Everything about the boy was edged. His whole body looked like it could cut, from the sharp line in his midnight hair to the creases where he crossed his long arms to the smart bend in his knees as he sat across the room from her with an annoyed expression on his face.

And speaking of faces, his was all angles and clean lines. Those lines led from the short black hair that spiked upward to his defined cheekbones and down to a precisely cut chin. His mouth was small, like a slice against the rest of his face. With his lips pursed in quiet disdain it gave him an aura of superiority that Marinette wanted to break. It all framed his deeply green eyes in a way that drew her own eyes until they were entwined with one another.

“Did you hear me? I said leave.”

He spoke precisely, the French dripping dispassionately from his lips. The way he said things was without much inflection, or emphasis, as though he’d practiced the language until there wasn’t any hint of an accent and yet had little experience speaking to natives who brought the vibrancy of life into their speech.

Marinette got the sense that his tongue was as sharp as the rest of him, however, because what little inflection he did have was cutting. In short, it was the perfect blend of tone and word to deliver the kind of eviscerating tongue lashing that could render a girl senseless.

And upon that realization, the stray thought occurred to Marinette that if there were no words involved she might quite enjoy a lashing underneath his tongue. Particularly if he drove her senseless…

“Are you mute?”

Marinette snapped to attention. “Hey! I’m not the intruder here, you are!”

The boy scoffed. “Hardly. You just entered while I have been here since the shoot began.”

Marinette stopped her foot, petulantly. “This space isn’t yours. It’s mine! You can’t just hide from work here, this space is reserved.”

“That is incorrect. I spoke to the wardrobe department, who informed me this was an alterations room. I then spoke to alterations, who informed me this was a storage space for wardrobe. The madame in charge of wardrobe storage informed me this was actually a spare darkroom for photography. Donna informed me it was a spare changing room. Kory informed me it was for extra makeup and hair work. Makeup informed me it was for food. Catering informed me it was for wardrobe. I then confirmed these facts with the set manager. As you can see, I spoke to everyone. And they were all clear that they are not using this room. So I have claimed it for myself.”

Marinette stared at him for a long moment, her mouth slightly agape. Who would do that? Just go around unraveling her complex web of lies like this? Was this how Lila felt when Marinette worked to expose her tangles?

She hadn’t yet gotten to the latest one, something about her fabulously wealthy American boyfriend Devon or whatever, not that anyone would care to listen to Marinette, but she still found some satisfaction in being the one person who knew the truth. It was a petty form of revenge, and entirely personal, but that didn’t make it any less meaningful. Still! Back to her point, this boy was looking at her with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction and Marinette found that she most certainly didn’t like being on the receiving end of it (plus, she’d never been that (openly) disdainful of Lila).

“You can’t just claim rooms! Besides you were informed incorrectly, this room isn’t unused.”

“You are incorrect. I verified the information I received twice, and spoke to the set manager to ensure accuracy. There was a mix-up with the paperwork, and so this room was registered to every department while simultaneously being used by none. Ergo, I can and did claim this room.”

That… was surprisingly diligent work, and difficult for Marinette to refute. Still, the prospect of going back out of the room and facing down Dick made her press onward.

“Well that’s a mistake, because this room is mine!”

The boy crossed his arms over his chest, drawing Marinette’s eye downward. He had a slim build, but when his passionless and plain buttoned shirt (someone should really fix that) fell across it like that it made the strength within exceptionally clear. It also emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. He could probably fit Marinette in the space between them comfortably, without needing to strain to reach his arms around her.

However!

None of that made him any less of an intruder, and like any intruder he would be dealt with. Marinette would be making sure he got exactly what he deserved for putting that tongue of his to work on her! Ah, well, she would be putting him in his place anyway. Beneath her.

Metaphorically! Of course!

“This room is not ‘yours.’ In fact, claiming such a blatant lie makes me wonder if you even work here. What is your position?”

“My position?” Marinette replied, dumbfounded. She was very aware that this boy was new to the set (she would have remembered that face) and yet he had the audacity to ask her if she was employed? “I’m the assistant to the assistant to the assistant something or whatever. Unlike you, I’m actually an employee here!”

“You couldn’t even pretend to come up with a real sounding job title? Are you even old enough to be working here?”

Marinette was going to slap him at this rate.

“I’m seventeen! How old are you?”

“Sixteen. Surprising. Your maturity level does not match your age.”

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, watching his eyes flicker down as she did and reveling pettily in the slowness with which they returned to hers.

“So I’m older. That means what I say goes. And I’ll have you know my job is quite real. I work here, you do not. Ergo, I can and do deny your claim to this room.”

The boy scowled, his eyes narrowing a little as he replied. “I very much doubt that the assistant to the assistant to the assistant of obvious lies can deny me anything. The room is mine. And perhaps you should act your age.”

Marinette flipped her hair, channeling her inner Chloe for a moment. “Perhaps you should respect your elders. And my job title won’t change just because you don’t believe in it.”

“Tt. You will cease your petty attempts at banter and leave or I will remove you.”

Marinette rolled up her sleeves. She’d worn a work outfit, something simple enough to blend in amongst the type of people who worked at the most fashion conscious place in Paris while still retaining enough freedom of movement for her sewing. She’d also learned, from experience, that having sleeves that could roll up was a convenient thing when dealing with lots of small needles that could get caught in them. It did occasionally mean she took one of those needles in her exposed arms, but pain wasn’t exactly unfamiliar to her by this point in her superhero-ing career.

The interesting thing was the attention the boy gave her as she did. He studied her arms intently, his face a dispassionate mask. Marinette had the sudden urge to see if she could shatter that mask, and recalling the way his eyes had lingered earlier, a Kory Anders inspired idea popped into her mind.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Marinette took a deliberate step forward. It felt a little like walking toward the edge of a cliff, or the top of a tall building. Of course, Ladybug had jumped off rooftops before. Marinette on the other hand, well she wasn’t this kind of girl normally. But the past two days had involved a significant lack of sleep and significant overabundance of attractive people. And it was getting to the point of driving her a little wild. So Marinette took another, deliberate, step forward placing her foot precisely in front of the other because she was going to have a moment of rebellion against this ridiculous, utterly ridiculous universe.

It wouldn’t go anywhere, not with someone who had such a terrible personality, but she could unnerve him a little. Just for fun. Another deliberate step. By now the boy was giving her a wary look, a hint of emotion breaking through his face as his eyes lingered on the slow pace of her legs. She was channeling her inner Kory, letting things roll a little more than normal. Trying to be more confident, and natural. It was oddly liberating, and empowering. And another deliberate step.

She came to a stop, less than an arm’s length away from him.

“You. Are in my room. My private room. I don’t care what the set manager told you, she was wrong. This room is for something,” Marinette paused, she couldn’t think of anything so instead simply blazed on ahead with, “or whatever! Which is my job and not yours. You can’t make me leave.”

The boy stood up and spoke, arrogance rolling off him in waves as he tried (in vain) to mask the slight reaction to her his tense voice conveyed. It was clear he was losing his cool, slowly, admittedly, but Marinette was slightly proud of it anyway. She was annoying the interloper, victory!

“Something or whatever? Are you seriously persisting with that lie? This is pathetic. Now, I will warn you one final time, I do not want to be bothered. Go away.”

“If you don’t want to be bothered, you’d better be the one to leave.”

“I will not. Now,” he took a step toward Marinette, “if you do not leave, I will drag you in front of the set manager to answer for your crimes.”

“Crimes!” Marinette squeaked, angrily.

“Yes,” he nodded, “crimes. You are clearly not an employee, and so are likely trespassing on the set. Crime number one. You are also here in a room with unfinished design work, probably planning on stealing. Crime number two.”

“And you’re not an employee either!” Marinette decided she was just going to ignore that whole part where he accused her of stealing her own work. She was getting better at lying, but she wasn’t Lila and she had no idea how to address that one.

The boy nodded. “Correct. I am not employed at this… place. I am here because my brother’s girlfriend is unexpectedly persistent and adept at convincing father I ought to socialize more. However, this is irrelevant to you. You should only be thinking about what lies you will try on the police when they arrive.”

With that, he grabbed Marinette by the arm. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone so slight, and it made her realize that this boy was a lot more powerful than his appearance suggested. Not strong, because he didn’t look like a bodybuilder heavy with muscles. But powerful, because despite the lack of visible weight or heft to his frame, it was clear that everything about him was purposive.

Even the way he grabbed her, he moved with conviction. There was a kind of weight to that level of certainty that made his grasp feel stronger than it really was, and lent credence to Marinette’s innate assumption that if he wanted to move her he could. Well, that was if she let him. And she wasn’t particularly inclined to let him. Although, Marinette was slightly surprised at herself for letting him grab her.

She hadn’t meant to, it was just (she really wanted his hands on her) that he moved so quickly was all! So Marinette did the sensible thing and grabbed his wrist with her free hand before he did any moving.

He gave her a cutting look. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing! Take your hand off me!”

“Tt,” he clicked his tongue. “I am simply bringing you to justice and ensuring that you do not attempt to escape when your lies are exposed.”

And then he attempted to move her. Marinette did not appreciate it. She was right about him being powerful, and if it weren’t for her years fighting various super strength akumas she might have fallen for it. So instead of trying to match him directly, she stepped on his foot and twisted his wrist while spinning her other arm upward in what Master Fu jokingly called “wax off” to break his grip. Reflexively, she grabbed his shoulder when she completed the motion, in a move that clearly surprised him.

Marinette might have gone further, if it weren’t for the sudden feeling of hot flesh protected by a (very) thin layer of substandard fabric under her fingers. She could feel the outline of his body, the way his collarbone sat almost perfectly flat and the shoulder rose slightly off it, sloping down to his triceps. From a distance, it looked like his body was drawn by some painter with the clean lines leaping off the page once finished creating the effect that every part of him was flat angles and planes.

But up close Marinette was acutely aware of the personality underneath that flatness, and the feeling of the edges underneath her fingers. It didn’t escape her notice that her hand couldn’t quite get all the way around his shoulder, but it could dig into the small gap between his neck and the collarbone. Her hand fit like he was designed for her, the pads of her fingers resting comfortably a short distance from his pulse. Idly, Marinette noted that there was almost exactly enough space there for her mouth to fit, the nape of his neck perfectly proportioned for her to run her tongue up the vein in one long stroke.

If she were a vampire! Which Marinette most certainly was not!

“I underestimated you.” The boy grabbed her wrist, peeling her hand off his shoulder. Marinette resisted out of principle, not because she was still trying to feel the warm firmness of his frame. “You’ve been trained.”

He grabbed her other wrist and spun her around, reversing her out of the center of the room and backing her into the wall. He didn’t stop, however, taking another step forward. Then he forced her arms to bend until her elbows were tucked tight against her stomach, her wrists held in a locked horizontal position by his hands a few inches from his chest. From there, they were like levers that could control her whole body, something he made use of to push her further up the wall.

“Who sent you?”

“What?” This had all escalated so quickly. He’d gone from self-righteous to almost dangerous in the space of one wrist-lock and Marinette wasn’t sure if she liked being in this position. If she were being honest, it did have a certain appeal. Being under his control, finding out where (how) he would take her…

Wasn’t something she was interested in! She was simply interested in the challenge, obviously! The challenge that getting out posed. It would make for a fun kind of training, far lower stakes than her usual on-the-job learning and much more stimulating.

Intellectually stimulating! Marinette just found it fun to think her way through the possibilities, was all. All the possibilities…

The possibilities related to how she could fight back of course!

The feeling of the boy twisting her wrist painfully broke Marinette out of her internal spiral. “I asked you a question.”

“Sorry!” she’d been so preoccupied she hadn’t even heard him! How rude! “What was it?”

The boy grit his teeth, irritation clearly showing now. Well, that was point one for Marinette, the mask was broken, now all she had to do was navigate this wrist lock. “Who sent you? Talia? Ras?”

“I don’t know any Ras. Or any Talias, except for the lady who orders a baker’s dozen of macarons every Friday for her church meetings.”

“Tt. You expect me to believe that?”

Marinette didn’t see any reason he wouldn’t. So, yes. But instead of telling him that (she got the feeling it would lead to another disagreement) she decided to simply forge on and answer the rest of his question.

“Who sent me?” she bit her lip, thinking.

The boy’s eyes reacted to the motion, dipping in turn. It was a little distracting for Marinette, the knowledge that those green eyes were dissecting her mouth right now. So, could she really be blamed if she flicked her tongue out and ran it absentmindedly across her slightly parted lips?

She was just… asserting her control over the situation. After all, the boy still had her wrists locked up and her back (literally) against the wall. And while Marinette wasn’t unduly worried, he didn’t seem like the type to hurt her, just try to bring her to justice or whatever which was a problem that would evaporate as soon as they left the room and someone checked with payroll to verify that her job did technically exist, she also wasn’t going to simply let him demand whatever he wanted from her.

Well, she might let him demand a few things…

Like her name! Because it was getting very mentally tiring referring to him as the boy all the time and politeness demanded that if she gave him her name he would do the same. And thinking of names, that gave Marinette an idea of how to get out of this mess.

“MDC sent me!”

“MDC?” he said it with a hint of confusion. Marinette knew she was just a small time up and comer with a presence primarily in Paris and wherever Jagged toured but it still hurt to get such a blunt reminder.

“That name seems familiar,” the boy thought for a moment before jabbing her with a series of questions, “Are they a ninja? A crime lord? An assassin? Tell me.”

“A fashion designer?”

“I see.” His eyes narrowed as he nodded, confirming his suspicions. “I have heard that name.”

Marinette nodded. Internally, she rejoiced a little, she was more popular than she thought!

“My brother’s girlfriend mentioned it. Tell me everything you know about MDC.”