Marinette raced along the rooftop, ecstatic. After how the battle had gone, how could she be anything else? They’d managed to--

Ah!

She ducked behind a nearby outcropping, plastering herself against the plaster wall and remaining motionless. Channeling her inner bug, trying to avoid detection from Nadja’s news chopper swinging by overhead by remaining absolutely still.

She stayed that way for a full minute until the sound of the chopper’s blades was a distant hum. It paid to be careful, particularly since Tikki was napping in her bag and not providing her with a magical suit. The effort of that last sequence, when she’d dove through the narrow confines of a window to hide herself from Unaloner’s flesh grab just long enough to create the time Chat needed to cataclysm the rooftop before Marinette used her lucky charm to hem in the akuma had been intensely demanding. And that had just been the opening of the fight.

As for the rest of it… well Marinette could still hardly believe it had happened! Things had been so close, all while the timer of her and Chat’s powers ticked steadily away. The increasingly desperate efforts they’d deployed against an increasingly confident Hawkmoth, until that final moment as the seconds drained and Tikki’s frenetic voice in her ear faded along with the suit…

Well Marinette could still scarcely believe it! She didn’t know whether she should be upset, happy, or relieved at how it had all played out. Particularly since she wasn’t really feeling any of those emotions right now.

No, right now Marinette simply had the urge to keep this intense physical high going. Everything else was subordinate behind that ache. A high that had nothing to do with emotions the fight induced. Instead, she wanted someone to throw her into a wall as she clawed down his back, maneuvering him with her hips while he manhandled her with his hands. Marinette wanted to fight until she came out on top.

Or on bottom. The location wasn’t really critical, just the… first part…

It was a real problem, because Marinette did not often feel this way after de-evilizing! She was starting to think she should have de-evilized her thoughts instead, because they were turning downright wicked the longer she dodged lights up here on the rooftops of Paris. And, worse, she’d forgotten to bake cookies this morning to recharge Tikki (thanks, Kory Anders) and left her emergency leftovers stash on the train (thanks, Dick Grayson) so she couldn’t even ask if this was another one of those situations where the kwamii was indirectly influencing her mental state.

Because, clearly, Marinette had done absolutely nothing all day that could possibly, in any universe, be responsible for her current level of… agitation.

Her lungs burned as she sprinted around an exposed corner and leapt the gap between two old structures. Ending with a roll she hooked her hand around an exposed pipe, channeling her momentum into a swinging motion instead of letting it carry her off the side of the building. Marinette paused to let out a satisfied grin, it was a good exhaustion settling into her muscles. The kind that satisfied, well almost satisfied, taking the edge off her boundless energy.

And she promptly ducked under the overhang of the roofing as yet another chopper went careening by. Seriously, it was big news obviously but did Nadja have to keep canvassing Paris? Marinette got her answer as the chopper pulled around for another sweep down another dark alleyway. She clicked her teeth, irritated.

“Tt! Who do they think I am, Batman?” Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, still speaking to the cold Parisian air. There was nobody nearby to hear her, but some things just felt better being said aloud. “I don’t hide in alleyways like some kind of winged rodent!”

As if summoned by her taunt the chopper rose up and resumed searching, this time heading back toward her!

“Ah!” Marinette’s confidence fled as fast as it had arrived, and in a quick scurry she flipped herself over the edge of the rooftop, swinging out her yo-yo surreptitiously and ratcheting up in a vault that left her flying through the air for a few seconds until she landed on the next building a block over. The chopper continued to search behind her, far enough back that she had some time.

Gritting her teeth, Marinette groused to herself. “No, normally I hide in sewers where there are no cameras, but since someone took that option here I am instead.” Then she unclenched as she performed another leap, it would be a bad idea to have her jaw tensed for the landing.

It was still a little jarring. Audrey’s rooftops were excellent for getting in and out, lots of access hatches and even a few staircases, but they were awful for landing. While she could appreciate the ecological value of a rooftop garden, Marinette did not appreciate landing on roses. At least it hadn’t been the briar hedges this time, however (Audrey had some kind of obsession with pretty but prickly things, and oh no Marinette did not want to even speculate on how that kind of attitude had affected Chloe). She was tempted to “accidentally” dump a few buckets of weed killer on the cursed bushes but for the fact that they made it downright impossible for people to spot her coming and going from the fashion house.

As she landed, Marinette had a realization. Her current mood wasn’t a consequence of the way the battle had played out. No, the complex web of emotions that accompanied that particular event was entirely suppressed, and probably would remain that way until she had the chance to unpack everything with Tikki later. Instead, she was riding the wave of survival. It happened every now and again after a particularly close brush with an akuma.

Like that time she’d almost revealed her identity to Chat. Or that other time she’d almost told Adrien she was Ladybug. Or that other time she’d kissed Chat when her memory got erased (an attraction entirely borne out of the rush that accompanied survival, since she’d been utterly obsessed with Adrien then and there was no way, no possible universe where Chat was his equal). Of course, as she’d very recently discovered there were boys who were more than Adrien’s equal.

Marinette paused, tapping her chin in frustration because that actually seemed like an insult to Damian somehow. Like, just the act of making the comparison between him and Adrien was lowering Damian to Adrien’s level and he was so, so, soooooo far above that. Which wasn’t an insult to Adrien at all! It was more a commentary on how absolutely, utterly, completely taken in by Damian Marinette was.

She did have a habit of obsessing over boys, didn’t she?

But only a small amount! Since, clearly, her former obsession with Adrien had far more to do with his modeling than him personally and her newfound obsession with Damian had far more to do with his possession of (one of) her secret identit(ies) than the way his mouth had drilled a line of heat straight from her neck to her center.

Her frustration morphed into a frown. Two in a row was feeling like a bad habit (internally she apologized to Luka, but even Marinette could admit that it hadn’t been much of a relationship), albeit this time around things were moving (extremely) slightly faster than before. It wasn’t like she would be waiting around years to find out if Damian liked her back, so she could just chalk it all up to all's well that ends well, right?

And that didn’t mean that Damian was just the latest obsession, right?

Because her feelings had to be real! Right!

Otherwise Marinette was just toying with him and that would be Bad! The kind of thing Lila would do, stringing someone along with no thought for the consequences, how it would hurt the other person! And Marinette was nothing, absolutely nothing, like Lila!

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Marinette started pacing around the garden. This required some serious thought. Because, on one hand all she wanted to do was rush down to the room and see if Damian was still there waiting (and if he was waiting, like a good boy, then he deserved a reward). But on the other hand, Marinette spun around on her heel in a quick about face motion, in her current… state… could she really trust herself?

Worse, she would need every edge possible if she was going to dominate Damian.

In their upcoming negotiations! And nothing else!

Which was only necessary to ensure her secret stayed secret! Otherwise Marinette would have no interest, absolutely none whatsoever, in asserting her control over Damian. Obviously, she was simply concerned with ensuring he didn’t go running his mouth about MDC.

And if it took wearing out his mouth to ensure he didn’t say anything, then that was a sacrifice Marinette was willing to make. She would do whatever it took to ensure his lips were completely exhausted, his tongue entirely rendered incapable, and his teeth so thoroughly used he couldn’t whisper a single word. Even if it meant offering herself up to the jaws of the beast like some kind of virginal sacrifice. Because she was a hero, and heroes didn’t shy away from sacrifice.

There was, obviously, no other reason at all other than the need to maintain her secret. Clearly, that fact went without saying. Which was why Marinette didn’t say it aloud, she just thought it. While envisioning what she might look like in the stereotypical sacrificial dress, complete with strategically designed rips that exposed but didn’t expose, her wrists chained above her head to some kind of post, her hair waving wildly in the wind as Damian came down from the untamed wilds clad in darkness like a wild animal here to collect her as tribute, promising nothing but pitiless, implacable, cruel use of her vulnerable body until he slaked his need…

It was a useful thought exercise for her designs. Because designing a dress that looked ruined but was really well-made would require careful work. It would need to be resilient enough that when Damian threw her over his shoulder, lifting her up by the chain holding her wrists and hoisting her waist so she couldn’t even struggle as he took her off to an uncertain future… that the dress wouldn’t rip! Just that!

But it would also need to look flimsy, so that she could shiver as the cold wind raced across her sensitive skin rendering her pre-ravaged and prepared for his insistent touch. Acutely aware of the heat in his breath as he commanded her, drawn to the warmth of it even as she recoiled from the terrible demands he’d utter. Helpless as he carelessly tore the pristine rag of a dress off her and surveilled his prize. Taking in everything he’d earn in trade for keeping quiet about MDC, at least until Marinette taught him that you could strip a woman bare and not strip her of her power, that she was at her most dangerous when she was least in control, that she could tie up his wrists without needing a chain, that sacrificing herself didn’t mean she was weak.

That the right dress pooled around her bare ankles on the floor could be a podium, a platform, a throne if she deigned to make it so.

It would be quite the dress, if she got it all right. Something to dance the line between being a sacrifice and being worth sacrificing for, yes that’s all she was thinking about. Damian’s role in her inspiration was basically irrelevant when you got right down to it. The point was the dress, and nothing else.

Marinette nodded. Assertively. She was only indulging in these daydreams to fuel her designs. And nothing else. Which was obvious, and therefore went without thinking. So Marinette didn’t even think of it.

Marinette was just musing (without a muse) about the theme of sacrifices, and nothing else.

Speaking of sacrifices, Chat had almost made a pretty big one today (yes, that was a pretty good mental diversion, Marinette nodded to herself). He would have too, if it weren’t for the fact that the fashion house was centrally located in Paris and happened to be a convenient distance away from the akuma (it was weird how that always just worked out, but then again considering her classes seemed to always be prime targets perhaps it was a byproduct of the real problem, aka Lila). No, the simple truth was that Damian had almost delayed Marinette to the point of tragedy today.

Or, rather, Marinette’s lust and frustration from spending so much time around so many attractive people over the past few days had delayed her to the edge of tragedy.

Pretty people were dangerous, Marinette decided. The smartest thing to do in life was clearly to just be ugly and avoid the attractive ones. Alternatively, be pretty and avoid mirrors. Double alternatively, just avoid mirrors altogether and you’d never know if you were pretty or not!

Except, that wouldn’t solve the problem of other people being pretty. And you might be part of the pretty problem without knowing if you never looked in a mirror. The only way to deal with all of this confusion would be some kind of worldwide initiative or miraculous wish or something. Maybe collecting blackmail on all the famous fashion magnates and leveraging that to create a worldwide trend involving masks…

Marinette paused, stopping abruptly in her pacing. This was the kind of thinking that led to supervillainy!

It was also just her way of sidestepping the problem.

Marinette sobered up, slapped both her cheeks with her hands, and stopped her pacing for a moment. She could admit that while all of these idle thoughts were distracting they weren’t helping. And the longer she made Damian wait the more likely he would leave, so she really needed to focus.

So, the problem was simple. She liked Damian, but she didn’t know if she like liked Damian for real or if she just kinda like liked the way his body fit against hers. Plus, as she’d repeatedly reminded herself, her attraction to Damian was a useful tool at the moment. So it was plausible that she was simply pulling a Chat and trying to justify the easy path, because it would be a lot simpler to convince Damian not to say anything if his mouth was full of her.

But if she was just doing it because she was (mildly) attracted to him and her subconscious was so used to automatically defaulting to protecting her secret that she’d simply latched onto the easiest method it was going to end horribly. Not to mention the implicit transaction occurring every time they did anything like what had happened before.

That was what had ultimately ruined her relationship with Adrien, the fact that he was very obviously using her as an excuse to get out of various modeling gigs and so on. Admittedly, it had been convenient for Marinette too because his excuses often coincided with akuma attacks and it gave her a plausible excuse to go deal with them without raising suspicion but it was still hurtful that he used her. Worse were the times when he vanished during actual akuma attacks in areas they were at, because his excuses were always so transparently lies. Marinette really didn’t mind if Adrien just wanted to hide during an attack, that was the sensible thing to do for a civilian like him after all, but it was disappointing that he so clearly didn’t care if she was safe or not because Adrien always found some reason to leave her behind.

Well, barring those times when she found a reason to leave him behind first, since she needed to go Ladybug and something or whatever. But those had somehow been the worst in a weird and heartbreaking way, because Adrien always looked relieved when that happened. Like she was giving him an out before he made one for himself, so eventually she’d just decided that was how it was and gave him an out from the entire relationship before he had to make one for himself.

So no, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, go down that path again. Particularly not as the person initiating the transaction.

And if she went down there now, so… hyped up… like this then it was obvious where things would lead. Marinette wouldn’t be able to stop herself, she could admit that much at least. Worse, she wouldn’t be able to stop him, primarily because she wouldn’t want to.

Not if he looked at her the way he looked at her.

Because when he did she felt certain about all of this and Marinette really, really, wanted to know she could feel that way without being magnetically compelled to violently annihilate all possible space in between their bodies.

For a variety of reasons. One, it would result in the destruction of a lot of clothing and Marinette simply could not abide by that given her work creating a lot of clothing. Two, Ladybug-ing. Three, the obvious problem of logistics and getting around attached to another person all the time. Four, she hadn’t even told her parents about Damian yet, which was excusable given that she’d only met him today but still! Five, she hadn’t even told Alya about Damian yet, which was the real crime here because parents were one thing but the absolute betrayal of that Highest and Most Sacred Bond of Girldom that was the obligation to tell one another about their crushes was simply wrong.

So there were a lot of reasons she needed to figure this out, sooner the better. And it certainly didn’t help that she was going in circles in her head like this, not while-

“Ow!”

Marinette stopped, her whole body involuntarily reacting as she put her finger in her mouth, nursing away the pinprick of pain. She glanced around, bewildered, looking for perhaps a stray rose stem or thorn that had broken off, or maybe a bit of the briar hedges, but found nothing.

Pulling her finger out she inspected it, confirming that it hadn’t just been in her mind. Her fingertip really did have a speck of blood on it, a miniscule wound in the exact same place she’d pricked herself earlier. As she watched another bead welled up, sitting there balanced precariously on her fingertip. She could tilt her hand just slightly and it would be enough for it all to fall away, but somehow it had reached equilibrium, stasis held aloft on her hand.

Waiting for her to decide what happened next.