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1. Kisses

The first time Marinette kissed Adrien, it was far from the dreamy, perfect first kisses of movies and drama serials. It was the bumping of noses, awkward smiles and whispered apologies, the fluttering of his eyelashes on her forehead, fingers laced between her own tightening their hold on her hand. She squeezed back, lifting her head to look into eyes greener than any rainforest on Earth. She raised herself up on her toes at the same time he stooped down. Lips brushed.

It wasn’t until much later that she learned that hadn’t been their first kiss at all.

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2. School Field Trip

Official lights out time had been declared four hours ago, and students sent to their cramped hotel rooms for the night. But it didn’t take long for Alya to be dragging Marinette back out into the corridors for an impromptu pajama party in the slightly larger deluxe room shared by Kim, Max, and Nathanael.

Now, as Marinette stifled a yawn and stared at the rolling credits for Treasure Planet in the darkened room, she glanced over at a weight resting on her shoulder. Smiling at the mop of golden hair bleached white by the sole light of the television, she rested her cheek on the makeshift pillow, allowing her eyes to drift closed.

The picture Alya showed them the next morning remained as Adrien’s lock screen for the next six months.

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3. Day at the Park

“Smile, Adrien! Big smile! Think of mother’s spaghetti!”

Adrien instead glanced over his photographer’s shoulder, catching sight of Marinette chatting animatedly with Alya. As if sensing the weight of his eyes on her, she glanced over at him. Their eyes met and she lit up like the Eiffel Tower, pink lips parting in an open-mouthed grin as her eyes twinkled in the midday sun, hand raised in greeting.

“Aha! That’s it, wonderful! Hold that pose!”

The smile that touched his face now came freely and lifted his head and heart high above the clouds, up in the sky almost as blue as her eyes. He couldn’t remember seeing his photographer any more excitable as he snapped photograph after photograph, the camera’s flash going off faster than lightning in a thunderstorm.

Besides, the box of what he was certain was quiche waiting beside Marinette served to give much more incentive than anyone’s spaghetti ever could.

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4. Stuck in an Elevator / Cupboard

Of all the things Marinette could have expected for her day when she woke up that morning, being locked in a cupboard with Adrien Agreste was so far off the charts of her expectations that it may as well have been in a whole other solar system. And yet, here she was, standing chest to chest and toe to toe with the most gorgeous boy she knew in a broom cupboard that couldn’t have fit many brooms, let alone two teenage humans.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hot breath fanning across the side of her neck, arms on either side of her head and elbows against the wall she had her back pressed to. She could hardly breathe—whether it was from the nervousness of having him so close or the growing stuffiness of the cupboard, she couldn’t tell—and ice in her veins had frozen her in place, but she drew comfort from the fact that at least he couldn’t see her face glowing red like a saucepan on a heated stove.

“Y-yeah,” she managed to choke out. “Never better.”

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5. School Play

Marinette met Adrien’s eyes over the piano, hollow stomach churning and knuckles white where they were clasped in front of her chest like a shield. She saw uncertainty and even fear reflected in the green of his stare, the very same things she knew he saw in her own blue. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she licked at her chapped lips, only to find her tongue just as dry. She doubted if she could even speak, let alone sing.

But the roles for the play had been cast three months ago. Adrien and her had acted out this scene at least thirty times over by now. This was it, the audience was watching live from their seats in the packed theatre. The class had practiced months for this. There should be no reason for either of them to be getting the first time jitters again. But where she once saw a golden-haired boy with a kind smile and loving nature, his image in her mind’s eye had been overtaken by a rambunctious superhero donning scandalous smirks and a black mask. Masks that kept their identities, both his and hers, safe.

Until last night.

Adrien began to play, perfectly on cue, while she remained rooted to the spot, voice frozen. The princess costume gown suddenly weighed a ton on her shoulders, and she wanted nothing more than to rip it from her body and run.

“Sing, darling, sing!” sang Rose from her ‘throne’ as per the script, jolting Marinette from her thoughts. But her eyes never left Adrien’s.

He swallowed, and she watched the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he started up the tune again. Marinette closed her eyes, willing herself to forget about those haunting green ones as she squared her shoulders. No matter what their personal issues were, she couldn’t let her entire class down now just because she’d gotten cold feet. If Adrien could keep a pretence of normalcy, so could she.

She wasn’t sure how she managed to unstick her throat through sheer willpower, but she forced a smile, deliberately relaxing the set of her shoulders even as they felt tenser than livewire. Lifting her voice in the words drilled into her memory, she began, “ Once a lass met a lad, ‘You’re a gentle one said she. ’”

Opening her eyes, she locked gazes with Adrien again, his fingers moving expertly along the piano’s keys without needing his sight to guide them. She blinked, unsure if she was seeing a golden bell and leather belt tail in place of a cravat and coattails, but continued, voice waxing stronger as she fell into the familiar routine. “ You said your love is true, and I hope that it will be. ”

Adrien stood. His fingers had stopped dancing along the piano keys, but Nino had already begun the pre-recorded music track backstage. ‘It doesn’t make sense how the music keeps going even when the prince has stopped playing, this is a dumb scene,’ she thought. Never mind that she’d never complained about it before, or that this was hardly the time to be voicing that complaint now. She forgot her train of thought as Adrien stepped toward her, taking her hand, his voice joining hers.

“ I’d be sure if I knew, that you love me for me. ”

Following his step as he led her away from the piano and towards the centre of the stage, she wobbled on jellified legs, teetering dangerously. Without so much as a breath, Adrien steadied her by seizing her other hand, his execution making it appear as if he were merely playfully pulling her along. Gripping onto his wrist, she moved into position, the gown’s obnoxiously large skirt concealing her misstep. His hand felt odd holding hers despite the countless time they’d repeated this very scene; only one person in the whole world could match her movements and cover for her mistakes so flawlessly, and she’d half-expected the feel of leather instead of bare skin.

Her voice continued the song, her feet shifting as Adrien led her into the dance, but she hardly paid either any attention. Leaving everything up to muscle memory, she focused instead on his touch on her waist, his hold on her hand. The fact that his eyes were still on hers.

Breaking the routined ingrained in her head, he drew closer, bringing them merely inches apart. A move imperceptible to the audience, viewed as a brilliant adlib by the rest of the cast—except Chloé—but enough to make Marinette start, eyes widening. His grip on her hand tightened, as if he’d read her mind and was afraid of her fleeing from him. Something in his eyes became pleading, as if begging her to listen.

To stay.

Breath caught in her throat, adjusted to continue the dance with the increased proximity, too stunned to even think about reestablishing the distance. And finding that a part of her didn’t want to anyway.

After all, it was her who had ran off that night. Both masks disintegrating into light far too soon, shockingly familiar faces taking the place of comfortable anonymity. Marinette had stood frozen on the spot, refusing to believe her eyes. At the call of her name, she’d turned and ran. Ran like a coward.

“ What you see may be deceiving ,” Adrien sang, “ truth lies underneath the skin .” Slowing the dance to a stop, he took both her hands in his. Marinette paused for the barest of a second. This wasn’t how it went. This wasn’t part of the script. But she didn’t feel like she was floundering at all. She could predict his every move, his every thought, and synchronise with him. How could she not, when she’d been doing it for as long as she had been Ladybug and he had been Chat Noir?

He held her hands in a tender grasp now, loose enough that she could pull away if she wanted. Much like how Chat would, planting a kiss on the black spot at the back of her hand. Marinette watched with bated breath, looking back into the green green eyes of the boy she loved, the eyes of her partner. Ladybug and Chat Noir were known to hold entire conversations with a single glance, and Marinette discovered that was no less true without their masks.

Is it so impossible?

Two boys, ones she once thought were very different. Faced with reality, Marinette thought her whole world changed. But now that she was back on her feet, she found that nothing had truly changed at all. She returned his smile, feeling the weight begin to lift for the first time. No, nothing had really changed. Not for either of them. Not if—

“ If you love me for me. ”

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6. Being Jealous

Nathanael was at it again.

Adrien grit his teeth, not understanding the knot in his stomach at the sight of his redhead classmate stopping Marinette to talk to her in the park, but not liking it. Neither did he understand why he reflexively dodged behind a bush so he could listen in on their conversation. Since when had he become an eavesdropper? What was he doing?

A burst of giggles escaped Marinette at something Nathanael had said, and Adrien peeked out from his hiding spot to see the other boy sporting a blush as red as his hair. Adrien’s mouth went dry, his fingers curling into fists to remind himself that dashing out now to come between them and shove them apart was not rational and far from appropriate. Adrien screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, and resolved himself to walk away and forget it all. After all, only Chat Noir would be able to get away with something like that without having to explain himself—

“—and so, um, if it’s okay with you, Marinette, if you’re not too busy tomorrow, I was hoping we could—”

Adrien dove back behind the cover of the bush.

“Plagg, transform me!”

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7. Dealing with Jealous People

Adrien suppressed a sigh for the third time that morning as he squirmed in his seat to avoid the embrace of one Chloé Bourgeois. She persisted anyway, as she always did, having no concept for personal space as she wormed herself into his seat with him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Cooing, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. Glancing over at Nino in a silent plea for help, Adrien caught the sight of his best friend making a show of retching into his hat. No help to be found there.

Then the door opened.

Adrien’s eyes shot to the figure in the doorway to find Marinette standing stock still, eyes locked on his, before they darted to the blonde girl trying to fuse herself to his right arm. Her eyes narrowed while his own went wide, mouth parting to give an explanation that would never be voiced.

Marinette closed the distance in two quick strides, prying Chloé’s arms off of him as easily as if they were noodles before grabbing onto his collar. Before he could so much as quip a greeting, she reached over the desk to pull his lips onto hers.

Adrien had imagined other ways they could have made their relationship public, but he found he couldn’t argue with how it really had gone down and not even Chloé’s screaming fit afterwards could deter him from that thought.

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8. Acting Like Their Alter Egos

“Here, you have to squeeze the bag and angle it like this to get the batter out evenly.”

“Oh! Like this?”

“Yeah, you’re doing great!”

Toiling away in the sweltering heat of the Dupain-Cheng bakery, Marinette and Adrien worked with a multitude of little bowls containing batter of a myriad of colours. When Adrien had walked in that morning to invite Marinette for a morning walk around the park, only to find his girlfriend hard work helping her father with a commission of macarons to be delivered that afternoon. Before she could wave him off with the promise of a meeting later that night on her balcony instead, she was already past the counter and wrestling on one of the aprons, eager smile on his face.

Marinette put down her piping bag at the same time Adrien finished the last disc of mint green batter. “Bien joue!” they said in unison, bumping their fists together with cheery grins. Adrien made a show of piping the contents of his piping bag into his mouth, Marinette laughing and smacking his arm before picking up the filled trays.

“All right, looks like they’re all set! Now we’ll just prepare the final batch while I leave this on the counter to set then bake. With a bit of luck, we’ll be done with the baking within the hour.”

Wiping his hands on his apron, Adrien turned to quirk an eyebrow up at her. “We don’t need luck. All we knead is love.”

Marinette’s fond smile transformed into a scowl. “Adrien.”

His smile grew wider. “Yeeesss?”

“No.”

“But My Lady,” he crooned, leaning in close and making his smouldering eyes at her that would have had her unsteady on her feet in any other situation. But not this one. “Don’t you think you’re making much ado about muffin?”

“Oh my god,” Marinette groaned at the ceiling, poking his nose and pushing him away before turning from him and retreating into the pantry.

“Princess, wait!” he called after her, voice shaking with laughter. “I know it’s cheesy, but I feel grate!”

“You come into my house—!”

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9. At the Pools

In the water with a modest two-piece swimsuit and goggles, Marinette was just as agile as she was on the Parisian rooftops donning a spotted bodysuit and mask. But unlike being on Parisian rooftops, crystal clear droplets rolled down Marinette’s exposed alabaster skin, her navy blue hair made darker from the wet and draped about her bare shoulders like a bolt of satin. Adrien stared, transfixed, as she climbed out of the pool. With her head turned, engrossed in animated conversation with Alya, she didn’t notice how his eyes trailed her form, the way he stared as she gathered her hair over one shoulder to towel it dry. Mesmerised, Adrien followed the trail of a single crystalline droplet as it dripped from her hair and down her slender neck and—

“Looking pretty thirsty there, bro.”

Adrien whipped his gaze back around, praying that the heat about his cheeks didn’t look as bad as it felt.

“J-just shut up, Nino.”

His best friend’s guffaws followed him all the way into the locker room.

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10. Picnic

Maybe it was the warm afternoon sun, or the fact that Marinette’s quiches were the best in all of Paris, but Adrien was experiencing a level of contentment he hadn’t had in a long time.

“Sleepy, minou ?”

Blinking blearily, Adrien’s lips lifted in a smile as he turned to look at her. “Just a bit, Princess.”

She laughed, light blush colouring her cheeks as she did, and Adrien decided then and there that it was a sound he wanted to hear for the rest of his life. Curling her legs under her, she patted her lap.

“Go on, then. Some shut-eye might do you some good. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

“But …,” he mumbled in protest, struggling to open his eyes again after a long blink. “I finally got an hour free from my schedule, and I was supposed to spend some time with you ….”

“Silly kitty,” she said, shaking her head as she reached forward to tug at his sleeve. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

He relented with a mock huff, letting her pull him down onto the picnic blanket. Laying down and resting his head on her lap, he let out a pleased hum.

“So bossy,” he murmured as his eyes slipped closed, unable to keep them open any longer. He fumbled blindly in the grass until his hand found hers, intertwining their fingers.

“Sleep,” she commanded, her free hand brushing the bangs from his face and ghosting over his forehead. “You deserve it.”

He was already drifting off, dreaming of a lifetime beside this very girl and hearing her laugh that laugh every day.

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11. Making the Other Blush

Of course it had to rain on their first official date.

Marinette sighed, pulling out her hair ties and wincing as they ripped at her dripping pigtails. Squeezing the water out of them, she watched as Adrien took off his shoes, upending one of them to release a splash of water at his feet. On any other day, she would have thought it romantic for the rain to be witness to two milestones in their relationship, but not on a day when they both didn’t have umbrellas.

“Just our luck, huh?” said Adrien, turning to her with an apologetic grin, running his fingers through his own fringe from where dampened locks plastered flat over his forehead.

“You mean your luck, you black cat,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him. He stopped when he caught sight of her. Then stared. And stared. And stared.

Shooting him a quizzical look as she wrung out her jacket, she asked, “What? Do I have something weird on me?”

At her question a scandalised look crossed Adrien’s face, and he turned away from her so quick she swore she heard his neck crick in protest.

“M-Marinette,” he said, the rare stutter almost drowned out by the drumming of the rain. “Y-your shirt, i-it’s ….”

Realisation hit at the same time Marinette looked down, the sight of her white T-shirt made translucent from the rain only confirming her fears. She let loose a noise somewhere between a squeak and a shriek, slapping her still-damp jacket over her front to cover up her just-visible baby pink bra.

“I am so so sorry,” whispered Adrien, tone laced with hollow mortification. She gathered the courage to look back at him and was met with the sight of his back, his face inches away from the wall. From her position, the glowing scarlet of his ears was impossible to miss. “I didn’t mean to see, Marinette, I swear!”

She shook her head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see what she was doing. “That’s okay, it’s not like you don’t know what my body looks like already, what with us jumping around Paris in skin-tight bodysuits.”

She paused, ice clenching around her brain before her words came back to hit her like a boomerang as fire exploded across her face and burned at her skin. Marinette gave a shrill, drawn out squeal and covered up her face, but not before seeing Adrien’s ears turn a red twenty shades darker than before.

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12. Adrien’s Fangirls/boys

Murmurs greeted them the minute the door of their limo opened, the flashing cameras of the tabloids and press as well as the sheer size of the crowd becoming an instant blur of faces. Amidst the gaggle of younger people from the crowd who could only be members of his fanclub, a chorus of cheers, squeals, and swooning sighs reached Marinette’s ears when Adrien stepped out. Her date for the night nodded his thanks to the doorman before turning to her and extending a hand. In the evening night illuminated by the bright lights of the Carrousel du Louvre, his hair shone like a halo about his head, the black and white suit he wore complementing the periwinkle blue pocket square made to match her dress.  

She bit her lip, the week’s earlier excitement at being invited to one of Paris’s biggest fashion events of the season long since melted away to be replaced by tingling nerves. At Adrien’s encouraging smile, she took his hand, letting him help her out of the vehicle.

A hushed silence fell over fanclub, press, and other attendees at the sight of Marinette, a stark contrast from the bubble of activity a moment before. Marinette felt the weight of every eye on her as the skirt of her dress fell its full length to brush the back of her heels, the familiar feel of the silk she’d spent weeks sewing, embroidering, and beading a welcome comfort on her skin.

“Everyone’s staring,” she whispered, taking his offered arm as they strolled down the carpet.

“I’m not surprised,” he said, giving her a beaming smile that took what was left of her breath away. “You’re astoundingly beautiful tonight, why wouldn’t they stare?”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, Marinette cast her eyes down at her hand on his elbow. “I-I don’t think your fanclub is very happy.”

“Maybe not, but I am.”

Plucking up what courage she could, she kept pace as they passed the gaggle of youths, stunned into silence. “Oh, really?” she asked, looking up to meet his eyes.

Only to find him staring too.

“I have My Lady right beside me, how could I not be?”

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13. Playing Sports / Gym

“This is hardly fair!”

“All’s fair in love and war, Marinette.”

“Yeah? Well, this is neither!”

With a quick jab to stop her in her tracks, Adrien exploited her distraction. Darting forward with the sabre again, he hooked the tip through the guard of hers and flicked, sending it flying through the air. Disarmed, she could do nothing to stop him from twirling his sabre with a flourish and making an entirely over-dramatic show of stabbing at her heart.

Lifting up her fencing mask so she could send him a withering glare, she crossed her arms. “When I agreed to help you practice for the regionals, I wasn’t signing up to get trounced! You’re just showing off.”

He laughed, removing his own mask, doubling over when her scowl deepened. “But Princess!”

“Don’t ‘but princess’ me, Adrien Agreste!” she snapped, turning away to storm off, leaving her sabre abandoned on the ground. Still laughing, he ran after her.

“Aw, are you being butt-hurt, Princess?”

The look on her face was priceless. “ Adrien! ”

He still laughed about the ‘training incident’ for the rest of the week. And though Marinette grouched to their friends how big of a cheater he’d been, he couldn’t help but notice the almost imperceptible upward quirk of her lips every time it was brought up.

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14. OMG, Buff Children!

“Anything you can lift, I can lift higher!”

“Adrien, not now. Please,” Marinette muttered, her brows furrowed as she threaded a needle. “This jacket should have been finished yesterday, and I’m only just starting on the hemming—”

“I can lift anything higher than you!” Adrien, the golden-haired love of her life, lifted himself up on his knees from his position on her chaise. Adrien, the golden-haired love of her life, whom she felt very much like throttling right at this moment.

Instead of throwing her pincushion at him, Marinette set down her half-finished double-breasted dress suit with deliberate slowness. Two could play at this game.

“No, you can’t,” she declared, spinning her swivel chair around to cross her arms and turn up her nose at him.

“Yes, I can!” He smirked, flipping his fringe in a well-practiced toss of his head as he flexed his arms.

“No, you can’t!”

“Yes, I can!”

“No, you can’t!”

“Yes, I can!”

“No, you can’t!”

“Prove it,” she said, propping an elbow on her desk, hand in the air and fingers slightly curled. With her other hand, she beckoned, a clear challenge.

Adrien’s cocky smirk immediately dropped. Cowed, he sat back down on the chaise. Not without starting a silent pouting fest, but he was finally silent.

Marinette smiled, face serene and free of creases, turning back to her work. “Smart boy.”

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15. Different Era (20’s, 50’s, Pre/Revolution)

Standing by the edge of the pier, Marinette fought to keep from being pushed over as the crowd pressed in on all sides, everyone present desperate for a glimpse of a loved one. France’s soldiers were finally returning from the war, hailed as heroes for their service to the motherland. But that mattered nothing to anyone here unless they saw their son, fiance, or parent back and alive and safe.

Excited cries and tears grew into a cacophonous din as friends and family recognised each other, breaking away from the crowd and exchanging words and affections months in the waiting. She watched as parents hugged their children, couples holding onto each other as if afraid the other would disappear, kids clinging onto their father’s necks and squealing for joy as they were lifted high in the air, as wives stepped forward to press tearful kisses on their husbands. Marinette fidgeted, the simple band around her finger like a leaden weight on her hand, growing heavier with each passing minute she didn’t see a head of golden hair.

As more soldiers filed from the ship, the crowd grew thinner and thinner, those who remained growing increasingly anxious. Marinette was no exception, jiggling a leg and wringing her hands as she worried her bottom lip. Hoping, praying, not even daring to think—

Then there he was, walking—or rather, limping—down the ramp and stepping onto the pier. Adjusting the weight of his rucksack on his shoulder, his head swivelled around, green eyes she’d missed so dearly scanning the crowd. For her.

He was finally home.

“Adrien!” she cried, surging forward, heart expanding so many times over in her chest she thought it might burst before she reached him. But he turned, their eyes met, and the smile that transformed his face could have rival the sun as she ran into him, arms clutching at him in a vice grip that promised never to let go.

Something in his eyes had changed. This was not exactly the same Adrien who had left France months ago. He’d come back a changed man; they all had. War changed people, Marinette knew. What he’d seen and heard and sensed would remain with him till the end of his days.

But so would she.

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16. In 10 Years / Aged Up

Adrien woke, groaning in vague protest at being roused. He squinted for the digital clock by his bedside, making out read digits informing him it was only two in the morning. Plenty more time to sleep.

Grunting, he rolled over, extending an arm over the other side of the bed, only to find cold, empty sheets. Comprehension hit him a full second later.

Heaving a sigh, he hauled himself out of bed, dragging his feet across the carpet of their penthouse as he stifled a yawn. Making his way out of the bedroom, he shuffled into the study next door, nearly cracking his head on the doorframe in the process.

“ Minou? ”

Marinette glanced over her shoulder from where she sat at the huge mahogany desk, surrounded by sketches of what looked like concepts for the new fall collection. She smiled, lowering her pencil. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Without a word, he shuffled over and draped himself over Marinette’s shoulders, resting his chin on her head as his eyes drifted closed.

“Come t’ bed,” he grumbled, arms snaking around her shoulders. “You’re working too hard, you’re goin’ t’ burn yourself out.”

She sighed, her tone sounding partway between affectionate and exasperated. “Adrien, I’ve literally got one more coat design to polish up—”

“Beeed,” he wheedled again, hugging her tighter.

Another huff, but this one tinged with amusement. “All right, all right,” she relented, reaching up to pat him on the head as her other hand flicked off the desk lamp. “If it’ll make you stop being such a needy cat.”

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17. Life Swap (Marinette Agreste / Adrien Dupain-Cheng)

Ducking into the nearest shop, Marinette darted behind the display window. Not a moment too soon the Gorilla appeared on the other side, striding down the pavement. She watched, hardly daring to breathe, until the hulking man walked past the door, beyond the vantage point of the other window and out of sight.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Marinette relaxed, shoulders slumping. Nathalie would be stern with her for absconding again and she would be late for piano lessons, but was ten minutes of space to just breathe too much to ask?

Straightening, Marinette finally took a look at the shop she’d taken refuge in. It was a bakery, plain white trays piled with croissants, brioches, pain au chocolats, éclairs, and dozens of other pastries lined the shelves in neat rows. Nobody else was in the room but her; even the shopkeeper seemed to be absent. It was little wonder, with the stifling summer heat beating down on the streets she was probably the only person in Paris who would willingly ‘take a walk’ in this weather. But the shop was mercifully air-conditioned, the cool air lifting the heat from her skin. Her neck exposed by the bun on top of her head, she was cooling down fairly quickly.

The tantalising aroma of warm caramel, vanilla, and fresh-baked bread incited a rumbling noise from her stomach, and Marinette was reminded that the photoshoot had already made her late for lunch and she still hadn’t eaten anything yet. Strolling through the aisles against her better judgement, she came to a stop in front of a display case, holding rows upon rows of fluffy, perfectly marbled mille-feuille. Beside them, macarons of every colour of the rainbow lay in neat rows organised by shade. A little note in loopy writing said, ‘Six to a box!’ Eyeing the decadent pastries, Marinette’s mouth began to water.

When was the last time she’d been allowed to have sweets?

A thumping crash jolted her from her reverie, and Marinette jerked her head up to see a man dash through a doorway at the back to trip into the counter. No, not a man, she realised, a boy. He looked about her age, with tousled blond hair and the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. He winced, rubbing his middle, before looking up at her and cracking a smile.

“S-sorry about that, I was in the kitchen icing a new cake and didn’t hear you coming in.”

“That’s okay,” she said, giving him a smile in return. “I’ve only just walked in anyway.”

“So, uh,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron, ‘Dupain-Cheng,’ emblazoned over its front. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh!” she gasped, eyes darting back to the macarons before she reluctantly tore them away. “I ….”

Her dietician would kill her—and maybe father too, if he ever cared enough to find out. Nathalie would already be lecturing her for slipping away once she got back, let alone if she were to have an unauthorised snack that wasn’t in the schedule. The piano teacher would be grouchy at being made to wait, and she likely would have no appetite for dinner. It wasn’t really a good idea.

“Can I have a box of those?” she asked, pointing to the macarons. To heck with it, she’d face the music later. Macarons now.

“Sure,” he said, plucking a pair of tongs from a rack on the counter and sliding open the display case. “What colours?”

“Umm,” she said, hand on her chin. Seven colours, but she could only pick six.

The boy laughed, deftly picking up one of each colour. “Here, have an extra. On the house.”

Her eyes widened, so did his grin. “But—!”

“It’s okay, really,” he said, boxing up the macarons and ringing up the register. “Besides, you look like you need it.”

“I-I do?”

“Yeah,” he said, passing her the box. “Listen, it’s super hot out there and you look like you could use a rest. How about you stay for a bit? It’s my break time anyway, and I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Marinette Agreste of fifteen minutes ago would have smiled and politely declined, before excusing herself and walking out the door. Marinette Agreste of fifteen minutes ago would never would have thought of the blond boy again, too swamped with her life in juggling private lessons and image consultants and modelling. Marinette Agreste of fifteen minutes ago could never remember ever having someone ask if she was okay, or show any concern for her wellbeing that didn’t go beyond professional obligation. But here it was, coming from a complete stranger.

She smiled. “That sounds great!”

He invited her to sit behind the counter with him, fetching glasses of cold water and a croissant for each of them despite her protests. He brushed them off, insisting until she accepted them. Then they talked. And talked. And talked.

Time seemed non-existent to Marinette in that little space behind the counter of a little bakery in Paris. She found out a lot of things about him; that he was the son of the couple who owned the bakery, that he attended lycée at Collège Françoise Dupont, that he mained the Black Cat in Ultimate Mecha Strike 3. For the first time since she could remember, Marinette felt at ease. All thoughts of appointments and meeting and lessons fled her mind, falling from her like released shackles. She could talk to someone her age who wasn’t Chloé, she could ask what school was like, how fun it was to have friends learning the lessons together, how busy early mornings in the bakery were in order to get everything organised and ready for the first customer to walk through the door. She could laugh, and she laughed more than she had in the past few years.

For the first time since her mother’s absence, she was free.

Then the shrill notes of her ringing phone shattered the illusion.

“Oh, I guess that’s my warning cue,” she said, looking dejectedly at Nathalie’s name flashing on the screen before returning the phone to her purse.

“Aren’t you going to take that?” asked the boy, swallowing the last bite of his croissant. She shook her head.

“No, I already know what she’s going to say, anyway.” Marinette rose to her feet, giving him an apologetic smile. She’d better head back now, before Nathalie had a seizure and tried to ring up a missing person's report to the police. “I’m really sorry, but looks like I have to go now.”

“No worries! It was fun chatting with you. We should play UMS3 online sometime,” he said, getting up as well. “How are you getting back, though? It’s pouring.”

Marinette paused, uncomprehending, before snapping her head around to look out the display windows. Where there was blistering sun and scorching hot cobblestone when she’d entered the shop, now grey rain pelted the road, water streaming down the pavement and forming puddles the size of dustbin lids.

She sighed. Of course, it was just her luck. The rational part of her mind told her she could simply call the Gorilla to come and pick her up, but the conscious part of her mind making the decisions declared that she would walk back home, rain or no.

“My house isn’t that far, I won’t get too badly wet.” Who was she kidding? She was going to get drenched.

He seemed to believe her as much as she believed herself, sending a short scowl before uttering a disapproving, “Wait here.” Before she could say anything in response, he’d disappeared back into the kitchen.

She barely had time to question what he was doing before he was back, a black umbrella in his hand. He thrust it at her.

Saying nothing, she eyed it warily before trailing her eyes back up to look at his. He only smiled. His hand extended further.

It was just an umbrella, an ordinary one in a dull colour that could be purchased from any convenience store in Paris. But never had one umbrella made her heart flutter in her chest like it was doing now.

An eternity seemed to pass before she reached out, grasping at the offered handle. As his fingers released his hold on it, they brushed against the back of her hand and Marinette imagined she could feel her skin burn where they’d touched.

“But then … won’t you be missing an umbrella?” she asked belatedly, already holding onto it as he clasped his hands behind his back.

He quirked a smile at her, one that Marinette was fast deciding was the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen on any person she knew. “Then you’ll just have to come back one day to return it, right?”

Blinking once, she stared at him. Then her face broke out into an uncontrollably goofy smile. “Then I’ll be back when I can!”

“Okay, guess I’ll be seeing you around, Miss …?”

“Marinette,” she answered him, picking up her box of macarons and stepping away.

“Adrien,” said the boy, reciprocating with a bow. “Now I cannot keep the princess at the ball any longer, can I?”

That elicited another giggle from her as she opened the door, the pattering rain accompanying her parting words. “Maybe next time, hot stuff.”

Without waiting to see his reaction, she fled, opening the umbrella and darting across the road. The umbrella shielded her from the torrential downpour, the rain-chilled air crisp on her skin, but the heat in her cheeks driving away the cold. She’d said it, she actually said it. What on earth had gotten into her? Flustered, she walked faster, her feet carrying her back to the Agreste manson.

It wasn’t until two blocks later did she realise she hadn’t paid for the macarons.

Oh, she was definitely going to have to go back to that bakery soon.

Chapter Text

18. Crush Swap

Marinette scrolled through the latest images Alya had uploaded to the Ladyblog, sitting in her chair waiting for afternoon classes to begin. Each time Chat Noir’s visage graced her screen, she had to fight down an adoring sigh. She hadn’t had much opportunity to talk to him after this morning’s akuma, what with their Miraculouses being dangerously close to timing out. Not that it had stopped her from trying—only to devolve into frazzled nerves and stuttered sentences until her earrings beeped their final minute warning and she’d fled the scene.

Sighing, she suppressed the urge to slam her head on the table. He must have thought Ladybug was a complete weirdo.

“M-Ma-Mari-Marinette?”

Glancing up from her phone, Marinette looked at none other than Adrien Agreste as he stood by her desk, a smattering of pink dusting his cheeks and hands clasped behind his back. He refused to meet her gaze, emerald green eyes darting at every spot of interest except her. He did this all the time she was nearby, something that confused Marinette. She smiled, hoping to put him at least a little more at ease.

“What is it, Adrien?” she asked, lowering her phone and giving him her full attention. The blond only flushed harder, face turning red as he shuffled his feet. Was he having a fever?

“Um, I was … er, tomorrow, t-t-t-t-the—I mean, um, w-will you—d-do you think—”

From the peripheral of her eye, Marinette thought she caught movement and a hiss of a voice that sounded like Nino’s, but she paid them no attention.

Adrien straightened as if snapping to attention. “Tickets!” he blurted.

Before she could ask him what he meant, he’d whipped his hands from behind his back, brandishing a pair of glossy rectangular papers at her. Marinette started, eyes wide. She could have recognised Jagged Stone’s font anywhere.

“Concert! Jagged Stone’s! Tomorrow night!” Adrien burst out in increments, still going redder by the second. “With me? W-will you go, I mean? With me, I mean?”

Marinette blinked, twice, processing his words. Once she’d done so she broke into a beaming grin. “Of course, I’d love to go with you!”

His head snapped to her, brilliant green eyes finally meeting hers as they went as wide as saucers. “Y-you would?” he asked, incredulous.

She nodded, enthusiasm showing. “Yeah! Let’s exchange phone numbers so we can arrange where to meet?”

“Y-y-yeah,” he said, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. As Marinette keyed in her contact into Adrien’s phone she smiled. With this new development, maybe she’d come to be his friend. If he’d only let her.

Chapter Text

19. Favourite AU

The door swung shut behind Marinette as she entered, the tinkling bell announcing her arrival. Dimly lit, the shop smelled of must, the dusty furniture and floorboards further lending it an antique air as if she’d just stepped back several hundred years in time. She stepped deeper into the shop, her robes brushing over her ankles as she looked around. Rows upon rows of shelves filled the shop, lining the walls and dominating the space, stretching up to the ceiling several metres high and spaced so closely together that the aisles barely had space enough for one person to pass between them. Filling up the shelves, packed so tight they seemed full to bursting, were long thin boxes, each tied shut with a length of string.

Wands, thousands of them. And one of them was hers.

Something whizzed past her face, narrowly avoiding her left ear and hitting the door behind her with a loud bang like a gunshot and a shower of angry red sparks. Marinette yelped, flinching away from what she now realised was a wand as it dropped to the ground and rolled along the floor.

“S-sorry! Are you all right?”

Jerking her head up, Marinette saw a boy with blond hair and wide green eyes donning perfectly fitted black robes much like hers, clutching a wand in his white-knuckled hand. A pile of tumbled wands lay at his feet, another mountain of them piled high on an overstuffed armchair. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, I swear! I was just—”

“Perfectly normal, perfectly normal,” said a new voice, and Marinette had to bite back a scream as she caught sight of an elderly man with wild hair white as snow plucking the wand from the  boy’s hand with bony fingers. He blended so well with the rest of the shop, she hadn’t noticed he was there until he moved.

The man, obviously the wandmaker himself, placed the rejected wand together with its fellows on the armchair before stooping over to pick another from the fallen pile. “Not unusual for someone to lose a limb or two during wand choosing—” beside him, the boy blanched, “—though I would admit nothing of that sort has happened in my shop for quite a while. Ah! Try this one, boy; dragon heartstring, vine, eleven and a half inches. Fairly springy. Go on, give it a twirl!”

Glancing up at Marinette, the wandmaker gave Marinette a toothy smile—or, it would have been toothy if he had much teeth left to be toothy with. “Just a moment, dear. I’ll be with you once this chap is finished up.”

Nodding mutely, Marinette backed herself into a corner, wary for more flying objects but watching closely. With any luck, her mother would be done sorting out her packages at the post office and would be rejoining her before her turn came.

The boy glanced at her, back ramrod straight and shoulders held stiffly. Turning his attention back on the wand in his hand, he deliberately aimed it in a different direction and flicked his wrist.

A deafening bang cracked the air like a whip, a burst of white light shooting from the wand to strike the umbrella stand which exploded. Marinette let out a shrill screech, ducking to avoid getting brained by a black umbrella as it sailed through the air. It smashed into the collection of photographs on the wall instead, shattering glass and knocking the frames loose, the photographs’ occupants sent tumbling within their photos as they fluttered to the ground.

“Sorry!” squeaked the boy again, hurriedly putting down the wand. “M-maybe I should just—”

“No matter, no matter,” said the old wandmaker cheerfully, seeming not bothered at all at the steady destruction of his shop. Replacing another wand in the boy’s hand, he stepped back and clapped his hands together with an eager grin. “Try this one, then! Phoenix feather and cypress, thirteen inches. Go on, try, try!”

Sighing, the boy looked down at it before waving it half-heartedly through the air. Marinette grimaced, tensing herself to dive for cover at a moment’s notice.

A wave of warmth rushed through the shop emanating from the wand, washing over Marinette like a summer wind. She gasped as something large and black as midnight shot from the wand tip, hovering in the air. She had time to catch a glimpse of a cat-like wavering form before it leapt at her. Screaming for the second time in five minutes, she scrambled away, tripping over the black umbrella still lying on the ground and toppling over backwards even as the ghostly cat vanished in a puff of butter yellow daisies over her head.

Flailing as she fell, her hand brushed against something long lying on the ground. She instinctively grasped onto it in a frantic attempt to stop her fall. A shower of pink and white sparks exploded across her vision, and all at once a horde of buzzing ladybugs was flying through the cramped airspace of the shop. Grouped together like a school of fish, they flowed through the aisles and drifted in lazy circles around their heads, wings buzzing. Stunned, sitting on her backside on the floor, Marinette’s gaze dropped to her hand, where her fingers clutched the wand from earlier—the one that had almost hit her across the face. The very same one that still had live ladybugs streaming from its tip.

Gasping, she gave the wand a sharp jerk, the stream of ladybugs cutting off as suddenly as it had come. The remaining ladybugs in the room fluttered about for a moment longer, lost, before disappearing in another shower of pink and white sparks.

“Bravo, bravo!” Marinette jumped as the wandmaker applauded, beaming at the boy and then at her as he approached. “Congratulations, both of you! It seems as if you have finally met your destined wands!”

Stooping to touch a fingertip to the wand in Marinette’s frozen hand, he said, “Now, my dear, this one; phoenix feather ….”

Trailing off, the wandmaker’s joyful face transformed into one of wonder as he stared harder. For a moment, he said nothing, merely staring. Then his eyes lifted to the boy, who started and stood a little straighter.

He turned back to Marinette, muttering now, though she wondered if he was speaking to her or to himself. “Phoenix feather and willow, fifteen and a quarter inches. Rather longer than average, but perfect in the hands of the right witch.” Straightening, he looked between her and the boy again, both of them too bewildered to do much than stare as the wandmaker smiled.

“Curious,” he said, gathering their wands from them and plucking their respective boxes from the pile on the chair, bringing them to the counter. Marinette still hadn’t moved. “Curious, curious, curious,” he continued to murmur, wrapping the boxes in brown paper.

“E-excuse me, sir,” said the boy, “but what’s curious?”

Looking up at him, the wandmaker only smiled wider. “ Priori incantatem ,” he said simply.

“What?” asked Marinette from her position on the floor, unfreezing her throat enough to force her voice out.

The old wandmaker laughed, shaking his head.“Oh, I’m sure you two will find out one day, in your own time.”

Marinette’s mother entered the shop just then, and the boy quickly paid for his wand and excused himself. As Marinette exchanged seven gold Galleons for her new wand and left the shop with her mother with the promise of celebratory cake when they got home, she could still hear the old wandmaker muttering to himself, “Curious, curious, curious.”

Chapter Text

20. Akumatized

Light flashed over Marinette’s eyes, waking her from a slumber she didn’t remember slipping into. Warmth raced up her chilled body beginning from her toes, to her knees, to her hips. A dark veil she’d never noticed enveloping her fell away, allowing her senses to return in a rush like a waterfall. The first thing she noticed was that she was kneeling on a platform at the top of the Eiffel Tower, high above any area accessible to the public. The second was that someone had her wrapped up in a crushing hug, solid arms curled around her ribs and a head of dishevelled blond hair pressed against her cheek as a familiar voice sobbed into her shoulder, dampening her jacket.

“A-Adrien?” she called, tentative, stunned. “But—how—I don’t—w-what happened?”

He only hugged her tighter, the sobs wracking his frame so close to her that she found herself trembling with him. Or was that just her?

“Marinette,” he choked out between shuddered gasps. “Marinette, Marinette, Marinette.”

His voice cracked, her heart breaking along with it to hear him in such misery. Her hands reached up, stroking his hair and curling an arm around his back. “Shh,” she said, leaning her head into his. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, face still buried in her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Marinette.”

“Shh,” she repeated, taking him into her arms and pressing her face into his soft hair so wouldn’t see the tears streaming down her face. “It’s okay, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m here. I’m here.

“It’s okay.”

Chapter Text

21. Gender Swap

Marin had nice hands, Adrienne decided, as she watched him hard at work at the sewing machine from where she lay sprawled over his chaise lounge. They were larger than hers, his fair skin enhancing the elegant bone structure. Long digits tapered into pink nails he always kept neatly trimmed back. They moved with an expert grace akin to a ballerina as his hands danced over the gleaming velveteen, slipping out of the needle’s path as he hemmed the bodice the way he wanted. The bodice for her dress, the dress he was making for her, the one she would wear to the charity ball a fortnight from now.

“You know you shouldn’t be in here,” he said with an air of disapproval, interrupting her thoughts. Shooting her an accusing stare over one broad shoulder, he continued, “I told you, you’re not allowed to see the dress until I’m done with it.”

Pulling her features into an expression of mock hurt, she pouted. “But I like watching you work.”

‘And watching you in general,’ she mentally added, biting her tongue to keep from saying it out loud.

Marin sighed, pointing to the trapdoor. “Out, kitty cat. I need to concentrate. I’ll be done with this bit in a few minutes and we’ll eat something together.”

“Meanie,” whined Adrienne,  sticking her tongue out at his back even as she shuffled over to the trapdoor. She’d hardly raised it and put her foot on the first step when Marin let out a sharp hiss.

“What happened?” she demanded, letting the trapdoor crash back down as she dashed to his side, eyes wide. He was still seated in his chair, holding his left index finger inches from his nose as he pinched at the fingertip. A pinprick of red like a bead of liquid ruby appeared on his creamy skin.

“Nothing,” he griped, popping the injured finger in his mouth. “Just a little prick, happens all the time. It’ll go away in—H-hey! What are you doing?”

“Kissing it better,” answered Adrienne simply, yanking his hand away from him with a mischievous smile.

“That’s not sani—”

Adrienne pressed a light kiss to the injury, delighting in the way Marin’s face glowed as red as the welt forming on his finger.

Yes, Marin really did have nice hands.

Chapter Text

22. Protective

It only took one look at Adrien’s face for Marinette to know something was wrong.

“Adrien?” she called, stepping out from behind the counter and throwing off her apron. “Are you all right?”

Adrien didn’t move from his place in the bakery’s doorway, hand still holding the door open and letting in a draft on wintry air that stung her cheeks. The blue scarf she’d made for him the year before was wrapped around his neck and concealed lower half of his face, but doing nothing to hide the misery in his forlorn eyes as he met her concerned ones.

“He promised,” he mumbled, words muffled by the scarf. “He promised .”

Marinette’s face fell. “Oh, Adrien,” she said, rushing to his side to pull him into a hug. The bell chimed merrily as it closed behind him, shutting out the frigid air.

“He promised to have dinner with me today, but I guess I’m just an appointment to him that he can just cancel,” Adrien said, bitterness lacing his normally sweet tone.

Marinette hugged him tighter, holding him for several long moments before letting him go. “Help me close up the shop, then we can go upstairs.”

Chapter Text

23. Dinner at the Dupain-Cheng’s

“You can stay, if you want. For dinner?”

Adrien looked up from the game guide in his lap to Marinette’s flushing face, the blue of her eyes startling against the dark of her hair. She held the controller stiffly in her hands, back ramrod straight as she waited for his answer. He thought of the mansion waiting for him a few streets away, its spacious halls and lavish luxuries chilling his being and shrinking his will. His mind drew away from the cold, clinging instead to the security and warmth found in the comfort and genuine smiles offered in a quaint shophouse above a simple bakery. As he drew in a deep breath, the scents of Sabine’s cooking and Marinette’s floral scented shampoo soothed away the frost, and Adrien felt more at home than he’d ever been.

He smiled. “Dinner would be great.”

Chapter Text

24. Love Confession

Their ‘I love you’s were spoken in more than just words. It was spoken in furtive glances, in secret smiles and hushed giggles exchanged in public. It was spoken in gentle touches, fingers making the barest of contact on skin or brushing over silken hair. It was in the coat she made for him, in the way he disregarded the brand-name ones his father provided in favour of wearing hers all winter long instead. It was in the walks he accompanied her on to and from school, strolling so closely that their arms brushed with every step.

It was in the food she made for him, baking chocolate chip cookies and mushroom quiches most often because they were his favourites. In the way she opened her heart and home to him, inviting him to share in the warmth of her parents’ doting love. It was found in the flowers he presented to her, when he sat with her to explain the meaning behind each one. It was in the increasingly frequent meetings, their reluctance to part. Lingering gazes and smiles like suns that could illuminate entire worlds.

So when at last they found themselves under the watch of a moonlit sky and lips so close they could feel the other’s breath wash over their face, the words came as no surprise.

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

25. When the Other Isn’t Looking

Watching Marinette from the corner of his eye, Adrien couldn’t help but be starstruck all over again. It didn’t matter how many times he looked or how long he spent with her each day, she seemed to grow more beautiful every time.

The twilight sky was her hair, the lights in it a constellation of stars and novas that twinkled and shone just as bright. Her brilliant blue eyes resembled aquamarines, gleaming in the reflected light of the overhead lamp. The fair skin between her delicate brows was furrowed as she concentrated on icing a fresh batch of macarons. Her complete attention on the treats and the piping bag in her hand, she didn’t notice how his eyes traced a path across the light freckles adorning her cheeks before they settled on full, pink lips, the tip of her red tongue poking out between them as she worked.

Still watching her, entranced, Adrien reached forward—

Marinette struck quicker than a viper, smacking Adrien’s hand away from the giant mixing bowl in the centre of the counter. Adrien yowled like a wounded cat, nearly toppling from his chair as he flinched and whipped his hand back.

“Marineeette!” he whined, cradling his hand to his chest as he pouted at her. “What was that for?”

“I’ve told you already—no paws in the batter!” she scolded, grabbing the bowl of creamed butter and sugar and pulling it a safer distance away. Adrien scowled; he’d just spent the last ten minutes inching it closer to him.

“If I catch you one more time with your claws where they shouldn’t be,” she warned, brandishing the piping bag at him like it was a knife, “I’m going to kick you out of the kitchen. I’m serious. You’re bad for productivity.”

Adrien huffed, looking away. “It’s not my fault you’re too distractingly beautiful,” he muttered.

“W-what?” she choked, caught off-guard, red spreading across those lightly freckled cheeks like wildfire. Grinning, he leaned forward.

Adrien did get kicked out of the kitchen, but the kiss he stole in return was much sweeter than any batter in the world.

Chapter Text

26. In the Rain / Umbrellas

The rain poured down with a vengeance, as if the very heavens were crying for him the tears he couldn't shed.

Sheeting rain drenched him head to toe, plastering golden hair to his head, running in rivulets down his face, filling up his oxford shoes and soaking his socks—but Adrien couldn’t find it in him to care. Sitting on the balustrade on a bridge overlooking the Seine, Adrien watched the explosion of raindrops over the cobbled pavement, the cars zipping by on the road in front of him and kicking up sprays as they ran over puddles. The Seine rushed beneath the bridge like an angry snake, the roiling water roaring like the river itself had gone mad. The dripping black suit stuck to his skin and weighed like the mountain of lead in his gut; heavy, oppressing. A suffocating reminder.

When he looked up, the rain was grey. Falling so heavily that it bleached all colour from everything it touched, plunging the world into a dull monochrome. Adrien shivered, the wind cutting through his soaked clothes and chilling him to the bone, but he never moved. Despite the torrential chaos thriving around him, his senses remained numb, his heart cold. Colder than the frigid wind that bit at his fingers and whipped his cheeks. Colder than tombstone over his mother’s empty grave, her name etched into the apathetic granite.

Colder than the absence of his father as Adrien had laid the flowers down, the wreath of carnations and irises turning soggy as the first drops began to fall.

She’d always preferred sunflowers anyway.

He’d fled, abandoned the shelter of his chauffeur's umbrella, ignoring Nathalie's calls for him to come back as he left the cemetery. He’d ran through the streets, without knowing where he was going, only that he needed to be far, far away. He’d ran and ran, until he could run no more.

Something felt deeply wrong inside his chest, like a clock with some vital part broken. As if he should be crying, screaming, yelling, something . Anger, sorrow, bitterness, anguish—something had to be better than feeling nothing, than the all-consuming black void in his centre.

Had he lost even the ability to feel?

“Are you all right?”

Adrien still didn’t move, forgetting for a moment that he was indeed a human being and not a statue. Then he realised the rain no longer pelted at his head, though it still beat down on the stones of the pavement and banister. Hair still dripping, water in his eyes, he raised his head.

Blue shattered the monotone of grey, periwinkle irises shadowed by long navy lashes staring at him in earnest. They blinked, and Adrien’s eyes travelled over creamy skin, pert nose, and pink lips. The girl’s hair was done in pigtails, a shade darker than her eyelashes. She looked about his age. The empire line dress flowed over her slight frame, pale pink fabric printed with brilliant red roses startling in contrast to the colourless haze. She held an umbrella over his head, a twenty-colour rainbow shield that repelled the rain. She’d shifted closer so that the umbrella kept both of them from the wet—or in his case, any wetter—and he couldn’t help but notice the healthy pink glow over her cheeks.

She was a burst of colour amidst a cold, muted world completely devoid of it, and Adrien couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Um, hello?” she said, tilting her head when he didn’t respond. “Excuse me? Do you need help?”

He started, trying to remember where his voice was. “E-erm, sorry. I was just … thinking. I’m fine.”

She peered at him. “You don’t look fine,” she said, eyes flicking pointedly up and down his form.

Opening his mouth, he started to say that she needn’t worry about him, when his throat closed up and he swallowed back a choke. He willed himself to speak, but the words would not come. Around them, beyond the safety of the multi-coloured umbrella, the grey storm continued to rage at the world.

“Come on,” she said, tugging on his dripping sleeve with delicate fingers. Her nails were painted a rich butter yellow. Like sunflowers.

He didn’t move. “What?”

The girl sighed, rolling her eyes. “You look like a half-drowned rat and if you stay out here any longer, you’re going to catch a cold or pneumonia. Or become a fish. My house is just around the corner, you can dry off there.”

He had never met this girl before in his life, and Adrien Agreste should know better than to trust any random stranger he’d just met off the street. But at her touch, he wordlessly slid off his perch on the balustrade, letting her shield them from the storm with her rainbow umbrella. He followed her as she led him forward, the only splash of colour to be found in his monochromatic world.

Chapter Text

27. Their Poor Kwami

From his position on the study, Plagg’s eyes tracked Adrien as his charge paced around his room, positive he was wearing an elongated hole into the carpet. The blond muttered to himself as he spun on his heel, clutching something small and cuboid in his hands.

Adrien had grown from a boy into a man, now towering over most people on the street, gangly limbs replaced by toned muscle filling out his larger frame. Baby fat had given way to chiseled cheekbones and angular jawline, shoulders had broadened to match his height. His modelling career had exploded into international status almost overnight, his popularity on the catwalk still showing no signs of slowing down over the recent years.

Despite all that, Plagg was not fooled. Adrien may look every inch the model of an adult man. But when it came to the crunch, his kitten was still just a kitten.

“Okay, the table has been booked, the one with the best view available. I’ve triple-checked the weather forecast reports, and it should be clear night, so we can see the moon and stars,” Adrien muttered, passing Plagg for the fifty-second time. Not like he was keeping count.

“After dinner, I’ll invite her for a short walk outside. We’ll go to the Place du Trocadéro. It should be less crowded that hour. We’ll have a clear view of the Eiffel Tower, lit up by that hour. The ring will be in the box in my right pants pocket. When the time comes, I’ll take her hand, get down on my right knee, and ask—”

“‘Princess Marinette, will you concede to be my queen?’” Plagg recited alongside Adrien, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, kid. I know it’s not everyday you pop someone a marriage proposal, but if you repeat your ‘grand plan’ at me one more time—”

“Marinette isn’t just ‘someone’, Plagg! For her, everything has to be perfect,” said Adrien, running agitated hands through his hair. At least the carpet was safe from his pacing for now.

“Do you think that was phrased too cheesily? Should I say something else? Maybe I could say, ‘Marinette, will you be my clawsome partner for the rest of our—’”

“If you went with that, I think she’d slap you,” said Plagg, propping his head up on disproportionately tiny arms as his eyes slid closed.

Adrien continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. Maybe I should have just stuck to tradition. P-propose over dinner, then go to the Dupain-Cheng bakery and seek her parents’ consent. Organise the fiançailles at the mansion, present the ring—”

“Relax,” drawled Plagg, interrupting another ten-minute verbal plotting session. Flipping onto his back, Plagg opened one lazy eye to regard Adrien with a dull stare. “You’ve already gotten her parents’ blessings last week, and they’re over the moon about it. Your father’s ready to host the fiançailles at a moment’s notice. You’ve got this sorted down to the last detail, kid. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Pausing, Adrien glanced down at the innocent blue velvet box lying open in his hands. Even from this distance, Plagg caught the glimmer of the diamond set in the delicate band of silver Adrien had painstakingly picked out after fishing Marinette’s ring size from Alya.

“What if she says no?” he said, voice barely above a whisper as his fingers caressed the glittering stone, eyes glazed and unsure.

Shooting him a wide-eyed look of incredulity, Plagg swore he would strangle the boy if only he had hands.

“‘If she says’—kid, are you even listening to yourself right now?” Darting through the air to hover before Adrien’s face almost eyeball to eyeball, Plagg scowled. The blond started, taking a step back, but Plagg kept pace with him.

“Listen here, kid, and listen good. All your whining and pining and crying has led you up to this moment. That girl is just as hopelessly in love with you as you are with her and she’d be so darn happy to spend the rest of your lives making babies and goo-goo eyes at each other that she wouldn’t care how or where you proposed to her. You could show up at her bakery tomorrow in nothing but metallic speedos and with a ring made of concrete and she’d be faint from joy. That you’re going to start doubting now is pretty stupid and I swear on my Miraculous that if you screw this up for yourself, I’ll—”

Plagg paused mid-tirade when Adrien’s shell-shocked look melted into laughter, large hands coming up to cradle the cat kwami in his palms.

“I guess you’re right,” he said, settling down to sit on the edge of his bed. “I think I just needed to hear someone say it. Thank you, Plagg.”

Biting back a retort, Plagg only snorted and turned away, a secret smile curling on his feline face.

Perhaps his kitten wasn’t really a kitten anymore, after all.

Chapter Text

28. Children

“What do you think about children?”

The question caught Marinette unawares, sewing the beading on a dress that was to be part of the collection in the upcoming spring fashion week. She looked up from her sewing, regarding Adrien with a quizzical look where he sat on her living room couch, fiddling with a scrap of fabric he had pilfered from her workstation between his long fingers.

“Children?” she parroted, setting aside the project. She watched as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, hands still worrying the scrap of linen, but his eyes never leaving hers.

“Yeah,” he said, softer now, “what do you think about them?”

Drawing a deep breath, Marinette mentally prepared herself. Such a question coming from Adrien was not simple one, and she jiggled her leg as she chose her words carefully.

“They’re … they’re nice,” she ventured, gauging his reaction. “I mean, I used to babysit Manon, so I know what little demons they can be, but ….” Braving a smile, she continued, “I kind of always wanted to have my own kids.”

His hands stilled, the fraying fabric still caught between his fingers. “Really?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. Marinette rose, abandoning the workstation to join him at the coffee table.

“Yeah,” she said, dropping into the seat next to him and taking his hands into both of hers. “Really.”

The pent-up breath left Adrien’s lungs in a whoosh, a quiet chuckle bubbling to the surface. “Me too,” he confessed, turning to press their foreheads together.

Chapter Text

29. Gardening / At a Garden

“Mari! Mari, come quick!”

“What?” Marinette demanded, rushing out into the garden. “Is something wrong?”

Adrien stood up from the vegetable patch, back to her as he held something his hand. Glancing at her over his shoulder, he gave her a grin.

“Can you believe our duck?”

Blinking, she stared at him. “What?”

At her question, he turned.

“I said,” Adrien winked, “‘can you believe our duck?’”

Cradled in his hands, bright red and gleaming in the morning sun, was a deformed tomato that astoundingly resembled a duck.

“Duck be a lady tonight,” he began to sing, swaying towards her with the duck-tomato proffered like a giant gemstone.

“Don’t you dare ,” she said, glaring at him. “One more pun out of you and I’m tossing out your breakfast.

“Aw, but I’m already duck on you. Won’t you be my Lady Duck?”

“Oh, I cannot believe you!”

Chapter Text

30. Their Poor Best Friends

Since the first day of their friendship, Alya had been witness to almost all degrees of Marinette’s fretfulness, ranging from nervous fidgeting to full on panicking. They were like a package deal that came with the girl, and Alya wouldn’t have had her best friend any other way. The cause differed over the years; unfinished homework, Adrien, an overdue project, Adrien, long hours at the bakery, Adrien, Alya hooking up with Nino, Adrien—

But Alya never recalled seeing Marinette at this level of hysterics.

“The pin won’t work!” said Marinette, voice pitched an octave higher than normal as she yanked out a bobby pin from her intricate updo with a jerk of her hand. “This stupid hair won’t hold! This is bad, really bad. My hair looks horrid, the dress is horrid, my face is horrid—the wedding is ruined!”

“Chill, girl,” said Alya, sighing as she patted Marinette on her bare back for the fifth time in half an hour. “If you keep trying to adjust your fringe, you’re going to undo the coils Juleka spent so long styling. Here, sit down and hold still.”

“There’s no point,” Marinette said, moaning into her hands but complying as she let Alya push her back down onto the stool in front of the vanity. “I’m a walking disaster, Adrien’s not going to want to marry me.”

Alya shook her head as she swept back Marinette’s bangs with a finetooth comb. “Marinette, that man has had you as his girlfriend for the last eight years and his fiancée for the last six months. I’m pretty sure he’s dying to have you as his wife for the rest of his life.”

“Yeah, well, he’s got bad taste,” said Marinette with an unhinged laugh at her own reflection as Alya fixed the navy bangs with flowered hairpins. “Look at me, I can’t even get ready for my own wedding without everyone helping me.”

Scowling, Alya dropped the comb back onto the vanity before walking around to stand in front of Marinette and grab onto her bare shoulders.

“Okay, listen up,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Marinette’s own wide blue ones. “You are beyond gorgeous today, Adrien is going to flip his shit when he sees you and so will half the room. Your hair is fine, have more faith in Juleka. Your dress is out of this world . I mean, you made it! And everyone knows that everything you make is nothing short of amazing.”

Alya gestured at the bridal gown Marinette wore, the silks and laces coming together to form one of Marinette’s grandest creations to date. The strapless lace and satin ribbon bodice coloured a creamy off-white clung to her torso and exposed her arms. The material gave way to clouds of chiffon and layers of bobbin lace, falling down to a full skirt that brushed the ground as she walked. Glass beads and subtle floral embroidery adorned the gown and Marinette seemed to glitter like a fairy whenever she moved, lending an almost ethereal grace to her form.

“And that includes mine,” Alya added, pointing to herself, at the full-length maid-of-honour dress made of pale gold satin. “And Juleka’s. And Rose’s. And Mylene’s. And Alix’s, who’s really happy to wear one despite what she might say. You’ve really outdone yourself, Marinette. No one expects you to organise the entire wedding single-handedly, you’re bound to need some help.”

Marinette only groaned.

Sighing again, Alya shook her head and crossed her arms. “Besides, I haven’t seen you this hung over about how you look since we were teenagers. What gives?”

Lifting her head to meet Alya’s gaze, Marinette pouted and looked away. “It’s a special day for both of us, I just …  I just wanted to be sure that everything would be perfect for him. Adrien deserves that much.”

An exasperated smile touched Alya’s lips. “Girl, you could walk down the aisle in nothing but a trash bag and that man would still think you were the most perfect being in the universe.”

“But I’m not though,” said Marinette in a small voice, hanging her head. “I’m accident-prone, self-important, disorganised—I’m late for appointments, I trip over my own feet, sometimes I concentrate so much on my projects that I don’t notice his calls and texts—”

“But he loves you.”

Pausing, Marinette met Alya’s eyes. “Wha—”

“‘We like someone because,’” quoted Alya, the words ringing through Marinette’s mind from a long forgotten day spent under a tree in the park outside her parents’ bakery, pointing out passages from an old quotebook in their laps.

“‘We love someone although,’” Marinette and Alya finished in unison.

Marinette nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Perfection doesn’t mean being perfect, Marinette,” said Alya, her gaze softening. “In his eyes, you already are. For all your strengths, flaws, and everything in between. Some flyaway hairs or loose hemming on a dress isn’t going to change that.”

Alya laughed, giving Marinette and affectionate prod on the shoulder. “You do need to work on paying attention to calls and texts, though.”

Relenting with a smile, Marinette sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

“Dude.”

“Not now, Nino.”

“Bro, seriously, I need to take a leak really bad .”

Adrien grit his teeth, willing himself to maintain his winning smile even as he suppressed the urge to kick his best man in the shin. “Nino, please, don’t do this me. Not today.”

“I’m trying!” keened the taller man, fidgeting as he rolled his weight from one leg to the other. “Believe me bro, I am!”

“Ten more minutes,” Adrien begged, turning to speak to Nino as casually as if they were talking about the weather. HIs back turned to the church pews full of chattering guests, only Nino was privy to the petrified look of wide-eyed terror gracing Adrien’s face. “Just ten more minutes, Nino.”

Nino let out a whining noise like a dog denied its spot on the couch but Adrien had stiffened, struck by a sudden thought.

“For my speech, do you think it would be better if I came off as touching or humourous?”

“Oh come on man,” said Nino with an impatient hiss, “we’ve over this same point like fourteen times in the last hour—”

“Like, maybe I should throw in some bakery jokes—”

“Bro, if you value this marriage, you’re not going to even breathe a single pun.”

“Okay, okay, but what about—”

“God damn it, Adrien! Stop trying to change the speech five minutes before the ceremony!”

Adrien suppressed a groan. “Nino, I think you might need to sneak me a drink.”

“No way, bro. You might be an evil potty-denier, but I’m not letting my best bro go through his wedding drunk off his ass.”

Affronted, Adrien allowed a scowl to slip past his calm, polite charade. “Give me some credit, it’s not like I’m planning to get wasted. Just a sip, a little Dutch courage.”

Holding his body noticeably rigid, Nino stared straight forward as he shook his head. “No way, don’t you dare think I’ve forgotten the incident with the shandy.”

“Are you still blaming me for—”

Music filled the church, led by the pipe organ in an unmistakable melody. A shift of movement at the entrance caught Adrien’s eye and he turned, the words dying in his throat at the sight before him.

Walking down the aisle, on the beefy arm of Tom Dupain, was none other than Marinette.

She glowed like the sun, her smile beatific like an angel’s as she approached. Her dress, the dress she’d spent weeks working on and screeching at him when he tried to catch a peek, seemed to be made of pure starlight with how it glimmered and floated around her form. Fresh jasmine flowers had been woven into her hair, the bouquet of snow white roses made purer by her touch.

His princess, his lady, his wife . Her radiance blinded him, and Adrien forgot how to breathe.

If only his mother could see him now.

His eyes solely on her, he was barely aware of the swell of the music, watching the short exchange between father and daughter before she left Tom’s side to cross the few steps between them to join his.

“You’re the most perfect being in the universe,” he breathed, extending a hand with a reverent bow.

Marinette giggled, taking his hand. “I guess it really does take one to know one, doesn’t it?”