AmyNChan: I don't own ML.
The first time it happened, it was out of necessity rather than heightened emotion or a specific 'moment' set up by scenery or general ambiance. The fact that she might have gotten a little carried away was a closely guarded secret.
The second time it happened, it was a tender moment between friends gone slightly awry. An accident that left one a blushing and blubbering mess and the other far too shocked to do anything except stare. She suspected that he liked it very much, but kept it quiet so as not to embarrass her. She appreciated it.
At least, he kept quiet until the third time it happened. This time, it was a desperate moment where she needed him to stop and listen. Or at the very least stop running off with wild theories. That was her job! He made a wise crack about her new favorite way to shut him up.
That wise crack gave him the fourth time it happened. Just to shut him up.
The fifth time it happened, it was he who initiated it. He who had been so overjoyed and happy. He who looked as though Christmas had come early. And she? She had been confused. Lost. Her expressions had shown on her face, which had led to his guilt.
Months passed before the sixth time it happened. He had not allowed it to happen in deference to what he believed her real emotions were. If she were happy, he would blame it on a fleeting joy. If he needed to shut up, he backed away before she could pounce. If she were sad, he would offer her a hug. The sixth time only happened after a long conversation, a long heart-to-heart, and then she asked him to let it happen. It did.
So did times seven, eight, nine, and ten. And then she had taken a breath. They had both smiled. He was the one who initiated eleven and twelve.
"You know, Princess," he said the next morning as they walked. "I happen to have a lucky number."
"Is it seven?" she teased. Their hands were intertwined as they made their way to school, and she was content to hold him. The cheeky grin he sent her way was answer enough.
"Is it fourteen?" she asked, curiosity beginning to shine through. It was, after all, the age where they had first met. His smile did not falter as he shook his head.
"Three?" she persisted as they walked into the classroom. That grin did not dissipate. She frowned playfully and bumped his shoulder. "Are you gonna tell me?"
"Yep," he said smugly before swooping down and catching her lips with his own. Like the previous twelve times, it was a surprise, but they both knew this time that it was wholly welcome. She tilted her head in order to be more comfortable as she pressed back in return, squeaking slightly when he nipped her lower lip on withdrawing.
"What was that?" she giggled. His kisses left her on cloud nine and she could not contain her bashful joy even if she wanted to.
"Number thirteen," he announced, his grin softening into a look of utter adoration and happiness. It made her knees go weak. "The kiss that told everyone else I am yours."
Marinette chuckled at how absolutely adorable her boyfriend could be. Because he was.
And the fourteenth time it happened was to let everyone know that she was his.