Captured in Time - MLB Félinette Fanfiction [DISCONTINUED]

The Smell of Chat Noir

It was so warm. So tight. So silent yet so loud all the same.

Thump. Thump.

It wasn't her heart, Marinette was sure. It was so calm.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

God, she wanted to stay here forever. She felt so safe. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, the rhythmic and not-at-all erratic heartbeat, the warmth. It almost felt like she was a fifteen-year-old all over again, in the arms of the only person she ever felt safe in.

"Chat Noir," she whispered, nuzzling her nose on his chest.

She could hear a soft rumbling that came from where she rested her head, and she smiled.

"You're purring, chaton ," she giggled and hugged him tighter. The heartbeat she could hear so clearly began to pick up, and she pressed a kiss on her sternum before looking up to him.

He was looking away, but since he was nearly a head taller than her, she could only see from his neck up to his chin, and from what she could remember, Chat Noir was definitely less red than this. How cute. He was blushing.

"I'm not purring," he finally said.

And of all things that could have snapped her out of her reverie, of all the things that could have shattered the fragmented illusion she gave herself, it just had to be his voice. Félix's voice. Deep. Rich. Dark. Lustrous. Wait, what?

Marinette squeaked and she got off of him, only to stumble backward over nothing , and her squeak turned into a yell, eyes shut, expecting the hard floor to hit her.

None came.

Instead, strong arms wrapped around her thin frame, stopping her from falling altogether.

"Are you okay?" He asked, finally looking at her.

His eyes were grey, metal grey, and it was almost reflective. It was probably because she stared for too long, but she could almost see her full reflection in his eyes - distraught, eyes blown wide, hair disheveled, unkempt. She suddenly remembered the episode she suffered earlier, in front of all those people, and she couldn't see herself in his eyes anymore.

Her throat constricted, but she managed to get a 'yeah' out, trying to pull away.

It was useless, he didn't let go of her.

He pulled her even closer to him, supporting her up by her arms, before setting her down on a couch.

It was only then she realized she wasn't in the showroom anymore; she was in Félix's house, in an off-white walled room decorated with a plethora of his captured photos (thankfully none with her face in it). The house was otherwise minimally decorated, and in fact, he seemed to be living frugally, the pleather of his grey couch picking off, floors bare and rugless, no extra tables or cabinets or drawers in sight save for the small table that sat next to the couch. Oh, and a cat that purred from somewhere that Marinette can't see.

His house dressing game was a far cry to his body dressing game.

Her heart raced, and she looked to the man's silhouette who stood by the kitchen somewhere to her right, setting sun drowning the room in light from the kitchen windows.

"Where... am I?" She asked him, just making sure.

"My house."

Her heart stopped at the verbal confirmation. "What am I doing here?"

"You asked to come here."

She doesn't remember that happening. Félix turned around, and he held two cups of something in his hand, setting it on the table next to her chair. She couldn't help but notice the toppled-over frame.