A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so sorry for the short chapter, I have so much stuff to work through for uni, but next chapter will be full of action and new info! :3 The fanart that was supposed to be drawn for this story is still a work in progress, I'm really sorry for the delay (also the one on Tumblr was a anon request, whoever the anon was, thank you and of course to the artist that drew the scene!)

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 13

'While I myself think cuffs shouldn't be too much of a violation, don't you think comparing me to one of the most infamous prisons in Paris a little harsh, little melody?'

The screen shook, the hands that held it trembling violently.

Bluebell eyes quickly glanced towards the now sitting criminal in her living room. They'd come back from their trip to the store and Marinette had set to prepare everything for their meal. She'd tried thinking of ways to make the bored criminal useful, maybe something to do with peeling carrots, or something more safe without the use of any potential weapon.

Then again, anything could be used as a weapon.

Luka's message seemed to burn holes through her skull and it had been five minutes since he sent it to her and she had yet to reply.

Then, the idiot spoke. "Whatcha staring at lieutenant?"

Repressing the urge to throw something at him, Marinette snarled back viciously. "Nothing!"

She could almost imagine the invisible cat ears standing at attention on top of the man's head and she silently cursed herself for her shaky voice.

"Oh? That doesn't sound like nothing."

Rolling her eyes at the sing-song voice, Marinette resolutely turned her back to him, after stealing a few glances to make sure he remained where he was.

Then, she began to type.

'Sir-! No I mean, colonel Cou-I-I mean LUKA! I'm so sorry! I- that had been for Alya!'

She hit send without thinking, her flying fingers too quick for her brain to catch up. Then she quickly typed a follow-up message.

'It was a joke! Just a joke! None of it is true!'

She slapped her face, "Real smooth, Marinette. He isn't that oblivious." She thought to herself, before typing a third message to somehow save her skin.

"Hm, I suggest sending nudes, seems to be trendy these days."

The shrill yelp Marinette released rang in his ears painfully loud and he hissed, drawing his head away from hovering over her shoulder. The cop pressed her phone to her chest, hiding the messages from prying eyes, her gaze shooting daggers at him.

Oh if only looks could kill…

"Y-You-! Stop spying on me! It's a violation! You're a pervert!" Marinette looked ready to throw something at him now.

Chat Noir huffed, leaning against the counter easily, bound hands resting in front of him leisurely. "Me? A pervert? Who saw whom naked?"

Marinette jabbed a finger in his direction, murder written clearly in her eyes. "Stop lying! Nino is the only one who ever saw you!"

A sigh. "Unfurtunately." Silence settled between them for a brief moment, before Chat Noir opened his mouth again. "You think police boy will bite? I mean, for your obvious lies, not bite you." A devious smirk curled his lips and he easily dodged the swipe made for his shoulder.

Marinette's hands were back at her sides, shaking in annoyance at the audacity of this sick-

Ping!

Chat Noir's smirk widened. "Looks like the snake sent a message." He relished the murderous expression on the woman's face, until she carefully peeked at her phone, well aware of his prying gaze.

Heat flooded her cheeks.

"What? Did he send nudes? I don't want to see them, thank you, but just to use as blackmail material against him." She tuned out the annoying voice in the background, eyes firmly set on the two messages sent from Luka.

'It's alright, Marinette, I was just teasing. Sounds like the cat's been giving you a hard time.'

'About the breakfast date for Monday, does that still stand? What are you in the mood for?'

Smiling warmly, Marinette's fingers hovered over the keyboard until a certain voice droned close to her ear. "Oh, how bold. Write 'anything is fine, but what I'm really in the mood for is whipped cream on your-' Ow! OW! VIOLENCE! RAPE! FIRE! SOMEONE HELP!" Marinette lightly swiped the newspapers over the criminal's head, his hands coming up protectively as he rushed out of the kitchen.

"Be quiet! No food for you today! Ugh! I should've sent you to La Sante!" Marinette rested her fist against her hip, glaring daggers at the blond man who curled into a ball on the couch, warily staring at her like a cat watching a dog. "Stay put."

When she turned her back, Chat Noir clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing when she typed on her phone.

Tch.

How stupid.

How could anyone even be friends with that snake?

Marinette stole a glance at the sulking man in the living room, until she walked back to the kitchen counter, the water slowly simmering in the pot.

Luka greeted the already working members of his unit, grabbing some coffee and heading for his office, stopping by Marc's desk to chat with the younger male casually.

His phone dinged with a new message and Luka excused the dark-haired man for a minute to read it.

It was from Marinette.

A smile automatically stretched his lips.

'How about pancakes? I would love those! I can bring some chocolate and our lunches for the afternoon shift!'

Marc rose an eyebrow at the positively glowing aura his superior exuded, the most tender expression on his face he'd ever seen when he glanced at his phone.

He didn't think too deeply on the words he said next. "Oh, is that Marinette?"

Luka's eyes widened and he quickly hid their chat, a mildly embarrassed grin on his lips. "Marc, say, didn't Alya mention something about an article she needed a translation of?"

The young writer blinked rapidly, a look of fearful panic on his face at the mention of his other superior's name. "Oh no! The article! I forgot!"

Luka made a mental note to make it up to the boy later on, he carefully balanced his coffee between arm and chest, while typing a reply with his free hand.

'You're amazing, little melody. Pancakes it will be, I'll add in some cinnamon I know you love that. It's a date then.'

Despite his age, Luka couldn't help but feel secretly giddy.

His mood significantly lifted, especially with the quick reply he got from Marinette.

That had been just a few seconds.

'You're incredible Luka! It's a date! 3"

The heart emoji made his heart skip a beat and Luka quickly pocketed his phone and cleared his throat when a colleague walked towards him to hand him a small stack of papers.

Marinette dumped the cut vegetables in the simmering pot, tapping her fingers against her arm at the sight before her.

Chat Noir, a kitchen towel thrown across his lap, green eyes narrowed dangerously in concentration, sat at the table and felt like a child.

His hands were still chained, but they carefully peeled at the tough skin of the potatoes, the pile of unpeeled potatoes larger than the few meekly ones he'd finished peeling.

"I need the potatoes."

His tongue stuck out in concentration, carefully peeling another side off. "You'll get the potatoes."

Marinette crossed her arms. "I need them now."

Chat Noir grit his teeth, eyes narrowing in annoyance. "You'll get them."

"Now."

"Soon."

Their eyes met over the sound of the bubbling water, annoyed green with equally annoyed blue clashing together in a battle of wills and a battlefield filled with flames of hatred.

The policewoman sighed heavily before she grabbed a small peeling knife, pulling out the chair opposite of Chat Noir and sitting down, grabbing a potato and beginning to peel.

The atmosphere was oddly…comfortable.

"You're helping me?" the criminal rose an eyebrow, fingers still trying to clumsily peel at the tough brown skin without removing too much potato.

Marinette bit back a retort, heart still fluttering from Luka's last message. "I'm speeding up the process."

"You're helping me."

"I'm making sure I don't kill you."

He smirked, time passing by much faster when the cop occasionally engaged in banter with him, while they peeled the potatoes together.

The setting oddly reminded him of something domestic, of a life families led, the circumstances were anything but, and the woman sitting before him was something else entirely, but the image…almost seemed the same.

Chat Noir dreamed, if only for a moment, in this moment, that when all was said and done, he would sit at a table, with a woman, maybe a child.

In a different time.

A different life.

But maybe, just maybe, the same image.

The man bowed deeply, the wrapped gift box resting neatly in front of his kneeling form.

He dared not move an inch, body trembling not just from the injuries he was still recovering from, but the penetrating fear wedged deep into his every pore.

Like a toxin slowly but surely seeping into his body with every breath he took.

"Signore Vanetti." The formal, whispered words echoed in the room and the trembling man waited for an answer with sweating palms and a stuttering heartbeat.

Light, confident footsteps echoed loudly down the hall and into the room, men dressed in black suits and women in red dresses following behind the man.

Dressed in a sharp, form-fitting suit and a dark red cravat, a smile curled the handsome Italian's lips.

"Beni." The kneeling man hesitantly raised his head, bandages peeking forth from his neck and the plaster from his cheek. "I see you've made contact with a certain cat."

Beni trembled, flashbacks of glowing green eyes and pain causing his heart to speed up. "Y-Yes, signore."

A chuckle. "Excellent. I'm sure my wife will be very pleased to hear this."

The loud clicking of heels echoed through the corridor and with every click-clack from the heels, Beni's heart stuttered and his scalp was bathed in sweat.

Oh no.

Not her.

Anything but her.

Black heels came into view, the only view he dared to allow himself, keeping his gaze respectfully low.

When the clicking of the heels stopped, Beni slowly, reluctantly began to raise his head again.

Toned, tan lags clad in see-through stockings came into view, long legs capable of breaking a man's neck ending in wide hips covered by black fabric.

But the most terrifying view that shook him to his very bones, wasn't the sight of the many members from the Italian mafia, nor was it Marco Vanetti's unsettling, dangerous smile.

No.

It were the olive green eyes that spoke of kindness and empathy.

And the red painted lips curled into an eerie smirk, a predatory aura that commanded the respect and sought lifelong loyalty from each occupant in the room.

Including his own.

Thank you for reading! I'm sorry this was short, but the next chapter will be full of action and more plot progression, so this one was a little lighter :)