Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lollipop sticks. Empty perfume bottles— one Gabriel Agreste No. 5 cologne, and the other being his Adrien-branded fragrance. A black Chanel hand cream. A half-chewed Gabriel Agreste pen. A silver hair comb with a few golden hairs still clinging to its teeth. Mint breath-freshener, and perfectly empty chewing-gum boxes ( cleaned thoroughly; she’s not that creepy ).

It’s an inventory that would make any sane person raise an eyebrow, maybe both, and ask some very concerned questions, but Marinette is proud of her collection. This is love at it’s purest form. It’s perfectly and absolutely fine. Nothing about her is insane, just… passionate.

The white box, its lid decorated with pink hearts and a cursive initial “A,” is her most treasured possession as of right now. It’s hidden beneath a pile of sketchbooks and rolls of fabric, and Marinette never fails to open it every evening with a sigh.

She lights two candles —vanilla for Adrien, blackberries for herself— and even has a special playlist for the ritual, too. Only a few piano melodies and melancholic guitar tunes that remind her of her soulmate.

Then she holds one of the stolen items, closes her eyes, and pray this gesture brings her closer to Adrien somehow. Sometimes she shivers with excitement. Sometimes she laughs at herself. Sometimes she thinks about booking a therapist appointment or running straight to the Saint-Anne psychiatric hospital.

It’s Saturday night, and Marinette decides it’s too early to sleep. And what better way to spend a Saturday night than to run a deep dive on the love of her life?

She calls it “research.” Others might call it a little intense. Maybe even borderline obsessive. But she prefers to think of it as… passionate. Thorough, even. Marinette has always been detail-oriented, after all.

Her room is dark, save for the glow of her laptop screen. The fairy lights she’s strung up along her walls are off, their cozy glow swapped for the stark, cold blue of her monitor. She sits at her desk, eyes locked on her laptop like she’s a detective solving an abandoned case. And, in a way, she is, except the case involves one very specific blonde model whose life she has, over time, become an expert in.

She starts with her usual warm-up: Instagram. Adrien’s page is her digital playground, one she knows like the back of her hand. She pulls up his profile and scrolls through his most recent post, which is a picture of him at a photoshoot, dressed head-to-toe in high fashion. She’s already liked the post, of course— exactly three minutes after it goes up. She times herself now, to make sure she doesn’t come off too eager, just in case Adrien ever checks his notifications. Three minutes feels like the sweet spot, you know?

The posts are full of smiles and glitzy photoshoots, flashes of runway lights, perfectly angled selfies, and polished behind-the-scenes content… ones she’s plastered on her bedroom wall, so she knows them all too well. As she scrolls further down his feed, she lets out a sigh.

Perfect shot after perfect shot. Adrien with his model smile, Adrien with his perfect hair… She knows better. Marinette has been following him around for quite a while now, and she has to admit, Adrien’s pretty good at acting like everything is fine, but she often sees glimpses of his actual self. Whenever he thinks no one is looking, he distances himself from the crowd, sighs, and stares at the ground or his phone with such sadness Marinette could practically cry on the spot.

She stops at the older posts on his account, which she’s seen a thousand times already. It’s mostly old photos of him and his father, but there’s one picture that always catches her eye, no matter how many times she scrolls past it. A blurry shot of Adrien and his mom, Emilie Agreste, in what looks like a garden. The way Adrien is smiling —really smiling, not the model smile— is what gets to her every time. That photo is from years ago, and it’s the only time she’s seen him look that happy.

She frowns, her eyes lingering on the image. Emilie has been gone for a while now; vanished under mysterious circumstances that have fueled rumors all over their school. Some people whisper that she’d run away, unable to handle the pressure of her husband’s business. Others say it’s something more sinister, a kidnapping covered up by the Agreste name. Marinette has even seen a Reddit thread dedicated to Parisian mysteries that speculates she’d gone into hiding or was involved in something scandalous.

Whatever it is, it’s a mystery that haunts Adrien. She’s caught glimpses of it in his eyes whenever his mom comes up in conversation, the way he goes quiet and distant, his smile turning into something more fragile. She knows, deep down, that the perfect life he presents is just a mask.

But that’s not enough for her. She needs to know more. She wants to peel back the layers, see the real Adrien Agreste. The one behind the camera, the one who isn’t always picture-perfect.

She needs to see him, so she can better understand his struggles and help him, she reasons. It’s all for Adrien’s well-being, not for her own personal pleasure.

“Okay, Marinette, let’s do this,” she mutters, cracking her knuckles.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard before she switches tabs. She opens up a program she downloaded ages ago, one she’s tinkered with on slow nights when she can’t sleep. It’s a network scanner, the kind used for hacking into Wi-Fi connections. She types in Adrien’s home address— an address she ‘accidentally’ overheard during homeroom when the teacher read out the class directory. Totally coincidental.

“This is nuts, even for you,” she mutters as the screen flickers with codes. “You really shouldn’t be doing this.” But her fingers are already moving, the thrill of it coursing through her. A little voice in her head keeps whispering that she should stop, that this is way beyond her usual “research.” But she ignores it.

She’s watched a ton of tutorials on cybersecurity these past few months, mostly out of curiosity. Hacking her own Wi-Fi had been a piece of cake, but this is a whole different level. The Agreste estate is practically a fortress. If she gets caught… Well, she doesn’t let herself think about that.

After all, Adrien is worth the risk. At least, that’s what she tells herself.

A list of available networks pops up, and there it is: Agreste_Pvt. “Seriously? Couldn’t make it a little harder?”

As for the passwords, she cycles through the obvious first—“Gabriel123,” “Adrien2004,” even the name of their family brand. Nothing. Then, it suddenly hits her. Of course, why didn’t she try this one first?

“Emilie1977.”

The screen flashes green, and she’s in. Marinette’s heart leaps as the pixels light up, welcoming her into the Agreste home network. She takes a shaky breath, feeling a mixture of triumph and panic. This is it. She’s standing at the threshold of Adrien’s world, and all she has to do is step inside.

She navigates through the files cautiously. Most of it is encrypted, locked behind multiple layers of security she knows she’ll never crack, but the cameras are easily accessible. She hesitates, her hand hovering over the touchpad. This is way beyond anything she’s done before. She knows she shouldn’t… she’s crossing a line. A very big, very illegal line. She could get in serious trouble.

But curiosity and her unexplainable need to understand everything about Adrien pushes her forward.

She clicks.

The camera feeds pop up, a grid showing the various rooms in the Agreste mansion. The living room is spotless, like something out of a magazine spread. The kitchen is equally pristine. Room after room, all perfectly arranged. It’s almost unsettling. Everything is so pristine, so… lifeless. Like no one actually lives there.

And then she finds his bedroom.

“Oh my God…” she whispers. “He’s so—” She bites her lip, trying to hold back a smile that’s probably way too wide.

Adrien sits at his desk, head down, earphones in, completely oblivious to the world beyond his computer screen. Marinette’s breath hitches as she zooms in. She can see every detail : the way his blond hair falls into his eyes, the way his fingers drum absently on the desk when he pauses to think. She watches as he sighs and rubs his temples, like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

Marinette’s smile is gone now. He looks so… incredibly beautiful, yes, but also so sad. The mask he wears around others is absent, replaced by a tired expression she isn’t used to seeing. It makes her heart ache. She watches him sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to chase away some invisible weight.

“Oh, Adrien…” she whispers, leaning closer to the screen. She wishes she could reach through, tell him that someone is there, that someone cares.

Suddenly, he gets up. She flips through the feeds, finding the hallway camera outside his father’s office. She waits, eyes glued to the screen, and there he is : Adrien emerges from his room, stretching his arms before he pauses outside the office. He hesitates, staring at the door like he’s debating whether or not to go in. Marinette holds her breath, willing him not to open it. But then, with a resigned look, he reaches for the handle and disappears inside.

Unfortunately for her, that room has no security cameras. That’s the end of her investigation… for now.

She clicks back to her browser, opening a new document and typing out every detail she’s gathered, every hint, every clue. From the layout of his home to every single item inside his bedroom. She labels it “Adrien Investigations, File #28” and saves it next to the other twenty-seven files she’s compiled over the past few months.

After all, if she’s going to protect him, she has to know everything. She’s getting closer, and one day, she’ll know it all.

Because who better to watch over him than the person who knows his every secret?

Time passes, and the thrill that had once surged through her feels off, replaced by a gnawing unease.

She should still feel triumphant. She should feel like she’s keeping him safe, knowing exactly where he is and what’s happening around him. But now that the adrenaline high has worn off, it feels different. Wrong.

Sure, it was one thing to have the files she’d compiled—layouts of his home, every room cataloged, every habit and routine noted down. That was just preparation, she told herself. If anything happened, she’d be ready to step in. It was all for Adrien’s safety. And yes, she had photos of him, but they were just innocent reminders of moments they shared… or ones she wished they had. The lollipop sticks and perfume bottles? Tokens of affection. But spying on him through his own security cameras?

No, this one step was too much, and maybe letting go of it would prove she’s still in control, right?

“Okay, just this one thing,” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

She opens her network settings, staring at the option to disconnect. Her finger hesitates, trembling. “Come on, Marinette. You don’t need this.” She breathes out slowly and clicks “Forget Network.”

The screen flickers as the connection drops, and the camera feed vanishes, replaced by the blank blue of her desktop. It’s done. She’s locked herself out.

She sits there for a moment, staring at the empty space. A strange sense of loss grips her, but she pushes it away. She’s done the right thing. This was just a step too far, and now she’s corrected it.

If she really were obsessed, she’d keep it all. But she’s not that kind of person. She’s careful. She’s practical. And she’s still in control.

But as the screen darkens and her reflection stares back, she can’t quite shake the feeling that she’s teetering on the edge of something. She opens the folder labeled “Adrien Investigations” and looks through the files, house layouts, pictures, notes. They’re still there, and she doesn’t hesitate as she closes the folder, securing everything safely in its place. This part is fine. It’s normal. She’s just prepared for anything. It’s all for Adrien’s safety, after all.

—

basically what marinette looks like in this

another moonstruck marinette

wardrobe inspo

hair inspo

Chapter Text

Jagged Stone’s oldest hits blast from her speakers as Marinette stands in front of her bathroom mirror, humming along. The sunlight catches the edge of her black eye pencil as she glides it smoothly along her lower lash line. She leans in, smudging it gently before stepping back to examine her reflection.

Ghostly pale skin, almond eyes surrounded by thick, long lashes, all framed by dark hair tied back in low twin buns. Her lace top peeks through the low-cut sweater she has on, and her black miniskirt is wrinkle-free, thanks to the fifteen minutes she spent ironing it earlier.

“Decent enough,” she decides, though she feels like she’s been spiraling into madness this past week.

The good news is she hasn’t re-downloaded that sketchy network app. She hasn’t added a twenty-ninth entry to her ever-growing Adrien Agreste file, nor has she followed the boy to his modeling gigs, his home, or—well, anywhere, really.

The devil works hard, but Marinette’s post-stalking clarity works harder, hitting her with the biggest existential crisis of her life. She’s even tried to find new hobbies, like developing a new crush, but she had the displeasure of finding out no teenage boy in Paris is worthy of her unconditional love. None are as intelligent, mature, kind, and humble as Adrien Agreste. The (out-of-this-world) (absolutely stunning) (genuinely unbelievable) looks are just a bonus.

The point is, she’s been good.

But every time she scrolls past his Instagram or catches a glimpse of his smile in the halls, she feels it—that nagging urge to be closer to him, to bridge the space between them. She can give up the security cameras, she can stop following him everywhere, but she can’t entirely give up on him. It’s like a drug, really—once you’ve had a taste, you’re hooked, and always craving more.

Maybe it would be enough if I had something tangible, she muses. Something real. And no, his comb isn’t cutting it anymore, even if she’s grateful for the precious few strands of hair she managed to snag from it. The way she rationalizes it feels flimsy, even to her, but the thought lingers: if she could just have a piece of him—something physical, something no one else could claim—it might quiet the craving for good.

Her pulse quickens at the thought, and she leans back from the mirror, a small smile forming as she tucks her rosy nude lipstick into her bag. She has a plan for today, and one thing about her plans is that they’re complicated, all over the place even, but they always work out in the end.

It’s risky, sure, but nothing she can’t handle. She’s followed a supermodel home for weeks and once bribed Max to hack freaking Parcoursup in the name of love. If anything, today’s mission is practically tame by her standards. Nothing like good old fashioned theft, right?

After a week detoxing from Adrien chemicals, Marinette’s officially back in business.

The familiar rush of nervous energy pulses through her as she steps into the gym. Her heart races as she clutches her backpack strap, fingers gripping the fabric a little too tight.

Last night, she texted Alya with the briefest of messages:

I need a favor. Distract the teacher during gym class so I can sneak out for a second. No questions, pleaaaase. Just trust me!

Alya’s response had come through almost instantly—a string of question marks followed by a skeptical: Girl, I really hope this isn’t one of your schemes. But despite her hesitation, she had agreed. Marinette knew she could count on her.

Now, standing in the bustling gym, Marinette’s eyes flicker toward the boys’ changing room. She imagines Adrien’s PE shirt hanging on one of the hooks, his scent still clinging to the fabric. It’s the one thing she needs to quiet the restless ache inside her, to bridge the gap that’s been growing ever since she stopped following him so closely.

This isn’t too far, she tells herself. It’s just one shirt. It’s harmless. And it’s for her—no, their—connection. For his own good, even, whispers a voice in her head, because honestly, she’s not sure how long she can stand being so far apart from him, or what she would do in that case.

As the teacher calls for everyone to line up, Marinette’s eyes meet Alya’s across the room. Alya gives a subtle nod, and Marinette knows it’s time. Ms. Bustier blows the whistle to signal the start of laps, and right on cue, Alya’s hand shoots up.

“Ms. Bustier, last Friday’s literature lesson was so good, it was all I could think about all weekend. Don’t you think Les Misérables has too much focus on the male characters? What about the women? Shouldn’t we discuss that in more depth? Maybe in this afternoon’s class?”

Ms. Bustier’s eyes light up, her weakness for deep literature debates activated. “Oh, Alya, that’s a fantastic question!” she exclaims, abandoning her stopwatch and launching into a passionate discussion with Alya and a few other curious students who gather around.

Perfect, Marinette thinks, slipping away. She moves quickly, dodging clusters of students and rounding the corner as she sprints toward the locker rooms. Her heart pounds, adrenaline surging through her veins.

She reaches Adrien’s locker, hands steady as she pulls out her trusty bobby pin, expertly picking the lock—she really has to thank that middle-aged Russian man on YouTube for his comprehensive “How to Rob People” tutorials.

It clicks open, and she holds her breath. There it is: Adrien’s neatly folded gym shirt. She reaches for it, feeling the soft fabric between her fingers.

She remembers the distant look on Adrien’s face when she spied on him in his bedroom, the way his shoulders slumped when he thought no one was watching. That same ache returns, stronger this time.

With a deep breath, she stuffs the shirt into her bag and clicks the locker shut. Mission accomplished.

But just as she prepares to leave, she hears voices approaching. Her heart leaps into her throat as she ducks behind the bench, pressing herself flat against the wall, barely daring to breathe.

“Yeah, I know, Nathalie,” Adrien’s voice says, sounding frustrated. “I get it. He’s busy.”

Marinette peeks out just enough to catch a glimpse of him, phone to his ear, his free hand clenched into a fist. He looks tired, his shoulders slumping even lower.

“But he promised he’d be at the fencing tournament this time,” Adrien continues. “It’s not about the tournament. It’s just—” He pauses, his voice catching. “Never mind. I’ll be fine.”

He hangs up and stares at his phone for a moment before shoving it back into his pocket. For a second, he just stands there, looking small and lost. Marinette’s heart aches, her hands twitching with the urge to reach out and hug him.

Adrien sighs, and then, without another word, grabs his gym bag and leaves. Marinette waits until his footsteps fade completely before she slips out from behind the bench, her pulse still racing.

She stands there for a moment, paralyzed by the thought that maybe there’s nothing she can do to help him. It’s not like she can just show up at his fencing tournament pretending to be his biggest fan—again. She looks down, feeling a swell of helplessness, until she spots Max’s notebook peeking out of his gym bag nearby.

An idea sparks, wild and ridiculous, but she knows it’s the best chance she has. She grabs Max’s notebook and pen, hesitating. This is a direct interaction—she’s crossing the line from “innocent bystander” to “meddling creep.” But then again, who is she kidding? She has crossed that line long ago.

She takes a deep breath. Follow your heart, right? She has to do something for Adrien’s well-being. She first considers writing, “I’m sorry your father isn’t present enough,” but then he’d know someone spied on him.

Instead, she writes something different—something that comes straight from her heart—and slips the note into his locker, carefully placing it where he’ll find it later.

With one last look, she zips up her bag and leaves, her heart pounding, hoping her message will bring him even the smallest bit of comfort.

Marinette’s hands are still shaking as she sneaks back to the gym, her heart pounding like she’s just sprinted a marathon. She slips into line just as Alya’s wrapping up her impromptu debate. Ms. Bustier looks delighted, gesturing animatedly as she discusses the nuances of Les Misérables , completely oblivious to Marinette’s absence.

Marinette gives Alya a grateful thumbs-up. Alya raises an eyebrow, mouthing, You owe me with a look that promises there will be follow-up questions later. Marinette nods, mouthing back, Forever in your debt.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of half-listened-to lectures and scribbled notes that make no sense. All she can think about is the gym shirt folded neatly in her bag, tucked between her notebooks like it’s some sort of secret treasure. She wonders if holding it will feel as thrilling as she imagined or if it’ll just remind her how far she’s gone—and how much farther she’s willing to go.

By the time she finally gets home, she races up the stairs two at a time, making a beeline for her room. Her parents are in the kitchen, and she hears her mom’s voice float up the stairs.

“Marinette, sweetie, how was your day?”

“Good!” she calls back, the word catching in her throat. “Just, uh, have a lot of homework! See you at dinner!”

Her dad’s voice follows her up, warm and cheerful. “Don’t work too hard, sweetheart!”

She forces out a quick, “I won’t!” before shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. Her pulse is still racing, and she can’t help but feel like she’s just snuck into a high-security vault and made it out by the skin of her teeth.

The room is quiet, and her eyes immediately go to her backpack, sitting on her desk like it’s some kind of beacon. She crosses the room and pulls out the shirt, feeling the thrill rush through her as she lifts it to her face, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with something fresh, like detergent. It’s exactly as she thought it would be—intoxicating, like holding a piece of him that no one else can have. A small, giddy smile spreads across her face .

“See?” she whispers to herself, her voice barely audible in the quiet room. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’d never go too far.” She squeezes the shirt tighter, as if holding onto something real could somehow make the feelings go away, make it all feel okay. But even as she buries her face in the fabric again, the lie feels heavy in her mouth, sinking like a stone in her chest.

She hugs the shirt to her, curling up on her bed and squeezing her eyes shut, hoping that maybe—just maybe—if she holds onto it tight enough, she can drown out the voice telling her this isn’t how love is supposed to feel.

Chapter Text

Adrien sits in the backseat of his father’s limo, staring at the crumpled note he found wedged in his PE locker. The car hums quietly, a dull roar as the city rolls past, the lights flashing like fragmented stars through the tinted windows. He unfolds the note with a frown, smoothing out the paper as if that might somehow make the message clearer.

“The moon is only whole when it drifts beyond the shadows.”

He squints at the handwriting, trying to make some sense out of it. It’s the kind of line you’d find in a bad poetry book—cryptic, confusing, and… slightly menacing, even? Was this some kind of threat?

He reads the note again, then flips it over to check the back for more details, but there’s nothing. No name, no indication of who wrote it, just that nonsense about moons and shadows.

Am I supposed to know what this means? he wonders, crumpling the note in his palm as if pressing it hard enough might somehow squeeze out the answer. Adrien’s seen enough true-crime documentaries to know this is exactly how things go wrong. One minute, you’re living your relatively normal, vaguely boring life, and the next you’re finding mysterious notes in your locker that don’t make any sense. This is how someone ends up kidnapped and dumped into the Seine, and Adrien has no intention of becoming Paris’ next headline…. well, for something other than modeling anyways.

The thought makes his skin prickle, and his mind flickers to the magazine he found in the school trash can—the one with his co-model’s face viciously scratched out. He already felt like something was wrong, but had convinced himself he was just too paranoid. Now, however, with this note in his hands, a chill races down his spine. Was he right all along? Is this some kind of veiled threat? It has to be, right? His fingers tighten around the note, creasing the edges.

Sure, he’s sort of famous, and that draws all sorts of attention, but he never thought anyone hated him to this extent. His classmates are nothing but nice, and he doesn’t know many people outside of them, the little family he has left, and Kagami Tsurugi. He simply has no idea who this could be.

The limo pulls up to the gates of his home, the looming Agreste mansion casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. Adrien steps out, waiting for that odd sensation of being watched to fade, but it doesn’t. The shadows around the house seem darker than usual, as if they’re swallowing what little light remains. He crams the note into his jacket pocket and heads inside, making sure to lock the door behind him.

The next morning at school, the boy’s a bundle of nerves. He pretends to look for a textbook in his locker, taking much longer than he should, just to see if anyone’s watching him. If there’s one thing those documentaries have taught him, it’s that the stalker often hides in plain sight.

Now heading to class, Adrien walks through the school halls with his senses dialed up to eleven. He hovers around the courtyard, eyes darting from one familiar face to the next, trying to read expressions and catch a hint of guilt or suspicion. Every laugh feels a little too loud, every whisper a little too suspicious.

He glances over to Chloe, who’s loudly berating some poor first-year for accidentally bumping into her Z&V handbag. Then Nathaniel, who’s sketching furiously in the corner, oblivious to the world around him, and the other students blur together, just faces in a sea of teenage chaos.

He shakes off the feeling of unease and heads to his first class, deciding to keep his eyes open for the rest of the day. Whoever wrote that note has to slip up eventually.

In class, he zeroes in on the rest of his classmates, searching for any sign that someone might be playing mind games with him. Alya is, as usual, enthusiastically debating with Nino, waving her hands as she makes her point. Juleka is scribbling something he can’t make out from where he is in her notebook, while Rose is doodling hearts and stars in the margins of hers.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

His eyes land on Marinette, who’s sitting at her usual spot, looking at the window. Her wrists and fingers are full of silver jewelry, and her usual low twin-buns are swapped for two braids, adorned by various hairclips. Her eyes flicker nervously toward him for a split second before darting away, the paleness of her skin betraying the blood rushing to her cheeks. Marinette looks… well, she looks really pretty, actually, as always. She also looks like she might combust under the pressure of his gaze, though, and he’s not sure if that’s endearing or weird. Probably both, he decides, before looking away.

He spends the rest of the day trying to play it cool, but every time someone brushes past him or mutters his name, his stomach twists in suspicion.

By lunchtime, Adrien is still at a loss. He’s convinced he’s been observant—watching every interaction, every group that lingers a little too long by the lockers, but there’s nothing. No odd glances, no nervous fidgeting. Even Nino doesn’t notice anything off about Adrien, which only reinforces the suspicion curling tighter in his chest.

There’s only one person who might be able to shed some light on this.

He waits until fencing practice to corner Kagami. She’s the daughter of his father’s business partner, which means they both know what it’s like to be surrounded by secrets— things they’re not supposed to be a part of. Their parents often vanish into his father’s study for hours, whispering about matters that Adrien and Kagami are strictly forbidden to overhear. He wonders if that’s why Kagami’s always been so blunt with him—there’s no point in pretending when the world you live in is already a lie.

They’ve just finished sparring when Adrien pulls her aside. She looks at him, unimpressed, sweat dripping down her face.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says, as straightforward as usual.

“Can you tell me what this means?” he asks, pulling out the note and holding it out to her. She frowns, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand before taking it.

Her eyebrow raises. “It’s pretty obvious, Adrien.”

He tries not to look offended. “Humor me.”

“The moon is only whole when it drifts beyond the shadows,” she reads aloud, then snorts. “It’s simple. It means you’d be happier if you moved away from your problems—the ‘shadows,’ if you want to be poetic about it.”

Adrien blinks at her. “So… it’s not a threat?”

She looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “How did you even come to that conclusion? It’s hardly ominous… just badly written advice.”

Adrien feels the blood rush to his cheeks. “Oh. Right. I, uh, knew that.”

“Sure you did.” She turns the note back. “It’s just a bad quote, Adrien. Don’t think too hard about it.”

Adrien’s lips twitch in a humorless smile. “Guess I’ve been watching too much true-crime.”

“Clearly. It’s a cheesy metaphor, not a ransom demand. If this is supposed to be some kind of threat, they’re doing a terrible job at it.”

This is Kagami’s way of reassuring him, and she’s usually right about most things, but there’s something unsettling about the note that he can’t quite shake. It’s not that the words themselves are dangerous— and he’s very relieved this isn’t mean spirited, don’t get him wrong— it’s the fact that someone decided he needed to hear them. It’s unsettling in a way he can’t put into words, like someone out there is seeing something about him that even he refuses to acknowledge.

The confusion stays with him all day. No one— not a single soul —knows about his problems. He doesn’t even talk to Nino about the cracks in his perfect life, the pressure of living up to his father’s impossible standards, or the empty, echoing hallways of the Agreste mansion. No one’s supposed to know.

His shoulders loosen just a fraction, and he laughs suddenly, bitterly, at the absurdity of it all. Here he is, feeling bizarrely grateful to a potential stalker because at least they noticed he wasn’t doing well. Not even his own father, who’s more interested in business deals and brand reputation, has noticed. At least, someone out there has noticed he’s not doing well, even if their method of showing it is questionable. It’s more than his father’s ever done, that’s for sure.

That night, Adrien lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. His room is as silent as ever, the shadows stretching across the ceiling from the half-drawn curtains. His thoughts swirl, replaying the events of the day on an endless loop—the note, his classmates, Kagami’s matter-of-fact dismissal, and the sudden, suffocating realization that no one, not even his closest friends, know what’s going on in his head. He’s so incredibly lonely, and he really didn’t need a reminder of that.

But he doesn’t have to be, right?

There’s someone out there that seems to care. If Kagami’s right, and the “stalker” doesn’t have any ill intent, he’s not so lonely anymore.

Or maybe that’s the stalker’s plan— luring him into thinking they’re harmless, only to strike when he’s not looking. Yeah, that makes more sense, actually. How could anyone know about his issues if he doesn’t even voice them? And why  would anyone care?

At the back of his mind, an unknown voice whispers to him that there’s nothing comforting about someone reading through you and giving you anonymous “advice” either… Yet, this possibility doesn’t worry him as much anymore, if at all. If this is truly advice, then whoever wrote it wants the best for him, and the thought of someone caring about his well-being and seeing through his facade makes him feel weirdly ecstatic. He’s fully aware that this is not a sane reaction, but he can’t help it.

Maybe I’m losing it, he thinks, letting out a long, shaky breath.

It’s barely morning when his alarm goes off, and he drags himself out of bed, feeling like he hasn’t slept at all. The cold air bites at his skin as he dresses for another day at school, but his mind’s still stuck on that note.

The first half of the day drags by in a haze, and by lunch, Adrien’s frustration is starting to show. He fumbles with his sandwich, barely listening to Nino’s chatter. He’s barely touched his food when his gaze lands on Alya and Marinette again, sitting on a table close to theirs.

Alya’s on her phone, frantically typing on her phone, nearly assaulting her keyboard in the process, while Marinette seems to be writing something on her notebook. There’s a concentrated look on her face, a wrinkle between her brows, and he finds himself staring. He gets to see a completely different side of her when she’s immersed in what she’s doing, nothing like the usual clumsy panic he’s used to. Today, there’s a quiet confidence in the way she moves, a kind of determination that he rarely gets to witness.

She looks up suddenly and catches his eye. Adrien quickly looks away. This isn’t the time to get distracted, after all.

After school, he heads back to his locker with a strange sense of anticipation. His heart’s hammering as he opens it, half-expecting another note to fall out. But it’s empty—just his textbooks and a pile of crumpled papers. He exhales, tension draining out of him, and tells himself he’s relieved, but really, he can’t identify the emotions going through him at this moment. It’s really not relief, and he’s not sure he wants to know what it is.

The next morning starts the same as usual: cold, gray, and quiet. Adrien walks through the courtyard with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He watches Chloe snapping at Sabrina, Nathanael doodling in the corner, Juleka and Rose whispering to each other, Mylene and Ivan sharing a muffin. Even Nino’s absorbed in his headphones, nodding his head to the beat of a song only he can hear.

The school day slips by in a blur, the tension coiling tighter in his gut as the minutes tick away. He’s starting to think he imagined the whole thing, that maybe there’s no pattern to follow, b ut then he opens his locker at the end of the day—and there it is.

A second note, this time folded neatly between his textbooks. His heart skips a beat as he pulls it out, fingers trembling, and he unfolds the paper with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Chapter Text

Adrien reads the note for what must be the fifth time, tucked into a quiet corner of the school hallway with his heart racing stupidly fast.

Sometimes even the brightest stars hide from the world, unaware that the stardust is still thinking of them.

He bites back a laugh, mostly at himself. He has no idea who wrote this, but now that he knows this person doesn’t mean any harm, something about it makes him grin like a lovesick fool. Tiny hearts are doodled around the edges, and the dots on the “i”s are heart shaped, too. His fingers trace over the sketches, feeling the faint, textured lines beneath his fingertips.

He just stands there, smiling wide and completely unguarded, when the clock pulls him out of his daydream. Right. Lunch. Carefully folding the note, Adrien slips it into his bag, throwing a quick glance around the hallway, hoping he might catch a glimpse of his “secret admirer” hiding in plain sight. But, of course, no one’s watching. Just him, geeking out over a heartfelt scribble.

As he heads to the cafeteria, he tries to shake off the giddy, fluttery feeling still buzzing through his chest— but then, just as he rounds the corner, he spots a familiar flash of black hair and silver hairclips barreling toward him. Marinette stumbles right into his path, clutching her notebook like her life depends on it. Her hair’s in twintails today, held by white lace ribbons, he notes.

“Oh! Adrien!” She stammers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I was just around and— I mean, I wasn’t… you know, watching or anything.” She laughs awkwardly, her nails digging into the skin of her hands.

“Don’t worry about it.” Adrien gives her an easy smile. “I was somewhere else.”

“Yeah?” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers twitching in that way he’d come to recognize. Marinette is always a bit scattered, but today she seems nervous. He can’t help but wonder if he’s the one making her uneasy, especially since he’s never seen her act this way around anyone else.

“Are you okay? You seem a little… on edge today.”

“Oh! No, no edge here! Totally… edge-free,” Marinette says, though her face is already turning pink. She shifts a bit, brushing her bangs aside as if trying to hide her own smile. “But you seem to be in a good mood today”

“Yeah… I think I am,” he murmurs, almost surprised by his own honesty. “Today just… feels good, you know?”

A warm smile spreads across her face, her eyes lighting up. “Well, I’m glad,” and he feels like she truly means it, without any hidden expectations. She just seems… happy for him. He breaks the silence with a playful shrug, though he feels oddly vulnerable. “I should probably get back to Nino before he starts a search party.”

Her face breaks into a soft laugh as she nods. “Right! Of course.”

Adrien waves as he walks away, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I’ll see you around, Mari.” He doesn’t look back, but for some reason, he can’t hear her footsteps, like she just froze after that.

As he gets to the cafeteria, he realises that for once, the endless maze of school corridors feels bright, maybe even hopeful. 

Over the next few days, the notes keep coming.

They show up tucked into the spaces he’d least expect—one slips from the pages of his English textbook, another is folded neatly beneath his fencing gloves, and one even flutters out of his sketchbook as he flips it open. Each note is handwritten, the ink a dark, graceful blue that swirls into tiny hearts, with doodled stars along the edges.

Adrien reads each one almost religiously. The lines are poetic, almost haunting, filled with strange but earnest affection. They talk of stars, of dreams, of fleeting moments only someone watching him closely could have noticed.

Even in the crowd, I see you first. It’s as if the world dims just for you to shine.

The words make his heart race, each one stranger and more cryptic than the last, and it’s all too easy to let his mind drift, wondering who could be behind this. He starts noticing details he never would have before—like the way the crowd shifts and flows around him, or the way he feels eyes on him even in his quietest moments. Every corner of the school seems more alive, filled with invisible possibilities.

But really, it’s Adrien himself who feels more alive than ever now.

By the fifth note, he’s found himself slipping away between classes just to check his locker, his eyes darting to any shadow that might be hiding a secret smile or curious gaze.

Your smile has an undertone of sadness, but it still lights up the day for anyone lucky enough to see it.

Reading that line, Adrien can’t help but laugh to himself, a blush creeping up his cheeks. No one has ever described him that way. He doesn’t feel special, let alone like he has some kind of light to offer. But this stranger sees something he doesn’t—a version of himself he barely recognizes but kind of wishes was real.

Every note stirs something new in him. He finds himself thinking about them even when he’s with others, eyes glazing over during conversations, barely paying attention to the chatter. He wonders if they’re watching right now, and the thought excites him in a way he can’t quite understand.

Then, another one :

I hope you know you’re not alone. Even on the days that feel empty, even in the silences. Whatever happens, I’ll be there for you.

It’s not like the cryptic, romantic lines he’s come to expect from the stranger. This is direct, straight to the point. The words cut through all the noise in his head, piercing into that empty place he rarely lets himself think about. He’s always kept those silences to himself, buried out of reach, and yet somehow, this person already knows.

He takes a breath, staring down at the message. The way they seem to understand him without him even needing to say a word… it makes him feel exposed, but not in a bad way. He’s comforted by it, relieved. It’s like a piece of armor he’s been carrying forever just melted off, and for the first time, he feels a little lighter.

It all makes him feel… seen. And isn’t that exactly what he’s been looking for? Someone who genuinely cares, who gets him on a level even he struggles to reach sometimes, who he can just be with—no masks, no performances, no holding back. Someone who doesn’t demand he be any more than he already is.

He thinks of Nino. He’s grateful, so grateful, for his friendship; Nino is the best friend he could ask for, patient and steady, always there. But even with him, he holds back. It’s not fair to expect him to understand the way he feels when he can’t let himself get too close. His father always has him on a short leash, restricting every move. Even now, at sixteen, he feels tethered, like he’s only allowed to move as far as his father’s hand will let him. Sure, he’s gained some freedom since he was in middle school, but it’s hardly enough.

There are so many things he could never say to Nino—things about his father, about how trapped he feels, about the way every little disappointment cuts him deeper than he’ll admit. And opening up, even to a friend, feels uncomfortable. There’s a fear there, the fear of losing what little he has if he shows too much of the cracks underneath. So he swallows his feelings down, keeps them hidden away, wearing that perfect, polished smile that everyone expects from Adrien Agreste.

But somehow, this stranger… they just know. They don’t ask him to explain. They just say exactly what he needs to hear, finding words he didn’t even know he needed. It’s strange, and quite unsettling, how easily they seem to understand him. And yet, it feels right.

Adrien sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor, a stack of crumpled drafts piling up beside him as he tries—and fails—to write a simple response. Turns out, talking to a mystery admirer is harder than he’d thought.

He stares down at one draft, where he’d written, “You seem to know a lot about me… Can you give me a hint about you?” It sounds… needy? Suspicious? He scrunches it into a ball and tosses it aside.

Then he tries a new approach. “Hey, I’ve been getting your notes, and I think it’s really nice of you to reach out, even if you kind of scared me at first…” He trails off, realizing halfway through that he sounds like he’s replying to a fan email. He groans and crosses it out.

After a few more failed attempts—including one painfully awkward, “I like your handwriting” and ”I really like your poems” —he sighs and tries one last time:

“Who are you? Please talk to me.”

It’s simple, direct—maybe even a little bold. But it says exactly what he feels: curiosity, eagerness, maybe a hint of nerves. After a second, he nods, finally satisfied.

Adding his throwaway email at the bottom—just in case Nathalie ever decides to peek into his “professional” inbox, which she has full access to—he carefully folds the note and slides it into the crack of his locker the next morning. But Thursday, then Friday come and go without a single reply, and by the end of the week, Adrien’s left standing in front of his locker, feeling just a little foolish.

Maybe his mystery person saw the note and decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. The thought stings more than he’d like to admit, though he tries to shrug it off.

If Nino doesn’t notice how distraught he is (or just doesn’t say anything about it), Kagami knows, and she’s not pleased. “You’re even more distracted than last time.”

Adrien chuckles, awkwardly tightening his gloves. “Am I that obvious?”

“Painfully,” she replies. “Does it have something to do with that note? Did you get another one?”

Adrien’s eyes widen, and he quickly looks away, feigning a casual shrug. “Oh, no,” he says, as vaguely as possible. He’s caught off guard by how much he wants to keep it to himself, like this is his  secret. “They never wrote me again. Probably just a prank.”

He didn’t lie, after all, but he’s not sure he would’ve told her if the stranger wrote back anyways.

Kagami studies him for another moment, looking as if she’s on the verge of pushing him for more. But instead, she nods, her expression softening. “Well, then stop thinking and focus,” she says, pointing her foil at him with a small smirk. “I don’t need your head running wild while you’re trying to beat me.”

Adrien laughs, grateful for the distraction, and raises his own foil in response.

The shadows of Adrien’s room stretch and settle like dust, pooling across the walls and stretching over the high ceilings. It’s quiet—too quiet—just like it is every night, and he finds himself, once again, unable to sleep. He stares up at the ceiling, feeling as if the silence is pressing down on him, trapping him in his bed. Maybe it’s the heavy stillness of the mansion, maybe it’s his father’s distant, ghostly presence in another wing of the house, or maybe it’s the fact that his secret admirer, for a lack for better words, hasn’t written to him yet.

Yeah, they definitely thought he wasn’t worth the trouble, and Adrien doesn’t blame them one bit. He wouldn’t have bothered either.

Turning over, Adrien sighs, letting his eyes wander through the darkness, his mind sinking into memories he hasn’t visited in years. Back when his life wasn’t just the cold, polished marble floors of the Agreste mansion—back when things felt normal.

Adrien hasn’t always been alone. Believe it or not, there was a time when he had a perfect family. His mother was the kindest, sweetest person he’d ever known, with a laugh that filled every corner of the house and made everything seem brighter. His father… well, Gabriel Agreste wasn’t exactly warm and affectionate, but back then, Adrien still felt he cared. He wasn’t the man he is today— this empty shell wrapped up in cold ambition and perfectionism.

And Adrien hadn’t always been isolated. There was a time when he even had real friends.

Back in kindergarten, he’d gone to a private international school, where he’d made his first friend, Chloe Bourgeois. Her father was a politician, and although she was a little spoiled and often demanding, they had an unspoken understanding. Even as kids, he could tell that her rudeness and tantrums were just cries for attention, and he felt sorry for her. They were each other’s first friends, and he’d always remember that.

It wasn’t just Chloe, either. Adrien remembers a few classmates he can still name—Clément, son of a real estate mogul his father wasn’t particularly fond of, or Malika, daughter of a wealthy middle eastern businessman, whose mother was a fixture in the front row at Gabriel’s fashion shows. He vaguely recalls meeting Kagami back then, too; she had shorter bangs and didn’t speak French, so they would mostly wave politely or exchange a few awkward words, but he remembered her face all the same.

But by the end of elementary school, things began to change. His father started pulling away, and everything Adrien had known began to fizzle out.

Adrien was in CM1 when Gabriel made the decision. “You’re different, Adrien,” his father had told him, his tone firm but emotionless. “Too special to waste time around… ordinary people.”

Adrien hadn’t fully understood. Ordinary? His classmates were as far from ordinary as people could be. But it didn’t matter what Adrien thought; his father’s word was final, and from that day forward, Adrien was homeschooled, isolated from everyone he’d known. He missed his friends, sure, but that time at home meant more days spent with his mother. They’d traveled, too—he spent years in Hong Kong, picked up Chinese, and made memories he cherished more than anything. He learned the best places for dim sum, which tea shop she loved most, and the back alleys that led to hidden, bustling marketplaces.

Looking back now, Adrien realizes it was already slipping apart, even then.

He remembers hearing his parents arguing one night. He hadn’t understood what it was about, but he’d overheard his mother pleading for something, her voice trembling, her soft words lost behind the door of his father’s study. A family fight followed shortly after—one that still seemed shrouded in silence whenever he tried to recall it. He remembers only the frustration in his father’s eyes, the sadness in his mother’s, and the cold, unrelenting silence that swallowed everything up after that.

And there was his mother’s illness. She was tired more often, and her laughter grew softer and less frequent. He remembers sitting with her by the window, holding her hand while she traced patterns in the air and whispered stories of adventures they’d one day have.

When she disappeared, it was as if his father had vanished right along with her.

His father became a different person. He was never the affectionate type, but now he barely spoke to Adrien at all, unless it was to comment on his modeling work or remind him of his “duties.” Gabriel had always been strict, but Adrien never imagined that, one day, he would feel like a stranger in his own house.

It’s funny, really. All these people around him—bodyguards, assistants, classmates—and yet he’s never felt so profoundly alone.

Just as he gives up and rolls over, something buzzes on his nightstand. He blinks in the darkness, and his phone screen lights up with a new email notification.

From: [email protected]

I saw your note. Why would you want to talk to me?

Adrien stares at his screen, heart pounding. The stranger hasn’t abandoned him, hasn’t brushed him off as he feared they might. It takes him a full minute just to process the message, a smile creeping across his face. His fingers hover over the keys, a thrill running through him as he types:

adrien.a : Well, why would you want to follow me around?

The reply comes almost instantly:

luckycharm0001 : Why wouldn’t anyone want to follow you around?

adrien.a : Because there’s nothing to see, lol.

luckycharm0001 : Are you kidding? You’re the most fascinating person I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

Adrien’s heart skips a beat. He stares at her message, half-wondering if it’s a joke, but the words seem genuine. He laughs, nervous but intrigued, and types back:

adrien.a : Come on, don’t lie to me.

luckycharm0001 : I’m dead serious. Adrien, seeing you is the highlight of my day… or night, in this case.

adrien.a : I can’t believe you.

luckycharm0001 : But I mean it. And I should know, I’m always watching you.

Always watching? A shiver runs down his spine, but it’s not the fear he knows he’s supposed to be feeling right now. The mystery of it all is irresistible, each word pulling him in deeper, making his heart race. Against his better judgment, he decides to play along:

adrien.a : I guess I should be scared, but somehow, I’m not.

luckycharm0001 : But I’m not just out there, Adrien. I’m closer than you think. So close I could reach out and touch you if I wanted.

He swallows, her words stirring something he can’t even define. There’s a boldness in her message that borders on threatening but feels exhilarating instead.

adrien.a : Alright, mystery girl. Why don’t you just tell me who you are, then?

A pause stretches on, longer than before, making his heart pound with anticipation. His gaze is fixed on the screen, waiting, wondering if he’s gone too far. Finally, her reply appears.

luckycharm0001 : If you knew who I was, you probably wouldn’t look at me the same way.

The words are heavy, almost warning him away, but he doesn’t feel deterred. If anything, he’s even more curious. He types, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts:

adrien.a : Somehow, I doubt that.

luckycharm0001 : Be careful what you wish for, Adrien. Knowing me might be more than you can handle.

adrien.a : Is that a threat?

luckycharm0001 : Consider it honest advice. From a friend.

adrien.a : I’m not scared, mystery girl friend.

luckycharm0001 : Even if I told you I’ve been following you everywhere? Or that I know your schedule by heart? I could tell you exactly what time you wake up, what time you leave, right down to when you last laughed. And the worst thing is, I love knowing all that about you.

Adrien’s breath catches in his throat. His mind races, tracing every movement, every routine of his day, wondering how much of it she could know. But he’s not afraid. Not even close. He doesn’t feel like prey; he feels… flattered.

adrien.a : Scared? Nah. I don’t mind. It’s… kind of sweet, actually.

He presses send, leaning back in his chair, barely breathing. It feels insane to call this sweet , but that’s the only word that fits. Her attention feels strange, and a little dangerous, but above it all, intoxicating.

The reply comes quickly, and he can almost hear the smirk behind it.

luckycharm0001 : Sweet, huh? I’m glad you think so. Most people would call it strange, and I wouldn’t blame them.

adrien.a : Well, I guess I’m not like most people.

luckycharm0001 : No, you’re definitely not like most people, Adrien. I wouldn’t have it any other way :)

The words linger on his screen, a thrill and a comfort all at once. Just as he thinks the conversation is over, another message pops up:

luckycharm0001 : It’s getting late, and you have a photoshoot early tomorrow, don’t you?

Adrien’s eyes widen. He only told Nino about that photoshoot in passing. How does she…? He feels a strange tug of alarm, but it fades quickly, replaced by intrigue. What does he expect from a self-proclaimed stalker, after all? He’s too deep in the mystery now to pull away, and he knows he really doesn’t want to.

luckycharm0001 : Thank you for talking to me… Sleep well <3

He reads the message over and over, the heart at the end feeling so personal, so oddly gentle, even with the undercurrent of danger. She’s a stranger, an anonymous voice that’s crept into his life, someone that just admitted to following him around and knowing everything about him, but he feels something between them—a connection that’s caught him, snared him deeper than he ever thought he could go.

This isn’t a regular super fan, and it’s not a deranged stalker either— or maybe it is, after all, one’s sanity must be a little special to obsess over someone to this extent, but Adrien doesn’t mind. All he sees is affection. Genuine affection. Not from fans who have no idea what he’s really like, but from someone that knows his life isn’t so perfect and still chose to reach out.

Adrien sets his phone down with a shaky breath, the night stretching out before him. She’s a mystery, a little strange, and with questionable methods, but he realizes he’s not just drawn to her—he’s absolutely hooked.

Chapter Text

The studio feels suffocating. Blinding lights beam down on Adrien, casting harsh shadows across the set. The constant click-click-click of the camera grates against his nerves, and the murmured instructions from the photographer bleed together in an endless hum. The model beside him moves effortlessly, her every pose sharp and confident. Her gaze flits toward him occasionally, checking his rhythm. Adrien knows he’s supposed to match her energy, but honestly? He can’t even pretend to care.

His thoughts are elsewhere—on her .

LuckyCharm0001.

It still feels unreal. Yesterday, when he first woke up to her message, he genuinely thought he was dreaming. But no, she’s real. She’s out there somewhere, and for reasons he can’t even begin to understand, she’s chosen him to obsess over.

He’s read their messages so many times now that he practically has them memorized. He could recite her exact words if someone asked, not that he’d ever tell anyone about this.

“No, you’re definitely not like most people, Adrien. I wouldn’t have it any other way :)”

It’s creepy, sure, but he’s decided it’s his kind of creepy. The kind of creepy that makes him feel seen in a way he’s never experienced before. Her words replay in his head like a favorite song, filling him with a warmth that cuts through the artificial chill of the studio.

The photographer shouts something about “more intensity,” and Adrien just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

“Adrien, focus!” Nathalie calls from behind the monitors, her tone clipped but not harsh.

“Right,” he mutters, dragging his attention back to the shoot. The model beside him shoots him a glance, equal parts amused and annoyed, and Adrien gives her the barest hint of a smirk. The next flash goes off, and for a brief second, he forces himself into the role. But as soon as the camera clicks again, his mind slips back to the one thing that’s been occupying it since yesterday.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

God, he’s pathetic. He feels giddy. Ridiculously so.

Who is she, anyways? His mystery girl. He called her that during their conversation yesterday, and she didn’t deny it. Adrien liked the sound of the nickname. It fits her—vague, playful, and annoyingly good at keeping him on his toes. He’d had his suspicions about her being a girl from the beginning from her bubbly, cutesy writing style. But having it confirmed? That felt like a win.

A voice interrupts his thoughts again, this time from the photographer. “Adrien, less daydreaming. You’re a model, not a poet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Adrien mutters under his breath, just loud enough for the female model to stifle a laugh beside him.

Nathalie arches an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He flashes her a charming smile, but the second she turns away, he lets out a long, exasperated sigh. He knows Nathalie’s just doing her job—she’s not the enemy here. But lately, everything about this life has started to rub him the wrong way. The cameras, the constant oversight, the endless demands to smile and pose like some kind of doll—it’s all starting to wear thin.

By the time the shoot wraps up, Adrien’s patience is hanging by a thread. He practically collapses into the backseat of the car, slumping against the leather and letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and his eyes snap open.

He pulls it out, his stomach flipping when he sees the notification:

luckycharm0001: You looked beautiful today.

A smirk tugs at his lips. Compliments from her don’t seem to be rare—they’re practically her love language, he’s noticed—but they still manage to catch him off guard. He feels his cheeks warm as he types a response, shaking his head at himself.

Another buzz before he can reply.

luckycharm0001: And a little distracted too.

His grin widens.

adrien.a: You’re going to scold me about that too?

luckycharm0001: Never. I can never get enough of your dreamy expressions.

Dreamy? That’s one way to put it. He’s pretty sure she means the way he kept zoning out today, but somehow she makes it sound flattering.

luckycharm0001: I just hope it wasn’t because of me.

adrien.a: It totally is your fault.

adrien.a: I’ve been thinking of you since yesterday.

He wonders if that’s too much, but her response comes almost instantly:

luckycharm0001: Really…?

luckycharm0001: I don’t know whether to squeal or apologize.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. She’s always so enthusiastic when it comes to him, like the smallest thing he says is cause for celebration. It’s ridiculous. It’s also incredibly endearing.

adrien.a: I’m not complaining. You’ve just made my life a hundred times more interesting. And you’re cool to talk to.

luckycharm0001: Guess I’ll squeal then.

He leans back in the seat, staring out the window, a warm feeling settling in his chest. No one else has ever made him feel this valued, like his presence alone is worth something.

adrien.a: How’d you know I was distracted? Were you following me or something?

luckycharm0001: Do you mind?

He stops to consider, but only for a second. Does he? Not even a little. If anything, he’s impressed. Finding the location of the shoot couldn’t have been easy, and the fact that she pulled it off just makes him even more curious about her.

adrien.a: Not at all. Feel free to follow me whenever you want.

luckycharm0001: I can’t tell if you’re being serious or just teasing me.

adrien.a: Who says I can’t be both?

The reply hangs there, unanswered. Adrien stares at the screen, smirking to himself as he imagines her wherever she is, cheeks heating up, scrambling to come up with a comeback. It’s oddly satisfying, knowing he can throw her off balance like this. For someone so bold, she’s hilariously bad at handling the heat when it’s turned back on her.

He leans back against the backseat, grinning at the car ceiling. Teasing her like this feels… normal. Easy. Flirting, bantering, trading sarcastic jabs—things other teenagers probably take for granted. Things he’s only ever watched from a distance, never part of the moment himself.

Now he is.

The thought sobers him for a second, as Adrien realizes he’s never flirted before. Hell, he’s barely had any friendships, let alone anything deeper. It’s always been Nino and no one else. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the life he’s stuck in doesn’t leave much room for casual connections.

Strict schedules. Endless rules. His father’s constant watch. It’s as if his entire childhood was set to pause, waiting for some future date when he’d finally get to live like everyone else. Now, with her, he feels like he’s catching up on lost time, even if it’s just through emails.

She’s weird, no doubt about it. Cryptic, cheeky, and just the right amount of intrusive. But she’s also the first person to make him feel like an actual teenager—messy, impulsive, and allowed to laugh at stupid jokes without worrying about consequences.

Adrien glances at the screen again. Still no reply. He imagines her sitting there, biting her lip, struggling to type something that doesn’t give her away too much. The mental image makes him chuckle under his breath.

“Take your time,” he mutters to no one, still grinning. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Adrien slouches at the dining table, absently poking at a piece of zucchini like it’s personally offended him. His plate is a sad, pristine arrangement of things he doesn’t feel like eating, courtesy of Nathalie’s commitment to his “balanced diet.” The massive dining room feels even more cavernous than usual. He glances at the empty chair across from him and tries not to think about how he hasn’t had company at dinner since—well, ever.

But tonight, there’s a tiny spark of something different. His phone sits beside his plate, the screen dark but not forgotten. It’s stupid, really, how much he’s waiting for her next message. Not that he’ll admit it out loud.

It buzzes. Adrien barely resists lunging for it.

luckycharm0001: You don’t like zucchini, huh?

He stares at the message, eyebrows scrunching. His fork clinks against the plate as he sets it down. He definitely hasn’t told her that. He types back.

adrien.a: Are you psychic, or just judgmental?

Her response comes before he can even take a sip of water.

luckycharm0001: Let’s call it an educated guess.

Adrien snorts softly, smirking despite himself. Okay, fine, that’s fair. Most people probably wouldn’t rank zucchini high on their personal favorites list. Doesn’t explain how she knew he had some on his plate, or that he barely touched them, but he’ll let it go.

adrien.a: Lucky guess. You don’t know me that well.

luckycharm0001: I don’t? Nice chairs you’re sitting on, by the way. Although the gold accents look a little tacky.

The smile freezes on his face. He glances around the dining room, suddenly hyperaware of the sleek black table, the gold accents on the chair backs. His mind races.

adrien.a: Okay, what? Have you been to my house?

The response is instant.

luckycharm0001: Why, are you inviting me?

Adrien rolls his eyes, but he can’t fight the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. She’s infuriatingly good at dodging questions.

adrien.a: I’m serious. How do you know that?

luckycharm0001: I’m observant.

Adrien groans out loud, slumping back in his chair. She’s not going to give him a straight answer, is she?

adrien.a: Observant and mysterious. Dangerous combo.

luckycharm0001: You’re not mad?

Adrien pauses for a moment, thinking about it. Should he be mad? Maybe. Probably. But he isn’t. At all. He shakes his head, a wry grin tugging at his lips.

adrien.a: Nah. Honestly? I don’t care how you know.

adrien.a: Just don’t tell me you’re hiding in the pantry or something.

She doesn’t reply immediately, and Adrien takes the moment to stab at the zucchini on his plate with renewed interest. But his phone buzzes again before he even gets close to taking a bite.

luckycharm0001: Pantry’s too small. I’d go for the library.

He bursts out laughing, the sound echoing in the empty dining room. For once, it doesn’t feel quite so empty.

adrien.a: By the way, yeah, I was totally inviting you.

The reply doesn’t come immediately, and Adrien takes a moment to imagine her reaction. Is she laughing? Rolling her eyes? Maybe even blushing? The thought makes his grin widen.

luckycharm0001: Bold of you to assume I’d accept.

adrien.a: Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t convince you.

luckycharm0001: Convince me? You?

adrien.a: You don’t think I could?

luckycharm0001: I think you’re more bark than bite, Adrien.

adrien.a: You sure about that?

luckycharm0001: Pretty sure, yeah. But I’m open to surprises.

adrien.a: Fine, how’s this for a surprise?

adrien.a: If you show up, I’ll make you dinner. Something without zucchini.

He sets the phone down, crossing his arms as he waits for her response. His heart beats faster than he’d like to admit. It’s not like he actually expects her to take him up on the offer. Still, the idea of his newfound friend walking through the front door, stepping into his carefully curated but utterly empty home—it’s enough to make him feel… hopeful.

There’s also the thrill he feels at the absolute insanity that is inviting a complete stranger, and a stalker at that, to his place, but he doesn’t worry too much about that.

The phone buzzes.

luckycharm0001: Tempting. But I’d hate to expose your secret identity as a bad chef.

adrien.a: Wow. Zero faith.

luckycharm0001: You once said you literally set your toast on fire.

adrien.a: Hey! That interview was years ago!

luckycharm0001: Last year is not “years ago.”

Adrien groans, dropping his head into his hands as he laughs. She’s impossible, and yet he can’t stop grinning.

adrien.a: Okay, fair. But I’ve improved since then. You’d be impressed.

luckycharm0001: I’d hope so. It’s a low bar.

adrien.a: So that’s a yes? You’re coming over?

luckycharm0001: Nice try. I’d love to, but I think I’ll keep you guessing.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, his head tilting back as he stares at the ceiling.

adrien.a: You’re cruel, you know that?

luckycharm0001: It’s part of my charm.

adrien.a: Oh, is that why they call you LuckyCharm?

luckycharm0001: Wow, someone give him a medal for figuring it out.

adrien.a: Thanks, I’ll take my medal and your company. How about tomorrow?

He bites his lip, realizing too late that he might have overstepped. The casual flirty tone he’s kept up now feels a little too sincere, a little too much like he’s asking for something he might not get.

The response comes slower than usual, and Adrien’s stomach tightens.

luckycharm0001: Tomorrow, huh?

adrien.a: Why not? You’ve got to show up eventually.

Another pause. Adrien feels like he’s holding his breath.

luckycharm0001: We’ll see.

Adrien exhales, his chest lightening. It’s not a yes, sure, but it’s not a no either. He can’t stop the grin from returning as he types one last reply.

adrien.a: I’ll take that as a maybe. And for the record, I would impress you.

luckycharm0001: You already do, every day. You don’t need to cook to impress me, Adrien.

Adrien freezes, rereading the words three times before they actually sink in. His cheeks flush despite himself, and he shakes his head with a soft laugh.

adrien.a: You’re really something, you know that?

luckycharm0001: So I’ve been told.

Nathalie comes to pick up Adrien’s still half-full plate, raising an eyebrow at the amount of untouched vegetables, but thankfully not saying anything. Adrien hides his phone under the table, and it’s only once he’s in his room that he pulls it out.

adrien.a: You’re really not gonna give me anything ?

luckycharm0001: Where’s the fun in that?

adrien.a: Fine. But I will see you tomorrow, right? Technically speaking.

luckycharm0001: Always.

adrien.a: I’ll take it. I’m off to shower. Don’t miss me too much ;3

He hits send and tosses the phone onto the couch beside him, stretching as he stands. He’s halfway to the bathroom when the thought hits him. Why hasn’t she responded yet?

Adrien stops mid-step, turning to glance over his shoulder at the phone. It’s still sitting there, dark and silent. His smirk returns, sharp and amused. Did he actually fluster her?

He grabs the phone, his thumbs flying across the screen.

adrien.a: Did I make you faint? Too much for you to handle?

This time, the reply comes almost immediately.

luckycharm0001: You wish.

And, honestly? Maybe he does.

Chapter Text

Life has a funny way of spiraling out of control before you even realize it’s happening.

Take Adrien Agreste, for instance. The Adrien Agreste—supermodel, kindness incarnate, owner of the smile that singlehandedly sustains Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s very existence.

For some utterly incomprehensible reason, he likes talking to her. Well, not her exactly. Not Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who can barely piece together a coherent sentence when he’s nearby. No, the person he likes talking to is Luckycharm0001, her semi-anonymous online persona.

And therein lies the problem.

“Ughhh, what am I doing?” Marinette groans, flopping dramatically onto her desk. Her forehead collides with the cool wood, and she stays there, too overwhelmed to move. She clutches her pillow like a lifeline, glaring at her laptop as though it’s personally responsible for this disaster.

What she’s done, in order of escalating lunacy: hacked into Gabriel Agreste’s security system (criminally insane), left mysterious love notes in Adrien’s locker (legal, but still insane), and, most recently, stolen his shirt (again, illegal and insane). But none of that compares to this. 

She’s not just orbiting Adrien’s life anymore; she’s in it. They’ve gone from strangers to online friends, and somehow, against all odds, he actually likes her—or at least, he likes goddamned Luckycharm0001. 

The more they talk, the more he opens up, the more she can feel the weight of her decisions bearing down on her. Because for every email she sends, every joke she cracks, every shared moment of laughter… she’s also digging herself deeper into this mess.

Her eyes flick back to the most recent email, her stomach twisting into knots:

“I’ve been thinking of you since yesterday.”

Marinette’s pulse stumbles every time she rereads it. Thinking of me? Thinking of me?!

Her cheeks burn as her gaze darts to another message:

“Feel free to follow me whenever you want.”

Her fingers twitch with the urge to scream into her pillow, but then her eyes land on the final email, the one that sends her brain into overdrive:

“I’m off to shower. Don’t miss me too much ;3”

“WHY DOES HE SAY THINGS LIKE THAT?!” Marinette shouts, her voice muffled as she smothers herself with her pillow. She rocks back and forth in her chair, muttering frantically, “What am I supposed to do ? What am I doing ?!”

Adrien Agreste is playing with her sanity. The worst part? She can’t even blame him. He doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know she’s her .

It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. She’s in love with Adrien, has been for years, but every step forward with Luckycharm0001 feels like a step backward for the real Marinette.

Her laptop pings suddenly, and she jumps so hard her chair almost topples over. It’s not Adrien—it’s just a school notification about tomorrow’s science test, which is laughable because there’s no way she’ll be focusing on anything academic any time soon. She groans and flops back in her chair.

Her head snaps up when the floor creaks, and Sabine pokes her head into the room, her expression a mixture of concern and amusement.

“Marinette? You’ve been up here all evening. Is everything all right?”

“YES!” Marinette yelps, jerking upright so fast she nearly topples out of her chair. She forces a smile so wide it hurts. “Everything’s fine! Totally fine! Why wouldn’t it be fine?”

Sabine raises an eyebrow, her gaze drifting from the unopened textbook on Marinette’s desk to the laptop she’s oh-so-casually trying to shield with her arm.

“Homework?”

“Uh, yep! So much homework! A mountain of it! It’s overwhelming, really.”

Sabine doesn’t press further, though her expression makes it clear she knows something’s up. “Just don’t stay up too late. And maybe take a break tomorrow? You’ve been so cooped up in here lately your father’s starting to think you’ve been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped!” Marinette squeaks. “That’s ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Why would you even—haha!—why would you think that?”

Marinette waits until the floor clicks shut, then collapses back into her chair. “Kidnapped by my own bad decisions, maybe,” she mutters, dragging a hand down her face.

The next morning at school, Alya slides into the seat beside Marinette with all the subtlety of a freight train.

“You’ve been acting weird,” she says, her tone demanding answers.

“I have not!” Marinette squeaks, her voice wobbling with panic.

“Oh really?” Alya arches an eyebrow. “Because yesterday, you called Mr. Damocles ‘Mom,’ and this morning, you tried to drink your pencil.”

“That was… an experiment.” Marinette says, her tone anything but convincing.

“And last week, you walked straight into a door,” Alya adds, her voice dripping with amusement.

“That door came out of nowhere! ”

Alya crosses her arms, leaning back with a smirk. “And you’ve been zoning out all week with this weird little smile on your face. Marinette. Spill. What’s going on?”

Marinette freezes, her brain scrambling for excuses. “I—I’m just stressed.” she blurts. “Tests, projects, existential dread—you know how it is.”

Alya doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it slide. “Fine, I won’t push. But hey—” Her expression brightens. “Nino and I are going on a date this weekend. What if we made it a double date?”

Marinette’s blood runs cold. “A… double date?”

“Yeah! You and Adrien, me and Nino. I’ll even set it up for you!”

Her heart leaps at the idea—a date with Adrien! It’s everything she’s ever wanted, and yet… as soon as the thought settles in, it feels like a weight in her chest. Her mind spirals. No. I can’t. Not like this.

Adrien doesn’t know her. He knows her alter-ego . The confident, witty, clever girl who can say the right things, who doesn’t stumble over her words. That version of her—that girl is someone Adrien likes. But the real Marinette? She’s awkward, she messes up, she’s boring as hell  . She can’t imagine how Adrien could ever see her as anything more than just the girl who is always in the background, constantly embarrassed by her own clumsy nature.

She squeezes her eyes shut as the worries flood in. What if he doesn’t like the real me? What if the second she stops hiding behind her phone screen, he sees just how flawed she is? What if he realizes that the girl he’s talking to is a total mess, completely incapable of being the person he imagines?

Her stomach churns at the thought. What if he starts talking to Luckycharm0001 about how boring Marinette is?  What if he finds out how uninteresting she is, compared to the girl behind the screen?

“I—uh—no,” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alya stares at her like she’s grown another head. “No?”

Marinette shrugs, trying to look casual even as her hands tremble. “I’m just… not ready for that. I’ve got too much going on.”

“You’re turning down a chance to go on a date with Adrien Agreste,” Alya says flatly. “Who are you, and what have you done with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette forces a laugh, hoping Alya doesn’t notice how close she is to falling apart. But then the classroom door swings open, and in walks Nino—with Adrien right behind him.

The girl freezes.

“Oh no,” she whispers under her breath, panic spreading through her like wildfire.

Adrien Agreste, in all his impossibly perfect, living-sunbeam glory , strides into the classroom, chatting casually with Nino. The sunlight pouring through the windows highlights his golden hair, which practically glows as it sways gently with his every step. It’s like he’s stepped straight out of a shampoo commercial. Marinette’s brain, predictably, short-circuits.

She stares, transfixed, as he flashes one of his casually dazzling smiles—the kind that could stop traffic, melt hearts, and maybe even cure world hunger. Why does he have to look like that? And why does he have to do it first thing in the morning, when she’s still half a disaster from her sleepless night of overthinking?

“Earth to Marinette,” Alya says, waving a hand in front of her face like she’s trying to swat a fly.

Marinette doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her eyes are glued to Adrien, whose every move seems to command the laws of gravity. Her heart somersaults, and her mouth feels like sandpaper. Why does he have to smile like that?

“Hey, girls!” Nino greets as he slides into his seat beside Alya, oblivious to the unfolding chaos. Adrien follows, casually dropping his bag onto the desk right in front of Marinette’s.

And just like that, Marinette’s worst nightmare becomes reality.

Adrien Agreste is sitting directly in front of her.

His silky blonde hair is every bit as unfairly flawless up close, his green eyes somehow brighter, softer, more heart-stoppingly beautiful than she remembers. This is who she’s been talking to online.   This boy, sitting just inches away, with his easy charm and magazine-cover face. And she’s supposed to act normal?

She’s doomed.

“Morning,” Adrien says casually, his voice as smooth as honey. His gaze shifts to Marinette, and his smile softens, growing almost shy. “Hi, Marinette.”

Her brain promptly shuts down.

“H—h—hi!” she squeaks, her voice cracking like an old door hinge.

Alya coughs to stifle her laugh, while Nino looks thoroughly confused. Adrien, though, just tilts his head slightly, a subtle crease forming between his eyebrows as he studies her.

“You okay?” he asks, genuine concern flickering in those emerald eyes.

“Okay?” Marinette croaks, her voice an octave too high. “I’m totally okay! Perfectly okay! Why wouldn’t I be okay?!” Her words tumble out in a panicked rush, each one louder than the last, until she’s practically shouting.

Adrien blinks, clearly startled. “Uh… no reason. Just checking.”

Her stomach twists with embarrassment.

“Don’t mind her,” Alya says smoothly, throwing a casual arm around Marinette’s trembling shoulders. “She didn’t sleep much last night. You know, the usual late-night existential crisis.”

Marinette shoots her best friend a look that could level mountains, but Alya remains infuriatingly unfazed.

Adrien chuckles softly, and the sound does things to Marinette’s heart that are probably illegal in most countries. “I get it. I didn’t sleep much either. Too much on my mind.”

The words hit her like a truck. What’s on your mind? she wants to ask. Is it me? Do you think about me like I think about you?  But of course, she can’t say that. She can barely breathe.

“That’s rough, dude,” Nino says, clapping Adrien on the back. “You need to chill this weekend. Maybe we should all hang out. Marinette, Alya—you in?”

Marinette feels her soul lurch out of her body.

“Oh, Marinette’s definitely  not ready for that,” Alya teases, smirking.

Marinette whirls on her, eyes wide with panic. “Alya!”

“What?” Alya says innocently. “I’m just stating facts.”

Adrien glances at her again, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “Not ready for what?”

“Nothing!” Marinette blurts, nearly toppling out of her chair in her desperation to deflect. “Nothing at all! I’m totally ready for anything. Everything! Always ready. Yep!”

Nino raises an eyebrow, while Alya looks like she’s about to explode from suppressed laughter. Adrien, though, just smiles again, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that soft, heart-melting way of his.

“Well,” he says, his voice teasing but warm, “if you’re always  ready, maybe I’ll take you up on that sometime.”

Marinette feels her brain disconnect from her body.

The bell rings, mercifully cutting off any chance for her to respond. Adrien turns back to Nino, resuming their conversation like nothing happened. Marinette slumps in her seat, burying her face in her hands as waves of mortification crash over her.

“Could you be  more obvious?” Alya whispers, her voice thick with amusement.

“I hate you,” Marinette mumbles into her palms.

“No, you don’t,” Alya replies, nudging her shoulder playfully. “But seriously, girl. You’ve got to pull yourself together. He’s just a boy.”

Marinette peeks through her fingers at Adrien, who’s now leaning back in his chair, laughing at something Nino said. The sound is light and carefree, and somehow, it feels like the sun itself is shining a little brighter just because he’s smiling.

“Yeah,” Marinette mutters, her voice heavy with irony. “Just a boy.”

Alya gives her a knowing look but, for once, decides to let it go. Marinette spends the rest of class alternating between staring at her notes and fighting the overwhelming urge to sneak another glance at Adrien.

It turns out, not staring at someone is a lot harder than you’d think.

Talking to Adrien after classes is... great. Turns out, being anonymous is sort of a cheat code for Marinette. Behind the screen, she doesn’t have to battle her nerves or stumble over her words. She doesn’t have to overanalyze every glance or word exchanged. Here, she’s just herself.  and for once, she feels like that’s not embarrassing.

adrien.a: Modeling today was rough. My dad had me wearing gold sequins. Everywhere. I looked like a disco ball.

Marinette snorts, her fingers flying across the keys before she can think better of it.

luckycharm0001: Maybe you missed your true calling as a dance floor decoration.

adrien.a: Don’t give my dad ideas. He might decide it’s a new trend.

Marinette grins, biting her lip as she types her next message.

luckycharm0001: Okay, fine, that sounds awful. But admit it—you probably still looked amazing. I mean, you’re Adrien Agreste.

Her smile falters as the silence stretches longer than usual. Her heart speeds up. Did I overstep? Was that too much?

Finally, his reply pops up, and the lighthearted tone she expected isn’t there.

adrien.a: That’s the thing, though. It doesn’t really feel like me, you know? It’s like I’m always performing. For the camera, for my dad, for everyone. But the person I actually am? Half the time, I don’t even know who that is.

Marinette stops breathing for a second, her chest tightening as her eyes scan the words. The vulnerability in his message is so raw, so real, it’s like she can feel the weight of it through the screen.

luckycharm0001: I’m really sorry. That sounds… lonely.

His reply doesn’t come as quickly this time. She waits, heart hammering, until the screen blinks with his next message.

adrien.a: Yeah. I guess it is. But it’s not like I can just stop. My dad wouldn’t let me, even if I tried. It’s always about the brand, the legacy, the ‘bigger picture.’ He doesn’t even ask if I’m okay. Not really. And I’m just supposed to go along with it.

The ache in his words feels almost unbearable. Marinette leans forward, her fingers trembling slightly as she types her response.

luckycharm0001: You don’t deserve that. You’re allowed to be more than just someone’s idea of what you should be. You’re… enough, just as you are.

She hesitates for only a second before hitting send, the weight of her own words making her pulse race. She’s never said something so direct, so personal to him before. What if he thinks it’s too much? What if—

adrien.a: Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.

Marinette bites her lip, warmth spreading through her chest. Maybe I do, she thinks, but doesn’t type. Instead, she stares at the screen, overwhelmed by how real this all feels. Adrien—the Adrien she’s idolized for years—isn’t just a dazzling, untouchable figure. He’s vulnerable, human, and… hurting. And somehow, she’s managed to help, even if it’s just a little.

Another ping pulls her from her thoughts.

adrien.a: What about you? Do you ever feel like people don’t get you?

Her fingers hover over the keyboard as she considers how to answer.

luckycharm0001: Sometimes. I guess people see what they want to see, you know? Like I’m just this cheerful, put-together person… But I’m really not. I get things wrong all the time, and I overthink everything. It’s a bit tiring.

She hesitates, then adds a lighter note.

luckycharm0001: But at least I’m not covered in sequins, so there’s that.

His reply comes quicker this time, and it feels softer, like he’s smiling.

adrien.a: Hey, don’t knock the sequins. Maybe I’ll send you one of my old outfits. You could start a trend.

luckycharm0001: Pass. I think I’ll leave the fashion statements to you.

Marinette smiles at her own screen, but the weight of their earlier conversation lingers. She doesn’t want to dismiss his struggles entirely.

luckycharm0001: Honestly, though, I think you’re stronger than you realize. Most people would crack under the kind of pressure you’re under. But you’re still… you. That says a lot.

The pause this time stretches longer than usual, long enough for her to start second-guessing herself again. But then, his reply appears.

adrien.a: Maybe. Sometimes it feels like I’m just faking my way through it. But talking to you? It makes me feel like I’m not alone. Like maybe there’s more to look forward to than just… this.

Marinette blinks rapidly, her throat tightening. She takes a deep breath, willing herself to stay steady.

luckycharm0001: I’m really glad I can do that for you. And for the record? You’re not faking it. You’re figuring it out. Just like everyone else.

Her reply feels like it’s missing something, like it doesn’t fully convey how much she wants him to believe it. But when his response appears, it’s so simple, so genuine, that it leaves her breathless.

adrien.a: You’re kind of amazing, you know that?

Her heart skips a beat. She stares at the screen, her cheeks flushing a deep red. After a moment, she gathers the courage to reply.

luckycharm0001: Right back at you.

Their conversation carries on late into the night, shifting to lighter topics. Adrien tells her about a fencing match gone hilariously wrong, and Marinette teases him about how easily his classmates seem to get flustered around him. But beneath the jokes and the laughter, there’s a thread of connection—an intimacy that feels deeper than anything she’s experienced before.

It’s late again when Marinette opens her laptop. She’s been replaying last night’s conversation in her head all day, her cheeks flushing every time she remembers Adrien’s words. ”You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

Her life has officially peaked.

As soon as her inbox refreshes, her heart jumps.

adrien.a: Hey, random question. Did you, uh, happen to take one of my shirts?

She freezes. Stares at the screen. Re-reads the message about five times, her mind racing. He knows. Oh my God, he knows. Today was just too good to be true, of course it had to end like this.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, shaking as her brain flips between deny everything and admit everything like a broken switch.

luckycharm0001: Why would you think that? You’ve got, like, a hundred shirts. You’d barely notice if one was missing.

She hits send, then immediately regrets it. Why didn’t she just say no again?

The reply pings back almost instantly.

adrien.a: Okay, but I did  notice. And now I can’t stop wondering. So was it you?

Her hands hover over the keys. She tries to think of a clever deflection, something that won’t confirm anything but also won’t make him suspicious. Instead, her fingers betray her.

luckycharm0001: …What if it was?

She slams her laptop shut, groaning into her hands. What if it was? What is wrong with me?

A minute passes. Then another. The laptop remains stubbornly silent, and her stomach churns with a cocktail of dread and anticipation. Finally, she can’t take it anymore. She opens it again, refreshing her inbox.

His reply is waiting.

adrien.a: Honestly? I’m kind of relieved.

She blinks.

luckycharm0001: Relieved? Why would you be relieved?

luckycharm0001 : You should be thinking of getting a restraining order, Adrien. Not that I’m asking you to.

adrien.a : Because if it was anyone else , it’d be creepy. But if it’s you, I don’t mind.

adrien.a : The restraining order can wait.

Her brain short-circuits. She stares at the words, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Adrien Agreste, the boy she’s been pining over since forever, just admitted he doesn’t mind that she might have stolen his shirt.

She fumbles a reply.

luckycharm0001: Thank you?

Why the hell aren’t you scared? is what she truly wants to type, but she won’t jinx her luck.

adrien.a: So, anything else I should know about? Missing cologne, maybe? Or body cream? My dad’s collector pen? Because some of my stuff seems to be disappearing.

She freezes again.

luckycharm0001: …Yes to the cologne and cream. No to the pen. Why? Are you keeping an inventory or something?

That’s a bold-faced lie about the pen—she knows it’s sitting in her drawer right now, but she also remembers him talking to her, Marinette, with said pen in her mouth, and she’s not ready for him to figure out who she is yet.

adrien.a: Not keeping an inventory. Just… starting to notice a pattern. Should I be worried?

Her heart races. She’s sweating now, her fingers trembling as she types back.

luckycharm0001: No! Not at all! I mean, why would you be? It’s harmless. I just… like having those things close. They soothe me. That’s all.

luckycharm0001: I’m sorry. I can give them back, if you want.

She cringes at how honest she’s being. It feels like ripping off a Band-Aid while also setting herself on fire.

His reply takes a little longer this time. When it finally arrives, her chest tightens.

adrien.a: …That’s kind of sweet, actually. You can keep them :)

She exhales in relief, sagging back in her chair.

adrien.a: Not going to lie, though. I was half expecting you to deny everything. Guess I know who not to loan my favorite hoodie to now.

Her confidence returns just enough to fire back.

luckycharm0001: Hey, that hoodie would be in very good hands. Just saying.

adrien.a: Good to know. But now I feel like I’m missing out—what’s so comforting about my stuff though?

She hesitates. The answer is on the tip of her tongue, but it feels too personal. Too vulnerable.

Still, she forces herself to type it.

luckycharm0001: It’s just… yours. It reminds me of you. And I guess that makes me feel less alone.

She sends it before she can second-guess herself, her heart pounding so loudly she can barely hear herself think.

adrien.a: Okay. I get that. And for what it’s worth… you make me feel less alone too.

Her breath catches, and she stares at the screen, overwhelmed. For a moment, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just her and Adrien, connected through a screen, sharing pieces of themselves they’ve never shown anyone else.

adrien.a: By the way… I’ve got a surprise for you tomorrow. Check under the stairs by the main hall after school. Promise you’ll go?

Her heart stutters. He just found out she’s stolen a bunch of his personal items, and he has a surprise for her? 

luckycharm0001: You’ll know who I am if I do that.

adrien.a: I won’t be around. I promise. Just trust me. Do you?

Her fingers tremble as she types her reply.

luckycharm0001: Absolutely.

The next morning, Marinette’s alarm goes off at 6:00 AM.

For the first time in maybe forever, she doesn’t hit snooze.

A surge of energy sends her flying out of bed, and she scrambles to get ready. Teeth brushed, hair combed and braided, outfit not completely tragic—it’s a miracle. Her parents, who have grown accustomed to her chaotic morning routine, are naturally suspicious when she barrels down the stairs before the clock even hits 6:30.

Tom glances up from his spot at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, eyebrows raised. “Are you… early ?”

“Marinette?” Sabine peeks around the corner from the oven, a spatula in hand. “Is everything okay? You’re usually—”

“Rushing out the door with a piece of toast in her mouth,” Tom finishes, smirking.

“Very funny.” Marinette huffs, tying her scarf with shaky hands. “I just… didn’t want to be late today.”

Her parents exchange a look.

Sabine folds her arms, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, this is a first. What’s so special about today?”

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” Marinette blurts, cheeks burning as she grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. She avoids eye contact, focusing way too hard on lacing her boots. “Just… uh… a group project thing. And I have to be there early to help. Totally normal, not weird at all.”

Tom nods, though his grin says otherwise. “Sure, kiddo. Totally normal. Not suspicious in the slightest.”

Sabine hums, watching her closely. “Do you want to take something for breakfast? A croissant, maybe?”

“Nope, I’m good! Gotta go! Bye!” Marinette practically runs out the door before her mom can ask any more questions.

As she power-walks to school, she tries to calm herself down. Her parents are way too observant. It’s a miracle they didn’t outright call her out for acting like a lunatic.

By the time she arrives at the school, the gates are still locked. She’s that early.

Marinette hesitates at the entrance, suddenly overwhelmed by doubt. What if she misunderstood? What if this was a joke or a mistake? What if Adrien finds out who she is and hates her for lying?

But then she remembers his words from the night before.

“I won’t be around. Just trust me.”

Taking a deep breath, she steels herself and heads inside as soon as the gates open. She weaves her way through the quiet halls, making a beeline for the stairs by the main hall.

When she arrives, her heart skips a beat. Nestled in the corner beneath the stairs is a small package, neatly wrapped in brown paper with her username scrawled across the top: Luckycharm0001.

Her hands shake as she crouches down to pick it up. The paper crinkles beneath her fingers as she carefully unties the string and lifts the lid.

Inside is a little black cat plushie, slightly worn but still soft and well-loved. Her eyes widen as she notices the small handwritten note tucked beneath it.

She unfolds the paper, her breath catching as she reads:

“I won this at the arcade with Nino. It’s pretty special to me, but I wanted to thank you for listening and being there when I needed it. I figured a little black cat might be fitting. :) - Adrien ”

Tears sting her eyes before she can stop them. She clutches the note and the plushie to her chest, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions: gratitude, joy, guilt, hope.

This wasn’t just a surprise—it was him. A piece of his life, his feelings, his trust. And she doesn’t know how she’ll ever deserve it.

Marinette wipes her eyes and carefully tucks the plushie and note into her bag. She can’t stop smiling as she stands and heads to her locker, the black cat already her most treasured possession.

Her heart feels full, lighter than it has in days.

Adrien Agreste gave her a gift—a piece of himself—and she silently promises she’ll do everything she can to truly deserve it.

Also, thank God that mascara was waterproof.

Gabriel isn’t stupid. He knows his son is a teenage boy, and teenage boys have a way of going off the rails when they aren’t properly managed. Not that Adrien has ever been one to cause trouble—too well-mannered, too eager to please. But lately, something’s changed.

He’s noticed it in the little things. Adrien’s gaze drifting during photo shoots, the way his phone is practically glued to his hand. The photographers have even commented on it, their usual polished compliments tinged with annoyance.

“He seems… distracted,” one had said last week, choosing his words with care. Gabriel had waved it off at the time, but the seed had been planted.

Gabriel Agreste doesn’t deal in maybes or uncertainties. He deals in control, precision, and predictability. And right now, Adrien is becoming increasingly unpredictable.

The thought makes his jaw tighten as he sits in his office, the screens of his surveillance system glowing softly before him. Adrien isn’t in view at the moment, but he could find him easily enough. A few keystrokes, and his son’s location would be right there on the screen. But Gabriel refrains, for now.

Instead, he calls Nathalie into the room.

She steps in quietly, tablet in hand, her usual efficiency practically radiating from her. “Yes, Gabriel?”

“Have you noticed anything unusual about Adrien lately?” His tone is sharp, almost clipped, but it carries the weight of someone who expects a direct answer.

Nathalie doesn’t hesitate. “He’s been spending a lot of time on his phone,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “More than usual.”

Gabriel’s lips press into a thin line. “Doing what?”

“It’s unclear.” Nathalie shifts slightly, her tone careful. “He’s been… happier, I’d say. Smiling more often. But also distracted. A few missed cues during shoots, slower responses during fittings. It’s out of character for him.”

Happier?  The word lands awkwardly in Gabriel’s mind. Adrien is always polite, always obliging. But happy? Truly happy? That’s harder to pin down, and it sets Gabriel on edge.

“Could it be a girl?” he asks bluntly, his mind already running through the possibilities. Adrien is at that age, after all.

“It’s possible,” Nathalie admits. “Though he hasn’t mentioned anything. But given how protective you are of his personal life, it wouldn’t be surprising if he chose to keep it to himself.”

Gabriel doesn’t miss the subtle jab, but he lets it slide. He’s too focused on the matter at hand. If there is a girl, what does that mean? Someone trying to take advantage of Adrien’s fame? His wealth? His name?

“Keep an eye on him,” Gabriel orders, turning back to his desk. “If it’s nothing, I want confirmation. If it’s something… I want to know who.”

Nathalie nods, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in her expression. “And if it’s nothing serious?”

Gabriel’s gaze narrows. “Then it’s a distraction he can’t afford.”

She leaves without another word, and Gabriel stares at the blank wall in front of him, lost in thought. Adrien’s life has always been a tightly controlled symphony, every note dictated by Gabriel himself, and he’d rather keep it that way.

For now, he won’t intervene directly. But he’ll watch. Closely. Because Gabriel Agreste doesn’t just let things spiral out of control.

He makes a note to himself to review Adrien’s recent emails.

Just in case.

Chapter Text

“You should take a break, Mari. We don’t need the costumes until next week anyway.”

Marinette winces as the needle pricks her finger, again . She hisses under her breath, inspecting the tiny bead of blood forming on her fingertip. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling her to stop working, but then again, what does the universe know? The universe is certainly not trying to juggle high school, a budding secret friendship with Adrien Agreste, and a never-ending to-do list of sewing projects, that’s for sure.

She glances at Luka over her shoulder. He’s leaning casually against the edge of his desk, his guitar calloused fingers idly brushing a loose thread on his sleeve. The dim light from his lamp casts soft shadows on his face, and for a brief moment, Marinette wonders how he can still look at her like this, full of patience and affection, after everything that’s happened between them.

“Marinette, you’ve been at this for hours. Take a break.” 

She exhales slowly, setting the needle down with trembling fingers. “I’m fine. I just need to—“

“You need to breathe,” Luka interrupts, his voice gentle but firm. He steps closer, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “The costumes will be fine. You’re not.”

Marinette doesn’t shrug off his touch. She doesn’t have the energy, and besides, Luka’s hands are reassuring in a way that makes her stomach twist with guilt.

He’s always been like this. Calm. Kind. Understanding. The perfect balance to her hurricane of a personality. If anyone could’ve helped her forget about Adrien, it was Luka. And she’d tried  —oh, how she’d tried. She’d gone on multiple dates with him, shared a few secrets by the Seine, even let herself imagine a future where she could love him the way he deserved…

But it was all pointless. There was even a time where she’d called him the wrong name. The memory still makes her cringe, and to this day, she has no idea how she got away with it. Luka didn’t flinch, didn’t snap, didn’t even sigh. No, he just gave her that soft, infuriatingly understanding smile and said, “It happens.”

He’s too good, honestly, and that’s the problem, because someone like Luka deserves better than her. Someone like Luka deserves the kind of devotion she only has for Adrien.

“Marinette?” Luka’s voice pulls her out of her spiral. She blinks up at him, realizing he’s still waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles, pushing her chair back. “You’re right. I could use a break.”

She rubs her eyes, careful not to smudge her eyeliner. The last thing she needs is to look even more sleep-deprived than she already does.

Not that it’s a mystery why she’s so tired. Adrien had kept her up until late hours last night, their conversation stretching endlessly as they shared stories, jokes, and secrets. They’d only paused long enough to shower—at the same time, of course, because why waste even a second apart? She had suggested it jokingly, not expecting Adrien to say it was a good idea and to actually go along with it.

They’ve gotten so close that she hasn’t had dinner with her parents in days because Adrien eats alone, and she promised she’d stay online with him so he wouldn’t have to.

It’s completely insane.

In a life-changing way, don’t get her wrong. She’s been thanking God, Mother Nature, Aphrodite, Cupid , the universe, and all of her ancestors every night for allowing her to be this close to the love of her life. It just comes at a certain cost, but it’s one she’s absolutely willing to pay.

“You look… distracted these days,” Luka says, sitting down next to her. “More than usual. But you look happier too.”

Absolutely, she is. The happiest she’s ever been in her boring little life… including when she was dating Luka. She fidgets with the hem of her sleeve, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. It’s not like she owes him anything, but… well, maybe she does. Just so he can move on, you know? Juleka has told her countless times he’s never gotten over her, and though Marinette wishes that were false, even she can see it : the boy still has feelings for her.

“Do you remember the guy I had a crush on?” she asks hesitantly.

Luka tilts his head, his expression free of judgment. “I do.”

“We’ve been… kind of talking. A lot.”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s also why you look so tired?”

Marinette giggles nervously. “Probably why, yeah.” She hesitates, her smile faltering. But he doesn’t even know it’s me.

Adrien’s been pouring his heart out to Luckycharm0001, or Ladybug, as he now calls her, since she has one as her profile picture. He doesn’t know the real her—the one who stumbles over her words, gets paint in her hair, and has now thirty-three folders on her laptop dedicated to documenting his every move.

Granted, she’s told him about a few things… the shirt, the fact that she knows the layout of his place, though he doesn’t know how she knows that… And no matter how much she tries to rationalise it, she has absolutely no idea why he hasn’t reported her to the cops yet.

Hell, maybe he has. Maybe the clock is ticking and she’ll be jailed by tomorrow morning.

“Then why the long face?”

“It’s just…” Marinette trails off, trying to find a way to explain without sounding like a complete lunatic. “Let’s just say he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks. He knows one side of me, the one I’m willing to show him, but I’m afraid the other will ruin everything.”

Ladybug is confident, fun, and clever… everything she’s not behind her keyboard. If those are the qualities Adrien seeks in a friend— and dare she think, in a lifelong partner—, she’s toast.

Luka doesn’t respond immediately. He studies her, his eyes steady and thoughtful, like he’s trying to see past her words.

Finally, he says, “Every side of you is wonderful, Marinette. Everything about you is amazing. If he can’t love you for who you are, he doesn’t deserve you.”

She swallows hard, her chest tightening. It’s a nice sentiment, but she wonders how Luka would feel if he knew the full extent of her obsession. Would he still think she’s wonderful if he knew about the time she hacked into Gabriel Agreste’s security cameras just to catch a glimpse of Adrien? Or the meticulously color-coded calendar she keeps, tracking every public appearance, interview, and campaign shoot Adrien has for the next three months?

That one time she chewed used chewing-gum in the hopes of swallowing remains of his saliva?

It’s a miracle she hasn’t gotten his name illegally tattooed on her yet… not that she never thought of it.

Still, she doesn’t have the heart to argue. Instead, she nods, her smile shaky but grateful. “Thanks, Luka.”

He opens his arms, and she leans into the hug, letting herself rest against him for a moment. His embrace is warm, familiar, and as steady as the strings of his guitar. For a second, she almost believes she’ll figure everything out—her mess of a love life, her double identity, and the fact that Adrien barely knows she exists outside of their online chats. Well, he knows she’s around, but she’s not sure he  cares.

The moment is interrupted by a buzz from her phone, rattling against a spool of thread on the floor. Marinette ignores it at first, hoping Luka doesn’t notice, but then it buzzes again. And again.

She glances at the clock. It’s been… seven hours and fifty-two minutes since they last talked. Not that she’s counting.

“Looks like someone’s trying to reach you,” Luka says, glancing at her phone. He tilts his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “It’s been buzzing all morning, you know. Should I guess who it is? The lucky guy?”

Marinette’s cheeks instantly flame, turning the same shade as her favorite crimson fabric swatch. “What? No! It’s—” She stops mid-sentence, realizing Luka’s expression is entirely too knowing to even bother denying it. “Okay, fine. Yes. It’s him. But we’re just friends, I swear.”

“A friend who happens to make you look like that every time your phone goes off?”

“Look like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to smile but failing miserably,” Luka teases, his tone light but not unkind. “You’re happy, Marinette. That’s great. You deserve to be happy.”

Marinette laughs nervously, brushing her bangs out of her face. “We’ve just… gotten close, that’s all. We’re still friends, and it’s not anything serious… Yet.” The words come out stilted and awkward, but Luka doesn’t press. His steady, supportive presence makes her stomach churn with guilt.

Her phone buzzes again, and she finally picks it up, her thumb hovering over the screen.

Adrien.a : Hey, what’re you up to?

Adrien.a : I have a few minutes left before Nathalie drags me to the car.

Her heart skips a beat, as it always does when she sees his name. But with Luka sitting across from her, watching her with those kind, all-seeing eyes, she hesitates. Adrien deserves her full attention, but Luka doesn’t deserve to feel like he’s competing with a guy who doesn’t even know her real name.

Well, if anything, he’s not even in the competition. He never was.

Marinette clears her throat, forcing herself to type something casual. I’m with a friend right now , she writes, the words stinging more than they should. She hesitates, her thumb hovering over the keyboard, before adding: I haven’t seen him in a while, so I’ll be back this afternoon. But good luck at your shoot today! I know you’ll be amazing. You always are.

She glances at Luka, hoping he doesn’t notice how reluctant she is to send the message.

“Don’t let me keep you from talking to him,” Luka says, his voice kind but tinged with something Marinette can’t quite place. “I mean it, Marinette. You shouldn’t feel bad for being happy.”

She smiles weakly, sliding her phone into her back pocket. “Thank you, Luka. Really.”

It’s weird though. Usually, Adrien would reply right away. He’d send back some teasing comment, like How do you always know my schedule better than I do? But as the minutes tick by, her phone stays silent.

Nathalie probably picked him up earlier… right? Or, maybe that’s not the case at all. What if he’s upset she’s not talking to him? What if he doesn’t understand why she didn’t elaborate? What if—

“Everything okay?”

She nods, and Luka doesn’t push, but his gaze lingers on her for a moment, as if he can see straight through her. Marinette busies herself with tidying up the fabric scraps on the table, hoping the movement will distract her from the nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right.

“Anyway,” she says, her voice a little too bright. “Where were we?”

Luka just smiles. “Wherever you need to be, Marinette. I’m here.”

She sort of wishes he wasn’t.

Marinette trudges up to her room, her bag slipping off her shoulder as she closes the trapdoor behind her. The warmth of the bakery downstairs lingers faintly in her space, but it doesn’t do much to soften the tight knot of anxiety in her chest. She drops her bag onto her chair, flopping onto the bed with a sigh.

It’s been hours, and Adrien still hasn’t replied.

Maybe he was tired. He’s always busy, after all. Modeling, interviews, events with his father—it’s a wonder he even finds time to breathe, let alone talk to her as often as he does. She shouldn’t expect more. In fact, she’s lucky to get anything at all.

But her rationalizing doesn’t stop her stomach from twisting with unease. His schedule was supposed to be empty in the afternoon, so it couldn’t be work. Did I say something wrong? Is it because I didn’t reply right away? The thought that she might’ve made him upset prickles her skin with dread.

Then, with a sharp shake of her head, she scolds herself.

“Don’t be delusional,” she mutters aloud, throwing an arm over her face. “Why would he care? He doesn’t even know who I really am.”

Adrien wouldn’t be jealous. He doesn’t even know her. Not the real her, anyway. She’s just… an online distraction , isn’t she? She doesn’t mean anything to him, and she won’t, ever.

A tight, stinging feeling builds in her eyes, and before she can stop herself, the tears spill over. She sniffles, wiping at her cheeks, but the tears keep coming, faster and hotter. It’s ridiculous. She knows it is. But she misses him so much she can hardly breathe, and the thought of him being mad at her makes her want to throw up.

God, she hasn’t even talked to him properly since last night. A whole twenty hours without their usual talk, and, here she is, crying over the silence like some pathetic, lovesick teenager—which, okay, fine, she is, but still.

She rolls onto her side, staring at her desk where her laptop sits closed. What if he needs space? she wonders, her thoughts spiraling. Maybe he’s with his father for once. Or maybe he’s being Nathalie. Or taking a nap. Or maybe—

Her heart clenches. Maybe he’s sick of me.

The thought hits her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she can’t breathe. What if she’s just been annoying him this whole time? What if he’s realized she’s not worth the effort? What if she’s ruined the one thing that’s actually made her happy in months?

She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, the tears spilling faster now. “Stop it,” she whispers harshly. “You’re being ridiculous. He’s fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

But it’s not fine. If Adrien stopped talking to her, what would she even do ? Throw herself into her sewing machine? Sounds like a plan, because she’d probably lose all will to live.

Marinette snorts through her tears at the absurdity of it all.

It’s only an hour later that her phone buzzes.

She freezes, the pencil in her hand already forgotten. The screen lights up on her desk, the familiar notification glowing like a beacon.

She scrambles for the phone, her heart thundering in her chest as she unlocks it.

Adrien.a :   Sorry for the late reply. I was really busy today.

Marinette stares at her screen, eyebrows knitting together. Busy? Okay, that was the excuse she used on herself to keep what little sanity she had left… but was he really?

She quickly scrolls to the detailed color-coded schedule she’s kept meticulously updated for the past three months. His only official obligation today was a photoshoot in the early afternoon. After that, nothing but free time. Unless something was added last minute—which, sure, is possible—his day was calmer than most.

Her thumbs hover over her keyboard, hesitating. She doesn’t want to sound accusatory or, worse, like a stalker (even though, let’s face it, the evidence is damning). But the nagging need to know if he’s okay outweighs her self-consciousness.

She just wants to know why he hasn’t been replying, that’s all. And ideally, if she has anything to do with it. 

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) :   Really? Your schedule is emptier than usual today, so I thought something happened.

She hits send, cringing slightly. It’s not too guilt-trippy, is it? She just wants to make sure he’s fine, that he doesn’t hate her, that he hasn’t decided he’s bored of her constant presence in his life.

The pause stretches on far too long. Marinette stares at her screen until her vision starts to blur. Why isn’t he replying? Is he typing and deleting? Did her message come across wrong? Is he mad?

This is so over, isn’t it?

Adrien.a : I can’t hide anything from you, can I?

Adrien.a : I was just thinking.

Marinette feels the blood drain from her face. Oh god. This is it. This is the part where he gently lets her down, says he’s been rethinking things, says he doesn’t want to keep up this… whatever it is between them. Her heart races, bracing itself for impact.

But the next messages aren’t what she expects.

Adrien.a : When you said you were with a friend earlier—a guy—it kind of threw me off. I didn’t expect it.

Adrien.a : I know I’m lucky to have so much of your attention, and I’m really grateful for it. I just… I guess I didn’t want to share. I’m sorry for being possessive. You’re not my property, and you have every right to be mad at me.

She rereads the messages. Twice. Three times. Her brain struggles to process the words. Adrien Agreste, jealous? Of Luka? Over her? She wants to laugh at the absurdity of it, but all she manages is a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard. She doesn’t even know where to start, so she types the first thing that comes to mind.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : !!!!!!!??????!!!!!!!!

Okay. Not helpful. She shakes her head and tries again, her thoughts scrambling to form coherent sentences.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : You’ve got it completely wrong!! The boy I was with is just a friend. No one means as much to me as you do.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : You don’t have to apologize; honestly, I’m kind of… very flattered you felt that way. But please, don’t feel jealous. You’re the only one for me.

As soon as she sends it, panic sets in. Did that sound like a confession? It sounds like a confession. Oh God, she just confessed. Practically told him she loves him. Her phone buzzes again, and she braces herself for disaster.

Adrien.a : I’m relieved to hear that. I’ll admit, I was spiraling a bit. I’ll work on communicating better, though. I don’t want to have misunderstandings like this between us :(

She exhales, the tension in her chest finally easing.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : I’m always here to listen. Communication is a two-way street, you know? And I’m always there for you.

Adrien.a : Then I’ll try to make it less one-sided. Thanks, Ladybug. You’re kind of, very amazing.

Marinette grins, her cheeks flushing. The tears she was holding back earlier threaten to fall again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

She clears her throat, though no one’s around to hear it, and types:

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : So… anything new? We still have a bit of time left.

Adrien.a : Yeah, actually. Tomorrow’s gonna suck. That’s what’s new.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001): That sounds unfortunate. What’s up?

Adrien.a : I’ve got a fitting at my dad’s store. For an event. Something about tech and some rings he’s designing? I barely even know what they do—apparently, the prototypes are ready, but they won’t come out for years.

Marinette stares at the message, her heart doing that ridiculous little thing it does when Adrien talks about his personal life. It’s half curiosity, half awe, and maybe a pinch of pity, because wow, being Gabriel Agreste’s son sounds exhausting.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) :  Can’t wait to hear all about how terrible it was.

Adrien.a : Oh, you will. You know I’ll rant the second I’m out of there.

They joke back and forth for a bit, the heaviness from earlier slipping away with each message. Marinette leans back in her chair, smiling faintly. She decides to throw something out there, almost on a whim.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001): Maybe I’ll see you there, then. You know, since the city’s so small, we might run into each other.

Adrien.a : It’s the flagship store on Avenue Montaigne. Around noon, I think. You should totally come by. Say hi.

Marinette sits upright so fast she almost pulls a muscle.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) :  Adrien. You reallyshouldn’t just casually drop your location like that. What if I was dangerous?

Adrien.a : But you’re not.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : I literally stalked you.

Adrien.a :  Then you’re a harmless stalker. And a totally welcome one, if you decide to swing by.

Adrien.a : Is it even stalking if it’s consensual?

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : You didn’t even know I was following you around. There was no consent… I’m not proud of this, by the way. I’m sorry again.

Adrien.a : Hey, don’t feel bad about it :(

Adrien.a : I consent, like a hundred percent. Now you have my full permission to stalk me as much as you want. 

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) :  I can’t believe you sometimes.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : My point is, you really need to be more careful. I may not be a threat, but you’re a celebrity, there’s thousands of people who would follow you around if they could.

Adrien.a :  You know I only do this for you.

Adrien.a :  You’re the only person I want following me around.

Marinette freezes. Her hands hover over the keyboard, but her brain’s short-circuited. Is he trying to give her a heart attack?

Ladybug (luckycharm0001): Well, I’m not saying hi. Just so we’re clear.

Adrien.a : I know you won’t. A man can dream, though.

Adrien.a : Just knowing you’re nearby is enough. I  kind of miss feeling like someone’s following me :3

Marinette clamps a hand over her mouth, stifling a happy giggle. It escapes anyway, and she has to bury her face in her hands to smother the sound. When she finally pulls herself together, she types:

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : Fine. If I do come, can I take a picture from afar?

Adrien.a : Hell yeah. But only if you get my good side.

Ladybug (luckycharm0001) : You know every side is your good side.

Adrien.a : You’re too sweet.

No, it’s you that’s too sweet, Adrien , she sighs to herself. Too kind and too naive and too selfless and she could go on for hours. The little black cat plushie on her desk, the most beautiful, touching, and valuable present she’s ever gotten, stares at her in agreement.

The subway doors slide open, and Marinette steps out in such a rush she nearly collides with a woman holding a tiny dog in a designer handbag. The woman clicks her tongue in disapproval, adjusting her sunglasses like Marinette’s existence has ruined her morning.

“Sorry!” Marinette blurts, her cheeks burning as she scurries past. The city air hits her, cool and sharp, and she’s immediately swallowed by the elegance of Avenue Montaigne. The upscale street stretches before her like a runway, every storefront gleaming with luxury and promises she can’t afford.

She’s been rehearsing excuses all night. “ Oh, Adrien! What a coincidence! I was just passing by. ” Or, ” Isn’t window shopping the best? I just love staring at things I can’t afford. ” But no matter how she spins it, everything sounds painfully desperate—which is fitting, because Marinette is nothing if not desperate.

And yet, here she is, ignoring every rational part of her brain screaming to abort this ill-advised mission. But let’s face it, the slim chance of seeing Adrien—even from a distance—is worth whatever spectacular humiliation this will undoubtedly bring. Probably.

It took her two hours to get ready. Two. Whole. Hours. Practicality ultimately won out over style—she’s in bootcut jeans, a white lace tank top, and sneakers. Marinette tells herself it’s because Parisian cobblestones are unforgiving, but deep down she knows it’s because she might need to run for her life at some point today.

The Gabriel Agreste flagship store looms ahead, its sleek, minimalist façade standing out against the more elaborate architecture of the other boutiques. It’s intimidating, even from a distance, all clean lines and frosted glass. In front of the store, Adrien’s sleek black car is parked, the unmistakable “GA” logo on the hood gleaming in the sunlight. The store looks completely empty. The entry is blocked off by two imposing bodyguards in dark suits, their expressions unreadable and their stances firm. No one’s getting in—or out—without their approval. It’s clearly been privatized, likely for Adrien’s fitting session.

Still, her feet carry her forward, like they’re acting on their own accord. She blends into the bustling crowd of shoppers, keeping her distance as her eyes dart to the windows. A flash of blonde hair catches her attention. Even though the frosted glass blurs the details, she’d recognize that silhouette anywhere. The way his hair glints in the sunlight, how his shoulders are slightly hunched yet still somehow regal...

Before she can even begin to strategize her next move, the sleek glass doors slide open. Marinette instinctively ducks behind a decorative planter, her heart thundering in her chest. She peers around the edge as Adrien steps out, looking effortlessly perfect, as usual.

He’s dressed like he didn’t even try—which, of course, just makes him look better : his black polo and perfectly fitted jeans exude effortless cool. Random passersby glance his way, their faces lighting up in recognition, as if they’re seeing a celebrity—which, to be fair, they kind of are.

It’s everything Marinette has ever imagined. The perfect chance encounter. The kind of moment where fate steps in, and everything changes. Maybe she really could walk up to him.

Hi Marinette, what a coincidence! You look beautiful today! Wait, don’t tell me…

Yes, Adrien, it’s me. I’m the stalker you’ve been talking to this whole time and I’m so in love with you and would do anything for you.

Deep down, I always knew it was you, Marinette. Will you marry me?

I’ve been waiting for this since the moment you gave me that umbrella! God, I thought you’d never ask!

Their wedding would be the most beautiful celebration the city has ever seen. He’d wear a custom suit designed by his father, and she’d walk down the aisle in a wedding dress she made herself, every stitch filled with love. The entire city would celebrate, from the rooftops to the Seine. Chloé Bourgeois would begrudgingly take a front-row seat, since her own father would be officiating the ceremony.

Marinette smiles at the thought of a bucket discreetly placed by Chloé’s chair to catch her inevitable drool of rage. Oh, she’d make sure the girl has a premium seat to the celebration.

Why has life been so kind to her lately? Maybe God and Mother Nature love her after all. Hell, she has to be the universe’s absolute favorite teenager for it to bless her that way. The most amazing, flawless teenage boy is her soulmate, and she’s a few seconds away from getting married to him. That’s enough to make Marinette a believer. Maybe she saved a country in her past life…

Oh.

The fantasy comes crashing down when Marinette sees something—or other, someone —that wasn’t in her imaginary wedding.

Kagami Tsurugi steps into view, composed and striking as ever. She’s dressed impeccably in high-waisted, tailored trousers that seem to stretch her already statuesque frame to impossible lengths, paired with a sleek, asymmetrical burgundy top that hugs her figure like it was made just for her.

Marinette’s hopes crash and burn spectacularly. Instead of walking up to Adrien, she ducks lower behind her hiding spot, gripping the edge of the planter like it’s the only thing keeping her from toppling over.

Kagami leans in, her lips brushing both of Adrien’s cheeks in a polite, European greeting. Adrien’s body visibly straightens in surprise, and Marinette can see his expression even from this distance—wide-eyed for a split second before it softens into a small, shy smile. He looks around as if checking for someone, then returns the girl’s gesture with a friendly nod.

The way he smiles at her is like a punch to Marinette’s gut. She’s seen that smile before, but it feels different when it’s directed at another girl.   Needless to say, she feels like throwing herself off a building right now. Her heart feels like it’s being wrung out every time Adrien laughs at something Kagami says. No, everytime he even looks at her.

Keeping her distance, she trails behind as Adrien and Kagami stroll down the avenue, slipping in and out of luxueux boutiques like it’s the most natural thing in the world. People on the street throw her curious glances, some even stepping out of her way as if afraid her desperation is contagious.

Kagami pauses by a boutique window, glancing at her reflection, and Marinette immediately panics. She quickly ducks behind a lamppost, trying to look like someone who just happens to be very interested in the local infrastructure. It’s fine. Kagami isn’t looking for her. Probably.

Still, Marinette peeks around the lamppost just in time to see Kagami moving on. Adrien leans in to say something, and her face softens—not with a smile exactly, because she doesn’t seem to ever smile, but something close to it. Marinette groans quietly and presses her forehead against the cold metal of the lamppost.

When Adrien finally leaves the store and walks toward his car, Marinette stops dead in her tracks, ducking behind a bench. She watches as he pauses un front of the car, looking around. His gaze is soft but sharp, like he’s searching for something. Then he pouts, his lips forming the tiniest frown as he runs a hand through his hair. Marinette feels her heart skip painfully. He’s adorable, and perfect, and a literal angel that mere earthlings are blessed to even look at .

She’s so grateful to have seen that moment and so utterly unlucky that it’s happening on the worst day of her life.

He climbs into his car, and the door shuts behind him with a soft thunk that feels a lot like finality. Marinette stays frozen, her emotions swirling between heartbreak and the desperate urge to text him something, anything, just to remind herself she still exists in his world.

If she and Kagami were both drowning, or held by tight rope right on top of a metal blade running at light speed, who would he save first?

Kagami, or the mentally sick, pathetic excuse of a friend that’s been following him around for a year?

Before she can wallow for too long (because of course, he’d save Kagami), she notices the girl hasn’t followed him. Instead, she stands by her car, her hand hovering over the door handle. Then, as if sensing Marinette’s presence like some kind of predator, Kagami turns around and starts walking… toward her.

Marinette’s stomach plummets. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Helllllll no. She bites the inside of her cheek, scrambling to look casual. Maybe Kagami just needs directions. Maybe she thinks Marinette works nearby. Maybe this is all just—

“Excuse me.” Kagami’s voice is cool and sharp, like a blade slicing through Marinette’s frantic thoughts.

Marinette looks up, her heart pounding. “Uh… yes?” She tries to sound innocent, like she totally hasn’t been following them for the past hour.

Kagami crosses her arms, her gaze piercing. Up close, she’s even more intimidating. Her posture is flawless, her expression unreadable, and God, her skin is even more perfect up close.

“What’s your deal?”

“My… deal?” Marinette echoes, as if the words themselves are foreign.

“Yes.” Kagami narrows her eyes. “You’ve been following us from store to store. Are you a crazed fan? Do I need to call security?”

Marinette’s brain short-circuits. Fan? Fan?! That’s ironic. Hilarious, even. Technically true, if she thinks about it, though she’s been upgraded to online friend just a few weeks ago. She forces a shaky laugh. “What? No! I was just… passing by.”

“For an hour?” Kagami’s tone is skeptical, her brow arching in a way that makes Marinette want to sink into the pavement.

Marinette stammers, “I-I mean, it’s a nice street. Lots of… shops. Fancy ones.” She gestures vaguely, hoping her flailing hands will distract from the fact that her face is probably bright red.

Kagami doesn’t look convinced. “No one can fool me,” she says, her voice low and measured. “You’ve been following us, and I’ve seen you before. If you’re trying to get close to Adrien—”

“I’m not!” Marinette blurts, too loudly. A couple walking by glances at her, and she shrinks back, her cheeks burning.

Kagami takes a step closer, her gaze unrelenting. “If you’re not a fan, then what are you? A reporter? A stalker?”

Marinette flinches at the word. “I’m none of those things, okay? I was just—” She stops herself before she says something incriminating. “I was just curious.”

“Curious?” Kagami repeats, her tone flat.

“Yes! Curious.” Marinette clutches at the word like it’s a lifeline. “I mean, I’ve never seen someone like—uh, I mean, something like this before. A private shopping session. That’s all.”

Kagami doesn’t move for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she seems to assess Marinette’s every breath. Then she steps back, her arms still crossed. “If you’re lying, I’ll know,” she says coolly. “And if you’re some kind of threat to Adrien’s safety, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Marinette’s stomach twists. “I-I’m not a threat!” she stammers. “I promise! I’m just—” She doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

“Good.” Kagami straightens, her expression unreadable once again. “Then respect his boundaries. Stay away.”

With that, Kagami turns on her heel and strides back to her car, her movements as precise and calculated as everything else about her.

Marinette stands frozen, her face burning with shame. Her chest feels like it’s caving in, and her mind spirals into a pit of self-loathing. She can’t believe this is her life. She can’t believe she let herself get caught. And by Kagami Tsurugi, of all people.

She watches Kagami’s car pull away, the sleek vehicle disappearing down the avenue, and she feels like she might actually throw up. Or cry. Or both. Preferably off a bridge. Isn’t La Seine nearby?

God.

She’s absolutely going to tell Adrien about this, isn’t she? There’s no way she wouldn’t. The way she stormed off, the whole “I’ll know if you’re lying” line—it’s practically a guarantee that Marinette’s little misadventure is about to be broadcast to the one person she absolutely cannot have knowing about it.

So, Kagami is going to tell him, and it’s most definitely tonight, at whatever technology event Adrien said he didn’t want to go to. Of course, she will be there— the rings are a collaboration between her father’s business and Kagami’s mother, if she remembers it correctly.  And once she finds Adrien at the event, she’ll waste no time tattling. She’ll probably say something dramatic, like, “Adrien, there’s a girl that’s a massive threat to your safety. I confronted her, don’t worry. You’re safe. I will behead her if she comes any closer.”

The moment Kagami starts describing her—dark hair, blue eyes, clumsy and barely able to align two words—Adrien will know exactly who she’s talking about. Who else could it be? Marinette might as well have followed them with a neon sign over her head.

And what will he do? Will he laugh it off? Oh, that Marinette, how cute of her to be so obsessed with me! No. He’ll be horrified. Marinette? The weird girl from class? His tone will shift. He’ll call her clingy. Desperate. A freak. And then—then he’ll block her, or ghost her… Or do whatever painfully polite thing Adrien does when he doesn’t want someone in his life anymore, because he’s not the type to expose people for their wrongdoings. He’s nice and sweet and merciful like that.

Marinette’s chest tightens, her breath hitching as her mind spirals further. She can practically see it happening: Adrien’s green eyes narrowing as he pieces it together, his voice dropping as he says something soul-crushing like, “I thought you were different”, full of disappointment.

Oh god, she’s completely screwed. There’s no salvaging this. Maybe Kagami probably won’t even wait for the event to spill the beans—she could call him the second her car pulls up to her place. She’ll describe every humiliating detail, and Adrien will never look at her the same way again. Not that he’s looking at her now, but at least he’s not actively repulsed. Yet.

Marinette’s knees feel weak, and she leans against the nearest wall to keep herself upright. She’s never wanted to disappear more in her life. Maybe she can move to another city. Or another country. Or another planet.Maybe she’ll delete her email and vanish from the internet altogether. She can become a hermit, grow her own vegetables, and live out the rest of her days in total obscurity. It’s honestly starting to sound like the only reasonable option.

Or, there’s always killing herself and hoping her next life will be less miserable. Yeah, good old suicide is always an option.

As the reality of her situation sinks in, she swallows hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Kagami’s right about one thing: she should stay away. Not just from Adrien’s shopping sprees, but from Adrien himself. Clearly, she’s not cut out for this… Whatever “this “ is.

If she wanted confirmation that she doesn’t belong in Adrien’s world, today is doing a spectacular job of providing it.

Chapter Text

Adrien Agreste is, technically speaking, Kagami’s only friend.

Not that they’re particularly close. Their connection is a product of circumstance, the natural outcome of being two teenagers dragged to countless formal events by their high-profile parents, leaving them with little choice but to tolerate each other. Lately, they’d started fencing together, and that was about it. If Kagami was being honest, Adrien was more of an acquaintance than a friend.

And yet, there was something between them… a quiet understanding born from shared isolation, perhaps. They were alike in ways most people wouldn’t understand. Two teenagers trapped in gilded cages, weighed down by expectations they didn’t choose.

Of course, Adrien’s cage was far more spacious than hers. He got to go to public school, make friends, live a life that at least mimicked normalcy... Kagami, on the other hand, had been homeschooled her entire life. For her, Adrien wasn’t just a friend — he was her only connection to a world she’d never really been part of. That made her care about him more than she was entirely comfortable admitting.

Which was why it was utterly maddening that Adrien, the closest thing she had to a friend, was being stalked by someone so completely detached from reality.

The culprit was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Sixteen years old. Born July 9, 2001, at precisely 9:46 PM in Paris’s 6th arrondissement. A student at Lycée Françoise Dupont, an aspiring fashion designer, and —most alarmingly— a near-professional stalker.

Kagami had no choice but to get involved. After all, what kind of friend would she be if she let Adrien, with his endless optimism and almost pathological naivety, remain oblivious to the danger circling him?

For months now, Marinette had been everywhere they went, slipping in and out of their lives like an uninvited ghost. Kagami had spotted her outside fencing practice, loitering suspiciously near Gabriel’s design studio, and at a private rooftop restaurant so exclusive it required an invitation to enter. How Marinette had managed to get in was a mystery Kagami still hadn’t solved. Did she bribe someone? Sneak past security? Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: this girl was relentless.

Adrien, of course, noticed none of it. He moved through life with the kind of oblivious grace that only someone like him could manage. Marinette’s appearances, always fleeting, barely registered. But Kagami noticed. She noticed everything. For weeks, she tried to catch the girl in the act, only to be thwarted by inconvenient timing or Adrien’s distracting chatter. Marinette would vanish before Kagami could confront her, and life would go on as if nothing had happened.

But Kagami was nothing if not patient. She waited. She watched. She planned. And finally, yesterday, her patience had paid off.

It had been almost too easy. Once cornered, Marinette crumbled like wet paper. Her face burned as red as Kagami’s fencing jacket, her voice trembled, and her excuses were as flimsy as they were laughable. There was no plausible explanation for her behavior—at least not one that didn’t confirm her guilt.

Classic stalker behavior.

Kagami wasn’t sure what to feel. There was anger, of course—an instinctive sense of protectiveness over Adrien, who was too kind and trusting to realize he was in danger. But beneath the anger was something else, something uncomfortably close to reluctant admiration. Marinette’s obsession was disturbing, but it was also undeniably consistent. And consistency, Kagami knew, required effort.

Still, she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. This wasn’t persistence; it was delusion. And delusion was dangerous. Marinette Dupain-Cheng wasn’t just a nuisance; she was a problem that needed solving.

And Kagami was more than ready to solve it.

Because this wasn’t just about Adrien anymore. It was about principles. Someone needed to put Marinette Dupain-Cheng in her place, and Kagami was the only one willing to do it.

In fact, she’s ready to do it right here, right now… despite the timing not being ideal.

The venue is elegant in that cold, intimidating way that screams wealth: white walls adorned with gilded moldings, tapestries that could probably pay someone’s tuition for a decade, chandeliers dripping with crystals. The ceiling is painted with cherubs, their golden horns gleaming under the light. Around her, the elite of French society mingle with international investors, CEOs, and the occasional royal.

Kagami has long since learned to blend in at events like this, though she finds them unbearably dull.

She adjusts the strap of her custom Gabriel gown—deep crimson, sleek, and designed to fit her to perfection. The Chopard necklace around her neck holds a single diamond, small enough to not look tacky but large enough to remind everyone she’s somebody . Adrien, of course, looks flawless as usual in a tailored Gabriel suit. It isn’t fair, how effortlessly beautiful he is. Not handsome. Not striking. Beautiful. His face looks like it was sketched by a Renaissance artist who got bored of drawing cherubs and decided to aim higher.

And as Kagami sits beside him at their table—alone, save for Adrien’s ever-present bodyguard—she can’t help but notice the irony. Their parents, the architects of this entire charade, don’t even have the decency to pretend they care enough to join them… So here they are, two neglected heirs, quietly eating overpriced food under the watchful gaze of people they don’t even know.

It is, Kagami decides, the perfect moment to tell Adrien about the obsessive, mentally unwell stalker that is his classmate.

She dabs at her mouth with a napkin, stalling for time. Her stomach churns at the thought of Adrien being so blissfully unaware of his deranged admirer, but this conversation can’t be avoided. It pained her, truly, to disturb Adrien’s peace, but someone has to keep him grounded in reality. Clearly, he won’t do it himself.

Finally, she sets the napkin down and turns to him. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s up?” he asks, his voice warm and welcoming, utterly devoid of suspicion.

Kagami draws a steady breath. “There’s a dangerous person threatening your safety.”

Adrien freezes. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve seen her following you,” she continues, her voice calm but firm. “Us, actually. For months. Yesterday, I finally confronted her. She didn’t even deny it. And before you ask, yes, I know who she is. I’ve documented everything—her identity, her parents’ information, even her home address. If you want to file a complaint, I can have it ready in five minutes.” She leans back slightly, allowing herself a brief moment of satisfaction. She’s handled this responsibly, like the great friend she is.

Adrien’s fork clatters to his plate. For a moment, Kagami thinks her words have landed. That he’s grasped the gravity of the situation.

And then he laughs.

Kagami blinks, thrown. He’s laughing. His shoulders shake, his cheeks flush pink, and he even covers his mouth with one hand, as though trying to suppress some childish glee. She stares at him, utterly dumbfounded, as he grins like she’s just delivered the punchline to the world’s funniest joke.

“She… she really showed up?” he asks, his voice tinged with something dangerously close to delight.

Kagami’s irritation spikes, sharp and immediate. “She?” she repeats, incredulous.

Adrien rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “It’s… kind of a long story.”

Kagami’s eyes narrow into thin slits. “You’re telling me you know who this is?”

“Well… sort of,” Adrien admits, as though that’s a reasonable response. “I don’t know who she is exactly, but—”

“Sort of?” she snaps, leaning forward. Her voice rises before she catches herself, and she glances around to ensure no one is paying attention. She hisses under her breath, “Adrien, she’s been stalking you for months. I can contact the police right now, or the school—whoever you want—but this has to stop.” She starts pulling out her phone, ready to recite the damning list of evidence she’s compiled. “She goes to the same school as you, and her name’s—”

“No!” Adrien’s hand shoots out, stopping her mid-sentence. His voice is hurried but firm. “Don’t tell me her name. I don’t want to know.”

Kagami stares at him, her bewilderment mounting. “You don’t want to know the identity of the person stalking you?”

Adrien lowers his hand, his expression almost embarrassed. “It’s supposed to be a secret. Between us, you know?”

“Between you and your stalker?” Kagami’s voice is laced with disbelief.

Adrien holds up his hands, clearly trying to calm her down. “She’s not really a stalker… She’s harmless, Kagami,” he insists, his tone maddeningly reassuring. “Really. She’d never do anything to hurt me.”

Kagami feels her patience snap, but words fail her. She stares at him, hoping to convey the utter absurdity of his words with sheer force of will. Finally, she speaks, her voice dry and deliberate. “She’s broken into events just to watch you. She’s followed you home. She—”

“I know. She’s been leaving me notes in my locker as well…”

Kagami freezes. “The paper you showed me?”

“She’s left more of them since that day,” Adrien admits, his cheeks flushing. “We’ve been talking a lot recently.” He looks down at his hands, his voice growing softer. “She’s… really thoughtful. And sweet. And funny. Honestly, she understands me better than anyone else ever has.”

Kagami stares at him, her brain stuttering to a halt. Adrien Agreste, model, prodigy, and supposed academical genius, has either been lobotomized or is slowly losing his grip on reality.

“She understands you because she’s spent months obsessing over your every move,” Kagami snaps. “That’s not thoughtful—that’s deranged.”

Adrien doesn’t seem to hear her. His gaze grows distant, his smile softening. “She’s so patient with me. She gets it, you know? What it’s like to feel lonely. Isolated. And she spends all her free time talking to me, cheering me up, listening to me…”

Kagami gawks, slack-jawed, as Adrien continues, his voice taking on a dreamy quality she’s never heard before.

“She even took one of my shirts,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Apparently, it comforts her. Isn’t that adorable? I’ve never meant this much to anyone before.”

“No,” Kagami says flatly, her tone cutting like steel. “That’s theft. And also psychotic. You should be deeply concerned.”

But Adrien doesn’t stop. He talks about how she comforts him when he needs it, how she gives him advice and unconditional support, how she’s the kindest, most special person in the entire universe.

Finally, he glances back at her, looking sheepish. “I guess I owe you an apology,” he says. “I told her to come yesterday. Missed having her around. Didn’t think she actually would show up, but… yeah, that’s on me. Sorry if I scared you.”

Kagami sits in stunned silence, a single thought crystallizing in her mind : Adrien and his stalker are both mentally deranged.

“Adrien,” she says slowly, her voice low and deliberate, “you’ve completely and utterly lost your damn mind.”

He just smiles, his cheeks still faintly pink, and returns to his dinner as though nothing has happened.

Though he has no idea, Gabriel Agreste teaches Kagami something tonight: raising your child while depriving him of any form of love and affection is a recipe for disaster. She doesn’t need to say it aloud; the evidence is sitting across from her, smiling obliviously, confusing obsession with love because it’s the only affection he’s ever been shown.

The rest of the event passes in a blur, and they don’t talk about the stalker again. Adrien is polite and cheerful, as always, his warmth almost convincing Kagami that maybe, just maybe, she’s worried over nothing. Almost. But the pit in her stomach remains—a knot of dread tied too tightly to unravel.

What the hell is she supposed to do?

On the ride home, Kagami weighs her options. She considers talking to Gabriel, but no—this is his fault in the first place. If he paid any real attention to Adrien, if he gave him the care and love a father should, Adrien wouldn’t be so quick to confuse obsessive devotion for something meaningful. The truth is hard to ignore: Adrien is so starved for love that he clings to anyone who offers it, no matter how twisted their intentions might be. And now, Adrien doesn’t even want this girl gone.

She could confront Marinette again, perhaps threaten her to stay away from Adrien—but that would break Adrien’s heart, and Kagami’s not sure she’s willing to be the one responsible for that. Then again, isn’t it a necessary pain? Isn’t it better to hurt Adrien now, to protect him in the long run? A few years ago, she would’ve undoubtedly said yes, but she’s not so sure anymore.

The thought lingers, unresolved, as Kagami throws herself into practice later that night. Her movements are sharp and deliberate, the clash of her sword against the dummy a way to channel the frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. She doesn’t stop until her muscles burn, until her breath comes in short, controlled bursts, and even then, it doesn’t feel like enough.

She’s just beginning to settle into the familiar rhythm when one of the maids enters, hesitating in the doorway.

“There’s someone at the door for you, Mademoiselle Tsurugi,” the maid says.

Kagami frowns, lowering her practice sword. She isn’t usually informed about visitors; her mother handles that. But her mother is absent tonight, and the maid looks reluctant to intrude further.

“Who is it?” Kagami asks, already walking toward the door.

The answer waits for her at the penthouse entrance: Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the very source of her problems.

Kagami’s eyes narrow as she takes in the girl standing in her doorway. Marinette looks nervous but determined, her delicate hands steady at her sides, though her lower lip trembles ever so slightly. She looks like an absolute mess, with her hair messily tied in two twintails and smudged mascara clinging stubbornly to her eyelashes. Her outfit—a crumpled, pajama-like ensemble—does her no favors. Kagami wonders if this girl has any shame or if she’s so far gone that it doesn’t even matter.

Her gaze meets Kagami’s head-on, despite the flush in her cheeks. With her doll-like features and large teary doe-eyes, Kagami wouldn’t be surprised if Marinette has gotten away with everything she’s ever done. It would definitely be hard for most people to hold such an innocent-looking girl accountable.

But Kagami isn’t most people.

“I just wanted to say… that I understand why you reacted the way you did,” Marinette begins, her voice soft but steady. “It probably seemed strange and concerning. It is, honestly. If I were Adrien’s friend, I’d react the same way. I’m surprised he hasn’t called the cops on me either, honestly.”

Kagami narrows her eyes at the unexpected admission. “I—”

“But Adrien is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Marinette interrupts, her voice trembling slightly but full of conviction. “I would never want to hurt him. I just… I want to be by his side. I want him to be happy. I’ve wanted to be around him for years, and it’s finally happening, and I know it’s incredibly selfish, but I’m just not ready to give him up. I want to be around him for as long as I can. And if you’re trying to stop that, I won’t give up without a fight.”

Kagami crosses her arms, unmoved. “Are you done?”

Marinette nods.

“How the hell do you know where I live?”

“It wasn’t hard to find,” Marinette replies with a shrug.

Kagami’s jaw tightens. “So you stalked me, too.”

“That’s… That’s not the point,” Marinette says quickly, though her gaze falters for a moment. “The point is, I’m not staying away from Adrien. No matter what you say or do.”

Kagami arches an eyebrow. “Even if I tell him who you are?”

Marinette’s eyes widen, a spark of hope flickering in their depths. “You haven’t told him yet?”

“No. And I haven’t called the cops on you either,” Kagami says coolly. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“You won’t have to,” Marinette says, her voice firm. “I’ll tell him myself if I have to. But I won’t let you ruin this.”

Kagami exhales slowly, trying to process the sheer audacity of what she’s hearing. Marinette is really acting like Kagami’s concern for her friend is some villainous plot to sabotage his relationship with her. Unbelievable. 

“Fine,” Kagami says finally, her voice low and deliberate. “I won’t say a thing. Not because of your speech, which was a convoluted mess, and you might want to work on your public speaking skills—but because Adrien hates when people make decisions for him. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve filed a report against you long ago.”

Marinette doesn’t reply at first, simply standing there, breathing deeply as though she’s processing Kagami’s words.

“But let me make one thing clear,” Kagami adds, her tone sharpening. “I think you’re mentally unwell, and undeserving to be around him in every way. Adrien’s not exactly sane either, apparently, but if he ever changes his mind about you, I’ll do what’s necessary to make sure you never talk to him again.”

Marinette straightens her posture, her resolve hardening. “You won’t have to. If Adrien tells me to leave, I’ll disappear, I swear... But right now, we have something important. And mutual. I’d like you to respect that.”

Kagami stares at her, torn between disbelief and reluctant admiration. “You’re a remarkably shameless person.”

Marinette doesn’t flinch. “Well, then, I’ll get going.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small box. “I baked macarons for you... They’re blueberry flavored. You seemed to enjoy them when you went shopping with Adrien.”

Kagami’s eyes narrow. “You mean when you stalked us all afternoon.”

Marinette flushes. “Right… Anyways, I’m grateful for anyone who makes Adrien happy. You must care about him a lot to go out of your way to protect him. Maybe someday, we can get along.”

With that, Marinette turns and walks away, leaving Kagami standing in the doorway, the macaron box in hand.

Back in her room, Kagami opens the box, eyeing the delicate blueberry treats inside… Her favorite flavor of anything, really, and she does remember carrying a blueberry smoothie during their private shopping session. For a moment, she wonders if Marinette is genuinely kind or just disturbingly cunning.

She shakes her head, setting the box aside. No. That’s still a stalker. A shameless, mentally unwell, delusional girl with too much luck for her own good.

Kagami isn’t about to waver because of doe eyes and macarons.

Sunlight pours into Adrien’s room, piercing through the thin cracks in the curtains. It’s a slow, unwelcome wake-up call that has him groaning as he stirs. His back aches, stiff from a night spent slumped over his desk. A quick glance down confirms it: yesterday’s clothes, slightly wrinkled, still cling to him. He didn’t even shower after he got home, rushing to his room the moment he stepped through the door. His heart sinks as he remembers why.

He’d spent over half an hour staring at the blank email draft addressed to Ladybug, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t pin down. Everything he wanted to say felt wrong or incomplete. Exhaustion eventually won out, and he must have drifted off mid-thought.

Adrien rubs his face, trying to shake the lingering grogginess. Yesterday was insane. No—this entire week has been insane.

Ladybug had mentioned a male friend—the first person she’d ever talked about in their conversations. The memory sits uncomfortably in Adrien’s chest. Since they started talking, Ladybug has been a steady presence in his life. Their chats start first thing in the morning, and at night, her words are usually the last thing on his mind before he falls asleep.

She’s become essential to his sanity.

In such a short time, she’s carved a space for herself in his life so thoroughly that the thought of her attention shifting elsewhere feels unbearable.

It’s irrational, of course. He knows that. He barely knows her—not her name, not her face, not her voice. And yet, somehow, she knows him . Knows him in a way few people ever have. She’s made him feel… seen. That’s why the idea of her spending time with someone else hurts so much. It’s not about jealousy, not really. It’s about the fear that he might not be as important to her as she is to him.

He’s being selfish, and he’s fully aware of that. Ladybug is allowed to have her own life, her own hobbies, her own relationships. He doesn’t want to consume her every moment, doesn’t want to be some black hole that pulls her in entirely. But when he realized she might have spent time with another guy instead of responding to him immediately…

It cracked something in him.

And now, she hasn’t emailed him since Kagami confronted her. Adrien’s stomach churns at the memory of the argument, of Kagami’s sharp words and the tension hanging thick in the air. Ladybug is strong-willed, confident, and fiercely independent. He knows she didn’t let herself get intimidated. But what if Kagami scared her off anyway? Or worse—what if Ladybug thinks Kagami is his girlfriend? That he’s been lying to her this whole time?

The thought makes his skin crawl. Adrien sinks deeper into his chair, running a hand through his messy hair. Kagami’s his friend—or at least, he hopes so. She’s someone he cares about, really, but being in any kind of intimate relationship with her—or anyone—feels impossible.

Except…

His gaze drifts to the faint glow of his laptop screen, and the thought hits him like a jolt of electricity.

Except maybe not with Ladybug.

The realization startles him, but he doesn’t push it away. It doesn’t make sense, does it? He doesn’t even know who she is. And yet…

In these few short weeks, she’s become more than just an anonymous pen pal. She’s funny, kind, clever, quick-witted, and so easy to talk to that their conversations feel effortless. There’s a warmth to her words, a sincerity that wraps around him like a blanket on a cold day. Their banter makes him laugh in ways he hasn’t in a long time, and their deeper conversations give him a sense of connection he didn’t know he was missing.

She’s told him she cares about him—deeply enough to risk a confrontation with Kagami, deeply enough to stick by him even when he’s at his most insecure. Could her feelings for him be romantic?

The idea sends his thoughts spinning. Could someone actually feel that way about him? About Adrien , the real Adrien, not the polished version of himself he shows to the world? She knows so much of his truth—his vulnerabilities, his flaws—and she’s still here. What if, for the first time in his life, someone could see all the messy, broken pieces of him and still… love him?

His heart races at the thought.

The sharp ding of his laptop breaks the silence, snapping him back to reality. Adrien bolts upright, his heart pounding as he scrambles to check his email. There it is:

Ladybug: Your friend sure is… intense.

Adrien’s fingers fly across the keyboard, his words tumbling out in a rush.

Adrien: God, I’m so sorry.

Adrien: I wanted to message you the moment I got home, but I kind of… fell asleep on my desk.

He hesitates, then adds:

Adrien: Please tell me you haven’t changed your mind about me. I’m so sorry for everything.

He hits send, his breath catching as he watches the screen, waiting for her reply. Seconds stretch into an eternity, and doubt begins to creep in. What if she’s reconsidering? What if this is it—if Kagami’s confrontation was the final straw?

Finally, her response appears.

Ladybug: I’ll need more than that to change my mind. Besides, your friend and I talked it out.

Relief floods through him so quickly it’s almost overwhelming. He grins, his fingers racing to type a reply.

Adrien: I’m so glad you’re okay. Seriously, I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that.

Adrien: So… Kagami knows who you are, huh?

Her reply comes almost immediately:

Ladybug: She does.

Adrien pauses, his grin fading into something softer, more contemplative. His next message is sent before he can think better of it:

Adrien: I’m jealous.

Adrien: Kidding.

Adrien: Kind of.

He exhales, leaning back in his chair. It’s not a complete lie. He wishes he could see her—just once. These past few days have made it abundantly clear how important she is to him, how much he doesn’t want to lose her.

Adrien: Honestly, though… I wish I could meet you. You’ve become such a big part of my life, and I don’t want to lose that. Not because of another misunderstanding, or for any reason, really.

He hesitates before continuing:

Adrien: I know you might not want to reveal who you are, and I’ll respect that. I really will. Talking to you like this is more than enough. But… do you think there’s hope for a meeting someday? Or should I accept that this is all it’ll ever be?

The pause this time is longer. Too long. Adrien’s stomach twists with nerves as the silence stretches on. He stares at the screen, willing her reply to come, until—

Ladybug: Actually, I was thinking the same thing.

Ladybug: I don’t want to ever feel like I’m about to lose you again.

Ladybug: I think I’m ready to see you, Adrien.

-

My attempt at Moonstruck Adrien :^)