start notes—

She was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and hell if she'd let a man stop her from enjoying her damn coffee.

my tellonym: milkisande

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pre, scene ii

with the right amount of sugar,
just how you like it.

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ONCE Paris Fashion Week finally ended, Marinette Dupain-Cheng took a long awaited break.

She had informed her secretary that she'd be out for the day, going around to find inspiration and working on her brand's next collection, despite having only recently released one. It was a stressful job, but it was also in rare moments like this that Marinette enjoyed the most, feeling a little more human and a little less like a work-efficient (and frankly, work-dependent) robot.

After all, her passion really was in fashion design, not in management and papers and all the extra work that came with it.

Entering the cafe, Marinette took a deep breath, and smiled. The establishment was nowhere near in standard to the high-class and expensive places her business partners treated her to, but she personally loved the coziness and comfort offered by the place. It was much smaller and obscure, but that fact in itself treated her well: with the likelihood of meeting someone she knew being slim to none, leaving her to work in peace.

At least, that's how the cafe had served her for the past few months.

But as she looked around to see if there were any free seats, Marinette paled in the realization that chances, slim as they were, were still chances after all, and that sometimes, those chances could became realities… at times, even manifesting themselves in the form of familiar strangers (who may or may not make her feel like a hormonal teenager all over again).

Immediately ducking her head down in a sorry attempt to hide herself— though arguably just gaining more attention— Marinette turned around cautiously, ensuring that her face was barely recognizable as she fished her shades out of her bag.

Oh God, why was he here!? Of all people!?

Marinette wasn't proud to admit that even after almost a month since their last (and first) encounter, she couldn't get the blonde, green-eyed stranger out of her mind. She wasn't proud to admit that most of her designs reflected that fact either, with the unique accents of black, green, and yellow in her works not typical of her signature red and black palette.

She especially wasn't proud to admit, however, that she hadn't felt that inspired for a collection in a long time.

Stealing another curious glance towards the stranger, Marinette drank in his appearance: he was wearing a plain outfit, similar to before, but stunning all the same. She figured he could be a model if he so wanted, even admitting to herself that he was leagues above some of the people that the agency sent to wear her designs.

For a moment, Marinette's mind danced around the possibility of him modelling for her, wearing her clothes, taking them off… before hastily shaking her head. Definitely no thoughts like that.

As if feeling that someone was staring at him, the stranger suddenly looked up, with Marinette not wasting a second before whipping her head back into place. She could swear that she heard a sudden chuckle from behind her, but decided against finding out, impatiently waiting for her order to be served.

"Miss… Ladybug?"

At the call of her nickname— often opting to use that instead of her real name (she liked the feeling of mystery and anonymity that came with it), Marinette snuck into the counter to take her drink, before absentmindedly realizing that she had forgotten to ask for takeout.

Though, in her defense, she had meant to stay until her plans were oh-so-rudely thwarted by the Hot Park Stranger.

Marinette sighed, weighing the options in her head.

For one, she could just ask to have her coffee put into a to-go cup, leave, and work somewhere else to avoid the (one-sided) awkwardness of being in the same establishment.

On the other hand... she could just suck it up and stay. She did need to get work done, and the cafe always did wonders to inspire her new designs.

The fact that hewas there, her unassuming muse, didn't quite hurt the flow of ideas either.

And, after all, did she really want to be the kind of person who was sosocially-awkward that she would run away from a random stranger because she found him too… too what? Too hot?

She was the new-and-improved Marinette: not the clumsy girl of high school, but the independent woman CEO of the top brand in the fashion industry.

She was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and hell if she'd let a man stop her from enjoying her damn coffee.

Huffing, and set on her decision, Marinette, albeit a little awkwardly, made her way to the tables next to the window (she liked looking outside while working, sometimes sketching the outfits of the Parisians as they passed by).

With all her luck, the only free seat in that area was right next to his, but resolved that it wouldn't be an issue. After all, she rationalized, if she sat the other way, then it would be like he wasn't there at all. And looking back would be at him would be much less appealing, given how obvious it would be if she did.

Holding her mug of coffee, she walked over, slowly, cautiously, to avoid his gaze, then sat down.

Success!

She breathed out, relieved, then began to work, ignoring what she felt (but refused to acknowledge) was someone staring behind her.

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A few hours into working, the cafe steadily filled up.

The weather had taken an unexpected turn for the stormy, and a variety of customers entered in an attempt to shield themselves from the rain. She wasn't really fond of the sudden company, but didn't really mind as long as nobody would bother her.

And nobody did— not on purpose, at least.

Unsurprisingly, the seats and tables were full, with most people standing in the corners in an attempt to fit inside. What grabbed her attention, however, was an elderly man who seemed drenched from the rain.

Wearing a Hawaiian shirt and looking exhausted, the man leaned over his cane, holding a mug of coffee with another hand. He seemed to be struggling, causing Marinette to worry.

Sighing and looking over her things— an assortment of stationery and papers spread about, she stuffed them in her bag, then stood up to approach the older stranger.

"Excuse me?" Marinette asked, as the old man looked up curiously. "I have to get back to my office, so would you like my seat instead? I won't need it anymore."

The man perked an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" He asked. "It's raining hard out there, it'd be better for you to wait it out rather than get sick."

Marinette smiled, then made the thumbs up gesture, before immediately putting it down, embarrassed. "It's fine!" She exclaimed. "I've built quite the strong immune system from years of work."

Though grateful, the man shook his head. "Please, I can't do that to you—"

He continued, before getting cut off. "Don't worry, sir," a deep voice smoothly entered into the conversation. "She can sit with me."

Curious, and more accurately, surprised, Marinette turned to see a familiar face standing behind her— ALERT: Hot Park Stranger has entered your field of vision!

Spluttering, Marinette lost all sense of how to… words, only shaking her head in embarrassment.

Seemingly entertained, the older man looked up. "And who might you be?"

The stranger grinned, somewhat slyly, reminding Marinette of a Cheshire Cat. "A familiar face?" He remarked, then turned to face her. "If you remember me?"

"I- ah, yes?"

The elderly man looked at the two of them, and in a knowing glance, nodded his head. "Then I'll take you up on your offer, miss. Thank you very much."

He bowed his head down, before walking away and muttering something along the lines of, "ah, young love." (She chose to ignore it.)

After all, Marinette was frozen in place, almost unable to speak; only to feel a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Let's sit, then?"

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Tingles. Sitting with (an admittedly attractive) stranger made a thirty-year-old woman feel tingles.

That was new.

She glanced from the top of her sketchbook to peek at him, calmly typing away at his laptop. After the offer that the two would sit together, they returned to his table, working in (somewhat) comfortable silence.

He didn't attempt to start a conversation— not that she wanted him to (as she so told herself), but Marinette couldn't deny that she was a little less than enthused.

The fashionista had dressed up well that day, leagues above the pajama fiasco that was their first meeting. She had finally felt like herself, comfortably nestled into one of her original pieces, a fitted red trench coat that she liked to wear during the colder months.

She prided herself in being rather attractive too, though she was admittedly a little too shy to admit it out loud.

So, then, why wasn't he talking to her?

Grumbling softly, Marinette decided to focus on her work instead. Putting down her notebook and leaning over to get her bag, she struggled for a moment, before somehow bumping into the stranger's coffee mug, spilling its contents

All.

Over.

The.

Table.

Horrified, Marinette quickly grabbed at her things, as the liquid dripped down the desk to the floor. To her surprise, the stranger's reflexes were pretty fast, too, having picked up his laptop and other belongings before they could be damaged.

Not to say, however, that she was any less mortified.

"I'm so sorry!" She stated, head bent down in shame as one of the cafe employees came along to clean the mess. "I'll go ahead and buy you a new coffee, ohmygodIcan'tbelieveIjustdidthat—".

Only to be interrupted with sudden laughter.

"Hey, it's okay, don't worry about it." he replied. "The coffee was a little too bitter for my taste, anyway."

She looked over at the spilled coffee. "Sure, then that's why you bought black coffee?"

A shrug. "I needed to keep awake." Then, a thoughtful tap on the chin. "I prefer milk."

Marinette, to her credit, laughed. "Just plain milk?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm, like a cat, then?"

"How'd you know?" He responded, grinning. "My favorite animal."

"Suits you."

The words come out of her mouth before knowing it, and she's horrified. "I mean, uh—"

"Oh, come on, we were doing so well!" He teased, resulting in the woman's rapidly reddening face.

"Hah… sorry."

"Don't be," he chided, eyes crinkling with entertainment. "It's cute."

Cute. He called her cute.

"And," he continued. "After all, it did make a lasting expression the first time we met."

Mortified really seemed to be the word of the day.

"And I am so sorry about that," Marinette mumbled quickly, stumbling over her words all over again. "Maybe I just got some head trauma when I fell—"

"— for me?" The stranger cuts her off, teasing.

She was the color of a tomato now.

"Oh God, you remember all that?"

"Been thinking about it for weeks."

Marinette finally looked up, surprised. "You mean…"

"Yeah, I've actually been thinking about you for awhile."

Me too. She thought. "That— I didn't expect that."

"Really?" He mused. "I don't think anyone could forget someone like you."

To her credit, Marinette somehow managed not to explode into flames. "Well, thanks. I couldn't really forget you either."

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear that."

Marinette smiled, butterflies seeming to cause a storm in her stomach. "And I'm happy you remembered me."

They paused, and laughed together. Marinette found that it was comfortable to talk to him; even with all her awkwardness, he easily navigated his way through it.

It's the sudden ring of her phone that paused their conversation.

Noticing it was her secretary, Marinette apologized. "Sorry, I need to pick this up. Do you mind?"

He shook his head, and nudged his head in a gesture of approval. "Go for it."

She picked up the phone, turning away from the stranger.

"Yes, is there anything wrong?"

"Someone wants to say hello," a voice greeted, clearly not the familiar voice of her secretary.

"Nino," Marinette realized, surprised. "What are you doing at my office?"

"Just waiting for Alya to finish up work," he responded easily. "I didn't know you were taking a break today."

"Yeah, it was a little spontaneous, but I needed to work on some new designs." She glanced at her companion, comfortably taking a sip of his coffee as he swiped through his phone. "Which I should really get back to, for that matter—"

"Meow!" The sudden loud purr shocked the two on the phone.

"Is that… Tikki?"

Nino laughed. "Yeah, she looked a little bored with your secretary, so I took her out. I hope that's okay?"

"Definitely!" Marinette smiled. "Thanks Nino, I had her teeth checked earlier, so she was probably a little grumpy." Another annoyed meow. "Can you put her on the phone?"

"Sure," he replied, and with a little shuffling, managed to hear a clearly irritated cat through the phone line.

Baby voice, activated. "Hello Tikki~ do you miss me?" She teased. "How was the dentist?" An annoyed purr. Marinette giggled. "That bad, huh?" She nodded along through the call. "Don't worry, I'll leave soon and buy some of your favorite treats, okay?" Laughter. "Only the best for my baby."

After all, it was confirmed: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an unapologetic cat mom, and especially enjoyed spoiling Tikki, a unique cat breed with an even more uniquely red coat. It was love at first sight in the pet shop, and she loved the animal as much as she would've loved her own daughter:

The cause of her tendency to basically treat her pet like an actual human.

Which, consequently, led to more than a few misunderstandings.

After hanging up the phone, Hot Park Stranger was the first to break the silence. "She sounds cute."

"Yeah!" Marinette smiled, brightly. "Tikki's my baby, I love her so much."

"How old?"

"Just turned a year old a month ago! She's still pretty young, so I can't leave her alone that often."

"Ah, I definitely get that," he laughed. "Plagg demands so much attention; he's a few years older, but still an absolute handful to take care of."

"Oh, you too?" Marinette's eyes sparkled in finding a fellow cat mom (dad?). "Tikki's always complaining, you know; I'm starting to feel bad. I'm always busy with work, so she usually ends up having to stay in the care of my secretary. I just know she hates it there."

"She's not really the social type?"

"Well, not really. I just don't know anyone she could play with," Marinette sighed, rather resignedly. "I've tried setting up playdates, but they never really work out."

"How about with Plagg?" The man paused, as if in thought. "Though he's really hyperactive; if you think Tikki would be okay with that."

Marinette brightened up, excited. "Sure, that'd be great! It'd be great if she could get out more! Plagg, was it?"

The stranger laughed, then nodded. "Then let's set it up! But yeah, I'm pretty sure you saw him already."

"Huh? When?" Marinette paused, as if to look around. "I don't think they let them in here."

A curious look. "What do you mean? I've brought Plagg here before. He just isn't here today because he has school."

"Really? They never let me bring Tikki in here— wait. Did you say school?"

"Yeah," he nodded to himself. "I guess Tikki doesn't have school yet, huh? She's too young, after all."

"Wait." Marinette stopped in her tracks, attempting to wrap her mind around the information newly presented to her. "School? And I've seen him?" The gears turned. "Do you mean the kid who was with you that day at the park!?"

Her companion looked equally puzzled. "Yeah, of course. Plagg's my son."

A sudden realization, and all the pieces falling into place. "Your son?"

"Yeah," for the first time, he looked a little sheepish. "My son, Plagg. Four years old."

"Oh." The conversation paused, and they were at a standstill.

She was short-circuiting.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a cat mom. She was talking about her cat, Tikki, who just celebrated her first birthday.

She had assumed the man sitting across her was the same. But no. He was not talking about a cat.

He was talking about his literal son. As in, walks-on-his-two-legs, says-goo-goo-gah-gah, very-human, and very-not-a-cat, four-year-old son.

She didn't even have time to think about the uniqueness of her son's name. Not even the embarrassment of the misunderstanding she created.

In fact, her mind wandered somewhere else completely. He's a dad, Marinette thought to herself. And if there's a dad, there's most definitely a mom (or another dad, she wasn't one to judge). So that meant… what?

That meant that, oh God, she was very likely flirting with a taken, married, man.

Sure, she'd had her fair share of terrible dates before, from narcissistic queen bees to compulsive liars, but being an unwitting homewrecker, even if the man in question was a whole other level of attractive, was definitely one thing she didn't want to add to it.

"Sorry," the stranger finally spoke, scratching his head. "I guess he's a little too old, huh?"

Thatwasn'ttheproblemwhattheproblemisthatyou'reflirtingdespitehavingawifeorhusbandorwhatever—

She gulped it down. "Yeah," she laughed. "Sorry."

"It's fine, I'm—"

"Wait," Marinette responded, stopping him from continuing his words. "No. That's not the problem. Honestly, I don't really understand why you'd think this was okay, like, can you imagine how she'd feel if she found out—"

"Huh: who?"

"Oh, sorry, he, then?" She clarified, "well, either way, that doesn't make it okay, I mean, cheating is never okay, I'm sure you can talk through your issues and well, dragging me into this is kinda mean, don't you think?"

"Wait."

"I mean, sure I thought you were really cute but I know better than to be dragged into whatever soap opera madness you want to live and—"

"Wait."

"— I am definitely not 'the other woman' potential, I can't place myself in that kind of role —"

"Wait."

"— all that hair-pulling and he's mine! arguments definitely aren't my style —"

"Ladybug."

A pause. "What did you just call me?"

"Well," the stranger sighed, "I don't know your name, and I overheard you answer to that when the barista called you to get your order."

"Oh." Another pause. "It's Marinette."

Then, the beginning to another rant. "But you shouldn't know that because you're a piece of garbage—"

"I think… that there's been a misunderstanding here." The man stated, the ghost of a smile twitching on his lips.

"Why are you smiling this is a serious issue I am not about to date someone who's already with someone else even if you are my type—"

"Marinette," he repeated.

Tingles.

"There is no wife."

A curious glance.

"Husband, then?"

Laughter. "Nope."

A confused pause, as if to put the pieces together. "Then…"

"There's no mom in the picture, don't worry."

A cautious raised eyebrow. "Really?"

The stranger nods. "Yep," he responded, easily. Calmly. "Has been for a long time."

Marinette felt like she shouldn't pry any further.

"Oh, well, then." A beat. "That's nice."

That's nice?

She had just accused him of cheating on his apparently non-existent wife, and all she could respond with was: that's nice?

He laughed, seemingly unfazed. "Yeah, I guess it is."

An awkward pause encompassed their table.

"So…" she began. "I'm sorry for…" she moved her hands in a circular motion, "all... that."

He looked amused. "No, it's okay; I would've been confused too." Another grin. "But, what about you, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, with Tikki," he replied. "The dad out of the picture?"

"Oh!" Oh yeah, she had somehow managed to think that they were talking about their pets when apparently, they were talking about literal children.

She laughed; loudly, awkwardly, with more than a few people staring curiously at their table. "Yep, yep! There is no dad; I mean, he's been gone for a long time."

The stranger's eyes looked sympathetic. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, definitely! I didn't care about him anyway, it was like he didn't exist! Or, I mean, he definitely did exist, but it's just like—"

She was interrupted by laughter. "Yeah, I get it. You don't need to force yourself to explain." He smiled, then pursed his lips as if in thought. "So, anyway, somewhere in all that chaos, I'm pretty sure I heard you say something about dating me?"

Blush. "Oh… Well, technically, I said I wouldn't date you."

"Since I was a cheating piece of garbage." He clarified.

Embarrassment. "Well, I don't think I said that exactly…"

"Sure," he laughed. "But since I'm not that trash bag you thought I was… is the offer still on the table?"

"... Are you asking me out?" Disbelief.

"Isn't that obvious?"

"Yeah— I mean, well…" She spluttered. "I don't even know your name!"

"Adrien," he replied.

He raised his hand and offered it to her. "My name's Adrien."

She took his hand, and shook it.

Warm, it's so warm.

"Adrien," she echoed. "Suits you."

He chuckled. "Thanks. Your name suits you too." A wink. "It's cute."

She felt like melting into a puddle. He had called her cute twice now.

"So, are you free Saturday?"

Against all odds, she managed to nod.

"Great." He smiled. "We can have our playdate then, too."

And just like that, she's slapped back into reality. Oh God, the playdate.

How the hell was she going to pull that off?

"I have to go," Marinette finally stated, haphazardly stuffing her items into her bag, before quickly amending herself. "Have to take Tikki to the ve— I mean, doctor." Ripping out one of her rejected sketches, she scribbled her number, then pushed it towards him.

"My number," she shared. "If you want to text me. About the details for the playdate, of course!"

Before giving him the chance to reply, she stood abruptly, stumbled, then basically ran out the door (something that seemed to be the common theme in all their meetings so far).

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Once Marinette returned to her office, she sighed, breathless.

She found that he left her in that state pretty often.

Flopping tiredly onto the floor, a sudden meow greeted her as she entered. Marinette smiled, sitting up to put the figure on her lap. "What are we going to do about this mess, huh, Tikki?" She asked, tiredly petting her cat. "Is there any way you can transform into a human, just for a little bit?"

The indignant meow Tikki responded with said it all.

"Yeah," Marinette laughed. "I figured."

Instead of responding, Tikki stretched, raising her head, only to reveal a note carefully tucked into her collar.

"What's this, hm?" Marinette asked, curiously, before opening it.

sorry we couldn't say wait up; had to pick up trixx at the nursery. newborns are a handful. :")

but thanks for letting me play around with tikki! maybe we could trade sometimes? lol. - Nino

"Trade, huh?" Marinette mused. "Wonder what Alya would say about that."

Then, a sudden realization.

Trixx was a newborn. An actual baby.

She knew someone who needed a baby.

Something could probably be arranged.

She grinned, hugged Tikki, then grabbed her phone. She was a genius, this was a genius idea, and absolutely nothing will go wrong.

One text later, and the plan was put into motion. Something that would, in all honesty, most likely end in disaster.

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TO: ALYA
FROM: MARINETTE

hey, want to get lunch together tomorrow?

i'll pay :D

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end notes—

this chapter went… much longer than originally planned (two times as long as the previous chapters, actually). trying to make up for the late uploads ack: final/up next is the Playdate™ wheeee :^)

inspired by this prompt: "The hot single parent I'm into proposed a playdate for our kids and I happily agreed but I was actually talking about my pet please send help" AU.

thank you for reading! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～