16. Making Puns at the Dinner Table

"And as I tried to escape, I had to wear this banana costume. I swear it follows me around a bunch!"

Marinette's laughter rang through the jovial air of her parent's cozy dining room table, closely followed by her father's hearty chuckle.

His presence had always filled up a room faster than the warm, doughy scents of their bakery, but now it shared in Adrien's jovial banter which seemed to be doing just that and more.

He smiled at him, completely rapt as he continued his story - another crazy day in the life of a model.

He didn't try to impress with camera-ready scripts or flash photography facades.

He was himself, not the model.

And even if the puns were painful, her Dad ate it all up.

That alone could fuel Marinette for another lifetime of bad jokes.

Not to mention her practice with another self-acclaimed comic.

As Adrien emphasized one point with energetic hand gestures, her father patted his back with a huge yet gentle hand.

He cast Marinette a look of awe, his eyes shone with the warmth of a loving family.

She nodded back at him.

Even if his father filled his life with grandeur, glamor, and luxury - what was hers was his.

And she wanted him to have the world

Her world.

17. Wanting to Hear His Voice

"Hello? Adrien's voice cracked with sleep on the other line.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry. I just realized what time it must be over there… It completely slipped my mind." Marinette's frazzled voice met him apologetically.

"Hey, Mari, it's okay. You know I love hearing your voice."

Her heart leapt.

She'd been majorly stressed with superheroing duties as Chat Noir was out of the country with work.

Not that having her boyfriend halfway across the world was any easier.

"I miss you. 'Wanted to hear your voice." She admitted, longing to snuggle in his arms with the promise to never let go.

"I miss you too, Bell." He had started calling her that after the color of her eyes.

Bluebell.

She missed those too. All the nicknames he gave her. His laughter filling up the room. His whispered compliments in her ear.

Even when his voice was right there it felt too far.

"Just a few more days and Father's tour will finish." He reasoned.

"He's not even there." She retorted, pissed at the man for shipping his son abroad like an export while he stayed back and did whatever the fuck it was he did.

"Yeah… He's still hurting." Adrien always had an excuse ready for him. The perfect son he was.

But she understood. After all, he had lost the love of his life three years ago now.

Marinette knew she'd never recover if she lost hers.

"Are you okay?"

"I will be when I see you again." Adrien answered honestly.

He had a habit of protecting her feelings, but they'd both been working on breaking his walls.

Perfection was exhausting after all.

"You know you're amazing, right?"

There was a slight pause.

"Thank you, love." His voice cracked again.

"Wanna stay on call until we fall asleep?" She couldn't care less if the international minutes were going to hike up her phone bill that month. She had needed him at first, but she knew he needed her too.

"That'd be great."

He was the first to fall back asleep, his deep, slowed breaths putting her to sleep soon after.

18. Gift Giving

Adrien loved gift-giving.

It was his love language. One of many, but still important to him nonetheless.

Marinette always told him he gave a lot. Too much, in fact.

So much of him went to his father and the cameras. Other parts of him went to the public and his friends.

He could only imagine how she'd react if she knew how much he gave as Chat Noir.

She told him he needed to learn to receive. To accept.

Maybe even take.

She told him he deserved it. Even when he didn't think so, even when he felt like he already had too much.

She wanted him to have more.

That's why he shouldn't have been shocked when she finally told him to open his eyes and to take a look.

She had brought him to a secluded area of the Eiffel Tower, adorned with candles, petals, and a table for two. It was set with food items from the bakery - an assortment of breads, cheese, and a bottle of sparkling cider.

He loved it.

He loved her.

"Marinette. This-this is amazing!" He couldn't take his eyes off the scene until he looked at her.

She was wearing a simple, white mini dress with puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, white sandals to match and a locket he had given her for her seventeenth birthday. She also had her hair pulled in an updo; curled, blue strands framing her face beautifully.

"You look beautiful." He took her blushing face with his palm.

"You give me so much. I figured this was the least I could do." She whispered.

He kissed her softly.

"You're my greatest gift."

19. Taking him off the pedestal

Marinette giggled as Adrien tried to crack yet another egg.

And once again he failed miserably, pouting at the mess he made.

Three years ago she would've told you Adrien Agreste could do no wrong - that he was perfect.

Three years ago she would've told you he lived in a mansion that sat on a pedestal, far far away from something she could ever reach.

Now he still lived in that mansion, sure.

And yes he was still perfect in her eyes.

But she could also see his flaws.

He can't bake for shit, nor can he sing without breaking glass.

He can't sew without sticking himself like a pin cushion, nor can he dance like there's nobody watching.

He's allergic to feathers.

He's afraid of small spaces.

He can't always sleep well.

And sometimes he kinda smells like cheese.

Marinette watched him picking shells out of the bowl and smiled.

But all of these flaws are what make him special. They make him perfect for her because she can bake him passionfruit macarons for days, hum sweet lullabies until he drifts off to sleep, sew him hats without feather-based designs, dance enough to take up an entire room and make him feel free so he never feels trapped again.

She doesn't have to grasp at the stars to reach him. She doesn't have to hang the moon to please him. She doesn't have to stand on tiptoes to touch him.

He doesn't need a pedestal. She doesn't need rose-tinted glasses.

He can bend without breaking - he can stand on solid ground and meet her gaze with his own.

She picks a shell he missed and kisses his flour-dusted cheek.

She'd tell him about the cheese thing too.

One day.

20. Clapping the Loudest

She whooped loudly as she watched her supermodel boyfriend walk down the runway.

He held his head high, he knew he looked good clad in a crisply-tailored suit. It held a sophisticated charm, an interesting take on Chat Noir that Marinette found worked really well on him.

His outfit consisted of parts - a gray, long-sleeve under a black, leather vest that split at the backside, black slacks with slight gray stripes, and black gloves that tied it all together.

He even wore his hair more boyish than usual, messy with a flair that somehow worked.

He struck a few poses, turned, and caught Marinette's eye as he made his way back.

His shone with delighted surprise.

It had cost quite a bit for Marinette to join him as his father kept sending him further and further away on his tours.

He'd even asked his father for her ticket since they were on an academic holiday.

He hadn't budged.

Regardless, Marinette always had a will for her way and eventually made it happen.

Some called it stubbornness, she liked to call it tenacity.

As she continued clapping for her love, she caught a glare that made her blood run cold.

Behind the runway's curtains, she could make out the outline of Gabriel Agreste. His face held no sign of emotion, not even pride for his son.

All that broke through was ice. His eyes were frigid, black chips freezing Marinette in her tracks.

That's when she realized she was standing on thin, eggshell ice.