Chat Noir hated thunderstorms. He absolutely despised them. In fact, he didn't see the good in them. They were loud and wet and dark. There was absolutely nothing to like about them.
The only thing he hated more was that this distaste seemed to follow into his life as Adrien.
Thankfully, he had been trapped at Marinette's house when it began. In her arms, he at least felt some sense of safety. All around were a lovely number of pillows and blankets to protect them. His head lay in her lap and she worked magic through his hair. It brought him comfort in between the strikes of thunder.
"Are you feeling any better?" she asked.
"A little bit," he purred, easing into her. Suddenly, a loud crack whipped in the air and his body became taut. "No!" he amended, squirming. Giggles escaped Marinette's lips before she returned to cooing over him.
"When I'm scared," she began, "I like to think of my favorite things, and then I feel better." Chat Noir considered this for a moment while he untangled himself slightly from Marinette.
"What are your favorite things?" he wondered out loud, not wanting to put his own to words quiet yet. She hummed at the question.
"Well, there's you." He grinned a cheeky grin.
"I knew that." Her hand momentarily left his head, to which he was mildly displeased, in order to count her list on her fingers.
"And new dresses, my dad's macrons, chocolate chip cookies…"
"Those sound nice," Chat remarked. Hands returning to ruffle his hair, she looked at him contentedly.
"What are your favorite things?"
"Well head pats are purretty high on that list, so we're off to a good start." Ignoring and accepting his pun, Marinette allowed this observation to instigate quiet the smile upon her person.
"What else?" she encouraged, moving her hands down from his hair to cup his cheeks.
"Those chocolate chip cookies sounded really good."
"Mmm," she hummed, agreeing wholeheartedly.
"And cuddles. I pawsitively love cuddles." A smirk crossed her cheeks.
"That could be arranged."
"And kisses?"
"Mmm, if you think it will help distract you from the storm," she whispered.
"I think it will help miraculously."
Author's Note: Same shit, different day.