Chapter Text
A few days had passed since Marinette had 'officially' accepted her role as superheroine.
And the girl had been finding it tiring, it left her sore and sleepy and hurt, often.
But one thing, especially, made her feel uncomfortable from start to finish of patrol and battles.
"Tikki?"
She asked, looking around the room to see where the kwami was hiding.
The small god made her way to the heroine, in a trail of sparkles.
"Yes, Marinette? Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, I just had a question."
"Of course, you can ask me anything. This is a very confusing time of your life, I'm here for you."
"Thank you. So, hm... I was just wondering if the suit could be... Changed."
The kwami raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"You want to change the suit? Why? It's very functional."
"It's a red, skin tight, polkadot body suit, Tikki."
"Yes, so?"
"So, it's extremely tight and uncomfortable."
"Marinette, fighting off villains and being a superheroine is not something that has to be comfortable. You're there to fight, not to have a party."
"Yeah, but even if it was a party, it wouldn't be an age appropriate party."
The kwami, looking slightly annoyed, floated up to look at her face.
"What do you mean, now?"
"That... It makes me look like a stripper. It's very, very tight, and shows off... Everything."
"Some of my previous chosens were prostitutes, Marinette. I'd advise you not to be too judgy."
The girl put her head against the desk she was sitting at.
"I'm not being judgemental, Tikki. Anyone can do whatever they want, work as whatever they want, and all that. But I've started seeing some... Comments, about me. Online. Not nice ones."
"Are they shaming your body?"
"No, the contrary! They are complimenting it, saying obscene things..."
And the kwami was so confused, eyebrows crunched and mouth slightly open. It was obvious there was no malice in her words, simply a completely lack of understanding of the human's point of view.
"Isn't it, like... Nice, to be complimented? I mean, you said you were really happy when that boy at school complimented your hair."
Marinette felt the need to strangle someone, but kept her cool.
"Compliments can be nice, but aren't always. When the compliments are... Obscene, and definitely inappropriate, they become harassment."
"I still don't get it. That boy complimented you and you were happy. Other people do, and you suddenly don't like it anymore?"
"Tikki, even if Adrien were to talk to me like that, I would punch him. It's completely inappropriate and just wrong, in so many ways."
"But why are you happy about your hair being complimented, but not your body?"
The girl, frustrated and angry, clapped her hand on the desk.
"Because, in general, it's not good for people to make comments on women's bodies, and being 14, I think it's sick for people to say-"
"14? You're 14?"
Tikki had flown from side to side, not being able to stay still, until she heard that particular part.
"Yes, I'm 14."
"And... Remind me at what age humans start to consider someone an adult? I always get them messed up."
"18."
"18? And you're- you're 14?"
Marinette noticed how her kwami's eyes were wide, and she kept looking at her up and down, as if she was trying to understand her age and where she stood in human development.
"I'm 14."
"Yeah, absolutely, change the suit. It's- Sorry, you can definitely change the suit, please do. I'll teach you how."
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The next patrol, Chat Noir could barely recognise his lady.
"Bugaboo? You're almost unrecognizable."
The girl, no longer in her usuaal body suit, wore a still red, looser, dress-like polka dotted clothing, which started at her shoulders and went down to her knees, her waist belted by what seemed like a black, elastic band.
The two third of her arms that weren't covered by the loose clothing, were still wrapped in a red but less pigmented body suit.
He was pretty sure that if he cared to, looking under her dress-thing, he could see the body suit stretching along her body.
That thought made him want to punch himself, though, so he moved on to other things.
Chat was pretty sure he should've been disappointed, not being able anymore to see the girl he liked in the previous suit, one much more revealing than this.
But he just couldn't feel anything but relief, especially seeing her more relaxed face.
"I decided to change up my style a bit, yes."
"Well, you look cat-tastic."
He could feel himself cringe at that, but she laughed, so the hero guessed it was still good enough.
"What made you decide on such a change?"
That made her stop smiling, and he wanted to punch himself again.
After a few moments, she spoke up.
"I wasn't comfortable with my previous suit. And... I read some things people said online. Which didn't help."
"You shouldn't listen to people on the internet, my lady. They're just losers being mean. You looked amazing in your previous suit too."
The girl looked at him pensive once again, mumbling "why does everyone think they were making fun my body?"
"What?"
"Nothing." She turned to look back at Paris. "They were just saying things that... Come on. We've repeatedly stated that we're 14. They should be put in prison for writing such things."
"I'm sorry your fans act like that. You deserve better."
Ladybug turned to him once again, uncertain.
"My fans? Didn't you read what they said about you online?"
"No, I try to keep away from socials and such."
"Well, I'm sorry to tell you, kitty, but some girls- no, women, wrote things... Way out of line. Like, jumped over the grey area straight into orange prison suits."
That... Wasn't a nice thought, he had to admit. Definitely not.
"I'm not saying you have to change your suit too," she said, this time softer, "but we have to at least speak up about this. It's unacceptable."
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"So, we can change our suits?"
"I was waiting for you to ask me that, kid. My chosens were often pretty rebels about their appearance. So, what are we thinking? Blu? Green? Spikes? Is that what you teenagers like nowadays?"
Plagg didn't seem as excited as much as he seemed.
"I was just thinking... Something more... Covering?" Adrien said, hoping for it not to be pushed down.
His father never liked it when he said what he thought about the Agreste clothing, often shutting him up or ignoring him.
He only hoped this time he'd be taken more seriously.
The kwami seemed confused, but not against it. A nice start.
"More covering? That's the first time I hear about that. People usually want their suits to look more particular or cool."
"Yeah, well. I'd like it more covering. It's extremely tight and... Revealing."
Plagg looked to him confused, then he started looking around the room, at the boy, widening his eyes more and more.
"Oh, shit. You're a child. You're a kitten."
"Actually, I'm 14-"
"Kid, I'm as old as the universe. You're a kit. Yep, we have to get you more covered up. Nothing easier, actually."
"Oh, good. Ladybug brought it up today, and I was kinda surprised, because I don't read online much, but apparently people have started commenting on me and her."
Plagg seemed alarmed, floating up to him and petting his head.
"I'm sorry you're going through this. But you're right, don't read anything online."
"Don't worry. I knew about that already, since my father's assistant, Nathalie, told me. I have had my online searches regulated for the last year."
"What do you mean by that?"
As Adrien sat on the sofa, turning on his TV, Plagg sat not far away, on the table nearby, with his cheese.
"I'm a model, you know that. And I'm pretty known in Paris. People talk. And, apparently, it's not always good or... Appropriate."
"That's sick, Adrien."
"Yeah, it can be pretty cool, although-"
"No, I meant that some people are sick. What do you mean, they say inappropriate things about you online? You're a kid! Can kids even model?"
At that, Adrien actually laughed out.
"Of course underage people can model, Plagg! Some start when they're just 3 years old."
"Isn't that young?"
"Maybe, but it's very regulated. You always have a guardian in the room with you, you can't do nude or semi-nude, you can't do pose that are too provocative, all that."
"Yeah, kit. I think that's the bare minimum. Next thing, you're gonna tell me kids can do lingerie shoots."
Said Plagg, downing a piece of Camembert in one go.
"They can. Well, we can. I've done it before."
Maybe the piece of cheese hadn't gotten to his stomach yet, because the kwami started coughing and beating his chest with a paw.
"You okay?"
"Don't change the subject. You modelled for underwear?"
"Yes, more than once, actually. It's something many people do."
"And you were comfortable with that?"
That made him hesitate. Not a good sign, definitely not.
"I wouldn't have done it if I was against that. I simply... Prefer to let photoshoots wash over me, and pass to something more enjoyable."
"Right, right... And who did you make the underwear shoots with?"
"Mr. Durand. I've worked with him for years, you know? He's a real nice guy. When it's only me and him in the room, he always makes me feel comfortable, and-"
"Wait a second." Plagg had left his cheese and was floating near the boy now. "Didn't you just say a guardian is required to be in the room at all times? Why were you alone?"
"Because Nathalie sometimes has to work on some documents for the photoshoots, and she steps out for some minutes. Nothing crazy. Plus, Mr. Durand is a friend."
"How old is he?"
"43, so he has a lot of photoshoots experience. We joke together, and he teaches me how to do some poses, and all that."
"So, you're saying that guy never made you uncomfortable, right?"
When Adrien made to respond, shut his mouth and just changed channel, Plagg knew something wasn't right.
"Adrien?"
"He's just really expansive. He likes to joke around. Sometimes those jokes are... A bit too much. But he's just joking, so-"
"So nothing, kitten. What jokes are we talking about?"
When the boy didn't answer, Plagg put himself between him and the TV.
"Fine. Just like... That I'm very beautiful, all that... And that, well- he can't wait for me to be 18, because he's been thinking about this grand nude project for a while, and I'm just the right person."
The kwami was left with his mouth open and eyes wide.
"And you told your father that, and he kicked him to the curb, right?"
"He was just joking, Plagg."
"Some people would call that harassment."
"He didn't mean it like that. He just doesn't get that saying some things isn't... Really appropriate."
"And how is that different from people online, then?"
Adrien just turned off the TV and went to the desk, obviously trying to avoid the subject.
"Leave it alone, Plagg."
"Did he make such remarks also during the underwear shoot?"
"No, he didn't. He was nice."
"I can see that, with a guardian in the room..."
The boy focused on his books for a bit, trying out a few phrases in Chinese, until he spoke out: "房间里没有法定监护人"
At that, Plagg looked up horrified.
"What do you mean, there was no guardian in the room?"
Adrien looked just as surprised.
"You know Chinese?"
"I know all languages, I'm a kwami. What do you mean, there was no guardian? Just for a few minutes to fill out paperwork as you said, right?"
The boy seemed extremely uncomfortable, but he realised there was no getting out of it.
"A couple of times, neither father nor Nathalie could come, so father asked me if I felt like going alone. And... The first time, it was supposed to be a shoot for the new campaign, but once I got there, Mr Durand had changed his mind. He said we'd do underwear shoots, to prepare for a new underwear line my father was coming out with soon. And since I had never posed for that, I would need a few rehearsals."
"And your guardian wasn't with you? You were alone."
"It's what I said."
"And that man decided to change it up at the last minute?"
"I... Guess? He was always a very intuitive photographer."
The kwami had now sat on the desk, in front of his kitten.
"And where are the photos now? Can I see them?"
"Why would you want to see them?"
"To make sure they're okay photos and not too bad."
"I'm a good model." Adrien said, puffing out his chest. "I don't do bad photos."
"I meant the kind of photos that could send that man to prison, and you're deflecting. Let me see the photos."
"I can't, Plagg."
"Why?"
"I don't have them. They were never published. Only rehearsals."
"I'm sure he sent you the shoots anyway, no? He's real nice, he wouldn't keep them to himself, right?"
The boy was tense, fiddling with his hands and biting at his lip.
"Right. Maybe he sent them to father?"
"You should ask him. Kitten, you wanna know what I think happened?"
He did not. Absolutely, 100% didn't.
But in his working years, and before, when having to deal with his father, he learnt his "no" sounded too often like "yes", and that at this point he might as well consent.
"I think that man saw there was no guardian with you, seized the opportunity, took those photos of you and kept them to himself, to- to do no one knows what."
Plagg had never been one to hold back, to stiffen the truth for someone else's peace, but... What the kwami believed that sick bastard was doing with his kitten's photos, he would never tell to him, even though it was obvious, in the boy's eyes, that they were thinking the same thing.
"It happened 2 times, Plagg. He'd have, what, over a 100 photos? I'm sure he wouldn't... He never..."
"Just ask your father, yes? He must've told him, if he was planning on doing something like that. Or at least let him know after."
And that evening, that for his luck was one of the few he was permitted to eat with his father, he did just that.
"How is work going, father?" Adrien asked, cutting up his chicken in even pieces, before setting down the knife and starting to eat.
"Very well, but I would rather not talk about it this evening."
Gabriel Agreste sounded strict, as always, annoyed and cold.
But he was still his father, and Adrien kept a small hope, in his heart, that he would listen.
"I understand, but... I wanted to know how that underwear line was coming along."
The man before him furrowed his eyebrows and frowned.
"What are you talking about, son? There is no underwear line. Why would I do it? I don't meddle in that fashion mess."
Just like that, all the air was out of the boy's lungs
"What... But, father, he said- It's not... Oh, God. No, no, it's not possible, no-"
All the air was out of the boy's lungs, and he was desperately trying to chase it back inside. How could he speak, explain to his father what happened, prove that he wasn't at fault, when he couldn't even breath?
The only thing the model could concentrate on, was the thought of those photos. Where were they? What had been of them? He had heard of models and other people being ruined by photos of them taken from lovers or others, things so far down in the past these people had forgotten about them until they clawed their way to the present.
He had just started going to school.
What would his friends think, if those photos were spread? Sure, they weren't particularly sexualised, nor was there any nudity, but the simple thought of other people seeing them, messed him up completely.
He had been so stupid!
What would father think?
Would he be angry? Ashamed, disappointed, disgusted?
Would he not care all together?
At least that question he could answer, when hands on his shoulders helped him register the fact his father, the cold statue he was, had moved quickly over, sending his own chair flying to the floor, concern and fear at the sight of his boy panicking.
Adrien could not hear what he was saying, or he could not comprehend it.
He heard yelling, and Nathalie came into the room as well.
She crouched next to the boy, still sat on his chair, with a hand on his chest where his heart was beating too fast, too strong.
And after a few minutes of slow, deep breaths, regulated by the assistant and followed by father and son, Adrien managed to calm down enough to start forming coherent thoughts again, and for the truth to be coaxed out of him.
"He said he'd- that you had already talked about it, father. That it was fine. But... It happened two times, I don't know what... And he was always so nice to me, so respectful, those times! I'm so sorry, father, I'm sorry..."
The only time the model remembered crying so much, was when his mother had disappeared.
After almost half an hour, after his story had been pulled out of him, torn apart and turned over and over, analysed in every possible way, and the boy felt as hollow as he had never felt, he was brought in a hug by his father.
"I'm so sorry, my son." He said, crying too. "I failed you. I couldn't keep you safe."
Nathalie, still on her knees before them, seemed to be the only one who had retained a bit of self control.
Or, better said, the hurt and fear she felt, had turned in anger, pure and unsettling.
"We will find these pictures, Adrien. We will find them, and destroy them. And he'll pay. I promise you this, my boy: after the shit storm we send him through, he will never work again a day in his life."
And Adrien wasn't sure what was better.
The security of being safe, the warmth of pure acceptance, or the pure, uncontaminated love he felt wrapped in.