The Pirates Tale

by Ragoo

Summary:

Captain Chat Noir has been searching for the answers of The Crown.

They're hiding something. The British are becoming more and more powerful and Chat Noir is determined to hunt it down.

After raiding a royal ship and coming across their very own Princess, he takes her hostage in hopes she can aid him in his journey.

Notes:

Introduction and setting to the new story! I used to have a fic like this on hiatus but it was before I had betas so it was terrible.
I hope you guys enjoy this fic, don't worry for whoever is still reading A Day In Sync, I will still be working on that one too and updating it as steady as I can.

Thank you for reading, enjoy the introduction! Don't worry I have the next chapter all done and I will be posting it right after.

Chapter 1

Notes:

Disclaimer:

In the following chapters there will be:
- kidnapping
- murder
- Psychosis
- insanity
- fluff
- No smut (yet)
- Stockholm syndrome
- worshipping
- gore
- sacrifices
- piracy
And more
If youre not comfortable with any of these, I suggest you leave but if you are staying then enjoy the adventure of captain chat noir!

The ocean stretched endlessly, a vast and unbroken expanse of deep blue, shimmering beneath the golden kiss of the sun. The waves rolled gently, a deceptive calm masking the merciless hunger of the sea. From the horizon, the mighty warship loomed into view, its black sails adorned with an intricate silver emblem of a cat’s piercing eyes, glowing even in the daylight. This was the Cataclysm, feared by merchants, envied by rival pirates, and whispered about in the dim-lit corners of every seedy tavern lining the coasts.

 

At its helm stood Chat Noir, a captain whose name sent chills through even the most seasoned sailors. Dressed in a long, midnight-black coat lined with emerald embroidery, his golden hair obviously chopped, tousled by the salt-laden breeze. A leather belt crossed his chest, securing the twin blades at his waist–one for elegance, one for death. His boots, polished but battle-worn, struck against the deck as he surveyed the endless horizon, his keen green eyes reflecting the ceaseless hunger of the sea itself.

 

His crew bustled across the deck, each member moving with the effortless efficiency of men and women who had long abandoned the comforts of solid land. They were thieves, runaways, mercenaries, and outcasts who had found a home beneath Chat Noir’s banner. And above them all, standing beside the captain, was his trusted quartermaster–Nino Lahiffe.

 

Nino was the heart of the crew, the calm to Chat Noir’s storm. His sharp eye took in the ship’s status with practiced ease. Dressed in a crimson coat with gold trim, his tricorn hat was cocked slightly to the side, a telltale sign of his easygoing nature. But beneath that relaxed demeanor was a man who knew the sea better than most, who could read the wind like an old friend and predict a storm before it even darkened the sky.

 

“Still no sign of our prey?” Nino asked, leaning against the railing beside Chat Noir.

 

Chat Noir let out a breath, watching the waves swell and recede. “Nothing yet. But she’s out there.”

 

“She” referred to the treasure-laden galleon that had departed from the Imperial docks a week prior. The Cataclysm had been tailing it for days, waiting for the right moment to strike. A ship that size carried wealth beyond imagining–gold, jewels, rare spices, and something far more intriguing.

 

Information.

 

Rumors spoke of a secret map, a chart leading to something even the Crown feared losing. And if there was anything Chat Noir loved more than gold, it was secrets.

 

A call rang out from the crow’s nest. “Sails on the horizon!”

 

Instantly, the atmosphere on the Cataclysm shifted. The idle chatter ceased, the men tightened their grips on their weapons, and the air crackled with anticipation. Chat Noir lifted his spyglass, focusing on the distant ship, a gleam of satisfaction crossing his sharp features.

 

“There she is,” he murmured.

 

Nino grinned. “Time to make ourselves known?”

 

Chat Noir snapped the spyglass shut. “Raise the black.”

 

The order was met with cheers, and soon, the Jolly Roger unfurled high above the mast, its familiar emblem striking fear into those unfortunate enough to cross its path. The Cataclysm surged forward, cutting through the waves like a panther on the hunt.

 

The chase had begun.

 

Immediately, Chat Noir hopped down three steps from the helm, his boots striking the deck with authority as he moved to oversee his crew’s preparations. Swords were sharpened, pistols checked, and the cannons loaded with precise efficiency. Every movement was rehearsed, honed by years of experience. He joined his men, aiding in their efforts, securing ropes, ensuring the gunpowder was dry and ready, every muscle in his body coiled with anticipation. With greed.

 

As the Cataclysm drew near, Chat Noir eyed the enemy vessel, calculating his next move. He angled the ship, positioning it at just the right distance before he ordered the cannons to fire. The first round of blasts erupted through the air, the force rocking the ship slightly as a powerful explosion ripped through the side of the enemy galleon. The screams of alarm echoed over the water. He watched with satisfaction as the damage compromised the ship’s structure. If his calculations were correct, they had about two hours before it sank beneath the waves.

 

"We board now," he commanded, his voice sharp and unwavering. He led the charge, launching himself over the gap between the two ships with feline grace, landing fluidly onto the deck of the enemy vessel. His crew followed suit, their weapons flashing in the sunlight. Pistols fired, swords clashed, and the scent of gunpowder filled the air. Chat Noir moved like a shadow, swift and merciless, cutting down anyone who stood between him and his prize.

 

He shot down those who attempted to raise the alarm, his movements a deadly blend of precision and fluidity. His men secured the upper deck, ensuring no one escaped. He barked orders, his voice carrying over the chaos, instructing his crew to find the map, to seize anything of value. Then, without hesitation, he descended the narrow wooden stairs into the heart of the ship.

 

The air below deck was thick with smoke and the lingering scent of rum and salt. He stalked the dimly lit corridor, senses alert.

 

Just as he rounded a corner, a sudden movement caught his eye–a small figure lunging at him from the shadows. He reacted instantly, catching her wrist before the wooden bat she wielded could strike him.

 

She was fierce but no match for him. With a single twist, he disarmed her, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. She thrashed, panting from exertion, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

 

Only then did he truly look at her.

 

His breath caught. She was young, about his age, but there was fire in her gaze. Her dark hair cascaded in loose waves, framing a face both delicate and determined. Her lips parted slightly, as though she meant to curse him but had lost the words. The soft glow of the lanterns flickered across her skin, highlighting the rapid pulse at her throat.

 

Something in Chat Noir shifted.

 

For a moment, the chaos around them faded. He felt his own heart pounding, not with adrenaline but something else entirely. Annoyed at the distraction, he pushed the thought aside and dragged her toward the nearest room—a lavishly furnished chamber, no doubt belonging to someone of importance. He shoved her inside, locking the door behind them.

 

She stumbled slightly, her breathing ragged as she turned to face him. The defiance in her eyes hadn’t dimmed.

 

He took a step closer, his voice low. "Who are you?"

 

The woman was silent. She was obviously terrified, but her determination stopped her from crying. He was curious. And insane. He didn’t really know how to talk to ladies without awkwardly flirting up a storm and letting his natural charm save him. So he pulled out a knife and asked again.

 

She shakily replied, "Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

 

His eyes narrowed as she hesitated before continuing, "Princess of the king Tom Dupain, the kingdom nearest to you."

 

Chat Noir’s grip on the knife tightened. A princess. He could get a lot of money out of her. And he was suspicious–very suspicious–that she knew the secrets of the crown.

 

 

Chapter 2

Notes:

This is posted the same day as the introduction.
I'm not sure if I'll call this one chapter one or the other one since this is where the story begins. I'm not titling any of the chapters as I've run out of creative titles.

Thank you for the support! I'm dedicated to this story so I'll definitely be working on it alot.

Marinette’s body tensed for a split second before she lunged at him, her hands clawing for anything that could hurt him. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

 

But Chat Noir saw it coming.

 

He stepped aside smoothly, pivoting on his heel with feline grace, and caught her mid-motion before she could crash onto the hard wooden floor. One strong arm wrapped around her waist, the other gripping her wrist to prevent further struggle. He chuckled, the sound low and amused, his warm breath brushing against her ear.

 

“How bold,” he murmured, his voice edged with laughter. “I do appreciate a bit of fight, Princess.”

 

Marinette thrashed against his grip, but his strength far outmatched hers. His grip tightened, holding her firm. He had expected the usual noble cowardice–pleading, screaming, fainting. But not her. No, this girl had fire, and it delighted him more than he’d care to admit.

 

He pulled her upright, keeping a firm hold on her arm as he dragged her toward the staircase leading back up to the deck. “Come along now,” he said, voice light but firm. “I’d hate for you to miss the show.”

 

She fought every step of the way, heels dragging against the wooden boards, her body twisting as she tried to pry herself free. But he was relentless.

 

They emerged onto the deck, and the first thing she saw was the blood. Her guards–trained warriors sworn to protect her–were being cut down one by one. Some fell with swords buried deep in their sides, others collapsed clutching wounds that spilled crimson onto the polished wood. Smoke curled into the sky, mingling with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

 

Marinette gasped, horror widening her blue eyes as she saw a familiar face among the fallen. Sir Rancomprix, the captain of her father’s guard, father himself to her dear friend Sabrina, lay slumped against the mast, his breathing ragged, his sword slipping from his fingers.

 

“Stop!” she cried, trying to wrench herself away from Chat Noir. “You don’t have to kill them!”

 

Chat Noir tilted his head, watching her reaction with an unreadable expression. “Oh, but I do,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “I can’t have anyone running back to your dear father with tales of my little raid now, can I?”

 

She looked up at him then, her eyes shining with unshed tears, her lips pressing into a firm line. “You’re a monster.”

 

He merely smiled, unbothered by the accusation. “I’ve been called worse.”

 

Without another word, he tightened his grip and pulled her across the deck. A wooden plank, worn smooth from countless crossings, stretched between the enemy ship and the Cataclysm. The ocean churned below, dark and treacherous, waiting to swallow anyone who misstepped.

 

Marinette stiffened, realizing what he intended. “I won’t go,” she said, her feet planting firmly.

 

Chat Noir sighed dramatically. “Princess, I’d hate to throw you over my shoulder and carry you like a sack of grain. But I will.”

 

She clenched her teeth, but she had little choice. He guided her across the plank, his grip steady and unyielding. When they reached his ship, he wasted no time.

 

Down below deck, through narrow corridors, he led her to a reinforced iron-barred cell–a makeshift jail used when his crew became too unruly from drink or anger. It was small and dirty, he neglects from cleaning this part of the ship (he cant handle the spiders). The faint scent of salt and rum lingering in the air. He shoved her inside, closing the door with a firm clang.

 

She spun around and gripped the bars. “Let me out.”

 

Chat Noir crossed his arms, his amusement clear. “Oh, but I just put you in.”

 

Her fingers curled tightly around the cold iron, her knuckles white. “You can’t keep me here.”

 

“I can and I will.” His voice was light, but there was an undercurrent of steel beneath it. “You should be thanking me, really. This is for your safety as much as mine.”

 

Her brows knitted together. “My safety?”

 

He leaned casually against the bars, his handsome (for a pirate) face inches from hers. “A ship full of men, most of whom haven’t seen a vulnerable woman in ages? I’d say you’re much safer in here than out there.”

 

She swallowed, looking away. He was right, and that made her hate him even more.

 

Satisfied that she wasn’t about to hurl another insult at him, he straightened, pulling a key from his belt. He dangled it in front of her. “See this?” He smirked. “I’m the only one who has it. So if you’re planning an escape, you’ll have to be a bit more… creative.”

 

She glared at him. “You’ll regret this.”

 

He chuckled, spinning the key between his fingers before slipping it back into his coat. “Oh, I doubt it.”

 

He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, pausing only once to glance back at her. “Get some rest, Princess. You’ll need it.”

 

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the dimly lit cell, the sound of the waves against the hull the only company she had.

♡♡♡♡

 

Hours passed. The ship rocked steadily, and her stomach churned with the motion. She wasn’t used to this, the unsteadiness of the sea, the damp air, the smell of salt and unwashed wood. Hunger gnawed at her belly, a dull ache growing with each passing minute. Her body felt stiff from sitting on the rough wooden bench, her silk dress now smudged with dirt and sweat. Her throat was parched, and worst of all–she needed to relieve herself, but there was nowhere to go.

 

She hugged herself tightly, biting her lip to keep her frustration at bay. She was a princess. She was raised in the finest halls, fed the richest foods, dressed in the most exquisite silks. She had never been left in filth, never left to fend for herself in such crude conditions. And yet here she was, trapped in the belly of a pirate’s ship, waiting for a fate she couldn’t yet predict.

 

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wasn’t broken yet.

 

And she would not let Chat Noir be the one to break her.

 

No matter what it took, she would find a way out.

 

 

Chapter 3

Notes:

I don't have any school today so I decided to post chapter three!

The salty wind whipped through Chat Noir’s hair as he stood at the helm of the Cataclysm, his gloved hands steady on the wheel. The ship cut through the water like a blade, the creaking of wood and the billowing of sails filling the air. The vast ocean stretched endlessly before him, a deep, churning blue that mirrored the storm within him. Beside him, Nino studied a weathered map, his brow furrowed in concentration.

 

Nino, with his missing eye and a scar that ran jagged across his temple, had grown accustomed to his captain’s quirks–the occasional bouts of laughter that bubbled up without reason, the odd pauses in his sentences, the way he would sometimes stare at nothing as if deep in conversation with the sea itself. This was one of those moments. Chat Noir chuckled lowly, his green eyes gleaming with something unspoken.

 

Nino sighed, rolling the map back up. “We should be reaching the cove by tomorrow evening if we keep this pace.”

 

Chat Noir hummed in response. “Good. Make sure the men don’t get too comfortable. We still have work to do.”

 

“I’ll handle it.” Nino turned slightly, his expression unreadable. “What about the girl?”

 

A slow smile spread across Chat Noir’s lips. “Oh, I was just about to check on her.”

 

Nino exhaled through his nose, shaking his head but saying nothing. He knew better than to question his captain when he got like this. Instead, he stepped forward, assuming command as Chat Noir relinquished the wheel.

 

Chat Noir took his time descending the ship’s many staircases, his boots clicking softly against the wooden planks. The smell of salt and damp wood thickened as he went lower, the warmth of the sun giving way to the cold, musty air of the ship’s underbelly. The lanterns flickered dimly, casting eerie shadows on the walls as he finally reached the basement beneath the main deck.

 

His piercing green eyes immediately landed on the princess.

 

Marinette was curled against the farthest corner of the cell, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she shivered. The dim light barely illuminated her, but he could see the way her hair clung to her skin, damp with sweat and seawater. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her shoulders squared despite the obvious discomfort she was in.

 

At the sound of his footsteps, she stiffened. Then, with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel, she lifted her chin. “You.”

 

Chat Noir grinned, leaning lazily against the iron bars. “Ah, so you do remember me. And people say my charm is fake.”

 

Marinette scoffed, though her voice wavered slightly. “Whatever.”

 

His grin widened. She still had fight in her–good. He liked a challenge.

 

She shifted slightly, and he caught the way her fingers trembled where they clutched the tattered remains of her once-pristine dress. The elegant silks and lace had been reduced to little more than rags, dirtied by the grime of the cell floor. The sight made something dark curl in his chest. Not quite sympathy, but something adjacent.

 

“You’re shivering,” he observed, tilting his head. “Cold, Princess?”

 

She didn’t answer. Instead, she scowled and pulled herself up into a more dignified sitting position. “I need food,” she stated firmly. “And water. And a toilet.”

 

Chat Noir chuckled, amused by her defiance. “Oh? Demands already? And here I was hoping we could have a little chat first.”

 

Marinette’s glare darkened. “I have nothing to say to you.”

 

“Now that’s just rude.” He tsked, shaking his head as he slid the key from his belt, letting it dangle between his fingers tauntingly. “You see, Princess, I hold all the power here. I decide when you eat, when you drink, when you get a little… luxury.”

 

Her eyes flickered to the key for just a second before she snapped them back to his face, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her desperation.

 

Chat Noir sighed dramatically. “But I’m not unreasonable. Maybe if you entertain me, I’ll see about getting you something.”

 

She scoffed, pulling her knees up to her chest. “What do you want? A song? A dance?”

 

He smirked. “Nothing so theatrical. Just some small talk.”

 

Marinette narrowed her eyes. “Small talk.”

 

“Mm. A simple conversation. A little ‘getting to know each other’ moment.” He twirled the key between his fingers. “I figure if we’re going to be spending time together, we might as well be civil.”

 

She clenched her jaw, biting back the urge to tell him exactly where he could shove his ‘civil conversation.’

 

When she didn’t answer, Chat Noir hummed in thought. “How about this? I ask a question, you answer. If I find it interesting enough, I’ll get you some food and water. Sound fair?”

 

Marinette hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “Fine.”

 

His smile turned victorious. “Excellent. Let’s start with something simple. What’s your favorite colour?”

 

She blinked, thrown off by the mundane nature of the question. “...pink."

 

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “A bold choice.”

 

“Next question,” she said stiffly.

 

He leaned forward slightly. “Why were you on that ship, Princess? Surely a royal like you should be safe in a castle, not sailing the open seas.”

 

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s none of your business.”

 

Chat Noir clicked his tongue. “Now, now. That’s not how the game works.”

 

She crossed her arms. “I was traveling.”

 

His gaze sharpened, sensing the half-truth. “Traveling where?”

 

She remained silent.

 

Chat Noir’s smirk faltered slightly, his amusement dimming just a fraction. He knew there was more to her presence on that ship than she was letting on. A princess sailing so dangerously close to enemy waters? Something wasn’t right.

 

But he would find out. In time.

 

With a sigh, he turned toward the door. “Very well, Princess. You’ve been a decent sport. I suppose I’ll fetch you some food.”

 

Marinette’s shoulders sagged with relief, though she refused to thank him.

 

When he returned, she was greeted with a wooden plate of nearly raw fish and a cup of murky brown water. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

 

“You expect me to eat this?” she snapped, glaring up at him.

 

Chat Noir chuckled, that ever-present madness glinting in his emerald eyes. “It’ll boost your immune system, Princess.”

 

She shuddered, her heart sinking slightly. He was insane–clearly losing himself to the sea, to the bloodshed. Yet, despite everything, a small part of her couldn’t help but pity him. He was young, like her. His golden hair and striking green eyes seemed out of place on a pirate. Almost… 

 

beautiful.

 

But she would not be fooled.

 

She turned away, clenching her jaw. She would survive this. Somehow.

 

Chat Noir simply smirked, watching her with amusement before turning on his heel and disappearing into the shadows once more.

 

♡♡♡♡

The Cataclysm rocked gently with the waves, the rhythmic creaking of wood and the distant hum of the crew filling the air. Chat Noir strode across the deck, his coat billowing behind him, his sharp eyes scanning the activity below. His mind was a whirlwind, thoughts colliding and shifting like the endless ocean around them.

 

His gaze flickered to Ivan and Kim, hunched over a splintered railing near the ship’s stern. Their hands moved quickly, whispering urgently to each other as they worked to repair the damage. It was obvious they were hoping to fix it before their captain took notice–before he could mete out whatever punishment they feared. Chat Noir stopped briefly, watching them with mild amusement. He could see the guilt in their movements, the frantic pace they worked at to cover their mistake.

 

He could have said something, could have barked out an order or made a show of his authority, but today, he was too tired. Too distracted. With a low chuckle, he shook his head and silently moved past them without a word. Their problem, their responsibility. If the ship sank, they’d be going down with it just like the rest of them.

 

Pushing open the heavy door to his quarters, he was met with the scent of sea salt and aged parchment. His private chamber was a stark contrast to the rest of the ship. Where the crew’s quarters were cramped, a chaotic mess of over twenty hammocks strung up in every available space, his was more structured–if only barely.

 

Maps were strewn across his desk, some with new routes hastily scribbled on the edges, others marked with X’s that spoke of future plunder. Gold and trinkets from past raids spilled from a half-open chest in the corner, the dim candlelight casting a warm glow over the scattered treasures. His bed sat to the left, barely used, its sheets rumpled from the rare nights he actually allowed himself to rest.

 

But rest was a fickle thing.

 

Plagg, the scrawny black cat he had taken in from a raided ship, was curled up in the middle of his desk, his sleek fur barely distinguishable from the dark wood. The cat’s green eyes flicked open as Chat Noir entered, and with a lazy stretch, he padded over, jumping onto the captain’s shoulder with ease.

 

“You’re clingy today,” Chat muttered, reaching up to scratch behind Plagg’s ear. The cat purred in response, rubbing against his cheek before settling comfortably against him.

 

Chat Noir sighed, moving to sit at his desk. His hands hovered over the maps, fingers tracing the lines of the routes they had taken, the islands they had raided. But he wasn’t really seeing them. His mind was elsewhere, drifting into that strange, unsteady space between reality and the whispering voices in his head.

 

He heard things. Always had. Sometimes it was the sea, calling to him in ways no sane man could understand. Other times, it was the echoes of the past, the ghosts of ships that had long since sunk beneath the waves, their voices clawing at his sanity, urging him to listen.

 

Tonight, the sea was restless. It spoke to him in murmurs and half-formed words, shifting between promise and warning. He closed his eyes, pressing his palms against them as if to block out the whispers.

 

“Not now,” he mumbled to himself. “Not tonight.”

 

Plagg meowed in protest, as if scolding him for ignoring his exhaustion. The cat kneaded at his shoulder, claws lightly pricking through the fabric of his coat. A reminder. A demand.

 

Rest.

 

Chat Noir exhaled, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in them. He knew he should listen. He knew he needed to sleep, to let the madness of the ocean fade into the background for a few hours. But the voices didn’t care for his needs.

 

There was work to do.

 

He pulled a tattered journal from a drawer, its leather cover worn from years of use. Flipping it open, he skimmed the pages, eyes scanning the coded messages he had written to himself–notes on stolen artifacts, hints of hidden treasures, suspicions about the royals and their secrets.

 

And now, he had a princess locked in his brig. A princess who might know something.

 

A slow grin spread across his lips.

 

Yes. He needed to rest. But first, he needed answers.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

The thing about Chat Noir hearing things, I can't say much because we'll learn more about that in the future.

The seas movement and sounds causes his brain to turn it into words and the ghosts on the ship is just the wood creaking. He is totally on the brink of insanity and he knows it. This is kind of an insight to why he can hear it.

Nino also realizes his struggles and doesn't bother with worry as he knows his best friend. Nino is obviously concerned but we will get more of their friendship soon.

Chapter 4

Marinette's stomach twisted painfully, but she refused to give in. She had barely touched the raw fish and brown water, and now another, more urgent need was making itself known. She had been holding it for hours, too stubborn to admit weakness, but she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Her eyes darted around the dimly lit cell, searching for anything that could serve as a makeshift solution.

 

She grimaced. No. Absolutely not. She wasn’t that desperate.

 

But then, the sound of approaching footsteps made her jolt upright. Her heart pounded as she braced herself, expecting to see Chat Noir’s unsettling grin peering at her from between the bars. Instead, she found herself staring at a woman.

 

Short, but with a presence that made her seem taller, the woman had sharp, dark eyes and a stance that screamed danger. Her attire was much like the rest of the crew—loose-fitting but practical, with a sash tied at her waist that held a wickedly sharp dagger. She looked unimpressed as she pulled a set of keys from her belt.

 

“Captain’s orders,” the woman said, unlocking the cell door with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Said to let you out to piss.”

 

Marinette blinked, momentarily thrown off by the bluntness. “…What?”

 

The woman sighed, as if already regretting this errand. “You need to go. He figured you would.”

 

Marinette hesitated, still wary. “And I’m just supposed to trust you?”

 

The woman gave her a flat look. “You’d rather piss yourself?”

 

Marinette swallowed her pride and stepped forward cautiously, keeping a close eye on her unexpected liberator. As she exited the cell, the dim light revealed more of the woman’s features–tan skin, dark pink streaks in her cropped hair, and a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 

“What’s your name?” Marinette asked, her voice hushed.

 

Before the woman could answer, a voice from above deck called out. “Alix! You done yet?”

 

Marinette’s suspicions sharpened as the woman–Alix–huffed in annoyance. “Not yet!” she snapped before turning back to Marinette. “Keep up, Princess. I don’t have all night.”

 

Marinette’s discomfort grew as they ascended the stairs. The moment they stepped onto the main deck, she became hyper-aware of the number of men around her. Rough, hardened pirates moved about, some checking the rigging, others sharpening blades, a few drinking by the barrels. She stiffened instinctively, ready to defend herself if necessary.

 

But to her surprise, none of them made a move toward her. A few side glances, a muttered comment here and there, but no one laid a hand on her. More than that, none of them seemed eager to mess with Alix either.

 

Marinette followed Alix closely, her mind racing. Chat Noir’s crew was rowdy, dangerous, and undeniably loyal. But where was he now? And why did the thought of him not watching her for once make her uneasy?

 

She glanced toward the captain’s quarters, her curiosity piqued.

 

Just what exactly was Chat Noir doing right now?

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir was scrambling.

 

His hands tore through the scattered mess of maps, trinkets, and gold atop his desk, his exhausted mind sluggish as he tried to retrace his steps. Where had he placed it? His most precious jewel–gone. The realization sent a wave of cold dread through his bones. His heart pounded furiously, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He had always been careless, but never this careless. He needed to be sharp, to be calculating, to be the captain his crew relied on.

 

But fatigue clawed at him, dragging him down like an anchor into the depths of his own chaotic mind.

 

He turned on his heel, nearly tripping over Plagg, who yowled in protest as he darted out of the way. His boots pounded against the wooden planks of the ship as he stormed out of his quarters, his mind reeling. The salty air bit at his skin, the sun blinding after so long spent hunched over his work in the dim glow of candlelight.

 

His search came to an abrupt halt when he saw her.

 

Marinette.

 

She was on deck, her dark hair wild from the sea breeze, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Alix stood beside her, one firm hand gripping her arm as if to prevent her from making a run for it. The princess’s wide, terrified eyes locked onto his, and for a fleeting moment, his heart did something strange–something he hadn’t felt in years.

 

It beat.

 

A real, solid thump, loud in his ears. A sensation he had long since numbed himself to. It was brief, but it unsettled him.

 

Alix noticed his presence first, her grip on Marinette loosening slightly. “Captain,” she greeted, her voice as steady as ever, but there was a hint of something unreadable in her expression. “I was just bringing her back.”

 

Chat Noir’s gaze flickered between the two women, his mind sluggishly trying to process the situation. Right. The princess. He had given orders to let her out for a brief moment of privacy, and in his delirium, he had completely forgotten about her. The realization clawed at him, frustration curling in his chest like a growing storm. He wasn’t usually this careless. He couldn’t afford to be.

 

Marinette’s breathing was uneven, her body tense as if ready to bolt despite the impossibility of escape. He could practically taste the fear rolling off her in waves, and yet, she didn’t cower. She met his gaze with a fire that hadn’t yet been extinguished, even in the face of his madness.

 

Why did that make his chest ache?

 

His grip tightened at his sides. He had more important things to deal with than whatever strange feeling stirred inside him.

 

His jewel.

 

The one his mother had given him before she was torn away from his life.

 

The only thing left of her.

 

His heart clenched, but he forced the emotion down. There was no time for this. He had a ship to run and a jewel to find. Without another word, he turned on his heel, his coat billowing behind him as he strode away, hoping the hollow feeling in his chest would fade as quickly as it had come.

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir fell asleep before he could find his jewel.

 

When he awoke, his mind was clearer, his thoughts sharper. The exhaustion that had weighed him down like heavy chains was gone, replaced by a renewed sense of focus. Unfortunately, with clarity came the whispers–the ones that always lurked in the corners of his mind. The ones that convinced him the sea was singing to him, that the ship itself was speaking in hushed tones only he could hear.

 

He grinned as he took the wheel, the salty breeze whipping through his golden hair. The Cataclysm cut through the waves like a predator in the night, gliding forward with purpose. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, guiding his vessel with an intimacy that only he understood. The ship spoke to him, and he listened.

 

Nino stood beside him, scanning the horizon. He knew better than to question his captain’s eccentricities outright, but when he heard Chat Noir giggle–a high, almost delirious sound–his stomach twisted with unease. The exhaustion had been bad, but this? This was worse. This was the part where the insane captain returned, where the man he once called his best friend drifted further into whatever madness had taken root inside him.

 

"Captain?" Nino asked carefully, watching him out of his one good eye.

 

Chat Noir tilted his head slightly, his grin widening. "Ah, my greatest ally, do you hear it? The sea hums a tune today… A lovely song, just for me."

 

Nino sighed. He didn't have the energy to argue with the delusions. Instead, he opted for a safer route. "Maybe take a break from listening to the sea and check on the princess? She’s been locked up for a few days now."

 

Chat Noir blinked, as if only now remembering her existence. His grin faded slightly, his mind shifting gears. The princess… Marinette. The girl with fire in her eyes. The girl who looked at him with both fear and defiance. The girl who–

 

He shook his head, dismissing the thought before it could fully form. With a dramatic sigh, he let go of the wheel, stepping away as Nino took his place. 

 

"Fine, fine. Keep my ship safe while I'm gone, first mate. If she tries to escape, I’ll hold you responsible."

 

Nino didn’t respond, just gave a small nod as Chat Noir strode off, his coat billowing behind him. As he made his way below deck, he wondered what expression she would greet him with today. Fear? Hatred? Or something else entirely?

♡♡♡♡

 

Nino had long since grown used to the way Chat Noir saw the world. His captain–his friend–had always been strange, but the sea had deepened that strangeness, carving away the man he once knew and leaving behind something unpredictable, something dangerous. The crew had learned to ignore Chat Noir’s more bizarre tendencies, dismissing his mania with a mix of amusement and respect. He was the strongest of them all, the most cunning, the most ruthless when necessary. That was all they needed to know.

 

But Nino knew more.

 

He had grown up with man now named Chat Noir, long before the pirate’s name had become legend, before his madness had settled in like an unshakable shadow. There was a time when his captain had been different–softer, perhaps, more hopeful. That boy had been eroded by years at sea, by the weight of command, by whatever ghosts haunted him in the dead of night. Nino had watched it happen, had seen the slow unraveling of the person he once knew.

 

And still, he stayed by his side.

 

Loyalty was not just a word to Nino; it was the foundation of his being. Chat Noir had saved him more times than he could count. He had given him a place on this ship, a purpose, a family. Whatever madness plagued his captain, whatever demons whispered to him in the crash of the waves, Nino would stand by him. Because, in truth, they were all a little mad on this ship.

 

The sea did that to people. It called to the broken, the lost, the desperate. It took and took until there was nothing left but salt in the veins and a hunger that could never be satisfied.

 

Chat Noir, was the greatest of them all, the strongest, the wildest. But even he had not escaped unscathed.

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Nino knows chat noirs name is actually Adrien but out of knowledge and respect he only calls him by the name he goes by now. The name that is feared amongst the sea.

Chapter 5

Notes:

The story is going somewhere atleast.

 

After he gives Nino the wheel, Chat Noir descends below deck, his boots thudding against the creaking wood. The ship groans, whispering to him, urging him to let her go. To grant her the freedom she so desperately craves. But he ignores it. She is far too valuable. And besides, where would she go? They are surrounded by nothing but endless ocean.

 

Marinette sits where she always does, back straight, eyes sharp. But there’s a change in her tonight–subtle, but he catches it. Her defiance is still there, but curiosity lingers beneath it. She watches him, tracking every movement, every twitch of his fingers, every unsteady breath.

 

He crouches by the bars, his gloved hands resting lightly against the metal. “You haven’t eaten,” he remarks.

 

She lifts a brow. “Would you?”

 

His grin is slow, amused. “Depends. I quite like the taste of victory.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Is that what this is? You think starving me will make me break?”

 

He hums thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Maybe. Maybe not. But even steel cracks under enough pressure.”

 

She doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she shifts slightly, folding her hands in her lap. “What are you looking for?”

 

His amusement doesn’t fade, but something sharpens in his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

 

“You keep fidgeting,” she observes. “Your fingers twitch, like you’re used to holding something. A weapon? A keepsake?”

 

Chat Noir’s grin falters for the briefest moment before returning, smooth as ever. “Ah, Princess, you wound me. Are you worried about me?”

 

She shrugs. “Just curious.”

 

He chuckles, the sound low and rich. “Curiosity can be dangerous.”

 

“So can ignorance.”

 

His expression flickers–just for a second. Then, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Tell me something, Princess. What is your kingdom hiding?”

 

She meets his gaze without hesitation. “I could ask you the same thing.”

 

His smile is slow, lazy, but his eyes remain sharp. “You’re deflecting.”

 

“You came to me first,” she points out. “That means you need something. And you’re too arrogant to ask outright.”

 

A soft laugh escapes him, and he pushes back from the bars. “You’re clever, I’ll give you that.” His gaze flickers over her once more, assessing. Then, he steps away. “Enjoy your solitude while it lasts, Marinette. The sea doesn’t keep secrets forever.”

 

He scowels and twists around, vanishing into the shadows. But instead of returning to the deck, he stalks toward his quarters, frustration gnawing at him. He tears through the room, yanking open drawers, upending chests. His jewel–his mother’s gift–was still missing. He swipes a hand through his already-tangled hair, breaths coming fast. 

 

A soft weight lands on his shoulder. Plagg, his tiny black cat, stares at him with knowing eyes, tail flicking lazily. The small creature had been with him for years, through storm and slaughter. Now, he nuzzles against Chat Noir’s cheek, a silent plea for calm. 

 

But calm is the last thing Chat Noir feels. His mother’s gift–his last piece of her–is gone, and with every second that passes, the sea whispers louder, laughing at his desperation.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Marinette paces the small confines of her cell, her mind racing. She needs to escape. She has to. The longer she stays here, the more dangerous it becomes–not just because she’s a captive, but because she’s starting to care.

 

It’s a terrifying realization.

 

Chat Noir is her captor. A pirate. A madman with an unpredictable mind. And yet, there’s something beneath all that–something broken. The way his manic energy flickers, the way his eyes betray a weariness even when he grins. It’s dangerous to pity him. Dangerous to see him as anything other than the enemy.

 

She needs a plan.

 

The window is too small. She’s already tested the bars–solid. The lock? Too complex to pick, and the one time she tried, Alix had caught her and laughed.

 

No, brute force won’t work. She needs something else.

 

A distraction. A weakness.

 

Chat Noir had been different last time they spoke. He was always unhinged, but that night, he seemed… distracted. Desperate. Searching for something. If she could push him further into his obsession, maybe, just maybe, she could manipulate him into going ashore.

 

Her pulse quickens.

 

If she plays her cards right, she might just get off this ship.

 

 

Marinette is deep in thought, strategizing, when she hears footsteps approaching. They’re heavy, deliberate–not the chaotic, unpredictable steps of Chat Noir. She’s gotten used to his presence, the way he moves with a reckless energy that announces itself long before he enters a room.  

 

This isn’t him.  

 

Her back straightens as the footsteps stop outside her cell. A large man stands there, built like a fortress. He’s broad-shouldered, his expression calm but unreadable.  

 

“Ivan,” he introduces himself, his deep voice almost gentle despite his size. “Captain wants you out for a bit.”  

 

She narrows her eyes. “Why?”  

 

He shrugs. “Didn’t ask. Orders are orders.”  

 

Her mind races. Chat Noir never lets her out alone with him. Never. The last time, he sent Alix. Now this man. Why? What is he planning?  

 

Cautiously, she steps forward as Ivan unlocks the cell. If she plays this right, maybe she can memorize more of the ship. Maybe she can find out where Chat Noir’s chambers are.  

 

Maybe she can finally escape. 

 

She steps carefully beside Ivan as they emerge from below deck, the salty sea breeze hitting her face like a sharp reminder of where she is. The ship is alive with movement–ropes tightening, sails shifting, the steady creak of the wood beneath her feet.  

 

And then she sees him.  

 

Chat Noir stands near the main mast, barking orders at a few crew members, his hands moving animatedly as he gestures toward the sails. The sun catches on his wild blonde hair, making it shimmer like gold. He looks almost regal in the daylight–almost–if not for the feral energy that seems to hum beneath his skin.  

 

For a pirate, he’s annoyingly pristine. His clothes, though clearly well-worn, somehow avoid the grime and sweat that cling to the others. His gloves are spotless, his coat sleek, and the way he moves, confident, fluid–makes it seem like he was born to command.  

 

And then he turns.  

 

His sharp green eyes land on her, widening slightly before narrowing. His head tilts, his mouth curving into something unreadable. Marinette straightens her shoulders, refusing to show weakness.  

 

But damn it all, he’s even more beautiful up close.

Notes:

Marinette is worried she's getting Stockholm syndrome from Chat noir so she's more desperate to get out. He is just wanting to find his jewel.

The concept for this is she falls first and he falls harder.

The next arc will be soon!

Chapter 6

Summary:

Sorry it's been so long since I last uploaded. Actually it hasn't been that long. But I have been so busy with my school work and with my music classes but I am back. I have updated a chapter and I will be updating one tomorrow as well.

Thank you for being patient and thank you for being kind. Please comment if you want more or if there's anything I can change. You can comment anything

thank you and I hope you enjoy this chapter

Xoxo
Ragoo

She clenches her fists, forcing the thought from her mind. No matter how much the sun flatters him, no matter how effortlessly he carries himself, she won’t forget what he’s done. She can’t.

 

The blood of her guards still stains the memory of their last battle. She can still hear their screams, can still see the way they fell one by one beneath the ruthless steel of his crew. They were outnumbered, overpowered, and mercilessly slaughtered. She had watched in horror as Sabrina’s father, a loyal and kind man, had been cut down before her very eyes. His last breath stolen by the blade of one of Chat Noir’s men.

 

Her nails dig into her palms. He may look like something out of a dream, but he is nothing short of a nightmare. A pirate, a murderer, a thief. He has taken everything from her–her safety, her kingdom’s protection, her freedom. She will not fall into the trap of forgetting who he is.

 

Chat Noir’s gaze sweeps over her, and then, to her disbelief, he wrinkles his nose.

 

“You reek.”

 

The words hit her like a slap.

 

She scoffs, stepping forward, her chains rattling slightly as she glares at him. “Excuse me?”

 

He waves a gloved hand in front of his nose, his expression one of exaggerated disgust. “It’s been, what, days since you were locked up? You smell like a dead fish rotting under the sun.”

 

Her jaw drops. “I–You absolute bastard! You kidnapped me! You threw me in that wretched cell! And now you’re complaining that I don’t smell like rosewater and lilies?!”

 

Chat Noir grins, clearly entertained by her rage. “Well, considering the company I keep, I thought you’d at least try to maintain some dignity. A royal princess, wallowing in filth? Tsk, tsk, what a disgrace.”

 

Marinette bristles, taking another step toward him despite Ivan’s hand tightening on her arm. “Oh, I’m so sorry, your highness,” she spits sarcastically. “Perhaps you’d like to join me in the cell next time? Maybe then you’d get a taste of what it’s like to be chained like an animal!”

 

Chat Noir merely chuckles, his amusement clear. “Tempting, but I do prefer my chambers. Speaking of–” He turns, gesturing lazily with a flick of his fingers. “Alix, take her to my bathing room.”

 

Marinette freezes. “Your… what?”

 

A bath? On a pirate ship?

 

Alix, standing nearby with arms crossed, lets out a sharp sigh before stepping forward. “You heard him. Come on, Princess.”

 

Marinette blinks in disbelief. “You have a bathing room?”

 

Chat Noir smirks. “Surprised? I do have some standards, you know.”

 

“I–What kind of pirate ship has a bathing room?!”

 

“A well-run one,” he answers smoothly. “Hygiene is important. Can’t have my crew dropping dead of disease, now can I?”

 

Marinette stares at him, completely at a loss for words. Of all the things she expected from this day–escaping (hopefully), threats, perhaps even another round of mind games–being granted a bath was not one of them.

 

Alix rolls her eyes and grabs Marinette’s wrist, tugging her along. “Don’t question it. Just take the damn opportunity before he changes his mind.”

 

Marinette considers resisting, but the truth is, she wants the bath. Desperately. She can still feel the grime on her skin, the salt clinging to her hair. If she has even the slightest chance of feeling like herself again, of washing away some of the dirt and exhaustion, she’s going to take it.

 

But she won’t let Chat Noir think he’s done her some great favor.

 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Fine. But don’t think for a second that this means I owe you anything.”

 

He places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Oh, Princess, the thought never even crossed my mind.”

 

She doesn’t believe him for a second.

 

With one last glare in his direction, she allows Alix to lead her below deck, away from the deck’s glaring sunlight and into the belly of the ship. The scent of sea salt and old wood fills her nose as they navigate through narrow halls, the sound of waves crashing against the ship’s hull echoing all around them.

 

Finally, Alix stops before a sturdy wooden door and pushes it open. The moment Marinette steps inside, she’s stunned.

 

The room is small but well-kept. A large wooden tub sits in the center, already filled with steaming water, she distinctly remembers seeing the man named Ivan walk in with two buckets of hot water and womens clothing on his shoulders. A small table against the far wall holds neatly folded cloths and what appears to be soap. The entire space is shockingly clean–far more than she would have ever expected from a pirate’s quarters.

 

“You’ve got ten minutes,” Alix says, arms crossed. “Make it quick.”

 

Marinette hesitates, glancing between Alix and the bath. Suspicion lingers in the back of her mind, but exhaustion and desperation win out. She nods slowly. “Fine.”

 

Alix gestures toward a corner where a simple but clean set of clothes is folded. “That’s for you. Don’t make me regret this.”

 

With that, she steps back, giving Marinette some privacy.

 

Marinette moves toward the tub cautiously, dipping a hand into the water. It’s warm, almost too warm compared to the chilled air around her. For the first time in days, something close to relief washes over her.

 

She won’t trust Chat Noir. She can’t. But she won’t refuse a chance to regain even a sliver of her dignity.

 

With a deep breath, she steps into the bath, allowing the warmth to consume her.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir watched as Marinette disappeared into the bathing chamber with Alix, her posture stiff, her head held high in defiance. It amused him, truly. She had no idea that he had planned this well before she ever stepped out of that damn cell. The moment he had instructed Ivan to set up a proper bath for her, he had already decided how the conversation would go. He called her smelly on purpose, just to see that glare, that indignant fire in her eyes that always made him feel strangely victorious. It was petty, he knew, but how could he resist? Her reactions were a rare form of entertainment in his otherwise chaotic world.

 

With a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips, he turned on his heel and strode back toward his quarters. The crew was already busy preparing the ship, securing the rigging, adjusting the sails, and tending to their weapons. There was always something to do aboard the Cataclysm, and his men knew better than to slack off under his watch. His boots clunked against the wooden floorboards as he climbed the steps leading to his chamber, ignoring the curious glances some of his crew shot his way. He knew they found it odd that he allowed the princess even an inch of freedom, but they wouldn’t question him–not if they wanted to keep their heads.

 

Pushing open the door to his room, he was immediately greeted by the salty breeze filtering in through the large, open window. The scent of the sea filled his lungs, grounding him, reminding him of who he was, what he had become. His room was dimly lit, the lanterns swaying slightly with the rhythm of the waves. The massive wooden desk in the corner was cluttered with maps, logs, and scattered notes, remnants of his endless planning. The chair he often sat in was pushed back, his quill lying carelessly atop a half-written entry in his journal. He’d been too distracted lately, too restless. He needed to focus.

 

As he crossed the room, he shrugged off his coat, tossing it onto the nearby chair before collapsing onto the bed with a sigh. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, the fabric cool against his skin. He let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling, letting the familiar creaks of the ship settle around him like a lullaby.

 

Then, a small, familiar weight pressed onto his chest.

 

Plagg.

 

The tiny black cat curled up on him, kneading his paws against Chat’s chest before settling down with a soft huff. The warmth of Plagg’s small form was oddly comforting, even if the little menace had a habit of causing chaos when he was awake. A low, rumbling purr vibrated against his ribs, and Chat sighed, lifting a hand to run his fingers over Plagg’s fur absentmindedly.

 

“You always know when I need a break, don’t you?” he muttered, voice tinged with exhaustion.

 

Plagg merely flicked his ear in response, curling his tail around himself as his purring deepened.

 

Chat huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You act like you don’t care, but I know better.”

 

The sea outside whispered to him, a distant melody only he could hear. The waves crashed against the ship in a rhythmic dance, as if calling to him, as if speaking in a language only he understood. It had always been like this–ever since he first set foot on the Cataclysm, the ocean had sung to him.

 

Sometimes, he thought he was going mad. Other times, he embraced it.

 

His fingers twitched slightly against Plagg’s fur, his thoughts drifting back to the princess.

 

Marinette.

 

She was strong-willed, resilient. Even after days in captivity, she still had that fire in her. He respected that, in some twisted way. Most captives would have broken by now, pleaded for their release, begged for mercy. But not her. She fought, resisted, stood her ground. And yet, there was something else there too–something she tried to hide.

 

Fear.

 

Oh, she was good at masking it, at pretending she wasn’t affected by any of this. But he had seen it, in the slight tension of her shoulders, the way her breath hitched just a little when she saw the crew.

 

She was scared.

 

Good. She should be.

 

And yet…

 

Why did that thought unsettle him?

 

He ran a tired hand over his face, inhaling deeply. His mother’s jewel was still missing. He had turned his room upside down looking for it, searched every damn inch of his chamber, and yet it was nowhere to be found. The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably. It was the only thing he had left of her. He had never taken it off before–until now. Somehow, in the madness of the past few days, it had slipped from his grasp.

 

His jaw tightened. He would find it. He had to.

 

Plagg shifted slightly on his chest, his purring slowing as he got more comfortable. Chat let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head.

 

“You’re right,” he murmured. “I think too much.”

 

Plagg gave no response this time, already slipping into a deep sleep.

 

Chat sighed and closed his eyes, allowing the sounds of the sea to lull him into a state of half-consciousness. The ship rocked gently beneath him, the sails flapping above, the distant murmur of the crew moving about their duties. Everything felt normal.

 

And yet, nothing was.

 

Because now, he had a prisoner. A princess who refused to break, who intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

 

And whether he liked it or not, she was starting to become a problem.

 

A very, very dangerous problem.

 

He exhaled slowly, letting sleep claim him, the sound of the sea’s haunting lullaby the last thing he heard before darkness took over.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Marinette sank into the bath, the warm water easing the aches and exhaustion from her body. She tilted her head back against the edge, letting out a slow breath as she scooped up water with a cup, pouring it over her tangled, greasy hair. It had been days since she had felt even remotely clean, and while she loathed the idea of accepting anything from her captor, she wouldn’t deny herself this small comfort.

 

She reached for the soap–old and obviously well-used. Grimacing, she turned it over in her hands before finally lathering up, scrubbing at her skin until she felt less like the prisoner she had become.

 

Minutes passed, and as the water cooled, she sat up, reaching for the towel left for her. But as she moved, something glinted in the candlelight, catching her eye.

 

A jewel.

 

Her breath hitched as she reached for it, fingers brushing over the cool surface. It was an emerald, deep and rich in color, set within an intricate silver pendant, a necklace. It was beautiful–undeniably so. And yet, something about it sent a chill down her spine.

 

She hesitated before placing it carefully on the counter.

 

Who did this belong to?

 

She shoved down the thought that immediately came to mind. The color–vibrant green, familiar. The same shade as Chat Noir’s eyes.

 

Her fingers curled slightly as she exhaled sharply. It didn’t matter. What mattered was why it was here. And if it was important…

 

Maybe, just maybe, it could be useful.

 

Notes:

Hmmmm... I wonder what Marinette will do once she finds out who the necklace belongs to..

Chapter 7

Notes:

Gosh darn this is quite a long chapter, close to 4000 words. We're getting somewhere in the story so I'm happy about that.

I hope you enjoy this long awaited chapter!

Thank you!
Xoxo
Ragoo

 

 

Chat Noir sat hunched over his desk, eyes scanning the faded map in front of him. His fingers traced the jagged lines of the sketched-out islands, his mind piecing together the clues he had gathered over the years. Treasure. A fortune hidden away by a long-dead pirate lord. He had been chasing this particular legend for months, and he was close–so close he could almost taste it. If he could just crack the final piece of the puzzle…

His search for the secrets of the crown were not forgotten because of this side hunt. 

 

A knock on the door barely registered in his mind before it swung open. Nino stepped inside, arms crossed, an exasperated look on his face.

 

"She's done with her bath," Nino said, his voice laced with reluctant amusement. "And now she's demanding food and water."

 

Chat Noir exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head back with an exaggerated groan. "Demanding?"

 

"You did tell her she wasn't a prisoner."

 

"I never said she was a guest either." But despite his words, he was already pushing himself up from his chair. There was no point in letting her go hungry–not when he needed her to be in a state where she would eventually slip, let something valuable slip.

 

Nino fell into step beside him as they made their way toward the ship’s galley, but suddenly, Chat Noir stopped.

 

Nino, accustomed to his captain’s erratic behavior, simply waited, shifting his weight onto one foot. "You good?"

 

Chat Noir didn’t answer. His head tilted slightly, his golden hair shifting as his gaze flickered across the wooden walls. His pupils dilated as his ears picked up on something–something beyond the usual creaks of the ship and the rhythmic crash of the waves.

 

Nino heard only the normal sounds of the Cataclysm–the wood settling, the distant calls of the crew, the wind groaning through the sails. But Chat Noir? He heard something else.

 

A melody.

 

Not a song sung by any of his men, not the whistle of wind through the rigging, but something deeper. A haunting hum within the very bones of the ship, layered beneath the rocking of the Cataclysm against the waves. It was soft, ghostly, carrying whispers of the past, of lost souls claimed by the sea. It called to him like a siren’s lullaby, wordless yet full of meaning only he could grasp.

 

His breath hitched for a fraction of a second, his hand unconsciously tightening into a fist before he relaxed again. The sound would fade soon–it always did. It had haunted him since the day he became a pirate, a tune only he could hear, a reminder that he belonged to the sea as much as the ship did.

 

Nino cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Are we moving or what?"

 

Chat Noir blinked, the eerie trance lifting. He forced a smirk. "Scared I might start talking to the ship again?"

 

Nino huffed but didn’t deny it. "I’ll always stand by you, Captain, but your head is a damn eerie place."

 

Chat Noir chuckled, resuming his stride. "Aye, that it is. Come on. Let’s not keep our princess waiting."

 

And just like that, the sea’s whispers faded into the background once more, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the next moment to creep back in.

They reached the cell to find Marinette scrambling to her feet. Her damp hair clung to her skin, and she was now dressed in a simple shirt and pants. Chat Noir’s eyes flickered over the outfit, and a smirk tugged at his lips. She was clearly unused to wearing trousers, moving stiffly as though the unfamiliar fabric restrained her more than her actual captivity.

 

Nino rolled his eyes at Chat Noir’s expression and turned on his heel. "I’ll get her food and water. Try not to terrorize her while I’m gone."

 

As the door creaked shut, Marinette wasted no time. "Where did you learn to sail?" she asked, crossing her arms.

 

Chat Noir leaned against the wooden bars of her cell, cocking his head slightly. "A captain never reveals his secrets."

 

She scoffed. "Yet you expect me to give up mine?"

 

His smirk widened. "You and I aren’t the same, Princess. You were born into power. I had to carve my own." His gaze flickered over her, studying the way she held herself–firm, defiant, but with an underlying tension. "Though I must say, you wear defiance well."

 

"And you wear arrogance like a second skin," she shot back. "Do you ever let your mask slip?"

 

His smirk faltered, just for a second. She was good. Too good. Picking at him with carefully placed words, as though hoping he’d let something slip in return. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

 

"I’m always honest," he said smoothly. "You just don’t like the answers."

 

Marinette rolled her eyes but didn’t press further. She studied him carefully, hoping for any reaction she could use against him. Then, just as he was about to tease her for her scrutiny, something caught his eye.

 

A necklace. His necklace.

 

The sight of the emerald pendant against her collarbone made his blood run cold.

 

His body tensed, his smirk vanishing. His jewel. His mother’s gift. The only thing he had left of her before–

 

Before she was taken from him.

 

Rage burned through him like wildfire. His mind was no longer in control as he yanked the key from his belt, unlocking the cell with a sharp clatter. Marinette barely had time to react before he stormed inside, grabbing hold of her shoulders and pushing her to the floor.

 

Her breath hitched, panic flashing in her eyes. His grip was firm, his weight pressing her down. She gasped, instinctively raising her hands in defense, but he wasn’t aiming for her throat–his focus was solely on the necklace.

 

Marinette, however, thought otherwise.

 

She thrashed, her nails clawing at his wrists. "Get–off–me!"

 

He barely heard her. His hands reached for the chain, fingers curling around the metal as he yanked it hard enough to snap the clasp. The moment the pendant came free, he stumbled back, gripping it tightly in his fist. His breath was ragged, his pulse hammering in his ears.

 

Marinette coughed, sitting up, her hand flying to her throat as she glared at him with unfiltered fury. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

 

Chat Noir didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His hands were trembling as he looked down at the jewel–his jewel. The one thing he had lost. The one thing he had been desperate to find.

 

Marinette, still breathless, stared at him. Then, realization dawned in her eyes.

 

"That’s yours," she murmured.

 

Silence stretched between them. Chat Noir’s grip tightened around the pendant. He swallowed hard, his face unreadable.

 

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the cell, slamming the door behind him.

 

♡♡♡♡ 

 

Marinette barely had time to call after him before Chat Noir was gone, vanishing from sight like a shadow pulled into the depths of the ship. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her hands instinctively moving to her throat where his fingers had nearly pressed moments before. But he hadn't tried to strangle her. His aim had been the necklace–the jewel she had found and unwittingly claimed. That was what had sent him spiraling into rage.

 

Then her thoughts snapped into clarity.

 

He had left the cell door open.

 

For a heartbeat, she remained frozen, her mind struggling to process the reality of it. Her body screamed at her to run, but she forced herself to think. It could be a trick, some sort of test. But no–Chat Noir had been too caught up in his anger to have planned this. It was a mistake.

 

A mistake she could take advantage of.

 

Without another second wasted, she pushed off from the cold wooden floor and bolted. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she sprinted forward, heart hammering against her ribs. Freedom–she just needed to make it to the deck. If she could get above, if she could see the open sea, maybe she could find a way to escape. Maybe there was a dinghy, maybe she could swim–

 

She didn’t make it six feet before she crashed into something solid.

 

The impact sent her stumbling back, a startled gasp escaping her lips as she barely caught herself from falling. But before she could even think to push forward again, strong arms gripped her shoulders, steadying her–but also pinning her in place.

 

She looked up and met a pair of unimpressed brown eyes.

 

Nino.

 

He held a wooden cup of water in one hand and a chunk of bread in the other, his expression shifting from mild surprise to an exasperated grimace as he stared at her. Marinette swallowed, offering a nervous chuckle, hoping that maybe he’d let her pass.

 

He didn’t.

 

Instead, Nino let out a heavy sigh, as if he was dealing with an unruly child rather than a captive princess attempting to escape a pirate ship. Without a word, he set the bread and water on the small table beside them. Then, before she could react, he grabbed her by the upper arm and turned her around, dragging her right back toward the open cell door.

 

“No, no–wait–” Marinette started, trying to plant her feet, but Nino was stronger than he looked, and in one swift motion, he all but shoved her back inside.

 

She stumbled, catching herself against the wall as the realization settled like a weight in her stomach. Her chance was gone.

 

Again.

 

The heavy clang of the iron door slamming shut sent a spike of frustration through her.

 

“Seriously?” she snapped, whirling around to glare at him. “You’re just going to throw me back in here?”

 

Nino raised an eyebrow. “Where else would I put you?”

 

“I don’t know—maybe somewhere that isn’t a cell?” she bit out, crossing her arms. “I thought I wasn’t a prisoner.”

 

Nino exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I also thought you had common sense. Guess we were both wrong.”

 

Marinette scowled. “I–"

 

But Nino wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, he turned away and called out, “Kim! Get over here!”

 

Marinette’s stomach twisted. Whoever ‘Kim’ was, she doubted he was being summoned for a friendly chat.

 

Within moments, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the narrow hall. A tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes and an easy grin appeared, stopping beside Nino with a questioning look.

 

“What’s up?” Kim asked, cracking his knuckles absently.

 

“She tried to bolt,” Nino said, nodding toward Marinette. “Captain forgot to lock up.”

 

Kim let out a low whistle, his grin widening as he glanced at her. “Gotta say, Princess, that takes guts. Stupid guts, but guts.”

 

Marinette clenched her fists, biting back the retort that burned on her tongue. She had already lost this battle–no point in making things worse for herself.

 

Nino ran a hand down his face, clearly still annoyed. “I need to get the keys from Chat, but I don’t know how long he’s gonna be in whatever mood he’s in. Can you watch her till I get back?”

 

“Sure thing,” Kim said, stretching his arms. “Was getting bored anyway.”

 

Nino nodded, then shot one last look at Marinette before walking off, leaving her alone with her new guard.

 

Marinette exhaled slowly, stepping back toward the far wall. She had come so close. So, so close. And now? Now she had to start from square one all over again.

 

Kim leaned against the bars, arms crossed, watching her with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what’s the plan, Princess?” he asked casually. “Gonna try to sweet-talk your way out next?”

 

Marinette didn’t answer. Instead, she sat down on the hard wooden floor, drawing her knees up to her chest.

 

She would escape. She had to.

 

But for now, she would wait.

 

And watch.

 

And plan.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Nino walked with measured steps, his boots scuffing against the worn wooden floor of the ship. He had known something was wrong the moment he saw Chat Noir storming towards his quarters. It wasn't often that Chat lost his temper so visibly, but when he did, it sent ripples through the entire crew. And then there was the open cell door. That was rare. Almost unheard of. Chat Noir was never careless when it came to his prisoners, let alone this one.

 

With a sigh, Nino reached the heavy wooden door of the captain’s chambers and pushed it open without knocking. Plagg, the little black menace of a cat, immediately greeted him, leaping onto his shoulder and meowing in his ear before leaping away. Nino scowled but ignored the creature, focusing instead on the figure hunched over a map, studying it with an intensity that screamed frustration.

 

Chat Noir’s fingers gripped the parchment so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t tear. His jaw was clenched, his usually cocky smirk nowhere in sight. Nino took in the state of the room—papers scattered, the candle on the desk burned low, the faint scent of salt and aged rum lingering in the air. But it was the gleam of the emerald jewel in Chat Noir’s hands that caught his attention.

 

Of course. The jewel. The one from his mother.

 

Nino exhaled slowly. He had known about the loss days ago. Had suspected that it was the real reason for Chat’s exhaustion. Losing something so precious–it made sense now. But seeing it back in Chat’s grip, after such a dramatic display, made Nino wonder what exactly had gone down in that cell.

 

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened?” Nino asked, his voice even, controlled.

 

Chat Noir didn’t respond immediately. He turned the emerald between his fingers, the light catching its deep green hue. His expression was unreadable, but Nino had known him long enough to recognize the subtle signs of inner turmoil. The twitch of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his shoulders tensed like a rope about to snap.

 

“She was wearing it,” Chat finally muttered, his voice lower than usual.

 

Nino arched a brow. “Who?”

 

Chat gave him a deadpan look, as if the answer was obvious. “The princess.”

 

For a moment, Nino just stared at him. Then, with a sigh, he ran a hand down his face. “Okay… so what? You saw it, lost your damn mind, and lunged at her?”

 

Chat flinched, just a little. “I needed to get it back.”

 

Nino let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. And instead of using that silver tongue of yours to get it back smoothly, you just–you what? Scared the living hell out of her?”

 

Chat Noir’s fingers clenched around the jewel. “She thought I was trying to choke her,” he admitted after a pause.

 

Nino stared. “Oh, for the love of–Chat.” He dragged a chair over and plopped down in it, rubbing his temples. “You do realize that whatever progress we might’ve been making with her? You probably just threw it all into the ocean.”

 

Chat finally looked up, his green eyes sharp. “I don’t care,” he said, but there was something in his tone that said otherwise. Something uncertain. Nino had known him too long to believe that lie.

 

“You do care,” Nino countered. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be this mad at yourself.”

 

Chat Noir scoffed, standing abruptly and pacing the room. The wooden floorboards groaned under his weight. “I don’t need her to trust me,” he muttered. “I just need her secrets.”

 

Nino watched him with a quiet intensity. “And if she never tells you?”

 

Chat stopped pacing, his jaw tightening. He didn’t answer.

 

Nino leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, man. I get it. That jewel–it’s more than just some fancy trinket. It’s the last thing you have of her.” He gestured to the emerald still clutched in Chat’s grip. “I’d be losing my mind too if I thought something like that was gone forever.”

 

Chat Noir inhaled sharply. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

 

“No shit,” Nino muttered, leaning back in his chair.

 

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of the waves outside and the faint creaking of the ship. Chat Noir finally sat back down, his fingers loosening slightly around the jewel. His gaze was distant, thoughtful.

 

Nino studied him carefully. The man in front of him was his captain, his leader, the strongest person he had ever known. But before that, he had been his best friend. He had known him before the madness, before the reputation, before he became this infamous pirate feared by the seas. And even now, despite everything, Nino still saw the boy he had grown up with buried beneath all the layers of ruthlessness and insanity.

 

“Chat,” he said after a long moment, his voice quieter now. “I’ve stood by you through everything. You know that, right?”

 

Chat didn’t respond, but Nino saw the slight twitch of his fingers, the way his gaze briefly flickered toward him before looking away again.

 

“You know I’ll always have your back,” Nino continued. “But I need you to trust me too. You’re my captain, yeah. But you’re also my friend. And I don’t want to watch you lose yourself over something like this.”

 

Chat Noir exhaled, finally setting the emerald down on the table. His hands ran through his messy blond hair, frustration still evident in every movement. “I know,” he muttered.

 

Nino nodded, pushing himself up from his chair. “Good. Now, what’s the plan? Because like it or not, you can’t keep her locked up forever.”

 

Chat shot him a glare. “Watch me.”

 

Nino smirked. “Right. Except she’s already looking for ways to escape. She’s smart, Chat. Smarter than most of us. If you don’t start handling this carefully, you might wake up one day and find her gone.”

 

Chat didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, finally, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “We’ll see,” was all he said.

 

Nino rolled his eyes. Typical. “Just… don’t do anything reckless.”

 

A sharp laugh. “Nino. That’s all I ever do.”

 

With a resigned shake of his head, Nino turned to leave. He paused at the door, glancing back once more. “Get some sleep, Chat.”

 

Chat Noir didn’t respond, but Nino saw the way his grip tightened on the arms of his chair. With one last look, Nino stepped out, closing the door behind him.

 

He had seen Chat at his best and his worst. And even now, no matter how unpredictable his captain became, Nino knew one thing for certain: he would always stand by his side.

♡♡♡♡

Chat Noir tossed his hat onto the chair with little care, his fingers tightening at the thought of his own foolishness. He had spent years perfecting his control, keeping himself composed even in the heat of battle or negotiations with rival pirates. But a single glimpse of his mother’s jewel–dangling from Marinette’s neck–had sent him spiraling.

 

He sighed and trudged toward his bed, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him in waves. The creaking of the ship was a familiar symphony, one he had long since grown accustomed to. He could still hear the distant voices of his crew, the shuffle of boots on wood, and the faint hum of the ocean that always seemed to sing to him.

 

Plagg, his ever-loyal feline companion, wasted no time curling up around his neck as he settled down. The cat’s warmth was a small comfort, his rhythmic breathing a steady reminder of something constant in his chaotic world. Chat Noir absentmindedly ran a hand through Plagg’s fur, feeling the tension in his muscles gradually ease, though the turmoil in his mind remained relentless.

 

The jewel was now securely fastened around his own neck once more, the makeshift string pressing lightly against his skin. He fingered the smooth surface, memories clawing their way up from the depths of his past. His mother’s gentle voice, her rare but genuine laughter, the soft touch of her hand as she clasped the necklace around his neck when he was just a boy. A relic of a time long lost.

 

Losing it had been unbearable. Finding it on Marinette had been maddening.

 

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. The image of her startled expression when he lunged at her still lingered in his mind. She had thought he was going to choke her. The way she had struggled beneath him, eyes wide with fear, had sent a pang of something deep into his gut.

 

He wasn’t a good man, but he never wanted to be the kind of monster that made a woman cower in terror.

 

Chat Noir exhaled sharply and forced himself to focus on something else. He needed a plan. In a few days, they would need to dock at a small town to restock their food and water supply. It was a necessity, but it also posed a new problem

 

–Marinette.

 

She was observant, far more than she let on. He had no doubt that the moment her feet touched solid ground, she would be scheming her escape. And for all his efforts to keep her contained, she was clever. He knew it was only a matter of time before she found an opportunity.

 

The question was: what would he do about it?

 

Would he keep her locked below deck, hidden away until they set sail once more? Would he risk letting her roam under watchful eyes, hoping she wouldn’t slip through his grasp? He hated the idea of caging her like some fragile bird, but the alternative was losing her entirely.

 

His fingers curled around the pendant again, as if it held the answer he so desperately needed.

 

Sleep came slower than usual, but eventually, the hum of the sea won out. It wasn't always there, but when it was he was grateful, a lullaby against his restless thoughts. A whisper, a comfort, a presence that seemed to understand his chaotic mind when nothing else did.

 

Tomorrow, he would have to think of something. Tomorrow, he would have to face her again.

 

For now, he let the sea sing him to sleep.

 

 

Chapter 8

Notes:

I hope I know where this is going...

Ideas ideas.
*sigh*

Turns out I can make long chapters. Crazy.

Chat Noir awoke to a sharp knocking sound against the heavy wooden door of his quarters. His senses, dulled by restless sleep, gradually sharpened as he recognized the voice on the other side. It was Nino.

 

“We’re close to port.”

 

Groaning, Chat rubbed a hand down his face, feeling the rough stubble along his jaw. He hadn't shaved in a few days, nor had he slept properly. His mind had been too occupied–first with the stolen jewel, then with his frustration over Marinette, and finally with the unrelenting whispers of the sea and the ship. The sea sang to him as it always did, a distant, alluring tune that curled around his thoughts like tendrils of mist. The ship, though... the ship was different. The wood groaned beneath him, and it wasn’t just the natural shift of the vessel against the waves. It spoke to him. Not in words, but in subtle, eerie murmurs that settled deep into his bones. He didn’t always understand what it was trying to say, but he knew better than to ignore it completely.

 

Pushing himself up, he ran a hand through his unruly blond hair, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. The jewel rested heavily against his chest, the cord pressing into his skin. He held it between his fingers for a moment, staring at the deep green gleam that reflected the dim candlelight of his room. His mother’s gift. The only piece of her he had left. And she had it. Marinette had it wrapped around her neck, parading it like she had any right to.

 

With a sigh, he shook off his thoughts and stood. He needed to be the captain they expected, the leader they followed without question. Even if his mind felt fractured at the edges, even if something about that girl made his thoughts spiral. She was a problem. One he still hadn’t decided how to solve.

 

Straightening his coat, he stepped out of his quarters and onto the deck, the sun momentarily blinding him. The sea stretched endlessly around them, the horizon a perfect blend of blue and gold. The salty breeze was sharp against his skin, and the sound of gulls in the distance signaled land was near.

 

His crew bustled about, preparing for their arrival. He watched them for a moment, before stepping forward with confidence, his boots hitting the wooden deck in a steady rhythm. “Keep her steady!” he barked, watching as the crew adjusted the sails and checked their supplies. “We dock, we resupply, and we leave by nightfall. I don’t want any delays.”

 

A chorus of “Aye, Captain!” followed, and he felt some semblance of control settle over him. This, he could handle. Orders, commands, movement. Predictability. The weight in his chest didn’t ease, but it became bearable.

 

He walked toward the ship’s galley, following the scent of something warm and savory. His stomach twisted in hunger–he had barely eaten the past day, too preoccupied with everything else. Stepping inside, he found Ivan standing over a large pot, stirring something that smelled of spiced fish and broth.

 

Chat leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s on the menu today?”

 

Ivan turned slightly, grunting in acknowledgment. “Fish stew. Fresh from this morning’s catch.” He ladled some into a wooden bowl and set it on the table. “You should eat.”

 

Chat smirked, striding over to take a seat. “You always say that.”

 

“You never listen.”

 

Picking up the spoon, he took a bite, savoring the warmth that spread through him. Ivan’s cooking was one of the few comforts on this ship, a rare thing Chat Noir actually enjoyed without overthinking. As he ate, his mind drifted back to Marinette, his frustration creeping back in. The bath. The necklace. She must have found it there. That would explain why it had ended up around her neck.

 

Still, another thought, unbidden and irritating, wormed its way into his mind. Had she used his soap? The idea was ridiculous, but his tired, erratic brain latched onto it anyway. The image of her in his bath, her hair damp and curling against her skin, her fingers trailing along the rim of the tub–it was enough to make him scowl at himself.

 

He needed to stop thinking about her. She was a prisoner, a means to an end. Nothing more.

 

Ivan must have noticed his change in expression because he raised an eyebrow. “Something on your mind, Captain?”

 

Chat scoffed, shaking his head. “Nothing that concerns you.”

 

Ivan grunted in response but didn’t push. He never did. The crew knew when to pry and when to keep their mouths shut. That’s why Chat Noir trusted them.

 

As he finished his meal, he pushed the bowl aside and leaned back, fingers drumming against the wooden table. “How long until we dock?”

 

“Less than an hour.”

 

Chat nodded, contemplating his next move. He had to keep a closer eye on Marinette. He knew she was plotting something–she had that look about her, the kind that spoke of gears turning behind those defiant blue eyes. She was smart, and he didn’t like that. Smart prisoners found ways to escape.

 

He exhaled through his nose, standing abruptly. “I’ll be on deck.”

 

Ivan simply nodded, returning to his cooking. Chat Noir strode back up, feeling the ship’s familiar sway beneath his feet. The port was growing closer, the outlines of buildings and ships becoming clearer. He rolled his shoulders, preparing himself for the inevitable chaos that came with docking.

 

Marinette was a problem, but he had handled worse. He would figure out how to deal with her soon enough. For now, he had a ship to run.

 

And an ever-singing sea whispering in his ears.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Marinette didn't expect to see Chat Noir so soon. Not after what had happened in the cell, not after the fury she had seen burning in his eyes. She had expected distance, more avoidance, but there he was, standing in front of her with an unreadable expression. He was composed, almost too much so, his usual cocky air suppressed under the weight of something she couldn’t quite place. It unsettled her.

 

The room was dim, the soft glow of the lanterns casting shifting shadows across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something detached, distant. This was the Chat Noir who commanded a ship, the one who sent men to their deaths without hesitation. This was not the teasing, unpredictable man she had started to understand, started to… no. She wouldn't let herself go down that path.

 

“You’ll be cuffed to me.”

 

Her eyes widened slightly at his words, but he didn’t seem to care for a reaction. He was already moving, already pulling a set of heavy iron cuffs from his belt. They clinked ominously, cold even from a distance. Marinette crossed her arms, raising a brow.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

His eyes flicked to her, impassive. “I don’t trust you.”

 

“That’s mutual.”

 

A ghost of a smirk played on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Regardless, you’re my prisoner, and I don’t intend on letting you slip away the second we dock.”

 

Her heart skipped. Docking? Land? That meant escape was possible. She had been waiting for this, preparing for it, but being chained to him? That would make things difficult.

 

“And what if I refuse?” she challenged, lifting her chin.

 

His eyes darkened slightly, a glint of something dangerous sparking there. “You won’t. Because you don’t have a choice.”

 

She hated the way her stomach flipped at his tone. Hated the way he could so easily make her feel cornered without even lifting a finger. Marinette narrowed her eyes. “Handcuffing me like some kind of animal? Seems beneath you, Captain.”

 

That smirk returned, just barely. “It would be, if I saw you as one. But you’re more dangerous than you let on, Princess.”

 

He took a step closer, and for a moment, the scent of salt and something faintly spiced filled her senses. It was intoxicating, the way he moved, deliberate yet effortless. He was still as unpredictable as the sea itself.

 

“Hours,” he continued, voice smoother now, almost amused. “You’ll be stuck with me for hours.”

 

She swallowed down her frustration. “And if I have to use the restroom?”

 

He paused for a moment, considering. “Then you’ll have to hold it.”

 

She scoffed. “Oh, charming.”

 

“I never claimed to be.” He took her wrist, not roughly, but with a firmness that left no room for argument. The cold metal snapped shut around her wrist with an audible click. Then he secured the other cuff to his own wrist. A test pull confirmed their fate–she wouldn’t be going anywhere without him.

 

Marinette scowled, yanking slightly against the bond. Chat Noir merely raised a brow. “Unless you plan on dragging me around, I’d suggest you cooperate.”

 

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But I expect food, actual food, not just stale bread and water.”

 

“You’ll eat when I do.”

 

Lovely. Just lovely.

 

As if on cue, a heavy knock sounded on the door, and Ivan’s voice rumbled from the other side. “Captain, the crew’s ready to dock.”

 

Chat Noir didn’t take his eyes off her. “Good. We’re coming.”

 

The grip on the chain tightened slightly as he turned toward the door, giving her a silent command to follow. She considered resisting, just to be difficult, but what would be the point? He had made sure she had no options.

 

For now.

 

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Marinette instinctively shielded her eyes. The sea stretched out endlessly before them, the promise of land now just barely visible on the horizon. She didn’t know where they were docking, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that this was her best opportunity yet.

 

Now, all she had to do was wait.

 

And survive being handcuffed to Chat Noir in the meantime.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

The town was bustling with life, filled with merchants loudly advertising their wares, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat thick in the salty air. Marinette hadn’t set foot on dry land in what felt like forever, yet she barely had time to appreciate it. The heavy iron cuffs around her wrists and the chain linking her to Chat Noir made sure of that.

 

He was silent. Not the usual cunning, teasing pirate she had come to expect, but a man lost in his own world. It was unnerving. Marinette had expected some smug remark, a gloating quip about their new arrangement, but instead, he merely led her through the market, ignoring her presence entirely. If it weren’t for the chain between them, she might have forgotten he was there at all.

 

She stole a glance at him as they maneuvered through the crowded streets. His sharp green eyes were scanning the marketplace, murmuring to himself in a way that made it clear he was too deep in his own thoughts to care about her. His fingers absently trailed over the produce stands, brushing against fresh fruit, cured meats, and sacks of grain, all while his lips moved silently, barely above a whisper. It was as if he was reciting a list, completely detached from the situation at hand.

 

Yet Marinette was all too aware of him.

 

She felt every shift of his weight, every slight tug of the chain as he moved. He was strangely fluid, yet stiff at the same time, like his body was adjusting to something unnatural. She watched how he avoided standing in one place for too long, how he seemed more comfortable when he was in motion. It wasn’t until they paused at a spice merchant’s stall that it finally clicked.

 

He was wobbly.

 

At first, she thought she imagined it. But now, watching him closely, she saw the subtle imbalance, the slight sway whenever he stood still. His legs were used to the constant, rolling motion of a ship. Now, with the ground beneath him unmoving, he was almost unsteady, as if his body hadn’t quite figured out how to exist without the sway of the ocean.

 

Marinette smirked. “You’re wobbly.”

 

Chat Noir gave her a sideways glance, amused. “Excuse me?”

 

She tilted her head. “You’ve been at sea too long, haven’t you? Standing still on land feels strange.”

 

He scoffed but didn’t deny it. “Doesn’t mean I’m wobbly.”

 

“Oh, but you are,” she said, leaning in slightly. “It’s kind of funny, actually. The big, bad pirate captain, thrown off balance by something as simple as solid ground.”

 

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, but close. “And you’re too observant for your own good.”

 

She gave a victorious little hum, but Chat Noir was already turning his attention back to the merchant’s stand, scanning the spices. 

 

“Clove… cinnamon… pepper…” he murmured, reaching into his coat to pull out a small pouch of coins. He tossed a few onto the counter and gathered the purchased spices into a small leather satchel.

 

Marinette folded her arms–or at least tried to, as much as the chain would allow. “You know, if I’m going to be dragged around like this, the least you could do is make conversation.”

 

He let out a small hum, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It was as if she was speaking to the wind.

 

Marinette clenched her jaw. “Or are you only chatty when you’re in control of everything?”

 

That made him pause. His gaze flickered to her, eyes sharp, assessing. There was something almost calculating in the way he studied her, but it disappeared in an instant, replaced by his usual indifference. He gave a slow smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If I talked to you, Princess, you’d only try to use it against me.”

 

“And if I don’t talk to you, you’re still convinced I’m scheming,” she shot back. “Seems like a lose-lose situation.”

 

“That’s how it is when you’re dealing with pirates, sweetheart.”

 

Marinette scowled at the nickname. He hadn’t called her that before, and she had no doubt he was doing it just to irritate her.

 

The chain between them jingled as they continued walking. She noticed how people stared as they passed–some eyes lingered on the cuffs, others on the infamous pirate captain beside her. Whispers followed in their wake, but Chat Noir either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was used to this, wasn’t he? Used to the stares, the muttering, the presence of authority always lurking around the corner.

 

But Marinette wasn’t used to this at all.

 

She adjusted the sleeves of her borrowed shirt, suddenly all too aware of how different she looked from her usual refined self. Her hair was unstyled. The pants–her first time wearing them–felt foreign, and the shirt hung loosely around her frame. She felt out of place, like a doll that had been ripped from its perfect display and tossed into the real world. And standing next to Chat Noir, a pirate who embodied chaos itself, only made the contrast more apparent.

 

Her fingers unconsciously went to her collarbone, where the jewel had once rested. But it wasn’t there anymore. Chat Noir had taken it back, and now it hung from a thin cord around his neck. A constant reminder of what she had taken, what he had lost. If he noticed her glance at it, he didn’t say anything.

 

A sudden commotion up ahead caught her attention. A group of children ran past them, giggling as they weaved through the crowd. A woman scolded them from a nearby fruit stall, shaking her head fondly. For a moment, Marinette allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be one of them–free, unburdened, without the weight of shackles, without the weight of expectation.

 

She exhaled sharply. “I need to sit.”

 

Chat Noir’s brow arched. “Tired already, Princess?”

 

She shot him a glare. “It’s been a while since I’ve walked around like this.”

 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he led her toward a small shaded area near the docks, where wooden crates and barrels were stacked high. He leaned against one of them, crossing his arms, while she sat on another, stretching out her sore legs.

 

That’s when she noticed it again–the way he subtly shifted his stance, the way his fingers drummed against his arm as if trying to keep rhythm with a movement that no longer existed.

 

The sea was still singing to him. And maybe, just maybe, he longed to answer its call.

 

♡♡♡♡

Chat Noir was unstable. He could feel it in his legs, in the slight but constant shift of his balance as he stood on solid ground. It wasn’t that he was weak or incapable–far from it. He had spent years aboard the Cataclysm, moving with the rocking of the sea, his body instinctively adjusting to the rhythm of the waves. Now, with the earth still beneath him, he felt strangely off-kilter, as if the ground itself was playing a cruel joke on him. He's always been the one guarding the ship while his crew went on land. They restocked every 5 months to keep healthy. 

 

And the worst part? Marinette had noticed.

 

She had pointed it out with that knowing smirk, her eyes gleaming with amusement, and now he was all too aware of every wobble, every subtle sway. It infuriated him. He was the infamous Chat Noir, feared captain of the seven seas, and yet here he was, struggling to stand still like a fresh-faced sailor on his first day ashore.

 

He clenched his jaw and adjusted his stance, grounding himself. He refused to let her see him as weak. She was already smug enough as it was, and he had no doubt she’d file this away as yet another thing to use against him. She was quick like that, always waiting for an opportunity to poke at his pride. If she tried it again, he’d just remind her of the chain binding them together—of the fact that she wasn’t free, that she was still his prisoner.

 

But even as he thought it, a small part of him knew that was just an excuse.

 

He exhaled through his nose and forced his attention elsewhere. They had things to do.

 

At the very least, their stop at the market had been successful. He had secured a decent supply of spices–clove, cinnamon, pepper, and a few rare ones that were difficult to come by at sea. Good food made for a happy crew, and he wasn’t about to let his men grumble about bland meals when they were already on edge from the long voyage. The meats he had bought would last them a few weeks, maybe longer if Ivan did his job right and preserved them properly. It was a relief to have those necessities out of the way.

 

Now, there was only one thing left on his list before they returned to the ship: rum.

 

He adjusted the cuff on his wrist, feeling the weight of the chain connecting him to Marinette. She was still sitting on the wooden crate, stretching her legs like she had all the time in the world. A spoiled princess through and through. He had half a mind to yank her up by the chain and remind her that they weren’t here for leisure, but he resisted. Instead, he rolled his shoulders and turned his gaze toward the bustling streets.

 

The taverns in this town weren’t difficult to find. He could already hear the raucous laughter and off-key shanties drifting through the air. He knew exactly where to go.

 

With a tug on the chain, he glanced down at her. “Enough lounging. We’re moving.”

 

Marinette sighed dramatically, but she rose to her feet without protest. “And where, exactly, are we moving to?”

 

He smirked, though the exhaustion in his bones made it less sharp than usual. “A tavern. Need to stock up on rum.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “Of course you do.”

 

He chuckled, low and tired. “Don’t act so surprised, Princess. You’re chained to a pirate.”

 

He turned on his heel, leading her toward the noise and warmth of the nearest tavern. As they walked, he tried to ignore the way his steps still felt uneven, how his body still longed for the sway of the ship beneath him. But he could hear Marinette’s quiet snicker beside him, and he knew she hadn’t forgotten.

 

Damn her for noticing.

 

The tavern was exactly what Marinette expected–a dimly lit, smoke-filled establishment reeking of alcohol and sweat. The scent of stale ale and unwashed bodies clung to the wooden beams, mingling with the rowdy laughter and shouts of drunken patrons. It was chaotic, loud, and utterly suffocating.

 

Yet, as soon as they walked in, the atmosphere seemed to shift.

 

It was subtle at first. Conversations quieted slightly, heads turned, and eyes flickered toward the infamous pirate captain who had just stepped through the threshold. But it wasn’t just recognition that caused the shift–it was hunger. The kind Marinette had seen before, the kind that made her skin crawl.

 

The women in the tavern gazed at Chat Noir like starved beasts catching sight of a fresh meal. Some openly fawned over him, eyes dragging across his figure as if undressing him with a single glance. Others smirked, whispering to each other, already plotting how to get his attention. One particularly bold woman–a barmaid with a revealing bodice and a sultry smile–brushed past him, running her fingers along his arm.

 

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She got it. He was attractive. Stupidly so. But did they have to be so obvious about it?

 

Chat Noir, however, didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. If anything, he barely acknowledged them, his focus entirely on the bartender as he approached the counter.

 

“Fifteen bottles of rum,” he ordered, voice smooth and unwavering. “And twelve more of whatever you’ve got that’s strong.”

 

The bartender, an older man with a missing tooth and a grizzled beard, let out a sharp laugh. “Stocking up, are we?”

 

Chat Noir leaned against the counter with an easy smirk. “Can never have too much, old man.”

 

Marinette grimaced as she watched the exchange. Disgusting. Pirates and their obsession with alcohol. She couldn’t fathom why they needed so much–did they not drink water? Was everything just rum and grog?

 

A particularly loud burst of laughter rang out from a nearby table, where a group of rough-looking men were engaged in a rowdy drinking contest. One of them slammed his tankard onto the table, sloshing beer over the sides, and shouted something slurred that made the others roar with laughter.

 

Marinette wrinkled her nose. Yep. Pirates were absolutely vile.

 

She was still bound to Chat Noir, the chain hanging loosely between them, but it did little to stop the wandering eyes of the tavern women. They eyed her with varying degrees of curiosity and irritation, likely wondering who she was and why she was attached to the infamous captain.

 

She straightened her posture, lifting her chin slightly. If they thought she was just some common wench he’d picked up, they were sorely mistaken.

 

Meanwhile, Chat Noir seemed entirely unbothered by the attention, casually counting out coins and sliding them across the counter as the bartender fetched his order. He truly didn’t care. Either he was used to it, or he just wasn’t interested. Either way, Marinette found herself strangely relieved.

 

As the bartender placed the bottles into a crate, Chat Noir turned slightly, his gaze flickering toward her. “You look like you’re having fun, Princess.”

 

She shot him a glare. “Oh, absolutely. This is exactly where I wanted to be tonight. Standing in the middle of a filthy tavern, watching you stockpile enough rum to drown a small village.”

 

He chuckled, lifting the crate with ease. “Good. Then you won’t complain when I make you carry some.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

 

But he was already walking away, tugging the chain lightly, forcing her to follow.

 

She scowled.

 

Ugh. Pirates were the worst.

 

 

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you enjoy most or get annoyed by when reading this.

Updates are very random but daily.

Chapter 9

Notes:

Sorry for the late post. My beta is so busy so I've been taking the time myself to go through it all.

Thank you for reading! Chapter 10 will be posted earlier than usual.
Also thank you for supporting this story with Kudos or commenting, I love interacting with you all! ♡♡♡♡

Xoxo
Ragoo

Marinette let out a long, exhausted sigh, dragging her feet slightly as she tried to keep pace with Chat Noir. She was beyond tired. Every step made her legs ache, and the cobblestone streets felt like they were conspiring against her, sending sharp discomfort up through her delicate, untrained feet. As a princess, she had never walked this much in her entire life! She was used to short, measured steps around the palace, the occasional stroll through the garden, or being escorted in a luxurious carriage.

 

But this? This was ridiculous.

 

Her discomfort didn’t seem to register with her ever-determined captor, who kept walking at a steady–though slightly uneven–pace. She smirked to hersef, watching how Chat Noir still hadn’t fully adjusted to standing on solid land.

Every now and then, he would sway ever so slightly, his body trying to compensate for a movement that no longer existed. His balance would falter just a bit, and then he’d snap back, correcting himself with a barely concealed grimace.

 

It was entertaining, honestly. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing whenever he caught himself at the last second. It made sense that he wasn’t used to the stillness of land, but knowing that didn’t make it any less funny.

 

Marinette shifted her gaze to their joined hands. His grip was firm, his larger gloved hand easily encircling her wrist where the iron cuffs bound them together. He carried the weight of the crate filled with bottles of alcohol effortlessly, as if it weren’t heavy at all. She grimaced at the thought of what was inside. Fifteen bottles of rum, twelve bottles of who-knows-what else–honestly, pirates were just disgusting sometimes. How could anyone drink that much? The mere idea of consuming that amount of alcohol made her stomach churn.

 

Another step, another sigh.

 

She was so bored. Utterly, mind-numbingly bored. The market had been somewhat interesting, but now that they were just walking again, she had nothing to distract her from the soreness settling deep into her bones.

 

“How much longer?” she muttered under her breath, not expecting an answer.

 

Chat Noir, who had been mostly silent the whole trip, hummed in acknowledgment. “Tired, Princess?” he teased, though his voice lacked its usual cocky edge.

 

She scowled at him. “Unlike you, I wasn’t raised on a ship. My feet aren’t used to this.”

 

He chuckled lowly. “That much is obvious.”

 

She rolled her eyes, but when he wobbled again–this time having to adjust his stance more noticeably–she couldn’t help herself. “You know, for someone so proud of his sea legs, you’re not doing so well on land.”

 

Chat Noir’s ears twitched in irritation. He tightened his grip on the crate, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m fine.”

 

Marinette smirked. “Sure you are.”

 

She watched as he tensed slightly, clearly more aware of his occasional missteps now that she had pointed them out. He made a visible effort to walk more steadily, which only made his movements more rigid and awkward. It was fascinating, really–he had spent so long at sea that even the concept of standing on unmoving ground threw him off balance. And she knew it was getting under his skin.

 

A particularly strong wobble almost made him stumble. Marinette snorted. “You’re really struggling, huh?”

 

His glare was immediate. “If you don’t stop talking, I’ll make you carry the crate.”

 

She scoffed, eyeing the heavy wooden box filled with sloshing bottles. “Please. You’d never risk letting me get my hands on something that could be used as a weapon.”

 

His lips twitched slightly, as if fighting a smile. “Fair point.”

 

They continued in silence for a few more minutes, weaving through the crowded streets. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows against the worn stone pathways. Marinette tried not to think about how much longer they had to walk, or how much heavier her limbs felt with each passing second.

 

Then Chat Noir wobbled again–worse this time. He had been too focused on not messing up, and in overcompensating, he nearly lost his footing completely. His body jerked, and as a reflex, his hand pulled on hers, yanking her slightly forward.

 

She gasped, stumbling into his side. “Hey!”

 

“Shut up,” he muttered, ears flattening slightly as a faint pink dusted his cheeks.

 

Marinette burst into laughter. “You’re really bad at this!”

 

Chat Noir groaned. “I swear, Princess, if you keep laughing—”

 

“What? You’ll wobble at me?” She grinned up at him, enjoying the way his jaw clenched in frustration.

 

“I will make you regret it.”

 

“Oh, I’d like to see you try.”

 

He huffed, shaking his head. “You are insufferable.”

 

“And you are wobbly.”

 

He groaned again, but this time, she swore she saw the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely immune to her teasing.

 

Not that she’d ever stop, of course. He made it too easy.

 

Marinette sighed again, letting her gaze wander. Her feet still ached, her body still protested every step, but at least she had something to keep herself entertained. Watching the infamous Captain Chat Noir struggle to adjust to solid ground was a small but satisfying victory.

 

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir was pissed. Utterly, completely, and without a doubt, irritated beyond belief.

 

It wasn’t just that they’d spent hours trudging through the town, weaving through merchants, sidestepping suspicious glances, and ignoring the relentless stares of women who all but threw themselves at him. No, what really set his nerves alight was the damn princess attached to his wrist.

 

She was getting bolder. Teaseful. It was as if every extra minute on land fed her confidence, while it drained his patience. He had spent years commanding his ship, his crew, and his fate with unwavering certainty, but now? Now he was the one being laughed at, the one stumbling over steady ground, while she–his supposed prisoner–pranced about with an air of superiority.

 

Wobble his ass. What a stupid word. He wasn’t wobbly. He was simply adjusting. That was all.

 

And yet, every time his footing faltered, every time his body betrayed him with a brief, unsteady step, he could feel her amusement radiating beside him.

 

It had started small–an amused glance here, a smirk there. But as the day dragged on, her stifled chuckles became outright giggles, and Chat Noir swore on the seven seas that if she so much as snickered one more time, he’d–

 

The docks. Finally.

 

A sense of relief crashed over him the moment he caught sight of the Cataclysm, moored just as they had left it. His ship, his home, the one place where he was unquestionably in control. The mere sight of it seemed to breathe life back into his weary soul. He could feel it–his equilibrium beginning to restore itself, the promise of the sea calling him back where he belonged.

 

A grin stretched across his lips before he could stop it. He didn’t care who saw–he was finally going back aboard. But then, of course, his moment of joy had to be ruined by none other than his lovely companion.

 

“Oh my, Captain,” Marinette teased, tilting her head as she observed his expression. “You look downright giddy.”

 

Chat Noir scoffed, trying to rein in his smile. “And you look far too pleased with yourself, Princess.”

 

She shrugged, swinging their connected hands slightly. “Can you blame me? I’ve had such an entertaining day.”

 

He rolled his eyes and pulled her forward, eager to put solid, moving wood beneath his boots. The moment he stepped onto the ship, he exhaled deeply, as if he had been holding his breath all day. His body felt lighter, his movements fluid again. No more awkward footing. No more hesitations.

 

Finally.

 

Marinette raised a brow as she followed him up the gangplank, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t see what’s so thrilling about stepping onto a few planks of wood.”

 

Chat Noir let out a bark of laughter. “That’s because you don’t have the heart of a sailor, Princess.”

 

“No,” she admitted, “but I do have the legs of one now.” She stretched, groaning dramatically. “I have never walked this much in my entire life.”

 

“Aw, poor thing,” he mocked, placing a hand over his chest. “Would you like me to carry you back to your quarters?”

 

Marinette rolled her eyes. “You’d probably drop me.”

 

“Now why would I do that?” he smirked. “I’m back on my ship, after all. No more unsteady steps, remember?”

 

She snorted but said nothing, allowing him to lead her towards the lower deck.

 

Chat Noir wasted no time in heading straight for the pantry. The moment they stepped inside, he unceremoniously dumped the crates onto the wooden floor with a satisfying thud. Finally, they were secure. He crouched down, double-checking their placement, making sure nothing would slide when they set sail.

 

Marinette leaned against the doorframe, watching him with an amused tilt of her lips. “You really love this ship, don’t you?”

 

He glanced at her before returning his attention to securing the bottles of alcohol. “Of course I do. She’s the only thing that’s been constant in my life.”

 

Her expression softened slightly, as if she understood something she hadn’t before. “It must be nice,” she murmured. “To have something like that.”

 

He stilled for just a moment before shaking his head and standing back up. “Enough sentimentality. We set sail soon, and I’ll finally be free of this cursed land.” He turned to her with a smirk. “Try to keep up, Princess. We wouldn’t want you getting seasick, now would we?”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, don’t worry about me, Captain. I wouldn’t miss watching you stumble for anything.”

 

Chat Noir rolled his eyes and strode past her, his confidence fully restored now that he was back where he belonged. Soon, the sea would be theirs again. And this time, he wouldn’t let her get under his skin so easily.

 

At least, that’s what he told himself.

 

Dragging her along, he walked toward the brig, ignoring the way she huffed beside him. Once they reached her cell, he finally–finally–unlatched the handcuffs, letting her wrist go free. She rubbed at the spot where the cold metal had rested, but her eyes flicked up to him, surprised.

 

“Seriously?” she muttered. “You’re tossing me back in here?”

 

Chat Noir crossed his arms, leaning against the bars. “What, you thought you’d earned special privileges?”

 

Marinette frowned, and for a second, she looked like she wanted to argue. Instead, she let out a huff. “Fine. At least give me food and water first.”

 

He exhaled heavily, already regretting giving her an inch of leeway. “Fine. Come on.”

 

She blinked at him, clearly startled that he hadn’t just sent someone else to do it. Regardless, she followed as he led her through the ship, taking her somewhere she probably hadn’t expected.

 

His quarters.

 

Marinette stopped just short of entering. “Uh.” She eyed the space, then him. “You sure about this?”

 

Chat Noir rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Princess. I’m just grabbing supplies.”

 

That said, he still made sure to subtly shift a few things out of sight–his journal, his maps, his treasures. He wasn’t about to let her pry into his business. Plagg, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen, likely hiding from the unfamiliar presence. The little cat had never done well with strangers.

 

Marinette took cautious steps inside, watching as Chat Noir rummaged through a small chest, pulling out some bread, cheese, and a flask of water. She took them without complaint, though her eyes flicked curiously around the room.

 

“This is risky, you know,” she murmured, inspecting a nearby shelf. “Showing me your personal space.”

 

Chat Noir smirked, leaning against the desk. “What’s life without a little risk?”

 

She hummed, biting into the bread. “Fair enough.”

 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The waves crashed gently outside, the creak of the ship filling the silence. Chat Noir watched her, arms still crossed, as she ate.

 

Damn it. Why did she look so… comfortable?

 

He turned away before he could think about it too much. “Eat fast, Princess. We’ll be setting sail soon.”

 

Marinette smirked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Captain.”

 

 

 

Notes:

I'm gonna be honest I had a plan on how to end this story, but I've been changing it so much I am back to having to clue.

Don't worry, even though it's quite a slow burn, you can tell they're getting closer. In their own way.

Right now I'm assuming Marinette sees him as her captor with a story, she isn't blind, he's very attractive, but she is a stubborn girl.

Believe it or not, right now Chat Noir only sees her as hostage with secrets. Secrets he wants. His plan is to get her to trust and like him so maybe she can spill, it's out of character for him, I know, but this AU, Chat Noir— or Adrien, which only Nino knows that name— is a pirate.

I hope you liked this chapter, next one will be posted very soon! 👋

Xoxo
Ragoo

Chapter 10

Notes:

This was posted March 16th, 2025.

Chapter 10! We got through 10 chapters with no romance :( it's okay though, maybe I'll give you guys a little something in a few chapters 👀

March break is over for me so I will be busy with school and such. I have a Chem test Tuesday, I feel prepared..I hope I am..

Thank you for your patience and kindness in the comments! It motivates me so much to know people are excited for the future of this fic. I love you al!

I'm going to explore chat noir connection to the sea and his ship a bit more in future chapters, though let me know if you want to see more of something

Sincerely

 

Ragoo
Xoxo

Marinette glanced around the cluttered room, lips pursed. She had never seen such disarray before. Trinkets, maps, and half-folded clothes were strewn about, and the faint scent of sea salt and aged wood filled the space. Her gaze flickered to Chat Noir, who stood stiffly near the door, his posture tense, his hand lingering near his pocket as if ready to grab something at a moment’s notice.

 

She exhaled, shifting from foot to foot. "Are you just going to make me stand here?" she asked, raising a brow.

 

Chat Noir hesitated before wordlessly pulling out a wooden chair from his desk. Marinette took it, feeling the weight of his gaze as she sat down. It was clear he was watching her closely, wary. Almost too wary. He had been on guard around her since the beginning, but here–here, in his personal quarters–his usual cocky confidence seemed to falter.

 

She took the opportunity to observe, her eyes scanning the walls. She memorized the layout, looking for anything that could give her a clue about him. Anything personal. Anything useful.

 

He caught her staring. "Don’t get too comfortable," he muttered, voice gruffer than usual.

 

She tilted her head. "Oh? And here I thought you were warming up to me, bringing me here and all."

 

Chat Noir tensed, his fingers flexing against the wooden desk. Truthfully, he didn't know why he had brought her here. It had been a decision made on impulse, and now he regretted it. His room was filled with things he didn’t want her seeing. Things that could give her too much insight. Too much leverage.

 

"I needed to keep an eye on you. That’s all," he said finally, but even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

 

Marinette smirked knowingly. "Uh-huh. Sure."

 

He ignored her and turned away, pretending to search for something. His fingers absentmindedly brushed against his maps before he sighed through his nose. He needed to distract himself. Maybe her too. His eyes flickered toward the dark corner near his bed, where he knew Plagg was hiding.

 

"Plagg," he called lowly, almost uncertainly.

 

Marinette blinked. "What?"

 

"My cat," Chat Noir said curtly. "He’s hiding. Doesn’t like new people."

 

Her face lit up instantly. "You have a cat?" she breathed, eyes wide. "Where is he?"

 

Chat Noir hesitated, but before he could say anything, a small black blur darted from under the bed and leaped onto his shoulder. Plagg buried himself against Chat’s neck, his fur bristling as he eyed Marinette suspiciously.

 

"Oh my God," she whispered, clasping her hands together. "He’s adorable."

 

Chat Noir felt Plagg’s claws dig slightly into his jacket. The little cat never did well with strangers, and yet here he was, nestled against Chat like he was seeking protection. Chat didn’t blame him. He felt uneasy too.

 

Marinette reached a hand out slowly, but Plagg flattened his ears and turned away, burying his face into Chat Noir’s collar. She giggled. "A little shy, huh?"

 

Chat sighed, bringing a hand up to scratch behind Plagg’s ear. "He doesn’t trust people easily."

 

She looked at Chat Noir then, expression softening. "I can tell where he gets it from."

 

His fingers stopped mid-motion. A lump formed in his throat. He should have snapped back with some sharp remark, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked at her, his lips parting slightly before–

 

A loud bang startled them both as the door flew open. "Chat, what the hell?!" Nino’s voice filled the room.

 

Plagg leaped off Chat’s shoulder in an instant, darting back under the bed. Chat Noir turned sharply, already scowling. "What now, Nino?"

 

Nino’s eyes flickered from Chat Noir to Marinette, then back again. He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "You didn’t tell us you got back from the market. We’re setting sail now."

 

Chat blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Right," he muttered before quickly regaining his composure. "Fine."

 

Marinette straightened in her chair, watching the exchange with interest. Chat Noir clenched his jaw before sighing and stepping back. Without a word, he reached for her wrist, gripping it firmly but not harshly.

 

"Time to go," he said, his voice cool again.

 

She barely had time to react before he was leading her out, his grip unwavering as he walked her back to her cell. He opened the door, ushered her inside, and locked it without hesitation.

 

For a moment, Marinette stood there, watching him. His expression was unreadable, his posture rigid. She had no idea what he was thinking.

 

Finally, he turned away, the click of his boots echoing against the wooden floor as he left without another word.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir paced back and forth across the deck, his boots clanking against the worn wooden planks as the rhythmic crash of the waves filled the air. His mind was a mess. He had no idea why he had brought her to his room. What had possessed him to do such a foolish thing? It had been a reckless decision–one that put him in unnecessary danger. She could have seen something, could have used the time to learn more about him, to find his weaknesses. His hands curled into fists at the thought.

 

He let out a frustrated exhale, watching as Nino stepped up beside him. The crew bustled around them, preparing for their next journey. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kim and Alix arguing–again–over who was stronger when it came to lifting cargo. Their voices faded into the background as he turned his attention back to the maps and charts before him. He needed to focus, to think logically. Where should they set sail next?

 

 

 

Nino was speaking, laying out their options, but Chat Noir could barely concentrate. Something felt... off. It was as if the sea itself was whispering to him, warning him of an unseen danger. The sensation prickled at the back of his neck, and his fingers twitched over the hilt of his cutlass. He had spent years at sea, listening to its voice, trusting its instincts. It had never steered him wrong before.

 

“Nino,” he murmured, still scanning the horizon. “Something’s wrong.”

 

Nino sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What now?”

 

“The sea is warning me,” Chat Noir muttered, his voice low and uncertain. He hated how ridiculous it sounded out loud.

 

Nino raised an eyebrow. “The sea?”

 

“Yes, the sea. The wind. The ship itself.” Chat Noir turned sharply to face his first mate. “Something uninvited is on board.”

 

Nino groaned but didn’t dismiss him outright. He had been by Chat Noir’s side for years and had seen firsthand how eerily accurate his connection to the sea could be. Even if he didn’t fully understand it, he had learned to trust it.

 

“You’re sure?” Nino asked, his voice quieter now, laced with caution.

 

Chat Noir gave a stiff nod. “I wouldn’t bring it up otherwise.”

 

Nino inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose. “Alright. I’ll check. But if we don’t find anything, I swear–”

 

“Just do it,” Chat Noir cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.

 

Without another word, Nino turned on his heel and started barking orders to the crew, instructing them to account for every person on board. Chat Noir remained by the wheel, gripping it tightly as he stared out at the rolling waves. The wind tugged at his coat, the ship creaked beneath his boots, and the sea whispered in his ears.

 

Something was on his ship.

 

And he was going to find it.

 

His grip on the wheel was tight, knuckles pale beneath the sun. The wind howled, tugging at his coat as he tried to steady his breathing. The sea was talking to him. No–screaming.

 

And he couldn't understand why.

 

Nino had scoured the ship, following his captain’s orders without hesitation, checking every corner, every crate, every crew member. They’d found nothing. But Chat Noir’s instincts were still screaming that something wasn’t right. Commanding a fellow crew to take over the wheel, he drops down to the main floor.

 

He paced the deck, his coat billowing behind him, its tail-like edges mimicking a feline’s movements. His headache worsened. The salty air felt thick, almost suffocating, as if the sea itself was closing in. His boots thudded against the wooden planks, each step sharper, heavier, as frustration gnawed at him.

 

Then he saw it.

 

A speck.

 

Small. Insignificant. It fluttered in the distance, barely visible against the golden horizon. His body went rigid, pupils narrowing as paranoia flared like an open flame.

 

He raised a hand, motioning for silence. The crew halted, confused by their captain’s sudden stillness. Even the wind seemed to pause as Chat Noir tracked the speck’s erratic movements. His heart pounded as he realized where it was heading–

 

Straight into the lower decks.

 

Without thinking, he bolted. His boots slammed against the steps as he descended, each heartbeat matching the crashing waves. The air grew thick with something he couldn't name, something pressing against his skull like an invisible weight.

 

His steps slowed as he reached the cells. His breath came quick, nostrils flaring as his sharp gaze locked onto the only occupied cell.

 

Marinette.

 

She was sitting on the wooden bench, wrists shackled loosely in front of her. She barely flinched at his sudden appearance, only looking at him with mild curiosity. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on her hand.

 

A ladybug.

 

Chat Noir stared, his world narrowing down to that single moment. The tiny insect sat calmly on her fingers, its red shell stark against her pale skin.

 

Was this some kind of cruel joke? Was he going through withdrawal from the lack of alcohol? Was the sea sending him into madness?

 

The waves outside howled, as if urging him to do something, to understand.

 

His fingers twitched. His coat’s tail-like hem stilled. His breath shuddered.

 

He stepped closer, his mind an unsettling mix of confusion and unease. Marinette glanced at him, then back at the ladybug, her lips curling slightly in amusement.

 

“Something wrong, Captain?” she asked, voice deceptively light.

 

He didn’t answer. His mouth felt dry, his thoughts an incoherent mess. His entire world had just been upturned by a creature the size of his fingernail.

 

The ladybug sat, unmoving, as if waiting.

 

And Chat Noir didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do next.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

To say Marinette wasn’t curious–perhaps even slightly concerned–at Chat Noir’s sudden presence and rather disturbing facial expression was an understatement. He looked as if he had just cycled through all five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. His green eyes, sharp and usually filled with mischief or menace, were wide with something she couldn’t quite place. Shock? Confusion? Horror?

 

She followed his gaze, frowning. He wasn’t looking at her, not really. His attention was entirely fixed on the tiny ladybug crawling delicately across her finger, its red shell standing out against her pale skin. It tickled slightly as it moved, its tiny legs brushing over the ridges of her knuckles.

 

Marinette had always loved ladybugs. Ever since she was a child, she swore they sought her out more than anyone else. They landed on her shoulders, her hands, her head, even when she was indoors with no open windows in sight. This moment was no different, but Chat Noir’s reaction was making it strange.

 

He was frozen, utterly still except for the slow, uneasy rise and fall of his chest. It was unnerving. She almost felt like waving a hand in front of his face to snap him out of it.

 

Before she could speak, he suddenly moved.

 

His coat flared slightly as he turned sharply on his heel. A low mutter left his lips–something about needing a drink (ew)–and then he was gone, striding out of the cell area without another word.

 

Marinette blinked after him, bewildered.

 

What… just happened?

 

She looked down at the ladybug, still sitting patiently on her hand, as if waiting for something. With a small smile, she let it crawl onto her other hand, watching it flutter its delicate wings before taking off into the air. It circled once before disappearing through the cracks of the ship’s wooden planks.

 

Her head tilted slightly. Had she just hallucinated Chat Noir’s reaction? Maybe he was just extremely superstitious. Many pirates were. But that didn’t seem right either. That had been something else.

She sees it now.

Chat Noir. Black cat. A superstition in itself.

 

Her mind wandered to the small creature she had seen nestled against him before–Plagg, his tiny black-furred companion. Another superstition. Was he surrounding himself with bad omens on purpose? Or was it just an odd coincidence?

 

She shifted on the hard wooden bench she had been sitting on and sighed. They had left the dock some time ago, which meant they were now at sea. She could feel the subtle but constant movement beneath her, the gentle sway that made her stomach twist unpleasantly.

 

She closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her forehead.

 

“Great,” she muttered to herself. “Now I’m stuck on a ship with a possibly insane pirate captain who has an existential crisis over a ladybug.”

 

With another sigh, she leaned back against the cold metal bars, feeling the weight of her situation settle heavily on her shoulders. Whatever was going on, she was sure of one thing–Chat Noir was hiding something. And now, more than ever, she wanted to know what it 

 

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir leaned against the railing of the ship, the salty wind brushing through his hair as the rhythmic creaking of the wood beneath him soothed some of his lingering irritation. The ridiculousness of it all still gnawed at him–his paranoia, the sea screaming at him, all for a tiny, insignificant ladybug. He had nearly driven himself mad over it, and now, with the ship steadily cutting through the waves under the moonlit sky, he needed something to clear his head.

 

His crew deserved a break too. They’d been working tirelessly since their departure, moving crates, setting the sails, ensuring they left the port without drawing unwanted attention. And, if he was honest, he could see the curiosity in their eyes, the restrained excitement when he told them he bought crates of rum onto the ship back at the tavern.

 

“Alright, you lot,” he called out, his voice carrying over the deck. “I know you’ve been eyeing the crate since we left. Let’s see if it was worth the coin.”

 

A roar of approval erupted from the crew as they scrambled closer, grinning like excited children being promised sweets. Even Nino, who was usually the most level-headed among them, rolled his eye but accepted a drink when offered.

 

Chat Noir pried the lid off the crate and pulled out a bottle, examining it under the lantern light. The label was smudged, likely from being handled too many times in that wretched tavern, but he didn’t care about the details. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, spit the cork aside, and took a deep swig. The burn was immediate, running down his throat like liquid fire, but the aftertaste was surprisingly pleasant–sweet, with an almost caramelized spice to it.

 

“Oh,” he muttered, smacking his lips. “That’s... dangerous.”

 

“Give it here!” Alix, the only woman aboard, snatched the bottle from his grasp, tipping it back without hesitation. She coughed violently, doubling over as Kim clapped her back while laughing. “That’s–! That’s awful,” she wheezed. “Give me more.”

 

And then chaos unfolded. The crate was raided, bottles passed around like stolen treasure, laughter echoing into the night. The crew quickly lost themselves in the revelry, singing off-key shanties and boasting exaggerated tales of their exploits. Kim challenged Max to a drinking contest that ended embarrassingly fast, and Alix somehow managed to hold her liquor better than half the men on board, much to their frustration.

 

Chat Noir, in the midst of it all, kept drinking.

 

One swig. Then another. Then another.

 

The more the rum settled in his system, the more he felt the tension in his muscles fade. The paranoia, the nagging voice in the back of his mind whispering about unseen threats, the exhaustion of keeping up his guard–all of it blurred into a comfortable haze. The rocking of the ship became more pronounced, the stars above seemed to sway with the motion, and before he realized it, he was grinning like an idiot, leaning far too much on the wheel as Nino steadied him.

 

“Alright, that’s enough for you,” Nino said firmly, plucking the bottle from Chat Noir’s grasp.

 

Chat Noir scowled, making a lazy attempt to grab it back. “I’m fine, Nino.”

 

“You’re a stumbling mess, Captain,” Nino shot back, taking a swig himself before handing the bottle off to someone else. “You still need to steer the ship tomorrow, remember?”

 

Alix snickered from her perch on a barrel, watching with amusement. “Oh, let him drink. It’s rare to see him actually loosen up.” She waved another bottle in his direction. “C’mon, Captain, one more round?”

 

Nino shot her a warning glare. “Alix, stop encouraging him.”

 

Chat Noir sighed dramatically, throwing an arm over Nino’s shoulder. “You’re such a bore, Nino.”

 

“And you’re going to regret this in the morning.”

 

Chat Noir tried to argue, but his words slurred, making the crew chuckle. Accepting defeat, he slumped against the mast, staring at the endless stretch of the ocean. The warmth of the alcohol, the sounds of his crew enjoying themselves, the scent of the sea—it was enough to lull him into a sense of peace he hadn’t had in weeks.

 

Tomorrow, he’d be back to his usual self. Back to planning, back to dealing with the princess locked in his brig, back to deciphering the strange pull of the sea and whatever fate had in store for him.

 

But for tonight?

 

He let himself loose. 

 

 

 

Notes:

Yall I wonder where this will go...

Chat noirs sudden change in attitude is worrisome.

Marinette is starting to think about Chat noir as more than her captor ohhhhh

Idk if you guys can tell but my favourite character is infact Adrien, who is chat noir. Don't worry your pretty little heads, I also love Marinette. Though I appreciate her more in the 2023 movie, I find her to be a bit creepy in the show. And don't get me wrong, I know Adrien could be a little bum and Marinette had every right to throw him in that trash, though I think that was so out of character for him as he's always respected Ladybugs choices.

After watching werepapas my hatred for Gabriel has grown so much more my poor Adrien. Finding out his father had never payed him any mind even before Emilies death hurts my soul. No redemption for that man!

Another little fact about me is I do not like Chloe and I do not care for her redemption. She is a racist bully and I do not condone that.

Let me know your guys opinion!

Also to clear up on things in the story, I'm worried some of you don't understand certain things in this au, you can skip if you want:
- Nino knew chat noir before he became a captain, he knows his name is Adrien and out of respect, only calls him by his perfered name.
- Alix is the only woman in the crew, along with Marinette though she isn't in the crew.
- Chat noirs men aren't perverts but I wanted to bring attention to that in my fic. Chat Noir locking her in a cell for that reason was written because it's realistic.

Please let me know if you want to know more about this au in the comments! Thank you 😊

Chapter 11

Notes:

Gosh I'm so tired. I did 8 hours of rehearsal for band class and then today I'm doing 12 hours in some random high-school performing.

Aughhh- guys I'm still young and thriving. But here is the next ultimate chapter for this series. It's been a bit and I am kinda forgetting some things so if I mention something in this chapter that contradicted anything from previous chapters let me know.

Anyways, enjoy this fluffy and developmental chapter! Drunk chat noir kinda thinking things he wouldn't have sober.

Also sorry for any grammar mistakes, I don't have a beta right now as my old one turns out used AI to check my works. It didn't change my writing style but honestly they never looked over it and just used AI to fix things.. ughhh..

It's okay. I'm getting a new beta soon!

Chat Noir was very much drunk.

 

It had been fun, sure. The crew deserved the break, and the rum had been much better than expected. But now, as he stumbled toward his quarters, propped up by Nino’s steady grip, the consequences of his indulgence were catching up to him.

 

“You’re done for the night,” Nino muttered, pushing the door open and all but shoving Chat Noir inside. “Get some sleep before you embarrass yourself any more.”

 

Chat Noir made a noise of protest, but it was weak at best. His limbs felt sluggish, his head clouded with warmth and dizziness. He managed to push himself forward just enough to collapse face-first onto his bed, the familiar scent of salt and worn fabric enveloping him.

 

For a moment, he thought he might drift off immediately, but then the ship rocked slightly, and his stomach churned in response.

 

No. No vomiting. That was a rule. He was a seasoned sailor, and no amount of rum was going to make him lose his dignity to seasickness. He took a deep breath, allowing his body to adjust to the movement. Years aboard the Cataclysm had trained him well–his body instinctively swayed with the ship’s rhythm, counterbalancing itself without conscious effort. The nausea receded, leaving only exhaustion in its place.

 

Just as he thought he might finally sleep, he felt sharp little claws digging into his back.

 

“Plagg,” he groaned into his pillow. “Why?”

 

A disgruntled trill was his only response before the tiny creature shifted, kneading his back with small but insistent paws.

 

Chat Noir sighed, rolling onto his side and pulling at the clasps of his coat. The heavy garment slid off his shoulders, followed by his boots and belt. The cool air against his skin was a relief, but sleep still wouldn’t come. His mind, drunk and sluggish as it was, refused to settle.

 

The ladybug.

 

He groaned again, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was still a little embarrassed about how absolutely unhinged he’d been over that. He’d been so convinced, so certain that something terrible had found its way aboard his ship, only for it to be… a bug. A stupid, tiny ladybug that had crawled onto the princess’s hand like it had been drawn to her.

 

His drunk mind turned that thought over. A ladybug. The princess. Ladybug. Princess.

 

…Why did it feel symbolic?

 

He shook his head, irritated with himself. He was overthinking. Again.

 

The alcohol buzzed through his veins, making him restless. He needed to do something, anything to stop the spiraling thoughts. And since his decision-making skills were currently nonexistent, he pushed himself up and decided, in a stroke of drunken brilliance, that the best course of action was to go talk to the princess.

 

Not interrogate. Just… talk.

 

Maybe if he heard her voice, it would ground him a little. Maybe if he focused on her instead of the spinning in his head, he’d be able to get some damn sleep.

 

He left his coat on his chair, and stumbled out of his quarters. The ship was quieter now, the crew either passed out or winding down from the drinking session. His boots were near-silent against the wooden planks as he made his way below deck, guided more by muscle memory than conscious thought.

 

When he reached her cell, he hesitated.

 

What exactly was he planning to say?

 

He didn’t know. But he was here now, and his drunken brain had already decided this was a good idea.

 

With a quiet sigh, he leaned against the bars and peered inside.

 

“Hey, Princess," he feels himself grinning. "you awake?”

 

♡♡♡♡ 

 

Marinette lifted her head at the sound of the cell door creaking open. In the dim light of the lanterns flickering along the ship’s walls, Chat Noir stood in the doorway, unmoving. The glow of the fire cast eerie shadows across his figure, making his already piercing green eyes appear almost luminescent. For a moment, she wondered if she was dreaming, but then he stumbled forward slightly, gripping the frame for balance.

 

Oh. He was drunk.

 

She frowned, observing his disheveled state. His coat was missing, likely discarded somewhere in his quarters, leaving his white shirt loosely buttoned and untucked. His normally neat cravat hung limply around his collarbone. His boots scuffed against the wooden floor as he lazily approached, his movements lacking their usual cat-like grace.

 

“Hey, Princess,” he slurred, leaning against the bars with a lazy grin. “You awake?”

 

“No, I’m sound asleep,” she deadpanned, narrowing her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

 

Chat Noir chuckled, though it came out softer than usual. “Just… wanna talk. Thought I’d come chat with my favorite hostage.”

 

She arched a brow. “I’m your only hostage.”

 

“See? Makes you my favourite.”

 

Marinette exhaled sharply, pressing her back against the cold wooden wall of her cell. He was being strange. Not that he wasn’t usually eccentric, but this was different. He wasn’t trying to be charming or smug. There was something almost–dare she think it–vulnerable about him.

 

“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” she noted, watching him carefully.

 

He tilted his head, blinking lazily. “Mmm… maybe. Nino cut me off. Ruined my fun.” He slumped against the bars, letting out a sigh. “He’s too responsible sometimes.”

 

“Someone has to be,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “So, what? You decided the best way to end your night was to bother me?”

 

He shrugged, swaying slightly before steadying himself. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d see if you felt like… talking.”

 

Marinette stared at him for a long moment. This was ridiculous. She shouldn’t entertain him. He was a pirate, a kidnapper, a thief–everything she should despise. Yet, there was something about the way he slurred his words, how he seemed so lost in his own thoughts, that made her hesitate.

 

Her gaze softened before she caught herself. No. This wasn’t real. He was still hiding things, still keeping his secrets locked away behind those bright green eyes. Whatever she thought she was feeling was just an illusion. 

 

Stockholm Syndrome. That’s what this was. She was trapped here, alone, with only him to talk to. Of course, her mind was twisting things, trying to make sense of the situation. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

 

“I doubt you’d tell me anything worth knowing,” she said, tilting her head. “Pirates never reveal their secrets, do they?”

 

He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Depends on the secret.”

 

She exhaled, watching as he dragged his fingers along the bars absentmindedly. There was an almost boyish charm in the way he swayed slightly, like a child fighting sleep but too stubborn to give in. It would have been endearing if he weren’t, well, a pirate.

 

She sighed. “Fine. If you’re going to stand there anyway, what exactly do you want to talk about?”

 

Chat Noir hummed in thought, his gaze drifting before he met her eyes again. “Do you believe in fate?”

 

She blinked at him, caught off guard. “That’s an odd question.”

 

He smiled lazily. “Maybe. But… sometimes I wonder.” He tapped his fingers against the bars. “Things happen. Things I don’t understand. The sea whispers things, the ship pulls me in directions I don’t always expect… and now, you. Here. In my brig.”

 

Marinette swallowed. There was a weight to his words, something unspoken lingering between them. She didn’t know what to make of it, nor did she trust herself to think too hard about it.

 

“Maybe it’s just coincidence,” she offered cautiously.

 

Chat Noir chuckled again, though this time it sounded more like a sigh. “Maybe.”

 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The ship rocked gently, the distant sound of the waves filling the silence between them.

 

Then, with a tired smile, Chat Noir pushed off the bars. “You’re right. Pirates never reveal their secrets.”

 

Before she could respond, he turned on his heel and stumbled back toward the exit, mumbling something under his breath about sleep. Marinette watched him go, her heart unsteady.

 

He was a mystery. A frustrating, infuriating mystery.

 

And she hated that she wanted to solve it.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir barely made it back to his quarters, every step feeling heavier than the last. The exhaustion clawed at him, dragging him down like the pull of the sea in a storm. His limbs ached, and his head was spinning, but all he could focus on was reaching his bed before he collapsed right there on the wooden floor. His coat had already been discarded somewhere on the way, his shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, and his boots felt like lead weights dragging him down.

 

With a heavy sigh, he stumbled into his room, barely managing to push the door closed before he all but collapsed onto his bed. The mattress creaked under his weight as he sprawled across it, arms and legs spread out carelessly. He barely registered the sharp little claws digging into his back—Plagg, unimpressed by his drunken state, had made himself comfortable right on top of him. But Chat Noir was too far gone to care. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out cold, the world fading to black before he could even think.

 

---

 

The next morning was hell.

 

The second he cracked his eyes open, a sharp, unforgiving pain shot through his skull, making him groan and squeeze them shut again. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and every little creak of the ship made his stomach churn unpleasantly. The room spun even though he was lying still, and for a moment, he regretted every decision he’d made the previous night.

 

He groaned again, dragging a hand down his face.

 

Plagg, curled up at the foot of the bed, let out an unimpressed huff, flicking his tail lazily. The tiny black cat had been through this far too many times to be concerned. Chat Noir could almost hear the judgment radiating from his feline companion.

 

With great effort, he pushed himself to sit up, immediately regretting it when the pounding in his skull intensified. He had to breathe through the nausea, gripping the edge of his bed as he tried to gather his bearings. His memories were foggy at best, jumbled flashes of laughter, Alix egging him on, Nino cutting him off, the feeling of stumbling through the ship… and then…

 

His stomach dropped.

 

The princess.

 

He remembered, albeit vaguely, walking to her cell. Talking to her. Saying things he probably shouldn’t have. He groaned, running a hand through his messy blond hair. Just great.

 

But he didn’t have time to wallow in his regret. He was the captain of this ship, and hangover or not, he had a job to do.

 

With great effort, he pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself against the wall when his legs wobbled beneath him. He could hear the faint chatter of his crew above deck, the distant sound of waves lapping against the ship’s hull. The world still felt too loud, too bright, but he forced himself forward, shoving his door open with more force than necessary.

 

The sun greeted him like a punch to the face.

 

He barely managed to keep his grimace in check as he stepped onto the deck, his head pounding in protest. The crew was already hard at work, moving about with practiced ease. Alix was arguing with Kim again, most likely about who could lift more barrels, and Nino was near the wheel, looking far too awake for Chat Noir’s liking.

 

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus.

 

“You!” He jabbed a finger at a nearby crew member. “Get the sails checked. I don’t want any surprises if the wind changes.”

 

The man nodded and rushed off.

 

“Kim, Alix–quit bickering and make yourselves useful. We need the cargo secured.”

 

Alix smirked. “That’s what we were trying to do, Captain.”

 

Kim huffed. “Yeah, but I can do it better.”

 

Chat Noir rolled his eyes but didn’t have the energy to argue. “Just get it done.”

 

He moved through the deck, issuing orders while trying not to wince every time someone spoke too loudly. The sun was relentless, and the heat wasn’t doing his hangover any favors. He felt like he’d been hit by a cannonball.

 

As he made his way toward Nino, his first mate took one look at him and shook his head. “Rough night?”

 

Chat Noir scoffed. “Understatement.”

 

Nino chuckled. “You were on your sixth bottle before I cut you off. I’m surprised you’re even standing.”

 

“So am I,” Chat Noir admitted, rubbing his temple. “And unfortunately, I remember just enough to know I made a fool of myself.”

 

Nino raised a brow. “You mean with the princess?”

 

Chat Noir groaned. “So I didn’t imagine that.”

 

“Nope. You went to see her after drinking half the ship’s supply of rum.”

 

“Fantastic.” Chat Noir pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remind me to never drink that much again.”

 

“I always remind you. You never listen.”

 

Chat Noir sighed, glancing out at the open sea. The waves were calm, the horizon stretching endlessly before them. He had work to do, things to focus on. He’d deal with whatever mess he made with the princess later.

 

Gosh. Being a pirate is exhausting. 

 

 

 

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Obviously some feelings are coming to play with this duo right now. Im excited to see where this'll go.

Chapter 12

Notes:

Sorry its been so long, this is posted before beta testing so it probably will be edited throughout time

I've been so busy with school lately. Tomorrow I have a science quiz on physics - aufhhh.

But here's the next chapter!

Marinette had not seen Chat Noir in seven days. Seven long, agonizing days since that strange, drunken conversation through the bars of her cell. She had started to think he was deliberately avoiding her, but now, as he leaned casually against the doorway, she realized how wrong she was.

 

He was as nonchalant as ever, arms crossed over his chest, his coat draped lazily over his shoulders. If the past week had affected him in any way, he didn’t show it. His presence sent an involuntary jolt of awareness through her, though she forced herself to ignore it.

 

“You’re still alive,” he mused, his sharp green eyes scanning her form with the usual detached amusement.

 

Marinette scoffed, biting back the comment that she was barely surviving on the pathetic rations he allowed her. “Unfortunately.”

 

He smirked, stepping closer. “Careful, Princess. One might think you’re losing that royal resilience, you know what I'm searching for. You know they know where it is.”

 

She rolled her eyes, but deep inside, she felt the exhaustion clawing at her. Maybe that was why, in her hunger and desperation, her tongue slipped. Just for a second. Just a fraction of a sentence. But it was enough.

 

“It’s not even where they think it is.”

 

She didn’t even realize she had said it until the words had left her lips, and the moment froze between them. Her blood turned to ice. Had he caught that? He had been trying to break her down for weeks, subtly probing for any information regarding the kingdom’s most precious possession, the one thing that could shift power in the seas. And she had just given him a piece of it. Just like that.

 

She forced herself to look at his face. To her relief, his expression hadn’t changed. His smirk remained, his sharp eyes glinting with their usual amusement. If he had noticed, he didn’t let on. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard it.

 

Her heart pounded so violently she feared he might hear it. She needed to say something. To distract him. To change the subject. But before she could, he turned away, already done with whatever had brought him to her cell. “Try not to waste away in there, Princess,” he teased, walking off to bark orders at his crew.

 

The moment he was gone, she collapsed back against the wooden wall, breathing heavily. What had she done? Had he really not noticed, or was he just waiting for the perfect moment to use it against her?

 

And worse–worse than the fear, worse than the slip-up–was the realization that he didn’t need to say anything for her to know that, if he truly thought about it, if he pieced things together, he could figure it out.

 

Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. And worse–worse than the fear, worse than the slip-up—was the undeniable flutter in her chest at the way he had looked at her. The way his voice, even when teasing, settled into something dangerously familiar.

 

No. She refused to acknowledge it. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

 

It was just… some kind of twisted form of desperation. Nothing more.

 

 

 

♡♡♡♡

 

 

 

Chat Noir was in the middle of a heated argument with one of his men when a sharp sense of unease swept over him, cutting through his irritation. The ship felt unnervingly still. There was no creaking beneath his boots, no hum of wind filling the sails–just an unnatural silence. His muscles tensed instinctively, his senses sharpening, and his eyes scanned the dark horizon.

 

 The calm was too quiet. The sea was still, almost as if it were holding its breath. The very air felt thick, heavy with something unspoken. His skin prickled with the weight of it, an unsettling sensation that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The ship itself seemed to brace for something.

 

A bead of water hit the back of his hand. Then another. He frowned, realizing what it meant.

 

“Nino!” he barked, cutting off his previous conversation.

 

Nino, already familiar with the urgency in his captain's voice, whipped around. “What’s going on?”

 

“Rain,” Chat Noir muttered darkly. “It’s starting to rain, and that means we’ve got a storm coming. I need you to listen carefully, Nino.”

 

His voice dropped a level, his mind already racing with orders.

 

“Get the princess,” he commanded sharply. “Bring her to my room. You have the key.” He pulled the small, weathered key from his coat pocket and handed it to Nino. “Unlock her cell, and bring her to my quarters. I can’t risk her falling ill. We have no medicine. She’s... important. Do you understand?”

 

 

 

Nino nodded, though his expression was filled with unspoken questions. But there was no time for explanations. They didn’t have the luxury of waiting.

 

Chat Noir took a deep breath, trying to focus his thoughts as his gaze moved over the darkened sea. The storm was coming fast, but that wasn’t what worried him. It was the princess. With her health so fragile, he couldn’t risk the chance of her becoming sick in the middle of all this chaos. The ship was going to be a challenge to manage during the storm, and the last thing he needed was another problem on his hands.

 

“I’ll make sure she’s brought to you,” Nino said, his voice calm but serious, as he turned to leave.

 

Chat Noir gave a curt nod but didn’t speak again, his mind still swirling with the urgency of the storm and his own growing frustration. As Nino moved off to fetch the princess, Chat Noir could feel the weight of the impending storm pressing in on him. The crew could handle themselves, but with the princess's health at risk, he couldn’t afford any distractions.

 

He only hoped Nino could get to her in time. If the storm hit as hard as it seemed, things would get worse before they got better. And he wasn’t about to let anything–anything–happen to her, especially when he needs the information she has.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

To say Chat Noir was wet would be an understatement of epic proportions. He was drenched through to the bone–the rain had come in torrents, and now his clothes clung to his body, heavy and soaked. His boots squelched with every step he took, and his coat felt like it weighed a ton. The storm had raged through the night, battering the ship, but at least now, in the aftermath, it had passed. He could feel every drop of water pressing on his skin like a thousand tiny needles.

 

The men were still working to repair the damage, some of them completely exhausted, others stumbling from sheer fatigue, but no one had lost their life in the storm. They had survived, and that was something Chat Noir could be thankful for. He didn’t allow himself to relax, though. Not yet.

 

When he finally reached his cabin, the door creaked as he pushed it open, eager to shed the soaked garments that clung to his body. But the moment he entered, his eyes locked onto something that made him stop in his tracks.

 

Marinette was sitting at his desk, casually flipping through a notebook. His notebook.

 

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he was frozen in place. How long had she been there? Why was she going through his things?

 

"Hey!" he shouted, quickly striding over to her. He grabbed the notebook from her hands before she could react. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low but sharp, a combination of irritation and panic creeping through his chest.

 

Marinette looked up, startled, but she didn’t immediately back away. Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted as if she was about to say something, but nothing came out. She closed her eyes, briefly embarrassed.

 

“I– I wasn’t–"

 

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his voice growing more stern. He stood there, staring at her, his pulse quickening. “You don’t go through my private things, Princess Marinette. This isn’t something your royal eyes can access. This is for my eyes only.”

 

She looked down at her lap, biting her lip, and he couldn’t help but soften just a little. He wanted to be angry. He was angry. But there was something about her expression, the quiet way she seemed to regret what she had done, that made him hold back. Still, he couldn’t just let it slide. He was the captain, and this was about respect.

 

“Do you understand the concept of privacy?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but still firm.

 

Marinette nodded, but her gaze never left the floor. “I’m really sorry, Chat Noir. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just... I was curious. It’s not like I— I didn’t go through everything. I swear.”

 

Chat Noir’s shoulders tensed, and he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his drenched hair. “Curiosity’s fine, but this is my personal stuff. It’s not something I would share to a royal like you.”

 

He didn’t look at her as he placed the notebook back on the desk, away from her reach. There was a long pause as the weight of the moment hung between them.

 

She hesitated for a moment longer, then spoke softly, “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

Chat Noir glanced at her, then finally let out a small breath. The storm had passed, and with it, the tension seemed to lift as well. Maybe it was just exhaustion catching up with him. Maybe he was being too harsh. Still, he needed to make it clear.

 

“Look,” he said, his voice softer now, “I get it. You’re stuck in this cell, and curiosity’s gonna get the best of you. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna just let you poke around wherever you want.”

 

She gave a tiny nod, her eyes looking up at him for the first time since the confrontation began. “I understand, Chat Noir. I do.”

 

He paused for a moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken thoughts. His mind was still cluttered, his body still aching from the night’s ordeal, but somehow, in that moment, he felt a brief flicker of something–something like relief. Something like connection.

 

“I’ll... I’ll make sure you get something to occupy your time from now on,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He then straightened up, brushing the water from his coat as he looked back at her. “I’ll take you back to your cell now.”

 

As she stood, there was something in her eyes–something unreadable–that made him stop for a second. He stared at her, trying to make sense of it. Was that the same look she had given him the other day? Her gaze softened, almost wistful, but before he could ask, she quickly broke eye contact, nodding as she followed him.

 

They didn’t speak much as they walked to her cell, the weight of the silence wrapping itself around them like a fog. Chat Noir unlocked the door, pushing it open for her to step inside. As she walked past him, she glanced back.

 

“Goodnight, Chat,” she said quietly.

 

“Goodnight, Princess,” he murmured, locking the door behind her.

 

But as he turned to walk back to his room, a strange unease curled in his chest. He hadn’t expected this–the way the night had unfolded, the quiet moments of connection with her, the things left unsaid. His mind drifted back to his desk, the notes scattered across it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the one thing he had almost forgotten: the location of the crown.

 

When he returned to his room, he could no longer ignore it. His eyes immediately fell to the notebook–the one with the misled estimates, the one that had given him false hope. The truth gnawed at him, slowly unraveling the little plan he had held so tightly to. He had been wrong.

 

He hadn’t gotten the real location of the crown.

 

And worse, he hadn’t even realized it until now. The slip-up Marinette had made, the things she had said, had gotten him closer than he ever thought possible. He cursed softly under his breath. He’d spent all this time chasing a phantom, and the real prize was still locked away in her mind.

 

The location wasn’t where he had thought. It wasn’t even close. The answers were slipping away faster than he could catch them.

 

“Son of a…” he whispered, frustration building in his chest.

 

He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He had to get answers from her. Soon.

 

Notes:

Sorry if this chapter is not up to expectations 💔
I rushed it so hard but I hope it brings excitement to your faces.

As I said, it's a slow burn. Marinette is desperate to live and since Stockholm Syndrome didn't really exist in their timeline (which I would say the 18th century) she doesn't understand how to process her feelings.

Chat noir is starting to see her as more than a hostage and a princess who has what he needs. Though he's in very much denial and the next few chapters hes definitely going to build the walls around himself that marinette unconsciously broke down.

Don't worry, even though Marinette is just desperate to survive at this moment, she will fall for him with true feelings. Though she'll have to fall for a pirate, which is kind of hard.

Chapter 13

Notes:

I finally found a new beta; Kudos to Kags for really bringing emotion and suspense to my writing!

It took a while but I am so proud how this chapter turned out. I was so busy lately and I'm happy I am able to post this chapter. It will really make you think more on Chat Noirs character. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for your patience.

(Also the date he scribbled on is actually when I started writing this chapter heheh)

- Ragoo
xoxo

The sea groaned beneath the weight of the Cataclysm as it sailed deeper into enemy waters. Grey clouds loomed like ghosts overhead, but no storm had come. Not yet. The air was cold and heavy with the kind of tension sailors felt in their bones before trouble–be it sky-born or man-made–descends. For weeks, Captain Chat Noir had been riding that tension, wound tighter than a mainsail in a storm. 

 

He sat hunched over his desk in his cabin, head buried in maps and journals, eyes stinging from lack of sleep. The candlelight flickered against the aged paper, casting warped shadows over sketches of kingdoms, shorelines, and symbols long since erased from public knowledge. His journal was a mess of crossed-out dates, frantic notes, and scribbled calculations. Adding coordinates on his map.

 

He flipped to a blank page and inked the date in the corner.

 

10th of April.

 

The numbers bled slightly into the page, the ink pooling due to his tired grip. He didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care. Time was pressing down on him. The British royals were on the move–faster than he expected. From the few intercepted documents his spies had managed to snag from portside traders, it was clear something big was being prepared in the heart of their empire.

 

The Crown was hiding something. And not just a location–no, Chat Noir was past chasing treasure. What the Crown was guarding was far greater. He had scoured relics, ancient scrolls stolen from sunken ships and looted castles, every one of them hinting at a power buried in the roots of monarchy itself. Some whispered of it as a weapon. Others as salvation.

 

But they all agreed on one thing: it was dangerous. And it was important enough that the royals had bled oceans to keep it buried.

 

A knock rattled the wooden door.

 

He didn’t look up. “Unless someone’s dead or missing a limb, come back later.”

 

The door creaked open anyway.

 

“Captain,” came the gruff voice. The man stomped into the cabin, soaking the floor with sea salt and irritation. “We need to talk.”

 

Chat groaned, finally setting his quill down. “What now?”

 

“There’s not enough food to keep feeding everyone, Captain.” Ivan crossed his thick arms. “We were fine last month, but with the detour to the northern waters and the rations that went bad in the last storm–we’re low. We’ll last maybe a week if no one complains. Two if we eat like monks.”

 

Chat Noir leaned back in his chair, sighing long and hard, eyes burning from exhaustion.

 

“We can’t dock anywhere familiar,” he muttered. “Too many eyes.”

 

“Then find a place soon,” Ivan growled. “Or start planning which crewmen to toss overboard.”

 

He didn’t wait for a dismissal. The man turned and left, slamming the door behind him with enough force to shake the glass in the lantern hanging from the ceiling.

 

Chat dropped his head to the desk, forehead pressing against the cool wood. Food. Men. British agents. The sea. The Princess. The damn Crown. He was being pulled in a hundred directions, and every one of them seemed like a mistake waiting to happen.

 

Still, his hand crept toward his journal again, flipping past the pages where he’d mapped out every little clue, every breadcrumb he’d followed since this cursed quest began. His fingers trembled from lack of rest as he reached a page labeled “ Crown Origin: Allegiances ”

 

The girl–Princess Marinette–was from a faraway kingdom. Not allied with the British, but still of noble blood. She had been raised in the upper class, trained in diplomacy, schooled in secrets. That kind of life… she must know something. Even if she didn’t realize it.

 

And she had slipped up once before.

 

His eyes narrowed. He needed more from her. He needed to press harder, but he also knew the balance he had to keep. Pressure her too much, and she’d shut down. Treat her too kindly, and his men would talk.

 

As he began to write again, trying to piece together the way she’d described the ruins of her kingdom–particularly her offhanded mention of the cavern tombs–his door swung open without warning.

 

This time, Chat was on his feet immediately, blade halfway drawn, instinct kicking in.

 

Nino stepped in, hands up, breathless.

 

“What is it?” Chat barked.

 

“It’s the man,” Nino said between breaths. “The one you rescued off the wrecked merchant ship last month? Tall, clean-shaven, with the ugly red scarf?”

 

“I know who he is.” Chat’s voice was cold.

 

Nino hesitated. “He’s been seen heading into the cell quarters. And he’s not just passing by.”

 

The words landed like a punch.

 

Chat’s hands curled into fists.

 

“He’s talking to the Princess.”

 

Silence fell between them, thick and stifling.

 

Chat Noir’s gaze sharpened, his breath suddenly shallow. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

 

He moved.

 

In a blur, he crossed the cabin, throwing on his coat without bothering to fasten it. His boots slammed against the wooden floors as he tore through the halls of the ship. His crew moved aside, sensing his mood, eyes wide.

 

He didn’t run, but he might as well have. Every step echoed with fury and something darker– possession .

 

The man had no business being in her cell. None.

 

He reached the lower deck within seconds, and his eyes immediately caught the watchman assigned to the door, standing dumbly to the side.

 

Chat growled low in his throat, “Why isn’t the door locked?”

 

The man stammered, “H-he said he had permission, Captain. Said–said you sent him.”

 

Chat didn’t answer.

 

He just opened the door.

 

There they were. Marinette sat on the wooden bench inside the cell, her posture a bit tense. The man stood a little too close, smiling down at her, his forearm leaning on the bars of her cell like he owned the space.

 

Both their heads snapped toward the door as Chat entered.

 

“Ah–Captain–” the man began, straightening. “I was just–”

 

Chat didn’t stop walking until he stood right in front of him.

 

“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak to my prisoner.”

 

The word was deliberate. Possessive.

 

The man blinked. “I thought'–”

 

“You thought wrong,” Chat snarled. “This isn’t a parlor. It’s a locked cell. You don’t just visit royals like she’s your bloody neighbour.”

 

The tension in the air was suffocating. Marinette looked from one to the other, eyes wide. For a second, her gaze lingered on Chat’s face. His jaw was clenched tight, golden hair damp with sweat, green eyes burning.

 

“Get out,” Chat said to the man, low and cold. “Now.”

 

He didn’t wait to see him go. He just turned to Marinette.

 

“What did you tell him?” His voice was a whisper now, but it was no less sharp.

 

Marinette stared at him for a long moment. “I didn't say anything.”

 

Chat took a breath, but it didn’t ease the pressure in his chest.

 

“You shouldn’t have let him in.” She should know better than to trust someone so easily.

 

“I didn’t let him in, how could I? I’m stuck behind a cell, how could I have stopped him?” She replied sassily. Though he thought he heard a bit of a quiver in her voice.

 

Silence fell again, broken only by the soft lapping of the sea outside and the faint creak of the ship.

 

He glanced down, jaw ticking.

 

She tilted her head. “Are you… jealous?”

 

He looked up sharply.

 

“What are you implying? What would there to be jealous of?” He asked.

Chat Noir is confused with her statement. But his response was not denying what she implied, even if that was because he didn’t understand it. And that absence of denial the princess noticed, unaware of his lack of comprehension.

 

He simply locked the cell behind him without another word and walked away–gripping his notebook so tightly, the pages began to bend.

 

This mission was about The Crown. About stopping the British. About uncovering secrets meant to stay buried.

♡♡♡♡

There were few things crueler than hunger. Chat Noir knew this. He’d felt it as a boy, back when his ribs were visible and his stomach was always twisting with need. Hunger stripped men of pride, broke them down to snarling animals. But on a ship like The Cataclysm , there was no room for weakness–not when the tide of war was rising, and The Crown was gaining ground with every passing day.

 

So, when the barrels came up dry and the bread grew mold and even the rats started disappearing, Chat Noir made a choice.

 

He would take Ivan’s advice.

 

He would thin the herd.

 

It was practical. Logical. Cold.

 

The man had come to him too easily.

 

The merchant ship survivor. The man with the red scarf and empty hands. A talker. A charmer. Someone who smiled too easily and asked too many questions. A leech.

 

And he had dared to speak to her .

 

The image of him leaning against the bars, far too close to the princess, still made Chat’s blood boil.

 

So he stood on deck now, coat flapping violently in the sea wind, the patter of rain hitting him at every angle, watching the man tremble as he walked toward the plank–backwards. His hands were bound. His legs were shaking so violently he looked ready to collapse. 

 

When he found this man, he was unimportant, but certainly not useless. Chat Noir even started to grow used to his presence on his ship over time, him finding his place in the crew as the days wore on. This morning, the man was seeming innocent yet again as when Chat had first rescued him. But, times had shifted yet again like the whispers of the waves, and as he inched closer to the plank that innocence was leaving his eyes, the same look he saw in the cell, when the man was looking at his princess, though it had less tears and snot.

 

The crew had gathered in a loose circle, some somber, others too tired to care. Thunder threatened the sky again, casting the world in a dull grey. (He knew today was a good day to kill–very aesthetic)

 

“Please,” the man wept, voice cracking, nose running, face wet with a mix of fear and spit. “Captain– please –I didn’t do anything!” He cried out.

 

Chat Noir stood like a statue, one gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other holding the man’s discarded scarf like it was trash.

 

“You took my food,” Chat said coolly. “You took up space. You gave nothing back. That’s something .”

 

“I–I–can work harder! I’ll do anything–”

 

“You already did too much.” Chat took a slow step forward, eyes glowing with eerie calm. “You spoke to the princess.”

 

The man’s sob caught in his throat.

 

“She’s a hostage,” Chat continued. “Not entertainment. Not a pretty face for you to flirt with. She’s mine to question. Mine to guard.”

 

Another step forward.

 

“And this is my ship.”

 

The man fell to his knees, unable to form words through the terror.

 

But Chat only tilted his head slightly, the faintest, cruelest smirk tugging at his lips. “People forget,” he murmured, “who I really am.”

 

Then he gave the nod.

 

Two men seized the merchant and forced him to his feet. He screamed–one long, pathetic sound that tore through the air–and was dragged to the edge of the plank. 

 

The sea below waited, hungry and cold.

 

“Walk,” Chat ordered.

 

The man didn’t. He was shoved.

 

His scream was swallowed by the waves, like all the others before. He can tell the sea was pleased, as it always was when a new soul fell to it from the hands of the captain. A sacrifice he is gladly offering.

 

Chat Noir turned away from the rail, scarf still clutched in his fist. No one cheered. No one spoke. That was the kind of silence he liked.

 

“Let this remind you all, this is the consequence of disobedience. Be grateful for what I've given you, don't step out of line.” 

 

They remembered now.

 

Why Chat Noir was the most feared pirate. 

 

He descended the stairs from the upper deck with slow precision, each bootstep echoing like thunder. The crew parted for him, not daring to meet his eyes.

 

He said nothing as he walked the length of the ship, eyes scanning.

 

A twitch of laziness. A moment of inattention. A man feigning strength but hiding cowardice–he could spot it all. His green eyes were always watching, his senses sharper than any man’s.

 

He didn’t need reports. He didn’t need gossip.

 

He needed weakness.

 

And weakness had a smell.

 

The sea was still hungry.

 

His gaze paused on a lanky deckhand who always seemed to work just a little less when no one was looking. Then on a man with bandaged hands who claimed he was too injured to scrub floors, yet not too injured to sneak food. And then–just briefly–on Nino.

 

But he quickly dismissed that thought.

 

Nino was loyal. Nino had followed him through fire and blood and madness. If there was one man Chat Noir trusted, it was him.

 

Still, his jaw tightened. These decisions weren't made lightly.

 

He returned to his cabin in silence, closing the door behind him. The soft creak of wood surrounded him once more, the distant splash of sea against the hull below like a heartbeat.

 

The red scarf lay limp on his desk, its edges still damp and curling. Chat Noir stood over it, motionless, the shadows of his quarters stretching long and dark around him. Rain tapped lightly against the porthole window, but inside, the air was unnaturally still.

 

He listened.

 

To the creak of the ship’s wooden ribs, the quiet groan of sails adjusting to the breeze, the soft hum that only he could hear.

 

The sea was speaking again.

 

She had whispered to him during the storm. Warned him with silence and sent the rain as a promise. And now, as he stood in the dim lantern light, she whispered again.

 

She was pleased.

 

She liked the blood. The sacrifice.

 

But the merchant man had been only the beginning, she longed for more voices to make hers stronger. And Chat Noir never denied her.

 

Three, he thought. A sacred number, sure to answer the call he could never ignore. And how the waves splashed against his porthole, in an almost sickeningly playful way, he knew it was the right amount.

 

His manic grin spread as he looked toward the corner of the room where his coat hung like a limp shadow, soaked through and dripping onto the floorboards. His boots squished softly with each step, but he didn’t bother changing. His muscles still ached from the storm, from hauling soaked ropes and screaming commands above crashing thunder, but none of that mattered now.

 

He’d already chosen the other two.

 

He didn’t know their names. Didn’t care. But when they caught his eye, he knew the role they could finally play.

 

Chat Noir trusted her judgment more than any man's. 

 

He ran a hand through his matted, wet hair and looked down again at the scarf. Red like blood. Red like memory. He chuckled under his breath and whispered, “She’s happy.”

 

The ship had been sluggish since the storm, but not from damage. She was recovering. Waiting. Like she was holding her breath.

 

And soon, she would exhale. She would rise and sway and sing again once the dead weight was gone.

 

He wanted the princess to see the man's death. He’d sent Nino with an invitation. Asked politely, even. But she had declined.

 

Pity.

 

He imagined her reaction. Her sharp eyes narrowed in disdain. Her jaw set in that stubborn way that made his skin itch. He would have loved for her to witness the art of it–how the guilty sobbed and the plank creaked beneath their shuffling steps. How tears ran hot before the sea swallowed them whole.

 

She would have hated it. Would’ve looked away.

 

But that, too, was part of the thrill.

 

He loved unraveling people. Watching their principles shake when forced to confront the raw beauty of power. The primal fear.

 

Still grinning, Chat Noir scooped up the scarf and threw it in a chest of odds and ends. Useless tokens from other lives, other raids. Then, with a satisfied breath, he grabbed his gloves and stepped out of his quarters.

 

The wind was still, the ship silent–like it was waiting.

 

He wouldn’t keep her waiting long.

Notes:

WOAH! Chat Noir is going off the deep end!

I want to portray his worship to the sea as something very eery this chapter. Ive always tried to make it as more like a joke or a quirk he has. But he actually believes the sea is speaking with him. And he is willing to sacrifice his men to appease her.

Also I try to make him as dramatic as he is in the show. And a bit corny.

His sudden thought on Nino was supposed to show his descent into madness kind of. Chat has always been a bit insane throughout the story, but this chapter really gives you goose bumps. I hope it did!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. There wasnt much of Marinette, but its centered around Chat for a reason, as this perspective of what he did is so much more different than someone who is watching. Dont worry, next chapter we will have alot more of Marinette, mostly her thoughts on his actions. Remember! Chat invited her to watch. Thats insane.

Next chapter will come out in a week or so. My beta and I spent around three hours making sure the writing was poetic and intentional. Everything is intentional.

I love you all, thank you for reading! Please comment and give kudos <3 I love hearing your thoughts and opinons. If you have any questions or are confused on something, I'll be glad to help. xoxo

Chapter 14

Notes:

Gahh it's been sooooo long since I updated this story. Do not fret, I've been so busy with school I completely forgot to post the chapters.

But here is one! All in Marinettes POV. A bit of background information for her character in this alternate universe.

Thank you all for the patience, I hope you guys are still reading this and haven't given up haha.

This isn't a long chapter, but the next one will include lots of POVs so I hope to make up for the time I spent not writing. It will definitely come out alot sooner than usual.

Thank you again for your patience,,

 

 

Marinette sat on the edge of her cot, her fingers curling and uncurling in her lap as the ship swayed gently beneath her. The sky has finally started to clear up again, giving a light hue in her cell. But the air still felt heavy, like she felt herself choke on nothing but everything at once. 

 

She hadn't seen the captain of the ship in days. Not since the storm and that strange, tense moment in his quarters. Maybe he had finally grown bored with her. That, she hopes for. 

 

But when Nino stepped in, key jingling on his belt, and he gave her that grim look, one eye staring into her soul, her stomach dropped. 

 

“Captain wants to know if you… want to watch.”

 

Marinette blinked, confused. “Watch what?”

 

Nino hesitated

 

And then he said it

 

Watch a man walk the plank.

 

She's heard about these traditions before. When a pirate is not being fair, when they are slacking off. When the captain had finally had enough of the person. They were forced to walk to their death, on a creaky, moldy plank. Walk till there isn't anywhere to walk. Then fall. Until you either drown or die from hypothermia.

 

Nino asked if she wanted to witness a murder.

 

She could still feel the ice in her veins from hearing those words. A simple invitation, it was said with the same tone one might use to ask about dinner, or a card game!

 

He wanted her to see it. To stand there on that deck and watch someone die. 

 

She didn't ask who. But of course, she said no.

 

What kind of monster did he think she was?

 

Marinette buried her face in her hands. Her skin is sticky with salt and dried tears. She didn't cry when Nino left. She refuses to. But the tears came anyway, hot and shameful. Even hours later, when the ship was quiet again.

 

She's so ashamed.

 

She had grown to like him.

 

Not the man being killed.

 

Chat Noir.

 

She liked him.

 

She knew she did. She admitted it. But now it makes her want to retch.

 

Because for weeks–no, longer–she had started to see something behind those malicious, glowing green eyes. In the quiet nights when he came to talk, when he brought her food and charmed her up. 

 

She told herself it was a form of desperation. To hold onto a sort of hope of getting out of here. 

 

She is a prisoner. Hostage to the most feared man on the seas. She hadn't seen land in weeks, not since the random stop for what she thinks was just for rum. Of course, her mind would twist itself into knots to find comfort in familiarity. Of course, she'd try to make a monster look like a man.

 

But that is the problem. She has been raised to expect this.

 

A princess. Raised to be graceful, poised, and obedient. She was told since she was small that her worth would come in marriage, in her future sons. That someday, she would be sent to a man. Powerful, terrifying, and strong. And she would be expected to stand at his side. Not equal. Not free. Just beside him. As property.

 

So when she looks at Chat Noir–the brutal, mercurial pirate captain who commanded death with a glance–her mind betrayed her. Her upbringing whispered that this was it. This was the man. This was the power and rage and danger she was promised.

 

He was everything she had been told to want.

 

To need.

 

It sickens her.

 

Because he was also the arrogant, maddening, charming bastard who had raided her ship. Slaughtered her guards, her men, some of whom had been with her since she was a child. Sabrina's father, how sad she must feel. She remembers the screams of her men. The cries being cut short by honed blades and the sickening atmosphere of gunpowder, and the horrible stench of blood. 

 

He was the same man who laughed at her stubborn remarks. Who spoke to her in the dead of night. Who handcuffed himself to her while carrying what seemed like 50 things. The same man who scratched his silent little cat behind the ears.

 

He was human.

 

And that, somehow, was worse than him being a monster.

 

Because that meant there were no clean lines. No simple truths. Just gray seas, and fogged thoughts, and her own heart betraying her over and over again.

 

Marinette curled tighter on the cot, clutching her knees to her chest.

 

She lifts her head and glares at the wood grain in the ceiling as though it personally offended her. Her arms were crossed over her knees, her jaw clenched tight. If the ship rocked any harder, it might have matched the sea-storm churning in her gut.

 

That damn pirate with the wicked smile, the wild eyes, and the gall to walk around the ship like it was his kingdom. 

 

Because it was. 

 

She is angry. Furious.

 

Because no matter how many times she replayed that first moment, or every interaction since, there was something inside her–a stubborn, twisted thing–that kept not hating him enough.

 

What right did he have? What right did he have to pace into her life, tear it apart, and still linger in her thoughts like some infuriating itch she can't reach. 

 

Most of their conversations were quite strange, never straightforward. He'd waltz into her cell room and then ask some odd, disjointed questions.

 

He wasn’t trying to ransom her. He didn’t care about gold or alliances. He was after something else. Something to do with the crown, though he never explained what.

 

And when she didn’t know–or refused to answer–she’d lash back with a sharp tongue and rolling eyes, telling him he probably didn’t even know what a printing press looked like or how carriages now had suspension systems so he didn’t need to fly off a cliff every time he hit a pebble. He'd just grin at her, unbothered.

 

She was taught that a lady should never speak to a man in that manner. Not even a pirate.

 

But she no longer cares.

 

She grew up under polished rules, curtsies, silence, and passive smiles. She learnt to be gentle, graceful, a vessel for diplomacy and marriage proposals. She has learned that her voice was not her own. Not when a man is in her life.

 

But on this ship, the rules did not exist. There were no courtiers to whisper about her disgrace. No etiquette tutors to correct her tone. Just her. His crew. And him.

 

She had tried to get inside his head, to understand him and where he was coming from. She even snooped–something that made her cringe when she remembered it–into his so-called personal diary. But it has been filled with secret plans or random entries. No poetry, no salacious notes. Just pages and pages of strange, near-obsessive scrawls of writing. Scribbled maps accompanied by coordinates from every direction. 

 

It reads like a mad–or even desperate–man's journal. 

 

Then another quirk of Chat Noir pops into her mind. Plagg. 

 

He didn't talk much. Just started with those yellow-green eyes. He doesn't seem to like her, given the limited time she saw him. But she doesn't mind the cute cat. He was quieter than Chat Noir. Less judgmental. And even as a cat, he was somehow more polite.

 

But every time she starts to remember the good. She gets reminded of the bad.

 

When Chat Noir had lost his balance, wobbling like a drunk on shore leave, she had laughed at him. He was not used to the land.

 

He belonged to the sea. 

 

She hates how that thought made her chest feel warm.

 

She hates that she notices the way his coat moved in the wind. The way he sometimes has this look in his eyes when staring at the horizon, sometimes they'd let her out and chill around on deck. This is when she usually finds him doing pirate things. She hates how her body reacts when he leans a little too close, when his voice drops an octave.

 

She hates that his eyes are not always cruel.

 

She hates the feeling of missing him when she hasn't seen him in a few days.

 

And she hates herself for all of it.

 

She needs to tell herself every night that he isn't some charming rogue from a storybook. He isn't misunderstood. He is a pirate. A killer. A man who had ended lives for a cause he wouldn't explain, and then locks her in a cell as if she were an object he could reference at will.

 

She is a princess. She had trained her whole life to be stronger than her bloodline, braver than her rank. And here she is, heartsick and so very confused because the man who should be her enemy was now something else.

 

She buries her face into her hands again and screams until her throat burns, the sea outside muting her.

 

Notes:

Ahhh poor Mari. I wanted to include the way women were treated back then for some reality checks.

It was hard to write this not only because I was getting angry at the research I was doing but with the way this story is turning. I feel as though it is not interesting enough. Let me know in the comments if I should change anything or not. Augh.

Thank you! Until next time
- Ragoo
♡♡♡♡

Chapter 15

Notes:

Hey i promised another chapter and I gave it. >:)

Unfortunately my beta was not available to proof read it so I will post this chapter raw

Just how I like it 🫢

Anyhoo. You'll get a bunch of POV just like i said. I included alot of Nino.

You'll even get a little sneak peek in the past. 👀

Thank you for reading!
- Ragoo
Xoxo

 

 

Chat Noir sits hunched over the wooden desk in his cabin room, surrounded by the dim glow of his oil lamps. The dozens of maps sprawled before him are a confusing web of lines, notations, and odd sketches. Each route marked a potential path toward fortune or ruin. He hasn't been sleeping properly in days. His mind is on fire, fueled by obsession and desperation. And the weight of his responsibilities pressed into every fiber of his being. 

 

On one map, he had plotted a new course far beyond the usual shipping lanes. It led toward a stretch of sea whispered about in taverns and portside brawls. “The Grievers Trench.” Legends spoke of an ancient, wrecked merchant vessel swarming with gold and fine goods, stranded just beyond the fog line up north. Supposedly, it carried a massive consignment of Spanish silver and jewels before being swallowed by reefs. 

 

To find that ghost ship would mean enough coin to finance a dozen voyages, perhaps even a small fleet. And yet, the thought of more treasure to share a corner of his mind with the growing urgency of uncovering the hidden secrets of The Crown. Every clue he'd scraped together so far felt incomplete. Vague. Riddles with half-truths. And time is a luxury he can not afford. The British were tightening their patrols, and chatter in ports hinted at increased naval surveillance. Soon, this route would be too dangerous to pass. 

 

He circles the possible ghost ship location with an oil-stained finger, clutching his quill. Outside the hold, the waves whispered. It had been hours… no days, since he last closed his eyes. His fingers twitched with utter fatigue and the hunger for progress. Desperation had replaced hope as his driving force at this point.

 

He scribbles another line toward the east side of an uncharted isle, making a note in his journal:

 

 “Grievers Trench: possible drift route east-northeast… if moonlight tide matches map drawings. Must keep below the midnight fog line.”

 

He sighs, leaning back as a heady tide of worry rises in his chest. He is caught between two obsessions–treasure and the truth–and neither gives him rest. The memory of the Crown's secret, still locked inside his princess's mind, gnawed at him. Every unanswered question is like a knife at his throat.

 

If only he had a way to quiet his mind.

 

He rubs at his temples, trying to summon focus, but his eyes keep drifting toward the door, half expecting Marinette to come in. Even though that is utterly impossible, she is locked away in his cellar. Though he hasn't visited in days, she always somehow lingers in his thoughts. 

 

With perfect timing, the cabin door creaks open, and his concentration snaps.

 

“Captain? You look like your head's got a storm in it.”

 

Nino steps in, carefully balancing a low crate of dried meat, alcohol, and a washed jug of water. His presence immediately drains some weight from the room. It's like a breath of fresh air after suffocating in the stale air for hours on end.

 

Chat Noir glared, waving a hand toward the desk in dismissal. “What is it?”

 

Nino sighs and places the crate down. He then leans back against the door, arms crossed. 

 

“You've been hiding in here for days,” Nino said. “It's time for you to come out of your dungeon.”

 

Chat Noir glares at him hard enough that Nino flinches. Though he still held his ground.

 

“I need this,” Chat whispered, his voice brittle. “We're low on rations, Nino. I'm not even close to finding out what the British are hiding, and I have a princess in custody…I need answers.”

 

Nino's expression softened a bit. He stepped forward, pulling out a small tumbler from the crate and pouring a measure of watered-down wine. “It's a start,” he said, offering it to his captain.

 

Reluctantly, Chat accepts it, his hands gripping the glass as he turns it in his palm.

 

Nino continued, his tone steady and gentle. “Look, Captain…” He pulls a chair from the corner of the room to sit, facing him across the desk covered in papers. “You're fierce. You're cunning. You've led this crew through more hell than I've seen. But this…Obsession? It's wearing you out.”

 

Chat watches him through gleaming eyes. Hatred and gratitude warring beneath his revealing calm. 

 

“I know.” He quietly admits.

 

Nino nods. “Then let me help. Just drop it for the night. Forget the crown, forget the ghost ship. We can set the course tomorrow when you've rested up. But not now. Right now…you need to sleep.”

 

Chat rasps out a chuckle, but it lacks humour. “Do you even believe the ghost ship exists?”

 

Nino shrugs. “Don't care. Even if it doesn't, a night away from these pages will do you good.”

 

Silence drifted between them as Chat swirled the drink, considering. The sea wound outside, whispering its endless way. In the flicker of lamp light, his face looks haunted.

 

Nino stood and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. “Come on.”

They step out onto the main deck.

 

The cold night breeze slaps the dampness from Chat Noir's sweaty clothes as he slides the map and journal into a metal chest just beside the door, locking it. His spine relaxes just a little.

 

Nino leads him to the stern, where a few crewmen are already lounging around a makeshift table, lit by lanterns and warm conversation. Alix had strung small fish over rough skewers, roasting them on the controlled fire.

 

The sight was almost mundane. Simple laughter, the hiss of Ivan cooking, the gentle sway of the ship. Chat sipped the watery wine and let the movement of the sea help ease his pounding headache. The tide is calm here.

 

  It's nice.

 

They walk among the men when Chat realizes how few times he's allowed himself this. The momentary reprieve. He feels guilty. But Nino's hand on his shoulder reminds him that this is a part of leadership. Not a weakness.

 

He helps himself to a skewer, the smoky, salty taste grounding on his tongue.

 

Nino claps him on the back before walking away.

 

Chat watches the crew. His crew. He watches as they laugh at a joke Kim made about sea monsters and whatnot.

 

And for the first time in weeks.

 

He allows himself to smile.

 

The sea was calm. Whispering soft murmurs.

 

Chat Noir closes his eyes. The wind carrying a lullaby, the sea, the ship, and the sky breathe together. 

 

Nino was right. He needed this.

 

Everything else can wait. As tomorrow is another day. And battles fought on a rested heart would be far more likely to succeed.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir stands beside Nino at the stern long after most of the men had drifted off to sleep. Alix is dozing off in a hammock, arms behind her head, while the dying embers of the fire flickers weakly in the night breeze. The roasted fish is long gone, bottles emptied, voices hushed.

 

The sea is quieter than usual. Not just calm…quiet. Like it, too, has fallen asleep after watching Chat Noir and his crew finally let themselves rest.

 

Chats gloved fingers curl around the railing, the cold of the sea wind licking his skin. He's still wearing his coat, the bottom edges cut in jagged, stylized shape to mimic a cat's tail. A fitting silhouette for someone who moves with silent precision when sober, and a drunken stumble when not.

 

He's exhausted. But no longer wired.

 

Just tired.

 

His green eyes, darker under the weight of sleeplessness, are fixed on the horizon. The stars reflect off the surface of the ocean like shattered glass, and the moon dips lower than usual, almost touching the waterline. The ship creaks in that comforting way ships do when theyve survived another day.

 

Nino leans beside him, arms resting casually over the railing, his one good eye watching him. He doesn't speak right away, just lets the silence settle. 

 

Eventually, he says, “You gonna tell me what happened to her?”

 

Chat doesn't look at him. “What? What are you talking about?”

 

“You disappeared for a while. She did too.”

 

Chats jaw twitches.

 

“I talked,” he said eventually. “Said something about fish. And, uh. Storms? I think..”

 

Nino snorts. “That bad, huh?”

 

 

Chat finally turns to face him, “I don't know what I was thinking. I brought her to my room, Nino. The room with my maps. My journal. She read it. Not even five minutes alone, and she had it in her damn hands.”

 

Nino raises a brow, half amused. “She read the journal? You didn’t lock it away?”

Chat scowls. “I was drunk, Nino.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Chat sighs through his nose. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Nino stares at him for a long, quiet second. 

 

“You like her.”

 

That shuts him up.

The captain straightens, pushes away from the railing, and starts pacing the deck, leather boots thudding softly. “No, I don’t. That’s ridiculous. She’s a hostage. A bargaining chip. She’s royalty.”

“And that matters?” Nino follows him with his eye. “You’ve never cared about titles before. Never seen you treat a prisoner like this either.”

“She’s difficult.”

“She’s pretty.”

“She’s infuriating!”

Nino smirks. “And she’s got you twisted like a storm-snatched sail.”

Chat doesn’t answer. He just stops walking and looks out over the bow of the ship, where the moonlight dances in delicate silver waves. The wind lifts his coat and brushes through his messy blond hair.

“She slipped up,” he finally murmurs. “Weeks ago. Told me something. She doesn’t think I noticed.”

Nino steps closer, voice serious now. “About the Crown?”

Chat nods once. “She mentioned the coast of a forgotten isle. It matched something I read in that old merchant’s log I stole. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But the more I study the tides and trade routes, the more it adds up.”

“So, she gave you the missing piece?”

“Not intentionally. I don’t think she even remembers saying it. She was tired. Maybe hungry. Maybe she just wanted someone to talk to.”

Nino looks at him carefully. “And what will you do when you find what the Crown’s hiding?”

Chat doesn’t answer right away.

Then he says, “I don’t know. Depends what it is. Power? Riches? A secret that could bring a kingdom to its knees?” He turns his head. “Whatever it is… it costs people their lives to keep hidden. And I’ll be damned if I don’t rip the truth out myself.”

Nino hums. “You’ve always wanted the truth. Even as a kid.”

Chat narrows his eyes. “Yeah. Look where that got me.”

They both stand in silence for a moment longer, before Nino reaches out and gently thumps his friend on the chest.

“You should get some real sleep. You’ve only just stopped shaking.”

Chat glances down. “The rum wore off.”

“Good. I’ll steer until dawn.”

Chat nods and turns toward the stairs leading to his cabin. But before disappearing below deck, he pauses.

“I’m not letting her go,” he says.

Nino raises a brow. “I didn’t say you should.”

Chat looks away. “But I’m not sure how much longer I can keep telling myself she’s just cargo.”

Then he descends the steps.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

The creaking of the ship is steady, almost soothing now that the storm has long passed. It's been a few hours since his conversation with Chat Noir, by the sun he can assume it's been long enough for the night to go by.

The sails flap lazily in the early morning breeze. Nino stands at the bow, one hand on the rigging and the other idly tracing the worn edge of his compass. The sun is still low, casting golden hues across the waves, painting the horizon in shades of warmth that don’t quite reach his thoughts.

He’s thinking about Chat Noir.

He always does, especially after nights like this.

Chat’s words echo in his mind, “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep telling myself she’s just cargo.”

That’s not the kind of thing his captain says lightly. If anything, Chat Noir is a master of repression. He keeps his thoughts locked tighter than the treasure chests buried in his chambers. Nino’s known him since they were barely taller than the barrels they used to hide in as kids. Long before they were pirates. Long before the world taught them what cruelty really looked like.

But Nino knows.

He knows his captain doesn’t understand emotions the way most people do. He was raised on hunger. On cold, blistering days without shoes. On scars instead of lullabies. On clenched fists instead of embraces. His entire view of the world is twisted through a lens of survival.

So when Chat says something vulnerable–especially about her–Nino listens.

And he watches.

He watched the way Chat staggered into the storm, not just to protect the ship, but to make sure the princess was safe. She was a hostage. Just another piece in the grand game. But Chat handed him the key, barked out instructions with real panic lacing his voice. “Bring her to my quarters. I can’t risk her falling ill. We have no medicine. She’s... important.”

Important.

Not “useful.” Not “valuable.” But important.

Nino had seen it then–the panic, the desperation–but more than anything, he saw something else:

Fear.

And not fear of the sea, or the storm, or even the British fleet chasing them across continents.

Fear that something might happen to her.

That’s not normal. Not for a man who once let an entire trading crew starve to death on their own vessel for hiding contraband. Not for someone who threw a man overboard this week because he spoke to Marinette without permission.

Chat Noir has never hesitated to kill before.

But with her… he hesitates all the time.

Nino makes his way down the lower deck, passing Kim on patrol and giving him a nod. The hallway is dimly lit by lanterns swaying with the rhythm of the ship. When he reaches the small galley, he pauses and leans against the doorframe.

Ivan is stirring something in a pot that smells faintly like over-salted fish. It turns Nino’s stomach, but he doesn’t say anything. He just thinks.

The princess is the first hostage Chat has treated like a person.

He hasn’t whipped her. He hasn’t starved her. Hell, he gave her access to his room. Plagg let her near.

Nino knows what that means. That little cat doesn’t even like him most of the time.

It’s like watching a thunderstorm try to learn how to be a candle.

Like watching fire soften.

He pushes off the doorframe and walks back up to the main deck, where the salty wind kisses his face. There, at the wheel, stands Chat Noir again–his coat pulled tight, his hat low, the infamous green eyes trained on the sea like it holds all the answers.

Nino approaches and stands beside him without saying a word for a while.

The silence is comfortable.

Finally, Chat speaks. “We’ll anchor near the northern reef in two days.”

Nino nods. “And after that?”

Chat’s fingers tap the wheel. “We check for signs. Symbols. If the ruins are there, we’ll find them.”

“You think she knows more?”

Chat’s jaw tightens.

“I know she does.”

Nino hesitates, then murmurs, “Like I said before. You’re treating her differently.”

Chat side-eyes him. “What does that even mean?”

“It means she’s still alive.”

Chat glares at him. “Don’t get smart with me, Nino.”

“I’m not. I’m just… noticing. And I’m saying… maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Chat doesn’t respond. He just stares ahead, where the sun is rising into the clouds.

After a long beat, he mutters under his breath, “I don’t trust her.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“Exactly.”

“But you still brought her to your room.”

Chat stiffens.

Nino continues gently, “You’re changing, brother.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Chat speaks, barely audible over the wind. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

“No,” Nino says truthfully. “But I think you’re scared of being wrong.”

Another beat.

Chat lets one hand go of the wheel, adjusts his hat, and takes a deep breath of the ocean air. The kind of breath you take when you’re trying to clear the fog out of your own mind.

“Gave me more than she meant to." He mentions once more. "If I piece it together right… we’ll be ahead of every ship on the Atlantic.”

“And what then?” Nino asks. “You find the treasure? What about her?”

Chat doesn’t answer.

Because he doesn’t know.

The wind shifts.

It carries the scent of salt and damp wood as Nino remains standing by the helm, watching his captain’s back. Chat Noir doesn’t speak again after that. He just grips the wheel tightly, his gaze locked on the horizon like it’s the only thing holding him together.

Nino exhales slowly. His arms are folded now, the fabric of his sleeves fluttering in the breeze.

The sea’s whispering again, he thinks.

 He doesn’t need to ask. He knows the signs. The way Chat Noir’s jaw tenses. The way his hands twitch slightly, like he's trying to stop himself from reacting to something only he can hear.

The whispering.

God. That whispering.

It’s been years, and Nino still doesn’t know exactly when it began. Or when it became more than just a metaphor. But he remembers the first time his best friend changed.

They were sixteen.

Still just boys.

Still half-starved stowaways clinging to survival aboard a merchant vessel crossing dangerous waters.

Back then, Chat Noir wasn't even called Chat Noir. He was just Adrien.

Adrien with too-bright eyes and a bruised rib cage. Adrien who never laughed unless Nino made a dumb joke. Adrien who used to stare at the stars like he was trying to remember someone’s face hidden among them.

Nino remembers the night it happened. The memory is scorched into him like salt into a wound.

They had both been below deck, crammed between crates of stolen oranges and damp blankets, trying to sleep through the storm of angry sailors above. They weren’t supposed to be there–rats with names, as one crew member called them.

Then the ship hit something.

A reef? Another vessel? No one knew.

The impact sent Nino sprawling. When he looked up, Adrien was gone.

The next time Nino saw him, it was hours later, long after the screaming had stopped and the water had flooded the lower decks. Adrien had pulled himself back aboard after disappearing in the chaos.

But something had changed.

His face was pale, his eyes wider. He wasn’t crying–he never did–but he looked shaken in a way that couldn’t be undone. His hands trembled. He was whispering something when Nino found him curled near the collapsed mast.

“It told me not to drown.”

That’s what he said. Over and over again.

“It told me not to drown.”

At the time, Nino thought he’d hallucinated. Maybe he hit his head. Maybe fear made him delirious. But Adrien never recovered. Not mentally. Not spiritually.

He was different from that day on.

He could navigate waters no map accounted for. He could sense storms before clouds formed. He'd wake up at odd hours, breathing hard, sweat soaking his hair, mumbling things like “It's close. We’re being watched.”

And more than anything… he listened. To the creaks in the wood. The salt in the wind. The language of the ocean.

It became his religion.

The sea… became his god.

And maybe it was a god. Nino wouldn’t know. He wasn’t cursed with whatever it was that Adrien now carried in him.

Over the years, Adrien became Chat Noir. His demeanor grew more volatile, his emotions harder to read. He talked less, brooded more. And the sea?

The sea started speaking louder.

Sometimes Nino would catch him murmuring to the waves at night. Sometimes he would find him crouched beside the edge of the ship, eyes wide, talking to no one–or rather, to something Nino couldn't see.

Nino is loyal. Painfully loyal.

But even loyalty has its questions.

And sometimes… he wonders if Adrien ever really returned from that storm all those years ago. Or if something else came back in his place.

He casts a glance over now. Chat Noir still hasn’t moved.

His gloved hands tighten over the helm. His hair, damp from mist, clings to his neck as he mutters something to himself–too low for Nino to hear.

Is it her again? Nino wonders. The sea? 

He remembers Chat’s fury a few nights ago. The murder. The theatrics. The grin too wide and too pleased with itself as their captain watched the merchant walk the plank.

No hesitation.

Like he wanted the sea to see him please it.

That thought makes Nino’s stomach knot.

He can’t help but think of Marinette. The way her eyes spark with hatred, even as her voice softens during those rare conversations with Chat. She doesn't understand how much more dangerous the captain is when he’s calm. When he’s listening.

It’s like something ancient is whispering into his ear.

A command.

A prophecy.

A warning.

Nino doesn't know.

He only knows this:

Whatever Chat Noir is becoming, he hopes–God, he hopes–that there’s still a shred of Adrien left in there.

Because if there isn’t…

Then one day, the sea won’t whisper to Chat Noir anymore.

It’ll devour him whole.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

In her cell below deck, Marinette lies on the floor, hands folded under her head, staring at the planks above.

It’s been quiet for hours.

But she knows he’s up there.

Drinking. Laughing. Commanding.

Being a captain.

Her chest aches, but she doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s hunger. Maybe it’s heartbreak. Or maybe it’s just the hollow ache of being trapped in a war she doesn’t understand.

She can still see his face when she mentioned that one location.

Just a flicker in his eyes.

She’s made a mistake.

And she can’t take it back.

Now she just has to hope he won’t put the pieces together.

Or worse–he already has.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Ohhh we've finally mentioned the name Adrien. Took only 15 chapters...

But I hope you like this chapter, a bit of an explanation in Ninos view on what the hell happened to Adrien for him to worship the sea
Its not only creepy for us, but for his friends as well. Do you guys think Chats obsession with the sea is some sort of religious psychosis? I dont know much about religion as I'm an atheist but I heard that's a thing. I hope my take on his scary obsession is realistic

Also I'm proud of y'all for reading like 3,000 words atp. I started writing like 3 days ago.

ALSO Nino forcing Chat to admit his feelings!??? Even though it's obvious hes soft of her chat doesn't realize it yetttt

Thank you for reading! Leave a comment or kudos if you want me to continue ♡♡♡♡

Chapter 16

Notes:

Long-awaited chapter, I hope you guys are still reading this. It's a bit shorter than the last one, but I wanted to post this one before the week ends. I'm leaving for a bit (vacation) after this, but I hope I can post the next chapter soon.

Commenting and kudos really motivate me, it shows people are actually reading this lol

Thank you!
- Ragoo
xoxo

It has been over two weeks.

 

Over fourteen days and a few hours since Chat Noir last showed his face outside the steel bars of Marinettes' cell. She’s kept track of time using the lanterns above deck, the sound of crew shifts, and the aching rhythm of her hunger and boredom. Her cell smells like damp wood, rusted metal, and whatever the crew ate three nights ago—fish (she reasons it's the easiest to catch in the middle of the ocean), and stale bread.

She’s losing hope that he’ll ever speak to her again. And strangely, she hates that.

But then the door creaks.

Boots.

Heavy ones. The familiar rhythm: one impatient step, then a pause. A boot tapping–always the left. She hears the unmistakable click of the latch unlocking and has to blink a few times just to confirm she’s not hallucinating.

Chat Noir stands in the doorway, damp from sea air, wind-tossed hair falling over one eye. He looks just as bored and unreadable as ever. His coat sways behind him like a tail, exaggerated by the flickering lantern light. His gloved fingers toss a piece of hard, stale bread onto the floor in front of her without a word.

She stares at it, then up at him.

He doesn't speak. Doesn’t crack a smile. Doesn’t mock her like usual. Something’s off.

On the outside, he looks calm.

But inside?

His mind is reeling with Nino's brutal honesty. About his feelings for the Princess.

Chat Noir hasn’t slept in two days because of Ninos–frankly annoying–voice.

The sea’s voice is quiet lately. Too quiet. That silence only makes the voice in his own head louder.

He turns, just about to leave. The muscles in his shoulders twitch from tension. He can’t stop thinking about her, about what she knows, about how her voice sounds when she’s mocking him, or when she’s softly curious. About how that night she looked at his diary, and he swore he saw something familiar in her eyes. Something real.

He’s halfway to the door when–

“Wait.”

That one word stills his entire spine. Her voice.

Marinette.

He turns instinctively. There’s no pause, no thought behind the motion. It’s almost like her voice pulls him back like a hook. Ironic, really. A pirate brought to heel by a voice like a siren.

He blinks once, then twice, caught off guard by his own reflex. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head, waiting. She has to be the one to speak first. He doesn’t trust himself if he opens his mouth.

Her voice is quiet. “I… wanted to apologize.”

He frowns. “For what?”

"The journal. I know I already said it before, but I mean it this time. I shouldn’t have touched it.” Her fingers fidget in her lap, her gaze downcast. “That was wrong of me.”

There’s a long pause. A beat where the wind outside rocks the ship slightly, and the lantern swings on its hook.

And just like that, his voice returns.

 

“Uh.” Really? That's all you can say!?

 

“You read it because you were desperate,” Chat finally says, leaning a little against the bars. “You were curious. I’d have done the same.”

 

She swallows and looks up at him properly. For the first time in weeks, his green eyes aren’t sharp–they’re tired. Human.

It hits her.

He looks tired in the way someone does when their mind never shuts up. And somehow, that makes her want to keep talking to him. So she does.

The words are light, easier than before. Their usual power struggle seems to melt for a moment. She mentions how salty the bread is. He rolls his eyes and mutters something about Ivan overseasoning everything. Then she snarks that pirates must really have no standards. He responds with a sarcastic bow and calls her “your saltiness.”

That makes her laugh. A genuine laugh.

And he smiles.

And then–

She says something unexpected. Something about how she’s impressed he hasn't drowned yet, considering how he'd been wobbling around on land like a lost kitty.

He doesn’t respond with words.

He giggles.

A sharp, stupid, soft giggle that completely betrays him. It’s not loud. It’s short. But it escapes him. Not a pirate’s cackle. Not a sneer.

 

A giggle.

 

And it’s awful. And pure. And it shows his dimples.

It’s the kind of laugh that makes his shoulders loosen and his face soften and his boyish charm bloom like a crack in the armor he’s spent years building. Her lips part.

 

She’s staring.

 

The sound does something to her chest. She swears her heart skips. She doesn't want to admit it, but she’s never heard him laugh like that. Not once. Not in any of their arguments. Not during his drunken small talk. Never.

 

It’s… beautiful.

 

And then he realizes.

His body goes still. The laughter dies. His smile disappears like it was never there. His hand comes up slowly, brushing the back of his neck, like he’s trying to reset something in himself.

He blinks. “What?”

She doesn’t respond immediately.

Because she knows she’s blushing.

Hard.

Her cheeks are red. She feels them burn. She tries to pretend it’s the humidity, the heat of the lantern, anything else.

But she knows what it is.

And so does he.

They’re both quiet now. Something hangs in the air between them–fragile and confusing and very, very real.

He stares at her.

Eyes open.

A strange softness in his gaze.

Before Marinette can utter another word, the ship jerks . Sharp and vicious like a wounded animal. The entire hull lurches violently.

Chat Noir is flung into the wooden wall with a grunt, his shoulder slamming hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Marinette yelps and tumbles onto the floor, her elbows scraping against rough wood.

Then–
 

BOOM.

The unmistakable sound of cannon fire. Close.

Too close.

Chat Noir’s instincts ignite like flint against steel. He’s up before his brain catches up, pushing off the wall, ignoring the ache in his bones.

 

Something’s happening.

Someone’s attacking his ship.

 

He throws the door open and races out, footsteps heavy and pounding against the planks. The world outside explodes into chaos—yelling, clashing steel, screams of confusion. Another ship– a massive one –is scraping against the Cataclysm’s side like a predator trying to tear its prey open. Planks splinter and ropes whip against the wind.

Figures are already jumping from the enemy ship onto his. Clumsy, untrained.

Their aim is horrendous.

Bullets fly and miss embarrassingly wide, whistling through the air and cracking harmlessly against wood and barrels. One sails past Chat Noir’s ear, and he scowls in disgust.

“Idiots,” he mutters, drawing his stolen Flintlock pistol in one smooth, practiced movement.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots, three men down.
Chest. Throat. Shoulder.
He doesn’t blink.

From the upper deck, Nino yells orders, calling the crew to arms. Metal clashes and boots thunder across the deck. Alix is by the cannons already, shouting curses as she cranks and fires again—BOOM—sending a cannonball crashing into the enemy’s hull.

The attack ship groans. Water rushes into its side.

Chat’s blood rushes with it.

Another intruder lunges from the shadows, blade raised—but Chat swerves and jabs his elbow into the man’s face, sending him tumbling overboard.

And then—
The Captain.

 

Their captain.

 

He sees him instantly: some self-important bastard with too much fur on his coat and gold rings on every finger, sauntering around the deck as if he owns the sea.

“Coward,” Chat growls.

 

Their eyes lock. No words.

 

Bang.

 

The pirate captain jerks–shot square in the chest. He stumbles, teetering on the edge of the deck, and Chat Noir gives one sharp shove with his foot.

The man falls backward into the sea like a dead weight, swallowed by the waves. Gone. He can feel in his bones, the sea is happy for this useless sacrifice.

And just like that, the battle's nearly over.

The enemy ship is crumbling–sinking fast. Men are throwing themselves into the sea, abandoning it.

Only one man is left on Chat’s ship, weapon shaking in his hand. Chat watches, calculating, until...

 

Pain.

 

Burning. Stabbing. Radiating pain.

 

The world lurches. Something hot punches into his side, just below the ribs.

Chat stumbles.

His eyes flash down.

 

Blood.

 

He’s been shot.

The man who did it lifts his pistol again, but before he can fire, Nino’s blade pierces his chest. One clean thrust. The man falls backward, eyes wide in disbelief.

Chat doesn’t fall yet. He won’t .

He grits his teeth, forcing himself upright. The crew is yelling, rushing to him. But his eyes sweep across the deck.

Everyone’s alive.

Wounded, bruised, battered–but alive.

That’s enough.

“Everyone… check in,” he manages through clenched teeth, voice hoarse.

“Captain–” Alix shouts, already sprinting toward him.

He holds up a hand to stop her, swaying on his feet.

 

He doesn’t let himself fall.

 

Not until he’s sure.

 

Not until Ivan confirms that no one else has boarded.
 

Not until Kim yells that the cannons are clear.

Not until Alix gives him a thumbs-up from the bow.

Not until Nino nods.

 

Only then, when the adrenaline fades and the sharp ache becomes a searing, unbearable throb–

 

Only then does Chat Noir collapse.

 

He falls hard, knees giving out, then hits the deck like a felled tree. Blood pools beneath him.

The crew rushes toward him.

 

“CAPTAIN!” Ivan bellows, already grabbing cloth.

“Nino–GET SOMETHING–ANYTHING!” Alix is already at his side, tearing a strip from her coat to press against the wound.

But Chat barely hears them.

 

His vision tunnels.

 

The last thing he sees is Nino skidding to his knees, grabbing his shoulder with both hands, yelling his name like a war cry.

And then–
 

 

 

Nothing.

 

 

 

Notes:

Apologies for the cliffhanger. Chat Noir will not be having a fun time next chapter.

Everyone is a pirate, so would they have any medical knowledge? Idk. I wonder who does. The only person on the ship who has some work of knowledge... I wonder who will help our poor cat.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

I'm so sorry if this chapter isn't up to par. I kinda rushed it but please let me know if I should add or change anything. I dont want to disappoint you guys.
Let me know in the comments your thoughts and feelings!

Chapter 17

Notes:

This chapter was a fun one to write. I hope you enjoy it.

 

All he can feel is numbness.

Then…

 

Pain.

 

It surges through him like molten steel, dragging a broken groan from his throat. His hand jerks weakly, clawing at something. Rough fabric beneath his palm. A sheet? His bed?

It must be. He feels the shift of the mattress beneath him as his body trembles. His skin is burning, but his limbs shake like he’s stuck in a snowstorm. Someone is talking. A voice nearby. Very muffled, frantic.

“Fever’s bad—he’s sweating so m–”

“Give him more water—no, not like that, you’ll drown him, idiot—”

A hand touches his forehead. Gentle. Cool. He leans into it unconsciously.

Then–

Nothing.

The world tilts and fades again. He passes out.

--

Nino stands at the end of the bed, stressed out of his mind. His hands are trembling. His back’s against the wall, fists pressed to his temples. He wants to scream.

His captain–his best friend–is dying.

He glances over again.

Chat’s breathing is uneven. His skin is grey, pale under the low lamplight. He’s burning up–his temperature climbing higher by the hour. They’ve wrapped him up, changed his bandages, even bled him out to cool the fever. None of it’s working.

Nino knows this look.

The thing people get right before they stop breathing.

They have no medicine.

 No trained healer.

No proper herbs, no fever bark, no pain salve... nothing.

And it’s his fault.

He should’ve taken stock of their supplies earlier. He should’ve begged Chat to stop spending everything on rum and maps, and gunpowder.

He runs a hand through his hair and turns. He can’t look anymore.

He finds himself standing outside the princess’s cell, holding a tray of stale bread and water. He doesn’t know how he got here. Instinct, maybe.

She’s already at the bars, hands gripping the iron, brow furrowed.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “There was gunfire. An enemy ship?”

“Everything’s handled,” he says, trying to wave it off. “Small scuffle.”

She narrows her eyes. “So why does the entire lower deck smell like blood?”

Nino winces. Dammit.

“...It’s fine. Everything’s… fine.” He hesitates. Then sighs. “Okay, listen. There was an attack. But we handled it.”

She stares at him, not blinking.

“But something’s wrong,” she says softly.

Nino looks away. His throat tightens. There’s no point lying now. What is he even doing, hiding the truth from her?

“Chat,” he mutters. “He got shot.”

The princess’s lips part slightly, but she says nothing.

“He got hit in the side. Bullet’s out, but it was deep. We tried what we could, but… he’s burning up. I think it’s infected.” His voice cracks slightly. “He hasn’t woken up for hours.”

There’s a long pause.

Then she says it.

“I might be able to help.”

Nino frowns, confused. “What?”

She steps forward, the cold iron pressing into her chest. “I was trained–slightly. Royals are expected to learn some domestic skills. I was taught nursing. I know what to do for fever and wounds, in case of war.”

His eyes widen. He nearly drops the tray.

“You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” she snaps. “Bring me to him. Now.”

Nino doesn’t hesitate.

He unlocks her cell, grabbing her arm carefully but urgently. She doesn’t protest. They move fast. The ship creaks underfoot, the stormy scent of gunpowder still clinging to the walls.

They reach Chat’s cabin. Nino opens the door, and the princess rushes inside.

The smell hits him instantly: salt, blood, and sweat. The room is too warm, the air thick. Chat is sprawled in his bed, a sheen of sweat coating his chest, bandages soaked through again.

“Leave,” she says sharply, without looking.

Nino hesitates.

“I need privacy. I need quiet. And I need full control. You want him alive or not?”

He gives a single, stiff nod. “Understood.”

He walks out, barking orders for the others to stay away. No peeking, no noise.

Then he leans against the outer wall, staring out at the deck.

The ship feels… wrong. Unbalanced. Like a wound itself. Chat’s absence is already poisoning the crew morale. They don’t trust easily without their captain stomping around, yelling orders, throwing insults, and smirks in equal measure.

So now he has to do it.

Nino climbs the steps, shielding his eye against the sun.

It’s bright. Too bright.

He narrows his gaze. One eye squinting, his mouth tight.

Until his captain is back, he runs this ship.

God help anyone who tries to question him.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

The moment the door clicks shut behind Nino, silence falls. Not peace. Not calm. Just silence. tense, suffocating, hot. Marinette stands there for a heartbeat, two, watching him.

Chat Noir is sprawled across the bed, his skin a pale, waxy gold sheen under the low lamplight. His chest rises unevenly. Sweat clings to every inch of him, soaking the thin sheets and curling the loose strands of his blond hair against his face. His mouth parts slightly as if trying to breathe, but he’s barely there.

Marinette swallows hard. This is not the same man who walked into her cell with an arrogant posture and a blade on his hip. This is not the pirate who giggled like a fool just hours ago. This is a shell. A man whose body is at war with itself.

She crosses the room, grabbing a clean cloth from the corner of the table and wiping his forehead. He doesn’t flinch. His skin is on fire.

When she checks the wound, her jaw tightens. It's obviously Infected. The swollen skin around the area is seeping heat from it. Oozing a sickly mix of blood and yellow pus. Whoever tried to treat this had no clue what they were doing. And judging by the bucket of blood near the bed, they had tried bloodletting. Her stomach churns.

Idiots.

It’s seeping. It’s open. It’s killing him.

Her first thought is cauterization. A brutal solution. But right now, it might be the only one.

She exhales and rises to her feet, determination setting into her shoulders. She will not let him die. Not like this.

She swings the door open and marches back into the hallway.

“I need a knife,” she tells the first crewmember she sees. “One that can hold heat. And I need it red hot.”

Nino, startled, rushes forward. “Why? What are you doing?”

“I’m saving your captain,” she snaps. “And get me honey. Now.”

His brows knit together. “Honey?”

“Trust me. If you don’t want an infection to finish the job that bullet started, get me what I ask.”

Within minutes, Nino and Ivan return, both grim-faced. The knife is glowing hot from the galley fire, and the honey is in a cracked clay jar.

Marinette steps back inside and gestures for them to follow.

“You’ll need to hold him down.”

Ivan’s face pales. Nino doesn’t even ask. He already knows what’s coming.

They each grab an arm, and Ivan braces one of Chat’s legs with his knee.

The wound is still bleeding lightly. She places one hand over his sweat-drenched chest, steadying herself.

“This is going to hurt,” she whispers, more to herself than him.

Then she presses the red-hot blade against the infected wound.

The scream that bursts from Chat Noir’s lungs is not human.

It echoes off the wood like a dying creature from the depths. Marinette winces, her eyes stinging. Nino’s grip trembles. Ivan grits his teeth, his face already streaked with tears. They all feel it. The agony that pours out of him like fire from a furnace.

The ship seems to rock violently as if the sea itself cries out with him.

The boards creak. The wind wails. Even nature seems to mourn the pain.

But it must be done.

The moment she pulls the blade away, his scream shatters into sobs. Raw, animalistic sobs. She looks at him. His eyes are open, barely. Glazed. His face streaked with sweat, tears, and blood.

“Shh…” she whispers, brushing hair off his face. “It’s over. You’re okay. You’re okay…”

She scoops the honey with trembling fingers, applying it over the still-burning flesh. His body jerks, but the pain is fading now. She rewraps the wound with fresh cloth, tying it tightly.

He whimpers. A whisper of her name, she thinks, but she can’t be sure. He’s delirious.

Marinette turns to Nino and Ivan, her voice unshakable despite the war inside her chest.

“I’m staying.”

Ivan opens his mouth. Nino stops him with a gesture.

“She knows what she’s doing,” he says quietly. “Let her.”

She doesn’t wait for permission. She pulls a blanket from the corner, settles it gently over Chat’s now-still body, and lies down next to him on top of the covers. Not touching, just close.

Close enough to listen. Close enough to act if something changes. His heat radiates against her like a furnace, his breath ragged but present.

The candle flickers out.

She closes her eyes, aware of the ragged breathing next to her. She's shaking. Taking three deep breaths, she lets sleep take her as the ship creaks with the angry sea.

--

Marinette awakens to the soft smell of honey clinging to the air and the golden sunlight bleeding through the warped slats of Chat Noir’s cabin window.

She doesn’t move for a moment.

The body beside her is utterly still. Silent. No wheezing, no groaning. Her pulse leaps into her throat. Slowly, carefully, she slides closer and places her hand over his chest.

Thump.

Thump.

Still breathing.

Her shoulders relax. She closes her eyes and takes a long breath before slipping the blanket down to examine the wound at his side. The worst of it is over. The fever hasn’t broken yet, but the infection isn’t spreading. His body’s weak, pale, sweat-soaked—but alive. Healing.

She dabs the scabbing flesh with a damp cloth and gently smooths his sweaty blond hair away from his forehead. He looks even younger when he’s like this. No snarling threats, no smug grin, no manic pirate fire glowing in his green eyes. Just... Chat. Sleeping.

Too handsome for his own good.

Even half-dead and unconscious, he manages to look like a portrait.

She hates that.

She’s never been this close to a man for so long. Her upbringing, her title–none of it prepared her for this. But it’s not just about proximity.

It’s about him.

The pirate who destroyed her ship. Who took her hostage. Who interrogated her for days about the crown’s secrets. Who laughs with his crew but talks to the sea like it's alive. Who doesn’t sleep unless the ship rocks a certain way. Who keeps a lazy black cat named Plagg and writes nonsense in the margins of maps like “listen here” and “it breathes here.”

She shouldn’t find him interesting.

She definitely shouldn’t find him charming.

And yet…

The door creaks, and she startles out of her daze.

Nino steps inside, balancing a wooden tray with a bowl of water and some bread. He gives her a soft look, one too tired to pretend.

“Gonna try to get him to drink,” he mutters, setting the tray down.

Together, they lean over Chat Noir’s still form, trying to coax him awake. Nino taps his face. Marinette murmurs his name. He stirs—barely. Just a flutter of lashes, a twitch of his mouth.

But it’s enough.

They manage to tip the water gently against his lips, and after a few tries, he swallows. His throat bobs slowly. His breathing hitches.

His body is still limp, but he’s there, trapped behind the pain and the heat. They ease him back down, drape the damp cloth across his forehead.

A small meow pulls her attention.

Plagg, the lazy black cat, is curled up at the foot of the bed, blinking up at them. He stretches, purrs, and then lightly pats Chat’s boot with a soft paw.

Marinette can’t help the faint smile.

Nino clears his throat. “We’re stopping soon. Caribbean port. We’ll stock up on medicine, supplies."

She nods.

“You’re staying,” he adds. “Alix and Ivan, too. Just in case.”

“I figured,” she says quietly.

He lingers for a second, maybe watching her expression, maybe just thinking. Then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

The room is still once again.

A sigh escapes her lips as she tugs the blanket back over him and stands up. There’s nothing more she can do for now. She glances around his room.

It’s a mess.

Maps are scattered across his desk like fallen leaves, some folded badly, others ink-stained with hastily scribbled notes. His boots are kicked haphazardly beneath the chair. Empty bottles of god-knows-what roll lazily across the floor.

And then there’s his wardrobe.

Marinette eyes it.

Unlocked.

She glances at him again. Still unconscious. Not even twitching.

“Well,” she mutters, “you did say I’m not really a prisoner anymore.”

She crosses the room and opens the wardrobe.

Chaos.

Shirts crumpled. Belts tangled. A red scarf knotted around a sock for some reason. Coats shoved carelessly in like someone was running from something–probably the cannon fire or the call of the ocean.

She bites her lip.

Then, smirking, she plucks out a long black coat and tosses it around her shoulders.

Ten minutes later, Marinette is standing atop a stool, wielding a wooden spoon in her hand like a cutlass.

“Arrr! Ye dare challenge Captain Princess Marinette, scourge of the seas and slayer of sea beasts?!”

She spins in place, coat billowing around her, one of Chat Noir’s loose shirts tucked into her pants, she reckens with the smell, it hasnt been washed. She blushes a bit knowing his skin has once touched it. The belt is too long and droops to one side, but it just adds to the look.

She grabs a rolled-up map and points it dramatically at the cat, who stares up from the floor like this is the dumbest thing he’s ever seen.

“Plagg! Load the cannons! Bring me the royal jewels! And someone fetch me a better hat–this one smells like whiskey and wet rope!”

The cat yawns.

She continues undeterred.

“Fear me, foul pirates! I’ve taken the dreaded Chat Noir’s ship and now I rule this vessel! Bring me your treasure and your devotion!”

A low groan breaks her fantasy.

She freezes.

Whipping around, eyes wide, she sees him shift slightly in bed–one arm twitching, a low, pained sound rumbling from his throat.

Her heart jumps into her mouth.

“Shit—!”

She dives behind the desk, nearly tripping over her own makeshift sword in her panic. The coat slips from her shoulders and hits the floor with a dull whump. She peeks over the desk.

He’s still asleep. A grimace on his face. A fevered frown. No real awareness.

Thank the heavens.

Marinette slowly exhales, then glares down at herself–rumpled shirt, belt too big, the whole ridiculous pirate getup. Her face burns red as she mutters, “What am I doing?”

She gathers up the coat, folds it neatly, and sets it back on the chair.

The rest of his wardrobe? Still a disaster.

With a sigh of resignation, she gets to work folding his clothes, organizing the boots, and muttering under her breath.

“Stupid pirate. Can’t even fold a shirt. What kind of feared criminal wears socks with holes in them?”

The only reply is Plagg’s soft meow as he stretches and hops onto the desk, curling into a warm pile beside the scattered maps.

And Marinette, still red in the face, still slightly breathless from her roleplay, doesn’t dare look back at the man in the bed.

Just in case he was awake the whole time.

Which isn't really possible considering.

That would be so embarrassing though.

 

Notes:

Hope you liked this chapter! I tried to bring out our dorky Marinette a bit. Haha. Let me know what you guys thought of this chapter!

Chapter 18

Notes:

Sorry for the late upload the ao3 curse has landed upon me
Im a okay though so thats great.

Anyhoo. Chill chapter let's good

Five hours have passed since her ridiculous pirate performance. Five long, embarrassing hours. She’s spent most of that time pacing, cleaning, feeding Plagg, rechecking Chat Noir’s wound, and praying to the stars that he didn’t actually witness her sword-wielding display. The pirate captain hasn’t stirred much, though every now and then he lets out a soft groan or twitches against the heat.

The fever is holding steady.

Still way to high for her liking.

She’s just finished wringing out a cool cloth for his forehead when the door creaks open.

It’s Nino.

He steps inside with his usual composed gait. His eyes immediately find Chat Noir on the bed, and Marinette can see the tension ease slightly in his shoulders when he notices the pirate hasn’t worsened.

Marinette sets the cloth aside and lets out a sigh. “Still burning up,” she mutters. “But better than yesterday.”

“Good,” Nino says, setting the tray down. “You’ve been doing good work.”

She raises a brow at the rare praise. “I’m surprised you trust me alone with him.”

“I don’t,” he answers plainly. “But I trust that you care enough about not being stranded to keep him alive.”

She smirks faintly at the honesty. “Fair enough.”

They sit in silence for a moment. The kind of quiet that teeters on awkwardness, broken only by the creaking of the wood and the occasional splash of waves brushing against the hull. Then Marinette, unable to shake a certain curiosity that’s been gnawing at her since the first time she saw Chat Noir stare longingly out at the ocean, decides to ask:

“Are you two like…friends? Or just crewmates. You seem to be the only person who constantly checks on him.”

Nino doesn't answer right away. He leans back in the small chair beside the bed and studies her, as though weighing the question.

“We're best friends,” he says eventually. “Been through everything together. Hes saved my life more times than I can count, and I've done the same for him. Doesn't mean I always understand him, though.”

Marinette tilts her head at that. “You mean the whole…sea thing?”

He snorts, “exactly. His weird obsession with the ocean, the way he thinks the ship has a soul, the way the wind speaks to him. That's not something I can relate to.” He complains, in what seems like a sarcastic tone.

“Are you certain it's not real?” She asks softly. “Or just something he made up at some point? To what–feel less alone?”

That makes Nino pause.

“I don't know,” he says at last. “But he believes it. And when he listens to it, we usually avoid crazy disasters. So…I’ve just stopped questioning it.”

“Ive only seen pieces of it,” she admits, almost in a whisper. “Whenever he visits my cell it's like he's always hearing something. Something I can't.” She shakes her head. “I didn't much care about the weird behaviour at first but I realize now he was probably hearing something.”

Nino's jaw clenches slightly at that. He doesn’t like talking about this. She can tell. There’s something he’s holding back. She understands he's probably not willing to admit the full truth in fear of her taking advantage of it. 

Still, after a moment of silence, she huffs lightly and mutters, “Must be hard... taking care of a lunatic.”

That finally earns a small laugh from him. Not loud–but real.

“Yeah. It is,” Nino admits. “He’s my best friend, but gods, he’s a lot. Stubborn, paranoid, dramatic. He barely sleeps. Gets lost in his head half the time. I swear if I didnt know him well, I’d think he was mental.”

Marinette chuckles. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“Don’t get me started,” he says, shaking his head with a tired grin. “But he’s a good captain. Keeps us alive. Even if he loses his mind a little more every year.”

Marinette hesitates, then says, “I have a best friend too. Her name’s Alya.”

Nino perks up a bit. “That’s a beautiful name.”

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Marinette replies without hesitation, her smile softening. “She’s technically a maid in my kingdom, but we’ve been friends since we were children. We used to sneak out together. She always wanted to see the world. I hope she’s okay.”

He watches her expression shift–nostalgia and concern tangled together in a tight knot across her features.

“Sounds like she’d raise hell if someone like me took you hostage,” Nino says.

Marinette smirks. “Oh, definitely. You’d be dead in a week.”

He laughs again, though this time it’s quieter. “Thankfully it was Chat then. He can handle himself better with women than I can.” His eyes flick to man. The pirate captain lets out a quiet, pained breath but doesn’t stir. Still out cold.

“I want to help,” Nino says, more seriously now. “With... the medicine stuff. Can you teach me?”

Marinette doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

She grabs the rag and the flask and motions him closer. He kneels beside her, and she demonstrates how she cools Chat’s fever–where to press the cloth, how to change his bandage without aggravating the wound.

“Be gentle here,” she explains, her fingers brushing just below the bullet graze. “Too much pressure and you’ll wake him. Or worse.”

Nino watches closely. Every motion. Every word. He doesn’t write it down, but she can see him memorizing her movements. 

For the next twenty minutes, they work together. She shows him how to change his bandage, look for infection, and explains to him why she had to cauterize the wound.

Finally, when Chat is settled and Plagg curls up by his arm again, Nino stands and stretches.

“I’ll take the night shift,” he says. “You get some rest.”

“I’ll try,” Marinette replies, though she doubts she will.

Before she gets up to sleep on one of the chairs, Nino gives her a look. Less guarded this time. Though still cautious.

“Thank you.” He whispers, like he fears any louder it will ruin the peace.

She only smiles as he turns away to assess his best friend. Marinette keeps her gaze on his back for a few more seconds until she lets herself rest on Chat Noir's office chair.

She promptly passes out.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Something brushes her face.

Soft. Furry.

Annoying.

Marinette jerks awake, her eyes squinting as the sunlight presses through the slats in the ship's hull. It’s warm, but not unpleasant. What’s unpleasant is the damn tail in her face. She blinks rapidly, frowning as she bats the soft offender away. It’s Plagg. Of course. The little black furry menace is loafing on the armrest of her chair turned away, tail swishing with lazy satisfaction. Completely unbothered by having used her face as a smacking tool.

“Ugh, seriously?” she mutters, shoving him off with a groggy huff.

He hops to the floor with a disgruntled meow and trots toward the bed. His usual spot at the foot is warm with the sun peering down on the bed.

She stretches, letting her spine crack in protest from the stiff, unforgiving wood of the captain’s desk chair. God, her back. If she ever gets home…no, when she gets home, she is going to kiss her silk mattress and never take it for granted again.

Her eyes instinctively dart to the bed. To him.

Chat Noir hasn’t moved. Still flat on his back, beautiful golden hair slightly damp and scattered across the pillow, body unmoving except for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. His skin’s no longer as flushed, but his brow is damp with lingering sweat, and his lips still look dry. Not perfect. But… not worse.

And then she notices something else.

Nino.

Slumped. Face-first against the mattress, arms folded beside the captain.

Marinette lets out a disbelieving scoff. “Unbelievable.”

She crosses the room and smacks him (quite hard) on the back of the head.

Nino bolts upright like he’s been shot, blinking in every direction. “Wh–what!? Are we under attack?!”

No, you idiot,” she snaps, arms folded. “You fell asleep on watch duty.”

He groans, rubbing the back of his head where her palm struck. “Ugh... sorry. It was late and–I mean, he wasn’t dying anymore, so...”

“That doesn't mean you get free rein in resting your eyes when you feel like it! You’re lucky it’s me and not your insane sea-worshipping captain who found you.”

He snorts, clearly unbothered. “He’s not in a state to scold anyone.”

She arches her brow.

He sighs. “Okay, okay. You’re right.”

Marinette points a firm finger toward the door. “Why don't you do something for once and get some food. And also some water. If we’re lucky, he might drink something without our help today"

“Aye, aye, princess,” Nino says with a mock salute before yawning again and walking to the door. His steps are slow, but there’s a bit of hope in the way his shoulders lift, like the exhaustion is finally giving way to something lighter. “I’ll bring something for you too.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving only her, Plagg, and the ship's gentle creaking in the air. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and tries to think positive thoughts. As she exhales, her eyes open once again.

Her gaze returns to Chat Noir.

She walks back to the bed and sits in the chair Nino was slumped on not five minutes ago. It’s funny. Her first few days in his quarters had been marked by anxiety. Watching every step. Wary of everything. Now it’s… familiar. Still not comfortable, not entirely, but less daunting.

Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t been himself.

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s seen him weak. Quiet. Burning with fever and tangled in his sheets like any other pathetic man.

The kind of thing that forces you to see someone differently.

She reaches out and gently checks the cloth on his forehead. His skin is still warm. But not alarming. The fever’s been stubborn, yet steady. The worst of it is over.

“You better not die you damn fool,” she mutters under her breath. “After all you've done to me I can not believe I'm asking this of you.”

“But please, don't die on me.”

Plagg jumps onto the bed again and curls beside his master’s thigh. His purring starts softly, like a motor just warming up. It’s a sound she’s come to find… oddly reassuring.

She leans forward and rests her elbows on the edge of the bed, eyes lingering on Chat’s face.

Still sleeping.

Still that same serene expression. Like the storm outside never touched him.

How bizarre, to see a man known for cruelty and chaos lying so peaceful. Fragile. Even…human.

That, more than anything, throws her off balance.

She hates this part.

The part where her mind starts to wander. Where her thoughts betray her logic. Where her eyes linger too long on his lips, or the slope of his nose, or the way his hair sticks to his forehead.

She still hates him.

Still.

He raided her ship.

Murdered her guards.

Tore her world to shreds.

So why does she care if his fever breaks?

Why does she find herself stubbornly refusing to leave his side?

She keeps trying to remind herself it must be just a desperate reaction. Trust the captor so they trust you.He’s been the only person consistently near her (except for Nino), the only person speaking to her like she matters. She’s just responding to proximity. 

But gods, it’s annoying.

And exhausting.

She leans her forehead against the mattress edge and sighs deeply.

She doesn't want to admit it aloud, but she wants him to get better. Not just so she can be free. Not just so she can go home. But because something inside her hopes they can get to know each other better.

The light filters in like melted gold.

it’s just her and the pirate captain who somehow, against her better judgment, has started to matter to her.

Though too soon, the door creaks open with Nino’s foot as he kicks it gently, arms full. He’s balancing a large jug of water against his chest and has three warm loaves of bread nestled in the crook of his elbow. Marinette straightens from where she’s been sitting beside the bed, brushing some nonexistent dust from her pants.

“I brought the goods,” he announces, slightly out of breath. “Ivan’s recipe. Meaning it’s edible, probably.”

She quickly moves to help him as he shuffles to the desk. She takes two of the loaves, setting them down carefully on a relatively clear spot among the clutter of maps, ink stains, and torn bits of parchment. Her eye lands on it again.

The journal.

That damned black leather-bound book, always just within reach and yet forbidden.

She never meant to touch it. That first time, when Chat Noir had brought her into his cabin during the storm, she’d only glanced at it. Curiosity. A habit. But then her fingers brushed the spine–and he’d burst in as wet as can get, snatching it away with a sharpness that made her feel like she's the thieving pirate and not him

She remembers his eyes. Wide. Almost fearful. Not angry in the violent way she'd expected, but vulnerable. Guarded. Like she’d crossed a line that even he didn’t quite understand.

She hasn’t gone near it since.

But now, as she straightens a paper that was bent under one of the loaves, her gaze lingers a little longer than it should. The book sits there, untouched for days. Closed tightly. Just barely visible between the jug of water and a map of the southern isles.

She turns just in time to watch Nino… awkwardly trying to shove a piece of bread into Chat Noir’s mouth.

Marinette’s mouth falls open.

“What are you doing?” she asks flatly, stunned.

“Feeding him,” Nino says like it’s obvious. “You said he needs to eat.”

“Not like that!”

She stomps over and yanks the bread out of his hand, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re going to choke him or jam his teeth loose or–oh my god, move.”

He throws his hands up and backs off with a shrug, grinning like a child caught stealing sweets. “Alright, alright. You do it then, Miss Princess.”

She rolls her eyes at the title on title nickname, but kneels next to the bed. This is the first time she’s tried to actively wake him up, not just checking his temperature or dabbing at sweat.

Her fingers are gentle as she brushes the hair from his forehead. He’s still warm. Still pale. But not ghostly. Her heart is hammering with the fear that he won’t respond. That he’ll just lie there like a lifeless husk.

“Captain,” she whispers.

No response.

She tries again, voice a little firmer this time. “Chat Noir. Wake up.”

Nothing.

Her hand moves to his shoulder. She shakes him very lightly.

His brow twitches.

Nino shifts behind her. “Wait–was that–?”

“Shh.”

She leans closer. Her face just inches from his.

“Chat Noir,” she says again, her voice steady. “Wake up. You need to eat. We didn’t bring you back from the brink just to let you starve now.”

His eyelids flutter.

A sharp breath escapes her lungs in relief.

His head turns slightly, and for the first time in over a week, two brilliant green eyes blink open. Very hazy and slow, but unmistakably alive. He’s disoriented. His gaze takes a few seconds to register her face, then Nino’s behind her, then the ceiling. A dry cough rattles in his throat.

She lifts the jug. “Water first.”

With Nino’s help, they prop him up carefully. He’s almost dead weight between them, his head falling forward a few times before he catches himself, but when she lifts the jug to his lips, he drinks. Slowly. Like his body is learning how again.

She holds his shoulder steady while Nino braces his back.

“Small sips,” she murmurs. “Good. Good… That’s enough for now.”

His glaze away but still open. He’s awake. Present.

“Bread?” Nino offers, this time more gently.

Marinette nods, tearing a piece and holding it near his mouth. He chews slowly. It’s painful to watch at first–like his jaw forgot what chewing was–but he manages to swallow. One bite. Then another.

By the third, she sees something incredible.

Nino is grinning. Painfully so.

Its radiant. A glimmer of unfiltered joy. His whole face lights up at the sight of those emerald eyes and that slow, sluggish bite of bread.

And at this moment she knows, everything will be okay.

 

 

Chapter 19

Notes:

Heyyyy.... sorry for such a long wait.

School is picking my butt. I have grade 11 functions rn augh, im not a math person at all. Its ok though, ill make it through.

Anyhoo. I hope there are people still reading this lol, thank you!

 

 

It’s been a full day since Chat Noir last opened his eyes. Marinette has learned the rhythm of his fever–the moments when he stirs, the quiet hours when he falls back into stillness, and the occasional restless shift when he mutters words that don’t make sense. Twice now he’s whispered things that sound like fragments of orders, or fragments of prayers to the sea, or maybe nothing at all. Each time, she’s leaned closer, just to catch whatever slipped past his lips.

 

And if she’s honest with herself, it’s… cute.

 

Unfairly so.

 

How can someone look so damn good while sweating through his sheets, clammy with fever, and greasy from days of neglect? The golden strands of his hair fall over his eyes like threads of sunlight, framing his pale skin in a way that makes him look–tragically beautiful. Infuriatingly beautiful.

 

She forces herself to look away whenever that thought creeps too far. It’s exhaustion, she tells herself. Not attraction.

Although shes accepted for a while now she finds him attractive, she isnt willing to make choices solely because of it.

Nino and Ivan have been her only consistent company. Ivan usually says little–just brings supplies, checks in, nods at her with that serious look of his before disappearing again. Nino, though… Nino talks. A lot. And, oddly, the conversations have gotten easier.

 

Not sharp, not strained. Just… conversations.

 

Sometimes about food. Sometimes about his memories with the captain. Sometimes about nothing at all. And she surprises herself with how much relief she feels every time the cabin door opens and Nino steps inside. She shouldn’t care. She’s a hostage. These men are criminals. Her “bond” with them shouldn’t matter.

 

And yet–her chest loosens a little whenever they laugh. She doesn’t like admitting that. Not even to herself.

 

So she spins it differently in her mind. It must be survival. A trick of the brain. I’m just relieved because being closer to them means my chances of escape are higher. Yes. That’s all it is.

 

She tells herself this. Repeats it like prayer.

But deep down, she knows it’s a lie.

 

A sound breaks her thoughts. A low groan from the bed.

 

Marinette’s head snaps toward him.

 

Chat Noir stirs, shifting weakly under the sheets. His breathing hitches, and for a moment, she panics–wondering if it’s the fever climbing again. But then his eyes open.

 

Not wide. Not fully. But enough.

 

And this time, they’re different. Less glazed. Not the unfocused green marbles they were before. He’s present–fogged, yes, but present.

 

She leans in. “Chat Noir?”

 

His lips move. The sound is barely there, rasping and raw. She leans closer still, nearly brushing his face with her hair.

 

“...Mari…nette…”

 

Her breath catches in her throat.

 

Her name.

 

Not “princess.” Not “royal hostage.” Not even the sarcastic nicknames he sometimes threw at her during their brief, barbed exchanges before the fever.

 

Her name.

 

Slurred, broken, fragile, but real.

 

Her chest aches in a way she doesn’t want to examine. She swallows hard, brushing a damp lock of hair off his forehead.

 

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling despite herself. “I’m here. You’re alright.”

 

His lips twitch. Maybe it’s meant to be a smile. Maybe it’s just a fever pulling at his muscles. But the weight of it–of him knowing her name, saying it with what little strength he has–sinks deep into her bones.

 

She exhales slowly, steadying herself. Her hand lingers against his temple longer than it should.

 

The sound of the cabin door creaking open jolts Marinette like a guilty child caught red-handed. She instantly yanks her hand away from Chat Noir’s face, retreating into herself, cheeks burning with heat she refuses to acknowledge.

 

Nino steps in, balancing a tray under one arm and a grin plastered across his face. But his attention doesn’t so much as flicker to her—his eyes go straight to the bed.

 

The look on him is unmistakable. Relief. Pure, unguarded, soul-deep relief.

 

“Captain,” he breathes, setting the tray down on the desk without care for the bread rolling off the plate. He’s already at the bedside, leaning down to catch his captain’s half-focused gaze. “You’re awake.”

 

Chat Noir’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. His voice is rough, gravel dragging against his throat. “Obviously."

 

“About damn time,” Nino chuckles, though it breaks into something close to a laugh of disbelief. His eyes are glassy, his grin crooked. He reaches out and grips his captain’s shoulder gently. “You scared the hell outta us.”

 

Marinette sits stiff in her chair, watching the exchange in silence. There’s an intimacy in the way Nino looks at him, speaks to him. They’re not just crew. Not just captain and right-hand man. This is friendship–old, battle-tested, the kind of bond she’s never really had with anyone except Alya.

 

Chat Noir rasps, “...Are we safe?”

 

Nino nods quickly. “Ship’s fine. Crew’s fine. Alix kept the cannons hot while you were out, Ivan doubled the watches. Nobody’s slacking, promise.”

 

A weak hum of satisfaction escapes Chat. His gaze shifts sideways, briefly brushing Marinette before sliding back to Nino. He doesn’t comment, but his awareness is sharper now.

 

“You feeling alright, Captain?” Nino presses, softer this time.

 

“As alright as a man with a hole in his side can be,” Chat Noir mutters, words clearer than the last time he stirred. His tone almost sounds like his old self–dry, sardonic.

 

Nino snorts. “Still got that mouth on you. Guess you’re not dying yet.”

 

It’s only then that Marinette rises from her chair, unable to sit still any longer. She edges toward the bed, hovering nervously as if intruding on something she’s not meant to witness. “He shouldn’t stay in those filthy sheets,” she says, the steel in her tone betraying her nerves. “They’re damp with sweat and blood. It’ll only worsen the wound.”

 

Nino looks at her, then back at his captain, then nods once. “She’s right.”

 

Together, they brace Chat Noir to sit.

 

It isn’t easy. He grits his teeth, hissing as pain lances through his side. His head drops forward, almost folding in on himself if not for Nino holding him up. There is seat beading instantly across his brow. Marinette instinctively slides closer, pressing a steadying hand to his back.

 

“Easy,” she murmurs, though she’s not sure if she’s speaking to him or to herself.

 

They work carefully, Nino supporting most of his captain’s weight while Marinette peels away the soiled linens. The sheets stick, tacky with dried blood, and she winces despite herself. Chat Noir exhales sharply through his nose, but doesn’t make a sound beyond that.

 

When they finally maneuver him upright, propped against the headboard, Marinette fetches the fresh bandages she’s been using these past days. With Nino holding him steady, she unwraps the old dressings, cleans the wound as best she can, and reapplies the cloth snug against his ribs.

 

Chat Noir breathes through it all, shallow and measured, his eyes half-lidded but awake. 

 

When it’s done, he leans back against the pillows, chest heaving. His gaze flicks between them, settling on Nino with something like gratitude–though of course, he’d never say it aloud.

 

Nino grins again, slapping the edge of the mattress. “See? Not so bad. New sheets, fresh bandages. You’ll be chasing down ships in no time, Captain.”

 

Chat Noir exhales a faint laugh, rasped and low. “We’ll see.”

 

Marinette, standing over him, catches the way his eyes soften for just a second before he closes them again. She doesn’t let herself linger on it. Not when her heart is already thundering at the sound of his laugh, rough as it is.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

 

It has been a few days since the gunshot tore through the calm order of the ship, and somehow, Chat Noir is already striding around like he hadn’t nearly bled out in his bed. Stubborn doesn’t even begin to describe him. He’s up, pacing across the deck, his coat half-buttoned, shirt collar loose, hair still unkempt from fevers and restless nights. His voice cuts across the salty air, barking orders that ripple down the lines of his crew.

 

And what surprises Marinette most? Not one man argues. Not a single complaint, not even the faintest grumble. They jump at his words, scrambling to adjust sails, check knots, clean rifles, or haul barrels. His authority carries weight heavier than any musket or cannon could. She watches with sharp eyes, taking it in. It’s not fear alone—though the fear is certainly there. It’s loyalty. Gratitude.

 

They’re thankful their captain is alive.

 

Marinette leans against the railing, her skirts tugged by the wind, watching it all unfold. The men grin as they pass him, slapping shoulders, offering small, relieved nods. He doesn’t return the gestures, but there’s a flicker in his eyes when he sees their faces. Almost like he’s letting himself enjoy the sight of them moving in unison again. His ship. His family.

 

She bites her lip when she sees him pause, hand pressing against his side just briefly. A tiny wince escapes before his jaw tightens, and he’s back to shouting at Ivan about ballast or laughing at Alix’s sharp insults as she fires off commands of her own.

 

It must be hard. Keeping up this iron façade when his body is still weak. He’d rather keelhaul himself than let them see him falter.

 

The biggest difference between before and after the gunshot, Marinette realizes, is her freedom. No more cold, damp cell. No more iron bars. Now, she can walk the deck as she pleases. Of course, Nino or Ivan always keeps a casual eye on her, but it’s not the same suffocating isolation.

 

And being up here? It’s… fascinating.

 

She’s never seen work like this, not even in her kingdom’s harbors. Men swarming up rigging like spiders on silk, sails catching the wind like the wings of beasts. The smell of salt and tar, the creak of wood, the snap of ropes—every bit of it a living rhythm. The ship is alive.

 

But if she’s honest with herself, most of her attention isn’t on the ropes or the sails.

 

It’s on him.

 

Chat Noir, standing tall at the center of it all, somehow steadier than the sea itself. Even when his hand hovers at his ribs, even when his steps falter for just a second before recovering, he commands like nothing can break him. His hair, damp with spray, gleams under the sunlight, golden against the black of his coat. His voice cuts through the chaos—sharp, steady, unwavering.

 

He looks like he belongs here. Like he is the sea itself.

 

Marinette hates the thought. Hates the way her chest tightens when his laugh carries across the deck, hates the way her eyes keep finding him even when she tries to focus on the horizon. He’s a monster. A murderer. The man who raided her ship, slaughtered her guards, dragged her into this nightmare.

 

And yet, here she is. Watching him.

 

Watching him, and wondering how someone could be so ruthless yet so fiercely loved by those around him.

 

Her hands grip the railing tighter as she forces her gaze away, glaring at the waves. Her crush on Chat has been obvious to her for a while now but her heart and brain are at war with eachother. 

 

Still, when he turns suddenly, barking another order with a grin splitting across his face, she feels her breath hitch before she looks anywhere else.

 

Marinette starts walking backwards in hopes of slipping away to rest. Before she can even take two steps away from Chat Noir’s orbit, a shadow falls across her. She blinks and finds Alix standing there, arms crossed, a wicked smirk tugging her lips.

 

“Oi, princess,” Alix barks, her sharp tone cutting through the din of the deck. “What d’you think you’re doing? Standing around like a lost duck? You’re outta your cell now, means you pull your weight like the rest of us.”

 

Marinette blinks, genuinely confused. “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me.” Alix plants her fists on her hips, glaring her down despite being half a head shorter. “No free rides on this ship. If you’re walkin’ the deck, you work for the captain, same as me. Scrubbing, hauling, mending–you name it.”

 

Marinette’s mouth opens, then closes again. She stares down at her skirts, her clean hands. Work? She’s a princess, for heaven’s sake. Her idea of chores involved delicate embroidery and carefully supervised lessons in cooking–not swabbing filthy boards with seawater and sweat.

 

Before she can form a retort, a voice rolls over the deck, smooth and commanding.

 

“Alix.”

 

Both women turn as Chat Noir strides down from the quarterdeck, his presence pulling eyes without him even trying. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t need to. His tone alone halts Alix mid-step.

 

“She’s not working the deck.”

 

Alix raises a brow, unimpressed, but she obeys, never disagreeing with her captain. “Tch. Royal hands too delicate, huh? Don’t come crying when she gets soft sittin’ on her throne.” She gives Marinette a pointed look, scoffs, and stomps off, muttering under her breath about pampered princesses.

 

And just like that, the chaos of the crew swallows her up, leaving Marinette and Chat Noir standing side by side, suddenly alone.

 

Marinette swallows, heat rising to her cheeks despite herself. Now that no one’s between them, she notices things she never let herself before.

 

How he towers over her, his frame broad and unyielding in his black coat. How the faintest hint of a goatee shadows his jaw–so pale and blond it could be missed, unless you were standing dangerously close. Which she is.

 

Her eyes betray her, sliding up to his face. A bead of sweat rolls from his temple, gliding down the sharp cut of his cheekbone before disappearing into the stubble at his chin.

 

Her stomach twists. Goodness…

 

Why is she noticing this now?

 

She tears her gaze away, heart pounding, cursing herself silently. This is exactly the problem. She can’t let her mind wander like this–not about him. Not about the man who ruined her life.

 

Chat Noir doesn’t seem to notice her inner turmoil. Or maybe he does, and he’s simply too composed to show it. He adjusts his gloves, eyes sweeping the deck as though nothing in the world could touch him. (Except the guy who shot him a week prior.)

 

Marinette forces herself to look anywhere else-at the ropes, the sky, the damn planks under her feet-anywhere but at the pirate captain standing too close, casting too big of a shadow. Her face is as hot as the sun at this point. 

Shes a little worried if she caught chats fever. But quickly dismissed that because it wasnt a viral infection it was a wound infection that caused it. 

But holy smokes even her hands are red. She needs to get out of here. 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir opens his mouth, breath drawn for some quip or command—he isn’t even sure which—when Marinette suddenly bolts.

 

Her skirts whip around her ankles as she sprints across the deck, the startled faces of the crew turning after her like a row of swiveling cannon mouths. She doesn’t even pause to glance behind her. She darts straight past the rigging, past the crates, past the bewildered Alix, and disappears into the one place he didn’t expect—his cabin.

 

Chat stands there, jaw parted, utterly dumbfounded.

 

“...What the hell?” he mutters under his breath, green eyes narrowing, then widening again. Out of everywhere she could have run—to the crew’s quarters, below deck, even back to her damn cell—she chooses his room?

 

The strange part isn’t that she ran. No, he expected that–he always expects her to flee from him, even when she doesn’t. What catches him off guard is the tug in his chest, the sheer lack of irritation. He should be annoyed. That’s his private space, his maps, his diary, his everything. But instead, his lips twitch.

 

He finds it… amusing.

 

“Crazy little princess,” he mutters, shaking his head. His clawed glove flexes against the wood railing, and then he exhales, a soft huff of laughter slipping past his lips.

 

Well. Whatever. Let her sulk in there. If she thinks hiding in his cabin saves her from him, she’s in for a rude awakening.

 

He turns on his heel, shrugging the moment off, and strides back toward the crew. His voice booms across the deck, sharp and commanding.

 

“Oi! You think storm season means slack season? Haul those ropes tighter, I want ‘em so taut they sing like violin strings! Kim, if you so much as drop that barrel I’ll have you carrying two! Alix, stop pretending to argue and get back to the damn cannons!”

 

The crew scrambles, their captain’s bark more than enough to whip them into motion.

 

Only when Ivan lumbers up beside him does Chat pause, leaning a hand against the mainmast to ease the sting in his side.

 

“Cap’n,” Ivan rumbles, voice low and steady. “When we stoppin’ at the next port? Rations are thinning out. Men are gonna get restless.”

 

Chat’s jaw tightens. He hates that Ivan’s right. He’s been confined to bed for days, only just regaining enough strength to stand at all, and the sharp throb in his side reminds him with every breath that he’s still not fully healed. His body betrays him with a brief wince before he covers it with a scoff.

 

He should snap at Ivan. That’s what he normally does. But instead, he finds himself glancing toward his cabin door, the memory of Marinette’s hand on his brow, her voice steady and patient while he drifted in and out of fever. Nino’s watchful eye never straying from his bedside. The two of them, keeping him tethered.

 

For once, he lets the softness win.

 

“We’ll stop,” he says, voice gruff, but quieter. “Closest port we can find. I don’t care if it’s a hole-in-the-wall dock. We need food, rum, and…” he trails off, the corner of his mouth twitching as if admitting it is somehow a weakness. “...tonics. Medicines. Whatever we can get our hands on.”

 

Ivan nods, approval flickering across his face. Chat exhales, rolling his shoulders, already barking another round of orders to disguise the fact that, for once, he gave in too easily.

 

But when his gaze flickers back to the door of his cabin, and he remembers the ridiculous image of a princess running into the wolf’s den instead of away from it, he almost laughs again.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

The door slams behind her, cutting off the sounds of the deck–the shouts, the boots on planks, Chat’s commanding voice. Her lungs burn as though she’s been chased, though no one’s following her. She presses her back against the door, heart pounding in her ears.

 

And–wait a minute. 

 

She’s in his cabin.

 

Of all the places on this damn ship she could’ve run to–her old cell, the galley, even just down the hall–she chooses the one room of the guy she is trying to avoid. His space. His world. The room of the man she’s been trying to distance herself from since the moment she was dragged aboard.

 

“What is wrong with me?” she whispers, pressing her palms into her flushed face.

 

The air smells like him—sea salt, leather, ink, and the faint trace of smoke from candles that burned too long. His journal sits on the desk like an accusation. His maps are spread out as if he left them mid-thought. Every detail screams *his presence*, and she feels like an intruder in a lion’s den.

 

No—cat's den. That’s what he is. A panthwr dressed in black leather, with a grin sharp enough to cut. And here she is, willingly throwing herself into his lair.

 

She sinks down onto the edge of the bed before she even realizes she’s moved. Her fingers twist in the blanket, and her thoughts spiral.

 

Why him? Why now? Why does her first instinct–when he stands too close, when he looks at her too directly–always end with her running toward him, not away? It makes no sense.

 

Her chest tightens, the confusion eating her alive.

 

“Gosh,” she mutters, tugging at her braid with frustration. “I need sleep. That’s all this is. My brain’s fried. I’m starting to act like him."

 

Sleep deprivation—that is usually Chat Noir’s vice, not hers. Nino’s constant yapping about it had drilled that fact into her head, and she’s witnessed it herself: Chat prowling the deck at ungodly hours, shadows under his eyes, moving like a restless phantom. He lives on exhaustion like it’s part of his bloodstream.

 

And now? She’s falling into the same trap.

 

Her body aches from days of tending wounds, her mind frays from constantly strategizing escape routes that never pan out. She’s running on fumes, and it shows.

 

With a groan, she collapses sideways, face-first into his pillow. The scent hits her immediately–him, again, as though the fabric itself clings to his presence. She should recoil. She should get up. She should not be lying here of all places.

 

But the weight of her exhaustion is stronger than her pride. Her eyelids droop, her limbs heavy. The absurdity of it all–the princess hiding in the pirate’s bed, the cat outside yelling at his crew while she curls up in his comfy bed–blurs into something that feels almost funny. Almost.

 

“Just for a moment,” she mumbles into the pillow, already slipping.

 

And in her sleep-addled brain, she doesn’t even notice when her hand drifts to where his warmth lingers faintly in the sheets.

 

Within minutes, Marinette is asleep in Chat Noirs bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

 

Something brushes against her cheek–gentle, almost reverent. Marinette stirs, her lashes fluttering as her senses return sluggishly. She blinks, and the first thing she sees when her eyes focus is him.

 

Chat Noir.

 

His face is close, too close, his green eyes watching her with a softness she doesn’t recognize. For a fleeting, fragile second, she feels utterly at peace. His presence doesn’t scare her, doesn’t rile her up like she'd expect. Her body, still heavy with sleep, wants nothing more than to sink back into the pillow, to let herself be carried by that comfort.

 

But then the realization hits like cold water. She jerks upright with a gasp, nearly colliding with his shoulder.

 

“What–!?” she sputters, words tumbling before her mind can catch them. Her heart is beating way too fast for someone who was just asleep. “I–I wasn’t–I didn’t mean to–"

 

She’s embarrassed. Mortified. Sleeping in his bed, of all places?! She wanted to avoid him at all costs, to keep whatever confusing, treacherous feelings she has under control, and now fate seems to be mocking her.

 

But before she can scramble through some sort of apology, Chat interrupts her in that maddeningly calm tone of his.

 

“We’ll be stopping at a port soon,” he says, stepping back, giving her space. His hand leaves her face, but the ghost of it lingers on her skin. “Food, water, rum–and most importantly, medicine.”

 

Medicine. He says it casually, as though it’s just another item on the list. But she knows. The way he presses his hand, almost unconsciously, to the spot where his wound still festers tells her exactly who it’s really for.

 

Marinette exhales slowly, tension melting from her shoulders as she avoids his eyes. “I see.”

 

Her mind drifts back unbidden, to the one and only time she’s gone to port with him. Rope tied snugly around her wrist, her other end fastened to his–handcuffed together like a reluctant pair. She remembers the weight of the crowd pressing in, the bright chaos of the marketplace, and the way he bought an obscene amount of rum. And one specific memory that always makes her stifle a giggle. 

She bites her lip, caught off guard by the flicker of excitement in her chest. Not excitement at the prospect of escape–though that should have been her first thought–but at the idea of going with him.

 

One-on-one. Just the two of them.

 

The realization makes her cheeks burn, and she hates herself for it.

 

Fate, it seems, is cruelly insistent on throwing her back into his orbit.

 

Chat Noir rises without another word, his movements fluid despite the faint stiffness she knows still lingers in his side. He steps to the door, pushing it open, and glances back at her in a silent command. Follow.

 

Marinette hesitates, only for a moment, then pushes herself off his bed and trails after him. It’s only as she steps into the corridor that she notices something strange. The floor beneath her isn’t rocking, not the way she’s grown accustomed to. The ship is steady, eerily steady.

 

Her heart leaps when it clicks–they’re already docked.

 

By the time she climbs up onto the deck, her suspicions are confirmed. Through the bright glare of the sun, she sees the lines of roofs and bustling streets beyond the docks. A port. A town. Freedom within reach–if she dares.

 

She half-expects him to produce a rope then and there, to tie her wrist to his as before. She braces herself for the scrape of hemp against her skin, the humiliating tether that announces to the world she’s a captive. But… nothing comes.

 

Chat Noir just keeps walking down the plank, glancing back only once to ensure she’s following. He leaves her wrists free.

 

The giddy warmth that blossoms in her chest is as ridiculous as it is overwhelming. Trust. He trusts her? She can hardly believe it, but the thought makes her straighten her spine. If he’s giving her this much freedom, she won’t betray it. Not today. So she stays close, always in his line of sight, resisting every irrational urge to glance toward alleyways or boats that might mean escape.

 

And then–just when she’s found her rhythm beside him–his hand brushes hers. Lightly, testing. When she doesn’t pull away, his fingers slip around hers in a casual, almost careless way, as though it’s nothing. But her face burns instantly, betraying her.

 

Her heart hammers so loudly she’s sure he must hear it. Her eyes dart up, searching his face. And maybe it’s just her imagination, maybe it’s the heat of the sun, but… is that colour on his cheeks? A faint flush, hiding beneath his usual composure?

 

She doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare move. She just lets her hand stay in his, and for once, she doesn’t fight the flush that spreads down her neck.

 

The streets of the small town open before them, full of noise and life. Merchants shouting, children running past, sailors drunk already though it’s barely midday. Chat Noir’s gaze flickers across it all, sharp and predatory, scanning every corner, every alley, every face for threat.

 

She tears her eyes from him to glance at Nino, who’s already scampering off toward the nearest stall with a gleam in his eye–no doubt hunting down rum before his captain can. Typical.

 

But what she’s really watching for isn’t Nino. It’s Chat. Specifically… his walk.

 

That first time in port, she noticed it–how he wobbled just enough to betray years at sea, how the solid ground betrayed him more than waves ever did. She’d teased him for it. Maybe too sharply.

 

And now, as she looks closely, she sees it again–only it’s different. He hides it well. His steps are deliberate, measured, precise, his spine so stiff it’s almost unnatural. He must be painfully aware of it now, concealing the wobble, refusing to let her see it again.

 

That realization makes her lips twitch, an ache between amusement and something softer.

 

He’s not just a pirate, not just her captor. He’s a man. A man who gets embarrassed. A man who maybe wants to look good in her eyes.

 

The thought unsettles her more than the hand still locked with hers.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir is losing his mind.

 

Why–why–did he take her hand?

 

It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t necessity. He can’t even excuse it as keeping her from bolting into the crowd–because truth be told, she’s walking right beside him like the perfect little captive, no rope needed. No, he initiated it. He sought her hand. Held it. And Is now currently holding it.

 

And now every nerve in his body is rioting.

 

Her fingers are small, delicate, warm against his calloused palm, and somehow the contrast makes his pulse stutter out of control. He’s sweating. He’s flushed. He’s–God help him–nervous. He doesn’t get nervous. Not during storms, not during raids, not even with a pistol aimed at his head. But now? Walking down a crowded port with her hand in his? He’s choking on nerves like some green boy seeing a girl for the first time.

 

What in the hell is wrong with him?

 

His eyes dart wildly, anything to distract himself. Stalls of fruit, racks of cheap cloth, a cart full of dried fish baking under the sun. He stares at them like they hold answers. Maybe he’s sick again. Maybe the fever’s back. That has to be it. Because otherwise…

 

Otherwise, this is something far worse.

 

His chest tightens as her hand shifts slightly in his. Did she notice his palm is clammy? She must have. God, he’s embarrassing himself. He clenches his jaw, forcing his gaze forward, refusing to look at her, because if he does–if he sees her face–he’ll spiral.

 

Food. Focus on food.

 

There–thank the heavens–a vendor hawking bread, meat pies, baskets of fruit. Perfect. A task, something to cling to. He tells himself to focus on logistics: Ivan’s handling medicine, Nino’s supposed to be finding water, though he knows damn well the man sprinted straight for rum instead. Its fine. Whatever. Chat will buy the food and maybe rum himself, so no one notices the cracks forming in their oh-so-fearsome captain.

 

But none of that quiets the gnawing truth.

 

Her hand is still in his. And he likes it. He likes it too much.

 

Get a grip, Adrien.

 

His mind is spiraling now, faster than cannon fire. Maybe it’s because he’s on land, away from the endless murmur of the sea that usually steadies him. Maybe it’s because he’s been half-mad from fever and weakness and now every emotion is stronger than it should be. Or maybe–God forbid–it’s because he actually… likes her.

 

Is this what a crush feels like?

 

Him, Chat Noir, the most feared pirate in these seas–reduced to a sweating, self-conscious fool because a princess has soft hands and looked cute when she was asleep.

 

Cute. That’s what undid him.

 

The memory slams into him like a damn broadside. Her head tilted, dark lashes resting against her cheeks, her face soft and unguarded. And his own stupid hand reaching out, brushing against her skin. Caressing. What the hell was that anyway? What possessed him to do that!? 

 

He groans under his breath, dragging his free hand over his face like he can scrub the thought away. He’s slipping. He’s losing it. The sea isn’t whispering, his instincts aren’t guiding him–he’s on his own, and he’s unraveling.

 

A pirate with a crush. On his hostage. On a princess.

 

It’s madness. Pure madness.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chat Noir’s arms are loaded down with far more meat and bread than he planned. He doesn’t even care—anything to get this port stop over with. His boots thump against solid ground, and the longer he walks, the more restless he feels. He hates it. Land doesn’t sway like the sea. It always feels so wrong. He wants the sound of the beautiful sea, the sound of her voice guiding him. Hes literally shaking with excitement, to feel the sea in him once again. 

 

But beside him, Marinette is walking light, her eyes wide as she takes in the stalls. And when her gaze catches on one, he notices. Jewelry–thin silver chains, polished stones, glimmering trinkets. But what holds her longer are a pair of earrings.

 

Red with little black dots.

 

Ladybug earrings. Cute. Innocent. Completely unfit for a pirate ship, and yet–when he sees her linger, Chat can’t resist.

 

“You want them,” he says simply, already shifting toward the stall.

 

Her head snaps toward him, flustered. “No! Don’t–don’t waste your coins on me. You need it for supplies!”

 

But he’s already pulling out gold, dropping it into the vendor’s greedy palm. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even think. He just picks them up, holds them out.

 

“Cute suits you.”

 

She flushes deep red, taking them with trembling fingers, muttering something like a thank you–gratitude tangled with embarrassment. He smirks faintly at her reaction, the coil in his chest loosening for once.

 

Then, just as fast, it tightens again.

 

Because she appears.

 

A woman with hair the color of sunlight and eyes sharp as the sea. She moves through the crowd with purpose, her hips swaying, lips curved into a knowing smile. Her gaze is fixed solely on him–like a predator that’s already chosen its prey.

 

“Chat Noir,” she purrs, her voice dripping with something that makes his skin crawl. “The infamous pirate himself.”

 

She doesn’t even glance at Marinette, standing there beside him. Doesn’t acknowledge her existence. Her eyes are hungry, trailing down his frame, appraising him like a piece of meat.

 

Chat stiffens, jaw clenching. He’s used to attention–his name travels faster than the wind–but this woman, the way she disregards Marinette so blatantly, sets his teeth on edge.

 

Marinette stiffens too, her earlier gratitude vanishing like smoke.

 

The woman steps closer. Too close. “I’ve heard… quite the tales about you. They don’t do you justice.”

 

Chat can feel Marinette’s eyes on him now, sharp and unreadable. And right now. He wants to scream. And run away and be a coward. But he cant. He has to look cool for Marinette. Which is so stupid. God hes still sweaty. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 21

Notes:

Been doing lots of band stuff lately so I got busy. His chapter isnt long so ill make it up for the next one.

This chapter does have a serious plot point though..

 

Chat Noir has never understood the world’s cruelty. The idea of hating someone for their gender or skin color is idiotic to him–nonsensical. The sea never cared who you were, only what you did. The waves drowned kings and peasants the same. His mother raised him that way–women were equals, not ornaments.

 

So when this woman, this stranger, clings to his arm like she owns it, batting her lashes and purring his name in that syrupy tone, his patience frays.

 

“Chat Noir,” she says, drawing out each syllable like it’s a song. “I’m Chloé Bourgeois.”

 

The name slams into his skull like cannon fire.

 

The Chloé Bourgeois. Princess of this very port, heir to the Bourgeois fortune–one of the wealthiest families along the eastern seas. His irritation falters for just a moment, the gold-tinted possibilities flashing across his mind. Information. Influence. Treasure.

 

Marinette’s watching, and he can feel her stare, like the sun burning through his back.

 

He doesn’t want her to think he’s taken by this woman. God, no. He wants Chloé to stop hanging off his arm, stop giggling like a seagull that’s found scraps. But he also knows the value of keeping up appearances.

 

So he straightens his posture, turns that charming grin back on–the one that makes nobles lower their guard and guards lower their swords. “Princess Bourgeois,” he says, his voice smooth as aged rum. “An honour, truly.”

 

Chloé preens under the attention, her golden hair shimmering in the light as she loops her arm tighter through his. “You must come with me,” she insists, dragging him toward the upper district. “I insist! We’ll get you proper food, real wine–not that swill pirates drink.”

 

He chuckles politely, allowing himself to be led. Every instinct screams at him to shake her off, but every thought of his map and the dwindling supplies reminds him that sometimes, greed has a purpose.

 

Behind him, Marinette stands still, lips pursed but eyes sharp.

 

She understands. Of course she does.

 

She knows exactly what he’s doing.

 

Because she grew up among people like Chloé–princesses, duchesses, nobles who think beauty equals power. She knows that gleam in Chat’s eyes isn’t attraction. It’s calculation. Pirates hunt treasure; they charm it out of people, one smile at a time.

 

Still, she can’t deny it stings a little.

 

She watches him disappear into the upper town beside that glittering doll of a woman, and it hits her that she’s jealous. Of Chloé Bourgeois, of all people.

 

Marinette shakes her head furiously. “Get a grip,” she mutters to herself. “He’s just doing what pirates do.”

 

And she tells herself she’s fine. That it’s even funny watching him charm another princess. A different kind of entertainment.

 

Until she sees something else.

 

Across the port square, Nino is talking animatedly to someone–his usual calm replaced with something lighter, almost delighted, some might even say flushed. Marinette’s breath catches when she sees who it is.

 

Her heart stops.

 

That posture. That auburn hair. That warm brown skin she’d know anywhere.

 

Alya.

 

Her best friend. Her maid. Her confidante.

 

The person she thought she’d never see again.

 

A thousand emotions clash in her chest–shock, relief, and guilt. Alya looks healthy, older somehow, but she’s smiling, laughing at whatever Nino’s saying.

 

Marinette freezes, her body trembling with the urge to run to her, to throw her arms around her and sob. But she doesn’t. She can’t.

 

Because she’s not Princess Marinette Dupain-Cheng of Valeria right now. She’s a captive. A pirate’s hostage. And her friend doesn’t even know she’s alive.

 

Her throat burns, her chest aches, and for the first time since she was taken, she doesn’t know whether to cry or scream.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Chloé Bourgeois doesn’t walk–she parades. Every step is a flourish, every glance a demand for attention. The palace guards bow when she passes, the servants flatten themselves against the marble walls. And through it all, she keeps her arm wrapped tightly around Chat Noir’s, her perfume clinging to his coat like a curse.

 

He’s trying his best not to gag.

 

Good Lord, she’s like an octopus—all limbs, no sense of personal space. Every time he tries to shift his arm, she adjusts, reclaiming him in a strangling loop of lace and entitlement.

 

“Yes, my dear pirate,” she purrs, her accent polished and smug. “You simply must stay for dinner. My father adores interesting men.”

 

“Ah,” Chat says, lips twitching. “Well, I do aim to please.”

 

He’s smiling, but behind his polite mask, his mind spins faster than the ship’s wheel in a storm. Every room they’ve walked through–gold-lined. Silver candlesticks. Portraits dripping with jewels. And in the center of it all, that blasted vault door down the hallway. He knows what wealth smells like, and this castle reeks of it.

 

If I could get five minutes alone, he thinks, just five minutes without her claws on me.

 

But Chloé keeps talking. About her gowns. About her father’s banquets. About her pet swan.

 

A swan.

 

He mentally notes that even the bird probably has better manners than her.

 

Finally, inspiration strikes. “My lady,” he interrupts, voice honey-smooth, “forgive my rudeness, but I–ehm—require a brief visit to the toiletry. Pirate stomach, you know. The rum and sea biscuits don’t always agree with noble food.”

 

Chloé giggles, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. “Oh, you’re adorable!” she coos. “Go on, darling, don’t be long!”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says with a bow–and then bolts.

 

The moment the door shuts behind him, he’s silent as a shadow. His boots make no sound as he slips through the polished hallways, scanning for guards. His eyes catch a jewelry case by an ornate mirror–he doesn’t even hesitate.

 

One, two, three gold necklaces.

Two silver rings.

And a pocket watch–heavy, intricate, encrusted with sapphires.

 

He grins. “Merci, m’lady.”

 

Then he’s at the stained window, prying it open, the cold air of freedom rushing in.

 

“Goodbye, Chloé,” he murmurs, and leaps.

 

He lands in a bed of roses–ironically–and winces, brushing thorns off his coat before sprinting through the garden, scaling the outer wall like a cat on a mission.

 

The wind hits him, carrying the faint smell of salt.

 

Home.

 

He can almost hear her—the sea, whispering in his veins again. Her hum fills his skull like a heartbeat. He breaks into a run, boots thudding against cobblestone, racing down the slope toward the docks.

 

By the time the ocean comes into view, his heart is pounding–not from fear, but relief. His ship is there, swaying gently, ropes creaking like an old friend stretching after sleep.

 

He wants to laugh. Wants to fall to his knees and kiss the deck.

 

Instead, he slows.

 

Because standing near the dock, hidden behind a bunch of barrels, eyes downcast, is her.

 

Marinette.

 

And she’s staring at another woman with a look he’s never seen before–something deep and raw.

 

He creeps up behind her, light on his feet, and taps her shoulder. “Princess?”

 

She jumps, spinning, hand clutching her chest. “Don’t do that!” she gasps.

 

He can’t help it–he laughs, low and teasing. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

 

But when she doesn’t scold him–when she only looks at him with that strange, sad expression—his amusement fades.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

 

Her lips tremble. She glances once more at the woman talking with Nino, then back to him.

 

“It’s nothing,” she whispers.

 

He tilts his head, studying her face. Her eyes are red, her shoulders tight. She’s lying. But he doesn’t press.

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Marinette stands half-hidden behind a row of barrels, the salty breeze tangling the edges of her hair. Her eyes stay fixed on the small figure in the crowd ahead–Alya. Her best friend. Her rock. Her partner in every reckless plan before she was stolen away by a pirate’s hand and thrown into a new life on the sea.

 

She’s right there. Right there.

 

Alya laughs at something Nino says, her head tipping back, her curls bouncing in the sunlight. The sound cuts through Marinette like the memory of home. It’s been weeks–months?–since she’s heard it. The familiarity aches. She’s so close she can almost call her name, almost step forward and feel the comfort of someone who knows her… someone who’d hug her without asking why her hands are shaking.

 

But she can’t move. Because Alya looks happy. Free. Unafraid.

If Marinette runs to her, what happens next? Would Alya scream for the guards? Would she recognize her old friend dressed like a pirate’s captive?

 

She’s weighing the risks when a voice slides up right behind her ear–soft, amused, and absolutely the wrong voice to hear right now.

 

"Princess?”

 

Marinette jumps–so violently that she nearly knocks over the barrel beside her. She gasps, spinning around, hand clutched to her chest. “Don't do that!”

 

He laughs. A real laugh, deep and careless.  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.” He says in a teasing tone.

 

She grumbles, now that her heart is calm, she frowns once more. Alya still in her mind.

 

The humor fades from his expression as he takes in her face–the tight jaw, the sheen in her eyes she’s trying to blink away. “What’s wrong?”  he says quietly.

Her lips tremble. She glances once more at her best friend talking with Nino, then back to him.

“ Its nothing," she replies too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head. He really looks like a cat in this light. It amuses her for a second before recovering. 

Its obvious shes lying, she can feel her eyes are dry and her lips are quivering. But he doesnt say anything. Maybe out of respect. 

Instead, he slips one of the necklaces from his pocket and dangles it between them, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. “Look what I found.”

Her expression flickers between disbelief and exasperation. “You robbed her, didn’t you?”

He grins wider. “Well, what else do you expect from a cunning pirate?"

 

She shakes her head, but a quiet laugh escapes her anyway.

He chuckles at that, but his gaze lingers on her profile. Hes obviously still curious on what's bumming her out. "Princess, you've been down since I came back. Are you sure your alright?" And just her luck, he has to catch her staring at Alya again. "You've been staring at the woman for a while now. Do you know her?" 

 

Marinette bites her lip. He’s far too observant for his own good.

 

She glances back–Alya is still chatting with Nino, gesturing animatedly, her hands flying in every direction. Marinette’s throat tightens. Of course Alya would find the most talkative person in the crew and hit it off instantly.

 

“Maybe I do,” Marinette murmurs under her breath.

 

Chat’s catlike hearing catches it. “You do?” His curiosity spikes, green eyes bright. “Who is she? Someone important? You’ve got that royal-recognition look on your face.”

 

“It’s… complicated,” she repeats, weaker this time.

 

He smirks. “Everything’s complicated with you, you know that? Is she a rival princess? A spy? Oh, wait—your handmaiden!”

 

She grimaces. “Stop guessing.”

 

“Then tell me,” he insists, softer now. “You don’t have to keep secrets, not from me.”

 

She looks up at him–at his half-smile, at the earnestness hiding beneath the bravado–and wonders if she really should.

 

Because if she tells him who Alya is, he might see the desperation in her eyes. He might realize she’s tempted to run. That she’s torn between two worlds: the one she lost and the one she’s starting to understand.

 

She hesitates. The words balance on the edge of her tongue.

Should she tell him?

 

 

 

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed! Have a wonderful Tuesday and comment what you thought of it !!

Chapter 22

Notes:

This may be a little short for me but I hope you guys enjoy it! Alya is now apart of the story!

Don't worry, we'll be getting tons of Alya x Nino!

 

Chat Noir squints at Nino like the man just suggested feeding his ship to sharks. “You want me to do what?”

“Bring her,” Nino says again, motioning to the woman beside him–the one with the striking eyes and the steady frown. “She’s not from around here, and she… well, she needs to get away.”

 

Chat blinks at her. “We’re pirates, mate, not a ferry service.”

 

Alya crosses her arms, unbothered by his tone. “Look, Captain, I’m not looking for a throne or trouble. I just… don’t have anything keeping me here anymore. My best friend’s gone, and everything feels empty without her. I want out. Anywhere. I don’t care where.”

 

For a moment, Chat Noir just stares. 

 

There’s something familiar about the sadness in her voice. It sounds like the sea when it’s calm but lonely, whispering about everything it’s taken and everything it still wants.

 

He glances toward the horizon. The salty air feels heavy, still. “You sure about this?”

Alya nods. “Positive.”

Chat lets out a long sigh and rubs the back of his neck. “You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”

“I’ll take stupid if it gets me out of here.”

That earns her another grin–this one half-hearted. He looks to Nino, who gives a pleading shrug. “Come on, Cap. She’s cool. She even helped me pick out decent rum. That’s gotta count for something.”

 

Chat shakes his head, muttering, “You’re all insane.”

 

His gaze sweeps over the dock, scanning instinctively for Marinette. She’s been quiet since earlier, and though she’s good at vanishing when she wants to, the thought of her disappearing again makes his pulse tick. He’s about to bark at Nino to start searching when a flicker of red and black catches his eye near the far edge of the port–his princess, standing at the railing of his ship, her hair fluttering in the ocean wind.

 

Relief washes through him like the tide. He doesn’t even question why she went back without telling him. Maybe she needed air. Maybe she was tired. He’s just glad she’s there.

 

“Fine,” he finally mutters. “She can come.”

Alya’s eyes widen. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret it. Just don’t touch my rum, don’t talk back to Ivan, and don’t go below deck without permission. Deal?”

 

“Deal,” she says immediately.

“Good.”

 

Nino claps his hands together. “Well, that’s that then! Welcome aboard the Cataclysm!”

 

Chat waves them both forward. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

 

The three of them start down the docks, their boots thudding against the planks. The smell of salt and tar grows stronger the closer they get to the ship. Chat’s pace picks up with each step–he can feel the sea again, calling to him, humming in his blood like an old song he can finally hear after too long on mute.

 

“Ugh,” Nino groans, stumbling slightly. “Ground’s so still. I hate it.”

 

“Agreed,” Chat grunts, wobbling beside him. “It’s like walking on a corpse."

 

Alya stares at them like they’ve both lost it. “You two are ridiculous.”

 

“You’ll get it once you’ve lived on the sea,” Chat replies, voice half-distracted, eyes already locked on his ship. The masts sway gently, the sails catching the light like silk. His pulse steadies. His mind clears. Home.

 

They reach the gangplank, and he takes the first step up, one hand on the railing, the other reaching instinctively for the air as if to greet the waves. “Ahh,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile curling on his lips. “There you are, my darling.”

 

Alya exchanges a look with Nino. “Is he… talking to the ship?”

 

Nino just sighs. “You’ll see soon enough. He’s weird. Don’t question it.”

 

Chat’s boots hit the deck, and instantly, the dizziness fades. The ship creaks in welcome beneath his feet. His balance returns, and for the first time since docking, he feels whole again.

 

As Nino and Alya climb aboard behind him, his eyes drift once more to the figure leaning by the railing—the princess, unaware of his gaze, her hair haloed by the sun, her eyes distant with thought.

He doesn’t know why seeing her there makes something in his chest tighten. But it does. And he’s too tired, too relieved, to question it.

 

“Set the sails,” he orders, his voice steady once more. “We’re leaving this cursed port.”

 

 

 

 

The evening air carries a faint chill, mixing with the salt and the scent of wood and smoke from the ship’s lanterns. The Cataclysm cuts steadily through the water, its hull groaning softly against the current. Crewmen lounge across the deck, laughing and listening as the new girl spins stories with a voice that holds both pain and warmth.

 

Marinette, meanwhile, sits tucked against the main mast, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

 

She can hear Alya’s laughter rising and falling over the chatter of the crew, and she feels her heart twist. She doesn’t know why she’s avoiding her, but she is.

 

Something about the sound of Alya’s voice makes her chest ache. It’s familiar somehow–so familiar it scares her.

She turns away from the light of the deck lanterns, pretending to focus on the horizon.

 

Alya sits cross-legged near the center of the deck, a cup of murky water in her hand. She grins as she talks, her eyes alive despite the exhaustion of the past few days. “—and then the princess said she’d rather eat burnt bread than attend another ball,” she says, laughing. “She was stubborn like that. Always sneaking into the kitchens, always wanting to help even when she didn’t need to.”

 

The crewmen eat it up, enchanted by her stories of royal mischief and friendship. Even Nino smiles as he leans against a barrel, nodding along.

 

Chat Noir stands apart from it all, his elbows resting on the railing near the bow. The sea hums beneath him, steady, ancient, alive. It’s been whispering to him since they left port, the way it always does, soft murmurs in the back of his skull, like a heartbeat made of water.

 

He tilts his head slightly, listening.

The sea doesn’t speak in words. It never has. 

 

But its intent seeps through his mind in currents and rhythms. Tonight, it’s restless, churning with something heavy and familiar.

 

 He knows that feeling. It’s the same pull that comes before a storm.

 

Alya’s laughter echoes again, and the pieces slide together in his head like clockwork.

 

Her words. The way she speaks about her “missing best friend.” A princess; lost for months. Kind. Brave. Stubborn. Always trying to help.

 

He looks over his shoulder, his gaze locking on Marinette, sitting in the shadow of the mast, staring out into the endless blue.

His stomach drops.

 

No… It can’t be coincidence.

 

He grips the railing tighter as the sea’s voice swells inside him–like waves crashing against rocks, urging him to see what’s right in front of him. You know it. You know her.

The princess Alya speaks of is Marinette.

He feels the realization sink deep, cutting through him sharper than a blade. Marinette… his princess. 

 

The one he stole. 

 

The one he’s held captive. She’s the very girl Alya has been mourning for months.

He exhales shakily, a ghost of a laugh escaping his throat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

Plagg, curled lazily on the top rail, flicks his tail at the sound, as if unimpressed.

Chat drags a hand down his face. “Of course. Of course this is what it is.”

 

He looks at Alya again. She’s smiling now, animatedly describing the palace gardens and the smell of roses in summer. The crew are enchanted. Nino looks like he’s forgotten all his worries.

 

And yet, all Chat can think of is how cruelly the world must be laughing at him right now.

 

He ruined Marinette’s life. Stole her from her home, chained her on his ship, made her sleep in the cold belly of the vessel. He’s the reason Alya lost her best friend.

And somehow, both women are here. On his ship.

 

The sea hums again, its tone softer now, coaxing. Make it right.

 

He nods slowly, barely aware of the motion. “Yeah,” he murmurs under his breath. “Yeah… I’ll fix it.”

 

He pushes away from the railing, boots creaking against the wood. His mind races. He can’t just blurt it out. Alya might throw herself overboard the moment she realizes whose ship she’s on. Though she'll maybe reconsider knowing her best friend is om board 

 

He needs to be careful. Gentle. Strategic.

The least he can do after everything he’s done, is reunite them.

He looks toward Marinette again. She’s still curled under her blanket, but now she’s watching Alya too, a small frown on her face. 

 

The firelight flickers against her features, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he sees something there other than anger or defiance.

Longing.

 

“Captain?” Nino’s voice pulls him back. The first mate leans against the mast, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re staring again.”

Chat scowls faintly. “No, I’m thinking.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Nino teases. “Thinking about how she looks in candlelight, right?”

 

Chat glares at him, but the corner of his mouth betrays a twitch. “Shut it, Nino.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.”

 

When Nino drifts off to rejoin the laughter by the fire, Chat exhales and looks at the two women once more–the lost princess and the loyal friend, unknowingly breathing the same ocean air again for the first time in months.

 

The sea murmurs louder, almost pleased.

He presses a hand against the railing, the whisper curling through his chest. 

 

“Alright,” he whispers. “I’ll make it right.”

The wind shifts, carrying the scent of salt and fate.

 

Tonight, Chat Noir begins to plan the impossible—how to fix what he broke, how to give back what the sea demanded he take.

 

Notes:

Please be sure to comment and kudos if you havent already! I love to know your guys opinion on where this story is progressing.

Chapter 23

Notes:

Enjoy!

 

 

Night settles thick and heavy over the ship, starlight melting into the black sea. Laughter still rises faintly from the deck where Alya and Nino bond over stories and questions, but Chat Noir slips away from the sound, pacing slowly toward his cabin.

 

He knows Marinette is inside, he saw her sneak away, small and silent as a shadow, just after Alya started recounting another memory of “her lost princess.” Marinette hadn’t even looked back. She fled.

 

He didn’t follow at first. He was scared he would make it worse.

 

But now?

 

Now he knows he can’t leave her alone with that sort of ache.

 

He pushes open the cabin door.

 

Plagg sits on the desk, tail flicking, eyes fixed on the bed. Marinette lies curled on top of the blankets, facing the wall, shoulders tense. She doesn’t look up.

 

Chat slips inside and quietly shuts the door behind him.

 

Plagg chirrups at Chat and jumps onto his shoulder, as if saying You deal with it.

 

Chat sits on the opposite end of the bed, careful not to touch her. “Princess…” he says softly.

 

No answer.

 

He tries again. “Marinette.”

 

Her voice is small, smaller than he has ever heard it:

“Don’t say her name around me.”

 

He blinks. “Alya?”

 

Her breath shudders, the tiniest sound. “Please.”

 

He nods once. “Okay. I won’t.”

 

For a moment, the ship creaks and groans around them, like the sea is listening. Maybe it is. He can always feel her when he’s like this. 

 

“Do you want to tell me why you’re scared?” Chat asks.

 

Marinette hesitates, fingers curling into the sheets.

 

Then, barely audible 

“She thinks her best friend is dead. nd she’s happy right now. She’s smiling again.”

 

Chat’s heart sinks.

 

Marinette continues, voice trembling:

“If she sees me… she’ll remember. And she’ll be sad again. I don’t want to… ruin her healing.”

 

He flinches. It’s wrong and real and painfully Marinette.

 

“And,” she adds in a smaller voice still, “what if she isn’t happy to see me?”

 

Chat exhales. Slowly. Carefully. Because he realizes something: for all the world sees a princess in her, for all the world might kneel at her feet.

 

She is just a girl scared of being unloved.

 

He moves closer, not touching her yet, but letting his presence be known. “Marinette, she crossed a kingdom for you. She hasn’t stopped talking about you since she got on board. Even when she thinks it hurts too much, she remembers you. That kind of love doesn’t vanish.”

 

Marinette turns her head just enough to look at him, her eyes glassy, uncertain. “You don’t know that.”

 

He lifts a hand, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She doesn’t. He brushes a tear from her cheek with a thumb, barely a whisper of contact.

 

“The sea knows it,” he murmurs.

 

She blinks at him, confused despite herself. “Chat…”

 

“I know,” he says, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I sound insane. I get it. A man who listens to waves and claims they answer. Ridiculous.”

 

Plagg offers a supportive mrrp of agreement.

 

Chat ignores him and presses on. “But sometimes, the sea tells me things before I’m ready to hear them. And right now? She’s screaming that I have to fix this.”

 

Marinette swallows hard. “Because you took me.”

 

He closes his eyes. Guilt hits him like a cannonball all over again. “Because I broke something precious. And I want to give you at least one piece back.”

 

Silence.

 

The lantern light flickers, shadows rocking with the ship.

 

Finally, Marinette sits up, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I don’t know if I can face her.”

 

Chat nods, voice gentle:

“Then we do it slowly. Carefully. On your terms. I’m not throwing you at her like a sack of cargo.”

 

That earns a tiny breath of laughter.

 

He stands and offers his hand with a pirate’s dramatic bow, because it makes her smile and because he lives on her smiles like other men live on air.

 

“Let me help you, Princess.”

 

She looks at his hand.

 

Then at him.

 

Then she places her hand in his. Small. Warm. Still trembling.

 

“Okay,” she whispers.

 

His chest stings, like something inside him is both breaking and healing at the same time.

 

He helps her stand. Plagg leaps onto his shoulder again, purring like a proud parent. Chat just rolls his eyes.

 

“You don’t have to talk to her tonight,” he reassures. “Just… let yourself breathe near her. Let the truth get closer.”

 

Marinette nods.

 

He moves to open the cabin door for her, but pauses and adds with a teasing softness:

 

“And if Nino starts flirting with her again, we throw him overboard.”

 

Marinette lets out a startled laugh and wipes the last tears from her cheeks.

“Please. Let me do it. I need a hobby.”

 

They walk out together.

Chat Noir leads Marinette across the deck, step by step, toward where Alya sits beside Nino near the mast. Marinette grows quieter with every foot of distance closed–her steps shrinking, her fingers twisting in the loose fabric of her sleeve. She keeps sliding farther behind him, using his height and coat as a shield.

 

He pretends he doesn’t notice, gives her that protection. For now.

 

Nino is mid-sentence, already a little too animated, hands waving like wild sails in the wind:

 

“—Look, I love the guy, okay? Best captain I’ve ever had the misfortune of surviving, but you can’t ignore how he talks to the damn ocean. Like it’s a person! I swear, sometimes he argues with it! Whole conversations! Man’s one strong breeze away from a caged room—”

 

Chat pauses, eyes narrowing.

 

He is absolutely hiding the rum from Nino later.

 

Alya snorts, adjusting the blanket Chat had given her earlier. “You’re joking.”

 

“No! I walked in once and he was yelling at the tide for ‘lying’ to him.”

 

Chat clears his throat loudly.

 

Nino jolts, freezing mid-gesture like a statue in a museum.

 

Alya slowly turns, eyes widening once she recognizes him.

“Captain Noir.”

 

Her tone is polite, even warm. Not many royalty speak to pirates that way. Interesting.

 

Chat nods, flashing what he hopes is a normal  smile.

“Alya. Nino. Good evening.”

 

Nino gives a thumbs-up and a terrified grin, like a man who just insulted the executioner. Alya offers a curious smile, gaze sharp as a hawk’s.

 

Chat inhales, glancing behind him just long enough to feel Marinette’s presence. Quite small, and nervous, but still there.

 

Good.

 

He can do this.

 

“I want you both to meet someone,” Chat announces, stepping aside and extending an arm as though presenting a royal guest. “She’s a dear friend of mine.”

 

Silence.

 

Confusion.

 

Because where his hand points…

 

There is air.

 

Just air.

 

Chat blinks once.

 

Twice.

 

Whips his head around.

 

No Marinette.

 

Nino and Alya stare at the empty space, then at him. Alya’s eyes narrow. Nino’s lips part with dawning horror.

 

“…Captain,” Nino says slowly, “is she invisible. Or something?”

 

Chat presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. The world goes quiet except for the sea laughing at him.

 

He knew it. He knew bringing her closer would scare her off. He should’ve held her hand. Should’ve kept his arm around her. Should’ve—

 

“Captain,” Alya says carefully, leaning in like she’s assessing an unstable man, “are you feeling well?”

 

Fantastic.

 

He already was a legend. Now he is officially a joke.

 

“I promise she exists,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “She was just here.”

 

Nino tries to be supportive but fails spectacularly:

“Yeah, yeah! we believe you! Just like the sea whispers you go on about like every day, right? Totally real, yup, no concerns at all”

 

Chat is absolutely hiding the rum and the water from him this time.

 

He stands straighter and clears his throat, a captain regaining dignity he absolutely does not have.

 

“I will go retrieve her.”

 

Alya nods very slowly. “Good plan.”

 

Chat turns, coat flaring dramatically. Because if he is going to be embarrassed, he will do it with theatrical excellence. And stalks off across the deck.

He goes straight to his room.

Chat Noir storms into his cabin, slamming the door so hard the lantern hook rattles against the wall. Marinette sits on the very edge of his bed, arms stiff, back straight, eyes stubbornly glued to the floorboards like she’s praying they swallow her alive.

 

He runs a hand through his tangled hair, pacing once, twice, trying to burn off the crackling irritation under his skin. The sea is loud in his head. Waves thumping the hull harder than the wind should allow, boards creaking like ribs under pressure. She’s displeased, and that displeasure is a warning.

 

He stops pacing.

 

“Marinette,” he says, voice low, too calm. “What was that?”

 

She refuses to look at him. “I told you. I'm panicked.”

 

“No,” he snaps, leaning forward, hands braced on the desk behind her. “Panic is tripping over your own feet, panic is stuttering, tripping over your own feet. Panic is not abandoning me mid-sentence in front of the very people who already think I’m one plank short of a complete dock!”

 

His voice rises despite himself, embarrassment and frustration tangled like old rope.

 

“Nino is already convinced the sea has eaten my sanity, and then today–heh–today I introduce you, and all anyone sees is me gesturing like an idiot to empty air. I looked completely deranged.”

 

She flinches, shoulders curling forward. “I didn’t mean to—”

 

“I know,” he cuts in, softer now, but still raw. “But you did.”

 

The ship groans under a sharper wave. The sea is listening.

 

Marinette’s fingers clench around the blanket. She bites her lip, voice cracking:

 

“I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to see her look at me like I’m… broken. Ruined. I’m not the girl she knew anymore. What if she hates me? What if she’s afraid of me? I can’t...”

 

He sits beside her, closer than either of them expects, his knee brushing hers. She goes stiff but doesn’t pull away.

 

“Marinette,” he murmurs, “she won’t see you as ruined.”

 

She laughs. But it’s a hollow, humorless sound. “Chat, I’ve been held prisoner for weeks, wearing the same dress, bartering with my dignity to survive on a ship of criminals—"

 

“Pirates,” he corrects reflexively.

 

She shoots him a flat look. He lifts his hands in surrender.

 

“Right. Criminals. Go on.”

 

She sighs, frustrated. “I’m not the princess she remembers.”

 

Chat studies her, really studies her. The candlelight catches the exhaustion under her eyes, the stubborn line of her jaw, the fear she hides under all that fire.

 

Finally, he speaks, voice steady in a way that surprises even him:

 

“You’re better.”

 

Her breath stutters. “Better?”

 

“Yes,” he says simply. “Because you’re surviving. You’re learning. You’re fighting. You think that makes you less, but I...” he swallows, eyes flicking briefly away, “I’ve only ever known people who give up when life claws at them. You didn’t.”

 

She says nothing, throat tight.

 

He reaches out, slow enough that she could reject him, and takes her hand.

 

She lets him. Infact she grips it. To the point to where hes kind of regretting this because now his hands being squished and its hurting–

 

Outside the cabin, boots shuffle on deck. Nino and Alya have drifted near the door, listening. But from their point of view, Chat Noir is in his cabin, speaking very passionately to absolute silence.

 

Nino whispers, horrified, “He’s doing it again. Talking to ghosts.”

 

Alya nods gravely. "Your Caption really is a weirdo." 

 

Inside, Chat leans his forehead to hers without thinking. The contact is feather-light. His voice is barely above a whisper:

 

“Don’t hide from her. Don’t hide from yourself. You deserve more than hiding in shadows.”

 

Marinette closes her eyes.

 

“I’m scared,” she admits.

 

“So am I,” he confesses. “Every time I can’t hear the sea, I feel like I’m drowning. We all have our madness. Mine just happens to be wetter.”

 

A startled laugh escapes her. 

 

He squeezes her hand, then stands, offering it to her properly this time.

 

“Come with me when you’re ready. We’ll try again. Together.”

 

She looks at his hand for a long moment. Then she releases it. She turns and climbs into his bed, curling up small, facing the wall.

 

He doesn’t push again. He just drags a blanket over her, gentler than any pirate has a right to be.

 

The ship creaks as he struts out of his cabin to gaze down to the ocean. The sea’s command eases. Not approval yet, but patience.

 

Chat lowers his voice and murmurs to the floorboards, to the waves, to the only goddess he’s ever had:

 

“I’m fixing it. I won’t fail her again.”

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I appreciate comments and kudos!

Chapter 24

Notes:

I wrote half of this when i was taking a bath tbh.

Hope you enjoy 😉

 

 

Chat Noir braces both palms on the ship’s railing, leaning forward until the spray of the sea hits his face like cold fingers. The night is thick and dark, the sea restless beneath him, rolling in long, slow waves that slap the hull in a rhythm he knows too well.

 

The ocean is speaking.

 

It always has.

But now… something’s changed.

 

He doesn’t hear words, but the sea usually commands with clarity. Sharp, unquestionable. A pull on his instincts. A yank in his bones. A direction he follows without hesitation because hesitation means death.

 

It’s how he’s survived past twenty. An age most pirates never see.

It’s how his crew has survived, too.

Twenty-four and still alive. Miraculous. Impossible. A blessing only the ocean could grant.

 

He obeyed, so she spared him.

 

But now, after Marinette’s arrival… the orders are different.

Murkier.

Indirect.

 

He doesn’t like guessing.

Guessing is danger.

Guessing is disobedience.

 

And disobedience… gets you claimed by the deep.

 

He stares down into the black water as another wave bursts against the hull, white foam spreading like fingers.

 

Why her?

 

Why is the sea commanding him to protect Marinette of all people?

What use does a goddess have for a quiet, anxious princess who is frankly very sassy yet soft. 

 

The thought keeps circling his mind, tighter and tighter, until his jaw aches from clenching.

 

He can’t assume. He won’t. The sea knows what she wants. He simply serves.

 

He shifts his weight, eyes fixed on the water. The waves move strangely tonight, tighter swells, faster snaps, as if the ocean breathes in short, irritated bursts.

 

She’s angry.

 

No—hungry.

 

He feels it through the deck, through the boards under his boots, vibrating faint and desperate. A need rising from below the surface like a creature pacing its cage.

 

It’s been too long since he fed her.

 

The last sacrifice had been that merchant–the man with the red scarf, smug enough to steal their food and bold enough to chat with the princess as if she were his equal. Chat had thrown him overboard with zero hesitation. The sea accepted him instantly, swirling deep and calm afterward. A reward, a blessing, a soft lull.

 

But that was weeks ago.

 

She’s starving again.

 

His stomach plunges.

 

He almost climbs the railing then and there. Almost offers himself. A clean offering. A simple end. He owes everything to the sea; if she starves because of him, then he should be the one to sink.

 

He nearly tips forward—

 

Until Nino’s hands clamp onto his shoulders from behind.

 

“Hey, what the hell—?!”

 

Nino drags him back with sheer panic, stumbling them both onto the deck. Chat blinks, dazed, the trance broken.

 

“What were you doing?” Nino demands, breathless. “You don’t just—just lean over the edge like you’re about to kiss the waves! The sea doesn’t need you! You hear me?”

 

Chat stares at him. Calm. Confused that Nino is confused.

 

“The sea is hungry,” he says simply. “She wants a sacrifice. I failed to feed her. It would make sense that I should be the one—”

 

“No!” Nino shakes him again. “You’re not feeding yourself to anything, cap! We’ll– we’ll figure something else out.”

 

Chat tilts his head. “We need people. A passing ship. New sailors. Someone she’ll accept. If we don’t find offerings soon, she’ll take what she wants.”

 

Nino’s face goes pale.

 

Chat barely notices.

 

He’s already thinking.

 

Alya.

New. Unattached. Loud. A stranger.

He doesn’t care for her–why would he? She’s been on board for barely a day and already speaks too much.

 

The thought flickers.

A possibility.

 

But—

 

Marinette would scream.

Nino would rage.

Both would turn on him.

The sea would be fed, yes… but everything else would unravel.

 

He exhales sharply and discards the idea.

It would be a disaster.

 

He needs another way. Another ship. Another soul.

 

The ocean growls beneath them, a swell hitting the hull so hard the deck shivers.

 

She’s losing patience.

 

Chat Noir drags a hand over his mouth, staring out into the dark horizon, eyes wild with devotion and fear tangled together.

 

“Nino,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, “we need to find someone before she decides for us.”

 

The sky rumbles. The waves lift, heavy and warning.

 

The sea hungers.

 

And Chat Noir—

faithful, cursed, beloved servant that he is—

will answer her.

 

 

 

The plan, Chat Noir’s grand, desperate, single-minded plan, is simple:

 

Find new sacrifices. Quickly. Before the sea takes someone she shouldn’t.

 

His earlier vow to reunite Marinette and Alya? Completely gone.

The moment the sea growled beneath the hull, that promise evaporated from his brain like steam on hot iron.

 

The sea commands.

He obeys.

Always.

 

Nino knows this.

Nino hates this.

 

And so Nino’s new mission becomes:

 

Stop Captain “I-Love-The-Ocean-More-Than-Life” from throwing himself off the ship in a dramatic sacrificial swan dive.

 

He’s done it before–tried, anyway. The crew remembers. It’s a sensitive topic. Hes done it not 2 seconds ago as well. Goodness.

 

Meanwhile the rest of the crew just wants one thing:

 

A nap.

 

Alya?

She wants to be helpful, determined to earn her keep. She tries to scrub floors, organize rope, learn knots, but the crew keeps gently shoving her away with sympathetic smiles. They don’t know her story, but they know heartbreak when they hear it. And they know Chat Noir. His moods. His storms. His… quirks.

 

And Marinette?

 

She is absolutely not leaving Chat’s bed.

 

After hours of hiding there, curled up in the blankets, she feels safe. Warm. Wrapped in the lingering scent of salt, wood, and, unfortunately, cat. She’s determined to stay here until she stops feeling like she’s going to crumble into sand if Alya sees her too soon.

 

So she’s burrowed. Hibernating. Cozy. And when Nino opens the door dragging a half-mad, pacing Chat Noir by his coat collar—

 

she does not move.

 

“You. bed. Now.”

 

Nino shoves Chat inside with a grunt.

Chat stumbles, spins, nearly collapses into the wall.

 

“I need to feed her—” he starts.

 

“Nope.”

Nino slams the door. “Not tonight. No sacrifices. No jumping off the boat. No muttering about drowning yourself for goddesses. You’re gonna sleep.”

 

Chat’s eyes widen. “I don’t—”

 

Nino grabs his shoulders and shakes him lightly.

“You haven’t slept in two days. You’re not thinking right. If I see you on deck, so help the sea I will knock you out myself. Marinette–!”

 

Marinette pokes her head out from the blankets.

 

“Make sure he stays in this room, okay? And keep him comfortable enough that he doesn’t leave.”

 

Her eyes widen. “U-Um—”

 

“Good. I trust you.”

 

The door slams.

 

Silence.

 

Chat slowly turns his head toward her like a haunted doll.

"Are you really gonna keep me here?” he asks softly.

 

She nods.

 

He considers the escape routes.

 

The window. Too small.

 

The floor hatch. She could easily dive for his ankles if he tries.

 

The doorway. She’s close enough to tackle him if he makes a run for it.

 

He swallows.

 

“I am a feared pirate captain,” he mutters.

 

She tilts her head.

 

“I should be able to leave a room if I want.”

 

She raises one eyebrow.

 

“…Shouldn’t I?”

 

She doesn’t answer. Just reaches out and gently tugs his coat.

 

Chat Noir freezes like a startled kitten.

His ears (which which are not cat ears...he keeps having to remind himself hes not actually a cat.) Peark up. 

 

She pats the bed beside her.

 

And he

The crimson-blade-wielding scourge of the coast–

The man whose name makes sailors shiver—

 

Actually shuffles toward the mattress like a scolded child.

 

He sits stiffly, like an awkward villain in a child’s tea party.

 

Then Marinette leans forward and wraps her arms around him.

 

Chat Noir makes a noise he has never made before.

 

A startled, squeaky, half-strangled whimper.

 

 

He ends up lying with his head on her chest, his body half-draped over her like a confused, overgrown housecat who doesn’t remember how limbs work.

 

She’s warm.

Too warm.

Dangerously warm.

 

Her fingers thread into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

 

He melts instantly.

 

Her other hand rubs slow circles on his back, grounding him, quieting the sea’s distant roar that’s been clawing at his mind all day.

 

His muscles go slack.

His breathing slows.

His fingers curl into her shirt.

 

Her chest is soft. His bullet wound, which still hurts by the way, no longer feels like its burning. Shes magical.

Her boobs are squished as his face is smushed between them. Gosh. They're soft, and squishy, and so comfortable...

 

(He is absolutely not thinking about that. He is a gentleman. He respects women. He is not thinking about softness. Or warmth. Or how good she smells. Or how small her hands feel. He is a monster of the sea. A hardened pirate. A vessel of storms. He is—)

 

…He is asleep.

 

Like dead asleep. 

A heavy, boneless, warm pile of pirate sprawled over her like a weighted blanket.

 

 

She stares down at him.

 

At his peaceful face.

 

At his relaxed mouth.

At his lashes resting on his cheeks.

At the faint freckle on his lip she never noticed before.

 

He looks… sweet.

 

Not dangerous.

Not fearsome.

Not cursed.

 

Just soft.

Gentle.

Young.

 

She lifts a hand and gently brushes a stray lock of golden hair from his forehead.

 

He mumbles in his sleep and nuzzles closer, burying his face against her chest.

 

Her whole body flushes.

 

“Y-You’re too cute,” she whispers.

 

She doesn’t know if the sea actually listens.

 

But she hopes, just maybe…

 

that tonight, it lets him rest.

 

Notes:

FINALLY we have chats total weakness...

Marinettes boobs. . .

Honestly I find it hilarious and when I was writing it I was giggling like a school girl.

Chat Noir is obviously very...disturbed.. i guess you could say, with his obsession with the sea. But marinette obviously calms him down, enough to forget about it and doze off.

They're finally close enough to sleep with one another and I betcha a kiss is coming real soon! I dont want it to be a huge slow burn so im definitely gonna try to wrap this fic up soon. But I am trying to get to 100000 words for this fic so I hope I am successful.

I hope you guys liked this chapter, comment and kudos are very appreciated!!

Love you all❤️❤️

Chapter 25

Notes:

Okay dont hate me but this chapter isnt very important.. except for the ending obi. I love my cliffhangers.

But I just really wanted something cute and fluffy between marinette and chat noir. I want to show y'all their progressed relationship.

 

 

Chat Noir jolted awake as if yanked up by a hook through his ribs.

 

His breath slams out of him.

 

His heart is hammering.

 

His wound throbs so sharply it feels like a glowing coal is being pressed into his side.

 

And the first thing he becomes aware of—

is softness

 

His cheek is squished against something warm.

His face… is full of warmth.

And fabric.

And–

 

Oh.

 

Oh no.

 

He’s lying on Marinette’s chest.

 

Like on it. Like it’s a pillow. Like it’s his personal bed.

 

His arms are around her waist.

 

Her arm is wrapped around him.

 

And his entire body is draped over her like a clingy, oversized cat that refuses to move.

 

His entire face goes beet red.

 

But the fluster lasts only two seconds.

 

Because something else slams into his mind

The sea. Its angry, and starving.

 

His nightmare hadn’t been a dream.

 

It was a warning.

A reminder.

 

He had fallen asleep without feeding her.

Without offering.

Without a sacrifice.

 

And now she was furious–

like waves crashing on cliffs,

like a storm trying to claw its way into his skull.

 

The anger pulses through him.

He grips the blankets.

His breath turns shallow.

 

He knows that wrath.

He’s spent his whole life obeying it.

 

He tries to sit up–

 

But Marinette’s arms only tighten.

 

She hugs him closer in her sleep, nose brushing the top of his head.

 

He freezes like a caught kitty with his cream.

 

Her legs shift under his.

Her hand rubs his back unconsciously.

Her fingers slide into his hair.

 

She murmurs something soft and his brain short circuits.

 

He cannot move.

 

And then–

 

the contradiction hits him like a wave.

 

Because the sea isn’t only angry.

 

She is also… demanding.

 

Commanding.

 

Insisting.

 

Fix what you broke.

Reunite what you separated.

Make right the hurt between the two girls.

Protect the one who sleeps beneath you.

 

But also—

 

Feed me.

Feed me.

Feed me.

 

Marinette’s heartbeat under his ear is steady.

Soft.

Human.

Warm.

 

The sea’s heartbeat is a roar.

 

Hunger.

Desperation.

Demand.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut.

 

He breathes. In. And out. Calming his nerves.

 

Marinette shifts beneath him, tightening her hold in a sleepy, instinctive curl.

 

Her thigh brushes his.

 

Her chest rises under his cheek.

 

He melts.

He stiffens.

He melts again.

 

He’s going insane.

Absolutely insane.

 

He should get up.

He should feed the sea.

He has to obey.

 

But—

 

The warmth.

 

Her scent.

 

Her arms.

 

The way she holds him like he’s not a monster or a slave to a goddess or a man half-broken beyond repair.

 

The way she holds him like he’s safe.

 

He lets out a shaky breath.

 

His body slowly relaxes against hers.

 

His cheek sinks back onto her chest.

 

He feels her heartbeat again.

 

Soft, so steady.

Warm.

 

And for the first time in his life, he disobeys the sea on purpose.

Just for this woman. 

 

♡♡♡♡

 

Marinette woke slowly–groggy, warm, and weirdly comfortable.

 

Then she realized why.

 

Chat Noir’s entire face was buried in her chest. Completely smashed. Completely content. Completely unconscious.

 

She froze.

 

Her arms were still around him, and his big, heavy, warm body was draped over her like he’d been poured onto her in his sleep. One leg thrown over hers. An arm cinched around her waist. His cheek pillowed right where it absolutely, definitely, should not have been.

 

Marinette’s soul left her body.

 

“Oh no… oh nononono…”

 

She didn’t even know where to put her hands. Or her dignity.

She needs to get out of here. Exit this room and try to find water. Anything to cool off.

And then–the second horror hit her.

Alya.

Alya was on the ship.

 

Alya, who had already suffered enough. Alya, who was absolutely going to make that face. Alya, who would never let Marinette live this down for the rest of eternity.

 

“Oh god.” Marinette covered her face with her hands. “I have to get up. I have to go see her. I can’t hide forever.”

 

She peeked down, bracing for awkwardness.

 

…Only for her heart to melt into a puddle.

 

Chat Noir was asleep like a child. Completely limp against her. His mouth slightly open in a barely-there purr. His golden hair messy and soft. 

 

He looked so adorable. Which is insane, considering hes a murderous pirate. 

 

And when she shyly pressed a little kiss to his forehead, just a tiny grounding kiss, because she needed courage, he snuggled deeper, arms tightening around her waist like he never wanted to let go.

 

Marinette’s face burst into flames.

 

“No. Nope. Absolutely not. How did I fall for a pirate? A pirate!”

She knew the answer. Deep down. 

But Alya was waiting. And the longer she didn’t face her, the worse her best friend’s reaction would be.

 

She inhaled. Exhaled. Focused on the mission.

 

Operation: Escape the Chat Noir Bear Hug Without Waking the Beast.

 

She shifted one shoulder.

Chat grumbled–and tightened his grip.

 

She froze.

 

Very slowly, she tried sliding a hand between his arm and her waist.

He murmured in his sleep and nuzzled her sternum like a cat burrowing into blankets.

 

She swallowed a sound that might’ve been a squeak.

 

“Chat… please… you’re making this impossible…”

 

She attempted to lift his leg off hers.

 

He flopped heavier, practically slinging it over her hip like a dead weight.

 

She stared at the ceiling.

 

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

One last attempt: she tried sliding down, just an inch, maybe two–

 

Chat instinctively followed her, clinging harder, face smooshing even deeper into her chest like he was trying to fuse with her softness itself.

 

Marinette slapped both hands over her face.

 

“This is cruel. This is actually cruel. Alya is going to think I eloped.”

 

But she wasn’t giving up. No pirate curse or sea spirit or unconscious cat boy was going to stop her.

 

She steeled herself, braced her hands, and prepared her escape–

 

–when Chat let out the softest, cutest, most devastating little snore against her.

 

Marinette’s whole determination collapsed.

 

"Aw dang it," she whispered.

 

But she tried again anyway.

 

After all–it was escape him now…

 

…or face Alya later.

 

But Marinette was so close.

One leg free, one shoulder free, Chat’s arm only barely hooked around her waist now–just one last wiggle and she’d be free.

 

She slid an inch.

 

Another inch.

 

Just one more,

 

Then the door slammed open.

 

Marinette froze mid-escape, twisted at a ridiculous angle.

Chat Noir, dead asleep, had his entire face mushed against her chest like a pillow he paid rent for.

 

And Nino stood in the doorway.

 

Blinking.

 

Processing.

 

Blinking harder.

 

His eyes traveled from the tangled limbs… to the way Chat’s hand was gripping Marinette’s hip… to her flaming-red face… to Chat softly purring into her shirt.

 

Nino’s soul visibly left his body.

"Wha–"

Marinette slapped a hand over her mouth.

Her eyes screamed: THIS IS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE.

 

Nino’s eyes screamed back: ITS EXACTLY WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE

 

Before she could even formulate words, Chat groaned awake, nuzzling blindly into her like a cat adjusting in sunlight.

 

“Mnph… wha’s goin’ on…” he mumbled against her, voice low and raspy.

 

Nino nearly dropped dead.

 

Chat blinked blearily up at him, completely unfazed by the situation.

 

“Oh. Nino.” His forehead was still pressed against Marinette’s sternum. “Why’re you in my room…?”

 

“W…WHY AM I L–!?! Are you–are you two–?! Did I interrupt something?!”

 

“Nino!” Marinette squeaked, trying to sit up but Chat immediately slumped heavier onto her in retaliation. “It’s not–! We’re not– He was just–!”

 

Chat yawned enormously, cutting her off.

 

“You need somethin’?” he muttered, then promptly buried half his face back into her chest like it was his natural bed.

 

Marinette wanted to sink into the ocean.

 

Nino pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I knew it, I freakin’ knew it.”

 

He cleared his throat, still beet red.

 

“Uh–the crew. They wanna give Alya some harder tasks so she can find her footing. They need your permission first.”

 

Chat half-lifted his head.

 

“Yeah. That’s fine,” he mumbled.

 

Then without hesitation, without shame, without any consideration for optics,

 

he flopped back onto Marinette.

 

A full-body, heavy, sleepy collapse.

 

She squeaked again.

 

Nino stared.

 

Chat was already half asleep again.

 

“...So you’re cool with it?” Nino repeated weakly.

 

“Mmhm,” Chat hummed, face smushing deeper into her like he was trying to hide from daylight.

 

Nino nodded slowly… backed out of the room… closed the door…

 

And one second later—

 

Marinette heard a voice.

 

A familiar voice.

 

A terrifying voice.

 

“…Nino? Why do you look like you saw a ghost?”

 

Alya.

 

Alya was right outside.

 

Marinette’s blood turned to ice.

 

“Uh–Alya–wait, maybe don’t go in there–” Nino’s panicked whisper hissed.

 

“What? Why? What's this huge room for anyways?" 

 

Marinette’s eyes blew wide as saucers.

 

Oh no.

 

Oh no no no.

 

She was still half pinned under Chat Noir.

In HIS bed.

Hair messy. Shirt wrinkled. His arm around her waist. His face on her chest.

 

Alya’s hand touched the doorknob.

 

And turned.

Notes:

Hahaha cliffhanger yayy

Don't hate me

Don't worry either, my next chapter will be posted soon!

Feel free to kudos and comment your opinions!

Chapter 26

Notes:

Yikes guys im sorry for the late chapter. But its here!

So much to read!! So much emotions in this chapter its scary!

The door creaked open.

 

Alya stepped inside with a faintly puzzled look, already halfway through forming a sentence‐

 

and then her brain literally short-circuited.

 

Her eyes landed on the bed.

 

On the captain.

 

On the familiar curve of a face she had mourned, cried herself sick over.

 

Marinette.

 

Alive.

 

Warm.

 

Very much real.

 

And snuggled against the pirate captain like she belonged there.

 

For a full second, Alya’s mind refused to process reality.

 

Then—

 

“AUGH?!”

 

The sound tore out of her before she could stop it, sharp and startled and full of disbelief.

 

Marinette flinched at both the yelp and chat noir shooting awake. 

 

“What-?!” he gasped, jerking upright so fast Marinette nearly bounced with him. His hair stuck up wildly, eyes unfocused, still half lost in sleep. “Is the ship sinking?!”

 

Alya stumbled backward, hand clapped over her mouth, eyes huge and shining and already filling with tears.

 

“Mar-Mari-?” Her voice cracked. “No–no, I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming-”

 

Chat finally followed her gaze.

 

Oh.

 

Oh.

 

The room snapped into horrible, crystal clarity.

 

Alya.

Standing there.

Staring at Marinette like she’d seen a ghost.

 

Chat’s blood went cold.

 

“Oh,” he muttered. “This is… this is bad timing.”

 

Marinette reacted on pure instinct.

 

She gently patted Chat’s head once, twice- soft, grounding.

 

“Stay,” she whispered to him, barely audible.

 

Then she slithered free of his arms, like escaping a trap without triggering it. The second she stood, the cold air hit her skin and reality hit even harder.

 

She took a step toward Alya.

 

“Alya,” Marinette said softly.

 

Alya made a strangled noise.

 

“You-” She laughed once, hysterical and broken. “You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead. I watched them search for you. I waited months-”

 

“I know,” Marinette said quickly, voice shaking but steadying as she got closer. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Alya’s knees nearly gave out.

 

“You’re real,” she whispered. “You’re actually–actually here.”

 

Chat Noir stayed sitting on the bed, suddenly feeling like a trespasser in a moment that wasn’t his to own. His chest felt tight. The sea murmured beneath the hull, restless, watching.

 

Alya’s gaze flicked back to him.

 

"...And you’re with him?”

 

Marinette froze.

 

“No! well- yes- but it’s not–” She ran a hand through her hair, frazzled. “It’s complicated. Please don’t freak out.”

 

Alya let out a breath that sounded like it carried months of grief with it.

 

“Too late,” she croaked.

 

She wiped at her eyes aggressively, laughing and crying at the same time. “You disappear, I end up on a pirate ship, and my dead best friend is alive and sleeping with the captain—”

 

“I wasn’t sleeping with her,” Chat blurted automatically.

 

Both girls looked at him.

 

He winced.

 

“...I mean. I was sleeping. On her. Fully clothed. Respectfully.”

 

Marinette snorted despite herself.

 

Alya stared and then she started laughing.

 

Real laughter. Shaky. Disbelieving. Relieved.

 

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “You’re alive.”

 

Marinette stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.

 

Alya froze, then clutched her back like she might vanish if she let go.

 

Chat watched from the bed as the ship creaked beneath them, the sea still restless but no longer angry. Just awaiting his next move.

 

This reunion is important to Marinette. Meaning its important to him. But he cant keep the ocean waiting for him much longer. Its too dangerous to keep the sea hungry. 

 

He really is happy for them.

 

Watching Marinette cling to Alya like she’s afraid she’ll vanish again. watching Alya’s hands shake as she laughs and cries into Marinette’s shoulder, it settles something in Chat Noir’s chest he didn’t realize had been rattling loose. The sea hums beneath the hull, low and patient, and for a fleeting moment he almost thinks she understands too.

 

Almost.

 

But then the hunger presses in.

 

Not words but weight. Expectation. A pull so familiar it might as well be another limb. The sea is waiting. She has been waiting. And he already failed her once by sleeping when he should have acted.

 

He shifts quietly, boots touching the floor without a sound. He doesn’t look back again. If he does, he might hesitate–and hesitation at sea is how people die.

 

He reaches the door.

 

A shadow blocks it.

 

Chat exhales through his nose. “Move, Nino.”

 

Nino doesn’t budge.

 

They stare at each other in the dim cabin light–captain and first mate, salt and loyalty etched deep into both of them. Nino’s expression isn’t angry. It’s worried. Always worried, these days.

 

“You’re not sneaking off to throw yourself overboard,” Nino says quietly. “Not again.”

 

Chat’s jaw tightens. He glances back despite himself.

 

Marinette and Alya are still locked together, oblivious. Safe. For now.

 

“I don’t have time for this,” Chat says. His voice hardens–not cruel, just final. “I’m the captain. Move.”

 

Nino swallows.

 

Still doesn’t move.

 

Instead, he sighs and runs a hand over his face. “We’ll find another ship,” he says. “A proper one. Sailors who won’t be missed. We do it clean. We do it your way. But you don’t get to be the offering. Not today. Not ever.”

 

Silence stretches.

 

The sea listens.

 

Chat closes his eyes.

 

For a heartbeat, he feels it- approval. Not eager, not sated, but accepting. The pressure eases, just enough. She will wait a little longer. She trusts him. Always has.

 

When he opens his eyes, something like relief flickers across his face.

 

“Fine,” he says. “We hunt.”

 

Nino steps aside.

 

Chat pauses at the threshold, one last look over his shoulder.

 

Marinette’s face is red and blotchy from crying. Alive. Warm. Real. Her fingers are knotted tight in Alya’s coat like an anchor. Something fierce and unfamiliar twists in his chest.

 

Later, he promises- whether to her, to himself, or to the sea, he doesn’t know.

 

The plan settles into place easily, like it always does.

 

Find a ship.

Feed the sea.

Return to the hunt for the crown’s secrets.

And somewhere in the middle of all that‐

Figure out what he is to Marinette now.

 

Not in order, obviously.

 

Because no matter what the sea demands, no matter what crowns hide or kingdoms chase-

 

Marinette has already become his first storm.

And that scares him, but he cant focus on it right now. So he leaves the cabin and marches right out to the main part of the ship, Nino right behind him.

Already catching the attention of his crew members, he gives the order without hesitation.

 

“East,” Chat Noir commands, hands firm on the wheel. “Close to port. Not close enough to be seen.”

 

The crew moves immediately. No questions. No protests. They know that tone–sharp, bright, humming with something dangerous and holy all at once. The ship responds like a living thing, sails snapping as she turns. The sea beneath them grows restless, waves brushing the hull as if urging them onward.

 

An hour passes with Chat at the helm, shoulders tense, eyes burning. The wheel spins beneath his palms, wood warm and familiar. The sea pulls—not gently now, but insistently.

 

Then he sees them.

 

A small boat. Too small. Too slow. Men clustered together, laughing, unaware.

 

Perfect.

 

A grin splits his face. wide, unrestrained, almost boyish in its triumph. His heart pounds. The sea swells beneath them, eager.

 

“There,” he says, voice trembling with excitement. “There.”

 

He doesn’t wait.

 

Chat vaults over the rail first, landing hard on the ship with a feral laugh. Steel flashes. His blade arcs clean and fast, slicing right into the first mans sternum as he goes down with a wet sound.

 

Chat blinks.

 

...Ah.

 

The sea prefers them alive.

 

It’s fine. He barely slows, adrenaline singing in his veins. “Still plenty,” he mutters, already moving.

 

The crew crashes in behind him–Ivan like a battering ram, Nino surprisingly nimble, the others efficient and brutal. Chat tackles the next man himself, knocking the air from his lungs, pressing him to the deck as ropes come out. Shouts turn to screams. Blood slicks the planks. Seven men restrained. Breathing. Struggling.

 

Perfect.

 

They haul them back across to Chat’s ship, bodies dragged like offerings. The sea roils now, waves slapping harder against the hull, impatient.

 

Chat barely notices the gore on his hands. He closes his eyes and listens.

 

There.

 

North. A little west.

 

“Change course,” he says, already turning the wheel. “Now.”

 

The pull fades slowly, like a satisfied sigh, and when it’s gone completely, he knows this is it. This is where she wants to be fed.

 

He’s buzzing. Practically vibrating.

 

He wants- no, needs- to show her.

 

This is devotion. This is survival. This is love.

 

He wipes his hands hastily and strides to his cabin, bursting in with barely-contained excitement. “Marinette,” he says, breathless, eyes shining. “Come see. The sea chose the spot. I did it right- I”

 

She looks up.

 

Her expression is soft. Tired. Sad in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

 

She steps closer instead of backing away.

 

Her fingers brush his cheek, slow and gentle, wiping away a smear of blood he hadn’t noticed. The touch steals the words from his mouth.

 

“No,” she says quietly. “This... this is a side of you I don’t want to see.”

 

Not angry. Not accusing. Just honest.

 

Behind her, Alya sits respectfully on the wooden chair beside the bed, eyes lowered, giving them space she doesn’t fully understand yet.

 

Marinette gives Chat a small, apologetic smile, then turns back to Alya, sitting beside her.

 

Chat stands there for a long moment.

 

Then he nods.

 

“Okay,” he says softly.

 

He turns and leaves without another word, closing the door behind him. The sea is waiting. She always is.

 

And for now, he will give her what she wants–

even if the woman he’s falling for never sees it.

He doesn’t hesitate.

 

Chat Noir marches back onto the deck like a storm given shape, boots striking wood in sharp, decisive beats. The sea is loud now- waves slapping, rolling, waiting. The men are lined up exactly as he ordered: bound, shaking, some crying openly, others staring at him with the hollow look of people who already know they’re dead.

 

“Quiet,” he snaps, and the crew obeys before he even finishes the word.

 

One by one, he approaches them.

 

He doesn’t kill them with his blade. Not this time. The sea asked differently.

 

From the first man, he plucks a ring–cheap brass, worn thin. He turns it over once between his fingers, then kicks the man hard in the chest.

 

The body disappears over the railing.

 

The scream lasts only a few seconds before the water swallows it whole.

 

The sea responds immediately. The waves soften, just a little. A gentle roll against the hull. Approval.

 

Chat giggles, breathless and bright, and moves to the next.

 

A necklace. A belt buckle. A hat soaked with sweat.

 

Kick, Scream. Splash! 

 

Each offering is met with gratitude, the ocean smoothing herself out, easing the tension in her currents. Chat hums under his breath as he works, eyes shining, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and salt. His wound aches, throbs hot and angry, but it’s distant–irrelevant compared to the satisfaction blooming in his chest.

 

The last man collapses to his knees.

 

“Please,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Please, I’ll do anything. I have a family. I’ll work for you–I’ll pray!"

 

Chat tilts his head, considering him for half a second.

 

Then he smiles.

 

“I know,” he says cheerfully, and shoves him overboard without another thought.

 

The sea goes almost still.

 

Chat exhales, long and satisfied, arms dropping to his sides. His laughter fades into something softer, calmer. The hunger inside him eases, replaced by a deep, steady warmth.

 

He turns to his crew.

 

They’re watching him the way they always do‐faces blank, eyes trained elsewhere. This is normal. This is their captain.

 

“Back to work,” he says lightly, waving a hand. “You’re clogging the deck.”

 

They disperse immediately.

 

Chat presses a hand to his stomach, suddenly aware of his own hunger now that the sea’s is sated. “Ivan,” he calls. “Make dinner. Something filling.”

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

Good.

 

He strolls back to his cabin like nothing happened, peeling off his coat and blood-smeared shirt as he goes. He opens the small wooden chest beneath his desk and drops the stolen accessories inside–trophies, offerings, proof that he listened. The lid closes with a soft thunk.

Glancing at Marinette and Alya before he leaves, theyre asleep on his bed, granted– Alya looks very uncomfortable sleeping on his bed. Obviously, its not her bed. But marinette looks completely comfy. Oh how he wishes he can snuggle right back into her arms. But right now he needs to bathe first.

So he walks out and into his bathing room, crosses the threshold of 5 other wooden baths for his crew and sets up his personal one. It takes up 30 minutes of his time to get hot water in his bath but hes finally done. 

He lowers himself into the tub, steam rising, grime and salt washing away as he leans back with a satisfied sigh. The sea is quiet once again. 

He closes his eyes and fingers the emerald jewel on his neck. Thinking back on the time Marinette had it. He was reckless then- forgetful. But now he'll willingly hand her anything if it means she stays with him.

He doesnt know when he started to feel like this towards her. Admitting his crush was hard enough, realizing hes inlove is even harder. But the way she cared for him when he was feverish and wounded. He needs someone like that. Someone so loving– so kind. 

So soft. (Physically as well, he still cant stop thinking about her bosoms.) 

His fingers graze over his healing wound and instead of wincing, he smiles. 

Thank the seas he got shot. Or else he would've never progressed so far with his princess.

(And never would've slept with her) 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Wow wow! So much in this chapter.

Chats still an unhinged lunatic but atleast hes got a huge soft spot for his lovely marinette. And with the way shes treating him now its safe to say she cares for him just as much!

I love when characters inlove are so soft towards eachother and I had to add some cannon concepts to this fic so im definitely adding a lot of fluff between them. Marinette will always love her kitty in every universe, and adrien will always love his bug!

Thank you for reading this chapter, it was write long but you got through it! Commenting and kudos really motivates me! Thank you guys