dubcon because they express clear consent and they're legal adults, but they're intoxicated, so,,
i listened to blackbear - chateau on a loop writing this, so music rec i guess?
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They sit in a circle - her, her best friends, her classmates, a few people she doesn't know. A hat is being passed around with names inside.
"This sounds like something cringey teens would have done back in the nineties," Marinette says. Alya rolls her eyes.
"Girl, we're cringey teens," she replies, amused. Marinette can't deny that. "Listen, if you're uncomfortable, you don't have to join in. The worst you'll get is a few drunken boos."
She wants to appreciate the sentiment, and she does; inwardly, Marinette is endlessly grateful that Alya consistently takes her mental health into consideration, but outwardly she bristles. "I can handle some dumb eighties trend."
"You pushed back the date," Alya teases.
"Seventies. I don't care."
"Feisty. You're ready."
They take their seats, side-by-side with Nino on Alya's other side and Kim next to Marinette. They both smell of alcohol, and honestly, Marinette probably does too. The party may be of questionable legality - Tikki really hadn't wanted her to come - but they're sweet eighteen, they've just graduated and become adults, and they'll be damned if they don't enjoy it. Marinette doesn't much like the taste of beer, but she likes to join in the festivities, and the warm buzz takes the edge off her anxiety.
"Is you-know-who coming?" she hears Alya whisper to her boyfriend.
"I can hear you, you know," Marinette butts in, and the couple give her identical sly grins.
"He says he's busy tonight," Nino replies, "but he'll try to stop by."
Alya huffs. "He's finally out of that nightmare house. Why can't he take some time off to hang out with us?"
Marinette doesn't care. She really doesn't. It's been years. Her heart only flutters a little bit when she sees him now. They can hold a three minute conversation. She's totally over her crush, like a fully-functioning adult should be. Stuttering when he surprises her with his presence doesn't count.
Okay, maybe she's not totally over him. Still, she's grown, and the alcohol has her determined to get over it with a stupid game her grandmother would have played.
The game begins, and she forces those thoughts out of her head. She's about to play the cringiest and most sexually charged game she's ever had the displeasure of hearing about, and she's not going to entertain thoughts of supermodel Adrien Agreste during such an event. That's just begging for unrequited romantic trauma to ruin her fun.
Nino picks two people on a whim. Marinette doesn't pick up the names and doesn't care. She recognizes very few of the participants - or anyone at the party, really. They pick a number between one and ten. The second person is closer, so she begins the cycle. The upside-down cap is passed to her and she plucks a folded paper out of its depths.
"Alix."
The two of them stand, and Nino gestures grandly to the door in the corner of the room - the closet. "Seven minutes," he coos, tapping his wristwatch. Alix throws him an annoyed middle finger in response. In they go, into the depths of the tiny, dark room. The door swings shut behind them and the seven minutes starts.
Marinette leans back on her hands and blows out a bored sigh as the circle dissolves into chatting. Alya nudges her with a playful roll of the eyes.
"Not as exciting as you dreamed it'd be?"
"No, it met expectations quite well."
Some members of the circle are idly chatting. Some - mostly boys - are discussing the goings-on of the closet. A few, like Marinette, seem bored out of their minds. She's comforted by the thought that she isn't the only one that finds this game lacking.
Seven minutes passes abhorrently slow, and Nino makes his way to the closet. He doesn't knock. Instead, he swings the door open in full force, and Marinette cringes at the attempt to catch the girls in the act. All Nino finds is them seated on the ground, and aside from a burning gaze and Alix reaching out to play with the girl's hair, there's nothing to be seen.
Alix sticks her tongue out at Nino as they pass by to take their seats. Alya punches him in the arm when he takes his own.
The girl Marinette doesn't know hands the hat to the person on her left - Marc. He picks a name - Nathaniel. Marinette's secretly relieved. All of Paris knows they like each other, except, of course, for the two of them. Maybe this will kick their naive asses into gear.
With another melodramatic sigh, Marinette hoists herself up off the ground. Alya gives her an inquisitive look, and Marinette gestures to the drink table. Alya merely requests Marinette bring her something back, so she sets off without another word.
The punch bowl is drained, unfortunately, but that's alright because who knows what some kid could have dumped in there? Marinette's eyes move to the beer cans distastefully, but someone else has brought a keg with homemade margarita mix, and curiously she grabs a solo cup, lines it with lime and sugar, and pours some peachy pink liquid from the tap.
The noise of the party spikes, whoops and hollers reaching her ears. Dimly, Marinette wonders if some favorite song came on. She listens in briefly, but it isn't anything she knows. Here at the table, it's empty and quiet, and she's hesitant to return to the throng.
She glances back at the beer once more before making another cup and, in a spark of spontaneity, shoves a lime slice on each rim. She grabs a colored straw each - red for herself, orange for Alya - and heads back to the circle.
Slam!
She runs into someone taller than her just as she's turning, and thanks to her Ladybug reflexes she's able to keep the drinks from spilling a drop. She still stumbles, and a hand on her upper arm is quick to steady her.
"Sorry! I should have said something."
Apologetic green eyes peer into her own. She forgets how to speak. So that's what everyone was excited about. "It's fine," she says, after an entirely too long silence. His hand is still on her arm. It's warm. So is his smile. "I'm surprised you could come."
Adrien grins, hand leaving her skin and going to his hair. She misses it. "I moved out. I'm a free man now."
"Really?" Marinette can hardly contain her surprise. She only hopes the excitement doesn't shine through, as well. "I'm happy for you!"
"Thanks," he replies, and it feels genuine. As he always is. His gaze slides over to the refreshments table, then to her cup. "Is that stuff any good? I don't really like beer much."
"Me either," Marinette agrees. They stand there for a moment, and then she jumps, looking back down at her cup. "Oh! This!" The pink winks at her - her face is probably the same color. "I, uh, I haven't tried it yet."
Adrien raises a teasing eyebrow. "No?"
"Ah . . . no."
"Can I have a sip of yours, then?" She can't believe her ears. "To see if I like it? Assuming you don't mind sharing cooties."
It's so absurd, such a childish notion, that she can't help but laugh. In her blinded adoration, she's forgotten what a dork Adrien can be. It helps her loosen up some.
"I'm sure I'll live," Marinette says, rolling her eyes. Seeing as she can't in good faith offer up Alya's drink to someone else, she holds her own out to him. "Here."
She expects him to take it, but he doesn't. Instead his hand moves over her own, warm and soft, and he lowers his mouth to the straw. His lips are wrapped around it, his eyes half-lidded. They're paler than the straw - his lips, that is - and his hair looks soft, falling over his eyes like that, and the way his adam's apple bobs -
"I like it," Adrien says, pulling away. Marinette stares at him for far too long.
"What?"
"The drink," he says, helpfully pointing at her cup. There's a sly grin on his face, and an unknown glint in his eye. What was this? "It's like pink lemonade."
"Oh."
Marinette can't really focus. Is . . . is he flirting? With her? When had he been the type to flirt? Had he perhaps already had alcohol? Had she somehow missed this side of his personality, the side that knew how to be suggestive and fun and have a good time despite his father's efforts to prevent such behaviors?
"I like pink lemonade."
Tikki would no doubt make fun of her if she were there. Fortunately, she left her at home, but Marinette still wants to smack herself in the face. Isn't beer supposed to be liquid courage, or something? Or does she need to drink more? Fortunately, Adrien laughs, and turns toward the keg, grabbing a cup.
"Me too," he says. "What a wild coincidence."
It's a joke, she knows that, but can't make herself laugh for the shame still burning her face. Thankfully, Alya calls her name from the circle, and she's able to make her hasty escape.
"Sorry," she tells him. "Alya's waiting on her drink. Come join us?"
Did she really just ask him to join a game for cringey horny teenagers?
"Sure, in just a second," he responds brightly.
"Marinette!" Alya calls again, impatiently, and Marinette has to leave without replying. She gives a brief nod instead of a wave, as her hands are full, and speedwalks to her friend's side.
"Here." She shoves the drink with the orange straw into Alya's hands.
"Fancy." Alya smirks at the lime, then over at Marinette, who is taking her seat next to her. "I see you've been getting along with someone."
"I'm not allowed to say hello?" Marinette snaps back, cheeks aflame.
"Seemed like more than just a hello," Alya hums.
Marinette doesn't reply for fear of making a fool out of herself. She watches Adrien pad over to the circle, and to her dismay, Nino offers the spot next to him. Which would make him . . .
"You can be next in line!" Nino practically shouts, whistles and hoots rippling through the circle.
He explains the rules to Adrien, but Marinette isn't listening. Adrien, playing this game? How could she ever suggest he come over? Adrien, the sweet little bun that was sheltered all his life, now playing this inappropriate monstrosity?
"So what do you think?"
Adrien acts like he's contemplating it, but his grin is devious. Everyone seems to be holding their breath in anticipation as he downs his margarita - holy shit, he's really chugging - and then he smacks his cup down on the floor and breathlessly proclaims, "Let's do this."
Marinette thinks the world has to be ending. Who is this Adrien? Had he been secretly partying his whole life, when Marinette had only ever seen him as the purest human being to walk the planet?
Should this be turning her off to him? Because that old middle school crush was only rekindling with added intrigue, and she felt it was going to swallow her whole.
She's aware there's no chance she's going to get to delve any deeper, though. There's an entire circle of both boys and girls, none judgmental, ready to get into Adrien's pants since they first laid eyes on him. His hand is reaching into the hat, exploring the folded names. There's such a small chance it'll be hers that she sips her margarita in defeat.
At least they're sharing cooties now. God, what a dork.
It is pretty nice. Pink lemonade is accurate, and though she can still taste the undercurrent of alcohol, it's not enough to bother her. It burns pleasantly going down, and she can feel through the buzz it brings that it's a lot stronger than the beer.
"Marinette."
There's a collective sigh around the circle, some looking disappointed, others jealous, even more others curious. Marinette isn't really processing anything. It was her name Adrien said, yes, but surely he isn't serious? He's joking, or getting her attention for something else, surely -
Alya roughly elbows her side. "Well? Get it, girl!"
Adrien is standing up, glancing her way with a smile. Somehow her confusion hasn't lasted a lifetime, but rather seconds, and she follows suit like she's not having a mild crisis at the moment. A crisis that is getting exponentially worse by the second.
Desperate to curb the anxiety threatening to rise, she follows Adrien's example and takes a huge gulp of her margarita before handing it to Alya to hold. The heat in her cheeks mutes other feelings, and with relative calm accepts the gentlemanly hand offered to her. Moving her legs is a bit of a blur as she shakes the wave of buzz from her mind.
Nino walks them to the closet like the several duos before them, and before Marinette realizes it, the door is being closed behind them.
This is it. Here she is, in a closet with Adrien Agreste, both of them at least admittedly tipsy, expected to do . . . well, something. Something inappropriate, probably. It hasn't been made clear, just heavily implied with winks and nudges and exaggerated tones.
Adrien fumbles with something on his phone, and the dark area is lit a whitish blue. It makes his features so pronounced, the contrasting light and shadow outlining his face and drawing full attention to just how much he's matured over the years. Full cheeks have thinned out, his soft jaw now sharp enough to cut a man, chin stronger and more prominent.
His pretty jades are the same, though, as they flit up to meet Marinette's baby blues. He shows her the screen - a timer reading 6:00 and counting down.
"So we don't get barged in on," Adrien says, smug like he's the smartest man in the world, but it fades quickly. "So . . . shall we?"
He sets the device on a convenient shelf, the blue glow keeping the room dimly lit. Marinette is at least a tiny bit relieved that she can see, but that's as far as it goes. They stare at each other a moment, her heart pounding in her chest, and after what feels like eternity (but is probably only a few seconds) of her failing to respond Adrien seems concerned.
"Hey," he says softly. It takes her by surprise. He was so cocky before. "We don't have to do anything you don't want. I mean, we've both been drinking, I get it's kind of weird - "
"No!" Marinette blurts. Adrien blinks at her, surprised, and she covers her burning face with her hands. "I-I mean - I want to."
What is she thinking? She's making a fool of herself in front of Adrien! She should have stayed home like Tikki wanted. This is a mistake, she's a mistake. She never should have come.
Gentle fingers grasp her wrists and pull her hands from her face. His eyes are so bright, even though the light is shining from behind him, and his voice is so calming when he speaks, freeing one of her hands to trail his fingers under her chin.
"You're sure?" he murmurs, and she swears he glances down at her lips before looking back at her eyes. When did he get so close? Was he this close the whole time?
Mouth dry, Marinette nods. Subconsciously she licks her lips, and Adrien's eyes dart downward to follow the motion. Still he doesn't make a move.
"I need you to say it."
She can't place the emotion behind the husky whisper. The screen on Adrien's phone goes dark. She can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Her knees are weak. She closes her eyes.
"Yes," she breathes.
She's tense. She hasn't got a lot of experience, no, but she's not a child - she knows how these things work.
It doesn't come immediately, not like she expects; Adrien traces his thumb over her lower lip slightly, a soothing motion, and she moves with his hand when he gently prompts her to turn her head more upward.
And then his thumb is gone, replaced by his lips. They're soft, if a tiny bit chapped. She doesn't really care, because her own are singing in joy at the pleasant pressure. He's still, waiting for her to reply, and she does, her hands coming up to rest on his stomach as she hesitantly pushes forward into the kiss.
They break apart a second or two later, eyes cracking open. The same question lies in both their gazes. Adrien spares a passing glance to his phone, and when he looks back at Marinette she leans up and claims his lips in another kiss.
This one is more purposeful, Adrien's hands sliding down Marinette's body to rest on her hips. He rubs idle circles there as they pull back for breath. There's no hesitation this time when they delve in for another. His lips are sweet from the margarita mix, and it makes her lightheaded. It's more intoxicating than the alcohol itself.
She loses track of the kisses after a couple more. They're getting messier, less experimental, panting into one another's mouths, and her fingers twist in his shirt. Her heart is pounding and, in turn, her head, but in a way that amplifies the heat of the moment. She isn't sure when she backed up against the wall, but having it to brace herself on makes things easier.
Adrien's knee nudges her own, questioning, and she doesn't hesitate to let him slide his thigh between her legs.
Despite her enthusiasm, she's not prepared for way he gently nudges upward, thigh grinding just right, and she exhales sharply against his lips. He rests their foreheads together, letting her regain her bearings.
"That okay?"
She nods dumbly.
"Tell me."
Marinette has to remember how to speak, but when she does, it's a desperate, "Yes."
He doesn't hesitate, pulling her hips towards him, and she has to move her hands to grasp Adrien's shoulders when he sets a steady pace. She can feel the wetness between her thighs and she knows she'll hate it later, but for now she can't bring herself to care. They move together, and he lets her rut eagerly against his thigh, her lips parting with soft whines as he moves to kiss at her neck.
"Quiet," he hums, nearly a purr, when one gets too loud.
She wants to reply, but her mind is drawing blanks on language, so instead she nods fervently. His teeth graze at her neck, never biting, and while she's glad he doesn't leave marks she's simultaneously frustrated. She doesn't understand how he's so collected, especially when god, she can feel how hard he is against her own leg, and she's glad it isn't just her.
Still, she feels selfish, and through the high she taps at his hip with vague urgency. She doesn't know how long is left on the clock, but she's determined. He backs off quickly, concern in his eyes and a question on his lips. She silences him with a bold hand on the shape in his jeans.
His breath catches, and he grasps her wrist tightly. Their eyes meet, his burning, hers challenging.
"Marinette," he says, his voice throaty now, and she nearly melts at her name in his voice. She doesn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she pulls him back to her by the hips and, frustrated at the height difference, hikes a leg up to his waist and rolls her hips pointedly.
She has to hold back a breathy moan at the feeling of his dick through his jeans, trying to save face. He, on the other hand, hides nothing. His breathing is shaky, and he gets the point.
He surprises her not only with the way he grasps her thighs and hoists her up, but with the ease in which he does so - was he always so strong? - and she's definitely not prepared for the way he thrusts up against her. Gravity is on their side, and they're met with amazing friction that has them both moaning. He buries his face in her neck and sets a pace, and she threads her fingers in his soft blond locks, clinging for what feels like dear life.
It's so good, the way his cock feels through her soaked panties and jostles the fabric to rub just right against her clit. It's hard to move with him without proper use of her legs, but she does anyways, their hips gyrating in tandem. His heavy pants are warm against her throat and her muted whines fill the musty closet air.
Her mind is nothing but a fog of mindless pleasure, and every thrust is met with a white-hot spark that travels up her spine and leaves goosebumps on her skin. She's close, so close, desperation and need in every roll of her hips, and Adrien enthusiastically meets her pace.
And then the timer on his phone chirps at them.
Marinette can feel disappointment start to send her world crumbling, but Adrien isn't letting go so easily. A frustrated growl leaves his lips, and somehow he doubles his efforts, yanking her hips down against his cock and grinding hard. He ruts against her like a man starved, and the constant pressure on her clit is so much that she whimpers with every jostle, voice rising in pitch in just seconds.
Her voice catches on a high cry just in time, and while one of her hands clutches hard at his hair, the other goes to her mouth to bite down on, just in case. Her body goes rigid at the peaking pleasure that comes in waves, ripped from her - or perhaps prolonged - by Adrien's unhalting rhythm.
It takes her a few seconds to come down from her high, and when she does, she realizes he's slowed to a halt, breathing hard.
Marinette glances over to the phone and, with a jolt, sees a glowing red -00:23 on the screen. Quickly, she scrambles down from Adrien's grasp, and he lets her go with little struggle after also seeing the timer. He fumbles to shut it off, a breathless chuckle rumbling in his throat.
"Your pigtails are crooked," Adrien points out, slightly dazed and visibly trying hard not to smile. She stares dumbly at him for a moment before a small giggle escapes her.
"Well, I bet your hair looks worse," Marinette snaps back playfully.
As she attempts to straighten her pigtails, all Adrien has to do is shake his head thoroughly like a wet cat, and his hair is back to normal. Thoroughly offended by his lack of struggle, Marinette decides to just pull the elastic from her hair and thoroughly rake her hands through it to straighten it.
"That was . . . " she starts, unsure now of what to say.
"Wow," Adrien finishes for her, and it's all she really has to say, too.
Then there's a loud banging on the door, and they scramble apart just before Nino swings the door boldly open. Next to him is Alya, looking a mixture of curious and irate. Her eyebrows raise at the sight of them, whereas Nino's face falls; the only clue in to their activities is their flushed faces.
"Boring!" Nino drunkenly shouts, dragging Adrien ungracefully from the closet's depths, both stumbling on their way to the circle.
Adrien glances back at Marinette for an instant, and she can't quite decipher the look in his eyes.
Alya places her hands on Marinette's shoulders, steering her toward a nearby table, where she left their drinks. "That's my Marinette," she proclaims loudly, "a prude to this day."
Marinette sighs, thinking she's safe, but then Alya leans in close to whisper in her ear.
"Tie your jacket around your waist, and thank me later."
Cheeks aflame, Marinette quickly sheds her cardigan and ties the sleeves around her hips, ensuring her bottom is fully covered before turning to sheepishly smile at her best friend.
"Thanks," she mumbles, accepting the newly refilled margarita handed to her. Alya rolls her eyes playfully.
"I said later," she chides, but she's smiling too.
Instead of rejoining the circle, they take seats at the table, and Marinette takes the time to redo her pigtails. Alya wants juicy details, and Marinette promises to give them when she's sober. It's only minutes later that a bored Nino and notably sleepy Adrien join them at the table, and focus is shifted on the power couple and their antics.
Adrien and Marinette share shy looks all night, and at the end of the party, they each say goodbye with the other's phone number in pocket.
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A: about last night
A: i'm really sorry. That was really uncalled for and i shouldn't have done it
A: i totally understand if you don't want to be friends anymore
Two separate sets of shaking hands and anxious thoughts. Two shy, fully sober teens, staring at their phones with their hearts in their throats.
M: I uh, actually really liked it
A: you did?
Trembling fingers type out the gutsiest messages of their lives.
M: Wouldn't mind a repeat
M: I mean, as long as you wouldn't
A: ngl, I'm here for that
They can't believe they're really doing this.
A: are you free for coffee? we could discuss? maybe execute?
M: I'm always down for coffee
M: More if it's you
When Nino and Alya find out, it's a borderline party with how excited they are, but they're supportive. It's all that really matters.
Maybe the sixties had the right idea.