Chapter Text
She doesn’t know how she gets herself into these intricately woven fuck-ups. Really she doesn’t.
It doesn’t make them any less painful, the embarrassment of it all eating away at what little pride she has left. She can feel it chipping slowly, devolving into a faded strange thing that she would do anything to protect.
These situations are not made any better by Alya’s overly excited encouragements. She chides Marinette, whispering cliched things like ‘You need to get out more.’ and ‘Come on, you’re only (insert age at the time here) once.’
It is a testament to Marinette’s poor judgement how often these sayings sway her decisions. Through the years from high school up until now, she’s found her lack of discretion something to be worried about…and yet somehow, it always works out.
So it’s how she finds herself here, in a particularly isolated little copse of the Agreste house, rehearsing last minute excuses and lies. She hides behind a particularly enormous porcelain vase with gilded floral designs, hastily scrolling through a list of abbreviated facts on her cracked phone screen. (Another story for another time.)
Marinette lets the words form just barely on her lips, muttering past the din of a thousand casual conversations all woven through with the sweet sounds of a saxophone and lilting piano. It’s a little odd that Nino would perform at this kind of event, since jazz is hardly his usual MO, still she is anything but ungrateful. Sneaking her in under the guise of a sound technician helping out with his equipment had been his birthday gift to her. A bit belated, but she’s been waiting for an opportunity like this for a lifetime.
The chance to meet her one and only inspiration…her idol…the man who threads a thousand colors and brings designs to fruition with a mere flourish of his elegant hands. A man who single handedly built up his brand…whose humble beginnings, like hers, started with a beat up sewing machine and faded sketchbook.
Gabriel Agreste was truly someone worth sneaking into a VIP event for. Even if it meant rattling off a few learned facts and falsehoods to curious bystanders. But amongst all the noise and the bustle and her haste to get changed into her fancy schmancy outfit, the details slip from her memory, fading into little fragments of words half remembered.
Marinette pays that no mind, because it’s time to make her move.
She stows away her phone into her delicate silk black clutch, snapping the masterfully fitted clasp close with trembling fingers. Nimble fingers reach up to tuck back strands of inky hair into her high bun. She’s already checked her make-up back in the bathroom, and she’s sure the extra money spent on wear proof lipstick will be worth it when she’s shaking Mr. Agreste’s hand.
There’s something like fear curling in the pit of her stomach, but she nervously smooths down the red gossamer folds of her original dress, recalling every stitch and every tear that had gone into making this piece.
It helps to settle her enough that she gains the courage to step out from behind the vase, glance around the empty hallway, and click clack her way across imported white marble to the main hall where the party is already in full swing.
Well as full swing as you can get with smooth jazz as the soundtrack.
She doesn’t quite remember the occasion, only that it has something to do with the Agreste name and that’s a good enough reason to venture into Terra incognita.
She treads with a hesitant kind of pride through the throng of party goers, politely nodding when she receives a greeting or two from complete strangers.
She is overwhelmed.
The gilded walls and the fine wrought iron crystal chandeliers and the plush red carpet lining the hallways are all new to her…such finery is certainly something to be astounded by…maybe if she weren’t so preoccupied picking her way through the tight crowd looking for a flash of silvery blonde hair or an impossibly immaculate suit she’s only seen on the covers of magazines.
She almost wishes it were a masquerade…her dress stands out amongst all the designer ones, and she is seriously starting to question using a ladybug as her inspiration. But ladybugs had always been her good luck charm and the trailing black dots that ring the bodice of her dress are a tribute to that fortune.
She catches sight of Nino on the raised dais at the far end of the hall, back turned to the crowd as he plays the ebony grand piano. His tuxedo-clad form sways dispassionately to the mellow tones coming from beneath his fingers and Marinette has a strange urge to cry.
(Friendships are very emotionally fringed affairs for Marinette.)
“Thank you, Nino.” She says quietly, making a mental note to bring him an entire box of cinnamon rolls from her family bakery when all of this is over and she is a successful designer at Gabriel’s company.
And she’s just about to renew her search for Gabriel Agreste when she is accosted by her first obstacle.
She nearly screams when he appears in the corner of her sight.
“Good evening, miss. I’m sorry to bother you.” He tells her, not quite blocking her way, but still standing close enough to make getting past him without talking to him an impossibility.
She swears to the heavens that he came out of nowhere, the golden haze of the lights coalescing into a human manifestation of subtle smugness and curiosity.
He stands out amongst all the guests mostly because of his age. His youthful smile is a contrast to the many lined and mature faces that predominate the gala. In fact, she would venture he was perhaps the youngest one here, besides her.
He’s beautiful. Tall and lithe in a black tuxedo and white button-down shirt. Green eyes glittering just as brightly as the luminescent chandeliers above, dandelion hair smoothed to the side in a gentle sweeping waves.
But that golden hair is more like sunshine than ice. It is a glaring difference that reminds her just who she’s looking for, and as they say, ambition is a terribly blinding thing.
She gives him her best imperious gaze, looking up at him following the line of her pert nose, eyes half lidded.
It leaves her feeling a bit underhanded. She’s not a mean person by nature, but if she wants to meet Gabriel Agreste, she’s going to have to act the part of a very important person.
“Good evening, sir…may I help you?” She drawls, mouth twitching a bit at the overdone lilt she’s put into her words.
His smile seems to edge into his pretty eyes now, and she finds herself swallowing thickly…the thought of Gabriel Agreste being the only thing anchoring her to her goal.
This person is far too good looking and she doesn’t like that look of dangerous amusement in his eyes.
She prepares herself for a volley of questions. Perhaps an interrogation on how she knows so and so of Agreste company. She’s mentally running through her list of excuses, nervousness scattering the fragments into panicked statements that may or may not make any sense.
“I like your dress.” He simply says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his finely tailored dark trousers.
Out of all the things he could have said, this was from what she’d been expecting…so it’s to her credit that she even manages to eek out a sound from her flapping mouth.
“ah…ummm…eeeh…m-my dress?” She stutters, all assumed gravitas flown out the window on metaphorical wings of luck.
He chuckles and still she is left gaping.
“Yes. Your dress. May I ask who designed it? It’s certainly very unique.”
If her words were a person, she would defenestrate them for betraying her so badly.
“I uh…I did…” She finally manages, faint pride tinging her words as she tightens her hold on the white chiffon wrap settled around her elbows.
He seems genuinely surprised at that and leans a little more into her space. He’s a good bit taller than her, so he looms over her in a manner that could have been threatening had it not been for the barely polite distance he kept.
“You did?! That’s amazing. The point work looks professional and the design falls perfectly around your figure. The gossamer overlay is a nice touch.” He gushes, one hand beneath his chin as he all but drags his sight all over her creation.
“Tha..thank you.” She barely manages, fingers digging into the folds of her wrap until she’s sure they’ll break. She can barely remember what she’s here for because his praise echoes in her mind.
Marinette feels the red of her dress swirl and seep into her skin, burning across her neck and cheeks until she’s sure he’ll ask if she has a fever soon.
Regardless, his laughter peaks when he sees the pale white chiffon bow spreading wide across her back, mimicking the translucent wings peeking from beneath a red carapace.
“I see you were very inspired by ladybugs.”
She nods a little carefully, reminding herself that she needs to start her future today and that time is running out. She’s not here for cute boys with great fashion knowledge. So she looks beyond him, tilting her head to try and catch sight of silvery hair.
And then the shift is almost palpable. His open, friendly smile falls into a lopsided grin edged with the most subtle of threats. His green eyes harden into jade pieces, piercing and all focused on Marinette.
She finds her attention woefully redirected back to him and this time it’s definitely fear that settles like a stone into her stomach.
“Speaking of bugs, I don’t remember ever seeing you around here before, my lady.”
And the way he says the moniker is laced with the tiniest bit of sarcasm. He looks at her fully, eyes still burning with amusement at her expense.
And Marinette’s rarely awake pride flares at that, rising like vines to wrap around her spine and bring her to her full height…which isn’t much compared to his, but it’s enough to make her smile right on back.
“This is my first time here. I’ve never been invited before today.”
“Is that so?” He says blithely, leaning a little closer to her…he’s close enough to catch a whiff of his richly scented cologne…something that reminds her of old leather and flowering rose gardens. “How do you know Felix then?”
“F-felix?” She echoes, the name sounding vaguely familiar…but really, she’d been guilty of skimming over the personal life part of Gabriel Agreste’s wiki page. The only thing she’s sure of is that he has two sons. She’s never even bothered to look at pictures of them.
And all her fragmented facts begin to fly around her head, landing briefly on the petals of common sense only to permanently house themselves in the corner of “things Marinette will regret later on.”
This is an opportunity. A chance she should take to lie her way into good standing. It’ll all be worth it when she’s standing side by side with Gabriel watching her designs float down his runway.
So she lies like she’s never lied before.
“I uh…oh yeah Felix…I’m dating his brother.”
She waits for his reaction…anything in his expression to let her know if what she’s said makes any sense.
Her body tenses visibly, her hands fisting into the folds of her dress. The humdrum of the guests behind her and the music have faded into a ringing in her ears that makes her feel hazy and nervous.
But the man merely chuckles softly, his expression softening back into his original gentleness and she relaxes.
She looks up at him, brows arched in expectation.
“Oh gosh…that’s good to know. Heard he’s an awesome guy. Way less uptight than Felix.” He gives her the strangest look here, his smile wide and sly. “Good for you, Ladybug.”
Marinette’s relief is so great, she feels as if she could float out one of the wide windows and drift into the silvery light of the stars. Her smile is broad and genuine as she nods enthusiastically. Even if his nickname for her is a bit demeaning, she’s too happy to let her mood be ruined.
“He’s the best…the sweetest boyfriend I could have asked for.”
The lie comes naturally, falling shamelessly from her pretty red lips as relief makes her giddy and reckless. She drops her hands to rest against her thighs, holding loosely onto her clutch.
“Oh yeah. I’m sure of it. Like I said, word is he’s a really cool guy. Not that Felix isn’t, but he’s a little too uhh shy..to socialize with most people.” He says sagely, smiling just a little too widely. “I guess that’s why he wasn’t really looking forward to this college graduation party of his.”
There’s something fond in the way he says this about Felix, but Marinette is only too relieved to really put much thought into anything this night.
“Speak of the devil.” He mutters, pulling her from her lull.
“Wh-what?” She questions, eyes wide in bewilderment.
He looks over her shoulder, waving broadly to someone whose elegant steps she can just make out over the din.
“Heya Felix! Where have you been?!” Her new acquaintance says a little too loudly, excitement and affection clear on his face.
She stiffens and turns to find who she supposes is the guest of honor himself.
Felix is just as tall, if not a little bit taller, than her companion. He wears a tailored charcoal vest over a button up shirt. His slim, pale face gazes at her with a look of faint disdain. His hair sweeps over his icy gray eyes, bringing to mind the person she’d been looking for all along.
His lips don’t quite curl into a sneer, but they’re close to that as he speaks.
“Adrien, who is this?” He enquires, his tone entirely too flat to indicate anything but the barest interest.
The name Adrien rings just as vaguely familiar as Felix in her mind. The fragments of her last minute notes settle into clarity only seconds before her world is shattered.
She feels a strongly muscled arm smoothly wind its way around her back. A large hand settles warmly on her shoulder and she realizes she’s been tucked tenderly into Adrien’s side.
He’s smiling down at her, that earlier threat beaming from his lovely green eyes. She can hear that same smug amusement, all at her expense, in his tone as he says-
“This is my girlfriend. Come on Sweetheart, say hello to my brother Felix.”
—-
“And then I said I had to use the restroom and ran out of there like my dress was on fire. And you know what, it probably was with how much I lied to them. ” Marinette finishes, burying her head into her pillow so she can continue to scream her consternation without disturbing the neighbors.
Alya gives her a sympathetic look, glasses slightly misted over by the steam coming from the mug of tea she holds close.
Marinette’s muffled curses cause her some amusement however, and she laughs a lot harder than the first time.
Alya finally manages to calm herself until she’s only snickering quietly…she’s breathless as she tries to talk.
“Oh my God, Marinette…no wonder Nino called me asking me what to do. He said you looked so pale, he thought you were going to faint on the way home.“
A series of high pitched cries emanate from Marinette. Her bare arms are hugging the twisted pillow to her on her lap. Her entire torso is curled around it to bury her face further into the fabric.
“All I’m hearing is incoherent screaming. You’re still not okay, are you?”
Marinette lifts her head slowly, eyes shifting to give Alya clearly spelling out “no duh.” But Alya knows Marinette, and she can see that beyond the embarrassment, there’s a genuine worry clinging to her lashes in the form of barely there tears.
Alya sets down her mug on the spindly nightstand to the right of her.
Her smile softens as she shifts across the full sized bed to gather Marinette up into a comforting position.Marinette stiffly complies, moving into an awkward place where her head rests on Alya’s lap. She soon begins braiding strands of Marinette’s inky hair, fingers deftly threading the plaits.
“You dork. It’ll be fine. I mean, it’s not like you’ll ever see them again…and besides, it doesn’t seem like either of Gabriel’s sons are really involved in his work.”
Marinette’s mouth twists in consternation. Her flushed cheeks pale at the thought of ever meeting either one of them…but Alya is logical as always and she makes a great point.
“I…I guess.” She sniffs, still intensely embarrassed and very uncomfortable. She’s still in her dress, having been way too embarrassed to change when she got back into her apartment. Her first instinct had been to call Alya. Her second had been to cry her tears of shame into her pillow until even the waterproof mascara was running down her face.
“At least the worst part wasn’t that Gabriel Agreste wasn’t even at the party, huh?” Alya says lightly, humor unfurling softly across both their faces. “and on the bright side, you have a boyfriend.”
“Shut up, Alya.” Marinette gripes, a hidden amusement changing her frown slightly.
“Come on?! Based on those pictures, he’s a pretty good catch. Smart too. He’s studying physi-”
That is Marinette’s cue to gather whatever is left of her pride, rise swiftly from Alya’s lap, and hit her with a pillow until she admits that she’s joking and that Marinette can find someone better than a guy who calls her Ladybug.
It’s only when the emergency sleepover has lulled into late night quiet time and Alya is sprawled next to her, snoring lightly, that she tells herself it will be okay.
And that Adrien Agreste really was handsome…but it’s just a thought.
She comforts herself with the knowledge that she’ll never see hide nor dandelion hair of him or his brother again.
-
As much as Marinette dreams of being a fashion designer, the reality is that design school is intensely expensive and few students ever get the big break they all so passionately wish for.
It’s why she splits her time, however despairingly, between being a full time student and a part time server at a small cafe.
Her parents had offered to pay her for working at the bakery, but she had felt that small bit of pride hiss at the suggestion of what she deemed as an allowance. Her fierce independence was what lead her to rent the tiny apartment across town in the first place…that and the commute was much shorter and worth the rent.
Still, between late night assignments and even later night misadventures like the Agreste incident, she often finds herself sleeping past the intricate series of alarms she’s set up.
So it’s not uncommon for her to run through the streets of Paris, weaving her way expertly through the tiniest alleys and past the gritty back sides of buildings to get to work on time.
She crosses they very empty Rue de la Chance with that same hasty stride, her boots clicking steadily against the asphalt and her red skirt swirling joyously around her thighs.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a girl of ambition and she let’s her dreams waft her forward, with visions of runways and designs floating in front of her. All she needs to do is get to the cafe in fifteen minutes or less.
(Madame Perriot is hardly a forgiving manager. Marinette already has two strikes.)
She’s so engrossed in her routine, that she receives an ugly wake up call when there’s a vague roaring of an engine and the front wheel of a motorcycle lurches forward suddenly to knock her off her feet and send her flying across the asphalt.
The first thing she registers is a large tear in the sleeve of her gray peacoat.
The second is that she’s still alive.
The third is that she’s achy, but not in excruciating pain and the fourth thing is that the owner of the motorcycle has let it fall to the wayside and is panicking as he approaches her.
“OH CRAP! I’m so sorry, miss. Are you okay? Do you need me to take you to hospital?”
His helmet is still on, muffling his voice as he hovers over her, gloved hands floating uselessly near her prone form.
She’s too stunned to answer, merely glancing at her silver wristwatch and notes with panic that she’s got less than 10 minutes left to get to her shift on time.
That drives her to action. She brushes past his concerned gestures and lifts her aching self up on to her feet, using his outstretched arms as a crutch.
She takes stock of her limbs. They’re all working.
Good..good.
And Marinette panics again, letting her thoughts drift to the same corner of “things Marinette will regret later.”
She clings to the harrowed man’s leather jacket, blue eyes wild and face smudged with dirt as she implores him.
“TAKE ME TO WORK!” She screeches.
“OKAY!” He shouts back, clearly still panicking from the fact that he almost ran over someone.
She doesn’t waste time, merely scrambles over to his thrown down sleek black motorcycle, grateful that the street is still empty at this time on a Saturday morning.
She looks lost as she tries to grip it and pull it up, only to feel significantly small and weak when the man comes up and rights it with little effort.
He mounts it with an easy grace that is starting to shift into the familiar, but she pushes through thought down because he’s still gazing in her direction, expression hidden by the visor on his black helmet.
“Come on! I’ll take you where you need to go!”
And for some reason, his earnest offer makes her forget that he knocked over in the first place and makes her smile sweetly as she lumbers over to him and awkwardly sits behind him.
He hands her a spare helmet. Something she slips on with difficulty as she tries not to crush her already lopsided sleek bun.
“Hold on!” He tells her, hysteria still making his muffled voice come out louder than she supposes he usually talks.
She’s riding the same anxiety, gripping tight around his neck until he starts coughing.
“Ah…I’m so sorry…so sorry.” She says franticly, settling her grip around his shoulders instead.
He shakes his head, as if to say…”it’s only fair. I almost killed you and you almost choked me.”
But there’s no more time to process anything because the bike roars to life beneath the two of them, and the sudden change in speed is dizzying. She can barely remember to tell him where to turn and how to get there, but they do eventually end up in front of the small cafe.
And sure enough, Madame Pierrot is already at the glass entrance, one hand on a plump hip and the other lifted to look at her watch. Her dark slacks swish with the tapping of her foot. The lines around her mouth deepen with impatience, dark eyes gathering in the sight in front of her cafe with faint surprise.
Marinette has already slid off of the bike and removed the helmet, giving it sheepishly to the man balancing expertly on his motorcycle.
Pierrot eyes Marinette sternly, nodding in approval as the clock indicates that she is three minutes early. Then she heads inside, still tapping the watch to emphasize that time is still ticking.
Marinette gives a nervous titter of laughter as the man’s expression is still hidden.
“I uh…” She fiddles with the tear in her sleeve, the events of the morning just barely settling into a modicum of sense.
“I uh…thank you…umm…”
She hears a sharp gasp, a brief guffaw distorted behind the helmet and then the visor is lifted to reveal a horrifyingly familiar face.
“Man…what are the chances? I almost didn’t recognize you out of costume, Ladybug!”
Green eyes glint in mirth, still slightly apologetic as he peers at her from his bike.
Marinette is too stunned to do much but sputter out incomprehensible noises. Her fiddling stops, and embarrassment and irritation roil within her to flush across her cheeks.
“I almost killed my own girlfriend. Oh are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?” His amusement fading to worry as he watches her face pale dramatically.
He’s to the point where he’s moving to step off the bike, but she merely nods her head vigorously, screeches something about being late for work, and dashes into the cafe.
Adrien sits for a few moments, absolute bewilderment flooding his expression. He debates for a few moments about going inside and checking up on the girl, but he doesn’t see her beyond all the tables and the counter top and he sure as hell doesn’t like the looks the manager is shooting him.
He merely chalks up the encounter to chance and drives off, still incredulous at the turn of affairs.
And yet, he still can’t stop laughing at the absurdity of it all. Maybe something good is happening…or maybe it’s just a series of embarrassing coincidents…whatever it is, he’s just glad he hadn’t killed someone today.