and casual (a time to enjoy and spoil). Thoroughly stumped, Adrien had elected to follow his own instinct, stopping by the ATM on the way over to withdraw some cash.
Of course as he stood there now, very obviously leafing through a large sum of money, he couldn’t help but think he had perhaps jumped the gun.
‘You aren’t taking advantage of her,’ the young man reminded himself, fighting down a wave of embarrassment at his own overcompensating tendencies as he flashed what was hopefully a casual smile. ‘Just being a gentleman, is all.’
Marinette’s eyes widened just smidgen as Adrien (mumbling something about “cab fare”) passed her the €100 note, but she didn’t object, and for that he was thankful.
“All right, this should get you home safely,” he chirped, trying to breeze right past their first (for lack of better word) transaction as he thumped on the hood of the cab.
“Oh, definitely,” Marinette responded with an equally chipper lilt. “Very safe.”
Adrien felt himself relax, his strenuously held smile melting into something much more comfortable as he noticed her subtly slip the bill into the depths of her purse. “Can you do me favor?”
“Anything.”
“Text me when you get home,” Adrien appealed, trying not to let his mind skew her words into something much more than a simple reply. “Just so I know you got there okay.”
Marinette nodded, both in answer and as thanks for him opening the car door for her. At the last second she turned, poised to enter the interior of the cab but first fixing him with flushed smile of gratitude.
“Have a good night,” Adrien said, trying not to waver under her enthralling gaze. ‘God… she’s very, very cute.’
“You too,” Marinette murmured, seeming to mull something over for a moment before he could practically see a mental ‘fuck it’ flash across her eyes. The young woman leaned in, ghosting a chaste kiss across his cheek before ducking into the car with a quick slam of the door.
Adrien watched the black sedan rattle off, his heart rocketing against his ribs to the point where he had to seek out a nearby column to support his weight. The night air sizzled where it touched the side of his face, making an almost audible sound as he focused on not combusting altogether.
Of course it wasn’t her gentle peck that inspired such an intense response from the usually composed Adrien Agreste.
No, it was the words Marinette had whispered across his skin when she'd drawn away. The words Adrien had enjoyed hearing far more than he would have ever imagined and the words he now knew would not leave his mind until she uttered them again.
“Thank you, Daddy…”
…
‘Fuck…’ Adrien thought, running one hand through his now-wild blonde hair with a swallow. ‘Do I… do I have a daddy kink?’