Marinette let go of his wrist in an instinctual bout of fear as her hand slapped over his mouth to prevent him from saying anything more.

“It’s a secret identity! You can’t just go blurting it out, what if someone were listening?”

Damian glanced down at her hand, pointedly. A little shamefaced, Marinette let him go. The palm of her hand was warm from the tickle of his breath, which was why she moved it away like it was scorched by the contact with his lips. They felt incredibly like a cushion under her fingers, slightly springy when pressed on and yet firm enough to be as purposive as the rest of him.

The question was what purpose he would put them to, if she granted him the chance to earn his way off his knees…

“I can assure you, I am quite practiced at keeping secrets.”

“Not ones like this!” Marinette protested. “A secret identity is so much more important than an everyday ordinary secret. And the consequences if it gets out,” she put her free hand to her cheek in fear just imagining, dragging Damian’s wrist along with, “it would be bad!”

Damian was giving her a bemused look when she finally looked down again after shaking away thoughts of how badly things could go.

“I promise I will keep your secret identity secret. You may consider it appropriate compensation for sparring, if the thought of me knowing bothers you so.”

“Listen to me,” Marinette retorted, her expression serious as her tone. “This is too important for you to go carelessly blurting it out, even in private. Obviously, you don’t understand how important having a secret identity is, so instead I’ll just give you a warning.” At this, she fisted her hand in his hair and tugged it backward forcing his face up as she bent over until their faces were very close, his eyes boring into her eyes.

Purely so he understood just how serious she was, obviously!

Marinette banished those kinds of thoughts. She had absolutely no interest in calculating the exact distance between his lips and hers (based on the fact that she could feel his breath, somewhere between one hand-length or two). Nor was she paying any attention to the feeling of his hair tight in her hand and the control it gave her (Damian wasn’t fighting it, like he was giving her control and somehow that was more distracting). No, Marinette was completely, one hundred percent, focused on ensuring Damian was completely focused on her so he would understand the gravity of her message!

“If you tell anyone my secret, I won’t make that jacket for you. Or the rest of the outfit!”

Damian blinked at her. Then blinked again. And then he opened his mouth to say something. And to assert her control of the situation, Marinette did the sensible thing and interrupted him. Like an adult, she used her mouth.

For speaking!

“I have more threats to issue. Second threat, no dresses for Kory. Third threat, nothing for Dick either.”

It was a lot to sacrifice, giving up the mental image of what they would look like in more of her designs. Marinette had a vision, inspired by her matching purple button ups idea of a whole line where the two of them modeled together with only one outfit between both of them for each look. Pressed tight together to conceal their intimates, wrapped strategically against one another so the viewer could see every article of clothing in each individual shot the line would transition slowly from male attire to female.

It would begin with Kory tall and upright facing the camera. Held aloft high in the air wearing nothing except the purple button up left hanging loose, Dick slinging her over his shoulder with his arms wrapped high around her thighs to support her (and conceal her casual nudity), his back exposed with the muscles engaged as he wore nothing but jeans. It would end with the outfit’s gender flipped, with Dick in painted-on skintight leggings and Kory in a voluminous sweater hanging just low enough to cover but not low enough to conceal. The last image would be the pair of them hip to hip and cheek to cheek looking back toward the camera with their faces both turned inward, the edges of their lips almost brushing against one another, implying they were about to meet in a kiss. It would be a horrible sacrifice, giving up those images, but Marinette was a hero and heroes didn’t shy away from sacrifice.

“I could simply lie, wait until you provided the outfits and then reveal your identity.” His voice shook her out of her dream photoshoot and back to the present. It wasn’t panic inducing, however. Damian didn’t seem to be making the suggestion seriously, just laying out possibilities.

“I have a lot of experience with figuring out liars.” Marinette gave him a stern glare as she leaned in a little closer (for emphasis). “But if you do lie to me, I’ll just make your punishment worse.” She leaned in even further, her glare intensifying. “Much worse.”

Marinette knew exactly what she would do. She’d make him as many outfits as he wanted, all of them slightly off. Slightly wrong, in ways only a truly motivated and vengeful clothing designer would know about. A hair too small, a stitch uneven, one arm marginally longer than the other, a collar that would never quite sit exactly right, lopsided shoulders, pockets imperceptibly too narrow for comfort, ohhh she’d do horrible things to him.

A wicked smile grew on Marinette’s face as she imagined all the nasty things she could do (with) to Damian. Damian’s clothing, that was. Only if he betrayed her! Marinette would never do anything bad to him otherwise (unless he asked for it).

It was the sound of Damian clicking his teeth together that broke her from her plotting.

“Tt. Your threats are sufficiently intimidating. I vow not to reveal your secret identity.”

“Wise choice,” Marinette retorted.

Damian’s lips pressed together in a thin slash. Thin enough that Marinette could almost certainly fit her’s around his comfortably. Something she was dangerously close to doing, she realized, as the heat of his skin warmed her cheeks. She hadn’t been paying attention to just how far forward she’d leaned during all of this!

Or, Marinette realized, the effect it would have on her shirt! The neckline was hanging loose, draping open and giving Damian a full view of her full bust! Not that she was wearing an extremely revealing bra, but certain designs were more confidence inducing than others and she did appreciate delicate stitching and wearing inspirational things was inspiring so perhaps today’s choice was slightly more risqué than Marinette was prepared for Damian to see, he might get the wrong idea about her after all!

(or he might get the right kind of wrong idea, so long as the lace was as inspiring for him as it was for her…)

And worse yet, Marinette had somehow managed to overcommit herself to leaning on Damian with all this intimidation, meaning she was currently incapable of straightening without using him for leverage! Something she obviously couldn’t do, since her hand was in his hair and that would push his eyes down to the exact place they shouldn’t be!

It was a rock and a hard place! Her own acutely angled hips the rock and Damian’s face the hard place! Two things that would eventually collide, smashing Marinette’s sanity to bits between them! This was the kind of situation that required a miraculous ladybug item to untangle, but she couldn’t exactly transform in front of him. One compromised secret identity was enough to worry about after all.

“Are you going to let me up?”

“No!” Marinette quickly replied, her mind racing for an excuse. “Not until I’m certain you understand how serious I am!”

“If you do not believe my vow was sufficient, we may be here for some time.”

Marinette puffed out her chest, projecting false confidence as she wracked her brain for a solution. “I don’t have anywhere to be, mister! I can keep you here all day.”

“And night? Eventually you will need to let me up.”

Marinette was unreasonably tempted to say yes, she was absolutely prepared to keep him on his knees all night long (to avoid the embarrassment, obviously!), but her parents were expecting her eventually. Still, he didn’t know that.

“I’m the assistant to the assistant to the assistant something or whatever, do you think I can’t keep you here as long as I need to?”

“No,” Damian replied sharply. “I do not. Your previous threats were much more credible.”

“Well, I certainly have more!”

Just as soon as she thought of them. Which might take some time but she was planning on doing as soon as Damian stopped distracting her with his presence.

Okay, so it wasn’t a perfect plan. There were a few kinks to work out.

The only question was whether or not Damian would be willing to work them out with her, and if he had any… kinks… of his own that might complicate the process. Marinette was equitable, however. She wouldn’t make any unreasonable demands. She would be happy to ensure it was a quid pro quo exchange, that anything he put in (to her) he would get back.

“While listening to you deliver them might be amusing, perhaps we could compromise?”

Marinette would be happy to meet him in the middle. As many times as he wanted. There wasn’t much room to nod, but somehow she managed it anyway.

“Very well. First, let go of my wrist. Then we can negotiate a mutually agreeable solution.”

Letting go of his wrist was a good idea. Marinette had forgotten she was still holding onto it. It was a plan Marinette was entirely on-board with, happy to comply, excited to in fact. There was just the slight problem that her hands were rebelling against the notion of reducing the amount of contact they had with Damian.

She wasn’t being indecisive! It was just that they were pushing for concessions like a promise to keep her hands in his hair and that seemed like it might complicate the conversation. Marinette counter-offered with his shoulder, a proposal her hands vehemently rejected. Despite her best negotiating efforts it was quickly apparent that they wanted his face or there would be no deal.

Damian waited patiently as Marinette sorted things out (upon discovering the deal her hands had driven the rest of her body parts were unionizing against her, the only choice was collective bargaining!). She was having a little trouble doing all that (they’d decided to strike). Particularly given the precarious position of her hips, it was crucial that she maintain her balance throughout all of this maneuvering (not even her feet would cross the picket line, things were getting dire). And losing the lever his wrist provided might ruin her ability to stay upright without using her hand in his hair, which wasn’t an option for aforementioned reasons (Marinette was starting to think she would be forced to meet the striker’s demands).

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

And then Marinette realized, there was an easy way out of this situation that would satisfy her hands (as for the rest of her, it would benefit from a lesson in obedience (particularly if Damian were the instructor)).

In a swift motion, she released his wrist and put her hand on his chin. Then she used him as leverage, regaining her height while keeping his chin pushed up so he couldn’t see anything he wasn’t supposed to (where that limit was, she wasn’t certain). Damian, however, seemed to be done letting her simply use him as a ladder as he reflexively grabbed her arms ruining Marinette’s plan of letting go and giving him space to get up once she was upright again.

Instead, she found herself held down, still at an angle in front of him. This one was much more awkward than her previous spot, because she wasn’t bent far enough to put her weight onto him and so the net result was that she had to sling out her hip and bend a knee to maintain her stance.

“Sorry!” Marinette said hurriedly as she tried to extricate herself.

Damian rose in a swift motion that forced her arms to slip from his hair and chin to his shoulders, ending up looped around the back of his neck and resting comfortably on his chest. Given that he was still holding on, the motion drew her in until they were almost closer than they had been just a few seconds ago.

Marinette could, once again, feel his breath on her skin. This time there was a hitch in his normally even exhalations. She, once again, rejected the idea of calculating the exact distance between his lips and hers (given the new angle, and their relatively even heights, it was definitely down to one hand length at most). She was also avoiding paying any attention at all to the feeling of how solid his chest was under her hand, the flat plane of his muscle a plateau of possibilities she didn’t intend to explore. And the comfortable way his neck sat in the crook of her arm was hardly worth noting other than the fact that it had accidentally and entirely unintentionally resulted in her pulling closer to him, or him pulling closer to her (at this point figuring out who to blame for all this entirely incidental touching was too much, all Marinette could do was manage the situation (of course, whoever was to blame ought to be brought to justice. Handcuffed and forced to do penance until the victimized party was satisfied)).

His tone was lightly sarcastic, poking her with mild exasperation, as he asked, “Is this an acceptable position to begin negotiations from?”

It was an acceptable position for a lot of things, negotiations were probably included in that list. Marinette would need to double check, for thoroughness’ sake. Probably go through the entirety of the list, and check that all the entries were appropriate. Testing would be involved…

However! Scientific endeavors would have to wait! Damian was waiting on her answer after all.

“Um,” Marinette began. The position, now that she was thinking about it, probably wasn’t acceptable. Not if it would be distracting. And she was far too distracted by the point of his nose drifting close to one of her stray hairs that had somehow come free from her buns. Marinette couldn’t think of a single thing she’d done with Damian that would have caused her hair to come loose (yet), it was a perplexing problem and that’s all she was thinking about. She was most certainly not imagining doing things that would cause her hair (and her) to come loose with Damian.

Another, unrelated, thought occurred to Marinette that life would be very different if people could feel things through their hair. Entirely unrelated to that musing, her stray hair landed on him.

“This position… is fine with me if you’re fine with it?”

“I,” Damian paused, studying her face for a long, long moment. “Have no objections. So long as you have none.”

Marinette couldn’t think of any logical reasons she would object. There was some kind of stray thought in her head about being distracted, but she was too distracted to remember what it was about. At least not off the top of her head. Though, she was having a small bit of trouble forming coherent thoughts in general. But that was probably irrelevant, and unrelated (obviously, why would Damian be preventing her from thinking clearly, the entire idea was simply absurd!)? So she simply shook her head no and reassured him that she wasn’t experiencing any issues with this position at all.

“Well I just said I didn’t, so obviously I don’t! I’m no liar!”

Marinette swept that whole ‘concealing her multiple secret identities’ thing under the rug. She could handle that later.

“So. To clarify, you are afraid I know your secret identity. And you desire some kind of assurance that I will not betray your confidence.”

Marinette nodded along, he really did have a way of summarizing things.

“And neither my vow, nor an exchange, is enough reassurance for you.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Marinette began, hurriedly.

Then she bit her lip, because really that was the problem, she didn’t trust him. Of course, she wouldn’t trust anyone with her secret identity, so it wasn’t Damian’s fault, but it did feel unfair. On the other hand, so many things about having a secret identity were unfair. Because Ladybug wasn’t just making the decision to trust based on her own consequences. She had the entirety of Paris, and the world, resting on her choices. The consequences if she were wrong about who to trust…

The consequences wouldn’t be limited to just her. If they were, Marinette would have no trouble stripping herself bare for Damian.

In the sense of baring herself to him, nothing else!

Ahem. What she meant was, Marinette would have no trouble exposing…

No trouble letting him see all of her!

Erm! Allowing him to obtain knowledge of her secret identity!

Yes, that was what she meant (and nothing else!). Allowing him to know she was MDC, and Ladybug. Because to her he seemed trustworthy, but on the other hand she’d known him for however long they’d been in this room together (it felt like a lifetime, but maybe that was just because they’d done a lot of nonverbal communicating via touching) and that wasn’t particularly long. So while she was ready to let him have intimate knowledge of her…

Of her secret identity!

The rest of Paris probably wasn’t ready to risk Hawkmoth discovering Ladybug’s civilian identity purely because Marinette was feeling frazzled from the experience of being around too many attractive humans over the past few days (at least she hoped they were, for all Marinette knew they were alien invaders luring in real humans with engineered good looks). And unfortunately Marinette’s loyalty could never be to this gorgeous boy, not while she wore Tikki’s earrings. It was to Paris. She would always belong to Paris.

Sometimes, she felt like half the reason Chat wanted her so badly was because he buried the worst parts of his own obligation under layers of denial. He couldn’t choose anyone else over Paris either, so he gravitated toward the only person similarly caught and hoped it was destiny because admitting they were the best either of them could afford would be too painful. And while she didn’t reciprocate, Marinette had no desire to pretend, in his own way it was probably Chat’s idea of trying to do the right thing. If they really were good for each other then it would neatly avoid forcing them to confront the issues they’d been burying since first receiving a miraculous.

The sacrifices.

But the thing was, Marinette could bear those sacrifices. She wasn’t a sappy eyed child any longer, she knew exactly what Tikki was asking her to give up fighting Hawkmoth and the price of her lucky earrings. She wasn’t caught up in the excitement of being a superhero or having secrets any longer, the luster of it all wore off at some point in between her first mistake and her latest one, knowing that each one cost her city more than she could repay.

None of these things, the sacrifices, the mistakes, the lies, none of them made her mission any less right. Hawkmoth had to be stopped, and if one girl lost her childhood to do it then that was acceptable when weighed against the countless numbers who died and were brought back with each miracle cure. The balance of it wasn’t even close, her youth weighed against entire lives. And someone had to carry the sacrifices. It hurt sometimes, that it was her. Sometimes it hurt almost more than Marinette could handle, but she didn’t have to handle it alone.

She had Tikki. And Alya. And the rest of her friends, from Adrien (who was feeling like genuinely just a friend with each passing moment she spent in Damian’s presence) to Luka. So it was more than Marinette could handle sometimes, but Marinette didn’t have to handle it alone. And it wasn’t more than Ladybug could handle (so far).

Besides, for all that there were sacrifices there were things she got that nobody else did. Nobody else in Paris could say they’d had the experience of swinging off the Eiffel Tower with nothing but a yo-yo holding them aloft. Or going to space and flying around the planet in a personal suit. Or experiencing the unique rush of satisfaction and joy that came with each de-evilized butterfly, the tangible knowledge she was doing good.

As if on cue, her Akuma alert beeped.

It had been a quiet week, it couldn’t have lasted. And while the timing was inconvenient, this wasn’t the first time an attack interrupted her life. Hawkmoth wouldn’t stop, so Marinette wouldn’t stop. If it was inexorable, then so was she. Ladybug would be there as long as there were butterflies to de-evilize and a city left to defend. And sometimes when there wasn’t a city left to defend, so long as it could be saved with a miracle cure.

Damian couldn’t understand that, so Marinette wouldn’t burden him with it. This wasn’t something a civilian could understand, the obligation inherent in knowing you were the last line of defense. That even if she would choose it anyway, it wasn’t a choice. It was her Doom, her Charge of the Light Brigade, her role as Horatius at the Gate. And what better way to die, if this was the day her luck finally turned, than standing in between Hawkmoth and Damian? Knowing she was protecting this gorgeous…

City! Protecting Paris, and all the inhabitants! All of them, from the models to the ones that merely should be because they were so pretty…

On the inside! Since everyone, all the residents of Paris were equally deserving of saving. Yes, Marinette would rescue anyone that needed it. Why, if the situation called for it, she would be happy to run into a burning building and carry out anyone. Anyone, who could wrap his arms around her shoulders as she cradled him in close, ensuring his safety. Something he would need, since it was likely that with all the smoke she’d need to wrap his shirt around his mouth, and so it didn’t slip it would be safest to take it off.

She would do the same thing for anyone in Paris, anyone at all. And her mental image was just a visualization exercise (the fact that her model for the hypothetical Parisian had dark hair and a body made of sharp lines was the result of purely random chance). It was all nothing more than preparation for the akuma she would soon be fighting. The heat was also part of her visualization, just evidence that she was accurately imagining the flames was all. Marinette was obviously quite good at this, since she could really, really feel the heat. All the way to her insides, quite intensely.

Yes, Marinette was simply visualizing more intensely due to the akuma. Which, speaking of, she really ought to be handling.

Her earrings buzzed gently as her akuma alert rang out again. Chat was calling. It was serious, or even he would have waited a bit longer before trying to reach out. Her phone let out a low buzz a second time. The alert was being upgraded, expanded to cover more of Paris. The akuma was either fast moving or more dangerous than normal.

“Your phone is vibrating.”

“I have to go,” Marinette said, gently. Damian didn’t move. Neither did Marinette.

“You know without reading the message?”

“It’s an alert. I have a meeting.”

Damian nodded. “I see. And our conversation?”

Marinette bit her lip. This time, Damian made no pretense of not watching. His eyes lingered, long after her teeth were gone. “I’ll come back?” It felt like a promise, even though she said it like a question.

“I will wait.”

“It might be a while.”

Damian finally tore his eyes away from her lips. His expression was inscrutable as he reiterated, “I’ll wait.”

“I might,” Marinette paused, thinking how to phrase mortality, “I might forget to come back.”

“It appears I should endeavor to be more memorable,” Damian said dryly, “any suggestions?”

Marinette giggled. “Did you just make a joke?”

“One of my brothers believes humor can be bonding.” Marinette had nothing to say on the subject of bonding, particularly when it involved Damian. Nothing at all. Not a word. Except that she would be happy to help test his brother’s thesis by providing a control group, emphasis on control, and exploring other ways of bonding to determine if humor was more effective than alternatives. “And if knowing your secret identity does not make me memorable, then it would appear your memory is not particularly strong.”

He… wasn’t wrong. Marinette had almost forgotten about that detail, which in her defense was more about the fact that she was currently focused on her other secret identity and not the one Damian knew.

“Well, if you’re looking for suggestions…”

Marinette wasn’t sure where these words were coming from, exactly. It felt like they were welling up from the wild side of her that was about to transform and jump off a rooftop. It was a very serious problem. She couldn’t even stop herself, her mouth just kept on doing things without her approval! Who knew how far it would go, how much it would betray her to Damian?!

“I am not.”

Thankfully, Damian was there to rescue her from herself.

“I already know how to be worth remembering and returning to.”

But who would rescue her from Damian? Because Marinette didn’t feel like she was entirely reliable at this whole saving herself from him thing.

Damian leaned forward lightly, asking with his whole self, “May I kiss you?”

“No!”