Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her idea sounds affable at the start.

Notice: her idea.

Ladybug’s.

(He’s just putting that out there before anything starts.)

The new guardian is pacing on rooftops, pen smartly rolling between fingers even though she’s focussed on nothing of it. She’s mulling, debating, as if they hadn’t agreed to this lawed debauchery five minutes ago. It’s not even bad, he knows, and although the thrill has set a kind of buzz under his skin, Chat’s not exactly worried.  

He never is, is he?

The paper smiles at him where he’s relaxing, the paper that will soon have her name. There’s an odd temptation to put the untouched stack in his mouth. Maybe he’s tired of waiting, or maybe he just really wants the paper. Maybe it’s a cat thing.  

“And we can’t let anyone see the envelopes.”

“Well, duh,” he says, as if he’s sure that’s not going to happen.

“Hide it. Keep it safe, don’t, uh, don’t open it unless—”

“You trust me, right M’lady?”

Her hand crunches the pen. A sigh. “More than anyone.”

She’s nervous, of course; no one is supposed to know either of their identities, and here they are planning to materialise them. But it’s for the best, they reason, with her being guardian and having no one to know who she is in case of a dire emergency.

Emergency, he reminds himself. Only in an emergency. In fact, it’s likely for nothing. He doesn’t want there to be an emergency, and he doesn’t want that to be how he finds her identity, but he also doesn’t want to never know the name sealed in the scarlet envelope.

When she finally sits, she scribbles on the pink paper, guarding even the movement of her hands by hiked knees. Chat takes time writing his message, dotting smiles and pictures when she’s already up to licking the paper as if the more salvia guarantees more seal.

Reluctantly, she passes it.

The first week, Adrien glances at the spot behind his CD rack at least twice a day.

Three months, then four, and he’s slim to completely forgetting he has access to the love of his life’s identity – the best superhero in Paris, the most beautiful and competent woman in the world, the—

“Adrien. Your father requests a serious discussion in the atrium.”

And her identity is especially forgotten the afternoon he realises his may be on the line.

Nathalie finds a red letter in the masked cabinet of Adrien’s CD shelf two minutes after believing this whole “catch why Adrien’s disappearing” thing would uncover nothing. When designing the Agreste mansion, it seems Gabriel’s request for secretive spots in his future offspring’s room to catch them hiding admonishments in later years succeeded in the very end.  

Because this is far too suspicious not to take back.

A pink note inside, a scrawl of a feminine name within hearts. Addressed, “to the best partner ever”, and alarmingly cryptic. No other message. Possibly, it could’ve attached to a romantic gift.  

Gabriel Agreste knows exactly what it means.

“Adrien.”

His voice is ice as always. His face is unreadable as always – though Adrien’s found guessing “disappointed” proves correct eighty percent of the time. So although the poor boy is dying for some indication that his father has not found out he is Chat Noir, there is nothing to pick up from the scene: Gabriel’s passive, and Nathalie, as always, stands a bit off with a face almost the same – like a sibling that’s ratted another out and is mirroring the scolding authority, even to the way her arms are behind her.  

Adrien swallows.

“Fathe—”

“How long did you believe you could keep your impractical relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng from members of this household?”

Uh…

…

Um.

Frankly, Adrien’s never been more confused in his life.

Excuse him,

But what?!

Adrien’s alarmed, squinting, and even the hounding worries pause to make sure they’ve heard right as Nathalie pulls her hand into view.

Marinette. Relationship. Him. No mention of Chat Noir.

Yeah… what?

“What do y—”

His eyes leap. Nathalie’s hand.

The envelope.

The envelope.

Red, unsealed, and far too familiar.

Adrien stills.

“I don’t tolerate this insulting feign ignorance. Explain this immediately.”

“Explain…”

How his mouth even does that baffles him – not like he could physically be any more baffled, but if he could, any words that could manage out his gaping face would’ve increased his puzzlement.

Marinette.

Marinette.

Marinette.

The Dupain-Cheng Marinette.

Her name was already bouncing in his head the second his father phrased an incredulous question that implied he’s dating her—his sweet and adorable and talented good friend—but you know, now—

Now.

Well, now he kind of wishes he is.

Identity. Ladybug. Envelope. Marinette.

The card is faced so he can read the confirmation of his last suspicions. He’s too close to pretend it’s too blurry to read, even to himself, so the startlement of his eyes catch every, single, scribble – every word, every letter, every heart.

‘To the best partner ever.’

And beside a dash, trying to look like the smallest signage ever, is franticly scrawled,

‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng.’

Oh no.

“Why do you appear happy?”

Happy? Uh, no, no! This is awful.

“I’m not happy.”  

“You’re clearly smiling.”

He totally isn’t.

“I’m not!”

“Adrien, you seem on the verge of tears.”

He stifles a fist on his mouth. “What?”

“You seem like you’re about to burst,” Nathalie probes.

His father runs him over with a cold look. “Amused, Adrien? Is this matter pleasing you?”

No way! This– This is terrible.  

Atrocious even! He knows Ladybug’s identity!  

“I’m devastated,” he says, eyes wet and grin hurting.

Ladybug’s identity.

His fist hurts his mouth. A small noise fissures behind his hands.

“Did you– Did you just squeal?”

“Absolutely not!”  

This is, truly, the worst news.

“Enough of these games, Adrien! You have disobeyed your authorities with all this tomfoolery and damaged how you excel in your extracurriculars. This secret affair is to be terminated, unless you can explain. If you can even recover this, that i—are you crying?”

To be fair, he didn’t mean to break down in sobs, but you know he feels no one can blame him understanding all that is happening right now. Plus, it’s more a dignified silent weeping (if you ignore how he’s practically vibrating) amongst muted chokes.

“I’m not, Father.” He wipes his face, hoping it takes his grin off too. (It doesn’t. Nothing can.) “Continue.”

Gabriel clears his throat. Nathalie’s still holding the note, not surewhat to do with Adrien, whether it be… no, comforting’s never been an option.  

“Can you reason this affiliation?”

“That I’m dating Marinette?”

Gabriel nods, his face souring.

Adrien realises that, although there’s technically many things he can do and say, he doesn’t have a clue what. His options seem… pretty inexistent. So he narrows his criteria down:

1. He has to say he’s dating Marinette.

(Pretty easy, that wishful lie is already established.)

2. He must make sure he stays dating Marinette.

But then he realises he’s freaking Chat Noir and lying to save identities is pretty much most of job.  

“She tutors me. Ever since you were disappointed in my A- in Maths, she’s helped me in most subjects so I wouldn’t drop grades in them as well, so we started hanging out more and, well one thing lead to another…” He rubs his neck. “She makes me happy, Father. I was falling behind because I haven’t been too happy since Mum left, and Marinette, she, well,”

He beams, shiny-eyed and damp-cheeked. “She’s made me feel happy again.”

Ha, not even his Grinch-of-a-dad can say no to that.

Reason, sentiment, hitting the soft spot with mum? – yeah, that wasgood.

His father’s gaze is calculating, and if emotion ever touches him, it may have flickered in his eyebrows, but it smooths like steal.  

Nathalie glances at her boss.

“Is that so?” Gabriel muses. “I… can see what even the mention of her can bring you to. This must have been… some gift attached.” The way he gives him a once-over should make Adrien feel embarrassed, not chuffed, but it does.  

Gabriel thinks for seconds longer. The space in the Agreste atrium burns with tense anticipation that stretches Adrien’s sense of time.  

His father steps down and places a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Continue to the tutoring if it picks up your grades. But monitor how much you sneak around, and try not to let schoolwork distract you from extracurriculars too much.”

And just like that, Gabriel Agreste is—

“One more thing. Nathalie, book me an appointment. I see it that Marinette Dupain-Cheng will soon be attending a dinner.”

–Causing Adrien more problems.

Thaaaat’s right. Proving the lie. With Marinette.

With Ladybug.

With Marinette!

“Eeep!”

Nathalie jolts her gaze to him, panic set in her flamed eyes as he stares back awkwardly.  

“I’ll– I’ll go call her.”

After he screams a million times, of course.

Chapter Text

Adrien has screwed up. 

But before anything begins, he’d like to make it very clear that he’s only ever had good intentions, believable smiles, and incredible lying ability – no matter what his friends say (“You once told Alya you had a great dentist so Marinette wouldn’t be suspicious”), because he’s kept the fact he’s Chat Noir under wraps and no one has been the wiser. 

Then again, Chat Noir is stylish, handsome, incredibly dressed, insanely hilarious, im(pecc)ably ripped, totally— 

Yeah, so Adrien just can’t live up to that (If it came down to it, he’d totally fall in love with himself if circumstances allowed.), and thus his identity is pretty secure , unlike his self-esteem on a good day. 

Specifically, today. 

Because he has screwed up.  

So yes, he’s somehow the best and worst liar ever, which probably likens to how it isn’t his secret identity that he Accidentally (three underlines for ‘accidentally’) reveals, but, uh, someone else’s. 

Ladybug’s. 

He knows Ladybug’s identity.  

But hey! Hey— remember, her idea. It was never him who suggested the ‘let’s write our names on letters in case we need to know in an emergency’, as that was definitely her. 

He’s screwed everything up, but it was definitely her. 

“Did you know? ” 

“Duh,” his kwami’s gravel voice says, “I know everything.” 

Adrien’s hands are rousing his hair so much at this point he might expose himself as Chat Noir if anyone went by his lean windows. “You knew this whole time!? That Ladybug is– That she’s– That—”  

All air escapes him in a corrupt elongated syllable. He flops on his Extra King size bed with silk sheets and fluffed pillows, almost knocking his model agency’s branded hydro-flask onto the desk adjacent with three exorbitant monitor screens. Oh, how difficult his life is.  

“You’re so pathetic.” 

He is.  

“This is hilarious.” 

It is not.  

‘“What am I supposed to do, Plagg?! Call her? ‘Hey love of my life, it’s me Adrien, but you also know me as Chat Noir. I accidentally found out your identity and long story short, my household thinks we’re dating and wants you over for dinner. Are you up for fake-dating and not killing me, please?” 

His kwami skulls a camembert roll. “I’m down for that idea.” 

Adrien pegs a sock. 

“How are you so calm?” 

“I shrugged in the face of dinosaur extinction. Your damsel in distress crisis – you’re the damsel, by the way – and ‘oohhh no, I’m so in love’ hullabaloo is nothing.” 

Adrien’s frown deepens. “I don’t sound like that.” 

“You do. Your voice goes like eee .” 

“What? No it doesn’t” 

“You’re right, it’s more like ahhh . ” 

The heat in Adrien’s acid eyes smarten. He crosses his arms, huffing in a way he hasn’t since early childhood, and glares at his ceiling. “I’m done talking to you.” 

He isn’t, of course, as there’s only one person in his life he can complain to about his array of #RelatableTeenBoy issues, like ditching your favourite topic of Physics one class to cater to a Giant Baby akuma (again) and being late due to lack of places to change into your skin-tight cat suit (you know; just those little things). And by Hawk Moth’s insufferable menacing he isn’t letting that outlet fall from under him. He needs to clear his thoughts, because believe him, there is a lot to sift, and it doesn’t help when part of this whole catastrophe has left him with the knowledge that— 

“Marinette is Ladybug!” 

Plagg has moved to Adrien’s three-panelled computer desk and is clicking through something. “I’m so glad you’ve caught up.” 

“And if she’s Ladybug, that means,” he goes on, white overshirt sleeves now uneven as he animates his words with a pillow, “she was just saying to me – to Chat – she was in love with him to save her identity! And there’s another boy she’s in love with! And–! And I might know who it is!” 

“Who?” Plagg asks, the volume juxtaposing his welder’s. 

“I said 'might’.” 

The keys click louder. “You mean because you know Ladybug in real life you could have met him before? Or you actually know him?” 

“I don’t know! I just know that Marinette’s… She’s in love with another guy.” The earlier exhilaration drains and his chest feels hollow and soul-sucking. “Wait– I can’t ask her to be my fake-girlfriend!” 

The destructive god scrolls through the itemised shopping cart to double-check his fromage orders without any fear of his owner noticing. Well you obviously don’t have a choice. Your dad wants her over for dinner. Besides, it’s Ladybug, remember? She’ll do anything to help a friend out.” 

Ladybug. 

Marinette. 

Of course.  

There are still many things that don’t add up (Multimouse: just how?) but of course. 

He can’t risk his own identity and hers to his father. He must keep the façade up. And if that mean s falling on his knees in front of who unarguably should be the most glorified woman in the world, crying to her to please just be his fake – very much, but unfortunately fake – girlfriend.  

He will. 

He’ll do it right now. 

- 

“I can’t believe you chickened out.” 

Walks to school, even with the cost of waking up earlier, are always more refreshing than drives in cold silence. The freedom here is less pale, and he can hiss at Plagg all he wants with only the dignity loss of onlookers noticing him crankily talking to himself. 

“Oh wait, yes I can. Because you’re a coward~. ” 

“I did not ‘chicken out’,” Adrien snaps. “And I’m no coward. I just— I need to speak to her in person instead. This way, she didn’t have to receive an unwanted call so late.” 

 “You mean six?” 

He huffs. “Marinette needs all the sleep she can get.” He pokes the creature back into his overshirt. “She’s always so busy. Even you’ve seen her collapse in class. Wait—!” 

The only one that waits is himself, columned with the line of trees ahead, locked in the interval of his soap opera as his audience darts for a shiny rock near a fire hydrant. 

“Because she’s Ladybug too! Of course! Of course! This makes so much sense! She’s so tired and overworked! It’s no wonder she’s all over the place – in the best of ways, I mean, she’s literally adorable when she’s frantic. Wait, have I always thought that? Have I always seen Marinette as the cutest thing ever? Her spluttering is so endearing. And if she’s already so tired, I can’t make her fake date me, too! She’s already so stressed! I’d literally be the scum of the earth if I even dare—” 

Plagg is staring at him with flat interest. Humbly aware of his judgement, Adrien swallows, letting the air untense and clams his hands – eager to narrate his animated allegory – in his pockets in strife to get a grip.  

He sighs. 

“What if I mess it up, Plagg?” 

He inventories his new rock in Adrien’s satchel. A hymn of silence roots in the place of what should be a snide remark. But there is no fed-up comment, just a kwami wriggling under his overshirt out of sight and a solemn voice that issues from it,  

“Kid, you’re partners. You work together. You forgive each other. You trust each other. And if Ladybug trusts you,” he sticks his head out a little more, “find it in you to trust yourself. You won’t mess this up if you put her and her identity’s safety first, which I know you will, because you love her and you’re a great hero.” 

Adrenaline dampening, Adrien smiles.  

“Thanks, Plagg.” 

- 

Marinette has never believed in bad luck until she met Chat Noir (fifty Mr Pigeon akumatisations this year with a feather allergy? The next lucky charm is going to be an Epi-pen) and for a while, she didn’t believe in good luck, even with being Ladybug. 

But that was then. Back then, meaning like, ten minutes ago before she was invited to stay back after PE by Adrien. 

Right now, though? Right now, she’s decided she’s going to hand-sew a bedazzled shirt embossed with, “Goddess of Luck” to wear while Ladybug on patrol (and on the back, a quote she woke up to on Instagram this morning: ‘“can also kick ass” – Adrien Agreste’ (she took ten screenshots when he posted that)), because Marinette has good luck.   

“You’ll be doing me a huge favour,” the ass-kicking quoter says on an afternoon she has not planned to receive the most exciting request of her life. 

And you know what she says? 

You know what the stuttering girl who may as well trademark the word ‘GAH’ she falls that much, says? 

You’ll never guess. 

No really, you won’t. 

Because turns out, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is more than just accomplished. 

So what if she thrones the winning title of a Gabriel fashion comp? What even matters of being class president and an all-around likable person? Who takes notice of another fashion mogul inviting you to live in New York because of your talent? ––An invitation you had to decline because, you know, being Paris’ zero-pay superheroine has a sprinkle more of importance. And oh, did she mention she’s Ladybug? Because she’s Ladybug. A superhero.  

But none of that matters right now. 

“I’d be happy to help.” 

Because she’s said yes.  

She—Marinette McStutter Dupain-Cheng—has said yes with her mouth (not vague hand animations over blubbering nonsense) to Adrien, and although her muscles are locked with their key over the Eiffel tower (and the tiny detail that her thoughts are screaming so much she can’t hear a thing of his relief and numerous ‘thank you’s), she’s still said yes!  

Screw every other accomplishment. She’s said yes to being Adrien’s fake girlfriend. 

Ladybug? Nah, that’s Mrs. Fake Agreste to you.  

Good luck is real.  

Okay but sure, ‘Fake girlfriend’ doesn’t exactly live up to ‘Very real girlfriend’, but being a fake isn’t that bad! She’s seen Lila do it every day for months – oh, hang on, no actually the term ‘fake’ has very negative and huge implications, then. However, in Marinette’s heavenly-blessed case, ‘fake’ means she’s doing a very big favour for a friend and is going to get more time with Adrien – just to name a few positives.  

“Seriously Marinette, you have no idea how much this means to me. I can’t believe I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.” 

‘Oh honey, I’m the lucky one. ’ 

“It’s– It’s no problem! Yeah! Really, I’ll come to dinner, no problem! It can’t be too hard. I can be your girlfriend! Eugh– Pretend girlfriend. It’s not hard being in love with you! I mean– Ugh!” 

The monstrosity that is the never-shutting-up hole in her face is blocked off by frantic hands, stifling the last of her eloquent groan. But peering up, she realises she really has underestimated how much this means to Adrien, because he looks like he’s poised on a cliff of ecstasy ready to fall – eyes verdant, big, and lushed over with a hue of moisture that twinkles, and a smile so bright and toothy the sunlight hollowing out the remaining shade of the PE stadium glints off it.  

In fact, her mess of a speech is such a compliment to Adrien that her locked-limbed body is suddenly engulfed by his. Startled in delightful senses of the word, she squeaks, and he quickly pulls away, face a few rose tones darker than before as his hands twitch at his side unsurely. 

“Uhh, I guess we have to get planning.” 

She watches in transfixed attraction as Adrien picks both their schoolbags up, finally blurting (without any squeak, she may add), 

“Y–Yes. We do.” 

(she didn’t say any stutter, so shut up.) 

“Would your father let you come over right now since school’s almost finished?” 

He casts a look to the exit thoughtfully. His flawless side-profile in high resolution before her, she sees the corner of his mouth quirk up in an unsettling familiar way, as if his whole charisma shifts to someone else’s.  

They do need to plan; to run away together, where only they share this odd secret - a place alone together where they'll look each other eye-to-eye and practice their sonnets of love to construct a believable facade for his father-

“It’s more fun sneaking to my girlfriend’s house, isn’t it?” 

That time, she squeaks.

And comes to the daunting realisation:

Marinette is screwed.