#and kept getting headrushes so bad my vision blacked out

[apollo3-1-5]

guys pray for me that i didn’t get covid from mcr boston

[real-fakedoors]

under leaves so green - CHPT 12 - Miraculous Ladybug

After the Dupain-Cheng family purchases a flower shop around the block from the Agreste mansion, Chat Noir frequents the spot in search of company from the manager-but-not-really Marinette. Beneath the mask, Adrien starts to struggle with how cute she looks in that green apron. (AKA: the not-really flower shop AU where basically everything is the same, but Marinette is extra stressed by her job and Adrien tries to be supportive)

Cross-posted on AO3 and FF.net

Chapter 12: A Needlepoint Peony

In which, Adrien stresses out, Marinette makes a confession, everyone is embarrassed, Tikki disappears, and Plagg fixes his whiskers.

Adrien felt, admittedly, a little bit strange.

Standing in his room with each corner dusted, polished, and achingly quiet, the place begged for the stasis to be broken. Not a sound stirred - not even the guttural gnashing of a kwami inhaling camembert, yet beyond his door there was an unusual bustle of activity.

Generally speaking, Adrien preferred for his room to have a bit of a lived in look; everything felt a little less hollow and empty if he asked the attendants to keep his bed a little unmade, or if he didn’t hang up a towel after a shower just so. Right now, though, he was the one actively scanning every surface for signs of disorder, ready to right any wrong.

He couldn’t recall any girls ever being in his room before, save Ladybug once or twice, but that had been during akuma attacks so it’s not like she had been admiring his DVD collection or cuddling with him on the couch.

At the very least, Adrien could say with certainty he’d never had his girlfriend over to the house, ever. He was only coming up on 24-hours of having a girlfriend, period.

So waiting, knowing Marinette was coming... it felt strange, definitely.

But it wasn’t bad.

“Are you ready yet?” Plagg called eventually, hovering down from the bookshelves and sporting a predictable scowl.

Adrien watched as the little kwami combed through his whiskers, and one of his tiny ears kept twitching. The behavior seemed conspicuous, considering Adrien had just been doing very much the same sort of grooming before getting dressed in fresh clothes.

“Wait a minute…”  The blond narrowed his eyes, and Plagg froze. “Are you... fancying up for Marinette?”

“Pff. No.” The kwami rolled his eyes and turned away, only making Adrien more suspicious. “That’s stupid, kid. It’s not like your girlfriend is coming to see me. Cat’s gotta look good for his own sake, thank you.”

Adrien hummed skeptically, but decided to return to the task at hand. The ebony nuisance in his life had been increasingly excited every time they went to see Marinette, and it was starting to seem rather conspicuous. Maybe it was just the tempting offers of cheese bread and croissants?.

Bouncing around his room, the tap of Adrien’s hard-bottomed shoes rang off each wall. He took time to inspect every surface, adjust and readjust the arrangement of things he had on his desk, and repositioned his desk chair to be perfectly squared up to the monitor.

Really, it was all perfect, so seeking mistakes was a wasted effort. It was just a deliberate use of time that distracted him while waiting for Marinette to arrive. Part of him wishes he thought to offer to pick her up, but the opportunity was gone.

So now… waiting.

Glancing at the wardrobe, Adrien pressed his lips together and approached the full-length mirror. In the Agreste home, formal was normal, and vice versa. He never really knew that wearing “day clothes” until the moment before he went to bed was unusual until he started visiting Nino’s, Alya’s and Marinette’s houses. There, he was free to walk around on plush carpets with or, when he felt especially daring, without socks; the concept seemed so foreign to him in the beginning.

That being said, his attire didn’t bother him - a soft, simple white shirt and a slate-colored overshirt, paired with a plain pair of navy slacks. He selected one of his pairs of well-worn dark shoes, deciding against any that seemed too dressy or that would need breaking in.

Comfort was a must.

He had plenty of support for their first date. Between the help of Alya, Nino and the others in pulling off the Attack of the Loam, his father’s surprising approval of Marinette, Chloe’s reluctant agreement to be nice, and knowing he was going to have several hours of resigned privacy with her had all worked wonders in boosting his confidence.

And, of course, there was the small encouragement he’d gotten from Marinette herself, considering she had confided in Chat Noir that she had some romantic interest in his civilian form. To use his superhero side to gain an advantage in pursuing her seemed a little unfair, like using a stimulant in a sporting event, but he couldn’t say he regretted it. One touch of their lips together had been enough to dash any harboring guilt.

And, all-in-all, the date had gone better than he could have hoped. Adrien couldn’t keep his enthusiasm contained, and when she agreed so promptly to go out with him again, he seriously considered cheering.

Yes, you absolute dork. We can go out again, anytime.

Her words undermined his typical faculties and reduced him to a twisted bunch of nerves. The mess that fell from his mouth came more in the way of reactionary instinct than rational thought, blurting his desire to have her as his girlfriend. Adrien hadn’t intended to ask her to be in a relationship so soon, but miraculously, she agreed.

Did she think he seemed adorably inexperienced, or like a anxious mess? Had he asked her too soon? It had only been one date, though they’d spent hours and hours together in the past week alone; that’s to say nothing of the past three years. How long do people in relationships usually ‘date’ before they were considered ‘dating?’ Why hadn’t he thought to ask Nino for tips on the quintessential final element to any date, the “walk her to the front door” moment? Why wasn’t there a manual for this? Had he seemed too eager? She didn’t feel pressured to agree, right?

Alas, there was no guidebook, no easy instruction kit. He couldn’t pick up “101 Ways to Ease Through Awkward Social Interactions” at the library, and there was no magical deity of romance or young love to pray to that might appear to him in a vision from the sky to answer his questions and grant him sage wisdom on new love or family dysfunction. The closest thing he had to that was a turephilic kwami, who was, at present, floating crossed-legged near his desk with an expression of irritation.

The jittery, fierce happiness that spurred Adrien on yesterday since been replaced by titular worries of the evening ahead.

First of all, they weren’t going to be alone, and he had only a few hours to prepare.

They were having dinner with his father.

He, his father, and his girlfriend, sitting around the dining table together.

The most uncomfortable iteration of the Last Supper came to mind, but he quickly shook away the inane thought.

Second was the prospect of dinner it self. Adrien hardly ever ate with company, let alone the aberrant match that was Marinette’s soft-spoken kindness and his Father’s critical, cutting commentary. What should they talk about? He could only hope the two would find enough common ground in fabrics and fashion to carry them through the evening.

Unwittingly, Adrien had begun to pace his room, the metronomic clap of shoes on tile providing a backbeat to his mounting anxiety. Plagg said something and the blond glanced up, but Adrien didn’t quite catch it.

When their gazes met, a random train of thought popped into his head. The kinds of question you never think of until you’re living through the moment. “Did you want to come in my pocket down to dinner?”

Raising a brow, Plagg tilted his head. “Why would I do that?”

“Er… you usually do? Most of the time it’s just you and me, though.”

“Oh.” Plagg tapped a black paw to his whiskers. “I guess I do, don’t I? Uhh…nah. You got this.”

“Something is up with you,” Adrien squinted his eyes at the black cat, who merely pointed his chin and looked away.

Adrien waged a finger at him. “Whatever you’re hiding, I’ll find out eventually!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his kwami insisted, flying away.

“Adrien?” A voice beckoned not a moment later, in time with three rapt knocks.

He did a final check of himself in the mirror, took a deep breath, and walked towards the door.

“Yes, Nathalie?” He answered politely, already knowing what she was going to say. Marinette was here, probably looking so lovely he’d forget how to speak. She could show up in her dirty work jeans and he still would swallow his tongue.

Just gotta relax.

It’s only dinner.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by his father’s assistant’s typically perfected posture and a small smile, but bowed besider her was head of black hair, half-pinned back to keep the tresses from her face.

“Mme. Dupain-Cheng is here,” stated the lean woman, stepping aside to present his guest. Every ounce of confidence he had as Chat Noir evaporated into a dizzying headrush when she peeked up from beneath long lashes, looking as flushed and as he was nervous. How do people on television or in Disney movies sweep girls off their feet so easily? Adrien could barely manage not to stare.

“W-welcome,” he cleared his throat, trying to focus on the woman between them who was scrolling through her tablet absently. “Thank you, Nathalie.”

“Yes. The chefs are saying dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, so come down soon.”

At that, she promptly turned and left them alone, her heels receding in the otherwise clipped silence.

Marinette looked more beautiful than he could have imagined - she was more than that, her whole appearance was scenic. A mid-length skirt skimmed her calves, pleated and pastel pink, making her look more sophisticated than her usual capris or work jeans; her torso was wrapped in a seamless array of breathable cotton, accented at the seams with white lace that complemented her porcelain skin like a subtly harmony to his favorite song. The top floated over her skin and stopped just as the skirt reached her waist, extending up and hugging her collarbone snugly. The neckline kept close to her neck, exposing most of her shoulders, though his attention was drawn mostly towards the careful embroidery in the center of the bodice. A sprig of hand-woven flowers, dyed in tones of subdued greens and gradiants of pink, comprised in needlepoint, brought the ensemble together.

Where she looked hauntingly alluring yesterday night in cuts of crimson and black and white stripes, today she seemed dreamy and pastoral.

“Is it… too much?” Marinette glanced up, brushing her skirt and picking at invisible loose strings. Blue eyes dodged away from his when Adrien met her gaze.

A little more quietly, she added,  “I didn’t know how… fancy to get. Sorry.”

“S-Sorry?” Adrien swallowed hard on his throat. He extended a hand, a careful and shaky invitation to step forward. She cracked a tiny smile and accepted.

The blond was already smiling, apparently, because his cheeks were starting to hurt. “How could you apologize? You look so… so pretty, Marinette. Did you embroider that yourself? It’s really amazing.”

Cheeks matching her skirt, she giggled and entered his room, eyes scanning the tall ceilings and giving him the chance to breathe. “T-Thank you! And, yes, I did. You look really nice, too.”

His heart swelled at the compliment, though he tried vehemently to seem casual.

“Thanks, just some of my Dad’s clothes. I mean - not my Dad’s clothes, but Gabriel brand.”

Marinette wandered over to the arcade machines, but paused to tilt her head in his direction. She wore a confused smirk.

“I… just tried to imagine you wearing your Dad’s… suit. The one he always wears.”

Adrien snorted, brightened by softness of her voice when she laughed. Somehow, it both filled him with happiness and anxiety, but it was enough to give him some foothold of confidence. “Ascots aren’t exactly my thing, I’m afraid.” He moved beside her and gestured to the classic systems. “I know you like Mecha Strike, but what’s your take on the current ‘retro craze’?”

“They’re great, of course. Though I’m not nearly as skilled as dodging barrels and saving princesses as I am at whooping giant robot butt.” Marinette said, poking one of her cheeks with a finger.

“I’d ask if you wanna play, but dinner’s soon and these are designed for one-player.” He rubbed his chin. “We could play some video games after dinner? I’ve got… uh, a lot.”

“Oh?” She seemed curious, so he gestured for her follow. They promptly ascended his twisted staircase and he brought her around to the bookshelf beside his rock-climbing wall. Divided by console and sorted alphabetically, he waved a hand at the hundreds of games he’d accumulated over the years.

“Holy brioche…” Marinette muttered, craning her neck to take it all in. Beside her, Adrien permitted himself to feel just a tiny bit proud of his collection, glancing at her wide-eyed wonder.

“The systems are downstairs in one of my closets, so, you know, we can pick out a few and play them after dinner. Whatever sounds good.”

Mutely, she nodded her head and moved to the ladder and squinted up at a certain section. Adrien followed her gaze.

“Nintendo 64? I don’t know why, but I took you for a Playstation girl.”

Already a few steps up, she murmured. “Actually, I mostly played computer games. I didn’t get to play Nintendo much growing up, I’ve tried a bunch of emulators, but they’re always a little sketchy… It would be so cool to play some of the originals. Like… Mario Party! Yes. You have it!”

“Pff, of course,” he said, amused by her enthusiasm. “I have them all, sort of out of habit really. I almost never played those.” Marinette snatched the cartridge from the shelf, handing it down to him. Adrien started a pile on the corner of an eye-level shelf for games to bring down later.

Humming as she selected a few more games, he mused to himself. “You know, growing up with just Chloe to play with, we didn’t spend a lot of time on video games.” He paused when Marinette laughed.

“Yeah, I know - you must be very surprised to learn that Chloe wasn’t a gamer.”

“I can hardly contain my shock.” She chirped back sarcastically, scanning the shelves. Adrien was about level with her calves, and tried not to focus on the bit of skin her skirt left exposed down to her honey-colored ballet flats.

He said the first thing he could think of to distract himself. “But - y-yeah. I mostly played single-player games, campaigns or adventure mode or whatever. Sometimes I would play games with my Mom. She liked them, or at least, pretended to since I did. She could even get Father to play them with us occasionally - but a lot of Nintendo’s stuff is designed with groups in mind.”

Marinette responded thoughtfully. “Hmm… I suppose it’s not much of a Mario party if it’s just… Mario.”

Biting his lip, Adrien knew this was uncharted conversational territory. Without compass or guide, he didn’t really know where to go when it came to talking about his parents.

Marinette, thankfully, took the task of navigation upon herself. “What character did you like to play as? In Mario Party, I mean.”

His brow arched, her hands still fluttering over the cartridges at her level.

“Hmm… that’s a good question. I always liked green, so mostly Yoshi, or sometimes Luigi.”

“Good,” she responded, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I wanted to be Princess Peach, and I was prepared to fight you if I had to.”

Wearing a grin, he raised his hands in defense. “She’s all yours, Princess!”

Marinette stopped her searching, and Adrien’s eyes went wide.

Ooh. No, no, no.

His Chat side peeked out by accident, and Adrien blushed and stuttered to make up his mistake. “P-P-Princess… Peach! Yes. She, Princess Peach, is all yours. She was my Mom’s favorite too.”

Marinette’s brow had furrowed momentarily, but she seemed convinced by his explanation, and Adrien exhaled a small amount of panic.

“Okay, I think I’ve looked enough,” she said, starting back down the ladder. A shoe clattered to the ground in her descent, followed by a shrill squeak and a much louder clatter of skin and arms smacking into each other.

Marinette missed a step when her shoe came off, slipping back and crashing right into Adrien; cat-like reflexes can only get one so far with a girl as clumsy as Marinette.

By some small miracle, he didn’t get thrown over the railing, though his current posture was plenty uncomfortable. Leaning back over the glass ledge, the edge of the bannister pressed painfully up against his spine, Marinette’s body weight was basically crushing him further into it. The best he could do in the way of catching her was keep her head from smacking back into the railing or collapsing straight onto the floor. Her now slightly-tousled hair and exposed upper-back from the cut of her bodice were pressed up against him and she had half-bent and gripped her hands on his thighs in support to keep from hitting the floor.

Her perfume greeted him, rising from her silky smooth hair and bare shoulders. From this angle, he could basically feel every inch of her body pressed up against him, and he was aware of it in - ahem -  more ways than one.

Chuckling weakly, Adrien forced himself to put a safe, chaste distance between them. It was more difficult than it should have been, rather enjoying the way her hair tickled his chin as she scrambled to standing. It was easy to admire the smooth skin of her collarbone, or to appreciate the warmth that radiated from her body. It was like the world’s best, most beautiful blanket.

“Ooookay, up you go,” he said, supporting her from beneath her elbows and resting a delicate hand on her back. Her skin turned prickly under his touch, and it was stupidly thrilling.

You haven’t even made it to dinner yet and you can’t keep it together.

Exhaling slowly, Adrien affixed his face into a mask of sympathy and concern. “Mari? Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?”

She blinked several times, looking at her own hands numbly, and he started to fear maybe she had hit her head when she broke out into a smile. Wide, glittering, and plenty embarrassed.

“No - no I’m fine. Thank you, Adrien. I’m sorry I fell on you.”

“Better me than the floor,” he said, chuckling and sighing in relief. She joined him for a spirited giggle, both laughing until they were breathless and dizzy. Maybe that was just the intoxicating effect of being with her, though - Adrien almost always felt light-of-head around her anymore.

By the time they were both properly righted - skin tinted pink from the euphoric giggles that swept up both of them - and standing on their own, Adrien retrieved the stack of games Marinette had selected and led the way back to his ground floor.

“Okay, just the Nintendo 64 for tonight?” He noted the very distinct shape of all of the games, and she nodded.

“If… if that’s okay. I, um,” she fumbled with her thumbs, and Adrien thought it was adorable. “I figured we could… play different systems another time. You know, since we’re, um, together now…?”

She peeked at him, and Adrien positively beamed, walking across the coffee table and wrapping his fingers in her own.

“I’d love that. We’ll play our way through all of them.”

Eyes sparkling, a blue more vivid than any sea, she looked like the human iteration of the most tranquil night across France. Soft skin, a gentle smile, an exuberant mood, and dark, rich hair like a painted, starless sky.

Slowly, Adrien focused on his composure, inhaling through his mouth and letting out the air through his nostrils. “Ahh… right, so just to warn you - my Dad can sometimes be… um, abrasive. He’s sort of polite to the extreme, but if he says anything that hurts or offends you, don’t be afraid to say something - even if it’s just a signal to me or something. The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.”

Marinette nodded a few times and scurried behind him out of his room, Adrien catching the eye of a jerkish kwami across the room as he closed the door. Plagg was sticking his face out of the camembert cabinet, puckering his lips and making his whiskers dance in the mocking display.

When he turned back to his - his girlfriend (it was still impossible to believe) - she was wearing a cute smirk and had a hand at her hip.

Marinette’s voice was low. “I did survive over an hour on Sunday with just me and him, or did you forget?”

“I didn’t, not exactly,” he grinned and led them down the stairs. “I’m just still not convinced it happened. A very thorough prank, perhaps.”

She snickered and rolled her eyes, the way she always does, and he loved it.

“I can barely walk in a straight line - you seriously think I could cook something like that up?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured as they approached the dining room, peeking his head in. His father was sitting at the head of the table, speaking quietly with the chef. The food in the room smelled heavenly, and oddly out of place. “You continue to surprise me, Mari.”

She pinked slightly, and Adrien pulled her into the room with a smile on his face. His Father stood up when he noticed them, and the chef gave a hasty farewell.

“Father,” Adrien said, palm feeling a little sweaty against Marinette’s. She untangled their fingers to take a bold step forward, positively radiant while she did so.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Agreste,” Marinette greeted brightly, bowing her head politely. Adrien studied his father’s expression, hardly believing the small smile he saw there. “Thank you so much for allowing me over for dinner tonight. It’s an honor, sir.”

Posture rigid and hands folded behind his back, his father stepped away from the table slightly to greet them. “That is a kind of you to say, Mme. Dupain-Cheng. Or, would you prefer just Marinette?”

Adrien respected how composed she managed to be before Father, especially when his attention flickered down; her hands were shaking.

“Marinette is perfect, sir. Thank you.”

Feeling his heart squeeze slightly, Adrien couldn’t pass the chance to half-tease, half-compliment her. He sidled up beside her again, wrapping a careful arm around her waist and met her startled stare with a cheeky smirk.

“Marinette is perfect. You’re definitely onto something there.”

She turned the color of her Banks’ roses and ducked her head, and Adrien’s attention returned to his father. Aside from a raised brow, his expression appeared only amused.

This is so weird. Adrien thought, wrinkling his nose. But good.

“Well, if you are ready to eat…” His father gestured for them to sit, and Adrien almost turned back to the other end of the table for his usual spot. Marinette was too quick, though, and she started to sit down two seats from his father. The middle spot was clearly intended for him.

Settling into the chair, Adrien pursed his lips and looked down at their plates. Everything was, of course, perfect. The table had been perfectly prepared for a classic four-course meal, and it almost made him want to roll his eyes - he’d have to remember to mention to Marinette this was not a typical dining experience at the Agreste house.

It was sort of sweet, though, as he examined the varieties laid out for the first course. Each serving was small, from the Tapenade Noir a la Figue and Pissaladiers to the Brandade de Morue au Gratin. The fact that his father had gone through the trouble to entertain Marinette - to make such a gesture of meeting his girlfriend, formally? It brought an appreciative smile to his lips.

Scratching his cheek, Adrien popped a tart in his mouth and thought about something to talk about.

“So… did Marinette mention to you that she makes clothes?” He asked his father, and he could see Marinette fidget in his periphery. She hastily shoved some of the potatoes in her mouth.

Raising both brows, his father looked at Marinette and then back to Adrien. “Well, no, not exactly. Though I figured as much - she was most helpful the other day with a design of mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Adrien turned to Marinette, whose gaze flickered up to him helplessly. She looked so cute when she was embarrassed, he found her hand under the table and squeezed it in reassurance.

“She made the outfit she’s wearing right now. Isn’t is incredible?” He grinned at her, at least having enough mercy to blush.

“Adrien!” She hissed, turning even redder. “It’s - it’s not much, really. Just something I threw together, heh, since I work with flowers all day. Not really original. Nope. I’m sure you get inspiration from much more interesting things.”

His father smirked and ate quietly, watching them carry on like he wasn’t even there.

“Don’t be modest, Mari. You’re really talented.”

“I… I just dabble! That’s all. R-really.”

“Let’s be honest,” Adrien said, turning slightly to better face her. She was pouting, cheeks stuffed with figs and bread. “Do you just dabble in anything? You’re basically an expert in flowers, baking, and fashion, and you could ruin just about anyone’s self-confidence playing Mecha Strike.”

“Adriennn...” She covered her face with her hands, voice squeaky. All he could do was laugh, feeling a little guilty for flustering her, but he couldn’t help gushing about her.

“How did you get interested in fashion, Marinette?” His father cut in, and Adrien practically flew back in his chair. He had almost forgotten his Dad was beside him.

She lowered her hands, still red as a tomato, and reached for her cup of water.

“I… um… I’m not sure, actually. I’ve always liked drawing and designing,” she began slowly, and Adrien used the chance to catch up on his appetizers.

“When I started to pay more attention to how other people dressed, I sort of just… decided to teach myself to sew. I didn’t like the way other clothes fit me. I’m sort of on the short side, like my mother, so anything that fit me looked too childish while everyone else started to grow, I guess, and anything I liked was too big.” She hummed momentarily, chewing a tart. “So I decided to make things I knew I would be comfortable in, and reflected me best.”

“That’s very utilitarian of you,” his father commented. Marinette blinked, apparently unsure if that was a compliment or not.

Adrien decided then to jump in. “What’s your favorite thing to design?”

They both answered, which surprised him.

“Dresses.”

A pause, and the chef came out to switch their course for the main course. Adrien hardly paid attention while the plates changed, too interesting in the curious turn in conversation.

“And why is that, Marinette?”

“Uhh…” she cleared her throat. “Well… I’m not sure, actually. Probably because they’re the hardest to design; it’s extra rewarding when you get it right.”

“Hmm. I find menswear more challenging, personally,” his father mused, rubbing his chin. “But I do see your point. To me, a gown is a perfect canvas - the rules are only that it must be a single item to be worn, but otherwise, there are no limitations.”

“It’s the definitely the thing I have to try the hardest to be creative with,” Marinette replied with a furrowed brow, nodding. “The fact that it’s so flexible is what I find challenging about it.”

They both ruminated on that while stopping to eat some of their meal, and Adrien felt much more relaxed for how easily the conversation was flowing. Of course, Marinette was so sweet - it was hard to resist a charming, intellectual conversation with her, but it was still bizarre to see it have an effect on his characteristically stoic father.

Adrien caught her eye as she dabbed her lips with a napkin, so he decided to shoot her a wink. Marinette scrunched her nose up in response, her wordless disapproval downright adorable.

“So, if I am remembering correctly,” his father said after a pause. “You both met in Mme. Bustier’s class, at Francios Du-Pont Academy?”

“Yes,” Adrien said, tilting his head. “Although we sort of got off on the wrong foot.”

His father seemed surprised. “Oh, and how’s that?”

Adrien deferred to Marinette to answer. “Well…”

She got his meaning, chewing her food and swallowing. “Yeah, it was kind of my fault. I thought, because he was friends with Chloe, he was trying to pull a prank on me. So I sort of gave him the cold shoulder, but I realized I was being unfair to him.” Scowling, she glanced over to the blond. “I still am sorry about that, by the way.”

“Don’t be,” Adrien shook his head. “I could see why Chloe’s association might have not painted me in the best of light.”

Marinette smiled kindly, the gesture reaching her eyes.

“Well, I am glad to hear you reconsidered your assessment of my son. He was very nervous when he expressed interest in taking you out for a date.”

Almost kicking the table, Adrien turned an impressive shade of scarlet. “F-Father! Please.”

Marinette giggled at his distress, hiding a wide smile behind her fingers.

Despite his plea, his father didn’t hold back. Instead, he tucked both hands under his chin and leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Now son,” his father said, chuckling. “There are a few crucial things I am responsible for as a father. Embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend is one of them. I’ve had stories saved in my back-pocket for years.”

Practically bouncing in her seat, Marinette’s hair danced around her shoulders. “Oh, I’d love to hear a story!”

“Noooooo…” Adrien groaned, and now he was the one to cover his face with his hands. “Why did I agree to this?”

Slyly, Marinette took one of his hands and patted it gently. “There, there. It’s only fair after all of the puns I’ve suffered because of you.”

The remainder of the meal passed with more cheer than Adrien could have imagined, Marinette being positively tickled by his chagrin. Several of the stories recounted his mother, a few of which Adrien had forgotten himself. A small part of him was feeling grumpy for being the butt of the joke, but the overall mood was too infectious, and to see his father smirk and laugh occasionally was a refreshing change. Adrien, resigned to his fate, let himself enjoy the food and tease along until dessert was served.

Marinette sighed after a particularly airy wave of laughter. “Aww, so you and Chloe would play dress up?”

She put her hand on his shoulder and rested her chin there, pseudo-pitying him.

Adrien pointed his own chin forward while their plates were taken away so dessert could be brought out, fighting to hide a smile. She looked so pretty, perched on his arm like that.

“Yes, as a matter-of-fact. I mentioned Chloe didn’t like video games, and growing up in a literal fashion house granted a great opportunity for fun when it comes to clothes. Mother would encourage it, if I recall?” He partially asked the question to his father, who sighed and nodded, looking absently at the chandelier.

“Oh yes. If your mother wasn’t modeling the clothes, she was putting them on you. Large boas, daring furs, expensive heels - anything and everything you wanted to put on, she would let you pick it out and model it on the runway in my office.”

Marinette bit her tongue and tried not to laugh, though it was in vain, and he felt himself redden slightly. Trying to brush off the embarrassment, Adrien remarked, “Well, I suppose I can make anything look good.”

“Definitely,” she replied with a dreamy smile, leaning probably a little closer than was appropriate with his father present, and they broke apart when the chef re-emerged from the kitchen.

“Well,” he announced, clapping his hands. “We had only planned for the Crème brûlée, but since Mme. Dupain-Cheng was so kind to bring Pain au chocolat, the kitchen is pleased to serve both this evening.”

“Thank you, that will be all,” his father replied briskly, and the man bowed and brought out the two choices. Each looked picturesque, like the sort of desserts one might see on a classic French cookbook, and Adrien was glad to have eaten light on the earlier courses.

“I didn’t know you brought anything,” Adrien directed the comment to Marinette as he snatched up the Pain au chocolat almost the moment it was presented on a humble gray platter. It seemed out of place from the rest of the meal’s china, so he assumed it belonged to the bakery.

“Maman and Papa insisted,” she replied shyly, tapping the top of her Crème brûlée with a spoon. It granted her a very hard, satisfying knock in return before cracking. “And really, it’s the least I could do. I didn’t expect such a meal. Thank you, Monsieur Agreste, Adrien.”

Trembling fingers patted around the edge of his chair, clamping down when they found his hand. Adrien rubbed the back of her knuckles with his thumb.

“It’s a pleasure having you, Marinette.” His father answered.

“Oh, this is so good,” Adrien spoke with his mouth halfway full, and two sets of eyes rolled at him.

“Manners, son.”

Hastily chewing, he managed a sheepish grin towards his father. “If you try the Pain au chocolat, you’d know it defies etiquette.” He cleared his throat. “But Father is right - I’m glad you agreed to come over, Mari. This has been so nice.”

Even though she ducked her head, hair partially obscuring the soft features of her face, he could still see the rosy hue that colored her cheeks. She was too beautiful to bare, and his grip on her hand tightened only slightly - a protective, loving sort of grasp.

You’re mine.

All mine.

She squeezed back.

His father had selected one of the Dupain-Cheng treats, and Adrien pursed his lips suspiciously. He had half a mind to point his finger and ask what this man had done with his real father.

After a slow, thoughtful bite, the man impersonating his father offered his compliments. “Your parents make an excellence Pain au chocolat, Marinette. Please give them our thanks.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it along the kind words,” Marinette offered warmly, practically buzzing in her seat as she savored the carefully prepared burnt cream. “They are always so touched to hear things like that.”

“Of course.”

Adrien ate another of the Dupain-Cheng desserts, preferring the light fluffy dough to a rich cream, and Marinette sighed happily when she sat back in her chair.

Releasing a low exhale of his own, Adrien’s father stood, indicating dinner officially over. “So, are you doing anything else this evening, or should we have a car come around to take you home?”

“We were going to play some video games,” Adrien offered, and Marinette nodded. “If… if that’s alright.”

“I don’t see why not,” he commented, leading them into the foyer. Marinette politely excused herself, seeking the bathroom, so he was left alone with his father in the hallway.

“Just be sure to have her returned home in time for her curfew.”

“That’s 10:30.” The blond glanced at his watch out of habit. It was just passed eight in the evening.

“I can let Nathalie know that you’ll need the car by 10:15.”

Before Adrien could thank his father, the man grimaced.

“Adrien?” His voice was off, and he studied the stairs like they insulted his designs. “She is a… very sweet girl. I’m, er, happy for you.”

Suddenly, Adrien found his thumbs very interesting, but managed a respectful response. “... I’m glad you think so. She’s really special to me, so… thanks for taking the time to meet her.”

“Your mother would have really liked her, I think.” The man added wistfully, and Adrien’s thought he sounded strained. He wasn’t exactly surprised; they had talked about her a lot tonight, probably more than they had since she disappeared.

Adrien bit his lip, hiding a grin. “You think so?”

His father’s response was decisive. “I know so.”

For what felt like the first time, the two men met eyes and shared a real, knowing smile. It was heavy, and appreciative, and tired. It was filled by absence and regret, unasked questions with untenable answers. Tonight, though, the tension felt a little less like shackles and a little more like hope. Like forgiveness, and apologies, and a handshake or a hug. It was just a look, but it felt like more than that.

A beat later, a lively pair of blue eyes re-emerged from a hallway, carried by the sound of her soft-bottomed shoes tapping against stone marble. Adrien’s father turned promptly towards her as she peered around the doorway, and his voice returned to its usual even tone.

“I have some work to return to, so I’m afraid I won’t see you out this evening. Nathalie and Adrien will see that you get home safely. Do take care, my dear.”

Stuttering, she bowed. “Y-yes, of course. Thank you! It was a pleasure. An honor, really, sir.”

Adrien wore a bemused smile as the two interacted, thinking he could get used to this side of his father, and certain he would never tire of Marinette’s blush when she flustered.

Again, his father glanced in his direction, holding his gaze for only a moment. He nodded towards his son and receded quickly into his office.

“Phew,” Adrien exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath until Marinette was in front of him. He should have taken a larger inhale, because the way she peered up at him took the air right back out of him.

“Ready to lose?” She smirked, and Adrien raised a brow.

“It seems it’s time to get the Party started?”

She deflated. “Take me home.”

“Mari!” He laughed, but she maintained a straight face, marching up the stairs towards his room. Adrien felt his stomach flutter as she walked away, the back of her blouse cut to expose a large part of her back. Gulping, he trailed after her, feeling a thrilling sense of nerves when she smiled smartly down at him.

 --

 “Agh,” Marinette muttered, her tongue sticking out in frustration as the results rolled in.

She hates losing. She really, really hates losing.

Especially to someone like Adrien, or Chat Noir, or Nino -- those that she could think of offhandedly. The kind of people who rubbed it in her face that she lost. The kind of people who got freakin’ smug when she lost. Oh, boy, did she hate that.

So during the closing ceremony, it was that much more thrilling when Toad announced that she, in fact, had won. Princess Peach managed to win by a slim margin of exactly three more coins than Yoshi. There was no way of keeping score of the bonus Stars until the end, and they had tied in everything else that was measurable. It was sort of incredible how evenly matched they were, flat out bulldozing the computer players in the process (to be fair, they left their difficulty on easy since she had never played and it had been so long since Adrien had either).

“Oh. Oh!” She had already put down her controller in defeat, which was probably for the best, because she leapt up from the couch with such force she probably would have ripped the Nintendo from the T.V.

Adrien groaned and leaned into the arm-rest of the couch. “Damn you. Hooooowwwwwwww?”

Marinette couldn’t help her excitement, always relishing victory (it was a quality you almost had to have being a superhero), but she at least kept the gloating to a minimum.

She sat back down and took one of his hands in her own, pressing her lips to it softly. “I’m sorry, Adrien. If it’s any consolation, I really thought you won.”

Peeking at her, though his face was still mostly in the sympathetic comfort of the couch cushion, he responded, “I’m not consoled.”

“What can I do?” She teased, still holding his hand; normally she’d be way too bashful to dare something so bold, but she was too overcome with the waves of triumph to bother.

“I feel like I need a win, or I’ll never get out of my mood.”

Pursing her lips, she smiled devilishly and turned his hand over, closing his fingers into a fist.

“Thumb war?” She challenged.

Smiling, Adrien chuckled and sat up, locking their hands together. “Thumb war.”

They both adjusted slightly on the couch, Marinette having kicked off her shoes over an hour ago. Adrien had joined her, wiggling his toes through dark socks, looking adorably foolish.

Positioning her skirt in front of her knees and crossing her legs carefully, Marinette watched as Adrien crossed his left leg over his right to better face her. They sat so close their knees touched, but Marinette refused to let herself be distracted.

“Ready?” He smirked.

“Ready. But I’m not just going to let you win. You have to earn it.”

In unison, while trying not to laugh, they started their tiny wrestling match.

“One, two, three, four…”

“I declare a thumb war!”

Adrien had a clear advantage, she soon learned, and began to regret her suggestion. While her thumb was thinner, it was also shorter, so it was harder to gain leverage against the back of his thumb. She almost had him at one point, but he faked her out and quickly captured her beneath him.

Marinette knew she wouldn’t be able to win, and in fairness, she should have been okay with that. Adrien said he wanted to beat her, but that’s simply not how she operates. After all, she’s Ladybug - it’s not like she could just… give up! Surely Paris would forgive her if she cheated just a little to win, right?

She shot out her other hand and brought it to the side of his abdomen, scratching and tickling him with her nails. Adrien began to laugh immediately, and tried to swat her hand away, but she used his distraction to her advantage and quickly claimed her victory.

“Hah!” She leaned back, laughing as the confusion and subsequent realization washed over him. Adrien scowled, one hand still touched his ribs where she tickled him.

“Oh, Mari, I wish you hadn’t done that.” His voice was deadly serious, and Marinette raised both brows.

Playing innocent, she cupped her hands together and pressed them to her cheek. “Oh, and why’s that?”

“Because it is now my right to tickle you.”

Before she could so much as breathe a word of protest, Adrien launched himself at her and his hands tasered her rib cage, though the startling sensation of his touch did even worse damage to her heart. Marinette was pretty sure she’d need to invest in a pacemaker to fix the steady arrhythmia that had her blood working overtime, pumping erratically, nonstop, since Sunday.

She tried to kick and squirm and tickle him back, but the effort was futile. The thumb war should have told her this was going to be a bad idea, because much like their hands, he was simply bigger than she was - maybe not stronger, (although, her hyperventilating lungs argued, he does have some pretty amazing muscles) but size definitely mattered in a tickle fight.

“S-Stop!” She said through a flurry of laughter, her face twisted up to a smile with cheeks so red she probably could have passed for Ladybug if she had worn something more form fitting.

“I’m afraid you lost the right when you cheated, Mari,” he said through his own laughter, unable to keep the giddy grin off his own face.

“Nooooo!” She squealed, hands frantically batting his away. “I’mSorryI’mSorryI’mSorry!”

Adrien sighed contently, wearing a smile that radiated with victory. “That’s better.”

Her lungs ached from the waves of giggles, and he was in much the same state, but instead of catching her breath she felt the last of her spirit leave her body.

Adrien was on top of her.

On his couch.

In his room.

She flustered to get up, and Adrien apparently caught on to their compromising position and almost fell back off the couch in his attempt to release her.

“Sorry,” he said, scratching his neck nervously. “I got a little carried away.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, covering her heart with a hand in a conscious effort to slow the frantic beating.

“Don’t be…” she mumbled, taking in another deep breath. “I probably deserved that.”

Her eyes fluttered open when she heard Adrien shift slightly on the couch, and he turned to look at her with sincere, sparkling eyes.

“Did I tell you that you looked really beautiful in that outfit? I probably did, but it’s worth saying again.”

Marinette covered a cheek with a hand, suddenly timid. With Adrien, it was like a pendulum between her shyness and her self-confidence; she wasn’t insecure because she thought poorly of herself, but rather, she felt humbled by the attention he gave her.

“Thanks. That… means a lot. It’s supposed to be a peony, but it ended up looking more like a rose.” She glanced down, tracing a line down the needlework she had worked a long time on, sort of frustrated with the end result. It had been a project she created during the winter months, a daydream of what Summer could bring. Marinette had never imagined it could be this good.

When she managed a glance up at him, he was impossibly close. Their noses almost touched, but he kept his eyes on hers.

A whisper. “It’s lovely, Mari. Really suits you.”

Marinette felt a timorous smile spread on her face, and she nodded, not sure what else to say.

She turned her face to his, this time letting their noses touch. His warmth was practically spreading through to her, his cheeks ablaze with a lustful color. In truth, Marinette had to imagine her’s looked much the same, and her flush only deepened when she tasted a tiny inhale of his cologne.

Hesitant, Marinette fluttered her eyes closed and leaned forward, seeking the soft reprieve of a kiss. She wanted to be the one to initiate it this time, wishing she had the sort of brash confidence he had the times before, but to her it still felt so new that there was still need of an invitation. A silent request, a nervous but passionate interest, to be reciprocated by him.

Adrien released a tiny sigh, a sound of pure happiness, and it spurred her to erase the distance and seek his lips with a confused mix of delicacy and urgency. When she found them, they were forgiving and the sensation of honey running over her mouth clouded her mind. She tried to keep a focus, count off the ingredients to her favorite cookie recipe, picture her disheveled clipboard at the shop, remind herself of the thrill of capturing an akuma, but the pressure of him so close zapped it all from her memory. It was just him, and his taste, and the wonderful smell of him flooding her senses.

A small part of Marinette’s mind wanted to deepen the kiss - okay, maybe more than a small part. A very loud, very clear part of her brain was demanding to understand his tongue by way of interrogation, to push herself against his impossibly toned torso, to indulge in every fantasy she’d dreamed up over the past three years. Pining was hard, and now that she’d taken the first step into the swirling emerald pool, it was like trying to force the rain to stop during a thunderstorm, or to resist the sunrise at dawn.

She deserved this, right?

She waited long enough, and some forces of nature simply cannot be stopped.

A languid, almost inaudible gasp fell from him when Marinette swiped her tongue against his lower lip, and the sensation of their breathing mingling together made her hairs stand on end.

Who needed food? Marinette would gladly sustain herself on nothing but his lips for the rest of her life if given the choice.

Adrien brushed some of the hair from her shoulder, moving his hand to her jawline, holding her carefully while she explored his neck with her fingers, crawling her hands up to his hair and digging into the soft blond waves. While the wanton sensation was intense, Marinette lavished every moment, even the most subtle ones. A tiny dance of his lashes across her cheek, the clumsy, inexperienced knocking of their teeth, the soft brush of fabric each time they moved on the couch. She would never forget the quiet hilarity of the Mario Party victory music playing in the background as Princess Peach was showered with confetti.

After perhaps a full minute, Adrien finally pulled away, and Marinette nearly groaned in protest but managed to punch down the urge. This was only their second date and she was hardly able to control herself, so with a quick internal beratement, the girl found her forgotten strength of will tossed aside with her shoes.

“Um,” she said after they stared at each other for several seconds, quietly gasping for breath as her heart thumped madly against his ribcage. Her skin felt hot and sensitive from the suddenly intimate moment. “I… er, you want to keep playing?”

“Hmm?” Adrien replied, blinking a few times and following her gaze to the television. “Oh. Right. Uh… let’s see what time it is…”

The blond reached for his cell phone and laughed abruptly, so Marinette leaned over curiously. She could see Alya’s name on the screen, and it was about to turn 10.

“It’s later than I thought,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, my phone has been in my bag all night…” She murmured as he flicked through the messages, adjusting the screen so Marinette could read along with him in the group chat.

 Nino (7:31 PM):

Now remember kids, your mother and I are trusting you to spend the evening responsibly. Don’t do anything Father Nino wouldn’t do!

 Alya (7:33 PM):

That’s not really setting a great precedent, considering…. You know what? Nvm.

 Laughing, Marinette covered her face with a hand. “Oh my god, they’re the worst.”

“They really are,” Adrien agreed, continuing to scroll.

 Nino (7:40 PM):

Okay but really now I’m having second thoughts. Double-dates would be nice and all, but what about bro time? Who is going to keep me company while I play pokemon go???

 Alya (7:42 PM):

because people actually still play that. Keep up with the times why don’t cha.

 Nino (7:43 PM):

For your information, Adrien does - tell her, dude!

 “It’s true,” he nodded gravely. “Although not as much compared to when it first came out. Nino keeps me going when he finds a good catch somewhere in town.”

“God, you’re lame,” Marinette commented. He laughed and continued to read.

 Alya (7:56 PM):

Looks like your “bro” has vanished into the arms of a sexy young female. Sorry babe.

 Flushing, Marinette shielded her eyes.  “Oh my god, I can’t stand her sometimes!”

Adrien nudged her with his hip on the couch. “I can’t say she’s wrong…”

“Adrien!” She squeaked, blushing even harder.

 Nino (8:01 PM):

Why must I suffer for you to be happy?

 Alya (8:02 PM):

Are you talking to me or Adrien?

 Nino (8:02 PM):

I’m actually talking to Nette, TYVM. gosh not everything is about you

 Alya (8:04 PM):

k

 Nino (8:06 PM):

I’VE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE

 Absently, Marinette’s hand went to her throat while they continued to read through Nino’s angst, tracing the places he had touched her like they had been licked by flames. Much the same, the tips of her fingers burned, thinking of how warm and soft he felt in her grasp had been. She risked a glance at him while he penned a response, wondering what he would do if she repeated the action, or if he felt the same tingle beneath his skin when she touched him.

“Poor Nino,” he frowned. “You might want to back me up on this to appease the both of them.”

Brows raised, that dark-hair girl stood and sought her phone in her purse, set down on Adrien’s desk, but froze.

Tikki was gone.

“Mmp!” Marinette squeaked, digging around frantically. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she pulled out everything, horrified at the thought of her kwami disappearing. What if something terrible happened? This wasn’t like the shop or her room, where her red companion could hide but reappear easily. This was Adrien’s house, and who knows where she could be.

“Marinette? What’s going on?” A blond head of hair stood, looking concerned. “Did you lose your phone?”

“What?” She shook her head, forgetting herself. “Oh - oh! N-no… hah. No no… Just… thought I did. It’s here. I’m sure glad I didn’t lose it though!” Marinette was almost shouting, and she cringed.

Adrien moved closer, looking at her carefully. “Are you sure you’re okay? The car isn’t going to be ready until 10:15, but if you’d like to go home early...”

“No! I- I mean, n-no. I think, um, the food isn’t settling in my stomach well. Excuse me…” She averted his eyes, scurrying off to the bathroom with a very real pit in her stomach. If her kwami had been near enough, she only prayed that she’d be followed into the bathroom by a flash of red.

Inadvertently, she stepped through the door and caught sight of her appearance, and she was a little surprised. Her skirt and blouse had remained neat and pressed, but the half-pinned back locks that framed her face were a lost cause. The tickle war had done her in, and she quickly began to unpin her hair, trying to keep herself from shouting for Tikki at the top of her lungs.

By the time she completed taking her hair down and brushing it out with her fingers, Marinette nearly shrieked when her kwami appeared through the ceiling.

“G-g-ah…” Again, the girl clutched her heart, too overcome with relief to bother with much else than a swift hug of her kwami against her cheek.

Quietly, Marinette whispered, “Oh my god, Tikki. Don’t scare me like that! Where were you?!”

“Oh, you know… around?” A red face scrunched up at her, and Marinette felt her lips grow thinner.

“Around? Just around in Adrien’s house? What if someone saw you!? What if I left and you weren’t back!”

“Shh, Marinette, it’s okay.” Tikki looked apologetic, and touched a paw to her lips as her voice began to grow in volume. “Take a deep breath, and I promise, you don’t need to worry. I… thought I saw a little pest, but it turned out to be nothing. I was only gone a moment, and an inopportune one at that. I’m very sorry.”

Unprecedented tears started to well in her eyes, but she gave Tikki another loving squeeze against her cheek. “I’m… I’m just glad you’re okay. I got really freaked out!”

“Don’t worry! It’s all fine now. Just go ahead and finish your date. If you can distract Adrien, I’ll fly back to your purse immediately. Okay?”

Gulping down courage she didn’t have, Marinette nodded once. “Okay.”

With a quick light tap-tap against both of her cheeks, shaking the nerves from her bones, Marinette grasped the handle and re-entered Adrien’s room.

It took her a moment to spot him, a ninety-degree angle from the bathroom, standing in the corner at the windowsill, and he turned at the sound of the door opening.

“Hey, are you feeling better?” Adrien said with a small, concerned smile. Marinette nodded shyly and approached when he gestured for her to come nearer.

“Oh!” She breathed when he stepped aside slightly. “The hydrangeas. They look beautiful.”

And so they did. Smoky darkness framed them from the evening beyond, the moon providing a perfect soft source of illumination to their amaranthine petals. This pair in particular had been some of her favorites of all the ones she grew, loving how full and round the bulbs had come with the spring yield. In full bloom, she couldn’t have imagined a better choice to represent her feelings for him.

“Yes. Beautiful.”

The tone he used struck her as odd, and when Marinette looked over at him, her knees nearly gave way. Intense and curious, Adrien’s gaze studied her with an admiring sort of security.

The pop of green seemed deeply happy, while stirring with the mystery and mischief of his goofy and kind-hearted side, and it filled her with an ache of love so intense she felt the words of sweet confession start to form on her tongue. Thankfully, there was no air in her lungs to support to syllables, so they died as they inched up her vocal chords.

Three years of unrequited, or, at least, misunderstood feelings, clamped down hard on her heart bitterly, and yet, Marinette knew she would do it again. Every lifetime, if she had to. Again and again. She would have waited forever for him to look at her like that, and three years had been long, and slow, but in the gentle curve that tempered his eyes when he smiled at her, because of her, she knew it had made each second worth it.

He broke her stupor, gesturing below her chin. “Why did you choose the peony?”

“The… peony…? Oh. Right.” She traced the outline of the flower, feeling a tint of pink stain her cheeks. “I actually picked it… well because of you. I made it in the winter, but I-I’ve… I really liked you, Adrien. For a long time. Years. Since the day you gave me that umbrella, actually.” Marinette squeezed an arm across her chest, unable to stop the sudden avowal from spilling off her tongue. “Peonies are supposed to be a mark of good luck, and when I made this, I hoped one day… well, maybe we’d be here. Together? I guess it worked?” She chuckled from embarrassment, averting her eyes.

Adrien didn’t say anything, and she grew increasingly nervous. “T-there’s legends and stuff! Some people say it’s from a Greek legend about medicine, and another about a nymph… both end with someone getting turned into a peony though, to protect them and to embody their spirits. And, nowadays, you know, a bush of peonies that thrives is supposed to be a sign of good fortune! And - and, um, i-if your peonies wither and don’t survive through summer, it’s a sign of bad tidings. Unlucky. Unlucky.”

Too bad it’s impossible to throttle yourself, Marinette thought as her brain continued to fill an anxious silence with even more anxious words. She shouldn’t have admitted how long she wanted this - it made her seem desperate, didn’t it? A clingy, useless thing, like ivy, latching to life and refusing to let go.

“Annnnnd, you know, I figured since I sew, I could make my own peony. Avoid the risk of growing them. One that would never wither. A chance for luck. ‘A Needlepoint Peony’, get it? If it’s big and bold, and never fades, it could let me be happy, right? Even though I’m not superstitious - how stupid! What am I saying? What was the question?”

Marinette forcibly covered her mouth with a hand, trying to stop the verbal flood.

Brow furrowed, the blond simply stared at her in mute silence. What was he thinking? That was too much. This was all too much, wasn’t it?

Marinette shivered when he touched her cheek.

“Marinette... ” He started to speak, but she thought a flicker of frustration colored his tone. Instead, Adrien pulled her closer and ghosted his lips over hers - the gesture was much more delicate this time. A bee buzzing over a flower, the rush of feeling was almost enough to make her cry at how long she’d wanted this, how happy she was to be here, to show him and shower him in the love she had to give. Instead, their lips pulled apart, and sweet emotion tickled her throat with the taste of sunshine and spearmint.

“I’m sorry you waited so long. I’m - I’m so glad you did. But I don’t think it’s the peony; it’s just you.” He laughed a bit at her dazed expression, squishing their foreheads together. “It’s you. Lucky. Pretty. Smart. I’m just stupid for not noticing sooner.”

Leaning away, Adrien stood up slightly and pressed a gentle kiss into her forehead.

“Thank you for giving me a chance.”

A rapt knocking broke them out of the moment, and Nathalie spoke through the door. “Adrien. The car is prepared for Marinette.”

The pair blinked a few times, words processing a little slower as reality returned from their private moment. After a slow breath, Adrien smiled.

“Let’s get you home.”

Marinette could only nod and let herself be led from his house, grabbing her purse and floating down the stairs. She was unable to do more than share a few warm glances with him when they sat down in the car.

Marinette felt so happy that it actually hurt when the door shut, like finishing the chapter of a great story; why did it have to end? Anything she could do to savor the last moments before they said good night were worth it, and when they settled in the backseat, she eagerly took his hand.

“We should do something this weekend.” She stated, failing to sound casual with the pitchy tone of her voice. Adrien didn’t seem to mind.

“I’d love that - oh! That reminds me!” He blinked a few times, little green twinkles in the dark interior as they rolled past darkened Parisian streets. “I actually - well, it’s a long story. Basically, I got my schedule messed up, and I realized I can go the reception on Saturday. The one for the museums, for Le Nuit. Go with me, please?”

Marinette balked, staring at him. Was he serious?

“...What? But, we’d… well, you know,” she cleared her throat, aware of the two adults occupying the front seat. “People would see us together. Are you sure? Maybe you should talk to your Dad… And isn’t at Le Grande Paris? Chloe’s not exactly my ‘BFF,’ you know.”

The blond leaned over the center console, voice low. The whisper in her ear sent a current of electricity down her spine. “I’ll talk to my Dad if it’ll make you feel better, but I want to go out with you. I want people to know. I want everyone to know.” Drawing back, Marinette released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

He repeated his earlier invitation. “Please, go with me?”

“I- O-of course. Of course I’ll go.” She beamed, wondering when her alarm for school was going to wake her from this amazing dream; there’s no way it was real. Any minute now, she guessed.

The minutes passed, and no alarm interrupted them. They pulled up to the bakery, and Marinette scoffed irritably. Her parents were framed in the doorway, waving at them in the car.

“The welcoming committee is here this time,” she pointed out, and Adrien laughed as he sprang from the car, racing to get her door.

As she rolled her eyes, he quipped, “Rye is that a problem?

Marinette decided to ignore that. “Thank you, Madam Sancoeur. And, um, Monsieur... Driver.”

“Bonsoir, Marinette,” Nathalie answered as Adrien shut the door.

Marinette tried to seem perfectly grumpy as they approached, which wasn’t entirely difficult when Adrien made another joke, urging her to “crumb on.”

“Hi, Maman, Papa,” Marinette said as she pushed open the door to the bakery, and the Dupain-Cheng’s stood with bouncing heels and excited smiles, spotting Adrien’s hand on her lower back.

“Good evening, Madam Cheng, Monsieur Dupain,” Adrien greeted formally, bowing slightly. The movement was interrupted when her father captured them both in a hug, strong enough to lift them both from the ground. Maman barely managed to not get caught in the flurry.

“There’s my girl! And so happy to see you, son,” her father beamed at Adrien when they both were returned to solid ground.

Her mother grasped her husband’s arm, leaning into him dreamily. “Look at the happy couple! You both look so cute together. And about time, too!”

Red crept Marinette’s neck, burying her freckles in a fury of distress. “Maman! Stop it!”

Adrien chuckled and smirked and her chagrin, and she thought about forcing him out the door.

“I can’t stand you - all of you!” Marinette groaned, putting her face in her hands.

“Now now, sweetie,” her father consoled her with a less crushing embrace. “Your mother and I are just excited for you and Adrien. All we wanted for you is a sweet, nice gentleman, and you found him. Can you blame us?”

Clearing his throat, Adrien sounded a little off. “W-well, thank you, Monsieur Dupain. That’s such a nice thing to say. I’m really happy you’re so accepting of me.”

Marinette peeked at the boy from comforting spot against her Papa’s chest, eyeing her mother suspiciously as the woman took his hand and patted it with her other. “You’re a sweet boy, and we trust you. Please, come over anytime for dinner or to a… what do the kids say, ‘Netflix binge?’ That.”

Marinette considered drowning herself with the gardening hose tomorrow when she got to work.

“Maman, you can’t say things like that! There’s a-a-a connotation to that, and it’s inappropriate! Adrien, I’m so sorry!”

The woman was unphased, merely shrugging. “Adrien, thank you for making sure Marinette got home safely. You take care, and if you ever want to stop in, we’re always happy to have you.”

“Our little girl’s first boyfriend!” Her father sighed, squeezing a struggling Marinette into him. His large stomach was making it impossible to breathe, and when she finally resurfaced, some of her hair got squashed into her mouth.

“Pff -” she said, spitting it out and untangling herself from her parents, pushing them towards the back of the store.

“Okay, thanks, bye!”

Marinette could barely look him in the eye. “I am so sorry about that. Please ignore them.”

“It’s okay,” Adrien reassured her, walking across the store to meet her. She peeked up at him and he was smiling, his halo of blonde hair almost making him look angelic. “I thought it was sweet. Your parents are always so nice.”

“Nice is one word for it…” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

Adrien laughed and shook his head, wrapping the petulant girl in his arms. “I had a great time tonight,” he whispered.

Marinette gulped, and dropped her arms from their childish pouting position. She wrapped them around his middle, nuzzling softly into his shoulder.

“I did, too…” biting her lip, she confessed a burning question. “We’ll see each other Saturday, but… maybe we could try sooner? I-I really like spending time with you.”

Pulling apart, his features lit up, brilliant and pure. “Absolutely. I’ll figure out my schedule and we can do something. Even if it’s just spending time at the flower shop - I guess I’m not such a bad employee after all!”

“Don’t get too big for your loafers, Buster Brown,” Marinette warned, putting a hand at her hip. Instead of a silly response, Adrien peeled with sudden laughter.

“That was a fantastic pun, Mari. Well done.”

Squinting, she had to process his meaning.

Don’t get too big for your loaf-ers, Buster Brown.

Rubbing her temples, Marinette’s voice was sour. “This is how I die. A slow, subtle descent to madness.”

Adrien kissed her forehead once again and the bitterness fell right off of her.

Quick and sweet, his presence was so close, everywhere in her senses, and he murmured to her softly. “Good night, Mari. I’ll see you soon.”

“I- o-okay. T-thanks again for... tonight. For everything.” She stuttered through a response, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of her. Adrien swiftly disappeared into the night, and Marinette, thoroughly dazed, listened to the bell at the door, his dismissal, fade away into a quiet peace.

   Bonus Scene:

 “This way, come on,” Plagg phased through the ceiling wall, and Tikki was about ready to throttle him.

She shot a quick whisper at him when she caught up, breathing in the scent of fresh air.

“Where are we going, Plagg?”

They had been floating around all evening, mostly in the upper corners of Adrien’s room, and Plagg seemed not at all himself. The kwami’s tail twitched occasionally, he smiled too frequently, and Tikki suspected he was up to something.

“Almost there. Just be patient – geez. Drama queen.”

Inhaling sharply, Tikki’s antenna twitched. “What did you just say to me?”

“N-Nothing! Nothing at all!” Plagg’s eyes went wide and he phased through yet another wall, much to her dismay. They had only gone up a floor and through one room, but she hadn’t been able to warn Marinette of her departure, and that made her nervous.

“We had all night – why would you wait until the last fifteen minutes before Marinette has to go home to… Plagg, are you even listening to me?”

The kwami’s ear’s twitched a few feet in front of her, and he turned midair. Tikki quietly noted their surroundings; it seemed like an old music room, and the air was musty with dust. Dark particles flew around them, oddly pretty under the streaming light of the lunar light from the tall windows. It was like floating in an ocean of dark stars, and the look of apology Plagg gave her made her blush.

“I-I’m sorry, Tikki. I had a surprise for you, but I kept getting nervous and backing out of it! But, ugh, I hate this stupid emotional crap. We’ll make it quick, just, cm’here…” He grumbled the last part over his shoulder. Taken aback, Tikki blinked and sneezed at some dust, but sped across the room to catch up with him.

Plagg sat on a rather modest-looking box in the corner of the room, set squarely in the center of an extravagant dresser. The dark wood reflected some white-blue illumination from the windows, and it cast the black cat in an oddly somber light.

Gentler than before, Tikki lowered herself next to him. “What is this place?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he answered slowly, rubbing a paw along the box. “I think it was important to Adrien’s mom, cause her name is written all over this stuff. Pianos and violins and junk, though it’s all terribly out of tune.”

“Like you’d know how to carry a tune,” she nudged him. “I’ve heard your singing.”

“I happen to be a fantastic singer, thank you,” he grinned. “Ask Adrien. I sang him a ballad about camembert once, and even he said it was fantastic.”

The red kwami giggled, “Suuuuure.”

They sat for a moment in silence, and Tikki admired the room. It was probably the size of Adrien’s ground-floor, wide with tall ceilings. Most of the services were covered in sheets, probably to keep the dust off, and it made her a little sad to think about.

Abruptly, she sneezed with the swishing of Plagg’s tail kicking up some of the dust.

“It’s pretty in here,” she remarked as she shook the dust from her head. “But it’s sort of making me feel sick. Should we go back?”

A tiny tint of green peeked up through his whiskers, and Tikki blinked. “What?”

“There’s one more thing – okay? Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t,” she answered honestly, a little amused by his behavior.

He took a deep breath and floated up, gesturing for her to follow. Plagg then carefully creaked open the lid of the box, and a gentle little music began to play. Perhaps a piano, crisp little notes of a sweet melody rang out in the silent room, and a ballerina danced inside the box.

“A music box?” Tikki questioned, scowling down at the display in confusion. When she looked up, Plagg was smoothing out his whiskers, and he cleared his throat.

“Sure, whatever. It plays, and I can’t figure out anything else in this room. So are you going to dance with me, or not?”

Scarlet rushed to her already crimson cheeks, and Tikki’s blue eyes grew even wider. “Dance?”

“Dance.” He repeated, floating up to her and taking her paws in his. His over-confident voice deceived his drawn brow, the frown of his lips.

The best she could do was smile warmly and resist the urge to sneeze, floating a bit closer.

It wasn’t like the sort of tangos or slow dances humans entertained, complicated by steps and disproportionate bodies. They just held hands, paw to paw, and twirled in the dusty sea, dark twinkles sparkling around them in a soft light of night.

The balance had never been so secure.