Chapter Text
The chill of the night stretched over a withered Paris, sweeping through the empty streets and scraping at the doors of it’s slumbering population. In the stillness of the night, lost souls were left to wonder with no company or activity to sate their hunger. In the wake of Hawkmoth’s rise, there had been less and less nightly activities on the quainter side of town, away from the bustle of clubs and drunken rendezvous.
There was beauty in such a sight, seeing the city in it’s purest expression of peace, where all the senses were treated to a gentle stimuli with no interruption. It was the stuff of great art, carefully splattered across a canvas or lovingly woven into the verses of a poem.
But all Hawkmoth could focus on was the fact that he was really, really hungry.
He perched himself on the edge of a rooftop, the head of his cane tucked under his chin, desperately trying to ignore the cries of his stomach. It was like a sea of needy children in the back of his mind, wailing at the injustice of him missing one or two meals today and battering him at full force as recompense.
He let his eye lids fall, reaching out through his miraculous to tug on his tether to Chat Noir. “Kitty Paw, come in Kitty Paw.” He spoke through their connection, Chat Noir’s point of view materializing in his head.
On the other side of the street, Chat hung from a signpost advertising a general store, his gaze firmly fixed on the target that towered over all other shops in the corner: The Dupain Cheng Bakery.
Chat moved his finger over his ear to mimic an ear piece that wasn’t there. “Reading you loud and clear, Wingman.”
They were silent for a moment. Patiently and judgementally waiting.
Hawkmoth cleared his throat. “Ahem.”
Nathalie’s voice eventually came down the line under protest, dazed and short – like she was struggling to stay awake. She was essentially playing their ‘woman in the chair’ for today. “…Red Queen, standing by.”
The projection of Chat’s vision focused on the roof of the bakery, a neatly decorated extended balcony that led into an unlocked hatch. A weak point in this fortress of sugar and bread.
Chat Noir crouched low on the balcony, his black tail flicking side to side as his eyes narrowed on the unlocked hatch. The Dupain Cheng Bakery stood like a fortress, and tonight, he was the thief who would plunder its delectable treasures. “Entry point spotted, Wingman. Advancing on the objective now.”
Nathalie’s sleepy voice came down the line, almost a yawn. “Why are we burglarizing a bakery again?”
Hawkmoth’s reply was immediate and unapologetic. “Because we’re hungry.”
Chat fought back a snicker. His father, the grand villain who tormented Paris with akumas, sounded like a disgruntled kid missing his after-school snack.
Nathalie wasn’t buying it. “We have food at home.”
Hawkmoth huffed, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “But the Dupain Cheng’s have the best treats in all of Paris.”
Chat Noir’s lips twitched into a smirk as he carefully swung over the railing. “Dad, couldn’t we just buy their food?”
“It’s about the principle of it, Son,” Hawkmoth declared with an air of self-righteousness. “We’re villains, we don’t buy what we want, we take it!”
Nathalie remained unimpressed. “You don’t want to make things awkward between you and your school friend. Marinette, was it?”
Chat waved it off, inching closer to the hatch. “It’ll be fine. She already hates Chat Noir.”
Hawkmoth made a sound of genuine disbelief. “Hmph, she must have terrible taste then.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at that. “Oh, you have no idea.”
But the conversation was cut short as Chat paused on the ledge of the hatch, slowly pushing it open with a faint creak. The soft scent of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries wafted up through the opening, making his stomach growl. His convenient night vision gave him the wide berth of the room, allowing him to take in the quaint design. Well, he could, if the room wasn’t so damn messy. There was art supplies everywhere, scrunched up sketches and loose material thrown against the wall or draped over a table.
“You know,” Hawkmoth mused, his voice soft with nostalgia, “this really makes me nostalgic.”
Chat slipped through the hatch, landing on his feet with feline grace in Marinette’s bedroom. “How?”
As he crept within, he marvelled at the small elevated slope leading up to the bed. A glimpse of a small, Marinette-shaped bump in the covers was enough to leave Chat with his breath caught in his throat. Thank God his father communicated with him mentally and didn’t need him to actually speak.
“Oh, I used to poach goodies from this bakery all the time back in my younger days. It was just Dupain Bakery back then.” Hawkmoth’s voice carried the tone of fond memories, but it quickly turned sour. “Of course, that had to end after the owner’s pet giant threw me in a dumpster.”
Chat froze. “You mean Marinette’s dad?”
There was a stunned silence before Hawkmoth spoke again, his voice rising in shock. “That was a person? And he’s still around?!”
Chat had to bite back a laugh.
Hawkmoth’s voice dropped to a low, sombre warning. “Be careful, Son.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chat muttered under his breath, already halfway to the door. He peered through the crack, making sure the coast was clear. All quiet. This would be easy.
He tried not to linger in the room. It was easier to justify this petty heist to himself when he wasn’t looking at the adorable victim whose room he was violating the privacy of. And it was harder to focus and get a move on when Marinette had so many things to be distracted by.
So, for all intents and purposes, he speedran the door, slipping through the night with the grace of his namesake. He crept down the spiral stairs, his heart racing not from fear, but from the thrill of the mission. Just one floor down. One quick raid of the kitchen, and then—bam—he’d be back out on the rooftop before anyone could notice.
Chat Noir padded softly into the bakery’s kitchen, the smell of butter and sugar heavy in the air, tantalizing his senses. The dim moonlight trickled through the windows, casting long shadows over the rows of trays filled with fresh bread, croissants, and pain au chocolat. His stomach rumbled at the sight.
"Okay, objective in sight,” he whispered to himself, crouching down to eye the gleaming pastries on the countertop. "Time to bag the loot."
His eyes drifted over the array, and he quickly grabbed a few of his father's favourite treats: a couple of pain au chocolate, a freshly baked baguette, and a small tart that looked too good to resist. He stuffed them into a cloth bag he had brought along, ready to make his escape.
"Perfect, easy," Chat murmured, sneaking a glance back toward the stairs. He was already imagining the smug look on his father’s face when he presented the bounty.
But just as he was about to dart back upstairs, his eyes landed on a family photo tucked into the corner of the counter. It was Marinette and her parents, all grinning with flour smeared on their aprons. The warmth in their smiles struck him like a punch to the gut.
Suddenly, the idea of stealing didn’t feel quite as fun.
Chat frowned, clutching the bag of pastries tighter as guilt gnawed at him. He stood frozen in place, his feet refusing to move. Could he really go through with this? Break into the home of the girl who had always been kind to him as Adrien? He wasn’t a bad person. Not really.
"No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. "You’re a villain, remember? Villains don’t pay for stuff, they take it."
But the picture was still there, smiling at him, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably.
With a deep sigh, Chat slowly walked to the cash register and glanced around. "Dad’s gonna kill me," he grumbled under his breath. "But it’s better than stealing."
After a quick search of his suit's hidden pockets, he pulled out a wad of bills and counted out more than enough money to cover the pastries—probably way too much, but guilt was making him overcompensate. He slapped it down on the counter next to the family photo, along with a scribbled note: For the treats. Totally not a thief. —C.N.
He gave the pastries one last longing look before retreating upstairs. As he crept back toward the hatch in Marinette’s room, he felt oddly proud of himself for doing the right thing—even if his dad would definitely not approve.
"This stays between us," Chat whispered to the quiet room. "Hawkmoth never finds out I went all goody-two-shoes."
There was an itching that told him the Plagg part of him wanted to make a sarcastic remark about him talking to an empty room. But Chat ignored it a gracefully scrambled back up the stairs, climbing through the attic ladder once more and popping his head through the hatch.
His ears picked up, unable to hear Marinette’s gentle snores anymore. A casual glance still saw her vague shape peering over the bed frame, but it still left him worried if it meant she was waking up or not. Either way, he proceeded with caution, slowly pulling himself up the hatch and sliding down into a prone position on the floorboards.
On all fours, he crawled through the room, occasionally sneaking a glance back to his potential witness to make sure he wasn’t disturbing her. During his slow journey, he found his attention stolen when his fingers brushed against the cover of a thick binder that had seemingly been knocked off of Marinette’s desk.
‘Fashion Journal’, it was labled. Now, Chat Noir liked to think that he wasn’t a snoop.
But he’d never had the chance to see Marinette’s designs before (no matter how many times Alya and Nino raved about them to him), and, well; he is a cat, and they are unfortunately curious.
With a quiet sigh, Chat opened the binder, flipping to the first page. His eyes widened immediately, taken aback by the intricate designs sketched out on the paper. Dresses, suits, accessories—all of them meticulously detailed. The lines were bold yet elegant, the patterns flowing naturally as if they had leapt straight from Marinette's imagination onto the paper.
"Wow..." Chat whispered, his gaze tracing the curves and angles of each piece. He'd seen his fair share of fashion in his father’s line of work, but this—this was different. It was fresh, playful, full of life. He could almost see people wearing these creations, strutting down a runway or gracing the red carpets.
He flipped to the next page. More designs, this time themed around animals—birds, butterflies, and even a sleek black cat. He blinked in surprise, his eyes lingering on a particular outfit. It was clearly inspired by him, Chat Noir. A sharp, black leather jacket with green accents and a belt buckle shaped like a cat’s paw.
"She’s got taste," Chat muttered under his breath, unable to stop the grin tugging at his lips. The jacket looked better than his own suit, and that was saying something. He imagined what it would be like to wear something she had designed specifically for him, not just as Chat Noir, but as Adrien—something that showed how much thought and care she'd put into it.
He turned another page. This one was different. The sketches were still beautiful, but there was something softer about them. Less polished, more personal. His breath hitched slightly as he recognized a few familiar faces in the designs. One sketch was of Alya in a stylish, fitted blazer, clearly something Marinette had tailored with her best friend’s personality in mind. Another was a dapper suit for Nino, complete with a snapback hat that screamed "DJ."
Then came the design that made his heart skip a beat. It was for him. Adrien. Not Chat Noir, but Adrien. The model. The boy who sat a few desks away from her in class.
The suit was simple, elegant, with clean lines and soft hues of white and grey. It had a classic feel to it, like something his father would approve of for a formal event. But the details—the small, thoughtful touches—those were what made it uniquely Marinette. A small pin on the lapel in the shape of a star, a subtle nod to something brighter, warmer.
Chat found himself tracing the design with his eyes, the thought of her making something like this for him swirling in his mind. Did she see him like this? He knew she was kind, always supportive, but this felt like something more. There was an intimacy to the design that he couldn’t quite put into words.
Before he could dwell on it too long, he flipped to the next page, hoping to distract himself from the strange fluttering in his chest.
It was another suit—only this time, it was unmistakably for Adrien Agreste, the model. Not Chat Noir, not a friend, but the public figure. The son of Gabriel Agreste. The design was sleek, cold, and impersonal, with stiff lines and sharp edges. It was a suit that screamed formality, lacking the warmth or creativity of the others.
Chat's fingers twitched, and a frown creased his brow as he stared at the contrast between this design and the one before it. Was this how she saw him sometimes? A distant, unreachable, a figure behind glass?
"Like what you see?"
The voice came out of nowhere, sharp and cold, snapping him out of his thoughts. Chat jumped in shock, his ears flattening as he whipped around. Standing behind him, arms crossed, was Marinette. She was not amused.
"Ah! Marinette, fancy seeing you here!" he stammered, forcing a nervous grin, though he was all too aware of how stupid that sounded.
"In my bedroom? At 2 in the morning?" Marinette’s glare could melt steel, and Chat felt his bravado rapidly crumbling.
He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I can explain—"
Before he could finish, a sudden blow landed on his head. He blinked in surprise as Marinette swung a chair at him, the leg breaking off on impact. It didn’t hurt much, thanks to his super strength, but he could still feel it.
"Ow!" Chat yelped, taking a step back.
"Take that!" Marinette shouted, raising the chair again and smashing it over him a second time, fully breaking it.
"Marinette—"
Before he could even catch his breath, Marinette grabbed a fan from the corner of her room and lunged at him. She smacked him with it, the fan shattering to pieces.
"And that!" she added, her eyes blazing with fury.
Chat, his patience wearing thin, caught the broken fan between two fingers, giving her a calm, almost mocking look. "You know this isn’t working, right?"
Marinette shoved him, her strength nowhere near his but still enough to send him stumbling into a chair. "Yeah, but it makes me feel good!" she shot back, clearly more focused on expressing her outrage than doing any real damage.
Chat sighed, his ears drooping as he tried to reason with her. "Can we just—"
Before he could finish, Marinette moved with a speed he hadn’t expected. In the blink of an eye, a blur of fabric, ribbon, and... was that glue? He couldn’t make sense of it, but suddenly, he found himself bound to the chair, several layers of cloth wrapped around him, and stapled tightly in place.
"Aha!" Marinette exclaimed, stapler still in hand, standing triumphantly over him.
Chat looked down, wriggling a bit to test the restraints. "How did you—"
"I only work with the best materials, Kitty," Marinette replied smugly. "Even with superpowers, that sticky old cloth is going to be super annoying to get through."
Chat gave her a baffled look, tugging at the fabric. "How are your parents not hearing this?"
Marinette gave a shrug. “They’re very heavy sleepers.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "But if they do wake up and find a cat burglar in my room, what do you think they'll do?"
Chat gulped, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. "Right. Yeah. You’ve made your point."
Marinette tossed the broken stapler aside, crossing her arms. "Start talking, Kitty. What are you doing sneaking into my house and going through my stuff?"
Chat Noir wriggled in his makeshift restraints, trying to figure out how he had gotten himself into this mess. His brain raced, looking for a way out—both literally and figuratively.
“Marinette, I’m not here to hurt you!” he blurted out, hoping to calm her down.
“Oh, please,” Marinette scoffed, but then her eyes narrowed as realization hit. “Wait… how do you know my name?”
Chat froze, his brain short-circuiting. "Uh…"
“Uh?!” Marinette snapped, hands on her hips. “That’s your answer? How do you know my name, Chat Noir?”
Thinking fast, he gave her a sheepish grin. “You just look like a ‘Marinette,’ you know? Like... it suits you!”
Marinette’s eyes widened in horror as she took a step back, pulling her blanket up to her chin as if it could protect her from whatever twisted reasoning he was giving. "You've been stalking me, haven’t you?! Or—or watching me, or something creepy like that!" Her voice grew more hysterical. "I knew you were a creep, but this is a whole new level!"
“What? No! I—”
Gasping dramatically, Marinette suddenly wrapped her blanket even tighter around her body, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Did you break into my room hoping to watch me sleep, you perv?!”
Chat’s jaw dropped in pure panic. “What?! NO! I was just—” His words caught in his throat. He had no good explanation. “I was just robbing your parents!”
The room fell silent. They stared at each other, both processing what he had just said. She looked at him like he was stupid. He felt stupid.
She squinted, exasperated. “Our food is dirt cheap. What do you need to steal it for?”
“Well,” Chat started, clearing his throat, “Dad says it’s our villainous duty to perform inconveniently petty crime.”
Marinette stared at him, her expression unreadable. “...But I left money on the counter, I swear!” he added quickly, trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left.
Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “You couldn’t have gone through some other window?”
“Your balcony was open,” Chat explained with a shrug, as if that made all the difference. “It was the easiest way in."
Marinette blinked at him, then let out a groan of frustration. “Unbelievable. I’m dealing with an idiot cat burglar.”
Chat didn’t really hear the insult, he was distracted by a fact that just became very clear to him.
“What are you staring at?”
His fingers wobbled as he raised his hand, weakly pointing at the object of his fixation. Her hair, no longer bound by pigtails, cascading delicately down her back in wild, unkempt curls. It was messy, uncoordinated and made her look just the slightest bit crazy; and it perfectly framed her.
“Y-Your hair is down.” He murmured.
Marinette blinked, not getting the significance. “Yeah, it does that.”
“It just looks nice, is all…”
Marinette’s face turned a deep shade of red, and she awkwardly tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “T-That’s a stupid thing to say,” she mumbled, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment.
Chat’s grin returned, sly and teasing. “Oh my, is the Princess getting all flustered?”
Marinette’s eyes narrowed, her blush deepening. “Princess, really?”
“What?” Chat smirked. “You’re surrounded by all these fancy dresses, you live in a tower, and I could totally see you in a Disney movie. Marinette, the Bakery Princess,” he added with a playful twirl of his finger.
Marinette groaned, rolling her eyes, though the corner of her lips twitched upward against her will. “Cute.”
“I know, right?” Chat grinned, shifting in his chair as much as the fabric binding him would allow. “You could even have a theme song! Something about pastries and… stapling cats to chairs.”
Marinette’s lips pressed together as she fought a smile. "Just wait until I add the next verse about hitting cats with fans."
“Oh, you’re really leaning into the villain role now, aren’t you?” Chat chuckled.
“Maybe," Marinette replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "but I don’t need a theme song. I have a stapler. And it’s far more effective."
Chat sighed dramatically. "Villains with staplers. How terrifying. What’s next, you’re going to bind me with glue?”
“Don’t tempt me, Kitty.”
“Chat’s taking an awfully long time.” Nathalie hummed down the line.
Hawkmoth could hear her idly typing on her keyboard, hammering the keys with a ferocity that contradicted how casual she managed to sound. She must be working really hard on something… Hawkmoth thought to himself.
He sat rather lazily on his post, feet dangling over the edge while his side was slumped against a chimney across from the bakery. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the hunger pains hitting his stomach repeatedly, he’s be self-conscious about anyone finding him there without being in a dramatic villain pose.
“Give him time, Nathalie.” He waved his hand dismissively at his mental picture of her, imagining her hunched over a desk, her usually orderly hair drawn askew and perfectly framing her gloomy expression. It was an image that was sufficiently warmer than the late night chill currently beating against Hawkmoth’s exposed mouth. “He’s a sweet boy; needs time to ease into villainy.”
She nodded along, and he knew she wasn’t really in the mood to care about whether or not his mission failed. “Whatever you say, Sir.”
Hawkmoth shook his head, she didn’t understand what was at stake here. “Trust me, after the first bite of their croissants, you’ll understand that this is all worth it.”
He could practically hear her blink, sitting up straight in her chair with an unsteady tone. “I thought this was your snack?”
“It’s all of our snacks.” Hawkmoth corrected immediately; his head tilted to the side thoughtfully. “We’re a team, we all have rights to the spoils.”
Did Nathalie really think he’d leave her out of it?
“I am sort of hungry…” She admitted, a tinge of embarrassment leaking through her measured tone.
He chuckled, “Now you’re getting into the spirit of things, Red Queen!”
“Why ‘Red Queen’?” She asked curiously, a wave of bubbling irritation passing through his miraculous. “What, am I supposed to be from Alice in Wonderland?”
Hawkmoth shook his head, jumping to his feet, as if explaining a superficial reference name was the most important part of his night. “No, no, it’s like chess.” He exclaimed. “And red’s your colour.”
The irritation was replaced with amusement, and something about that felt soothing for Hawkmoth. “If I’m the queen, what’s the king I’m defending?”
“Obviously, I’m the king.” He stated firmly, crossing his arms and trying to stand all regal and proper. Sometimes he really regretted not having a cape. “You know, I was originally going to call myself ‘Monarch’. But I figured that was more intensity than I wanted.”
He really liked the name Monarch, but it was sort of thing you built up to, you know? He couldn’t just start calling himself the king right out of the gate, he needed to set the stage, make a name for himself, get some major wins. Maybe if suddenly decided to be darker, or got a few more miraculous, or went plum crazy or something; then he could whip out the new name and scare the crap out of people.
However, Nathalie seemed to focus on a different aspect entirely. Suddenly, her breathing was short, held back by an eager curiosity. “Wait, so what you’re saying is…” She said quietly, an undiscernible emotion hitting him. “I’m your queen?”
She said it so low, with so much audible breath whipping every syllable, that it sounded as if she was speaking directly into his ear. He made him feel… Things. Things that he shook off and scrambled to save face and focus.
“Naturally.” He cleared his throat after a moment, “But if you really don’t like the code name, I could-”
“No, no.” Nathalie said with more desperation than Gabriel ever thought possible for the woman, “You’ve convinced me, my king.”
He narrowed his eyes. There was that feeling again. All because Nathalie, and he knew it was specifically because she said it, called him some fun title. He didn’t know what it was, but, for one reason or another, he knew it would make Emilie smack him upside the head.
So, he did what Gabriel Agreste was best at: Repress everything.
“So, you’re a big Adrien Agreste fan?”
Adrien saw pictures of himself all the time, on his father’s desk, on billboards, on some sponsorships that were very unfortunate in hindsight. But he’d never seen them all lined up on a board, a collage of faces reflected back at him like a cracked mirror. It was kind of spooky.
He certainly wasn’t sure how he felt about finding it in his friend’s room of all places.
“Wha-” Marinette followed his gaze only for her face to break out into panic. She dived towards the entire wall dedicated to Adrien Agreste, desperately snatching the curtain that hung over it and yanking it down. “Hey! That’s none of your business!”
He leaned to the side as much as he could within the limitations of his bounds, trying to peak around her while she flapped her arms around trying to protect whatever remained of her dignity. “Is it normal to have that many pictures of a guy?” A part of him was teasing, but another part of him was genuinely asking. He wasn’t an informed people person, as far as he knew this could be a very normal thing.
Should he start a collage of Marinette pictures? She would look good on a wall… no, wait. That was definitely weird. Plagg would never let him hear the end of it.
“I-I am a fashion designer!” she blurted out, pacing across the room like a trapped animal. “And he’s the perfect model, that’s all!” Her voice wavered between determined confidence and utter hopelessness, bouncing back and forth as she tried to explain. “It’s good for when I’m drawing up ideas.”
Chat tilted his head, watching her stumble through her explanation. He’d only gotten glimpses of this side of Marinette before, the more charged, passionate one that only appeared when she thought he wasn’t looking or she got too lost in thought to consider his presence. Or when he distracted her with a personal problem he was having. Normally she was all nerves around him, stuck in stiff expressions, desperately trying to find a way to avoid his attention like his mere gaze would make her burst.
She certainly never had the guts or fierceness she so carelessly threw at Chat Noir. He couldn’t imagine the Marinette he got to see attacking him on sight, or charging into him and tying him up whilst getting snarky and short tempered with him.
He thought it was just a little quirk of hers, or that maybe his awkwardness was just making her awkward. He’d never considered it was because she liked him enough to keep all his pictures.
Was this what Marinette was like when she wasn’t around him? Was this the girl he was missing out on because she was always so nervous around Adrien? The more she talked, the more he found it kind of… Adorable.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng was adorable. And she liked him.
Suddenly, he paused that thought, glancing back over to the journal, flashing back that cold, distant, unreachable version of him drawn inside that book. The same version he saw plastered all over her wall.
No, she liked Adrien Agreste, the model.
She hated Chat Noir.
What would she think of the guy in between them?
He shook himself free from that gloomy thought, stuffed it down deep, somewhere he could ignore it. Instead, he focused on Marinette’s flushed cheeks, he focused on the screech of her voice, he focused on how he didn’t really want to escape at the moment.
Marinette continued, seemingly trying to convince herself as much as him. “And I’m a huge fan of his father, so that’s even better.”
“Uh-huh.” Chat smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “That makes total sense.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Kitty,” she snapped, shooting him a glare. “It doesn’t suit you.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I just can’t believe such a refined lady is still falling for that old pretty-boy routine.”
Marinette’s eyes narrowed playfully, smirking. “Do I hear some jealousy, Fleabag?”
Chat’s smirk faltered for a second. “I’m not jealous,” he said, his tone more defensive than he intended. “I just know you could do so much better.”
“Pfft.” Marinette scoffed, crossing her arms. “There’s nothing better than Adrien Agreste.”
I can bench-press cars and make cat puns; how am I not the hottest person you’ve ever met?
Chat’s grin returned, more mischievous now. “I don’t see him being a bad boy in a leather cat suit.”
Marinette gave him a sideways glance. “Unlike you, Adrien could actually pull it off.”
That was simultaneously the worst insult and the best compliment.
Chat gasped dramatically, wishing he could place a hand over his heart. “Ouch! That hurts, Princess.”
“He’s a fake, you know?” Chat said after a beat, leaning back in the chair as much as his bindings would allow. “The perfect boy act? It’s all a marketing ploy.”
Marinette’s brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”
“If you really got to know him,” Chat continued, his tone softening slightly, “You’d probably find out that he’s pretty pathetic. Or weird. Or something.”
“Shut up,” Marinette snapped, her voice suddenly sharp.
Chat’s eyes widened at the seriousness of her tone, like he’d ripped out a raw nerve. “Whoa, okay, I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t know what your beef with Adrien is,” Marinette interrupted, her eyes flashing with anger, “But I don’t care.” She stepped closer, plunging her forefinger into his chest, teeth bared like an growling animal. “He’s my friend. And he’s also one of the sweetest, kindest people I know. I won’t tolerate anyone bad-mouthing him. Especially you.”
Chat fell silent, staring at her with wide eyes. Her words hit him harder than he expected. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. She was defending him—and she didn’t even know it.
“Well, uh…” he stammered, glancing away awkwardly. “Maybe I’m a little jealous…”
Silence reigned for a while, Chat not willing to say anything to ruin the tone any further as he watched Marinette sigh and turn away. “I mean, what can a guy like me do to stack up to Mr. Perfect over there?”
“Look,” Marinette started softly, “I know you probably have reason to think that about him. Hell, I… I thought he was like that when I first met him. But trust me, if you get to know him, and you’re not screwing it up by being a clumsy, stupid, over-thinking fangirl around him-”
She cleared her throat when she caught Chat’s little smile. “Y-You’ll find that he’s pretty cool. And cute. And sweet. And kind of a dork.”
“So…” Chat put on his thinking face, “Kind of like you?”
He thought it was pretty smooth. Marinette, evidently, did not, pinching the bridge of her nose and groaning. “When did you become such a flirt?”
“Since I found someone who attracted my interest.” He said honestly, like even he just realized he was flirting.
Marinette didn’t reply, just rolled her eyes.
“So, what’s your plan here?” Chat asked playfully. “’Cause I don’t think you can just keep me locked up in your bedroom forever. People might start talking.”
“Not that I mind being wrapped up by a beautiful lady,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.
“In your dreams, Cat,” Marinette shot back. “I do have standards, you know.”
Chat grinned. “Ah, but bad never looked this good.”
“As it turns out, evil is pretty ugly,” Marinette said with a cruel smile. “I’m really into good boys, sorry.”
“Oh, I can be a good boy,” Chat teased, his voice dropping. “For the right lady.”
Marinette narrowed her eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Do I need to get the spray bottle, Kitty?”
Chat chuckled. “I need a whole lot more than cold water to cool down, Princess.”
Without missing a beat, Marinette whipped out a spray bottle and doused him with cold water. Chat yelped, hissing like an actual cat as he squirmed in his chair. “W-Wait! Put down the spray! I yield, I yield!”
Satisfied, Marinette lowered the bottle with a smug grin. “Now that’s a good boy.”
Chat, still dripping, chuckled breathlessly. “You know, if you keep me here any longer, my dad is going to get worried. And I think Ladybug would appreciate you not triggering an akuma this late.”
Marinette tapped his hand playfully. “I think she’d appreciate me snatching your ring and cuffing you for her even more.”
“Good plan, Princess.” Chat raised an eyebrow and wiggled his fingers as much as he could under the layers of fabric she’d bound him with. “Small problem though—you wrapped my ring under three layers of bindings.”
Marinette leaned forward, her hand hovering over his. “Then I’ll cut them open and snag your ring.”
Chat, cocky as ever, grinned. “And if I break out before you get the ring?”
“You won’t,” Marinette replied sharply, meeting his gaze head-on.
Their eyes locked, neither willing to back down, both leaning unconsciously closer. The challenge hung between them, unspoken, as they grew more intense with every second.
“I’m pretty fast,” Chat murmured, his voice low, playful. “Cat-like reflexes and all.”
“I’m fast too,” Marinette replied, her eyes glinting as her fingers traced the fabric binding his wrists. Chat suddenly felt his heart beating louder and louder, each pulse quickening as her touch lingered a little too long. “And the rest of me isn’t bound.”
Chat swallowed hard, his cocky exterior cracking ever so slightly. “Not too sure about that.”
Marinette’s gaze softened, but there was a challenge behind it. “You’re a dumb guy. You’re not sure about much.”
He leaned forward as much as he could, feeling her breath warm against his skin, so close now that he could barely think straight. “Okay, but I warn you,” he hissed, “when I get out, I won’t be merciful.”
He had no idea how he got here. It was just playful teasing earlier, easing the tension, making Marinette comfortable and not try to call the police on him or take his ring. But now she was here, she was so close and- Damn, how did he never realize how good Marinette looked until she was right up in his face? And he didn’t know what conditioner she used, but her scent was driving his enhanced sense of smell insane.
Her eyes were soft and daring, just radiating the sort of warmth you could curl up to, and suddenly Chat never wanted to look at anything else again. She was staring at him, determined, with her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed, a layer of sheen over her soft skin, and her lips ever so slightly apart. They were plump too, with the sort of texture that just immediately made Chat want to know what they feel like, to reach up and brush across them with anything.
Suddenly his heart was doing flips and telling him that nothing in his life would mean anything if he couldn’t get Marinette to look at him like that every day. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was adorable. She was also beautiful, and right now she was also hot. He knew that technically those words could all mean the same thing, but he felt it was important to himself that he separate them into three categories that Marinette managed to dominate individually.
“Oh, I think I can handle you,” she whispered, her voice tinged with playful defiance.
“Really?” Chat whispered back, his lips mere inches away from her own, the tension between them thickening.
“Really,” Marinette murmured, her forehead now pressing gently against his, their breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison. Chat’s pulse raced, and suddenly, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her. The thought hit him like a freight train—he wanted to kiss her, really kiss her. More than anything.
Chat smirked, the tension unbearable. “We’ll see about that—”
Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted, blaring inside Chat’s mind. “Kitty Paw, status report!”
Chat jumped, his eyes widening in horror as the butterfly symbol appeared over his eyes. Marinette, equally startled, gasped and shoved his chair in panic, causing it to tip over with a loud thud.
“I’m getting a lot of strange emotional signals from you,” Hawkmoth’s voice continued, oblivious to the chaos. “What’s going on?”
“Gah!” Chat yelped, scrambling back to his feet. “D-Dad, don’t scare me like that!”
Oh god. I almost- My Dad almost saw- Oh, this is so embarrassing! He found his fingers rushing through his hair, desperately gripping his scalp to numb the sensation of his heart thumping out of his chest.
“Did anything happen? Did the giant get you?” Hawkmoth pressed, his tone demanding.
Chat hissed, “He’s gonna if you make me jump and wake him up!”
“Well, hurry up! I’m starving!” Hawkmoth moaned like a needy child.
He raised his hands up, imagining himself throttling his father for interrup- Wait, hands? Chat glanced down to see that the bindings, as well as the chair he was tied to, had been broken apart from the fall. “Oh, hey, I’m free.”
Marinette had retreated into the corner of the room, desperately trying to hide her blushing face. “Y-You should probably go now,” she stammered.
“Right, right…” Chat said, brushing himself off as he stood.
He got up and fled toward the balcony hatch, only to come to a stop on the first step. He stroked his chin, pondering. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”
“Huh?” Marinette asked, peeking out from her corner.
“I got the haul, I left the money…” His lips curled into a mischievous grin as he rounded on her. “Oh, right, I remember now.”
“What’s with that look?” Marinette asked, unease creeping into her voice. “Chat?”
“Kitty?” she repeated, taking a step back.
“Say something!”
The Black Cat pounced.
An hour later, as the transformation fell and Adrien was back in the comforts of his bed room, he was sure that Marinette would, eventually, look back on this night and laugh. Really, when you think about it, it was a really cool prank!
…
If not, it was a good thing that she didn’t know that he was Chat Noir.
Plagg headed straight to the cheese fridge the moment he was free, grumbling. “After what you put me through tonight, there better be camembert in the fridge, Kid.”
Adrien flopped down on his bed, munching on his own special treat. “Aw, come on, it’s not that bad.”
Plagg scoffed, spraying gooey cheese chunks across the carpet with every word. “I merge with my holder to deal out chaos and stylistic destruction; not to play the awkward third wheel to your teenage wet dreams.”
“Hey, it’s not like that!” Adrien shot up, spluttering. “I was the perfect gentleman.”
“Kid, I was a part of you.” Plagg threw out his cheese-drenched paw out towards Adrien, giggling. “There was nothing gentle about your thoughts when your little girlfriend got on top of you.”
That was a slanderous lie! Adrien had nothing but pure thoughts and noble intentions. Now, Chat’s eyes may have focused on how much shoulder Marinette’s pajama top offered him, but that was just because her shirt was really cute. He wasn’t being… Perverse or anything.
That was his story, and he was sticking with it.
“S-She’s not my girlfriend.” He turned away from Plagg’s amused, disgusting gaze. “She’s just a friend.”
Plagg raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “She practically has a shrine to you in her room. She’s head over heels for ya, Kid; you just need to smile at her, and she’ll be putty in your paws.”
Adrien shook his head, frowning. “She’s head over heels for Adrien Agreste. It’s his smile she wants.”
“...Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you were Larry Agreste,” Plagg replied, deadpan.
“She likes the model, Plagg! She hates Chat Noir, and the guy under the mask is just some sheltered dude who’s good at pretending to be someone else.”
Plagg’s expression softened slightly. “I think you’re thinking too much about this.”
“Look, I’ve never dated before or had a crush on a girl before—”
“Believe me, everybody knows,” Plagg interrupted, rolling his eyes.
“BUT I know that I couldn’t be with someone who I had to lie to about who I am to keep her happy,” Adrien confessed, his voice dropping. “God, it would kill me inside, and I’d probably end up hurting her too.”
Plagg looked at him seriously for a moment before countering, “So, Pigtails doesn’t get Prince Charming then? Geez, you find a girl who’s crazy about you, and you give up instantly.”
“I’m not giving up,” Adrien insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. “I just… need to get Marinette to see that Chat Noir is super cool.”
“Now that, I can get on board with,” Plagg said, grinning. “’Cause there’s no cat cooler than this black cat!”
Adrien laughed, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Plagg, I’m going to make that girl love me if it’s the last thing I do.”
Meanwhile, back at the bakery, Marinette watched in resignation as Tikki’s tiny hands worked on the clusterfuck of tape, glue and material Chat had used to bind her to her bed frame.
“He thinks he’s so fucking funny…”
“It is kind of-”
“It’s not!” Marinette bellowed, eyes twitching as Tikki continued to giggle, nibbling at the tape.
“You know, you could just go ‘Spots On’ and rip all this off as Ladybug.”
“And let that rat bastard beat me?” She laughed like a woman gone mad, “I don’t think so!”
Tikki shook her head, humans were so strange.
I hope you know what you’re doing, Plagg.
“Tikki, I’m going to murder that cat if it’s the last thing I do.”