Archive of Our Own ^beta

I know everyone saw Adrien’s reaction to all the snacks Marinette’s parents brought up in the episode, Le Gamer, and I just can’t let that lie there.

Adrien Agreste’s mind always danced, whirling and spinning from one thought to the next without a thread to connect them. His thoughts flitted from distant childhood dreams of firemen and astronauts to a loyal dog and then finally to a happy household. His mind did its best to stifle memories—his mother’s smile, his father’s frown, Nathalie’s stern eyes behind her glasses, the kindly housekeeper fluffing his pillows just so. It fought aside the thorns of his insecurities and concerns. Lately, it settled on the rosy image of Ladybug in stark relief, smiling and laughing before finally turning her back on him to go home.

There was only one thought that consumed Adrien’s mind utterly. No nightmares could push it aside, no worries could quench it, and not even Ladybug held a candle to the most basic human need.

At night, he dreamed of chocolate cakes piled with whipped cream, of dining tables covered in platters of vegetables dripping butter and roast pigs with apples in their mouths, of dark fruit juices like wine overflowing crystal goblets, of all of it melting on his tongue. During the day, Paris was ripe with the smells. There were street vendors selling pretzels and stalls bearing fresh fruits grown in rooftop gardens. Cafés perfumed with rich coffee and cream, bakeries piled with delights, and barbeque restaurants that billowed delicious smoke.

All of it consumed Adrien. He was careful to keep walls, doors, and windows between himself and all the things he should not—could not—have. It made the temptation easier to bear.

That was to say nothing of being inside Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s house. She lived above the Boulangerie Patisserie, one of the greatest bakeries in Paris. Her entire house was scented with vanilla and cinnamon, with rosemary and basil, with cream and sugar, with a perfect combination of sweet and savory.

Everything was too close to Adrien. He could reach out and touch it all.

Tom and Sabine brought tempting platters of every delicacy that filled Adrien’s dreams and Marinette dismissed each. Why should she be interested in something she saw on a daily basis, something she could taste whenever she wanted, something that was never out of her reach?

Buttery flaky croissants. Chocolate chip cookies. Golden salmon-spinach quiche with shredded cheese on top.

Each passed Adrien by, offered and dismissed casually. He was both grateful and stricken, watching the trapdoor to Marinette’s room close like an iron maiden. He didn’t know whether to sigh heavily or breathe in deeply while the scent still lingered in her room. Mostly, he didn’t breathe at all. Even Marinette smelled of strawberries and vanilla.

“Would you stop it?” Plagg ground out from his position flopped on Adrien’s pillow with a wheel of smelly camembert that Adrien wasn’t even remotely tempted by.

“Stop what?” Adrien asked, startled out of his musings for croissants, cookies, and salmon-spinach quiches.

“Thinking about food,” Plagg said. “I can hear your stomach growling from here. Have some camembert.”

Adrien made a disgusted sound in his throat and said, “I’m nowhere near hungry enough to eat that stinking cheese.” Except he definitely was and Plagg knew that.

“Why don’t you just go to Marinette’s bakery and buy some sweets?” Plagg asked.

“You know why,” Adrien ground out.

Plagg hissed in his throat, “The photo shoot.”

Adrien nodded. He rested his face in his hands and sighed heavily.

Plagg floated over to Adrien and settled against the curve of his neck. It was rare that the bad luck kwami displayed so much affection and it made Adrien wonder how desperate he looked. Absently, he scratched the top of Plagg’s head, relishing the feeling of the short soft fur.

“Besides,” Adrien murmured, “what would Marinette think if I showed up at her bakery and bought one of everything?”

“No doubt she’d think it was weird,” Plagg put in, “and it definitely is.”

Adrien sighed. His mind turned relentlessly through croissants and cookies and cheese and… “Hey, Plagg, transform me.”

“What? Why?” Plagg whined.

“I’ll buy you a whole wheel of camembert while I’m out,” Adrien bribed.

“You’re going grocery shopping as Chat Noir?” Plagg asked dubiously.

“Adrien can’t descend on Marinette’s bakery, but I know someone who can.”

Plagg smiled, his pointed teeth peeking over his lips.

In a flare of green light, Chat Noir threw open the window, slid down the slope of the roof, and leaped off. The night flew past him, whipping back his mussed hair and filling his nose with the scent of fresh rolls and cream. He passed the crepe shop without looking back, thinking of the prize that awaited him if he could focus long enough to reach the Boulangerie Patisserie.

Finally, he landed outside the shop and soaked up the golden glow streaming through the display windows. He didn’t quite press his face to the glass, but he peered eagerly through the windows at the stands of rich cakes piled with frosting, powdered sugar, and sliced strawberries. A neatly-cut tray of chocolate fudge was arranged beside it, followed by a whorl of cinnamon buns topped with chopped nuts, and a tower of blueberry muffins.

Adrien’s mouth watered.

He pulled himself together, stepping into Chat Noir’s confidant swagger as he pushed open the shop door. A tiny bell jingled merrily. Marinette’s father was a massive bear of a man, but Adrien had already met him and couldn’t bring himself to be frightened.

“Good… evening?” Tom greeted. His eyes roved over Chat Noir’s tight leather suit, his black mask, the bell at his throat, and his ears and tail. “Can I help you?”

“I’ll take one of everything,” Adrien said. He had tucked some money into the pocket of his suit before leaving and leafed the bills out on the counter.

However, Tom wasn’t sure what to think of this cat-boy waltzing into his shop at eight at night in full leather and a mask. “Can I see some ID?”

Marinette chose that moment to slip in through the back door of the bakery with a tray of cookies in her mitted hand. “Here, papa!” she said cheerfully.

“Thank you, darling,” Tom said without removing his eyes from Chat Noir.

Marinette gasped when she saw Chat Noir, standing there with his money spread across the counter. “What’s going on?”

“This… person… would like one of everything,” Tom said suspiciously.

“And?” Marinette prompted.

Tom gestured helplessly at Chat Noir.

Awkwardly, Adrien smiled at them both. He had never really thought about what it must look like to the average person to see him in his full leather costume and fetishistic ears and tail.

“Dad,” Marinette said with an embarrassed groan. She took down a white bakery box, grabbed some tongs, and began to load it with goodies. “That’s just Chat Noir.”

A light came on in Tom’s expression and he smiled broadly at Chat Noir. “Yes, of course,” he said cheerfully. “Half price for one of the Heroes of Paris.”

Adrien smiled as Marinette settled the box in front of him and rang up his purchases. She handed him back his change and watched as he struggled to slide the bills back into his tiny suit pocket. Though Adrien was a model and was used to people staring at his body, he shivered when he felt Marinette’s eyes trace over him.

“Thanks,” he said to Tom and Marinette.

With that, Adrien took the box of sweets and left. He hastily made his way home, stopping only briefly to fetch Plagg’s promised wheel of cheese, and swung back in through his still-open bedroom window. He released the transformation in a flare of light and plopped down at his desk happily. Plagg immediately floated over to the camembert and dug in.

Slowly, as though unlocking the case that held the Holy Grail, Adrien opened the white bakery box. The sweets from the Boulangerie Patisserie were more stunning than any jewels or designer suit that he wore for his photo shoots. Adrien swallowed, chose a cookie, and savored his first bite. The soft dough and savory dark chocolate melted on his tongue, broken up with tiny crunches of nuts.

“How is it?” Plagg asked.

“Delicious,” Adrien murmured as he peeled back the paper on the muffin. It was dense with blueberries, so moist and perfect that he nearly moaned in delight.

A croissant filled with almond paste and drizzled with butter made his fingers sticky. He didn’t have a fork, but he made it work as he dug into the soft carrot cake cupcake with piles of cream cheese frosting and walnuts. A slice of quiche layered with mushrooms and sausage had been included even though he hadn’t seen it in the case. He nibbled a macaroon, took a bite out of the folded pastry filled with cherries, and finished off with the final red velvet cupcake.

He knew that one box of sweets wouldn’t turn him into a blubbery mess, but he would have to do an extra round of cardio tomorrow with his trainer if he wanted to keep the minute extra pounds away. He would also have to throw the telltale box away at school so that Nathalie wouldn’t find it. His father would have a heart attack if he knew what Adrien had eaten, but it was so worth it.

“I think those were the best sweets I’ve ever tasted,” Adrien said to Plagg with a sigh of delight.

“How many have you honestly had?” Plagg asked dubiously.

“I could have tested every bakery in Paris and the Boulangerie Patisserie would still win,” Adrien said.

Plagg smiled into his cheese, pleased that his chosen had found a moment of happiness even if it was as fleeting as the delicacies he had enjoyed. Someone as ancient as Plagg knew that life was far too short and he hated to see Adrien denied the simplest of pleasures. He was so young. He should enjoy everything as long as he could.

…

The first time Adrien snuck to the Boulangerie Patisserie as Chat Noir was like the first hit of cocaine. Once he had a taste, he couldn’t stop. Five days later, Adrien bribed Plagg to let him transform again. He made his way to the bakery, ordered a plate of chocolate chip cookies, and ate them all in his bedroom. He lasted a week after that before buying a dozen cupcakes in all assorted flavors. Four days, cream puffs, six days, macaroons, three days, devil’s food cake. Then, on Sunday night, the Boulangerie Patisserie was dark and cold.

Chat Noir mournfully stood outside the empty windows as he realized they were closed. He really shouldn’t have been surprised. Everyone needed a night off, even superheroes and the most fabulous bakers in all of Paris. He was about to go home and eat celery in penitence when the light flicked on in the bakery. Eagerly, he whirled around and made sure to keep his nose off the glass.

Marinette wore simple cotton pajama pants and a tank top with her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She opened the oven at the back of the shop and removed one, two, three pies. Using a toothpick, she verified that each pie was finished cooking. Pleased, she shut off the oven and left the pies to cool on the counter. Her hand was inches from the light switch when she spotted him.

“Chat Noir?” she asked.

He debated running, embarrassed to he caught literally begging on her doorstep like an alley cat, but the thought of those pies made him stay. He tried to find some nonchalance as she crossed the bakery to unlock the door. The bell jingled merrily as she pulled it open and looked at him.

“What are you doing here?” Marinette asked.

Adrien fumbled the sentence immediately. Even though he bought his sweets from her parents most times, he doubted they didn’t tell her that one of the heroes of Paris came to their bakery night after night. It wouldn’t do any good to lie to her or fabricate an excuse. Adrien hated being lied to and he hated to lie to others. Besides, the truth wasn’t that embarrassing. “I came to buy some sweets,” he admitted.

Marinette folded her arms sternly and leaned against the doorframe. “Why don’t you come by during the day and buy sweets like a normal person?” She fixed him in place with her blue eyes, roving over his black cat suit. “Why don’t you come dressed as a normal person?” she added.

Adrien barked a little wry laugh. “Let’s just say I can’t,” he said and forced himself not to elaborate.

With a sigh, Marinette stepped aside and let him in. The smell of fresh-baked pie immediately wrapped around him like a warm blanket. He felt like a cartoon character, drawn forward by the delicious aroma by an invisible hand on his nose. He stopped just short of the counter.

“What kind are they?” he asked.

“White chocolate macadamia nut,” she said.

“Like the cookies?”

Marinette snorted. “Not hardly,” she told him. “Anyone can make cookies, but this pie is my dad’s secret recipe.”

Adrien’s mouth watered and he swallowed. “Can I buy one?”

Marinette rolled her shoulders. “Of course, this is a shop, after all,” she said. “But don’t you think you’re abusing your Superhero Discount?”

So she did know how many times he had come to the bakery… Instead of apologizing, Adrien said, “I don’t need a discount. I can pay full price.”

Marinette touched the edges of the pie tin hesitantly, gauging how much longer the pies needed to cool. “No, no,” she said. “It’s the least we can do for someone who is always saving Paris. You’ve earned it.”

Adrien rested his chin on the counter, crouched down to be at eye level with the pie to smell them better. “Does Ladybug come here?”

Marinette shook her head. “She’s probably worried about looking good in that skin-tight outfit,” she remarked casually.

A surge of self-consciousness washed through Adrien. He was always aware of things that he shouldn’t be eating, but Chat Noir made it too easy to sneak out an indulge. What if his trainer noticed the extra reps he kept doing? Worse yet, what if his father noticed he had gained three pounds? He told himself that muscle weighed more than fat and being Chat Noir certainly kept him in shape but if he didn’t look perfect for the upcoming photo shoot—

“Chat Noir?” Marinette asked. Her voice broke him from his thoughts. “Are you alright? You just got really pale.” Without a word, she opened a decorative Tupperware of cranberry-pistachio shortbread cookies and pushed it towards him. “Did you eat dinner? Here, have a snack.”

His fingers trembled as he took the cookie. He could smell the roasted pistachios and sweet cranberries coupled with the buttery shortbread, but his nerves wavered. He shouldn’t be eating this. He shouldn’t be eating anything except the light salad Nathalie put before him at dinnertime.

“Chat Noir?” Marinette asked again. “Is something wrong? Are you allergic to nuts?”

“No, no,” he forced out. “Everything is fine.” Despite his pounding heart and ragged nerves, he took a bite of the cookie and sighed in pleasure. Tension washed out of him, sliding down his limbs and allowing him to lean casually against the counter.

Marinette gingerly put the lid back on the container. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You look like you just had a small stroke.”

Adrien said with a flash of his white teeth, “You just made me think if I keep eating like this, My Lady won’t be interested in me for my body anymore.”

Marinette snorted again, the sound surprisingly dainty, before she asked, “Is she interested in you at all?”

Adrien hoped the way her words hurt him didn’t show on his face. He tried to play it off, but Marinette was keener than he had expected. Her blue eyes pierced him and immediately saw through his façade.

“Oh,” she breathed out. “Oh, Chat, I didn’t mean that, um…”

“It’s alright,” he said quickly. “I know that I—” He couldn’t put words to what he knew about himself. Instead of continuing, he turned and bounded through the front door of the bakery. He heard the bell jingle once, twice, and Marinette’s voice bounced off the buildings behind him as he fled.

“Chat! Chat, come back!”

But he didn’t and he told himself that he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t go back to the Boulangerie Patisserie again. He would stop eating the delicious sweets that he shouldn’t. He would look perfect for the photo shoot. He would lose the three pounds that he had gained. He wouldn’t go back, he told himself. He wouldn’t go back.

…

“Would you stop?” Plagg demanded from his position at the window. The setting sun backlit the tiny black cat, flashing in his acid-green eyes as he tracked Adrien. “You’re driving me crazy and you’re going to kill yourself if you don’t stop.”

Adrien kept pacing from his bed to his desk and back again. He paused, braced his hands on the desk, took a deep breath, and walked back to his bed to stare at the smooth coverlet. “I can’t sit down,” he said.

“It’s Sunday,” Plagg put in. “Why don’t we transform?”

Adrien stopped in his tracks and stared at Plagg.

“Just for a little while,” the kwami relented.

Plagg tried not to show how concerned he was for Adrien, but today’s fitting for the upcoming photo shoot had been rough. Adrien’s size—which hadn’t changed in two years—had increased. It wasn’t a large change or even an adjustment out of sorts for a young man reaching puberty. His shoulders and chest were broadening, he had grown taller, and his biceps were stronger from his antics as Chat Noir. In fact, each muscle on his body was lean and wiry, firm and strong. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the boy’s body, but the scale crept upwards.

The designer had worked with Adrien for years and remarked only, “Wow, you’re getting big,” with a gentle smile on his face. To Plagg, who was hiding in Adrien’s bag the whole time, the words were those of someone who was pleased to see Adrien growing up. To Adrien, the words were a condemnation.

“Just for a little while,” Plagg repeated.

Adrien nodded jerkily.

Chat Noir’s transformation washed over him like a comfortable blanket though it hugged tight against his skin. Adrien pushed open the window and leaped out into the fading daylight. He roamed aimlessly through Paris, breathing in the night air and feeling his muscles work. Slowly but surely, the panic that had coiled in his guts abated. Finally, he could think clearly.

Adrien stopped on a rooftop and leaned against a chimney to catch his breath. He didn’t know if Plagg could hear him through the transformation and he didn’t know if he even wanted Plagg to hear him, but he spoke anyway. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I know it’s stupid to feel this way and I know it’s wrong, but I just… I just can’t stop. I need my father to be proud of me and this is the only way.”

The night didn’t answer him, but someone else did.

“Chat Noir?”

Adrien’s head snapped up. He hadn’t realized that he had unintentionally wound up near the Boulangerie Patisserie, even though he hadn’t dropped down near their display window. He had paused on the building just across from Marinette’s home, level with the balcony above her bedroom. Marinette stood on her terrace now, wearing her pajamas and looking at him with concern in her blue eyes.

“Chat Noir?” Marinette called. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” he said to her because there was no point in trying to lie. Cautiously, he slid down the slope of the roof, leaped the span of the buildings, and landed on her railing. He perched there, catlike, the muscles in his thighs straining as he crouched.

“Listen,” she said hastily, as though her presence would scare him away, “about what I said last time, I didn’t mean anything—”

Adrien held up his gloved hand to stop her. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

Marinette leaned on the railing just beside him, her hands wrapped around the cold metal. He could feel the heat of her body rolling off in waves, soaking into the leather of his suit. “I didn’t realize,” she whispered, “that even superheroes could be self-conscious about their bodies, just like everyone else.”

Adrien nodded before he thought about it.

Marinette looked up at him, her eyes as deep and blue as the sea. “My mom made some vegetable soup,” she said softly. “It’s very healthy and still delicious. Would you like some?”

Adrien started to shake his head, but his stomach betrayed him by growling loudly. The undressed spinach salad wasn’t near enough to sustain his body when he leaped across the roofs as Chat Noir and he had eaten it several hours ago.

Marinette smiled and beckoned him. He eased down from the railing, his knees popping. He followed her through the trapdoor and down a narrow flight of stairs into the bedroom as sweet and pink as she was. Dress forms, folded lengths of fabric, and designs lay out on all available surfaces of her room. Typical posters were hung on her wall, including a scroll painted with cherry blossoms. However, one wall was decorated with glossy pages torn from magazines. Each was of him—of Adrien Agreste—and his mouth went dry. He was irrevocably drawn to the display, staring up at it in surprise.

Marinette’s voice wavered as she admitted, “I know it’s silly, but I think he’s so handsome. Whenever I am stuck on a design, I always think about him. It’s my dream to have him wear something I designed so I strive to make something worthy.”

“Adrien Agreste?” he asked and turned to look at her.

Marinette nodded and pushed her fingers together nervously. “Just wait here while I get some soup for you,” she said, but she hesitated at her doorway. She turned to look at him, her blue eyes sparkling, and then she snapped, “Don’t touch anything.”

Grinning, Adrien held up his hands to placate her.

Marinette ducked out, leaving him alone in her bedroom.

True to his word, Adrien didn’t touch anything, but he wandered back to Marinette’s wall and stared up at the photographs she had put up. Though each photograph had been airbrushed and perfected for the magazines, Adrien knew what he looked like beneath the makeup and glamour. It made him sick to his stomach to think that anyone was idolizing the stick-thin figures in fashion magazines. He would hate to see Marinette going through what he went through each day, hungry but unable to bring himself to eat and risk making his father angry.

“Chat?”

Adrien jolted away from the wall.

Marinette held a bowl of soup and a mug of something steaming. “What are you doing?”

“Just… looking,” he said.

Marinette set the soup and mug down on her desk, looking up at the pictures as well. “It’s weird, but… I feel bad for Adrien,” she murmured.

“You know him?”

She nodded. “He’s in my class at school. Sometimes, he doesn’t go home for lunch.”

Adrien studied her face, the fall of her dark lashes and the way her eyes danced over the images.

“I’m worried about what he does to stay like that,” she murmured.

“Like what?”

Marinette gestured to the photos. “That thin,” she said softly.

Adrien gazed at her, aware of the smell of the rich soup drifting between them. “Models have to be thin, don’t they?” he murmured.

Marinette shrugged her shoulders. “I know, but… they’re still people. I don’t think anyone should have to be that thin. It’s not healthy,” she said.

“Why are you telling me this?” Adrien breathed out.

Marinette’s eyes tracked over him.

He wanted to shiver. Chat Noir’s suit hugged every inch of his body, leaving nothing to the imagination, and her eyes made him feel as though he might as well have been naked.

“You sneak to the bakery as Chat Noir,” she said. “Whoever you are under that mask is someone who shouldn’t have sweets and I’m willing to bet it’s because you need to watch your weight. Are you a model?”

Adrien struggled not to burst out laughing or crying. Marinette was so smart and she had no idea how close she was to the truth. “You could say that,” he said.

“Well, Chat,” she murmured with a tinge of pink to her cheeks.

He leaned in to hear her better, his heart thudding against his ribs.

“If you tell anyone I said this, I will deny it, but… I think you look quite handsome just the way you are.”

Adrien’s breath caught in his throat, rattling there like a bird trapped inside.

Marinette’s eyes slid over him and she gestured to the soup. “Enjoy,” she said. “You deserve it and… if you ever want more sweets and the bakery is closed, you can knock on my window. I’ll let you in.”

“Thank you,” Adrien breathed out.

Marinette smiled gently, stretched out a hand, and timidly threaded her fingers through his soft golden hair. He didn’t push her away, green eyes bright and curious. She scratched behind his leather ears. Adrien’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into her fingers. A sound almost like a purr crept up his throat, vibrating in his chest. Marinette brought her other hand to his head, rubbing her thumbs against the soft insides of his ears. Without his consent, his hands lifted to cradle her wrists. He practically clung to her, breathing in the scent of strawberries and vanilla.

It felt like a long time that she caressed him and yet like no time at all. Slowly, she drew her hands away and he stifled a whimper. His green eyes slid open slowly and he gazed at her. Marinette still smiled, her cheeks flushed slightly.

“Eat the soup while it’s still warm,” she told him.

Adrien sat down in her desk chair, took the bowl in his hand, and ate slowly. The broth was rich and the soup was filled with everything from pasta to snow peas to sliced chicken. It was delightfully warm, smoothing down the inside of his chest and settling in his belly. “So,” he ventured, “how was your day?”

Marinette’s lips quirked into a grin, but she didn’t comment on his lame attempt to begin a conversation. “Fine,” she said, “except there’s a fashion contest coming up and I don’t know what to design. I was thinking of maybe something loose-fitting, like a comfy cable knit sweater.”

“I’d like to see that,” Adrien murmured more to himself than to her.

Marinette nodded.

The soup warmed everything inside him from his toes to his agitated mind. For the first time in years, he stopped thinking about his past, about his next photo shoot, and about food. He thought only about the taste of the soup, about the heat filling him up from the inside out, about Marinette’s soft smile and gentle hands. He finished the soup and wrapped his gloved hands around the mug of tea Marinette had brought him. It was milky and sweet, hinted with cinnamon and honey. It was everything he had ever wanted.

“Marinette,” Adrien murmured.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Chat Noir.”

…

Before his transformation ran out, Adrien left Marinette’s room and returned to his empty mansion. Sliding in through the open window, he released the transformation and listened to Plagg complain absently. He stared at the schedule of photo shoots posted on his computer calendar. Thoughts of his measurements swam to the surface and he let them come, breathing slowly through the worries. Plagg came to rest on his shoulder and Adrien stroked his short soft fur.

Adrien knew he was a long way from letting go of his thoughts and his fears, a long way from letting his mind and body rest, but for the first time since his mother left, he thought it was possible. He wouldn’t deny himself the simplest of life’s pleasures. He would eat better, not because he wanted to be thin for his father but because he wanted to be healthy. He wanted that for himself and for the sweet girl who had let him in from the dark and offered him not only what he desperately wanted, but what he needed as well.

“Maybe next week,” he murmured to himself and to Plagg, “maybe next week, I’ll go to the Boulangerie Patisserie.”

Plagg didn’t say, ‘What else is new?’ He waited for Adrien to finish.

“But this time,” Adrien continued, “maybe I’ll go as myself instead of Chat Noir.”

Plagg nuzzled into Adrien’s cheek. He had lived through too many centuries, through too many chosen, to believe that Adrien would be better tomorrow. Yet the journey of a thousand miles began with a single step and Plagg knew better than anyone that the first step was the hardest.

I worked this out in between the next chapters for my [redacted, my other fanfiction] so stay tuned for that.

Questions, comments, concerns?