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It is possible that walking through Paris at three in the morning was not Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s brightest idea. It is equally possible that, given the chance, her friends and family (or Tikki, were she not safely asleep in Marinette’s purse) would have asked what the fuck, oh my god, what were you doing out this late, do you want to get murdered . Marinette realized both of these things, accepted them as fact, and moved on, sparing a moment to be grateful that no one else was around.
“Hey, sweetheart,” a voice drawled.
Well, fuck , she thought, and kept walking.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” it said. A tall, leering man stepped out of a shadow and started walking alongside her, giving her an oily grin. “What’s a sweet thing like you doing walking around so late?”
Saving Paris, she did not say. “None of your business,” she chose instead.
The man’s face darkened. “Bitch,” he snarled, grabbing her arm. “I was trying to be nice , but I guess we’re gonna do this the hard way . ”
He started to reach for her purse, and she reacted on instinct, drawing her arm back and throwing her fist at his neck.
She failed to notice, however, the loud buzzing coming from just over their heads, or the yellow blur that streaked downward to land atop the man, effectively knocking him down, until right before her fist landed.
“Ex cuse you,” the no-longer-a-blur said, tossing a blonde ponytail out of her face. “ Rude .”
The blur turned out to be a girl with pouty pink lips, a black and yellow mask surrounding her ice-blue eyes. She rubbed at her cheek, frowning up at Marinette from where she sat atop the groaning would-be mugger’s back.
“I was trying to help you,” she fumed. “This is what I get?”
“I was—uh. I was aiming for him. I guess I wasn’t expecting you.” The girl was still glaring, so Marinette added, “Sorry.”
She sniffed. “I suppose it’s understandable.”
“This is great and all,” the man asked, “but also, who are you?”
The girl looked down at him. “Huh. I forgot you were there. Hey, do you know where the police station is?” she asked Marinette. “I guess if I’m gonna do their jobs for them I might as well go all the way.”
Wordlessly, she pointed. She might have given actual directions if it weren’t for the translucent wings that fluttered delicately behind the girl who was currently untying the man’s shoelaces and retying them around his wrists.
“Well,” she said, standing and hoisting the man up as if he weighed nothing. “Bye. You’re welcome for saving you from Asshole McCreeper here.” Her wings fluttered behind her, lifting her into the air.
“Wait— wait, ” Marinette protested. “Who are you?”
She smiled, razor-sharp. Stinger-sharp. “Queen Bee, of course.” With that, she launched into the air, the man screaming in her arms.
Marinette stared after her, dumbfounded, until Tikki poked her head out of the purse.
“Marinette?” she asked tentatively. “Are you alright?”
There was a pause.
“Two things,” Marinette muttered at last.
“Mhmm?”
“Was that a Miraculous wielder?”
“Yes,” Tikki answered. “What was the second thing?”
“I think I’m a little bit gay.”