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When Adrien signed up to be a sperm donor, he really didn’t think he’d be selected from the masses of chiseled dudes with names like Chad who invested in crypto and said things like “you just gotta hustle, bro.”
Honestly, he’d just needed rent money.
Maybe enough for pizza. A drink or three. Possibly a new pedal for his piano after the old one tragically died after Nino dented it playing beer pong (don’t ask).
He'd filled out the application on a whim while procrastinating a mechanics paper, uploaded a photo where he looked vaguely like he knew how to do his taxes, and let the overly enthusiastic receptionist drag it over a form that he had guess-timated with the half-focus that came with watching television and studying. “Musical background?” He’d simply answered: Yes. Piano. “IQ?” He clicked a BuzzFeed quiz and rounded up. “Do you exercise?” He once lifted a couch with Nino. That had to count.
What happened next was about as glamorous as a vending machine. A room. A cup. A chair he’d rather not describe. A door handle that still haunted him.
And then nothing. For two years.
The whole thing had become a weird, half-funny anecdote—something he’d tell at parties after two beers. Something that made his mother spit out her mimosa at brunch once. ("You donated what?!")
Until he got the phone call.
He was halfway through burning a grilled cheese when his phone lit up with an unknown number. He answered on autopilot, one hand still fumbling with the pan.
“Hello? Is this Adrien Agreste?”
“Uh… speaking,” he said, already assuming it was a scam call or his dad’s lawyers.
“Hi! Okay, I know this is weird—I mean, it is weird, but hi. My name’s Marinette. I, um. I used your well—donation. Two years ago.”
Adrien blinked. “I’m sorry, you what now?”
“Don’t worry!” Her voice rushed. “This is not a ‘you’re legally obligated to raise a child’ thing, this is very much a ‘no strings attached’ situation. I just… I thought maybe you’d want to meet him. One time. If you want. He’s yours, biologically. And I made cookies. Not as a bribe. Just because I had too many bananas going bad.”
Adrien had the resolve of a golden retriever left alone in a room with a rotisserie chicken. Curiosity pawed at the door of his brain like a cat with a grudge.
And that’s how he found himself standing in front of a stranger’s apartment, holding a plant (because “don’t show up empty-handed” echoed in his head) and wondering what kind of Tuesday leads to this.
His son. His son. Created on a random weekday for a payday and fixed instrument.
He knocked.
The door opened, and he was hit with the smell of cinnamon and spiced apples and something warm that might’ve been… emotional whiplash.
She stood there in a band tee that had definitely seen some things, leggings spotted with baby food and mysterious white fluff, and a top bun where only 40% of her hair had made it to safety. A smear of flour decorated one cheek, and a baby sock dangled from her shoulder like an accessory she’d forgotten about.
But her smile was real and wide and a little shy. Her eyes were blue—the kind of blue that short-circuited his brain.
No one had warned him women with children could be hot.
“Hi,” she said, slightly out of breath. “You came.”
He blinked, still holding the plant. “Yeah. I mean… you said cookies.”
She laughed, and her whole face lit up. “Fair enough.”
And that’s how Adrien met the hottest woman he’d ever seen—and the tiny, chaos-infused gremlin who was apparently genetically half him and currently attempting to scale a laundry basket.
Adrien had been offered the couch.
Instead, he found himself in a bright yellow plastic chair shaped like a giraffe, knees to his ears, while a one-year-old version of his face shoved cookie crumbs into his mouth with both hands and looked deeply unimpressed with gravity.
The tray between them was covered in drool-soaked puffs, two (drooping) stuffed animals, and one (very wet) wooden spoon.
“I’m stuck,” Adrien whispered.
Hugo, flushed, wide-eyed, wearing a onesie with little clouds on it—looked up with half a cookie stuck to his cheek. “Duh?”
Adrien didn’t know what it meant, but he appreciated the solidarity.
“Your chair has no escape route, buddy,” he muttered, wiggling and hearing the plastic groan. “I’m going to need a team of engineers and a crowbar.”
Hugo offered him a half-chewed cookie in what might’ve been a diplomatic gesture. Adrien took it. “You’re very generous, Your Royal Crumbness.”
In the background, Marinette was a full-force multitasking storm. One hand wiped something sticky off the high chair, the other caught a toy mid-trajectory, and she somehow managed to pull a tray of cookies out of the oven while toe-closing a cupboard with ballet-level grace.
When Hugo started making a suspicious gagging noise, she was beside him in seconds, calmly holding out her hand.
“Spit.”
Hugo dramatically opened his mouth and deposited a slobbery lump of mush into her palm like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Thank you. Cookie is for chewing, not speed-running.” She bopped his nose. “You’re not a pelican.”
Adrien, still wedged into plastic giraffe hell, stared.
“You’re like the Navy SEAL of child-wrangling.”
She gave a one-shoulder shrug and flicked on the sink. “I blacked out somewhere around month four. Everything since has been instinct, chaos, and carbs.”
He lifted the cookie in salute. “Respect.”
She placed the new tray down and wiped her hands on a dish towel. Her hair had a crumb in it. There was sticker on her calf. She looked like a tornado in lipstick and he had never respected anyone more.
Adrien looked down at Hugo, who was now licking a board book with the dedication of a food critic.
Then back at Marinette, who casually retrieved a rattle from on top of the fridge without needing a stool.
“You know,” Adrien said, nibbling the edge of a cookie that somehow tasted like childhood nostalgia and victory, “I bet when you signed up, you were hoping he’d look more like you.”
Marinette glanced over, smirking as she caught a falling bib with two fingers. “I can’t be too upset, it’s a random genetic lottery. And actually… I picked you.”
Adrien blinked. “Wait—seriously?”
“Mm-hmm.” She wiped her hands on a towel and gave him a sideways smile. “You had that whole ‘I’m genetically impressive but probably awkward’ thing going on. It felt right.”
Adrien narrowed his eyes. “You saw a photo of me and thought, ‘Yes. That man looks like he has enough smarts to be worth it, and just enough awkwardness to make a funny kid.’”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” she said, tossing him a napkin with unnerving accuracy.
Adrien looked at Hugo, who had just sneezed into his own sock and giggled.
“Congratulations,” Marinette added with a smirk. “Legacy secured.”
Adrien bit into another cookie. “At least he got your taste in snacks.”
“Don’t flatter me just because you’re emotionally compromised by sugar.”
He grinned, watching her scoop Hugo into her arms with ease, bouncing him gently on her hip while talking to him in a soft, affectionate tone that made Adrien’s chest feel oddly warm.
Yeah. He was in deep.
And also still very much stuck in the chair.
—
“You’re in it, man,” Nino said, cackling as he leaned back so far in his chair Adrien wondered if he'd fall and blame gravity.
“I’m not ‘in it’,” Adrien muttered, jabbing at his coffee cup with a stirrer. “I just—hung out with him. One time!”
“With your son.” Nino grinned. “Your actual child. Whose mum is, I quote, ‘the hottest woman you’ve ever seen,’ who bakes, has biceps from carrying a human, and made the clearly excellent decision to use your sperm.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Adrien groaned.
“You say that like you accidentally tripped and fell into fatherhood.”
“I just wanted to pay rent and maybe buy some mozzarella sticks.”
“And now you’ve got a legacy For five hundred bucks, what a score!”
Adrien let his head fall onto the café table with a dull thunk.
But later that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Hugo toddling around on unsteady legs, making delighted nonsense sounds, offering him a cookie soaked in spit like it was a sacred artefact. The soft weight of him when Marinette handed him over briefly so she could rescue a cooking timer. How he’d settled, all warm baby limbs and sticky fingers clutching Adrien’s hoodie like it was familiar.
He picked up his phone.
Adrien: Hey, random question—what phase is Hugo in now?
Adrien: (Also hi. And I miss the banana cookies.)
Marinette: Dinosaurs. Specifically anything that goes “rawrrr.” He screamed at a T-Rex balloon for twenty minutes.
Marinette: Also hi. You’re welcome to come by if you want to be roared at in person.
Which is how Adrien found himself, once again, standing outside Marinette’s apartment with a stuffed stegosaurus tucked under one arm and a weird amount of nervous energy humming under his skin.
He knocked.
The door opened.
And he was immediately greeted by a shriek of delight from Hugo, who was not wearing pants and was very busy trying to fit a cereal puff into his ear.
“Rawwwrrrr!” the one year-old screeched, flailing toward him like a joyful goblin.
Adrien held out the toy. “For the King of the Dinosaurs.”
Hugo accepted it with reverence. Before he immediately began sucking on one of its legs with a look of deep, spiritual satisfaction.
“That’s never going to be dry again,” Marinette said from the kitchen, grinning. “I hope you waterproofed your precious gift.”
“I really didn’t. That thing is 80% plush and 20% regret.”
Marinette motioned toward the living room. “Go ahead, he’s in full chaos mode, but he likes you. Which is rare. Last week he bit my Dad.”
Adrien settled on the rug, letting Hugo crawl all over him while brandishing the dinosaur like a sword. Marinette flopped onto the armchair with a cup of tea and a knowing smile.
“Does he do this with everyone?” Adrien asked as Hugo used his chest as a launchpad to reach a stuffed triceratops. They’d finally wrangled Hugo into sitting still, by which Adrien meant he’d built a semi-circular barricade of couch cushions and offered the stuffed stegosaurus as tribute. The kid was now gnawing on its tail like it owed him money.
Marinette handed Adrien a mug of tea with a content sigh. She curled one leg under herself, and tucked a crayon behind her ear like it was a loose lock and another job she had to do.
“You’ve got serious childcare potential,” she said, nodding at Hugo. “You only got head-butted once.”
“Twice, actually. I just didn’t want to alarm you.”
She laughed into her mug. Her posture relaxing in real time, as her shoulders slumped with an unseen exhaustion Adrien hadn’t noticed. The tea steamed between them, the air smelling faintly of nutmeg and cardamon.
Adrien smiled. “So… what do you do, when you’re not scraping cracker paste off the ceiling?”
“I’m a designer,” Marinette said, nudging a toy truck away from her foot. “Mostly ready-to-wear these days. I work half the week from home and the other half at a studio near the park.”
“Do you do children’s clothes?”
“Only for Hugo.”
“Ahh.” Adrien hummed, carving patterns onto Hugo’s back absentmindedly as he curled into his lap. “That explains the onesie with that ridiculously bright dinosaur print.”
“Thank you,” she said brightly. “That was my peak artistic achievement. Everything since then has been downhill.”
Adrien chuckled and sipped his tea. “And before this? Like, back when you were...”
He trailed off, subtly. Casually. Like he wasn’t absolutely fishing.
Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Back when I was what?”
“I mean, you’ve clearly got years of design experience,” Adrien said, with what he hoped was smooth confidence. “Like, you seem really... seasoned.”
“Seasoned?” she repeated, deadpan. “Are you trying to ask how old I am?”
“No!” Adrien said too quickly. “Not—I mean—kind of?”
She smirked, sipping her tea. “Thirty-two.”
Adrien blinked. “Oh.”
“You thought I was younger?”
He shrugged, cheeks faintly pink. “I mean, yeah. You’ve got that whole ‘unbothered millennial in a band tee’ vibe. Honestly, I thought you were maybe… twenty-eight?”
“I’ll take it,” she said, smug. “And you’re what, twenty-two?”
He nodded. “Mm-hmm. First real adult job this year, so I’m freshly stable. Physicist-slash-engineer. Mostly boring projects, but it pays well, and my mum doesn’t cry about my finances anymore.”
“That’s a win.”
“Honestly, it feels illegal. Like someone’s going to come audit my maturity and realise I still eat cereal out of a measuring cup.”
Marinette burst out laughing. “You really are a twenty-two-year-old boy.”
“Technically,” he said, gesturing to Hugo, who was now chewing on Adrien’s shoelace, “I am a twenty-two-year-old boy with a one year-old son who thinks I’m a jungle gym. So. Maturity pending.”
She raised her mug again like a toast. “To unexpected life choices.”
Adrien reached over the pillow barrier for his own, clinking his against hers. “And dinosaur phases.”
A pause. Easy silence. Hugo made a soft “rrrrrrrr” sound and flopped sideways into Adrien’s lap like a sack of warm bread.
Adrien glanced at Marinette. “Seriously, though… if you ever want a break, I wouldn’t mind watching him on my off-days. You know, once I pass Baby Holding 101.”
Marinette narrowed her eyes. “Careful. You offer hands, they’ll eventually be holding the baby.”
Adrien looked down at Hugo, now drooling happily on his hoodie.
—
The third time he came, it was under the thin-revealed excuse of returning Marinette’s Tupperware, which she hadn’t even asked for back. In fact, she hadn’t texted him at all since his second time around.
Adrien had begun to think she was done with their little arrangement, and he supposed she obviously had every right to. He had a plan. To return the Tupperware, and wave off his biological child that he hadn’t really put much thought into creating.
That was until Hugo ran straight for his shins like he was attempting the greatest tackle in history. And Marinette smiled at him with a pleased expression on her face.
“Hello, Adrien, welcome back.”
And he did feel welcome. Marinette made him tea and filled up the Tupperware he brought with more baking. Her black hair was down today, flowing over her shoulders in shiny rivets. She walked with the kind of grace Adrien had only seen from confident women, that nonchalant smoothness that echoed into the way she shrugged on a coat over her sweater and donned a bright red scarf.
“Would you mind if I popped to the shops for twenty minutes max?”
Adrien remembered his promise of future burden un-bearing activities and agreed happily. Hugo was currently smiling, clutching his toy car and kicking his legs in his high chair like he was aiming for the world record sprint.
“Just need milk, plus a few other things. You’ll be fine.” She called as she left, her blue eyes twinkling in what Adrien would only describe— in hindsight— as mischievousness.
Adrien had shot her an expression that looked confident enough. He had this…
He did not have this.
The door had barely clicked shut when Hugo’s face crumpled like a wet tissue. One tiny lip trembled.
Then full-body, red-faced, shrieking betrayal.
“Okay,” Adrien said aloud, standing in the middle of the living room as if that would help. “Okay. No big deal. This is fine.”
It was at this point Adrien realised he knew nothing about kids. No baby cousins, no younger siblings, no desire to coddle babies in the middle of the street. It was not fine. Hugo was crying so hard it echoed. Adrien stared helplessly for a moment, torn between bolting after Marinette, or collapsing on the floor in defeat.
Instead, something that could only be defined as a divine calm settled over him, and he squared his shoulders. He felt his brow furrow as he surveyed the scene.
“DNA-Dad mode. Come on. You're at least fifty percent responsible for this chaos.” He muttered to himself.
He knelt awkwardly, then sat properly when he realised Hugo wasn’t stopping. “Alright, alright, okay buddy,” he said, his voice his best attempt at being low and soothing. “You want… toys? Here’s your car. Here’s a… penguin wearing a hat? And this one looks like a potato but has legs—excellent. Great taste, honestly.”
Hugo howled louder. Adrien sighed and reached for a book. “How about a story? This one’s about a rabbit who can’t find his trousers. Same, honestly.”
No reaction. He pulled a face, puffing his cheeks out and crossing his eyes. “Hugo,” he said gravely, “this is your captain speaking. We are experiencing extreme turbulence in the form of emotions.”
Hugo paused for half a beat, long enough for Adrien to hope, then hiccupped out a wail. But he didn’t stop. Adrien knew he couldn’t stop until the echoes of Hugo’s cried stopped reverberating around his head. Marinette had trusted him with the happiness of her child (his, too, come to think of it).
Adrien kept reading in exaggerated voices, flopping toys across the floor like tiny action heroes, pulling faces that would’ve gotten the snap of a camera from Nino. Slowly, gradually, the cries turned to sniffling. Then to suspicious silence.
And then—miracle of miracles—Hugo giggled.
Adrien froze, the storybook half-forgotten in his hands, mouth still open mid-sentence. That tiny, delighted sound hit him square in the chest. It wasn’t just a noise, it was a triumph. Hugo squealed again and clapped, as if Adrien had just conjured a rabbit out of a hat instead of making yet another ridiculous face. His little hands flailed wildly, still damp from tears, before one reached out with surprising precision and wrapped around Adrien’s index finger. The grip was firm, insistent, and completely disarming.
Adrien stared down at the small, warm hand clutching his, heart thudding unreasonably hard. There was something impossibly tender in that simple gesture, so sure, so trusting. Hugo’s cheeks were still flushed, his eyes watery but bright, full of gleeful mischief and startling recognition. Those eyes, green like Adrien’s, but shaped like Marinette’s, met his with an ease that undid him. Adrien had seen bits of himself in Hugo before, in the curl of his hair or the pout of his mouth, but now… now it felt different. Now Hugo was looking at him like he mattered. Like Adrien was someone worth reaching for.
“Oh no,” Adrien murmured under his breath, stunned. “I like you.”
Hugo responded with a babble of nonsense, then leaned forward and gently patted Adrien’s cheek with his palm—soft, a little sticky, and completely unaware he’d just shattered what remained of Adrien’s emotional walls. The last five minutes passed in a sort of golden haze, the panic of earlier forgotten. Hugo eventually curled up beside him on the carpet, thumb in his mouth and one fist still clenched in Adrien’s sleeve, as if tethering him in place. He fell asleep there, tucked close like he belonged, breathing slow and even against Adrien’s arm.
By the time Marinette returned, arms full of groceries and keys dangling from her fingers, Adrien hadn’t moved. She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of Adrien cross-legged on the floor, his back against the couch, the storybook drooping from one hand and a dazed, completely undone expression softening his features. Hugo was fast asleep against his side, his wild blonde curls squished against Adrien’s shirt.
Adrien looked up slowly, blinking like he’d only just remembered the world existed. “So. Uh. He screamed at me for fifteen minutes straight, drooled in my hair, and emotionally destroyed me, but…” He exhaled, stunned. “I think I love him.”
—
It started gradually.
One more visit turned into two, then three. Then Adrien was suddenly at Marinette's apartment so often that Hugo began to greet the doorbell with an excited squeal before it even rang. Adrien stopped thinking of it as "dropping by" and more like "checking in." He usually came bearing offerings—something for Hugo to chew on or throw, and something for Marinette to pretend not to appreciate.
Phase: Dinosaurs. A plush T-Rex with felt teeth and a hilariously aggressive expression.
Phase: Balls. Adrien showed up with a set of three in varying sizes, all carefully vetted against the threat of choking. Marinette rolled her eyes and asked if he’d coordinated them like nesting dolls on purpose.
Phase: Trucks. Which Hugo drove straight into Adrien’s shin so hard he yelped loud enough to make the baby cry. Marinette laughed for ten minutes and told him he should wear shin guards next time if he wanted to survive the toddler demolition derby.
And then there were the flowers.
Without fail, every visit, a fresh bouquet. At first, Marinette mocked him gently—asked if he was trying to bribe his way into home baking. But after the third time, she started filling a jug with water before he even knocked. She arranged them quietly, without commentary, though Adrien caught her smiling at them once while he pretended to rummage for Hugo’s socks.
He got the nickname “DNA-Dad” courtesy of Nino, who announced it during a board game night as if it were a lifetime achievement award. Alya took to it with the enthusiasm of a campaign manager, introducing him at brunch like, “This is Adrien, father of one-third of Marinette’s apartment chaos and full-time snack mule.” Adrien didn’t argue. The title stuck. Especially since he was starting to learn what snacks Hugo preferred, what type of stroller fold wouldn’t crush his fingers, and which bedtime books had an acceptable words-to-pages ratio for a child with the attention span of a fruit fly.
Adrien started recognising things. The drawer that always jammed. The weird tilt of the towel rack. The gap in the window seal that let in a permanent draft. One Saturday, he came over with a toolbox and ended up staying three hours past nap time, fixing things like he was auditioning for a spot on Extreme Home Makeover. Marinette stood in the doorway with her arms crossed as he installed a baby gate without glancing at the manual.
“You’re like… one flannel shirt away from being someone’s suburban Pinterest husband.”
Adrien shrugged, holding the drill like it was part of his body. “Just trying to earn my fridge art privileges.”
“Oh, you think Hugo’s gonna put your scribbles up? Dream big, Agreste.”
“I’ve got excellent stick figure technique, thank you.”
They fell into an easy rhythm—bickering like an old married couple who’d skipped the marriage part and gone straight to arguing over who ate the last of the toddler puffs. Marinette’s sass was sharp enough to keep him on his toes, but never unkind. He dished it right back.
“You know he tried to eat the bath plug this morning?”
“Maybe he’s just deeply committed to hygiene.”
“Or he’s trying to swallow the plumbing system and eliminate bath time altogether.”
“He’s a visionary. You should support that.”
Adrien would roll his eyes, but then Hugo would toddle over, throw himself at Adrien’s legs like a pint-sized linebacker, and Adrien would forget what he’d been fake-complaining about in the first place.
Hugo was growing so fast it almost hurt to notice. His hair came in thick and golden, curling over his ears in wild cowlicks that resisted all combing efforts. His eyes were the same green as Adrien’s—curious, alert, full of gleeful mischief—but the shape was all Marinette, almond-soft at the corners, with that wide-eyed sparkle when he laughed. His skin was paler than his mother’s, but the curve of his cheeks and the tiny mole near his temple were identical.
He babbled constantly. To himself, to Adrien, to chairs, to imaginary dinosaurs. He got especially loud when Adrien walked through the door, as though he had a full backlog of opinions to share. Half the time it wasn’t even real words—just emphatic vowel sounds delivered at full volume with a mouth full of cracker.
One afternoon, Adrien opened the door and Hugo bolted across the room with his arms raised like victory flags. Adrien crouched instinctively, scooping him up mid-charge, and Hugo wrapped his tiny arms around his neck like Adrien had been gone for a year instead of two days. Adrien froze, completely undone.
“I swear,” he muttered to Marinette later as he tried to shake the emotional goo out of his chest, “that kid’s trying to assassinate me with feelings.”
Marinette, who was untangling a plastic truck from the toaster, didn’t even look up. “He inherited my tactical instincts.”
Adrien started spending more time on the floor with Hugo than Marinette’s own furniture. He was a regular presence during bath time, dinner time, panic-cleaning-before-nap-time time. He didn’t really notice the shift—just found himself always reaching for the high chair when he heard Hugo start to whine, or automatically placing a protective hand on the kid’s back when he wobbled too close to the coffee table.
And Marinette… she let him. Teased him, sure, but she didn’t shut him out. He started seeing little pieces of her he hadn’t expected—how she hummed when she was stirring something on the stove, how she cursed under her breath when she tripped over a toy but never moved it, how she sometimes stared at Hugo with this look that was so full it bordered on painful. Not regret. Not sadness. Just love so big it seemed to overflow.
And Adrien? Adrien just kept showing up.
Because he didn’t have to know why it felt right to keep coming back. He just knew it did.
—
“I swear he’s growing faster than is natural,” Adrien said one afternoon.
“He’s on a strict diet of bananas and world domination,” Marinette replied.
“Should I be concerned he tried to chew the TV remote?”
“He’s just programming it to destroy us.”
Adrien looked at Hugo, who was licking the buttons and giggling. “Seems legit.”
Later that night, Hugo was finally asleep. His dinosaur pyjamas had stars on the feet and one hand was curled into a tiny fist next to his cheek. He looked like a dream someone had painted in soft pastels.
Marinette gave up on cooking around the time the spaghetti decided to weld itself to the pan.
“I give up,” she declared, tossing the wooden spoon into the sink like it had personally wronged her.
Adrien, sitting on the counter with a cup of tea, raised a hand. “Permission to retrieve emergency dumplings from the place down the street?”
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, sighing. “Add spring rolls or I will cry.”
Ten minutes later, they sat on the couch together with plastic containers and greasy paper bags spread across the coffee table.
The movie they put on as background noise was halfway forgotten—some romcom involving a wedding and a beach.
Adrien stole the last fried dumpling. Marinette kicked his ankle.
And then, between bites, he asked, “Why’d you decide to do this alone?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes stayed on the screen, unfocused, lips twisted in that way she got when she was choosing her words carefully.
“I always wanted to be a mum,” she said quietly. “Even when I was little. I thought by thirty I’d have it all figured out. Husband. House. Maybe two kids. But I got tired of waiting for someone right to come by.”
She glanced at Adrien and shrugged, smiling with a kind of soft, tired strength.
“I didn’t want to wait anymore. I knew I’d love whoever I got. And I do. I don’t regret it. Not one second.”
Adrien nodded, silent.
“But,” she added, her voice lighter now, almost joking, “you go through something like this, and your body changes, your priorities shift, and suddenly you're not some carefree twenty-something anymore. You're a single mum with stretch marks and a stroller and… that’s not exactly on the cover of Romance Weekly.”
Adrien blinked. “Wait—what?”
She smiled, a little wry. “I’m just saying… I’m not exactly dating material anymore. Not that I’m looking.”
He put down his chopsticks.
“Okay, first of all,” he said, sitting up, “you are literally stunning.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was colour rising to her cheeks.
“I mean it,” Adrien said. “You’re smart and capable and funny and—have you seen you?”
Marinette gestured to her top that had unarguably seen better days and laughed.
“I’m just saying,” Adrien continued, a little pink now, “any guy who can’t see how amazing you are is an idiot. And if they’re scared of a kid, then they don’t deserve to be around you. Or him.”
Marinette looked at him then. Really looked at him. And her smile softened.
“You’re kind of a sap, you know that?”
Adrien grinned. “Yeah, but I come with spring rolls.”
—
It was supposed to be a chill night.
Adrien and Nino had parked themselves at their usual booth in a cramped, dimly lit bar with string lights overhead. They were one beer in, arguing in earnest about which action film had committed the worst crime against physics. Adrien was passionately defending the scene in Fast & Furious 7 where Dom launches his car between skyscrapers—“You have to respect the audacity, even if it is physically offensive”—when his phone buzzed on the table.
He glanced at the screen out of habit. Marinette’s name glowed back at him. No emojis, no preamble.
He picked up immediately. “Mari?”
Her voice was tight, breathless in the way that made his own lungs shrink. “Adrien?”
He was already reaching for his jacket. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Hugo. He’s burning up and I can’t get through to the after-hours clinic. I think it’s just a fever, I really do—but he’s so hot, and I’ve tried everything, and he won’t stop crying and—” She paused, swallowed, then rushed out, “Can you come?”
“Where are you?”
“At home. We’re still at home.”
“Say no more. I’m coming now.”
He was halfway to the door before Nino could blink, tossing a couple of crumpled bills onto the table. “You coming or staying?”
“Did your child just call?” Nino asked, bewildered but already following.
“Basically.”
Nino chugged the last of his beer like it was a required warm-up shot for crisis mode. “Obviously I’m coming. Can’t let you go full single dad without backup.”
They made it to Marinette’s building in record time. Adrien didn’t even wait for the elevator, he sprinted up the stairs two at a time, phone clutched in one hand, heart jackhammering in his chest. By the time he reached her floor, she was already unlocking the door, fumbling with the knob. She barely got it open before he was inside.
She stood there in a baggy sweatshirt and sweats, her hair tied back in a messy knot, cheeks flushed and eyes ringed with exhaustion. She had Hugo balanced on her shoulder like a second heart, the baby limp and warm and visibly miserable. His cheeks were blotchy red, his skin clammy. Adrien’s heart did a nosedive.
“He won’t settle,” Marinette said quickly, her voice shaking just at the edges. “I think it’s just teething, he’s been drooling like mad, but his temperature’s up and I just… I didn’t want to second guess it.”
Adrien didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got him.”
He stepped forward and gently eased Hugo into his arms. The baby whimpered once, gave a miserable sniffle, then nestled his overheated face into Adrien’s shoulder like it was the most familiar place in the world. Adrien swallowed hard, feeling that tiny, damp weight against his chest.
“I packed a bag,” Marinette said, already snatching up her keys. “Just in case.”
“Let’s go.”
Nino appeared at the doorway, puffing slightly, now carrying the emergency diaper bag and looking wildly out of his element. “Should I be holding something that isn’t full of despair and diapers?”
The after-hours clinic was low-lit and silent, save for the soft hum of fluorescent lights and a distant printer struggling for its life. The waiting room smelled like lemon cleaner and vague childhood trauma. They were seen quickly, thankfully, and Hugo, though cranky and flushed, was deemed to be in the “mild but dramatic” fever category—hydration, rest, and a dose of paracetamol. Nothing alarming. Just enough to send his parent, and Adrien, apparently, into a quiet spiral.
Adrien somehow ended up soothing Hugo through the entire appointment. He held him steady on the exam table, hummed softly as the nurse took his temperature, made a sock puppet out of a latex glove and performed a short, questionable skit about a dinosaur who was scared of thermometers.
“You’re scarily good at that,” Marinette whispered from beside him, arms crossed, watching like she couldn’t decide if she was impressed or concerned.
“I’ve been reading parenting blogs in my spare time. I’m basically a guru,” he whispered back, shaking the glove like it was performing Hamlet.
Nino sat slumped in the corner, clutching a lollipop the nurse had given him out of sheer pity. “This is insane, dude,” he muttered.
By the time they left, Hugo was out cold on Adrien’s chest, a soft, damp mess of curls and baby snores. His tiny fist clung to the drawstring of Adrien’s hoodie like a lifeline. Adrien didn’t even flinch as he adjusted his grip to keep the kid balanced. It felt natural—like muscle memory, even if it technically wasn’t.
“I can take him,” Marinette said quietly as they stepped out into the cool night.
Adrien shook his head. “He’s good. I’ve got him.”
She didn’t argue. Just smiled softly, brushed her fingers over Hugo’s hair, and opened the back door so she could climb in next to him. Adrien passed her the diaper bag and shut the door gently before climbing into the passenger seat beside Nino.
For a beat, the car was quiet.
Then Nino glanced over, one eyebrow raised, and said, “You good?”
Adrien nodded, staring out at the blur of passing lights.
“Because I gotta say, man… that was some dad shit you just pulled.”
Adrien snorted. “Shut up.”
“No seriously. You walked in there like a man with three kids and a favourite brand of stroller. Took that baby like it was second nature. You even did the Dad Bounce.”
“The what?”
“You were bouncing while you talked. That bounce all dads do. It's biological.”
Adrien rolled his eyes. “I was trying to keep him calm.”
“You were radiating parental energy. I’m pretty sure the nurse called you ‘Dad’ at one point.”
Adrien opened his mouth to argue but… didn’t. He let out a soft breath, gaze settling on the rearview mirror where Marinette sat quietly, brushing her thumb across Hugo’s cheek, eyes heavy with fatigue but calm now. Adrien’s hoodie was crusted with baby drool and graham cracker crumbs. His back ached. His stomach was wrought with nerves. But sitting there, seeing the two of them safe, tucked into the back seat, like his presence had actually helped, he felt weirdly steady.
He hadn’t noticed how easily it had become part of him.
The picking-up of the phone without a thought. The automatic way his arms had reached for Hugo. The look Marinette gave him, not surprised, not hesitant—like this was just how it went now.
He didn’t say anything for a while.
And then, softly, he exhaled, “…I’m screwed, aren’t I?”
Nino grinned like a man watching someone else fall into a hole they themselves had already been buried in. “So screwed. DNA-Dad level: maximum.”
Adrien didn’t even try to deny it. He just sat there, chest warm and sore, not from panic anymore, but something else. Something bigger.
Something he wasn’t quite ready to name.
But it felt a hell of a lot like home
—
“Hey, Adrien?”
Her voice came through the phone one evening, a little tentative.
“Yeah?”
“I have a girls’ night planned with my friends. Nothing huge, just dinner and cocktails. My parents bailed on babysitting last minute… any chance you’re free tonight?”
Adrien looked down at the pasta he was burning for dinner. “Extremely free. What time should I show up with snacks and bedtime stories?”
“Seven?” she said hopefully.
“I’ll be there.”
Adrien arrived ten minutes early with a bath-toy he impulse-brought the other day under one arm, and a backpack full of baby-approved snacks slung over his shoulder.
He knocked once, expecting to open the door to the usual scramble of chaos. Instead, he was met with a muffled “Come in!” and the sound of music playing low in the background; something upbeat and sparkly.
He stepped inside and stopped short.
Marinette was still getting ready. She didn’t seem flustered or apologetic about it—instead, she was mid-spin in front of the hallway mirror, fixing an earring and humming along to the song. Her hair was half-pinned, curling down her back in glossy waves, and her short dress, deep emerald green, cinched at the waist and flowed softly over her hips and thighs. She hadn’t put on heels yet, standing barefoot on the cool wood floors, and Adrien couldn’t help but stare.
It hit him, all at once. This wasn’t just Marinette, single mother and toddler-wrangler extraordinaire. This was Marinette, the woman—alive with anticipation, cheeks already flushed with giddiness, chatting aloud to herself as she sorted through lipstick tubes like she was preparing for a runway.
And her body—God. It wasn’t anything like he had seen. It was something better. Softer. Real. The subtle curve of her stomach under the silk fabric, the fullness of her thighs, the stretch of her arms as she reached for a necklace. Her skin looked touchable in a way that made his hands twitch at his sides. She was glowing.
“Oh—hey!” she said, catching his reflection in the mirror and flashing him a grin. “Sorry! I’m running late. Rose changed the reservation last minute and I lost all concept of time.”
Adrien gave her a crooked smile, trying to wrestle his brain back into working order. “No complaints here. You look…” He trailed off, because life-ruiningly gorgeous felt like too much, and great didn’t even begin to cover it. “...like a Bond girl.”
Marinette laughed, tossing him a wink as she clipped on her second earring. “Perfect. That was the exact vibe I was going for.”
She was buzzing with energy, talking about her friends and how she hadn’t had a night out in forever. It was the most relaxed he’d seen her—completely unfiltered and beaming like she was finally reclaiming a little piece of her life. Adrien just stood there, soaking her in, nodding and smiling like a man experiencing religion through the medium of silk dresses and red lipstick.
Then, from down the hallway, came a loud thud followed by a wail.
“I’m on it,” Adrien said automatically, already walking toward the bedroom.
Inside, he found Hugo half-rolled off his pile of plush pillows, a sock missing and the stuffed stegosaurus discarded at a dramatic angle nearby. His face crumpled when he saw Adrien—but as Adrien knelt down, scooping him into his arms, the wailing cut off mid-sob and turned into a hiccupping giggle.
“Hey, little dude. That was quite the stunt,” Adrien murmured, hoisting him up and patting his back. “You okay? Just needed a little attention?”
Hugo stuck a slobbery hand into Adrien’s hoodie and tugged at the drawstring like it owed him something. His head dropped to Adrien’s shoulder, warm and heavy and already calming down. Adrien exhaled, slow and fond. It was second nature now—how the kid fit against him, where to rest his hand on Hugo’s back, how to bounce just enough to soothe.
Back in the kitchen, Marinette was slipping on her heels and grabbing her purse. She paused when she saw them—Hugo settled on Adrien’s hip like he’d grown there, and Adrien whispering something about sock monsters and bedtime conspiracies.
Her smile softened. “You two look like you’ve got this handled.”
Adrien adjusted his grip and winked. “We’re unstoppable. We’ve got fruit snacks and an new octopus bath toy.”
Hugo gurgled sleepily.
Marinette laughed, stepping forward to kiss Hugo’s forehead, her lips brushing Adrien’s knuckles in the process. “Thanks again. Seriously. I’ll try not to be too late.”
“No rush,” Adrien said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Have fun.”
She left with one last wave and a click of the door.
And then it was just the two of them.
Adrien let Hugo help “cook” by dropping carrot puffs into a plastic bowl and then fed him while explaining the basic principles of thermodynamics (which Hugo countered by smearing mashed banana on the fridge). Bath time was chaotic, Adrien ended up wetter than Hugo, but it was full of laughter, splashes, and Hugo shrieking in delight every time the new octopus squirted water.
After wrangling the kid into dino pyjamas and reading The Truck That Roared three full times (with increasingly dramatic sound effects), Adrien finally got Hugo to fall asleep, one fist curled around his hoodie and the other wrapped tightly around his stegosaurus’ leg.
Adrien stood in the quiet dark, looking down at this tiny person who looked so much like him, those same green eyes, now closed, the wild blonde hair coming in thicker now, all cowlicks and chaos.
Marinette got home just after midnight, a little flushed, her heels dangling from her fingers and her eyeliner slightly smudged in the corner like she’d rubbed her eyes mid-laugh. She tiptoed in, but Adrien was still awake, lounging on the couch, barefoot and rumpled, the baby monitor next to him humming quietly.
“You survived,” she whispered with a grin.
“Piece of cake.”
Marinette laughed softly and kicked off her heels, stretching her toes with a groan. “I kind of want to play music, but…”
She glanced toward the bedroom.
Adrien reached into the couch cushion and pulled out his wired headphones. “Already ahead of you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you just carry those everywhere like some kind of responsible musical Boy Scout?”
“I’m a professional,” he said, offering her one earbud.
She took it with a quiet smile.
The music was low, soft, something jazzy and mellow. Marinette stepped closer. They swayed gently together in the dim light of the living room, barely moving, just enough to feel the rhythm between them.
Adrien couldn’t remember the last time he felt this calm.
She rested her head against his chest. He looped an arm around her waist, the curve of her body fitting perfectly into his. Her perfume was faint now, faded by the night, but it lingered, warm and floral and soft like her skin.
She sighed contentedly. “I forgot what this felt like. Just… existing. Not being needed. Just being.”
He didn’t say anything. He just held her a little closer.
They sat down eventually, still tangled in headphone wires, still listening to music only they could hear. Marinette curled into him like she belonged there, and somewhere between the second and third song, her breathing slowed and evened out against his chest.
Adrien blinked at the ceiling.
She was asleep.
And maybe he should’ve moved. Or done something responsible. But instead, he leaned his head back, tightened his arm around her waist, and let his eyes slip closed.
—
Adrien woke to the smell of pancakes.
Not the boxed kind. Real pancakes. The kind that tasted like childhood Saturdays and late brunches and something earned. There was cinnamon in the air too, and maybe nutmeg, and definitely the sound of Marinette humming under her breath from somewhere in the kitchen.
He blinked against the soft morning light filtering in through the curtains. His neck was slightly sore, one arm had completely fallen asleep, and his legs were still tangled awkwardly in a throw blanket he barely remembered pulling over them.
But the warmth on his chest was very much alive.
He looked down to find Hugo.
The kid was asleep, a small patch of drool darkening Adrien’s shirt and one chubby fist bunched up at his collarbone. There was a faint, satisfied smile on Hugo’s face—the kind that said, I had food and love and a squishy place to sleep, life is good.
Adrien reached up to steady the baby with one hand, heart ridiculously full.
A moment later, Marinette peeked around the corner.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” she whispered. “He started whining the second I put him down, so I figured I’d just… deliver him to you.”
Adrien gave a sleepy grin. “Delivery accepted.”
Marinette smiled and disappeared again into the kitchen. He could hear her flipping pancakes, humming something jazzy again. He watched the ceiling for a moment, one hand resting lightly on Hugo’s back. The baby stirred and blinked up at him, then smiled a dopey grin.
“I know,” Adrien murmured. “Me too.”
He rose eventually, padding into the kitchen barefoot, Hugo balanced on one hip like he’d done this a thousand times. Marinette stood at the stove, barefoot as well, hair tied up in a sleep-soft braid, wearing his hoodie, which looked unfairly good on her, and humming along to the same playlist from the night before.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “How’s the human barnacle?”
“Sticky and clingy,” Adrien said. “But so is his father, apparently.”
Marinette laughed. She handed him a steaming pancake and raised an eyebrow. “So? Survived your first overnight dad shift?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looked at her.
Really looked at her. The hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the soft curve of her cheek still creased from sleep, the warm light catching the edge of her smile. The house still smelled like cinnamon. His shirt was stained. Hugo was drooling. He hadn’t brushed his teeth yet.
And he’d never felt more right in a moment.
“I’d like to do this,” he said quietly. “All of this. As long as you’ll let me.”
Marinette blinked. “Do what? Pancake duty?”
“No. I mean… this life. Wake up with drool on my chest, get handed a baby like it’s normal, make breakfast while you hum something jazzy. I want this.”
She stared at him for a second longer, spatula frozen mid-flip.
Then she snorted.
“Oh my god, you’re serious.”
Adrien chuckled. “Dead serious.”
“You’re twenty-two,” she pointed out, laughing. “You’ve got, like, forty years of youth left. You want to spend them wiping applesauce off someone’s nose and sleeping on couches?”
He shrugged, shifting Hugo slightly. “I mean, I’ve slept in physics labs and Nino’s sweaty apartment. At least your couch comes with snacks and a baby who thinks I’m a jungle gym.”
Marinette rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove. “Unbelievable. I baby-trapped you.”
“You didn’t!” he said, laughing. “I walked in! You even offered an escape! I could’ve taken my free cookie and vanished.”
“But you didn’t,” she said, more softly now.
“No,” he replied. “Because I wanted to stay. Marinette, I’ve never felt more sure of anything. This—this little life you’ve built—it feels like home. I know it sounds insane. But I look at him—” he bounced Hugo gently “—and I see me. I see you. And I just… I want in. All the way. I’m probably a better dad than most guys who planned this.”
She put down the spatula slowly.
“Are you joking?” she asked, voice low, eyes searching his face.
Adrien met her gaze, earnest and open.
“Absolutely not.”
Silence settled around them, thick but not heavy. Hugo babbled something unintelligible and smacked Adrien on the nose.
Marinette let out a quiet breath.
And then, slowly, steadily, she walked over, placing her hands on his arms, careful not to jostle Hugo. She looked up at him, that smile curling at the edges of her lips. Not teasing this time. Not flustered. Just warm.
“Okay,” she said softly.
Adrien blinked. “Okay?”
She smiled wider. “Okay. Let’s see where this goes.”
He smiled so hard it hurt.
And over her shoulder, Hugo reached for a piece of pancake with the majestic chaos of a child who knew he had two parents now to clean up after him.