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Four years later, Marinette still had nightmares.
No matter what she did or what she drank or how she slept, the nightmares would come by waves, assaulting her for a few weeks at a time and then vanishing into the night until the next one came along. It was exhausting.
Tonight was one of those nights—the beginning of the cycle. It was like she could feel it in the wind, illogical as it sounded—just an ominous shadow, looming over her.
Adrien never noticed. He was always so busy with papers and learning to run the company that he barely had time to see her, let alone guess that she was having chronic nightmares, and that they involved him, all in all. She didn’t blame him, though. It’s not like she told him.
She never had the guts to tell him about Chat Blanc.
Sure, he had one or two dreams about it, but he always shrugged it off after a shudder, and Marinette smiled every time, telling him it sounded crazy.
He didn’t need to remember that.
Tonight, as she prepared for bed, she had the horrible feeling that she’d be plagued by nightmares. She was right.
She knew it was a dream from the beginning. It usually went like that for her, although that didn’t make dealing with what came any easier.
She stood on the roof of the bakery, surrounded by water. Chat Blanc stood in front, not facing her. One of the things that unsettled her was the fact that he wasn’t a child. It was like he had followed her through her teenage years, sinking his claws and not letting go.
Marinette stood there, unfortunately in her pajamas. She should’ve felt exposed—vulnerable. Yet there was something about the situation that didn’t quite bother her. Perhaps even her dream self knew that there were more important things to worry about than her state in clothing.
“Chat N—Blanc?” She called tentatively. She honestly didn’t know why she was doing it, anyway. Adrien was too far gone at this point in the dream to answer coherently. And even if he could, what did she expect? There was no real answer he could give her that would help her in any way…
Unless he knew who Papillombre was. But what were the odds of that?
So Marinette stood there, waiting for… what?
“Marinette,” Chat’s voice sliced through the silence. His head was barely tilted to the side, but it was clear that he was aware of her presence.
“Adrien,” she replied. Her voice was low, but she could hear it over the sound of the wind whipping around her. For a dream, it seemed awfully realistic, she thought. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if cold. “What are we doing here?”
“Doing?” Chat Blanc asked. His voice was low and innocent, and it made her shudder to remember his singing tunes the day she met him in real life. He turned around and met her eyes, blissfully unaware of her hesitance. “Why, My Lady, we’re just together. Or isn’t that enough?”
“Of course it is,” she said softly. Marinette looked around her—there were only the tops of some building peeking through the sheets of water, and in the background, the tip of the Eiffel Tower. She resisted the urge to grimace. When she turned her head, Chat was in front of her, barely a foot away. She gasped and took a reflexive step back: Chat stepped closer.
“Chat—“
All she could see was his smirk.
“What’s wrong, my Lady? Can got your tongue?”
Marinette tried to take another step back, but his hand closed around her wrist.
It was strange: she knew she was in a dream, and yet the feeling of his hand around her wrist was so real, she would’ve staked her life on the fact that they were there together. Marinette closed her eyes, whispering.
“This is a dream. This is a dream.”
“Are you so sure about that, my Lady?” Chat asked. When Marinette opened her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of a rather alluring smirk adorning her partner’s face. She pressed her jaw set, banishing the thought, and Chat cocked his head to the side, curious.
“Why do you look like that, Princess? You seem angry.”
“Am I ‘Princess’ or am I ‘My Lady?’ I can’t be both, Chat.” Hanging on to irritation was easier than naming the feeling he was giving her.
Chat chuckled. “Why should I pick? You didn’t.”
Marinette opened her mouth to retort, but he crashed his lips against hers hard--harder than Adrien had ever kissed her. She tried to release a surprised yelp, but it sounded a lot more subdued—and a lot more pleased.
Chat’s laugh was low and dark, and it did horrible and wonderful things to the butterflies in her stomach. With a single finger, he raised her chin upwards and began making a trail of kisses that followed her jawline all the way up to her ear, slowly and enticingly. Marinette didn’t have the strength in her to have him stop.
“Ch-Chat—“ she began, but there was no strength in her voice, and no strength in her arms. In fact, there was barely any strength left in her legs, and she was sure she was about to keel over. “S-stop that.”
He let out a hot breath against her ear. “Are you sure you want that?” He purred. “Cause it looks to me like you’re quite… enjoying this.”
Only now did Marinette notice that her fists were balled over Chat’s shoulders, trying to gain purchase on a suit that would never give. Weakly, she attempted to push him back, but he didn’t budge an inch.
“Come on, Princess,” she felt herself trembling. Would it be so bad…? “You know you’ve thought about it.”
Her sense went out the window and her sanity snapped without so much as a click. She thrust herself at Chat Blanc’s arms, catching his expectant lips and feeling him smirk in satisfaction.
“That’s a good Princess,” he purred, and she felt her knees falter. Before she could fall, he caught her deftly and hoisted her in the air, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist, which she did quickly.
Marinette was very aware that she was with Adrien, but also not with Adrien. Her body recognized the movements and the touches, but there was something wildly different about the speed and intensity of what he did. What Adrien’s hands did, always with an inch of hesitation, Chat Blanc’s did leisurely and without hurry—sure of himself and confident. His hands moved down her body as if he knew it was there to receive him, not half-expecting it to vanish, the way Adrien’s did.
Marinette tangled her fingers in Chat’s hair, pulling it lightly in tufts and panting hot air against his skin.
“Chat,” she breathed. “We need to—“
“No, we don’t,” he replied simply, and his hands grabbed her confidently by her backside before burying his face on the side of her neck, kissing and biting and licking and prodding.
Before Marinette knew what was what, she felt a wall press against her back and almost yelped, but Chat used that small window of open-mouthed opportunity to slide his tongue back in, and Marinette was immediately far too busy to gasp.
One of his hands was securely gripping her upper thigh, keeping her in place, although they both knew that the strength of her legs was more than enough to do so without his help. Still, he held her, claws only barely touching her pajama bottoms, while his other hand caressed her back roughly but confidently before pulling her by the hair and exposing her neck to him. She didn’t even try to say a word as his teeth grazed at her windpipe and immediately buried his face between her breasts.
Mewls and sighs and names were cut short before they even had time to be breathed. Marinette felt like everything was too much but not enough, all at the same time. She felt her back pressed roughly against the wall and as Chat pressed his hips against hers, making his hardness evident. Marinette gasped, and Chat chuckled.
“Don’t tell me that surprises you,” he whispered against the skin of her cleavage. “This is hardly our first time… right?” He bit softly at the edge of her right breast.
Chat was playing with her. She knew it. She knew it.
And yet there was nothing she could do about it.
She pulled him by the hair and pressed her palms against his cheeks to direct his face towards hers for a bruising kiss. He bit down hard, and Marinette was only half surprised she couldn’t taste blood in her mouth, but didn’t care enough to spare the thought more than a passing glance.
It took her a moment to realize that the cloth bunching up over her arms was her shirt, which Chat quite effectively evicting from her body. She hesitated for a second, and felt Chat growl before he dislodged his lips from hers for half a second.
“Cataclysm.”
Not even ashes remained of her shirt by the time his mouth reached her breast. He nipped it, inching closer and closer to her nipple and making her all but groan in frustration at the denial. She was so focused in this sensation that she missed the way his hand had snuck inside the back of her pants until he was pushing them downwards before destroying them as well.
And so, she was completely naked in the rooftops of Paris, mewling helplessly in Chat Blanc’s arms. She pulled him by the hair, making him release her breast, and spoke against his mouth, wet with spit.
“Take it off,” was all she could muster between gritted teeth. She didn’t need to look to know he was grinning.
“Your wish is my command, My Lady,” he replied before taking her hand and directing her (far more gently than she would have expected) to the zipper under his bell.
It is important to know that this zipper does not exist, and Marinette knew this. There was no way to non-magically remove the suits, and she was well aware of it.
And yet she was eternally glad for the dream-logic that made it possible.
Chat put her on the ground, and she hadn’t even regained her footing before she was already ripping the zipper open for all it was worth. The leather suit pulled away from his skin much more easily than it should have, until Chat was only vaguely covered by the suit, but hiding nothing from her.
“Chat—“ she began, though she wasn’t sure where she was going with that sentence. Thankfully, she was spared the thought as his right hand slid down her belly and snaked between her legs, touching her tentatively.
This was dangerous. She knew this, and she knew it very well. His claws—he could hurt her so badly if he wished.
And yet she knew that wouldn’t happen. She was trapped in the perfect purgatory between danger and safety, and she walked that line delirious with pleasure.
She almost keeled over when he slid the first finger in. She actually keeled over when he slid the second, not a moment later.
Of course, of course, he was there to hold her steady.
“Losing your footing, Princess?” He asked, his voice laced with humor as if he weren’t in the middle of curling his fingers inside of her. The feel of leather was heavenly, and Marinette didn’t know whether to moan or weep. “That’s, ah, awfully clumsy of you.”
“Ch-chat,” she hissed. “Please.”
Chat hummed in response. “Please what?” He pressed deep inside of her, earning a moan.
“P-please, just—just do it. You’re driving me mad—“
Without a word, he removed his hand from her, pulling back. Marinette groaned in protest, but before she could say anything, Chat Blanc pressed her against the wall behind her, pushing her by just below the neck and holding her there, right on the edge of choking her. His eyes danced with mischief.
“Please, what, Princess.”
Marinette gritted her teeth, but she was a mess, and there was no dignity to be had. “You’re gonna make me say it?”
“How else would I know what you want?” He asked, pressing a kiss right below her earlobe and tightening his grip on her neck, just a bit. “Tell me, My Lady,” he breathed against her skin. “What do you want.” It wasn’t a question.
Marinette all but wept. “Chat, please just fuck—“
She cried out as he slammed himself into her with no warning. In a single movement, he pulled her up by the thighs, hoisting her up and using the wall as purchase to continue his thrusts, which came hard and strong, ripping a moan from her every time.
Was this really her? Her voice? She could hear the echo across the empty sea that was now Paris. Part of her was embarrassed—mortified, even—but most of her was lost in what was by far the best lay of her life.
It took her a moment, but she finally began making out his voice next to her ear. He was panting and groaning and he was enjoying it as much as she was, and that somehow made it better. She cast away reservations and allowed her voice to ring out across the rooftops with no reservations. Her moans were a symphony, and she wasn’t aware of what she was saying until the words slipped out of her lips.
“Adrien,” she moaned. “Oh, god, Adrien—“ She felt him shudder. “A—“
But before she could say anything else, he pulled out and dropped her on her feet. She cried out in indignation, but before she could complain further, he turned her by the shoulder, having her back, and rammed against her once again, effectively ripping out another moan from her mouth.
His hand, which never left her neck, closed slightly, giving her a taste of what he could do, if he set his mind to it. She was not scared. He pulled her against him, pressing her back against his front and slowing down his thrusts to talk.
“Who would’ve thought I’d have such a kinky Princess?” He chuckled darkly and bit her shoulder: hard enough to be felt, but not enough to hurt her. Marinette hissed in pleasure. “You cry out very sweetly, Marinette.”
Oh god, her name. Her name in that voice. How was it so different? How was he so different?
Chat closed his fist around her throat a little bit more. He breathed hotly against her ear.
“I could do this,” he hissed. “I could hurt you so, so badly,” his movements were slow and leisurely.
“Adrien,” she all but wept. “Please—“
She couldn’t see it, but she knew he was grinning.
“As you wish.”
His gloved hand dipped once again between her legs, this time with a vengeance. He touched her roughly and coarsely, stimulating every nerve ending in her body. She felt heat—heat all the way to the crown of her head— building up, up, up. His hand around her neck closed tighter and tighter and she loved it, oh god, she loved it so much.
Marinette woke up drenched in sweat. Next to her, Adrien stirred. It was still dark outside, and only the moonlight broke through the blinds of their room. Adrien shifted.
“Mari?” He asked sleepily. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied, hearing her own breathless voice. “I just—I need to go to the bathroom.”
Adrien did not reply. He had fallen back asleep.
Marinette tossed the covers off the bed and headed to the bathroom. She washed her face rather desperately, wishing to banish the dream from her mind.
But oh, god, that dream.
She took deep, steadying breaths as she held on to the sink, calming herself down. Finally, getting a grip on herself, she stood up straight and closed the medicine cabinet mirror.
There was a distinct handprint on her neck.