Archive of Our Own

WANTED:
Personal blood donor willing to entertain requests (non-sexual & platonic)
€500 per weekly donation, more if requests are met
email: [email protected]

"What do you think this one's about?" Marinette asks, showing Alya the ad on her phone.

Alya takes one look, snorts, and goes back to scrolling through the listings on her own phone. "Pervert, duh. They probably want you to dress up in one of those anime schoolgirl outfits with the tiny skirts and call them 'master' while they're draining you."

"That sounds sexual to me," Marinette says, though she doesn't disagree. Willing to entertain requests sounds like one of those guys who wants the cleaning staff in French maid outfits and always happens to be lurking there when it's time for the girls to bend over.

"Exactly. You're the only one gullible enough to believe a vampire when he labels it platonic," Alya says, smirking at Marinette when she squawks and throws a balled-up tank top across the room to hit Alya in the shoulder.

"I am not!"

Alya wings the tank top back at Marinette, and she retaliates with a pair of folded pyjama pants. Twenty minutes later, her room is an explosion of clean laundry flung over every available surface.

"Alyaaaa, we were almost done folding," Marinette groans, falling back onto her bed, her arms flung wide.

"Ignoring the implication that this is my fault – maybe you can live without folding everything just this once?" Alya suggests, digging under a collection of single socks for her bag and making a triumphant noise when she finds it. "Completely coincidentally, I've gotta go. I'm meeting Nora for lunch. I think she's got a girlfriend she isn't telling me about. We'll see how long that lasts," she says, winking at Marinette and leaving with all of the cheer of a reporter with a hunch.

Marinette sighs, closing her eyes. Maybe instead of re-folding every item of clothing she owns she'll just pretend the Oompa-Loompas are coming to do it for her, and she can take a nap instead.

She really shouldn't, though. They'd already been taking a break to look at random Vamplist ads, which is one of Alya's favorite ways to relax, and then they'd made a huge mess of her room, and she has a test tomorrow that she has to study for, and she should really get on the seasonal refresh of her online shop...

Listing out her to-do list like that isn't exactly making her want to do any of it.

Marinette rolls over, propping herself up on her elbows, and turns her phone back on to text Alya. She's confronted with the ad, which is still sitting there on her phone.

Lurking.

Just... staring at her.

Five hundred euros a week is nearly minimum wage, Marinette thinks, her finger hovering over the button to switch windows. She snorts, shaking her head. She's not going to be a blood bag, no matter how good the money sounds.

It does sound pretty good, though, now that she's thinking about it. What would she do with extra money? God, what wouldn't she do? They could get a cleaning service – or she could pay for one of those healthy food delivery services and never have to think about what's for lunch ever again.

It's really tempting, to be honest. Marinette chews on her lip thoughtfully, considering how much of her life could be made easier with a little bit of extra money.

She opens up her email before she can think better of what she's doing.

to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
re: wanted ad

what kind of requests are we talking about?

Marinette sends the email and stares at her phone for a few minutes, just in case the vampire is at their computer, but she gets no response and eventually she sighs deeply, puts down her phone, and goes back to re-folding all of the clothes that she owns.

Three hours later, she's folded all of her laundry, cleaned off her desk of all but the most pressing projects, and she's in the process of straightening her photo wall, which suffered casualties in the laundry war. This is where she keeps all of her favorite pictures of her friends: Luka and Kitty Section rocking out in the costumes Marinette made for them, Ivan and Mylene standing triumphant over the mayor's Project Oxygen debacle, Juleka, Nino and Alya packing the first set of orders for Marinette's online shop with huge smiles on their faces, and...

Marinette sighs, reaching up to ghost her fingers over the last photo. It's of Adrien, leaping up off Marinette's couch in pure joy over beating her father at UMS. Her mother is off to the side, waiting to take the winner, but all Marinette can see is the huge, bright smile on Adrien's face. She'd been lucky to get that picture; she was coming back from the kitchen where she was laying out snacks, and she'd had her phone out to text Alya, and something about her father's voice and the absolute silence from Adrien made her look up to find them in a tense head-to-head. She'd fumbled opened her camera app just in time to catch Adrien as he pummeled her father into victory.

Sabine had mopped the floor with him afterward, of course, and Marinette came in later to deliver the humiliation on top, but even that hadn't wiped the grin off Adrien's face.

They haven't had time to play in a while, come to think of it. Adrien's been busy lately, and so has she. Maybe she should set up something for this weekend?

Marinette's phone pings as she's reaching for it. It's probably Alya with an update on Nora's relationship situation. Marinette puts her pen behind her ear and opens her phone.

It's not Alya.

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Re: re: wanted ad

I'd want you to eat certain things over the week before we meet.

Marinette blinks down at the email, confused.

That's it?

to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
re: Re: re: wanted ad

seriously?? that's all? this isn't some horny thing?

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

No? Didn't I say that?

And then, before Marinette can reply to that, she gets another email.

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

Wait, is that why no one else emailed me?! I said non-sexual! Platonic! graaah

Marinette laughs at the email, soaked to the bone as it is in cranky petulance. It should be off-putting. It's not. She's embarrassed herself in public often enough that she knows exactly how her unknown email partner is feeling right now.

She bites her lip, considering her options, and then she bends over her phone again.

to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
re: Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

you brought up sex, that means it's about sex. doesn't matter if you said "no sex". you mentioned it, and that was your first mistake.

rip.

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

Well, shit. Thanks for telling me ig.

The tone of that email bothers her. Whoever they are, they sound... defeated. Like they're giving up. Marinette frowns down at her phone, her eyebrows drawing together in concern. She flips back to the site and looks through the other recent listings, this time looking with new and more critical eyes. Most of them are obviously trolls, or spam, or people pretending to be vampires to get off on – On whatever. Marinette has never understood that and it's not important right now.

There aren't very many wanted ads that even sound like they might be real, besides the person she's been talking to. None of them are offers. Some of them are still open from weeks ago, meaning those people have never found anyone.

Someone would have to be really desperate to try Vamplist. If they've got this much money to burn, why do they need to risk finding someone online like this?

Marinette flips back to her email and replies to the last one in the chain.

to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

what are you going to do now?

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

Idk. Starve, probably. I can never go back on that site. Ever.

Marinette hates that.

Fuck, she's doing this, isn't she? Alya is going to kill her.

to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

I mean, you don't have to starve. you got one reply. why aren't you asking me?

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

Wait, are you serious?

to: [email protected]
from: [email protected]
re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

there's a café at 61 rue du Temple. I can be there in half an hour. I'll be wearing a red shirt with black polka dots.

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: Re: re: wanted ad

Jesus. Uh, black beanie, glasses, oh wait I've got a green t-shirt with a grumpy cat on the front. It's even clean.

Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.

———

Marinette orders a latte and takes a seat at a table near the window, digging her phone out of her pocket and unzipping her jacket so the shirt is visible. The café is reasonably full. She's probably not going to get dragged off by an axe murderer.

Probably.

Just in case, she snaps a picture of the huge wrought-iron clock on the wall and texts it to Alya, along with the address of the cafe.

???, Alya texts back. Marinette closes the app without replying. She doesn't want to explain what she's doing. Not yet, anyway. There's plenty of time for that later.

Marinette cups her latte in her hands, letting the warmth of it sink into her palms, and breathes in the steam and the heavenly caffeine rising from it, closing her eyes in contentment. She hasn't hung out at a coffee shop to watch people and sketch in... God, it's been months. Maybe she can drag Alya to the place near their apartment next week. She needs to work on a project, anyway, and something about the background murmur of conversation and the muted music does wonders for making her brain work.

She's watching a woman sitting at a nearby table who's slowly shredding the hem of her gypsy shirt as she talks to her friends when someone stops by her table.

"Marinette?"

The male voice, raised and sharp in surprise, is familiar. It plugs right in to the part of her brain that insists there's something to be nervous about.

There's only one person who has that effect on her.

Marinette lifts her eyes to see Adrien, staring at her, his eyes wide and surprised –

And wearing a black beanie, hipster glasses, and when her eyes trail down to his chest, a green shirt with a very grumpy cat staring back at her.

"Oh my god," she says, her eyes widening and her hands clutching tighter around her latte. She's staring like a crazy person, but she feels like she's been thrown for a loop, like someone just took her entire world and turned it upside down.

She's been emailing Adrien? No, wait, that's surprising thing number two. First – Adrien's a vampire?

He drops into the seat opposite her, sitting back and clutching the strap of his satchel where it crosses his chest, and they stare at each other for a long moment while the noise of the coffee shop isolates them into their own little world, full of surprises – and secrets.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Marinette says in a small voice, making Adrien lean forward and rest his elbows on the table so that he can hear her. Her hands tighten again on her coffee cup. Her fingers begin to ache with the pressure, and she knows without looking that they're turning white. "Did we make you feel like – like we wouldn't accept you?"

"Hey, no," Adrien says instantly, reaching across the table to touch one of Marinette's hands lightly. His eyes are very understanding, and very kind. "Don't think like that, okay? It really had nothing to do with you guys. At all. It was one of the conditions my father laid out before he allowed me to come to school. And I agreed. So if you want to blame someone, blame him." Adrien smiles at her then, the slow, beautiful smile that makes his eyes glow. She can't help smiling back, even if hers is more hesitant than his.

"You three were the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm sorry I've lied to you all these years," he says, his smile slowly dying as his voice drops with his apology. His eyebrows are drawing together, too. "I didn't want to, but by the time I moved out – I wasn't sure you'd forgive me," he confesses, his mouth twisting in regret. "I have been lying to you for six years, after all, and I wouldn't blame you if you were upset with me."

Marinette looks down at her hands, turning her latte around in her hands to give herself something to do, and takes a second to feel her feelings. Whatever they are.

She probably should be mad at him – but she can understand how awkward it must have been for him, and understanding has always been her weakness. Besides, it's not like being a vampire makes Adrien a different person. He just has a different diet than she does. And he'll live a little longer. He's still the kind, awkward, dorky person she fell in love with all those years ago.

"I'm not angry," Marinette confesses. She looks up, giving him a quick smile that makes his face clear instantly. "But you should probably start running now, before Alya finds out."

Adrien laughs, sitting back in his chair again. He scratches his beanie absentmindedly. Marinette's never seen it before; is it new? Or is this one of his questionable disguises? "I have to admit, that was another reason I never mentioned it," he says sheepishly. "Alya's terrifying. I don't want to think about what she's going to do to me when she finds out I've been keeping things from her."

Assessing the heat radiating from her coffee, Marinette decides that it's finally a decent drinking temperature and takes a careful sip. "I hear that Switzerland is nice this time of year," she offers with a wide smile.

"Marinette!" Adrien groans, laughing. He leans back in his chair, all of the long lines of his body loosening and relaxing, and Marinette hides the softness of her smile behind her coffee. "Come with me after this? I want to tell them now, while I still have the courage."

"While you still have me to hide behind?" she teases.

He squints at her, raising his hand to his collarbone. "You come to about here on me, I think? I don't know how you think I can hide behind you when you're tiny."

Marinette throws a napkin at him. "You're going to need me to save you when I tell Alya what we're doing," she says pointedly.

That stops Adrien in his tracks. Like magic, the teasing smile on his face turns into wide-eyed shock. "Wait," he says, oddly breathless. "You still... you're still willing?"

"Of course," Marinette says, frowning. "What, did you think I'd change my mind when I found out it was you?"

"Honestly? Yes." Adrien swipes both of his hands over his face, dislodging his glasses, which he then straightens with a muttered curse, his eyes lowered. More quietly, he continues, "It just seemed... awkward." He glances back up at her then, his eyes tentative.

She puts her latte down on the table with a louder-than-necessary thump to punctuate the dirty look she gives him. "And I have never been awkward in my entire life and I have no idea how that feels," she says, absolutely deadpan. "Like I wouldn't suffer through a little awkwardness to help you!"

"What are you talking about? You're never awkward," Adrien says, looking at her with puzzled confusion in his eyes. "I mean, sometimes you're a little clumsy, but you mostly grew out of that ages ago. Besides, it was cute."

It's really hard to even pretend to be irritated with Adrien when he's being sweet – and a little bit dumb, but even that she finds adorable.

Dammit.

Marinette looks away from him and out the window, biting her lip to hide the smile that's ready to erupt, trying to regain some composure.

(She's going to be replaying Adrien calling her cute in her head for the rest of the week – maybe the rest of the month. But who's counting?)

"Um..." Marinette says, and then runs up against the fact that she has no idea what she can possibly say to that except I love you pleasemarryme.

"Did you want to know anything? I feel like I owe you, and it's not like I mind talking about it," Adrien offers with a careless shrug.

That brings her eyes back to him in a snap. "You don't owe me anything," she says firmly, daring him to disagree. "Got it?"

Adrien nods instantly, his eyes widening a little. Marinette smiles pleasantly. "Good," she says. "Because I have to admit, I am curious. How did you get away with it all these years? I mean, I've realized now that you never eat with us, but why did we never notice that before?"

He smirks at her, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. "Oh, that? I have three gifts. One of them is a very mild glamour. I'm only half-vampire, so it's not very powerful, honestly. I mostly use it to stop people from noticing I'm not eating real food when we go out to lunch."

"Wait," Marinette says, holding up a finger. Adrien's grin grows wider, like he knows what's coming next, and he loves it. "You have three gifts?"

Even one gift is vanishingly rare in the vampire population. Three is nearly unheard of.

"Yeah," Adrien admits. "My mother's family is very old, and she's who I get it from, so..." He shrugs. "They're not exactly world-altering, if I'm being honest. I have the glamour, and sun-walking, and – Well, this is the one that would affect you. I can taste what someone's been eating in their blood."

"Oh," Marinette says faintly. Not exactly world-altering, he'd said. Maybe not, but having three at all – and that last one she's never heard of before. There are tons of stories about the really old vampire families having secret gifts that they don't tell the rest of the world. She'd always thought they were conspiracy theories, to be honest, but now?

"Is that why you don't want to use the blood fund?" she asks. The blood fund is open to every vampire, no matter their age or citizenship or social status. The government offers a tax credit for anyone who donates, so it's well-stocked most of the time unless the hospitals are in desperate need.

"Partially. You never know what you're getting from the fund. Once I got a bag that tasted like someone dumped a fifth of whiskey and a carton of cigarette ash in it." Adrien pulls a very disgusted face, which startles Marinette into giggles. He grins at her and continues. "But they also encourage people who can afford to pay for it to find their own, to leave the fund for those who really need it. And I can obviously afford it. So I told Father that this time, I'd find my own donor, and..." He shrugs.

"What happened to your old donor?"

Adrien smiles fondly. "Denis is retiring to take care of his grandchildren in Lyon."

"So he's not dying of – of anemia or something?" Marinette clarifies, raising her eyebrows.

He laughs. "No, of course not. I'm only half, so I don't need that much – a mouthful once a week. Maybe two if I'm doing a lot of fencing."

Narrowing her eyes, Marinette presses further. "And what would you want me to eat?"

There has to be a catch somewhere. There has to be. This is all too good to be true.

Adrien sits back to open his satchel and reach inside for something. Before he takes it out, he looks at her from under his lashes, hesitating for just a second, but then he sighs and slides a box across the table toward her.

There's a logo embossed into the top of the box. Marinette recognizes it immediately; it's the logo of a very expensive Belgian chocolatier. She's been dying to try their chocolate since she found them on the internet, but that was never one of her more realistic dreams. It was one of those things that went along with shopping for luxury estate auctions and fabulous jewels and drooling over the latest haute couture from her favorite designers. Like window shopping for a digital age.

"Adrien," she says, never looking up from the box.

His voice is hesitant. "Yeah?"

Marinette lifts the lid from the box using only her fingertips. The chocolates inside are nestled in their tiny compartments, each one shaped like a perfect crescent; some are brushed with gold or brilliant in gem colors, others the rich, glossy darkness of the very best kind of chocolate. The smell rushes over her in a waft of pure debauchery.

She raises her head to nail him with a look. "Adrien, I would do this for free."

Adrien ducks his head and laughs, his eyes crinkling with humor, his grin wide and unabashedly delighted. She watches him, her fingers tracing the textured edges of the lid, until he sighs and lifts his head again.

"There's... one more thing," Adrien says quietly. His body language is – he's shrinking into himself, clutching his satchel to his chest, like he can hide behind it. "In the interest of – of being transparent, I need to mention that I – " He sighs, closing his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, he meets her eyes squarely, holding nothing back. "I have feelings for you," Adrien says carefully.

Marinette sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes flying wide open.

"You don't have to worry," he says quickly, reassuring her. "I have control over the bloodlust. It isn't so bad for me, anyway, since I'm only half. And I promise I would never hurt you. I'd rather die. But – " Adrien shrugs just one shoulder awkwardly. "You need all of the information to make an informed decision. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't mention it."

"Wait," Marinette manages to get out around a mouth that feels like so much cotton. She can't stop staring at him. She must look like an idiot. But – "You have feelings for me?"

Adrien nods, his eyes cautious, his mouth pressed tight.

"Romantic feelings?" she presses, clumsy with disbelief, unable to accept that this is actually happening. Not after so long wishing, wanting, after so long telling herself that he doesn't like her like that, that she's only ever been a friend.

He tilts his head a little to look at her, his eyes narrowed. "Is that so hard to believe?" Adrien asks warily.

Marinette swallows. "Yes," she whispers. "I don't want to get my hopes up if I'm wrong."

Adrien's eyebrows shoot up, his eyes going round in surprise, and – God, is that excitement? "Your hopes?" he repeats, dropping his bag and leaning over the table to take her nerveless hands in his big, gentle ones. "Marinette, does that mean you..."

He trails off, giving her room to tell him – anything.

Everything.

She breathes, slow and steady, and takes a look at Adrien's pleading eyes, the lip that he's biting – that's one of her habits, Marinette realizes with a thrill, one that he's picked up from her – and she smiles shakily.

"I'm in love with you," she says, feeling an overwhelming surge of relief from finally saying it out loud, of finally telling him after years of stomping down her feelings and denying them and more than a few tears. Marinette watches the joy swim up from the depths of Adrien's eyes, watching the return smile spread so wide on his face that she thinks he might break into pieces, and she thinks – she did that. She made him that happy. "Since almost the day we met, in fact."

That stops him in his tracks. Adrien stares at her, gobsmacked. "Wait, what? That long?"

Marinette laughs, nudging the box to the side with her elbow and leaning over the table to be closer to him. "I still have your umbrella," she tells him, her smile warm.

He leans in, too, bracing his weight on his elbows. "Marinette," he says, a depth of fondness in his eyes that – oh God, that she's seen before, but hadn't recognized for what it was. Is that what love looks like on his face? Is all of that emotion swimming there really for her? "Marinette, can I buy you dinner?"

Laughing, Marinette raises her eyebrows at him. "Is that before or after I become dinner?"

She's never felt confident enough to flirt with him before. This feels... amazing, and right, like this is exactly where he belongs, right next to her. Like flying, but he's there with her every second of it, just waiting for her to reach out.

To her surprise – and her delight – a faint pink tinge washes over his cheeks, and all the while his smile widens and brightens, a new and dangerous light glinting in his eyes. "Why not both?" Adrien asks, pulling one of her hands to his lips and pressing a long, warm kiss to the back of it as he watches her from under his lashes. "I have the feeling you'd make the most amazing dessert."