🐞Miraculous uncut episodes - Late Night with Adrien and Marinette

⚠️Scene takes place years after the TV show events!
All characters depicted in this image, and any other, are over the age of 18.

🎞️Animated version: https://www.patreon.com/posts/129323487

The Parisian night was soft and quiet, the kind of evening where the city seemed to hold its breath, stars winking faintly above the golden glow of streetlights. Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s apartment was a cozy haven tucked above her parents’ bakery, the faint scent of fresh bread lingering in the air even at this late hour. The living room was dimly lit by a single lamp and the flickering glow of the television, casting shadows across the mismatched pillows and the worn but beloved couch where Marinette and Adrien Agreste sprawled.

They’d been friends for years, their bond forged through battles as Ladybug and Chat Noir, but tonight was different. No akumas, no masks—just the two of them, a bowl of popcorn, and a cheesy rom-com they’d picked for its guaranteed lack of depth. The movie played on, but neither was paying much attention. Marinette’s legs were draped over Adrien’s lap, her toes wiggling absently against his thigh, and he was pretending not to notice, his fingers drumming lightly on her shin.

“You’re hogging the popcorn,” Adrien teased, his voice low and playful, green eyes glinting as he leaned toward the bowl nestled against her side. His blond hair was slightly mussed, free from the gel he used for modeling shoots, and it made him look younger, softer.

Marinette smirked, pulling the bowl closer to her chest. “Maybe you’re just too slow, Agreste. Gotta be quicker than that.” She popped a kernel into her mouth, her lips curving into a mischievous grin as she crunched deliberately loud.

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” Adrien’s eyebrow arched, and before she could react, he lunged forward, his fingers diving for the bowl. Marinette squealed, twisting away, but he was faster, pinning her lightly against the couch, one hand on her wrist, the other snatching a handful of popcorn. He popped it into his mouth triumphantly, grinning down at her. “Victory is mine, Dupain-Cheng.”

Her breath caught, not because of the popcorn theft, but because of how close he was. His face hovered inches from hers, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her oversized sweater. His eyes, usually so bright and teasing, softened, lingering on her lips for a fraction too long. Marinette’s heart thudded, a familiar ache blooming in her chest. She’d loved him for so long, first as Chat, then as Adrien, but she’d never quite found the courage to cross that line.

“You’re such a dork,” she managed, her voice a little breathless, shoving at his chest to break the tension. He laughed, rolling back to his side of the couch, but the air between them had shifted, charged with something unspoken.

The movie droned on, some predictable confession scene unfolding on screen, but Marinette’s attention was on the way Adrien’s fingers brushed against her ankle, absentminded at first, then deliberate. His thumb traced a slow circle against her skin, and she shivered, her eyes flicking to his face. He was watching her, not the movie, his expression unreadable but intense.

“What?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light, though her voice wavered.

“Nothing,” he said, but his fingers didn’t stop, sliding up to her calf now, a gentle, testing touch. “Just… you’re cute when you’re all flustered.”

Her cheeks burned. “I’m not flustered,” she lied, sitting up straighter, tugging her legs back to tuck them under herself. “You’re just annoying.”

“Annoying, huh?” Adrien’s grin was pure Chat Noir now, all cocky charm. He shifted closer, his knee bumping hers. “Bet I can make you more than annoyed.”

Marinette’s pulse raced, but she wasn’t about to let him win this round. She leaned in, closing the distance until their noses almost touched, her blue eyes locked on his. “Try me, kitty.”

The nickname slipped out, a remnant of their masked days, and it did something to him. His pupils dilated, his breath hitching audibly. For a moment, they were frozen, the space between them crackling with possibility. Then Adrien moved, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “Careful what you wish for, my lady,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her head, letting her lips graze his thumb, a silent challenge. That was all it took. Adrien closed the gap, kissing her with a hunger that stole her breath. It wasn’t tentative or shy; it was years of longing poured into one moment, his lips firm and warm, tasting faintly of popcorn and something uniquely him. Marinette kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

They broke apart, panting, foreheads pressed together. “Marinette,” he whispered, his voice raw, “if you don’t want this, tell me now.”

“I want this,” she said, no hesitation, her hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “I want you.”

That was all he needed. Adrien kissed her again, slower this time, savoring her. His hands roamed, slipping under her sweater to find the soft skin of her waist, his touch sending sparks through her. She tugged at his shirt, impatient, and he chuckled against her lips, pulling back just long enough to yank it over his head. The sight of him—lean muscle, golden skin, the faint scars from their hero days—made her mouth go dry.

“Your turn,” he teased, his fingers toying with the hem of her sweater. She swatted his hand away, grinning, and peeled it off herself, revealing a simple black bra that suddenly felt far too intimate under his gaze. His eyes darkened, and he leaned in, kissing along her collarbone, slow and deliberate, his breath hot against her skin.

They took their time, exploring each other with a mix of reverence and urgency. Marinette’s fingers traced the lines of his abs, his shoulders, memorizing him. Adrien’s hands were gentle but sure, unhooking her bra with a skill that made her laugh despite herself. “Practiced much?” she teased, but her voice faltered as he kissed lower, his lips brushing the curve of her breast, then closing around a nipple, drawing a soft moan from her.

The couch became their world, a tangle of limbs and whispered names. Clothes fell away piece by piece—her jeans, his sweatpants, until they were bare, skin against skin, the heat between them almost unbearable. Adrien’s hands were everywhere, stroking, teasing, learning what made her gasp, what made her arch against him. She reciprocated, her nails grazing his back, her lips finding the sensitive spot just below his ear that made him groan.

“Marinette,” he murmured, his voice thick with need, “I want to make you feel good. Tell me what you want.”

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing despite everything they’d already done. But this was Adrien, her partner, her love, and she trusted him completely. “I want… something different,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want you… like that.”

His eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning, but he didn’t push, didn’t assume. “You sure?” he asked, his hand stilling on her hip, his gaze searching hers.

She nodded, biting her lip. “I trust you. Just… go slow, okay?”

“Always,” he promised, kissing her deeply, grounding her. He reached for the small bottle of lube they’d grabbed from her bedside table earlier, a practical touch that made her love him even more. He took his time, his fingers gentle and patient, preparing her with care, whispering reassurances against her skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice reverent, “so perfect.”

When she was ready, her body relaxed and eager, she shifted, guiding him to sit back against the couch. She straddled him, facing away, her back to his chest, the reverse cowgirl position feeling both vulnerable and thrilling. Adrien’s hands steadied her hips, his breath warm against her shoulder as he kissed her neck. “You set the pace,” he said, his voice strained with restraint.

Marinette lowered herself slowly, guided by his hands, the sensation intense but not overwhelming, thanks to his care. She gasped as he filled her, the stretch unfamiliar but exhilarating, her body adjusting to the new intimacy. Adrien groaned, his fingers tightening on her hips, but he didn’t move, letting her take control.

She began to move, tentative at first, finding a rhythm that sent shivers through her. The angle was perfect, every motion sparking pleasure deep inside her. Adrien’s hands roamed, one sliding down to tease her clit, circling with just the right pressure, the other cupping her breast, pinching her nipple lightly. “God, Marinette,” he breathed, “you feel incredible.”

Her pace quickened, confidence growing, the pleasure building like a wave. She leaned back against him, her head resting on his shoulder, his lips finding hers in a messy, desperate kiss. His fingers worked her expertly, matching her rhythm, and she felt the tension coiling tighter, her moans growing louder, unselfconscious.

“Adrien,” she gasped, her hips rocking faster, chasing the edge. He thrust up gently, meeting her movements, his own control fraying. “I’m close,” she whimpered, and he doubled his efforts, his fingers relentless, his lips murmuring encouragement against her ear.

The wave crashed, her orgasm hitting hard, her body trembling as pleasure surged through her. Adrien followed moments later, his groan muffled against her neck, his hips stuttering as he came, holding her tight. They stilled, breathless, her body slumped against his, both of them spent and sated.

For a long moment, they didn’t move, just held each other, the movie long forgotten, its credits rolling silently. Adrien kissed her shoulder, her cheek, her lips, soft and tender now. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, his arms wrapping around her.

“More than okay,” she said, smiling, turning to face him, her heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, his eyes shining, and they kissed again, slow and sweet, the night stretching out before them, full of promise.