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ZERO | THE ORIGINATORS OF POWER

                    FAR AWAY, DEEP IN SPACE IS WHERE THIS TALE COMMENCES. Far, far away from the lands that are now marked 'Earth', before it was even conjured. In the beginning, there was absolutely nothing—as most tales of the beginning state. It was a cliché in this genre of tale, unavoidable. No matter the religion or belief or even species, everything was in agreement that there was a period of nothing, and then suddenly, there was something. A lonely period, sure. 

               The universe began with a tremendously loud bang; a man and woman, destruction and creation, were born into the abyss—conjured by the noise. Made entirely for one an other, their life forces tethered together—the birthplace of soulmates, if you will. Her flaming red hair ignited the galaxies ablaze, birthing their children as they ventured through the void. His powers were less forgiving then hers, destroying everything in his wake that was untouched by her. They were the perfect balance of beginning and ending, start and stop. It'd been intended they would venture together for all of space and time, deciding on what should and shouldn't exist. 

               There was no such thing as a concept of time when these two were roaming, in fact the pocket of deep space they occupied has long since vanished into obscurity. Being the first beings, they journeyed the entire universe from start to beginning—it was far less vast back then. 

               Destruction and Creation spent an eternity enraptured in each other, growing sloppy with their mission—to build and destroy—as the seconds passed over. The Watcher, the overseer of the dawn of time, studied them closely as it ticked on. They gallivanted through the stars, declaring their love for one an other over and over—like a trance, almost—as their children followed close behind behind, calling out for the parents that payed them little mind. Destruction and Creation were too wrapped up in one another to understand they'd torn the galaxies apart with their carelessness. 

               It'd gone on long enough that The Watcher had to step in, arguing with the gods who begged for forgiveness. Empty promises to do better with more time. But by this point, humanity had emerged—one of her own creations. Colonies had started cropping up on the planets Creation had left in her wake and The Watcher needed to act in their best interests now. Species of all shapes and colours roamed the galaxies. The Watcher thought that any one of them would probably make a better wielder of Destruction and Creation. And so an idea was formed. 

               Destruction and Creation refused to go down without a fight, venturing to the depths of the galaxies they'd forged. Biding his time, The Watcher hatched an elaborate trap to catch them. Here's the thing about Destruction and Creation: they were arrogant and got bored of things easily. Hiding in the darkness was not something Creation could tolerate for long and soon enough, she ventured out. There could never be one without the other and soon Destruction followed her. And then their children, all bursting with as much power as them. 

               They fell right into the trap. Using ancient magic that's been since forgotten, he trapped them in jewellery. Intricately crafted to contain the abundance of power that oozed out of them. He scattered the jewellery throughout the universes. Whoever put these pieces on would be granted the power of the ancient gods. 

               Destruction and Creation found each other every-time, even in this inanimate form. 

               As the ages ticked on, these charms found their way down to earth. As legend evolved, they were dubbed The Miraculous. They hid in the depths of the land, waiting to be found. A couple, with the same passion for each other as Destruction and Creation had once had, found them and did the mantle proud. They protected their homelands from evil until they were old and frail. But evil didn't rest when heroes got too old. 

               When his wife eventually passed, he became the guardian—vowing not to adorn the Miraculous again. He spent his days searching for the next generation to carry on the responsibility. He knew it was only a matter of time before a new evil would need to be fought. He vowed only to pass on the legacy to those pure of heart. 

               Meanwhile, a man who specialised in crime and creating abominations, had got his hands on the jewellery that contained their children. He found no need for the Miraculous and sold them to a couple who valued fame and power far too much. They wore them for only a few months before the wife grew ill. Her husband, fuelled by fear, scoured the world for a way to save. But it was no use, she passed in her sleep with their son, only still a boy, by her side. 

               The man became consumed by grief, vowing to find any means to bring his lover back. He disregarded everything good around him, too wrapped up in his lunacy. He searched high and low until he came across "The Legend of The Miraculous". He lived by the legend, thinking it more a prophecy then an ancient work of fiction. It became his sick obsession. 

Never one without the other, they will grant one wish when brought together.

               The guardian had felt the shift in energy, the growth in urgency. His search lead him to a girl and a boy, lost amongst the woes of growing up but pure of intention. He knew he could finally rest in peace, leaving the Cat and Ladybug in their possession. At first she was scared, hesitant to become the hero the guardian knew would be. He, on the other hand, hadn't even needed to contemplate it—he knew he was made for this. 

               And thus, Ladybug and Chat Noir were reborn. For better or, for worse.  

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ONE | A TRIP THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING 

                         THE BELL RANG, DROWNING OUT THE CHATTER OF THE ALREADY LOUD AND BUSY HALLWAYS. The grating sound only drew out more people, making the halls even more difficult to navigate. Marinette was late, again. Not only was she late but she was on the entirely wrong side of campus from where she was supposed to be—fifteen minutes ago. She could already see the annoyed looks everyone was going to give her when she finally made it—they just didn't understand how dodgy her alarm clock was, okay! Weaving in and out of students—going against the grain of the wave of the crowd—was slowing her down even more. 

She rubbed her eyes, trying to fight off the tiredness as she continued to fight her way through (goddamn Hawkmoth for not abiding by a normal sleep schedule). She could literally see the exit to the bus zone from where she was stood—though, the masses were blocking her way. The girl felt as though she was in some dramatic climax of a film, fighting to get to the final battle. But alas, she was just about to be late to her field trip after she'd specifically promised to be early. 

Pushing through the metal doors, she emerged into the car park. The yellow school bus was still here, her teacher leant against the side holding his clipboard looking annoyed. Marinette could see him suppress an eye roll as she ran over to him, doubling over herself in exhaustion. "8 O'clock sharp, Marinette," Mr Harrington sighed, ticking her off on the role. "We need to get you a watch or something." 

Her cheeks burned as she stared down at her feet in embarrassment. "I know, I know, I'm sorry," she mumbled, running her hands through her messy pigtails. "But my alarm clock—"

Mr Harrington, adjusting his wide framed glasses, just shook his head at her excuses. "Just get on the bus—you're lucky, they wanted to leave without you," he said, nodding at her classmates who'd already boarded.  "Tabitha left without me for vacation once, actually. . . before she, you know, actually left me. . ," he added, mostly mumbling to himself. 

The dark haired girl hung her head low as she climbed into the long vehicle, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Everyone seemed to be staring at her as she walked down the aisle. She dodged an ankle that reached out to trip her, kicking Flash Thompson in the calf for even trying something like that. "Bitch," the spoilt Indian boy spat, clutching his leg as she passed. 

Marinette slid into her usual seat near the back, next to her best friend Michelle Jones—kinda her only friend, really. It's not that she was unpopular, per say but she wasn't exactly at the top of the social hierarchy. Michelle had been with her since elementary school and neither had bothered to branch out and meet other people. Even if they had fewer things in common the older they got, she knew she could always trust Michelle with the world. "What happened to 'coming extra early?'" Michelle remarked, shaking her head and not looking up from her thick battered looking novel. "I tried to call you but it went right to voicemail." Michelle wore her curly hair in a low bun, a beanie was perched a top head. She honestly had hardly changed in all the years Marinette had known her, perhaps she felt comfort in that with everything else in her life constantly being in a turmoil. 

Marinette held her cracked phone up, the screen not lighting up. "Charger broke—do you have your power bank with you today?" She gave her best friend her best pleading, puppy dog eyes. 

Michelle scoffed. "You're lucky," she told her, taking the dead device from her friend. 

"So nice of you to finally join us, Marinette," called a voice from behind that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Chloe Bourgeois, the most rotten girl to ever walk the streets of New York—potentially the world (at least in Marinette's eyes). The duo turned to glare at her. The blonde sat at the very back of bus, between Harry Osborn and a new kid Marinette hadn't seen before (though, he had one of those faces she could've sworn she'd seen somewhere before. . . like, on a billboard or something, it's weird). Her hair was pulled into the classic high pony tail she always rocked (Marinette hoped it gave her a receding hairline one day) and she had a sickly fake smile upon her full lips. 

"Bite me, Chloe," Marinette barked before turning back to face the front of the bus, crossing her arms. Marinette wouldn't really consider herself antagonistic but Chloe Bourgeois brought out the worst in her. 

Her response only made Chloe and her gang burst out laughing. "That's really cute, Marinette," Harry Osborn chortled, "really." 

"She's such a savage, right?" Chloe said mockingly, chewing her gum loudly. She elbowed the new kid and he let out a forced laugh. 

Marinette leant into Michelle. "Who's the new kid? I swear I've seen him before." 

Michelle looked back quickly to confirm before saying, "he's that Adrien Agreste guy, isn't he? The one who models for Dior and posts selfies on Instagram that get, like, millions of likes or whatever." 

"You know, for someone who hates pop culture, you're so informed on everything," Marinette replied before turning to take another glance at this Adrien Agreste. "It totally is, though. Shame, I thought he was hot on those billboards but if that's the kinda people he surrounds himself with. . ."

"Hot people flock together," Michelle deadpanned, opening her book back up. "And while Chloe is a bitch," Michelle glanced back at her once more, "she is hot." 

Marinette didn't want to agree with her. "Can I play games on your phone until mines charged?" Marinette asked, sending a pleading look at her friend. Michelle just sighed before offering up her phone (she had a higher level on Candy Crush). 

In the row ahead of them sat Peter Parker, Ned Leeds and Nino Lahiffe. Peter and Ned sat in one row while Nino sat in front, leaning over the back of his seat so he was facing them. "You know, I'm actually hype for this Oscorp trip. Even if Harry's dad is the one who created the company, they've had some crazy cool discoveries," Nino had been saying excitedly. 

"How can someone as smart as Norman Osborn create such a stupid son?" Ned pondered as the trio turned to stare at the group who sat at the back. Chloe was throwing Cheetos for Harry to catch with his mouth, except he'd caught none so far. Peter Parker cringed as Sabrina Raincomprix, the red haired girl who seemed to follow Chloe's every move, accidentally crushed one into the carpeted floor by stepping on it. 

"Dude, I don't know. Genetics are weird," Nino muttered, shifting the headphones sitting around his neck. He was convinced wearing headphones was a fashion statement that made him appear cooler—Ned and Peter hadn't had the heart to tell him they'd heard people making fun of him for it. Though, they're not sure that would turn Nino off the so-called fashion statement. 

"I just think it's a shame they’ve already indoctrinated that Adrien Agreste guy," Ned sighed, pulling out his phone and opening Twitter. "I follow him on Twitter and he's always retweeting stuff about Star Wars, I thought he was actually cool. Guess I was wrong." 

Peter scoffed, looking over at that Adrien guy again. "Guys that look like that don't geek out over Star Wars in the same way we do." 

"No but look," Ned insisted, handing Peter his phone. 

Nino leant over to be able to read too as Peter scrolled. Ned hadn't been exaggerating, there was a lot of Star Wars content on his account and not just surface level stuff. He was engaging with fan theories, edits and the whole works. His Twitter wasn't much different from Peters own account, come to think of it. It only filled the nerdy boy with bitterness. When he started talking about Star Wars lore girls said he was weird but when this guy did it, girls found him hotter. How was that fair? Adjusting his glasses, he pushed the phone back into Ned's hands and bitterly stared out the window. "Yeah, whatever."

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                         THE TECHNOLOGY THEY HAD IN THE OSCORP HEADQUARTERS WAS BEYOND WHAT THE AVERAGE CIVILIAN WOULD EVER EXPERIENCE. Holographic displays coated the work benches, colourful chemicals and computers. Utensils Marinette didn't even recognise were scattered at the various stations, waiting for the professionals to come back. Even the sterile smell of the lab made her excited for what her future could hold if she got into MIT. One day this would be her everyday. 

Their tour guide, a college aged blonde girl, was having a hard time at the front of the group trying to keep everyone engaged in what she was talking about. Harry and Chloe kept touching the computers every time she turned around, giggling together as they pressed random buttons. Marinette couldn't help but roll her eyes at their immaturity. Kids like them would never be able to appreciate opportunities like this in the same way the kids who got into this school based on merit did. Chloe and Harry only got into Midtown because they had well-connected, rich parents—they did not belong in a science school. She'd heard they hadn't even had to sit the entrance exam like the rest of them had. They were going to go to nice colleges not because of their transcripts but because their parents would make grand donations to whatever school they chose (probably an Ivy). 

"Hey guys, can we maybe not mess with the computers?" The blonde girl, Gwen she'd introduced herself as, snapped. She tugged on the sleeves on her lab coat, visibly trying to stop herself from losing her cool. "There's a lot of classified information on them." Marinette assumed this was not what she was paid to do. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Lady, do you even know who I am?" He stopped for a moment before wrapping an arm around Adrien's shoulders, "who we are?" Adrien seemed to visibly cringe at this but didn't pull away. 

The new boy, sweeping his blonde locks back nodded hesitantly as his friend looked at him expectantly. He'd not had much experience with real school before. And while it left a bad taste in his mouth acting like this, Harry had been his friend since infancy. Going against him on his first day would probably be more trouble then it would be worth; besides, Harry wasn't always like this. 

"Oh my god, Harry can you just shut up," Michelle grunted, putting her hands on her hips. She wore a sharp glare, her face darkening as she looked upon the spoilt kid like he was gum she'd just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. 

The dark haired boy turned to glare at her. "Jones, need I remind you that our dads literally own this building? I could have you thrown out if you piss me off enough." He patted Adrien on back again, urging him to speak up. 

Marinette snorted at the empty threat, wondering if Harry knew how ridiculous he made himself appear. "Shiver me timbers," Michelle replied sarcastically, holding her hands up. 

Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes, I know who you are. Though, your father paints a very. . . different image of you," she admitted, looking him up and down with a look of disgust. 

As she tried to direct them into the next room, Harry called out asking her what the hell she meant by that. Michelle and Marinette exchanged a look, snorting as they followed. Seeing anyone even remotely try to put the Osborn boy in his place was immensely satisfying. "As if you're even important enough to know my Dad," he said under his breath as she turned around to explain this next laboratory to them. 

The next room was darker, illuminated by red LED heat lamps. There were a bunch of glass tanks covering the walls and when Marinette looked closer, she realised there were a bunch of different spiders inside. Her brows furrowed as she looked around the rest of the laboratory, trying to understand exactly what was going on here. Anti-venoms? Poison testing? She couldn't make it out.

Chloe let out an obnoxious scream, "ew, what the fuck is this? Isn't this like animal cruelty?" She pulled her open hoodie tight against her body, pressing against Adrien for comfort. She looked up him with big doe eyes, "save me, Adri-kins." The model scratched the back of his neck before patting her on the shoulder awkwardly, looking at Harry for help. However, he was still trying to pick a fight with their guide, who was pointedly ignoring him. 

Gwen launched in a spiel about what the spiders purpose was and how it was ethical for them to be conducting experiments on them. She explained first how they'd obtained the spiders; what species they were and the places around the world they originated from. Of course, Harry and Chloe hasn't paid her much attention and continued to dick about the lab. Marinette tried to pay attention to Gwen's speech—she really did—but it was hard to focus when they were loudly moving about the lab, opening drawers and throwing beakers about. Every slam of a cabinet made Gwen visibly cringe. 

It was eerily quiet for a moment as the blonde continued on when suddenly, a loud smash had everyone turning to face the two privileged kids. Holding back a smirk, Chloe pointed at Harry accusingly. "I just watched him do it," she said smugly, staring down at the broken glass in front of them. They had knocked one of the terrariums off the workbench. 

Harry scoffed. "She's lying, Chloe was the one who knocked it off the bench," he told everyone, crossing his arms and grinning at the blonde, who stuck her tongue out at him. 

Having to bite her tongue in order not to say anything, Gwen started ushering everyone out the room before there was an injury. The last thing she needed was for one of these rich kids to cut themselves on one of the shards and complain directly to Norman Osborn or Gabriel Agreste. "We'll take a quick intermission in the cafeteria, I think," she'd been saying as she shut the door behind her. 

The laboratory, being so poorly lit, had meant that no one had noticed Peter Parker in the corner. Getting sick of having to listen over Chloe and Harry's obnoxious behaviour, he slipped away from the main group and done his own investigation on the lab. It'd been so hard to focus on the lecture with the pair, that he'd slipped a pair of headphones on to block them out. He was crouched down by one of the smaller tanks, looking down at a Red-back Spider that was running around mindlessly. 

He'd been so engrossed that he hadn't noticed the overhead lights had dimmed even further and that he was the only person in there. That was, until he felt a sudden throbbing sensation on the back of hand. Jumping at the unexpected feeling, he shot up from his crouched position on the floor and began applying pressure of his hand. "Crap," he grunted under his breath, looking up to see he'd been forgotten. "Where did. . . ?"

Before he could finish his thought, the door flew open and Mr Harrington came barrelling in. "Peter, there you are—! What are you still doing in here?" He demanded, rushing to the boy. "I thought another one had got taken on a field trip—do you know what Principal Morita would say if I lost another one?" He didn't give the boy a chance to guess before tugging him by the sleeve towards the exit. "Come on, everyone's in the cafeteria." 

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                         SO, IT TURNS OUT LABORATORY FOOD ISN'T THE BEST. Though, Marinette can chalk that down to everyone being here for the science not sustenance. Growing up in a household full of bakers, she could imagine very clearly her fathers appalled face at the options they'd served up for them. Pre-packaged, stale egg sandwiches and rubbery salads. Suddenly Matinettes scientist dreams looked a little less bright if this what she was going to be subjecting herself to after college.  

She stared at the options of the cafe sadly as her and Michelle awaited their turn. Ahead of them, Chloe was taking her sweet time telling the barista how she wanted her iced latte made (apparently, she considered her order so complicated and specific that she needed to walk the unimpressed minimum wage worker through it). The pigtail wearing brunette couldn't help but roll her eyes. She couldn't wait for this field trip to be over, she'd not spent this much forced time around Chloe in years. 

Behind them Ned, Peter and Nino all took their places in line. "Not to be like. . . a dick but you don't look too good, man," Nino told Peter, eyeing his friend cautiously. 

The scrawny, glasses wearing individual smiled at him weakly. "I feel like crap," he admitted, clutching his stomach. His skin was a lot more translucent looking then usual and his cheeks were a dark red while his hair clung to his forehead thanks to all the sweat he was producing. 

"Should you get May to pick you up or something. . . ?" Asked Ned, looking concerned. 

Peter shook his head quickly. "I can't, she's at work." 

His two friends nodded in understanding. All coming from pretty modest backgrounds, the trio all understood that calling a guardian to come pick you up from school prematurely was only valid in life or death situations. A stomach ache didn't qualify under that criteria. "You go sit down, we'll get you some water and stuff," Ned told him, pointing at an empty table. 

Peter didn't argue, he just did as he was told and shuffled over to the table his friend had suggested. The boy slumped down into his seating, resting his head against the cold surface and sighing at the relief it brought him. He felt bliss for a total of five seconds until Chloe, Harry, Sabrina, Flash and the new kid, Adrien, all sat down at the table beside him. 

"God, your dads company's kinda boring," Chloe had been saying. "As if you want to work here after college." Peter Parker has never been a fan of Chloe Bourgeois and her foul attitude; he found her voice to be more grating then any other sound he'd ever heard. 

Harry leant back in his seat, lifting the front legs off the ground. "Not all of us have the privilege of a modelling career waiting for us," he said matter-of-factory, eyeing Adrien. If Peter hadn't seen them act like they were lifelong friends, he'd have thought he sensed some jealousy. 

Adrien's cheeks went red. "Modelling doesn't last forever," he told them, shrugging. "They won't put me in commercials when I'm old." 

"J-Lo is like one hundred years old and she's still in commercials," Flash Thompson cut in, trying to make a joke. 

Chloe glared at him. "She's 46, actually."

"God, I didn't know you were some big J-Lo stan," Flash grumbled, holding his hands up defensively.

Peter tried to tune out their mindless conversation, feeling a migraine coming on. However, something Chloe said caught his attention. "I kinda feel like fucking with Marinette." 

Harry chuckled but didn't not encourage her. "That's like your only hobby." 

"Ugh, I read sometimes too, you know," she spat. 

"I didn't know you knew how to read, Chloe," Flash scoffed, earning an aggressive shove from Chloe. 

"Whatever." She looked at the last free table in the cafeteria and smirked. "She's probably going to sit there, right?" The blonde turned to Adrien with a grin. "Watch this," she told him, looking pleased with herself. Standing up, she dramatically pulled the gum from her mouth and stalked over to the empty table. Horror engulfed Adrien's face when he saw her smear the chewable plastic onto the metal chair, making sure it covered enough surface area that no matter where she sat, it would stick to her cheap jeans. 

Adrien loved Chloe like a sister—her and Harry had been the only other kids he'd known growing up—but he'd never seen her behave in such an abhorrent way before. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Standing up, he quickly rushed over to her and tried to scrape some of the gum off with a fork. Chloe tried to pull him up and get him to stop, asking why he'd spoil her joke like this. 

However, her head snapped up and she saw Marinette and Michelle coming. Kicking Adrien one last time, she scurried back to their table to meet their laughing friends. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Marinette demanded, glaring down at the model. 

Adrien felt like a deer caught in front of headlights as he stood up, trying to explain himself to her. "I—I was trying to remove it—" His substantial height difference from her only made the girl take a step back from him, crossing her arms in defence.

She looks over at Chloe, Flash, Sabrina and Harry, who were double over themselves laughing. "Seriously? It's your first day and they've already got you in on their crap," Marinette huffs, opening her sandwich container and taking the napkin out. "Great joke, Agreste."

Handing over her own napkin, Michelle raises an antagonistic eyebrow at Adrien as if daring him to say something back. "Bye," she says when he doesn't move. 

Tail between his legs, Adrien shuffled back over to the table with his friends and slumps into the seat across from Chloe. "Making enemies with the freaks on the first day." Chloe looks proud of him, "that's gotta be some kind of record."

Peter Parker watched as Marinette and Michelle worked feverishly trying to remove the gum. He decided that he really didn't like this Adrien Agreste guy, even if he was a Star Wars nerd like him, too. He was sure Luke Skywalker wouldn't tolerate hanging around someone as jarring as Chloe and Harry. 

Chapter Text

TWO | THE SPIDERS ORIGIN TALE

                         THE BLARING SOUND OF HIS PERSISTENT ALARM CLOCK TORE THROUGH THE RESTLESS DREAMS PETER PARKER HAD BEEN HAVING. Dreams of a dark abyss, being chased by the spider from Harry Potter (the giant one that tried to eat the titular character, in case anyone was confused). Every-time he'd tried to wake himself up, he'd only fallen back into a deeper slumber as he sluggishly ran away. He'd felt like he was stuck on a treadmill with the settings turned all the way down because no matter how hard he ran, he couldn't outrun the beast. 

But finally, with the morning sun peaking through his curtains and blinding him, he shot up in his twin sized bed drenched in a cold sweat. He ran a hand across his forehead, swiping away the sticky liquid. The alarm was still screaming at him for attention and he absentmindedly threw his other arm out to silence the thing. A crunch sound could be heard as his palm connected with the device and his eyes widened to see he'd accidentally crushed his alarm clock into tiny pieces. 

"Crap," he cursed under his breath as he picked up the sharp pieces of broken plastic. He hadn't realised he'd applied so much force on it, he was usually really rough with the thing most mornings. 

He reached across the rubble for his glasses, needing to get a clearer look at the mess he’d made. As he slid them on, his eyes immediately felt strained and everything seemed more blurry then they had before he'd put them on. Had his prescription expired overnight? He could've sworn he still had a year before he needed new lenses. Peter slipped the glasses on and off a few times, comparing the difference before deciding to ditch the glasses today. "Weird," he mumbled, wiping the lens before resting them on his bedside table again. He'd read studies of people miraculously waking up with better eye sight but it wasn't a common occurrence nor something he expected to experience ever.

Before he had much time to ponder, he heard the pop of the toaster in the kitchen closely followed by his Aunt Mays voice. "Peter! Breakfast is ready!" 

"Coming," he called out to her breathlessly. 

His mind was whirring at a rapid speed as he climbed out of bed. Peter Parker had worn glasses since kindergarten, cementing himself as a stereotypical nerd since childhood. As he shuffled towards his closet, still half asleep, he caught sight of his appearance and almost tripped over a half-complete Lego set at his feet. He quickly rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Peter almost reached for his glasses again, wondering is maybe they would clear up the optical illusion he was gazing upon.  

The nerdy boy stared at what was supposed to be his reflection in the deepest confusion. Where his arms had always been thin and gangly, were now replaced by a band of muscle mass around his biceps. He'd always been thin enough where you could see his ribs if he breathed in but now. . . no, that can't be real. . . Peter Parker had abs. And not just the normal 'teenage boy who goes to the gym abs', no he was completely ripped. He tried to pinch himself multiple times, waiting for the giant spider in his dream to come back and chase him again. But nothing happened, he stayed glued in front of the mirror. 

He felt sick. Catatonic even. In fact, he wanted to whip out a thesaurus to find new words to describe how unwell he was feeling; queasy, bilious, qualmish, downcast, crook, indisposed. 

"The flies are going to eat your toast for you!" May called out again, sounding impatient this time. 

Swallowing thickly, he called out an apology as he yanked the first set of clean clothes he saw out of his closet and slipped them on. He hadn’t even noticed how mismatched the patterns and colours were. Shooting himself one final once over in the mirror and frowning, he rushed out into the kitchen to greet his aunt. 

"He's alive," she joked, pouring herself some coffee and shaking her head to herself. "Was starting to think I was going to have to drag you out of there or something." 

Peter laughed politely as he stared down at his toast, appetite non-existent. Inhaling deeply, he decided that any other teenage boy would be grateful to wake up with their blindness cured and ripped—he needed to be grateful. He tried to imagine how Captain America would've felt when the super soldier serum was injected into him, how appreciative of the opportunity he must've been. Peter decided he must try to emulate the Captain America mindset. He thought back to all the DVD's they played at school of the patriotic soldier, all the strong words of affirmation and wisdom he'd sent the way of the American youth. And while he most definitely felt like a stranger inside his own body still, the fact that Captain America had potentially felt like this once brought him comfort. Only a little bit but that has to count for something, right?

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                         PETER PARKER HAD A BRAIN HARDWIRED FOR SCIENCE AND MATHEMATICS. And while he didn't fail it—he didn't fail anything, actually because it was not in his DNA—he did not enjoy it or ever pay much attention to English class. Today being the exception, it seems. Their teacher, a busty little old lady, was explaining 'the heroes journey' and for some reason the topic resonated with him; the status quo turned call to action. He thought about it every-time he needed to itch the nasty lump the spider from Oscorp had left on his hand. The brunette imagined himself being called to adventure, fighting off bad guys and gaining super powers. It was daunting but exciting (like he'd decided his new abs and vision were). Maybe getting ripped was his call to action and his quest was to finally get a girlfriend, now that he fit into some of the modern beauty standards. . . a nerd can dream. 

His first period english class had been the only one of his subjects he'd been able to focus on that day. Peters already overactive brain had been going haywire since he'd left the comfort of his apartment that morning. Sounds that had once just blended into the background were now too loud and clear—it was giving him not only a headache but making him extremely jumpy. Anytime someone spoke, he couldn't help but flinch. Ned had looked at him like he was crazy when they'd talked in home room. 

"You don't look too good, man," he'd commented, studying his friend with a deep look of skepticism. "You should've stayed home after how bad you were yesterday." 

Peter had waved him off, being saved by the bell and the fact they didn't have classes together until after lunch. He'd be better by then (hopefully). "I'm fine," he'd insisted as he rushed off, disappearing into the bustling crowd before Ned had the chance to make any sort of comment in response.

He'd been on his way to fourth period when he'd bumped—quite physically—into his least favourite duo: Harry Osborn and Flash Thompson.

Peter had applied to Midtown, after attending regular elementary and middle schools, with the impression that there wouldn't be such thing as a social hierarchy—everyone being some form of nerd and all. Yet, Peter Parker had still found himself dangling at the bottom of the social ladder. Even a school run by the nerds perpetuated the status quo of your average high school. Peters not so sure about Harry but if they went to a normal high school, Flash would be a prone target of wedgies and swirlies. It was ironic, he supposed. Very kill or be killed of the Indian boy. 

"Watch where you're going, Penis Parker," he'd spat, staring down at the boy—not that he exactly towered over Peter, there was about an inch difference between the two. Yet he acted like he hulked over him. 

"Give him a break, Penis Parker lost his glasses. He can't watch shit," Harry scoffed, pushing the formerly scrawny brunette into a locker. "Maybe this will help you learn to get contacts, you freak." 

The metal groaned under the force of Peters weight, which had practically doubled overnight (he'd checked three times that morning to be sure). At the pained look on his face, Flash laughed as Harry pushed him into the locker again as he tried to break away. There was a bang again as he smashed into the metal box once more, feeling the metal itself crumple under him this time. It was the strangest thing, he'd been pushed and shoved into these lockers too many times to count but he'd never once caused property damage (or would he just be the object used to cause property damage?). 

He attempted to fight the rich man's son off, firmly grabbing his wrists and pushing him backwards. Peter watched, with wide doe eyes as Harry Osborn flew across the empty hall and flat onto his ass. The brunette looked furious, wiping off the dust as Flash looked between them wearing a bewildered look. Peter stared down at his hands, taken aback by the strength he'd never possessed before. It's not like he'd never tried to fight the bullies off before but he'd never once had the ability to do so. Usually he'd struggle against them, resembling a fish left out of water and they'd mock him for how pathetically weak he was. 

"You're dead," Harry hissed, charging at him but Peter dodged him as the boy made a break for the nearest bathroom. He'd never managed to run so fast. Peter heard their footsteps follow him into the bathroom but he'd managed to barricade himself inside a cubicle before they got inside.

"Come out, come out, Penis Parker," Harry cooed, banging on the doors of all the cubicles. Peter flinched every-time he heard one of the doors slam open and smash into the poor adjacent walls. He looked down at the sizeable gap under the cubicle, knowing it would only be a matter of time until Harry realised he could climb underneath to get to him. 

Just as he got to the door next to Peter's, the bell rang and he heard Flash say, "Mrs Mulligan is going to kill us if we're late again. I have decathlon after school, I can't get detention." 

"Fuck sake," Harry grunted under his breath. "To be continued, Parker!" He shouted, banging one of the doors one last time before he heard them shuffle out of the bathrooms. "I haven't seen Adrien since first period, have you?" He heard Harry mumble as the door slammed shut behind them. 

Peter took a seat on the closed toilet, trying to catch his breath again. Just as he'd got his mind to calm down under the distraction of his classes, something else batshit insane had to happen. He tried to remember what the grief counsellor had told him after his uncle had passed away, to count his senses. Five things he could see. . . graffiti. . . toilet paper. . . an empty bag of chips. . . used toilet paper. . . and a needle? He wasn't even going to ask what that was doing on the floor of the school bathroom. Okay, four things he can touch: the toilet. . . the floor. . . the wall. . . and. . . his jeans? He inhaled again, closing his eyes for the next step. Three things he could hear: a flush of the toilet. . . the tap running. . . the hand drier whirring. He could feel himself calming down and his heart rate steadying to a pace that didn't make his chest feel like it was going to explode. Two things he could smell: oh. . . gross. . . Moving on, one thing he could taste: he pulled some gum out of his pocket and began rapidly chewing. 

The distraction had neutralised his heartbeat and he looked down at his wrist, checking the time. He had an hour of lunch and then two classes after, followed by decathlon practice. With the turmoil he'd been faced with that day, he did not feel like facing everyone. Lugging his book bag over his shoulder, Peter Parker decided he was going to cut class. 

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                         THE THING ABOUT HAVING AN ARCH-NEMESIS IS THAT ONE WAS ALWAYS HYPER AWARE OF THEIR PROXIMITY TO YOU. Whenever they walked into a room, one couldn't help but feel their skin crawl. So, when Peter Parker disappeared after lunch and didn't show up to fifth period, Marinette knew right away. She sat in her usual seat, towards the back of her biology classroom as she scanned the faces of everyone who took their seat wearing a sour look. As people piled in, there was no one who left her feeling quite as annoyed as Peter Parker did. She had a sixth sense when it came to his whereabouts and when he was going to show up—always at the most inconvenient times, might she add. It was strange, even when he was as sick as a dog, he never missed class. She'd seen him show up to school with chicken pox, having to be forcibly removed from the building. 

"Are you okay? You look constipated," Michelle muttered, raising an eyebrow about the look her friend had been wearing since they stepped foot inside the classroom. She was sketching inside her textbook, over the top of a diagram on human anatomy. 

"Where's Parker?" The black haired girl asked, flipping aimlessly through her textbook as she tried to act casual. She couldn't risk the thought of anyone thinking she gave a shit about the annoying try hard who could rise her blood pressure just by walking into a room. 

Michelle didn't say anything for a moment, sending a knowing look her friends way. "Please remind you why you care?"

Marinette gripped her pen firmly, staring at it in annoyance. "I don't," she said bitterly while not meeting her friends gaze. "Just curious, not like him to skip class." 

Just then, Nino and Ned took a seat in front of her. Marinette had never had a good grasp of the concept known as self control and she learnt over her desk to flick Nino in the back of the head. "Hey," she hissed under her breath and the two Lego enthusiasts turned to glare at her, confused what she wanted. 

"What?" Ned hissed back, sizing her and Michelle up while Nino clutched the back of his head defensively. They were all on the decathlon team together but never talked—Marinette disliked them both by association and made no secret of it. The only person who always seemed unaware of the feud was Peter Parker himself. Though Ned assumed that's what made her hate him so much; his blissful unawareness. 

She played with the ends of her pigtails as she asked, "where's Parker?" Beside her Michelle scoffed and Marinette kicked her under the desk, causing her to mess up her drawing. Michelle glared but was not acknowledged. 

Both sets of eyebrows belonging to the two boys shot straight up. "I don't know, why do you care?" 

Marinette sat back in her chair again, sinking down a bit in a futile attempt to hide from their prying gazes. "I don't," she repeated. "Just curious. It's just not like him to skip classes." 

Ned rolled his eyes. "Not that it's any of your business but he was sick in second period, he probably got his aunt to pick him up. Does that answer suffice?" He looked at her expectantly, awaiting some sort of rebuttal. 

Marinette glared back at him, nodding slowly as the pair turned back to the front while the teacher started taking attendance. "Whatever," she muttered to herself as Michelle elbowed her and slid her textbook across the desk. 

The girl stared down, seeing a crude replica of her face staring back down. She was an overlay atop a diagram of specifically male anatomy—how fitting. Her face was more sour then a rotted lemon, with a couple dozen wrinkles added to her face to make her seem weathered (it was a phrase Michelle often used to describe the subjects of her art). "It's you," her curly haired friend said, as if to make sure Marinette got it. 

Unamused, she pushed the textbook back towards her and folded her arms on the table, resting her head atop. "Very funny," she grumbled, eyes focusing on the whiteboard straight ahead. She tried to focus on her teachers boring voice and evict Peter Parker's stupid face from her mind. 

Chapter Text

THREE | STICK TO THE STATUS QUO

                         MARINETTE NEVER UNDERSTOOD WHY SOME TEACHERS WARNED THEIR STUDENTS ABOUT UPCOMING POP QUIZZES—DID THAT NOT DEFEAT THE PURPOSE? A pop quiz was supposed to test the preparation of the participants; how much study had they done? How well did they retain the knowledge their teacher had bestowed upon them? It frustrated her that their teacher had given everyone the chance to cram study overnight, it made her nightly revision feel like a massive slap in the face. Her eye twitched as she watched her peers pass around colourful flash cards and exchanged crumpled notes around their loud home room.

As much as she despised the likes of Peter Parker and his natural gift for acing pop quizzes (and literally anything academic, to be honest), at least he understood the true spirit of a pop quiz. He never wasted time with last minute cram sessions in the five minutes of warning they'd get by someone catching the teacher leaving the staff room with test papers. 

Speaking of Peter Parker—not that she liked to do so often but he had still yet to show his face at school since yesterday. Which, again, was really out of character for the annoying boy (not that she actively kept track of his character traits like a weirdo or anything). While he always aced pop quizzes, he always seemed to have a freakish ability to sense what days their teacher would host them. Often she'd overhear him telling Ned and Nino that he was sure there'd be a test that day as they waited to be let into their classroom. And, like the answers to questions in class, his senses were never wrong. Just once she'd wanted him to be caught off guard by a pop quiz—as she had been many times—but not under these circumstances. This didn't feel like the win it should be if he wasn't even here to compete in the competition she'd crafted between them in her head. 

Since her third grade loss in the science fair to Peter Parker's volcano diorama (how unoriginal. . . it exploded, everyone's seen that before), she had declared him as her mortal enemy. Every achievement he had over her only motivated the girl to work harder and harder—not that it ever seemed to result in much. For every extra hour she stayed awake at night, reviewing their schoolwork, Peter was already ten units ahead because of his natural ability to just absorb knowledge. It made her want to rip her hair out. He may be winning all the small battles but Marinette would win the war. She would be their class valedictorian if it was the last thing she did and she would be the sole student from their class that would get accepted into MIT. With their acceptance rates so low and there being so many schools in New York, normally there was only one Midtown student who ever got accepted per graduating class. Everyone knew Peter Parker had his heart set on that spot but it was going to be Marinettes. No matter what. 

She stared out into the classroom, eyes narrowing as Ned and Nino once again took their seats in front of her. They were missing the third person of their trio and she fought the urge to ask where he was but the sideways look Michelle was sending her made her think otherwise. The last thing she needed was Michelle making edits of them to Evanescence songs again (she's still unsure where and how Michelle obtained the grainy clips she'd used last time). 

Her eyes practically turn into slits when another trio she disliked walked into the classroom; as loud and obnoxious as ever. Harry lead the way, with Flash right on his tail while the new boy, Adrien Agreste, trailed behind hesitantly. Marinette couldn't help but send a glare in the direction of the blonde boy, still not having forgiven him for the stunt he pulled at OSCORP with the chewing gum. The last thing she'd needed was her favourite jeans to permanently have used gum embedded in the threads (although with how crazy his fan base online acted, perhaps she could've sold the jeans for thousands of dollars—at least she'd not have to worry about a scholarship).

Adrien, noticing the raven-haired girl looking his way, awkwardly lifted his hand up in a half-waved motion. Marinette simply turned her nose up at the gesture, not at all being the type of girl to build bridges. "Ugh," she'd huffed under her breathe, tapping her pencil against the desk. 

Michelle, looking up from her thick battered novel, asked, "What?" As she studied her friend, checking there was nothing physically wrong with her all of a sudden. 

"I can't stand that Adrien guy," the bakers daughter told her friend matter-of-factly, grinding her teeth together as she watched him take a seat towards the front. She cringed at the obnoxious comments Harry was making about being stuck in the front, claiming popular kids should be at the front. Marinette wished she was athletically gifted enough to throw her textbook at the back of his head. But alas, it would probably barely make it past her table. Out of costume, she did not retain a single ounce of her super powers—it was such a lame side effect. "He's my nemesis," she decided aloud. 

Michelle snorted. "What about Peter? I thought he was your nemesis." 

"No," Marinette replied, shaking her head. "Parker is my mortal enemy, there's a difference." 

"Whatever you say," Michelle sighed, licking her finger loudly and turning the page of her book. "That's definitely not the same thing or anything. . ."

"It's not," the girl insisted before smiling at her teacher in a way that could've turned her nose brown (hey, she needed to get to the top of the curve in any means possible) as she handed out their tests. 

"This is a closed book quiz so can we all put our textbooks away now?" Stated the middle-aged woman, casting an annoyed look across the sea of last minute studiers. "You shouldn't need to revise if you kept up with the coursework," she added, rounding her desk at the front of the classroom. 

There was an obedient shuffle as everyone tucked their thick, outdated textbooks back into their bags. "Thank you," she mumbled before telling them they had until the bell rang to complete the quiz. "And no, Mr Lahiffe, you may not listen to music," she sighed, holding her hand out for Nino to hand over his bulky headset. "I don't know why you insist on trying it every time."

As the clock ticked overhead, the only sound that could be heard was the scratch of pencil against paper. Marinette's hand glider across her test, looking for every opportunity to gain bonus marks. The answers were coming to her easier then usual, she didn't want to chalk it down to a lack of Peter Parker's negative energy but if the shoe fit. . . 

She had been so focused on triple checking her work, she'd not heard the grating sound of the bell echoing through the classroom nor had she heard their teachers plea to remember to write your name on your test. It'd taken Michelle elbowing her in the ribs to get Marinette to look up at the nearly deserted classroom. Face turning all sorts of shades of red, she shuffled to the front and dropped her paper atop the messy pile. "Come on Marinette, I don't have all day," she snapped, ushering the two students out the door. 

In the process of being kicked out of the classroom, Marinette—as clumsy as she is—collided with a rock-hard chest that sent her backwards. There was a groan and then two strong hands reached out to steady her. The colour drained from her face when she looked up to be face to face with a bemused looking Adrien Agreste. She tried to ignore the beautiful aroma he exuded. "Are you alright?" He asked, voice melodic in a way that made her want to rip her hair out. 

Silently, she nodded as she pried his hands off her waist while Michelle tried not to laugh behind them. 

"Are you sure?" He checked, giving her a once over and she basically jumped backwards to create space between their bodies. 

Wiping her now sweaty hands on her jeans, Marinette snapped at him. "I'm fine, you don't have to pretend like you care." Her words were harsh, making Adrien physically recoil at them but he knew he deserved them. 

Scratching the back of his neck, he searched for the rights words. "I think we got off on the wrong foot," he started, cringing at the dramatic eye roll she did in response. "I didn't put the gum on your seat, I was trying to remove it," he explained, hoping she would accept such a lame explanation. 

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her textbook tightly. "And I'm supposed to just believe that? When you hangout with people who dedicate their free time to tormenting me and everyone else with a brain? I don't think so, buddy." 

Adrien sighed. "Look, I get that—Harry and Chloe, they. . . they're the only friends I've ever known." 

"Well, maybe you should look to expand your circle," Marinette retorted, nodding back at Michelle before pushing past him towards their next class. She didn't have time to trade insults with this guy when she was already on her third tardy of the week. 

Adrien stayed where she'd left him for a moment, watching as her small frame disappeared through the heavy double doors at the end of the hall. He pondered what she'd said. Having been homeschooled his whole life, making friends had not been something Adrien had much experience in. With his father being business partners with Norman Osborn, his son Harry had basically been a built-in friend for as long as Adrien could remember. And as for Chloe, her father had been the mayor for almost as long. Oscorp was one of his most prominent sponsors whenever he re-ran for office, making the families all quite close. Not knowing anyone else when he'd first stepped through the gates of Midtown Science and Technology, he'd just slipped into their friend group. The idea of forming his own hadn't even occurred to him, not that he'd know where to start. 

Resigned, he shuffled to his next class: Physics, a class he was surprisingly gifted in. As he looked around the room, he noticed neither of his friends were present and all the seats were taken besides one. Next to a boy wearing brightly coloured headphones is where he sat, in one of the middle rows. Adrien offered him a small smile as he took his seat, "hey, I'm Adrien." 

"Yeah, I know," the boy scoffed, eyeing him skeptically as he scratched under his headphones. Adrien noticed his computer open, wallpaper showing an image of Padme Amadala. His eyes lit up at the sight. 

"Nice wallpaper," Adrien commented earnestly, making the boy slam his device shut and glare at him. "I like that everyone's finally starting to appreciate the prequels." 

He studied Adrien a moment before extending his hand out, "I'm Nino, by the way." 

Adrien's entire body erupted in warmth as he accepted the handshake, smiling brightly at the prospect of a friend who loved Star Wars as much as he did. He'd only ever discussed the franchise with people on Twitter, his father and friends all being completely uninterested in 'that nerd shit'. "What was your favourite film then?" He asked, trying to gage how much knowledge he had of the franchise. The most people ever seemed to watch was the original trilogy—he was lucky if they'd maybe seen the prequels. 

Nino hesitated for a moment, still unsure why the blonde boy was talking to him. . . about Star Wars, of all things. Boys like Adrien normally stuck his head down toilets, they didn't have favourite Star Wars movies. "Erm. . . is it a cop out if I say I prefer The Clone Wars to all the movies?" 

Adrien couldn't help but grin at his admission while a bunch of Star Wars jargon spilled from his mouth. He'd daydreamed of moments like this; a friendship where they actually had similar interests (or maybe he was getting a bit too ahead of himself). Not paying any mind to the lesson being taught in front of them, the paired grilled each other on the iconic franchise. Nino's skepticism melted away as they talked, being replaced by genuine excitement on upcoming projects and Lego Star Wars sets Adrien said he owned. "You should come over and check them out sometime," Adrien had suggested closer to the end of class. 

"Dude, totally," Nino had replied, eyes wide at the thought of someone owning all the big sets. "Peter, Ned and I have been saving up to pre-order the Lego Deathstar. . . 75159 pieces in total." 

Adrien marvelled at what he'd said. Not at the amount of pieces but at the thought of having not one or two but three friends who were passionate about Star Wars enough to share such a huge set. "That's so awesome, are you guys gonna build it together?" 

Nino nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, we've got it all planned out. We're gonna build it at Peters because he's the only one of us without younger siblings and then we'll share it Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants style." Nino flushed at the confused look Adrien had at his niche movie reference. "It's my sisters favourite movie. . . she's made me watch it too many times." 

"You're making me wanna order the Death Star, too," Adrien replied, laughing. "I'm running out of Lego room but maybe I can squeeze one more big set into my room." 

Before Nino could express his jealousy at Adrien's collection, the bell rang and it was time for lunch. They didn't speak as they gathered all their items up, although Adrien kept looking at Nino, trying to work up the courage to ask him what he was doing for lunch when Nino beat him to it. "Hey, I know this is probably a long shot 'cause you've already got your friends but did you wanna hang with Ned and I for lunch? He'd love another Star Wars enthusiast around, with Peter being M.I.A," he rambled, coughing when he caught himself about to start oversharing. 

Adrien beamed at him, nodding. "That'd be awesome, sure! I'd love to," he responded, a bit too overly enthusiastic that Nino couldn't help but laugh as they ventured out into the packed halls. 

It didn't take long for them to hunt down Ned, who'd been stood at his locker feverishly tapping away at his phone screen. He didn't look up when they approached, obviously expecting Nino to come find him. "I'm going to murder Peter if he doesn't respond to my troops request on Clash of Clans, he's the only one with level thirteen giants," Ned grumbled. "And I'm one win away from this achievement. . ."

"Why don't you update your own troops and stop mooching off us?" Nino suggested, rolling his eyes. "And don't give me that excuse about needing to preserve your gems, I know you used your Mom's credit card to buy the 10,000 gems." 

Ned scoffed. "They were half price, what was I supposed to do?" The music that signified the end of his raid played and Ned finally looked up, tucking his phone in his back pocket. His eyes widened when he saw Adrien standing with them, hands awkwardly tucked into his pockets. "Um. . . Hello. . . ?" The native Hawaiian boy turned to Nino, looking extremely confused at what was happening. 

"This is Adrien. Ned, Adrien," Nino jumped in, throwing an arm around the models shoulders which was an awkward position due to the substantial height difference. While Nino was pushing five foot seven, Adrien was well over six foot and still growing. 

"I know who he is," Ned hissed in a low voice, glaring at his friend. "Why is he here?" He looked across the hall, nodding at Chloe Bourgeois who was obnoxiously telling a story to whoever would listen. Something about Ladybug saving her and becoming her new best friend. 

Adrien flipped some hair out of his face. "Nino said I could sit with you guys at lunch—uh, only if that's cool with you, though," he said. "I don't wanna step on any toes or something. . ."

"Adrien here has promised to give us a private tour of his massive Lego Star Wars collection," Nino bragged, waggling his eyebrows at them both. "He has, like, all the cool sets."

"It's not just Lego Star Wars," Adrien corrected him, "I've got some of the Iron Man collection, too. My Dad hates it." 

"He even has some sets from the seventies," Nino added, trying his hardest to sell Ned on the new addition to their lunch table. 

Ned squinted at the blonde boy. "Like what? A lame Millennium Falcon? Everyone has one of those." 

Nino kicked him before saying, "can we finish this conversation in the cafeteria? I'm starving." 

"Fine," Ned huffed, accepting the blonde for now.

As soon as their backsides had touched a table, Ned had launched into a near-interrogation about Adrien's interest in Star Wars, accidentally admitting in the process that he used to follow the blonde on Twitter. "'Used to'?" Questioned Adrien, frowning. 

Ned, not making eye contact, stuttered out a response. "Well, when I saw you were buddies with Flash and Harry. . ." 

Adrien's face fell. "I'm not my friends," he said softly. 

However, before Ned even had the chance to respond, Chloe Bourgeois approached their table with her noise scrunched in disgust. "Adrikins!" She called in her shrill voice, bending down and throwing her arms around him. "I've been looking for you, what're you doing here," she looked at the two nerds, disgust written all over her features. 

Adrien pried her off, looking at the two boys before looking back at her. "Talking about Star Wars," he told her, shrugging. 

Chloe raised a laminated brow at him. "Ew, isn't that a kids show? Come on, Harry stole his dads Rolex—"

"I'm good here," Adrien cut her off, dodging the hand that reached out to drag him away. "I'll see you later, though." 

The blonde girl, with her perfectly constructed high pony tail, looked floored at what he'd just said. No one ever told her no and Adrien knew that. "Excuse me?" 

Adrien took a deep breath inwards. "I'm going to sit here today," he repeated, in a more concise way. 

If she were an anime character, Nino imagined her face would turn bright pink and steam would rush out of her ears as she stormed off. The two darker skinned boys looked at him, shocked that witch had even acknowledged that table. Before they could comment on the interact, however, Adrien pulled out his phone to show an Ebay listening he'd been eyeing off all day. 

Meanwhile, down the other end of the long lunch table, sat Marinette and Michelle. The latter was deeply engrossed in her book while the former watched the interaction, confusion coursing through her veins. It was the most amount of personality she'd seen Adrien Agreste display since he'd started at the school. And she hated that a part of her wanted to see it more often. Huffing, she opened her Chemistry textbook and began reading the chapter they'd been assigned for homework as she tried to dispel the rich boy from her mind.

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                         SOMEWHERE BETWEEN CLASS PERIODS, IT HAD TO STARTED TO RAIN CATS AND DOGS. And here's the thing about New York rain: it was relentless. The downpour probably wouldn't stop until the sun rose in two days time, leaving everything soaked by the time it was done with them. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood in front of the double doors leading to the outside of the school, an overflow of textbooks tucked under her arm. It was times like these where she cursed herself for picking a fashionable backpack over a functional one. It would be just her luck that every single one of her classes would assign some sort of reading to be completed overnight. Her backpack could fit a laptop, two textbooks and a binder at most (and even then her zipper would whine when she forced the bag shut). 

She tried to look up, praying the clouds would part long enough for her to trek to the train station near the school. However, her hopes were being drowned out by the aggressive downpour and the impending time her train should arrive. With slumped shoulders, she had just about accepted her fate and was prepared to make a run for it down the steps when a hand landed on her shoulder. 

"I think you might need this more than me," came a familiar voice and she turned to see Adrien staring down at her, a closed black umbrella extended out to her. 

"I. . ." She'd been at a loss for words, confused as to why he'd give up being dry for her sake. 

"You were right, by the way," he added, arm dropping to his side when she didn't move to take the umbrella from him. "I don't wanna be known in the same way Chloe and Harry are. I'm starting to see them for who they really are, not who they'd pretended to be behind closed doors." 

"That's. . . That's good," Marinette squeaked, gulping loudly as she failed to meet his intense stare. 

"I have a chauffeur waiting and a waterproof bag," he said after a moment, offering the umbrella to her once again. "Don't want your textbooks getting destroyed, take it." 

Moving like a robot, Marinette took the black umbrella off him. Not meaning to, she'd gripped it by the button and set it off inside, knocking Adrien back a little. He stifled a laugh as he watched her struggle to shut it, mumbling something about bad luck. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" He told her, patting her shoulder before throwing the door open and sprinting through the rain, down to the black SUV waiting for him. 

A strange, foreign feeling was brewing inside the short girl and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it as she watched him drive off. She looked down at the handle of the umbrella, his name being engraved into the loop and she couldn't help but run her fingers across it. This was bad, she thought as his face refused to leave her mind for the rest of the day. 

That was, however, until a new problem seemed to decide to overshadow the impending doom of her now hopeless crush. She'd been lounging on the couch in her parents house, TV on a low volume while she only half listened. She had a perfectly dry textbook open on her lap as a news reporters voice caught her attention. "—the unnamed vigilante, shown here wearing red and blue, was seen leaping across buildings down fifth avenue. Witnesses say he was harmless, chasing off a shoplifter from one of the corner stores but authorities are still warning civilians to not engage. It has been confirmed they are not an Akuma victim however—" Her dad had flicked over to a different channel before the segment could be finished. 

Marinette frowned as she looked back down at her work, knowing this was definitely the start of a much bigger problem. 

Chapter Text

FOUR | NOT ANOTHER BUG IN THE CITY

                         THE MYSTERY PERTAINING TO THE WHEREABOUTS OF PETER PARKER WAS FINALLY OVER. Monday morning had rolled around and the brunette had slunk into the gates of Midtown Science and Technology like nothing had happen. Marinette had almost gotten used to a school without him walking the halls; the peace of having no one to compete against. However, as they often say, all good things must come to an end and she almost jumped out of her skin when she saw him sat in his usual spot in home room. 

On her way to her normal seat, she stopped in front of his desk and cleared her throat to gain his attention. Confused, he looked up to greet her. "Oh, hey Marinette," he said in a sickly sweet voice, smiling up at the girl. 

"We had a pop quiz while you were away," she informed him, rummaging around in her backpack as he scratched the back of his neck in confusion. 

"Yeah, Ned told me. I'm—"

Brandishing the test paper in his, she pointed to the red mark in the top corner. "I got one-hundred percent, no biggie." 

Peter nodded slowly. "Uh, that's good for you," he replied, confused why she was telling him this information. His friendship—or lack of—with Marinette had always confused the hell out of him. He had always thought she was really cool, the smartest girl in their year even but she'd always seemed to find a way to compete against him for reasons unknown to the orphaned boy. School was stressful enough, he didn't want a competition sending him off the deep end. 

Annoyed at his underwhelming response, Marinette shoved the paper back into her bag and stormed off down the back. He could at least pretend to be intimidated by her. God. 

Noticing her sour mood as she plonked down beside her friend, Michelle asked, "what's got you annoyed?"

"Stupid Peter Parker," she grumbled, squeezing her pencil so tight it left an indent across the palm of her hand. 

Michelle snorted. "So, we're back to this then. . . ?"

"Shut up," she grumbled just as the classroom door opened once again. Nino and Adrien walked in and Marinette felt the air disappear from her lungs at the sight of the blonde. God, he was just perfect, wasn't he? She'd spent the entire weekend scrolling through Pinterest, examining the perfect creation that was his face. She'd never seen guys as beautiful as him in person, he felt unreal to look at. 

"And let me guess," Michelle spoke over the top of her overactive daydreams, "he's no longer your nemesis," she observed, nodding in the direction of Adrien just as he looked up. His gaze soften when it landed on Marinette, smiling at the girl. She could pass away there and then. "Unbelievable," Michelle scoffed when her friend didn't say anything, too engrossed in staring at Adrien to hear what she was saying. 

Meanwhile, the two boys take their seats next to Ned and a very confused Peter. He stares at the model, feeling very out of the loop. "Hey guys. . ." He mumbles, looking at Nino for some sort of explanation as to why Adrien Agreste was at their table now. 

"Peter, you were away but Adrien's our boy now," Nino explained, punching the blonde in the arm playfully—obviously trying to appear cooler then he actually was. 

Peter raised an eyebrow, looking to Ned for confirmation. "Right. . ." 

Excitedly, Nino says, "Adrien, show them the picture you just showed me," he prompts, sounding like an over excited kid on Christmas Eve. 

Intrigued, the two boys lean over as Adrien holds his phone up for them to see. "Wait, that's insane," Peter muttered, eyes wide at the Lego-sized Imperial City he was showing them. "You built that?" 

Adrien's skin flushed and he nodded. "I got bored of my old Lego City layout and decided to have a crack at following a reference," he rambled, flipped through the pictures of other angles of the miniature city. Peter was even more impressed over the little figures—some extremely rare—all doing their tasks around the city. If he wasn't so impressed, he'd be a bit envious. Not a bit, actually but very. 

Still, a cool Lego build wasn't enough to win over Peters trust. Unlike Ned and Nino, who'd not copped nearly as much harassment from Harry Osborn, Peter wasn't as forgiving. He had been positively terrorised by the son of a billionaire since he'd started the first day of middle school. He'd come home with black eyes, cracked ribs and broken phones thanks to Harry's particular obsession with him. Someone who could be friends with a person like that, to condone those heinous actions, wasn't someone Peter wanted to discuss Star Wars fan theories with. 

"So, you're just not friends with Harry anymore?" Peter asked, cutting off Nino's rant about how crap the quality newer Lego mini-figures had gotten. 

Adrien coughed awkwardly. "The Harry I grew up with isn't the Harry I've come to known at school," he began, trying not to sound like he was excusing his friends behaviour. "I want nothing to do with that." 

Peter squinted. "A yes or no would've sufficed," he sassed. 

"For the sake of my fathers business and keeping the peace, I'm still friendly with Harry but that's it," Adrien explained, sighing as he leant back into his plastic seat. 

"Peter, just drop it," Nino cut in, glaring at his friend. Was he trying to keep them at the bottom of the social hierarchy for the rest of their high school career? 

🐞🕷️🐈‍⬛ 

                         IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE THE FRIEND GROUP HAD SHIFTED. Marinette was appalled that the love of her life had joined her second least favourite friend group. She was all for forbidden love and tales like Romeo & Juliet but it was still annoying.  She'd catch sight of him in the halls and wave, only for the likes of Peter Parker to think she was warming up to him. As if. 

Chloe Bourgeois had a public meltdown over the fact that her pet celebrity—as Michelle had crudely referred to Adrien as—no longer wanted to sit at her lunch table. Everyday she'd stare at the model from across the cafeteria, trying all sorts of pathetic gimmicks to get him to return. At the beginning, it'd just been really loud laughing (an attempt to make him jealous) and when that hadn't worked, she'd opted for loudly spreading gossip. Adrien hadn't seemed like the type to be interested in gossip, though. She'd thrown food scraps at the back of Nino's head, hoping the annoyance would make them evict him from their table. But Adrien had just swapped sides with him. Chloe had always been fascinated in making Marinettes life harder then it needed to be so seeing her be publicly shunned like this by their shared crush was so very satisfying. 

She'd been on her way to meet Michelle at her locker before class when Adrien and company had passed her by. The blonde had very nonchalantly half-waved at her, which she'd returned by waving at him with both hands. Ned had snorted while Peter, confused as ever, had just waved back at her. She glared at him for doing so, not paying any attention where she'd been walking. 

Then there was a loud slam followed by a sharp pain across her face. Groaning, Marinette cupped her nose in case it started to pour out with blood. "Jesus," Michelle muttered, checking the hinges on her locker door still worked. While she nursed her injuries, Marinette stared out down the hall at where Adrien had disappeared to. She sighed at the thought of getting to see him in home room soon. "It's crazy how quickly you changed your tune about him," Michelle commented. 

"Anyone that can put Chloe in her place is an upstanding citizen in my book," Marinette said, a bit too loudly and Michelle snorted. "Besides," she added, sighing, "he's so. . ." 

"Come on, let's get to home room before you start writing poetry," Michelle muttered, dragging her along. 

Okay, so perhaps staying out super late and fighting crime into the dead of night, right before a huge test wasn't one of Marinette's brightest ideas thus far. She promises that under normal circumstances she is actually a very bright girl, filled to the brim with bright ideas. . . it's just that she's not exactly had a single lesson to prepare her for being a spandex-wearing vigilante by night and a normal girl by day (so, sometimes it got the best of her). Even before all this, Marinette had struggled with a work-life balance—she was always in a constant state of panic. The added responsibility only amplified her dysfunctional existence by tenfold (who knew it was possible).

So, anyway, it's 7:45am now and she was sitting in home-room with her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands. She could hear everyone around her talking but she can't actually hear their words. She's trying, she swears but it's all just a jumbled mess of sounds in her brain. It's safe to assume everyone else is probably revising and yes, she knows she should be, too—especially because she wasn't very confident in this unit of Chemistry but she really can't bring herself to even try. If she closes her eyes for long enough she wonders if it'll make up for all the sleep she was behind on. But is the gratification of giving her eyes a rest worth the risk of sleeping until fourth period again (yes, again). 

At least she doesn't have much time to stress over the fact that her eyelids are getting almost too heavy to open because someone was definitely poking her in the ribs. Marinette groans as she slowly lifts her head up, her irises feeling the sharp puncture of the overhead lights. She lifted her head just enough to see over her lack of bicep and almost inhaled her own tongue at the sight before her. 

Adrien Agreste gives her one of his classic lopsided smiles. "I thought you might want to revise together," he says, offering her some bright-coloured index cards. "I know how seriously you take midterms." 

Marinette has had plenty of dreams that start out this way and so, she sits there for a moment as all words escape her. He'd looked good at a distant in the halls but up close. . . he was something else. His hair was perfect today but then again, she can't exactly think of a day when it wasn't. He practically had pure gold growing out of his scalp so, of course, she was going to be mesmerised by it—who could blame her? On the nights she actually got to sleep, she imagined he was in the bed with her and she would run her hands through his silky locks as a means to fall asleep. She couldn't think of a time he had ever stood so close to her as he was now. If she breathed hard enough, she could probably make the hairs guarding his forehead move (boy, was she tempted to try). If she hasn't already said it, Marinette Dupen-Cheng thought that Adrien Agreste had the most perfect head of hair to ever (and will ever) walk the face of this earth. If she were to win the lottery, she would probably pay Adrien just to let her run her fingers through—

". . . Marinette?" 

"S-sorry, you're so. . . Exhausted," she word-vomits, jerking her head off the desk and feeling her face go bright red. 

He squints at her. "I think you're the tired one," he says in his enchanting voice. 

Marinette fails to reply instead, taking the index cards off him and attempting to shuffle them as graciously as one can be when they were never taught how to shuffle properly. However, the universe has always seemed to have it out for her and in one clumsy movement, all the cards fall on the floor under the table. Trying to avoid wasting any more of Adrien's time, she practically dives under the table and starts raking all the cards into a messy pile. 

Sadly, the way back up is what got her. Still trying to move at supersonic speeds, Marinette manages to bash her head against the metal bar that holds the desk together. A few people look over at the cause of the loud bang and Marinette can feel her face burning up yet again. To avoid further embarrassment, she doesn't let herself cry out in pain—surely, she can brush this off (even though her skull feels like it is about to snap in half). She wonders how misshapen her head must be due to all the bumps it's received; she could never go bald with a bumpy skull. 

"That looked like it hurt—are you okay?" Adrien's brows were knitted together in concern as he placed a hand on each of her forearms, trying to help her back into her seat. 

Yes, there were tears in her eyes and she was still very much in pain but Marinette could only focus on so many things at once and Adrien Agreste was touching her! This only happened in the imaginary scenarios she made up as she was falling asleep. 

She let out one of her classic loud and very awkward laughs. "Who, me? I'm great," she chortled, dumping the cards on the desk and hunching over to neaten them. 

"But you hit that so hard—" he tried to say but she spoke over him. 

"The only thing that's hard is going to be this test," she continued, still speaking louder than she normally would—it's a nervous habit, okay. Adrien probably just thought she was obnoxious because that's the only way she ever spoke to him. 

He sighed. "Yeah, that's why I asked for your help revising."

Marinette's eyes went wider. "Me? I—"

"After, like, Peter or something, you're like the second smartest person in our grade," he said, matter-of-factly. "And I don't think he's warmed up to me enough  for me to be asking for revision help. So, you're the next best thing." 

In her heart, Marinette knows he meant it as a compliment but she can't help but narrow her eyes at the mention of her nemesis. . . 

Okay, so 'nemesis' might be an exaggeration but she still hated him. A lot. No one could beat her at literally every science fair since eighth grade and get away with it. He didn't even seem to try either—that's what mostly pissed her off about him. Peter Parker was the type of guy to roll out of bed just before the subway he needed to catch was leaving and still make it in time. He could glance at an unopened textbook and somehow absorb all the information inside (with sources!). She'd seen him write up presentations that would receive full marks in under ten minutes. Everything about the way he went through life so easily made her furious. It always filled her with immense pride when she would achieve a mark higher than him or answer a question in class before him. And every time he would congratulate her in an earnest way that would make her left eye twitch. 

"If you say so," Marinette simply muttered before reading off one of the cards, fighting off the twitch in her eye. 

She didn't see the look Adrien gave her. 

🐞🕷️🐈‍⬛ 

                         AN UNLIKELY DUO WAS THAT LADYBUG AND CHAT NOIR. She found him positively obnoxious and he found her endearing but it worked perfectly (somehow). Yin to her Yang (quite literally, according to the guardian). Without one, the other would crumble and besides, two is always better than one—it's a known fact! Ladybug loved to look at the facts. 

However, as the other saying goes: two is a pair and three is a crowd. New York was already overrun with massive crowds as it was. Additionally, there was no demand for another crime-fighting vigilante with an alias inspired by a bug. Even his costume was bordering on copyright infringement (like, really, he just had to be red as well?). It was overkill and it was really starting to piss Ladybug off. Big time. 

With a hand on her hip, she frowned through her mask as Chat Noir showed her the low-quality footage of this new 'hero'. He was seen stopping a bus with his bare hands which she hates to admit is a bit impressive. However, she had no interest in having another partner (she already had one too many) but knew sooner or later they'd start stepping on each other's toes. New York was a big city but it wasn't that big. 

Rolling her eyes and pushing his phone out of her face, she mutters, "And he calls himself Spider-Man?" 

"That's what I'm gathering, M'Lady," he purrs, making her cringe at the nickname he insists on. 

"He doesn't sound like much of a man," she says, commenting on the pre-pubescent voice that had declared the name in the video. 

Chat Noir chuckles, shoving the iPhone into his pocket. Ladybug watches with unamusement as he runs his fingers through his hair—as if anyone's going to care if it's in place or not. He was like an actual cat, constantly grooming himself. 

"He's going to become a problem for us, I know it," she adds, sighing as she slides down against the wall and stares out at Central Park sprawled out in the distance. Ease-of-access to rooftops: her favourite perk of being a superhero. She couldn't see the end to the bright city lights in the horizon. 

"You don't know that," Chat says, "I don't see a problem with letting this kid pick up some of our slack." 

She glares at him. "Look at him," she snaps. "He's wearing a hoodie with goggles sewn into them; there's being an amateur and then being a literal hazard to yourself. He's bound to get himself killed if we don't step in."

Chat stays quiet for a moment, mulling over her words. "So, what, we seek him out ourselves?" He pauses and then adds, "And then what? If he's such a hazard, why would we want any association with him? That just makes us look bad when something goes wrong." 

"Do you care only about your fans, Chat?" 

"You're twisting my words." 

"Am I?"

"By associating, do we not put ourselves in danger? Is it safe for us to team up with someone so underequipped?" 

Shit, he had a point. "Maybe we can deter him from pursuing this lifestyle."

"Would Iron Man be able to convince you not to be Ladybug anymore?" He asks. 

Her mouth forms a straight line. "I didn't choose this and neither did you," she continues as she stands up to join him on the edge. "All of those Avengers chose to be what they are, we had this responsibility forced onto us. It's different."

"If I had a choice, I'd still choose this. . . Wouldn't you?" His thick brow is raised at her. 

She doesn't answer, eyes locked on something in the distance. Chat follows her line of vision and sees it. A woman was crying as she held her baby and sprinted down the street—everyone who noticed her began to scream, too. 

Suddenly, everything stopped. 

One after the other every person around began getting struck by pause logos. Cars, birds, bikes—anything that moved lay paralysed in the wake. It was eerie for New York to be so still. It didn't matter if the objects were suspended in the air, gravity did not seem to apply to anything struck. 

The heroes barely exchanged looks before swinging into action. Chat Noir immediately gunned for the source as Ladybug rushed to warn those yet affected to evacuate. Even though currently this whole pausing schtick hadn't caused anyone to be harmed, she knew it would be only a matter of time. There were so many ways she could imagine the power being used to inflict harm. 

Circling back, Ladybug finally saw her. Dressed in all-black spandex—bar some white detailing and stripes—she levitated above the scene she had caused. Her hair was auburn and the mask that concealed half her face matched the suit. Immediately, Ladybug clocked the phone she fervently swiped at to be the source of her power. 

She watched for a few moments as Chat fought her, his baton grew and shrunk in order to dodge every pause she sent his way. Ladybug's eyes darted around as she meticulously scanned their surroundings for a possible strategy to vanquish her. 

The only idea she had so far was to somehow trap her with the Yo-Yo she used to swing herself around the city. However, someone beat her to it before she could even work out the details. 

In the blink of an eye, the phone had been ripped out of her grasp by a sticky fluid. As the girl let out a scream, another burst of fluid shot at her and bound her arms to her body. 

"What is the meaning of this. . . !" she shrieked and began flailing around mid-air. "Unhand me this instant and give me your miraculous'. . . !"

Snapping into action, Ladybug leapt towards the figure emitting the fluid and pinned him on his back. Straddling him, she gripped his neck as a means to hold him down and assert dominance. 

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," the figure in red and blue sweats shouted, lifting his gloved hands up in surrender. "Here, take it. Do your thing," he said, voice cracking slightly as he pushed the glowing phone into the hand that was ready to punch. 

She roughly climbed off him as she snapped the phone over her knee. A purple, glowing moth appeared and she quickly yanked it out of the air. The Spider-Man stayed on the ground and watched in awe as she held the—as the media called it—Akuma in her hands, eyes shut as she focused on purifying it. 

"Bye, bye little butterfly," she whispers, opening her hands and watching the white creature fly out. It still amazed her every time. 

She watched the girl's costume dissolve as she began rapidly descending from the air. Luckily, Chat Noir caught her before she'd fallen too far and gently set her down. The sounds of sirens filled her ears as everyone around her became unpaused. 

"What's your name?" She heard Chat ask, wiping dirt off the girl's face as she stared up at him in awe. 

Her entire body trembled. "A—Alya," she said softly, hugging her body. 

"You're free now, Alya," he said gently, looking over her shoulder at the officers who approached. 

Deciding to let him handle it, Ladybug whipped her head around to glare at the vigilante who had yet to move from where she'd left him. The blue and red sweats in the flesh, just her luck. 

"Who do you think you are to interfere like that," she demanded, taking big strides towards him. 

His eyes widened and he began scrambling to his feet, stuttering out half syllables. 

Once she was standing close enough to feel his uneven breath through his mask against her face, she added, "New York is not big enough for a spider and a ladybug so, I suggest you ditch this hobby and stay out of the professional's way." 

"Prof–? You're not even Avengers," he choked out after a moment, trying to stand his ground and maintain some of his dignity. 

She could feel her blood boil. "Being an Avenger has nothing to do with it," she spat. "You prance around in sweatpants and call yourself a hero? All I see is an idiot waiting to get seriously hurt or killed."

"Oh, I'm sorry that not everyone has a latex bodysuit just lying around," he retorts, eyeing Chat Noir who now stood behind her protectively. 

"Watch it, buddy," he warned, narrowing his green eyes. 

"Do not get in my way again," she said one last time before launching herself into the horizon, Chat Noir loosely on her heels.

Chapter Text

FIVE | NEW YORKS BRIGHTEST ARE TIRED

                         QUITE OFTEN YOU COULD HEAR MARINETTE LONG BEFORE YOU SAW HER. The brunette moved in a tidal wave of crashes and bangs and 'sorry' yelled over her shoulder as she sprinted to wherever she needed to be fifteen minutes ago. The backdrop that was the world around her was a constant victim to her trips and falls. The decathlon team stared at the door after the first distant bang, counting the seconds she'd burst through the door with an excuse that didn't quite make sense to her situation. It was just an accepted trait at this point, whether or not people liked it was a different can of worms. 

The blue double doors flew open and the brunette came tumbling in, doubling over herself. Her hair was mess, which happened when you ran from one side of the school to the other at Olympic speeds. A sea of impatient eyes stared at her while the fluorescent lights of the auditorium blinded her, seeming to be all be pointing at her. "Sorry, I'm late the—!" 

"Dupain-Cheng, I don't wanna hear it," Mr Harrington sighed, not even looking up from his clipboard. "This is the fourth day in a row." 

If there was one thing that also needed to be known about Marinette, it's that she was a people pleaser through and through. Not the most successful one, albeit but she tried her best. She hated the feeling of being looked down upon in disappointment. The brunette was in a constant feud with herself in trying to be the best variation of herself possible. Perhaps that's why being Ladybug had brought her a new sense of mental clarity that she'd not experienced before. When that costume melded itself to her skin she felt like an entirely different person—the kind that could do everything Marinette couldn't. Ladybug was never late to a crime scene. 

"I know, I know but—" Her words faded out as someone slipped past her, into the room. The contact, although brief, made her shoulders tense and her face heat up. Her dark coloured eyes narrowed and she sent a deathly sidelong glare in the newcomers direction.

"Peter, you're upfront today," Mr Harrington stated in his classic deadpan tone, not batting an eye at the boy being later then her—again! Marinette looked around the room, hoping someone else would clock this bullshit but not a single eye was being bat. 

The boy just nodded simply at their teacher, tossing his  grey backpack on the ground (Marinette felt the urge to stomp on it until all his possessions were crumbled into dust) and walking up onto the stage the makeshift panel had been set up. Marinette watched as he and Ned did their stupid handshake as he sat down beside his best friend (a reasonable guy, whom Marinette got along with when Peter wasn't around). She could just scream until her lungs gave out but that might just make Mr Harrington more annoyed at her. 

Angrily, she tossed herself into an empty seat and slammed her bag onto the table. No one paid her any attention—a round of practice questions had started and of course, Peter hadn't missed a single one yet. She wrapped her arms around herself, hoping if she squeezed hard enough, she'd explode and take him out as collateral damage. 

Peter Parker and his stupid brown hair. Peter Parker and his stupid voice that haunted her in classrooms. Peter Parker and his annoyingly positive attitude towards everyone. Peter Parker and his stupid face that made her want to rip her eyes out every time he looked at her and smiled. Stupid Peter Parker and—

"Is he the favourite or something?" Came a voice she didn't recognise, interrupting her raging thoughts. 

Marinette looked up and met the eyes of a dark red-haired girl she'd never seen at decathlon practice before—or like anywhere, to be honest. "Who, Parker?" Her eyes flickered to the boy as he pressed the bell again, "Probably," she admitted, defeat evident in her tone. 

"I'm Alya, by the way," she said, extending a hand but Marinette was frozen in place as the realisation set in. 

Eyes like a deer caught in headlights, she examined the new girl. "You're. . ." The recognition struck her like lightning sent down by Zeus himself. And by the way Alya's grin immediately washed away, she knew it had struck her, too. 

Alya let out an annoyed huff as she dropped her hand. "I don't wanna talk about it," she snapped, knowing exactly where this conversation was about to go. It's all anyone had said to her in the last forty-eight hours, she just couldn't anymore. 

"Sorry, I just—"

"Yes, yes," she cut her off, rolling her eyes, "I'm the freaky new girl who got Akumatised on her first day. Big whoop." 

Marinette stared for a moment, trying to come up with the right words. "I think you're brave," she decided on. 

"Personally, I think it'd be cool to be Akumatised," came another voice from behind them, causing both girls to jump. Michelle Jones, not looking up from her book, had—at some point—sat down behind them. 

"Michelle," Marinette warned, sending a sideways look her friends way. 

Alya's eyes widened but she didn't say anything about it, instead, she opened her textbook and began grilling Marinette on what exactly each team member's strengths were. She fought back a small smile as the girl spoke rapidly. Michelle interjected periodically, giving her controversial and oftentimes crude options on people after Marinette's watered down responses. She decided that she liked Alya and would be more then happy to cloud her judgement on their peers (as long as she was willing to jump on the Peter Parker hate train with her). 

🐞🕷️🐈‍⬛ 

                         EVERY NEW YORKER WAS ALL TOO FAMILIAR WITH THE SUBWAY. Commuting via the intricate underground train system wasn't just the norm but a way of life everyone in the city embraced. There wasn't a resident that didn't have a hilariously bizarre story in relation to the underground; be it crazy homeless people or humorous ways people had decided to smuggle their pets aboard. Marinette actually found the commute home to always be her one true moment of peace for the day—that was when she actually made it to the platform on time (Yes, it was only a fifteen minute wait between but when your schedule was as jam-packed as hers, those minutes were crucial). The trip was a time when everything around her finally stopped and she could just exist. She particularly enjoyed disassociating to the music blasting through her AirPods. The silly little scenarios she'd built in her head during these trips were what got her through the day. 

As for today? She may or may not have been imagining Peter Parker getting run over by the subway. Call it extreme, call her insane. He shouldn't have thought he had the right to sit in the same compartment as her, let alone directly across from where she was sat (she might've spontaneously combusted if he'd tried the seat beside her but thankfully it was occupied by an old lady). Not only that but he even had the audacity to smile at her! So, yeah, sue her for fantasising about Peter mysteriously being sucked out the window and onto the tracks as another train came up behind him. 

She'd been cultivating the perfect speech to give at his funeral along with designing the perfect outfit when he kicked her foot. "Hey," he whispered but she pretended not to hear him. Instead, she subtly turned her music up one. So, he did it again and spoke a little louder. "Marinette?" 

Breathing deeply, she glared at him. "What do you want." She said it as a statement rather than a question. Taylor Swift was paused and one earbud was out, this better be life or death. 

"I just realised I left my Geography textbook in my locker and I heard you say to the new girl you finished the homework during class," he rambled. "So, I was wondering if I could borrow yours—I'll give it back tomorrow and—"

Marinette frowned at the thought of her possessions entering Peter Parker's home. "No." 

He did a double-take. "N-no?" She watched him scratch the back of his neck, brows raised. Did he expect her to jump up and down before giving him her stuff? 

She heard the loudspeaker announce her stop, thank god. "Don't listen in on my conversations, thanks," she said shortly as she stood up and gathered her belongings. Trying to do that in a fast manner meant her loose papers got squashed at the bottom of her bag but sacrifices had to be made if she wanted to make a swift escape. 

"Wait, no," he said, also standing up even though he was the stop after hers (know thy enemy, okay). "I didn't mean it like that, I just—"

"The answer is no, Parker," Marinette cut him off. "Get the PDF online or something." 

Okay, look. The truth was that Marinette had misplaced her own textbook about a month ago—that was the real reason she'd always try to get her homework done in class. Turns out leaving your backpack in random alleyways of New York wasn't the smartest idea. She'd yet to tell her parents she needed a new one because she couldn't take their disappointed looks. Thankfully, Rose always shared her textbook with her in class. Of course, she'd would never admit all that to Peter Parker of all people, though. 

Not giving him any chance at a rebuttal, she disappeared into the hoards of people. Everything about that boy made her skin crawl in a way she'd never experienced (and she'd been in school with Chloe Bourgeois since the third grade). 

Headphones back in, she emerged from the underground and squinted at the sudden brightness of her surroundings. Being so distracted, she almost walked out into oncoming traffic but thankfully someone's horn was loud enough for her to hear over her music. She watched, face beat red, as they drove past waving their fist at her through the window. Finally, she crossed the street to her parents quaint bakery. It was a godsend that they lived so close to her stop or she'd probably never make it to school before third period. 

The aroma of freshly baked goods could be smelt from the outside and Marinette sighed happily as she pushed through the door, letting the overhead bell ring. Her dad saw her first and smile brightly as he reached around his wife for a small floral plate with a cake on it. Banana—her favourite. "How was practice," her dad asked as her mom kissed her cheek. 

Marionettes parents were picturesque proof that your first love could also be your last. They looked just as in love as they did on the wedding photos that sat above their fire place. Her mom, a very small Chinese woman, always wore the kindest smile while she kept her dad in line. Meanwhile, her dad was the cliche college football guy all grown up. He towered over both of them by over a foot but he was truly just a giant teddy bear. Everyone had always said he could've gone pro, been in the NFL but he chose love over fame. He chose to marry her mom and take over her families bakery and boy was everyone in their neighbourhood lucky. Toms pastries were famous around these ends. 

Taking the plate from her dad, she shoved the cake in her mouth and tried to talk through it. Both her parents exchanged a disgusted look as she headed for the stairs. 

"Don't forget to put your clothes in the wash before you disappear in there all afternoon!" Her mother called out to her.

Using her elbow to move the door handle, Marinette made her way into her bedroom and made a beeline for her double bed. Setting the empty plate on the bedside table, she threw her head back against her pile of throw pillows and let out a deep sigh. Her eyes landed on the clock hanging above her desk: 5:52. Did she really have to? Surely New York could be fine for one night without her. . . 

She gave herself until 5:55 before she had to get to work and almost cried when the time came faster than she'd hoped. 

She climbed out onto the fire escape and onto the roof, looking out into the city. In barely a whisper, she said, "Spots on." 

The feeling of transforming was still new enough to her that it left her in awe still every time she did it. From head to toe, her whole body tingled as her jeans turned into spandex and her mask appeared on her face, somehow concealing her identity. She didn't understand how the magic worked but every picture she'd seen online of Ladybug had rendered the portion of her face that was visible unrecognisable. Even in recordings, her voice was a few octaves deeper. 

Now fully transformed, Ladybug jumped from building to building until she reached her and Chat's regular rendezvous point. The sun had almost set and she saw a figure standing on the roof as she leapt down to greet him. She opened her mouth to say something but immediately closed it when she saw who was standing in front of her.

"Listen, before you threaten me again I just want to talk," he squeaked, hands raised as he spoke as if trying to make it clear he wasn't a threat. His red and blue costume looked as cheaply made as ever. 

Her hands found her hips and she glared at him. "What did I tell you, Spider-boy?" 

"Uhm, okay, well it's actually Spider-Man but—" 

"I should care. . . ?"

"—I feel like we all got off on the wrong foot and so I just wanted to say that—"

"M'Lady, is this guy bothering you?" came a deeper voice. 

Ladybug and Spider-Man both looked up to see Chat Noir perched on top of the aerials. He wore his classic lazy grin that never quite reached his eyes. Black leather clung to every inch of his body and sometimes, when Ladybug wasn't paying attention to herself, she'd catch her eyes wandering to the points where the fabric met. She always yelled at herself when she realised what she was doing. 

"Yes."

"No—?" The bug-themed heroes chorused at the same time before exchanging annoyed looks once again. 

Spider-Man huffed as he took at step closer towards them. "Look, Im not just some random guy in a dumb costume," he said, voice going higher as he saw the other two heroes exchange a dubious look. "I have powers, too and stuff and I—"

Chat Noir cut him off, yawning. "These days everyone has powers, kid."

Spider-Man was starting to really dislike this guy. He'd never met someone so arrogant (and Tony Stark had given him an autograph once when he was eight). "Yeah, I know but—"

Ladybug shook her head as she twisted her yo-yo between her fingers. "Just because you have powers, doesn't mean you have to become a superhero," she told him, sounding a little bit bored. "Work on yourself before you even think about helping others—you're too much of a liability right now."

Spider-man hung his head in shame as he watched the dynamic duo swing away. He was oh so determined to prove them wrong—to become a valuable asset to New York. Just because he didn't have the fancy equipment they had, didn't make him any less worthy (copyright Thor). 

Chapter Text

SIX | HIGH SCHOOL ABSOLUTELY BLOWS

                         HERE'S THE THING THEY (THE GUARDIAN) DON'T WARN YOU ABOUT WHEN YOU AGREE TO BECOME A TEENAGE SUPERHERO: You do not get a single moment of peace, even on the days where evil didn't strike the city. If Marinette wasn't running around, stressing profusely about her studies then she was figuring out how to thwart Hawkmoth (with a sprinkle of wondering if Adrien ever noticed when she'd debut a new blouse to school). On top of that, she had other responsibilities to stress about—chores to do, evil girls to avoid in the halls and Peter Parker's to death stare. Plus, she did not want to be a reserve teammate for the decathlon season next year. Taking up the mantle at the start of the year lead her to be delegated to the bench and she could not afford to have that happen twice in a row (not when National Scholastic Decathlon Champions sounded so good on a college application). 

"Do you, like, sleep ever?" Alya had asked her friend one study hall as she read the girls schedule over her shoulder. Instead of writing 'fight crime' in various spaces where she'd patrol the city, Marinette had just penciled in shifts at her parents bakery that did not exist. (God her help whenever Hawkmoth decided to strike outside of her schedule or her parents actually asked her to lend a hand in the storefront. She may just spontaneously combust under the pressure that was always building.)

Marinettes eye twitched at the memory of a full nights sleep. However, she just laughed it off. "Full eight hours," she said in the most goofy and care-free voice she could muster as she shoved her schedule back into her binder, slamming it shut a little too loudly. 

Alya eyed the raven-haired girl skeptically. enough while Michelle—who was sitting to Marionette's left just shook her head, not looking up from her computer (she'd been rapidly editing her essay that was due next period). "Marinette has been running on pure adrenaline since the fourth grade, I swear," she deadpanned, memories of a hyper-active child Marinette played across her mind and she smiled faintly. 

The part-time superhero nodded at her friend's statement and Alya just raised an eyebrow. "This," she pointed to the girls binder, "is how people get burnt out before they even graduate." 

Thank god for the bell—which was slowly becoming a mantra of Marinette's—as it meant Marinette didn't have to continue this conversation. If there's one thing she wasn't good at, it was playing it cool (as seen by all her desperate attempts to get Adrien's attention over the last few weeks). 

While Alya's integration into the friend group had been practically seamless, the development of any romantic spark between Adrien and Marinette had not. She waved at him in the halls and sometimes they'd exchange small talk in classes they shared but it wasn't anything mind-blowingly romantic—much to her dismay. Like, he still hasn't even followed her back on Instagram (but he followed Peter Parker! She posted way cooler pictures then him). 

But back to Alya; her and Michelle had, for lack of a better word, adopted the new girl and formed an unstoppable trio. Alya made Marinette feel as though she'd been her best friend for years. For someone who tried to live under the radar as best as she could, it was ironic that Marinette had befriended two of the most outspoken people she'd ever met. Where Michelle was dry and sarcastic, Alya was passionate and loud. Her two friends had bonded over social justice issues they both campaigned for, insisting Marinette needed to join them at various rallies and protests (like she had the time!). 

There was one other fact about Alya that Marinette was painfully aware of: she was the Ladybug fan. Not just a casual onlooker who liked pictures of the polka-dotted hero when they'd appear on her Instagram feed—oh, no. Alya ran a blog on Tumblr that was dedicated to updating everyone on every move Ladbug made publicly—from being spotted hanging out on roof tops to which local businesses she supported. She'd had the blog prior to being saved but her obsession had grown exponentially since the incident. It left Marinette with an uneasy feeling in her stomach whenever 'TheLadyBlog' would post new stills of the hero, she'd be left pondering who took the pictures and how. 

They were the last people to exit the classroom, being stuck waiting for Alya to finalise her latest blog post. "Hold on," she insisted, "I just need to add the tags." 

Marinette tapped her foot as she looked up at the clock, anxious to not be late to Physics yet again. Their teachers patience had already worn very thin with Marinette and she wanted to scream that the universe had it out for her, it wasn't her fault so many factors forced her to constantly tumble through the doors well after the bell rang. As her eyes landed on the screen, however, those worries seemed to melt away. 

THEORY: LADYBUG IS A TEENAGER JUST LIKE YOU AND ME.  

Her blood ran cold and her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. Marinette almost fell into Alya's lap when she leant forward to read the post, so engrossed at the alarming title to stay upright. The white screen illuminated her face as she stared back at the image of herself the bold, bright red text was placed over the top. "Are. . . Are you trying to figure out who Ladybug is?" She asked, trying to keep calm. After all, Alya wasn't the first person who wanted to know who was under the mask (she was just one of the few people smart enough and close enough to probably figure it out, which worried her—especially if this as her leading theory). 

Alya didn't look up, too focused on typing. "I mean, doesn't literally everyone want to know—?"

Michelle shrugged. "I frankly couldn't care less." 

Marinette, bandwagoning on Michelle's hatred for all things pop culture, nodded along very enthusiastically. "Yeah, as long as she's doing good. . . Why does it matter who she is?" She bit her lip, trying to prevent herself on rambling about the topic too much. 

"Pretty much all the Avengers identities are public information," Alya replied, finally pressing the send button on a theory that was a little too on the nose for Marinette's liking. "We, as the general public, have a right to know who she is," she added as she watched the notifications flood her screen before closing the lid. 

"Ladybug isn't an Avenger," Marinette reminded her, inching towards the door and ignoring the annoyed looks the study hall supervisor teacher was giving them for not leaving already. 

Alya slung her bag over her shoulder and they left the classroom (finally). "I mean, not yet." Marinette was grateful no one caught the withering look that she wore at hearing that comment. She would rather give up her miraculous and powers before joining a team lead by someone like Tony Stark. The mere existence of The Avengers seemed to just invite challengers. And their entwinement with the government always had her questioning whether they were fighting for the greater good or a pay check (she'd assume they're on some sort of egregious salary). 

"—he's so lame," came a condescending voice that made all three abandon their conversation and look around for the evil incarnate that spoke the words. With class well underway now, the halls were pretty much deserted. That was except for three other people. 

Harry Osborn and Flash Thompson (because who else would it be). The former stood over someone who was crumpled in front of the bright blue lockers, head in hand as the two laughed at his misery. "Seriously, dude, no wonder your only friends that fucking robot toy you carry around," Flash chortled, shaking his head while he smirked over Harry's shoulder. 

Their victim, Max Kanté, was a quiet boy in their grade who frequented the robots club. While Marinette had never had much to do with him, every interaction they'd had was pleasant. Max, from what she was aware of, mostly kept to himself and tinkered with the various androids he designed. The one thing the dark skinned boy was known for amongst their grade was having a semi-sentient robot he'd programmed himself named Markov. He'd designed him way back in middle school and by the beginning of Freshman year, had successfully brought his vision to life (with a few malfunctions still needing to be ironed out, that is). Max often conversed with Markov in public, bouncing ideas back and forth on what upgrades to give the blue robot (it unfortunately did not seem to help his social status amongst his peers, often being labelled as a freak). 

"Are you gonna build yourself a robot girlfriend next?" Harry asked, making Flash cackle at the thought. 

"Max, I am detecting that you're distressed," came a voice from his backpack, making him drag his legs up to his chest in an attempt to hide from them. Marinette knows the feeling too well; trying to make yourself as small as possible until the bullies left you alone (it wasn't an effective strategy, she'd learnt the hard way). "Would you like me too—?"

Harry and Flash exchanged looks before laughing even harder at him, the sound of their voices echoing across the desolate hallway. "That's so pathetic," Harry wheezed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Oh, my god." 

"Please. . . leave me alone," Max pleaded, voice muffled against his hands. His glasses were discarded beside him along with his school books—clearly, they'd pushed him over. 

Harry opened his mouth, ready to spew out some more hateful shit when Marinette called out to him. "Hey," she'd shouted before she even knew what she was doing. "Pick on someone that can actually fight back," she barked, gripping the straps of her backpack tightly as she stared them down. 

The two rich kids turned around slowly, looking annoyed at the three girls. "Marinette, this doesn't involve you," Harry retorted, trying to wave them off. "Any of you," he added, his glare moving from Alya to Michelle. 

"Leave him alone," Marinette doubled down, taking a step closer. "He's done nothing to deserve this, you asshole." Alya gasped in the background, this was the first time she'd heard her friend swear. 

Stepping away from Max, Harry moved towards Marinette until they were face to face (except he was a lot taller then her). Glaring down, he said, "one day, Marinette, someone's going to give you exactly what you deserve." 

Not backing down, she replied, her voice harsh, "and what is it exactly that I deserve?" She didn't blink as they stared each other down, hoping she was at least kinda threatening without her costume (because she sure as shit couldn't put up much of a physical fight without it). 

Harry scoffed at her. "You'll find out sooner or later," he replied before looking back at his friend. "Come on Flash, we might be able to make the last bit of History." 

Flash groaned but started walking down the corridor towards their classroom. Before he committed to following the Indian boy, Harry looked down at Max one last time and spat out, "so embarrassing that someone like Marinette Dupain-Cheng needs to defend you, you're so pathetic." And at that, he stalked down the corridor with his shoulders still square. 

From his spot on the floor, Max whimpered. With big doe eyes, Marinette crouched down in front of him. "Are you alright?" She asked, reaching out to put a hand on his arm but he jerked back. 

"Don't touch me!" He cried, jumping to his feet. "You've already done enough." 

Before she could get any words out, he thundered down the corridor and threw open the doors to one of the bathrooms. The pig-tailed wearing girl turned back to her friends, who both had their jaws hanging open in shock. 

"And to think, you wouldn't let me hire someone from Craigslist to burn Harry's mansion down," Michelle remarked after a second, shaking her head. "He said he could make it look like an accident." 

"Michelle. . ." Alya murmured, shocked. 

Marinette sighed, wiping the sweat off her forehead. "Let's just go to class," she said, voice sounding absolutely dejected. The lecture of their teacher already rang through her ears. 

🐞🕷️🐈‍⬛

                         IT WOULD TURN OUT THAT THE GIRLS BEING SERIOUSLY LATE WAS THE LAST THING THEIR TEACHER NEEDED TO WORRY ABOUT. After angrily allowing them to enter the physics classroom—with all eyes on them—she had promised, no, threatened to talk to them after class about their punishment. Marinette had sat at her desk, leg shaking at the thought of potentially receiving ah after school detention (where would she fit that into her cramped schedule?!). 

However, the end of class did not come in the traditional way. They'd been quietly copying down formulas from the whiteboard when an alarm rang out, capturing everyone's attention. "AKUMA ATTACK, PLEASE EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY—!" Came the robotic voice through the loudspeaker, repeating the message a few more times as the blaring alarm raged on. 

Miss Warren, their physics teacher, tried to calm down the instant panic that broke out across her classroom. "Everyone, please form a single file line at the door. There is no need to panic," she ordered, taking a peak through the door to make sure nothing was coming to get them. 

"Look—!" Someone from the front row shouted, pointing out the glass windows that looked out to the football pitch. Curiously bubbling inside everyone, there was practically a stampede towards the window. 

As she got closer, the screams from outside poured in through the crack in the window. A giant robot—tall enough to comfortably tower over The Hulk—stalked the bright green, turf as it chased the cheerleaders, clad in green and blue. Marinette's mouth went dry as the green and black machine fired lasers at the girls, maniacal laughter erupting from the triangular shaped animatronic. Everytime the green laser successfully hit one of the girls, they'd be absorbed into the singular eye in the centre of its torso. Marinette's eyes darted around the room as people began backing away, rushing for the door to escape. She hoped the could somehow use the chaos to sneak away and transform. 

Not caring for the consequences, she ran to join the hoard of students that ran out of the room and ignored their teachers pleas to wait. Outside the classroom was mayhem; students from all different grade's packed in the hallway, fighting to get to the nearest entrance. Squeezing past a group of seniors, Marinette slipped into one of the empty locker rooms (she'd never understood why physics and athletics were in the same building but that's besides the point). Looking around to be sure no one else was in there, she muttered a quick "spots on" under her breath.

She threw her hands in the air as she felt the transformation make its way down her body, turning her faded jeans into her bright red suit. The sensation tickled and she tried not to twitch until it was over. Quickly tightening her hair tie, she didn't waist anytime throwing the window open and swinging out. 

In the distance, she saw Chat Noir already on the field as he faced off against the monster. "How about you pick on someone your own size," he shouted, using his magical baton to shoot himself up in the air until he was 'eye-level' (whatever that meant with a robot of its design). 

The robot, with it's clunky movements, swiped at Chat as he sent blasts in his direction—thankfully, he was a lot more agile then the robot and easily dodged the blows. Unfortunately for them, the blows still landed and various sections of the bleachers were absorbed by him. Both heroes eyes went wide as he grew taller, levelling up as he'd shouted. She'd not noticed this ability of his from the classroom. 

"Took you long enough," Chat shouted, appearing beside the black and red heroine. "Any ideas how to beat this thing?" 

Ladybug scowled, why did she always have to come up with the plans? "Where's the actual person?" She pondered aloud, jumping out the way of a blow that was shot their way. A million ideas raced through her head while her and Chat barrelled down the field, the robot right on their heel. 

A very formal but enraged voice shouted from the robot and Ladybug couldn't help but swear she'd heard that voice before but she couldn't quite place it. "Give me your Miraculous, I have other business to attend to—!" 

"Inside the robot controlling?" Chat replied to her question, looking over his shoulder before picking up his pace. 

Ladybug frowned. That was going to make destroyed the item the Akuma infected a whole lot harder. "Have you tried to Cataclysm it?" She questioned. It was the most obvious thing to try. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Chat stopped running and spun around to face the villian. "Cataclysm!" He cried out, a black glow exuding from the palm of his hand as he charged at the legs of the robot. Ladybug stared as the black machine crumbled before them, leaving a boy in a black and green bodysuit to fall onto the ground. He wore giant, green pointy glasses. 

Eyes widening as recognition struck her, Ladybug muttered "Max. . ." under her breath as she brushed past Chat Noir. 

The blonde hero tilted his head to the side, confused. "Who. . . ?" 

Brushing the dust off himself, the Akumatised ninth grader shot back to his feet before she could get to him. "You forgot," he shouted, eyes narrowing as he peered at them through his glasses, "I can respawn!" 

Ladybug stopped in her tracks as he pressed a button on his glass and the robot reformed right before her eyes. Laughing menacingly, the boy disappeared back inside the suit. He didn't give them a chance to process what had happened and began firing at them once again. Yanking Chat Noir by the collar, Ladybug threw them both out of the firing line. "How the fuck are we supposed to get to him if he can make new suits?"

The pig-tailed superhero didn't respond immediately, trying to go over all the information she had about his abilities as she continued to dodge laser beams. "I think," she shouted, "that his glasses have the Akuma, they seem to control the whole operation." 

"While that's good to know, it still doesn't help us get to him." Chat, doing a somersault to escape a blast of the green beam, replied sarcastically. "And I'm on a bit of a time crunch," he added, pointing the his ring that was flashing. Soon he'd transform back into his civilian form and be useless in a fight. 

Ladybug bit her lip, trying to concoct a plan. As a last resort, she threw her hand up and shouted, "Lucky Charm!" A beam of light shot upwards and an object fell from the sky, which she caught very easily. Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw it was a can of spray paint—sometimes her powers worked in strange, confusing ways. Her eyes darted from side-to-side as she took in the destroyed football pitch, so much of the infrastructure had been absorbed in order to fuel Max's robot. 

"Oh, great. You're going to paint him a mural to get him to stop?" Chat quipped, frowning at the can she held. 

"Shut up," she hissed, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do with this. Her eyes landed back on the robots singular green eye, that must be the window for Max to see them. If he couldn't see through it. . . "Cover me," she shouted at Chat, throwing her yo-yo and allowing the string to wrap around the robot and swing her forward. 

"Come and get me, buddy!" Chat taunted from below, tempting the robot to come after him. 

Trying not to be detected, she crawled across the front of the robot and landed in front of the eye. Peering inside for a quick second, she saw Max sitting at a control panel as he rapidly pressed buttons. His eyes widened at her sudden appearance and she didn't give him much time to react before spraying the red paint all over the glass pane. 

"Argh!" She heard him scream as she climbed to the top just in time. His head popped out the top, trying to get a clear view of them when she caught him off guard again and snatched his glasses. Not taking any chances to let him snatch them back, she threw herself off the robot and landed on the ground with a thud. 

She snapped the lenses over her knee, freeing the purple butterfly from inside. "Bye, bye little butterfly," she whispered, cupping her hands around the creature and focusing all her strength on purifying it. Feeling the evil disperse, she opened her hands and allowed the white butterfly to fly away. Climbing back to her feet, she tossed the broken glasses in the air and shouted, "Miraculous Ladybug!" 

A wave of magic swept over the field, replacing everything that had been destroyed back into how it'd been before the attack. In the centre of it all sat a dejected Max, who'd transformed back into his school attire and had fallen to his knees after the defeat. 

As Chat rushed over to check on him, a voice called out to them. "Hey! I'm here, I'm here. Where do you need me?" Ladybug felt her eye twitch and she slowly turned around to see Spider-Man bounding towards them, still clad in his cheaply made suit. 

"We already defeated him," she said shortly, turning away from him—she could not stand to look at the infuriating 'hero' who refused to give it up. This just proved he was incompetent, showing up an already completed fight. 

"Oh. . . You have?" His voice cracked and he stayed where he was, staring at her awkwardly while Chat talked Max down in the background. Ladybug figured it was best to keep her distance in case her voice was somehow recognised by the boy—she'd only spoken to him thirty minutes ago, after all. 

Looking over her shoulder, she saw police officers rushing towards them clad in bullet proof vests and clear shields. She found the sight humorous; not only were they late to scene but all that equipment would've just fed Max's robot to be more powerful. 

"Do you need any help with clean up or. . . ?" Spider-Man persisted, appearing next to her and she ground her teeth together. 

Turning to glare at him, she asked, "why are you even still here? Did you not hear me the first time? We defeated him, the fights over." She knows she could be kinder to Spider-Man but his mere presence made all etiquette disappear from her mind, he annoyed her that much. 

"I know but—"

"But what? You missed the fight, Spider-Man," she snapped, hands finding their way to be resting on her hips. "Do you still want a gold star for showing up late?"

She saw his jaw clench under his poorly constructed mask. "I'm just trying to help," he retorted. 

"Look around," she shouted, throwing her arms in the air. "We don't need your help!" 

Before he could say something else that would piss her off, a police officer approached them with a notepad. Stepping away from Spider-Man, Ladybug agreed to give them a quick run-down on what had happened before she needed to transform. The other hero watched from the sidelines, arms crossed. 

Chapter Text

SEVEN | SUPERHEROES MIXED WITH POLITICS

                         THE HALLOWED HALLS OF MIDTOWN SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY WERE NOTHING BUT AN ECHO CHAMBER OF SOMEONES REGURGITATED BAD TAKE. One could not expect teenagers—a high volume of which came from positions of high privilege—to have opinions with any sort of esteem. With a frontal lob still lacking, they often spewed out the most vile, idiotic outlooks on situations possible. Teenagers also lived and breathed by a pack mentality, whether or not many of them liked to admit it (hiding behind 'underground' music tastes and rebelling from your parents did not make you as unique as one would think, unfortunately). Rumours started by someone saying something they probably shouldn't have a bit too loudly and ended with everyone else running with it at an even louder volume. 

There were two main topics of contention flowing through the conversations being had by the student body currently, echoing off the walls and to be dropped into eavesdroppers conversations next. The first and unfortunately most obvious one, was in regards to Max Kante and what had occurred on the football pitch last Monday. (Normally, the police tried to conceal the identities of Akuma victims as best as they could—some more successful then others, i.e. Alya—but with the entire cheer squad being victims/witnesses to Max's fit of rage, it was a hard thing to cover up.) Teenagers could forget about their homework that was due with ease but if you did something outlandish, they would run with it until the earths end—never ever letting it fall out or their iron-clad grip. 

While nothing was being said directly to Max's face—mainly because people were worried about a repeat and also because he'd hardly left the robotics lab between classes (and anyone with the balls to pick on him would not be caught dead in that musty smelling classroom). Brutal words had always been attached to Max Kante's name but now he was on a lot more peoples radars, which just amplified the noise he'd already been subjected to. Where before it had just been the likes of Harry Osborn who'd had it out for the socially inept boy, now everyone whispered and jumped out of his way on the rare occurrence he'd actually be seen venturing down the main halls. 

The whole situation frustrated Marinette Dupain-Cheng to no ends, especially every-time a new cruel analogy was spread around to describe Max's 'lunacy'. There'd been a plethora of whisperings suggesting that Max was too dangerous to be allowed to still attend school ("That freak should be like homeschooled or something."). People's lack of critical thinking or understanding how Hawkmoth's Akumas actually worked made the girl want to tear out each individual hair from her head. No one seemed to grasp the fact that the super villain purposefully would target vulnerable individuals, burrowing his way into their head with his expert manipulation skills. Promises of a better life in exchange for the magic jewellery that gave Chat Noir and Ladybug their powers. Anyone in that situation could fall victim to him, even those who claimed to have a stronger mind then the average person. 

But all this chat about Max was only the the B-story now, all avenues exhausted and in need of a replacement topic people could have bad opinions on. 

The news had broke Sunday morning, perfectly fresh in people's minds when Monday rolled around: Wanda Maximoff—The Scarlet Witch—was a dangerous individual (apparently). As new angles of the mishap in Lagos poured into peoples TV screens, kids who'd once looked up to the enchantress, seen themselves in her and her story, were turning on her. 

There were the obvious utterances made; "Well, duh. Why are we surprised? She started off evil." The word accident seemed not to be apart of anyone's vocabulary anymore as they picked apart the footage, sharing ways in which they would've prevented the fatal accident if they were in her shoes. Failing to see the fact that first of all, they were not in her shoes and secondly, they were saying this as someone who'd seen the footage multiple times. Of course someone who'd seen the ending would have a better prediction then someone acting in the moment. 

It was times like these where Marinette couldn't be more grateful her abilities were so tightly linked to creation. When the Akuma was caught, her powers allowed the scene of the disaster to be reset to how it was before—as if there had never even been one to begin with. Her and Chat Noir didn't face the same criticism that The Avengers did because there wasn't anything to be cleaned up after they did their jobs. No special crews were ever assigned to deal with their aftermath. And so in that regard, she empathised with the heroes who were just trying to save the world (as misguided as they were in doing so occasionally). 

As the week ticked on, the voices against Scarlet Witch only got louder and louder—especially with the talks of the Sokovia Accords entering the news networks. Children were inclined to repeat whatever garbage opinions their parents had on the matter. There were three sides the this debate, she'd discovered. First were those in favour of the Accords (a less then surprising high number of people stood on this side). Second were those who didn't think the Accords were enough and they wished for foul things to be done against Wanda Maximoff (typically far right men who'd never so much as touched a female carried this belief and they were very loud about it). The third side were the neutral onlookers, who appreciated all the good The Avengers had done for the general public and didn't think one mistake meant they needed to work for the man. They could see how The Avengers being controlled by the government could end poorly (Hello, are we forgetting when S.H.I.E.L.D was overrun by Hydra? That only happened two years ago). 

Marinette's brain was going to leak out of her ears and into a puddle of mush on the floor if she had to be subjected to anymore discourse by people who didn't really know what they were even saying. Sure, some of them meant well but. . . 

"—and I just think it's funny that people are only now complaining about collateral damage," Alya had been saying at their lunch table, having hardly even touched the food in front of her. "No one said anything about that building Captain America blew up two years ago but now because a foreign girl does the same thing—on a smaller scale, mind you—it's suddenly an issue the United Nations need to be holding on a meeting on? What a load of crap." 

"Come to think of it," Michelle replied, equally as passionate about the issue as Michelle, "they tried their hardest to sweep that whole Captain America thing under the rug. . ." 

"Exactly!" Alya threw her arms in the air, grateful that someone was reciprocating her views. "The Avengers have Tony Starks billions behind them but can't pay to have this whole thing go away? She has to be subjected to every news broadcast tearing her apart? Seriously? I hate this country."

Marinette was developing a migraine listening to them speak in circles—they'd been coming to same conclusions every single day. And not once had they noticed her lack of involvement in the conversation, both too focused on being the one to have the profound eureka moment with the perfect interpretation of the situation. Honestly? She couldn't care less about any of it at this point. Let something else take the school by storm, she begged. 

Could they talk about anything else for just a minute? She doesn't care what as long as it's so far removed from Scarlet Witch and Avengers discourse. "Speaking of female superheroes. . ." Marinette cut in, speaking for the first time all lunch time, "how's your search for Ladybugs identity going, Alya?" Killing two birds with one stone; changing the subject and satisfying the curiosity that constantly ate at her.

The passionate conversation came to a lull as Alya and Michelle turned to stare at the girl, who had her head rested on her empty lunch tray. "Not really," Alya admitted, huffing as she finally took a bite of her apple. "There were some interesting comments on the post and I got so many new followers," she continued through the food in her mouth. "New evidence I've not seen before was sent in but it mostly just backed up my main theory that she's a teenager, probably around our age." 

Trying to tread as carefully as possible, Marinette pried deeper. "What kind of evidence?" 

Alya waved the hand that wasn't holding the apple, seeming rather dismissive about the topic that she usually loved to drone on and on about. "Security footage, the speed at which she arrived to that whole. . . Max ordeal—"

Marinette sat up straight, eyebrows furrowed as she took in the information Alya was offering her. "Wait, someone tracked how long it took her to get to the scene—?"

"They just pointed out that, realistically, she has to be some sort of student to have been able to get to the scene that fast," Alya explained a little too casually for Marinette's liking (Like, hello? Was she really this sloppy?). "That, or she's some creepy person who hangs out around schools too much." 

"She could be a teacher," Michelle pointed out, holding back a laugh at Alya's outrageous afterthought. 

The box-dye ginger shook her head. "All the teachers were accounted for during the lockdown—too many suspicions would've been raised if one of them had disappeared," she pointed out, clearly haven't thought this out very thoroughly. A fact that didn't set well with Marinette; one of the few things the guardian had told her was that no one must know her identity (especially Chat Noir, apparently). 

Marinette rested her head back in her arms. "Oh. . . I see. . ." 

"Anyways—" and there they were, jumping right back into their politically loaded conversation as if her interruption hadn't even existed. Marinette wondered how many times she could bang her head against the table before they'd notice her again. Judging by the way Alya's pupils dilated and her nostrils flared as the chatter fell out of her lips, Marinette predicted seven—at a minimum.

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VOICES BOUNCED AGAINST THE WALLS OF THE AUDITORIUM THAT THE SCHOLASTIC DECATHLON PRACTICE WAS HELD IN. Questions regarding various scientific fields were thrown out and about, answered by the ding of a bell as everyone competed to be the most correct. Marionette appreciated the break in talking about Scarlet Witch—even if her friends would put their heads together and discuss it between practice rounds from the audience, making her roll her eyes at them. As cliche nerd as it made her seem, Marinette truly loved being apart of the team. 

She sat behind one of the long desks on the stage, hand hovering over the bell as Liz Allen—their newly elected captain, in the wake of the old one graduating early—shuffled her question cue cards before them. Everyone not actively involved in the trial round were sprawled across the auditorium floor, textbooks open before them. Her group comprised of Cindy Moon and Peter Parker (ugh). And while she wasn't supposed to be competing against her own teammates, a euphoric rush of satisfaction washed over her whenever she blurted out the answer before Peter Parker could. She barely even took notice of their opposition. 

By choice, she often wasn't in very close proximity to the Star Wars obsessed boy often (for obvious reasons) but now, all she could focus on was the fact that something was different about him. Every glance she snuck his way only left her more perplexed on what it possibly could be, she couldn't quite place a finger firmly on the what and it was starting to bug her. It was like his energy had shifted, as weird as that may sound coming from her lips. 

Clearing her throat, Liz started running through the questions for the second round. "What uses one positive and one negative electrode to run a current through the brain?" 

Ding. "Transcranial magnetic stimulation," Peter Parker called out, looking to his group members with a satisfied smile as they took an early lead. Marinette did not smile back, eyes narrowing as determination to answer the next one settled over her. 

"Correct," Liz praised Peter, sending him a sweet smile that Marinette noticed made his cheeks turn a little red. What a little cliche he was, crushing on the pretty older girl he had no chance with. "What is the Pseudoscientific practice that determines traits and abilities based on a skull shape?"

A beat passed as Marinette clawed through the archives of her brain, searching for the word she most definitely knew. The more she tried to summon the answer, the more it slipped from the tip of her tongue. Frustration engulfed her in the form of 'ums' and 'ahs'. 

Ding. "Phrenology," Ned Leeds answered, from the other table, looking very pleased with himself. Everyone turned to look at him, awaiting for confirmation that he was correct. From beside her, Peter smiled at his friend in encouragement which only annoyed Marinette more—of course Peter Parker was gracious about being beaten, ugh.

"Good!" Liz cheered, turning to Ned with a huge grin. "Alright, an easy one, what is Newton's first law of motion?"

Four bells rang out at almost the exact same time but Liz gave it to Marinette, who grinned cockily as she answered the question. "Inertia. An object at rest remains at rest, or if in motion, remains in motion at a constant velocity unless acted on by a net external force," she spoke word-for-word from her seventh grade text book, where Newtons laws had been ingrained into her mind. 

"Correct but can we try to shorten our answers next time, there's a time limit remember guys," Liz nodded, shuffling that cue card to the back of her colourful and thick stack. The smile was knocked right off Marinette's round face as she scowled down at the table, nodding half-heartedly at Liz's advice. 

Peter Parker leant over in Marinette's direction. "Crazy reaction speed," he murmured, offering the girl an unwanted compliment. 

"Yeah, thanks," she grumbled back, pointedly not looking at him. 

Coughing awkwardly, he leant back in his seat as Liz called out the next question and of fucking course he was the one to call out the correct answer after Flash had answered it incorrectly, earning a loud dig from Abraham that made everyone burst out laughing. Marinette hadn't even had the chance to let out even half a laugh before Peter had swept in to collect the point for their team.

The pattern repeated itself for the remaining duration of the mock competition. For every question Marinette answered, Peter Parker seemed to answer two more to spite her (she was sure of it). Something that was making her focus waver as fantasies of Peter Parker falling off a cliff plagued the back of her mind; so beautifully distracting. And even though their team won—by a landslide, might she add—Marinette felt like the loser as she climbed down the stairs of the stage, throwing herself on the floor beside Michelle and passing Alya, who was apart of the next group to go on stage. 

"Have you noticed anything different about Parker?" Marinette asked after a moment of sulking, just as the next batch of questions came pouring out of Liz's mouth. 

Michelle, only half glancing up from her textbook at where Peter Parker sat next to Mr Harrington (brown-noser), shrugged. "I don't pay enough attention to him to nice that stuff," she replied to her friend, biting back a smirk at the insinuation she'd just made that would most definitely annoy her friend. 

"Neither do I," she huffed, crossing her arms over her flat chest. "But something is definitely different about him," she persisted, staring into the back of his head with so much ferocity, he might explode.  

"If you say so," Michelle hummed, highlighting something in her notebook. "I'm sure you'll let me know when you figure out what it is." 

Marinette continued to study Peter Parker from afar (no, she wasn't weird for it). He wore the same old-man attire that he usually did; a plaid button up shirt underneath an oversized crewneck and corduroy pants. She was proud to say the one thing she constantly one-upped him in was a sense of fashion. However, one small detail about his clothing stood out to her. Where he always used to look like he was swimming in his clothes—extra fabric that she was sure his aunt had assured him he'd grow into—the fabric now looked like it was clinging to his body, stretching a little at the seams. She's not crazy for noticing this, she just loved to sew in her rare moments of free-time and knew how clothes that did and didn't fit looked, okay. 

As he turned his head to the side, throwing his neck back as he laughed at a joke someone had told him, the big difference finally struck her. "Doesn't he normally wear glasses?" She asked Michelle aloud. 

Once again, only half looking up, Michelle shrugged. "Maybe he got contacts," she offered. 

"Contacts irritate his eyes," Marinette replied, making her friend do a double take.

As she glanced at the girl skeptically, Michelle asked, "and how do you know that?" Her eyes were narrowed as she studied Marinettes body language while she concocted up a response.  

"I heard him tell Nino once. . . ?" Marinette retorted, as if it was super normal to be listening in on their conversations. 

"Right. . ." Michelle replied, stretching out the vowel sound as she looked back down at her textbook. "I think you're looking into it a bit too much." 

Perhaps Michelle was right but Marinette was convinced there was something up with Peter Parker, something deeper. And she was adamant on finding out what—maybe she could use whatever it was as blackmail against him, make him give up his starting spot in the team for her. (Just because she was a superhero, didn't mean she could do morally grey things in high school).

Chapter Text

EIGHT | HAPPIER THAN EVER (FOR ONCE) 

                         WHEN MARINETTE AWOKE IN THE MORNING, SHE HAD A STRANGE SENSE OF SERENITY WASH OVER. Which wasn't a normal feeling for her to start the morning with, being chronically late and disorganised. Her eyes had opened seconds before her alarm started crying for her attention. It's not like she'd even had a good nights rest or anything; after a quick surveillance of the city in costume, she'd stayed up fairly late doing revision (final exam season had officially started this week). But something in the air had shifted—like a great evil had gone away or something—and even it was temporary, she was going to take full advantage of it. 

She even had enough time to take care in getting ready that morning; being sure to give her trademark pigtails extra volume today, cementing an ungodly amount of product into her scalp. It was a rare occurrence Marinette wasn't scrambling out the door seconds after waking up, snatching up a croissant from a tray fresh out the oven on her way out as she prayed the train hadn't left without her (like it normally would). The girl wasn't exactly sure what to do with the extra time she had, swallowing her breakfast in normal-sized bites as she waited for it to be a reasonable time to walk down to the subway stop across the street.

Coming out of the storefront into the kitchen, her father had done a double take when he'd seen his daughter sitting at the table, stirring her cereal with an open textbook in front of her. His gaze fluttered over the clock overhead, wondering if the batteries were broken for it to display a time that indicated Marinette was on time. "Morning, sweetie," he said after a moment, clearing his throat to garner her attention as he flicked the kettle on. "Rare to see you in the mornings."

Marinette sent a lobsided smile his way, lifting the bowl to her mouth to drink the remaining dregs of milk with a loud slurp. As she got up to rinse her bowl in the sink—slipping past her burly father—she told him, "my alarm actually worked for once." 

This made him beam. "I can see that," Tom Dupain-Cheng replied, leaning against the bench as he waited for the kettle to boil. 

His daughters eyes flicked up to clock before she reached up on her very tiptoes to give her father a kiss on the cheek (his tall, muscular genes were lost on her). "Well, I'm off!" She announced cheerfully, ramming her textbook into her bag and ignoring the crunching sound of paper underneath it. The ding of the bell farewelled her as she went on her way, catching the green pedestrian light just in time (god, her luck was amazing today). 

New York, New York. So many nicknames for such a notorious location; the city that never sleeps, the big apple, the city of dreams. . . well, you get the idea. Where to even begin with this vast city? Even when she'd swing onto the highest buildings in the city—staking out potential threats during her nightly patrols—she couldn't quite see the end, houses and buildings stretching to the end of the horizon. Their family bakery was situated smack-bang on the corner of a busy street, attracting a steady stream of business that allowed the Dupain-Chengs to live a modest but still comfortable life. Having grown up living on such a constantly congested part of New York, the noise of traffic and car horns barely even penetrated Marinette's mind—it was all white noise to her. She's pretty sure she'd be more at unease in a quieter neighbourhood, vowing never to dwell in the outer suburbs. 

She couldn't help but grin widely as she scanned her transportation card down in the subway terminal, seeing the colourful timetable above showed that her train wouldn't be there for another three minutes. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was on time, what alternate universe had she woken up in and did she have to leave it ever?

Her good-luck only continued when she pushed open the doors of Midtown Science and Technology, not a single warning bell to be heard. There still being a substantial time between home room and then, the halls weren't as overcrowded which made getting to her locker a lot more seamless then usual. Alya, who's locker was on the left side of hers (Peter Parker's was, unfortunately on her right and tragically her slew of good-luck wasn't going to change that) was already there, digging through her belongings in preparation for the day ahead. 

"Hey," Marinette called cheerfully, pulling up beside her friend wearing a big toothy grin. 

Confused, Alya looked up at Marinette with wide eyes. "Oh, hey. . . you're early? Did something happen—?" She paused what she'd been doing to examine her friend. 

Marinette couldn't help but scoff. "No. I just got up early," she huffed, rolling her eyes at how shocked everyone was at her being put together for once. She wasn't that chronically late, was she? (Don't answer that.)

Alya just shook her head, smiling to herself as she re-focused on looking for her math worksheet that she was sure she'd thrown in there at some point. She'd only been at this school for two months but she'd managed to accumulate a huge mess in her locker almost instantaneously. Two familiar figures approached the other side of Alya, deep in pre-existing conversation. 

Ned Leeds, staring down at his phone screen with a deep set frown, followed Nino Lahiffe to his locker which was situated next to Alya's (a fact that annoyed Marinette to no ends because it meant she saw a lot of Peter Parker in the mornings, ugh). "—our streak literally has a timer and he was seen two hour ago. . . in Germany?" The Hawaiian boy did a double-take at his screen, bringing it closer to his face in order to see it clearer. "Is my shit broken—?" 

Nino waved him off, scoffing. "He probably has one of those 'spoof your location' apps to fuck with us," he said, putting his combination as he noticed the two girls beside them. "Oh, hey Alya. . ." He murmured, scratching the back of his head as he gazed upon the girl in awe. The nerdy boy—as tall and skinny as he was—wore the brightly coloured headset around his neck, still trying desperately to make it work. He was grateful it wasn't noticeable how warm his skin had gotten at the sight of her. 

"Hey," she replied, smiling back at him sweetly as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before the boys melted back into their conversation. 

Marinette narrowed her eyes at not being acknowledged. Since when was Alya friends with Nino? Yeah she was new but that's treason in the highest regard, being friends with her enemies friends. "Anyways," Marinette grumbled, glaring through the vents in the locker doors at the two boys. "Have you done the chemistry homework? I wanna double check my answers." 

Soon enough Michelle showed up, also doing a double take at Marinette being at school before her. "Did they—" the government, for those unaware of Michelle's love for conspiracy theories, "—replace you with a clone like Avril?" She asked, eyeing her friend skeptically as she tried to find indications that she was in fact a replacement. 

"Actually, Avril Lavigne finds the clone conspiracy theory really disrespectful," Alya had cut in, making Michelle roll her eyes. 

"That's exactly what a clone would say," she insisted, throwing her arms in the air. 

The sound of their bickering melted away as Adrien Agreste entered Marinette's line of vision, sending a wave in his friends directions. Her head fell to the side, mesmerised by the way he flipped his golden hair in slow motion (at least, in her mind). She felt all the oxygen flee from her lungs as he leant casually against Nino's now closed locker, back turned to her. Even his back was gorgeous, might she just point out. For a sophomore Adrien seemed to have hit the cruz of puberty much earlier then his peers, having already started most of his filling out. His shoulders were broad—most likely comprised of firm muscles that Marinette would sell her parents bakery for a chance to look at. 

"—yeah, have you seen this? Peter's in fucking Germany?" Ned had been saying, holding his phone out for Adrien. 

The sound of the brunettes name was like a heavy bucket of water, pouring down Marinette's entire frame and washing away the good mood she'd sported all morning. Her eyes narrowed as she peered around the hallway, only now noticing that Peter Parker was in fact nowhere to be found. "Germany. . . ?" She couldn't help but find her repeat loudly, making the three boys turn to look at her. 

"Yeah, look," spoke Adrien, grabbing Ned's phone to show her the illuminated screen, much to the annoyance of his friend. As they'd been saying, his stupid looking Bitmoji stood in the city centre of Berlin wearing an annoying smile. Marinette had never seen his avatar before, having denied his friend request multiple times. 

It all started to make sense now. A great evil had gone away, left the country even. "That's gotta be fake," she replied dismissively, pushing the screen back towards him. 

Looking over either of her shoulders, Alya and Michelle also took a gander. "So fake," Michelle confirmed, smirking. "Kinda funny you guys would fall for that," she added, making Ned scowl at her as he snatched his phone back from Adrien. 

"I need to stop by the robotics lab," Nino cut in, eyeing his two friends expectantly. "I'll see you around, Alya. . . ?" 

The girl smiled, cheeks heating up at the way he looked at her before she looked down at her shoes. "Yeah. . . see you, Nino," she murmured, elbowing Michelle in the ribs before she could make fun of them. Michelle grunted loudly, sending her a death glare. 

Marinette, pressing her cheek against the cool blue metal door beside her, sighed as she watched the trio disappear down the hall. Her gaze was solely fixed on Adrien, wishing he'd stayed behind to take to her instead. Their small interaction would play on a loop in her head for the rest of the week as she dissected it. Tearing apart all the milliseconds she could've spent wooing him, making him fall madly in love with her—it was inevitable, after all.

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THE SACRED ROUTINE THAT WAS THEIR NIGHTLY PATROLS HAD LONG SINCE BEEN DISRUPTED. Ever since the Max incident, Spider-Man had been following them around like a bed smell. Ladybug and Chat Noir were both on edge, suspecting another Akuma attack was on the horizon. Hawkmoth was clearly biding his time in order to catch them off guard and she refused to let it work. But he—fucking Spider-Man—would just linger in the shadows, thinking he was sneaky enough for them to not know he was there (they simply just couldn't be bothered to acknowledge his existence, in hopes he'd go away). His mere presence drove Ladybug up the wall, ruining her concentration on the tasks at hand.

Except, she hadn't needed to worry about that on this particular night. For the blue and red clad superhero was nowhere to be found—is this what freedom felt like? After she was sure he hadn't just miraculously gotten better at hiding in the shadows, did her mind dispel his existence from it—perhaps he'd finally got the hint and quit (she could only dream). 

As she stood, perched atop a particularly high apartment building, she stared out onto the nearby streets. The late night breeze flew through her pigtails as she scanned the happenings down below, eyebrows creased in concentration. Her eyes followed never-ending traffic, making sure there wasn't anything out of the ordinary occurring at the intersection. 

She'd heard Chat Noir long before he'd made himself known. "M'Lady. I did a scan of Brooklyn, nothing out of the normal," he told her, voice as low as ever (sometimes she wondered if he purposely put it on to appear seductive or whatever his fangirls said when he'd sit for interviews). She didn't turn to look at him; his black suit blended into the night, it was pointless. "Though," he added, "I did help someone get their cat out of a tree," he practically purred, seeming very pleased with himself.  

"There's a fire brigade for a reason," she retorted, scoffing at the image her mind had conjured. Chat Noir, curled up atop a thin tree with a kitten curled up in his lap. 

Deciding to ignore her remark, he moved to stand beside her so their shoulders were touching—well, as much as they could be when he stood an entire foot higher then her. Her powers gave her strength and heightened senses, why couldn't they make her taller as well? "And you? Anything exciting to report?" He inquired, staring down at her with wide green eyes. 

She shrugged, eyes not moving from the traffic in the distance. "No. . . Some kid asked for a selfie and said they were gonna be like me when they grow up," she muttered, thinking the thought was stupid. 

"I'm going to look for the picture on Twitter later," he told her, grinning. "I'm sure you look as ravishing as ever." 

Ladybug exhaled loudly, fingers reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Chat Noir was her partner and she trusted him with her life eternally—if the world was ending, she knew he'd do everything to save it. However, their dynamic had slowly started to shift the longer they worked together and it appeared he had developed a. . . crush on her. Having no prior experience at this in her personal life, she hadn't known how to react the very first time he'd made his feelings known other then to shoot his advances down. Like, how would that work anyways? They didn't even know who each other were below the masks they adorned (for all she knew, he could thirty!). "Chat. . ." She warned, refusing to look at him. 

"Sorry, M'Lady," he told her earnestly, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. His eyes left her and trailed on the city skyline as he bit back a sigh, trying not to feel the sting of unrequited love. 

Deeper into the night, when they'd decided to give it a rest for the day, Marinette was sat at the coffee table in front of the TV with her homework sprawled out in front of her. Her dad had been watching the news, as was high nightly routine, on a low setting. She'd not been giving the screen much attention, her mind doing mental gymnastics trying to understand what on earth her physics teacher wanted them to write about in their newest essay. 

A Fox News reporter, with an obnoxious voice spoke out from the box, "—if the Avengers are fighting each other over these accords, wouldn't that be the perfect time for a potential threat to—?" The voice peaked the girls interest and just as she looked up her father switched over the channel, letting out a loud groan as the same story was on the screen with different voices discussing it (seriously, how many news channels did they need?). 

"—as seen in the footage, we can now confirm that New Yorks very own Spider-Man was involved in the fight—" Marinette frowned as the grainy footage replayed on the screen, showing a visual of the superhero—she uses that term very lightly—throwing punching alongside The Avengers. If her head hadn't been already resting against the table, her jaw would've fallen open in shock. Not only was he involved in the dispute publicly tearing The Avengers apart but he was dressed in a whole new suit—thanks to Tony Stark, she assumed.

How fitting he'd jump at the opportunity to join their team, she thought as she glared at the broadcaster and her perfect teeth. And, as much as it pained her to say, he seemed as though he fit in well with the flashy team (even if it was torn apart, currently).

Chapter Text

NINE | THE LAST DINNER PARTY 

                         IT ALWAYS FELT AS THOUGH LIFE WAS A CONSTANT LOOP OF MONDAYS. The first calendar day of the week (all those people who say Sunday is are factually and logically wrong, they're just trying too hard to be unique) always caught up to them. A never ending recursion of the most despised day of the week. The ecstasy of the final bell on a Friday afternoon was nothing more than a distant memory in the midst of a Monday morning alarm clock blaring through a teenagers bedroom. 

The usual crew were gathered around the battered lockers of the freshman hallway, awaiting the bell to order them off to their first class of the week. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, with hair frizzy due to the lack of time she'd given herself that morning to get ready, wore a sour expression as she watched the quartet of boys standing to her left talk away while her friends chatted away beside her. The annoyed expression had nothing to do with the gorgeous blonde boy standing amongst them—never. No, her venomous gaze was directed towards the reappearance of Peter Parker, who was sporting a fresh black eye (it suited him, he should get hit more often). 

"—yeah, it was some guy from Brooklyn," he'd been telling his friend, who kept trying to prod at his swollen eye. "His friend was huge," he added, biting back a smile to a joke only he was in on (Marinette wanted the guy to come back and punch it off his face). 

Adrien Agreste had been leading the charge with questions, the usual sideline viewer. Marinette tried not to let herself get distracted by the way he flipped his golden locks out of his face as he asked the questions, his creamy smooth voice so enchanting. "And Germany. . . ? What was the go there, man? Kinda random." 

It seems as though Peter Parker had prepared for this question, admitting he forgot his Snapchat tracked his location abroad (like an idiot, mind you). "You're looking at someone with an internship under the Tony Stark," he told them boastfully and Marinette had to use all her strength to hold onto her open locker door so she didn't fall forward. "You know the. . . the September Foundation thing he announced? Yeah, I got in through that," he exclaimed and Marinettes knuckles went white with how tight she was gripping the metal. He could not be serious. 

"You didn't even mention you'd applied," Ned Leeds cut in, looking hurt that his friend would keep such life-altering news from him. 

Peter Parker scratched the back of his neck, averting his gaze from his friend and meeting Marinette's stare with an awkward smile. Her narrow look only went narrower. "I. . . uh, didn't want to jinx it," he admitted. 

"Tony Stark brought an intern to Germany?" Adrien regurgitated the information, frowning at the statement he'd just been presented with. Marinette had to agree—and not just because it's Adrien—but the idea sounded a little far-fetched to her. Tony Stark seemed like the type to hate children—especially annoying, hyper-active ones like Peter Parker. 

"Yeah! It was awesome, dude," Peter replied as he looked away from the girl, clearing his throat awkwardly. He didn't understand why he always caught her eyes on him, when her gaze was so icy. "We were supposed to be doing a research task at one of his labs over there and then. . . well, you guys saw on the news. . . but I saw War Machine fly past my hotel room after the fight!"

As Ned and Nino gushed over how amazing this all sounded, Adrien's eyebrows furrowed. "Didn't get get a near fatal injury in the fight. . .?" His question made Peter falter. "That's what the news has been saying."

"Um. . . Well, maybe it was before the fight? I didn't really keep track of the time. . ." The brunette looked everywhere but the blonde, hoping to whatever religion Thor originated from that they'd buy it. "But his suit was so awesome." 

"That's so cool—! I have mutuals with Tony Stark now, this is going to make us so much cooler," Nino continued gushing, throwing an arm over Peter's shoulder as he imagined all the possibilities this was going to open up for them—all the VIP parties with hot girls. . . 

Peter scoffed, pushing his friend off playfully. "Us. . . ?" He raised his unbruised eyebrow at the boy. "I'm trying to keep the information kinda lowkey—NDA's and stuff, you know," he continued, trying to sound way more mature then he was. 

Wide eyed, Nino continued to marvel at his friend. "You had to sign an NDA?" He asked it as thought it was the coolest thing ever, which Marinette couldn't help but roll her eyes at. She doubted Peter Parker would ever be important enough to witness anything of true significance—anyone who allowed that to happen would be a complete and utter moron. 

"Pssh, not just one—like, loads," he replied, waving his hand dismissively as he leant back on his closed locker, trying not to let the pain of the metal lock digging into his back show. 

Bored, Adrien murmurs, "sounds like a waste of paper," under his breath and Marinette bites back a scoff (the last thing she needs is to give away the fact she was actively listening to their conversation). 

"Man, I didn't even know you had a passport," Ned remarked. "Aren't they like expensive? My Mom threw a fit when my sister had to get one for her senior trip."

"Wait, did you see Spider-Man?" Nino asked at the same time, remembering the web-slinger had been apart of all the news broadcasts he'd seen about the Germany airport incident. A myriad of excited questions followed. 

At the mention of the infuriating new hero, Marinette tuned out of their conversation and turned her attention back towards her friends. She may have lost braincells listening to Peter Parker brag about an internship she should probably have (if she'd known it existed and applied). But then again, she didn't really like Tony Stark so it wouldn't have worked out. The thought of her two least favourite people being in such a close proximity was horrifying enough—it made her skin crawl. What a horrifying, nightmare inducing team-up. 

"Can you believe that," Marinette found herself grumbling, slamming her locker door shut finally and making herself jump at how loud it was. 

Michelle and Alya's conversation came to a halt as they sent confused stares their friends way. "Can we believe what?" Alya repeated, tilting her head to the side as she studied Marinettes physique for any impairments. 

Marinette grunted, slinging her backpack back over her shoulders. "Just stupid Peter Parker and that internship he's been harping on about all morning," she hissed, looking over her shoulder to make sure they weren't eavesdropping on her back. "Why do opportunities always just fall into his lap, it's not fair."

Her two friends exchanged looks before turning back to the pig-tailed girl. "Internship? I didn't even know he had one," Alya stated, smirking. "Were you listening in on his conversations again, Mari?"

The black-haired girl rolled her eyes at the accusation, not enjoying her tone. "I wouldn't call it eavesdropping. . . more, they were talking about it really loud."

Alya looked at Michelle again. "Weird. I couldn't hear them, could you?" 

"Not a word," Michelle declared, nodding smugly at the shorter girl who was death staring them. 

"That's because you guys were also talking really loud," Marinette retorted, rolling her eyes at them. 

At that, Alya looked like a lion who'd just cornered their prey. "Oh, yeah? What were we talking about?" She asked, eyebrows raised as she awaited her response. 

Marinette scoffed, not wanting to let her win. "Beats me, I wasn't listening," she said trying to sound nonchalant (something that every fibre of her being was absolutely not capable of being).

Before her friends could come out with their preposterous insinuations—which Marinette did not appreciate, not one bit—the bell rang (saving her once again, how convenient). As everyone shuffled off to class, she couldn't help but find her gaze landing on Peter Parker once again as he walked a few metres ahead of them beside Ned. (She hoped he tripped on the way to the class they shared, collecting a matching set of black eyes on either side.)

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TO SAY ADRIEN AGRESTE LIVED ONLY A DOUBLE LIFE WOULD BE A GROSS UNDERESTIMATION. He would argue he lived three very distinct lives, all polar opposite's of one and other. The first life was the easiest, the one where he felt most himself: being Chat Noir (surprise, you thought he was going to say being himself first). When that magical mask welded to his skin, he felt truly free for the first time in his life—gone was the need to water down his personality for the sake of conforming into the idea everyone had of him. Chat Noir was an escape for him. The second life he lead was that of a teenage boy trying to navigate real school for the first time. Being School-Adrien made him happy—not on the same level as being Chat did, of course. For the first time in his life, he was able to just be a normal teenager and go through the normal struggles of one. Which brings him to the third life he lives: Adrien Agreste, the brand. The puppet his father had moulded into a global celebrity. For fifteen-years Adrien hadn't felt like a real person when he was playing this role, smiling for cameras. He hated the stardom. 

What life was he living today? Sometimes it was hard to distinguish; School-Adrien and Adrien Agreste would blur together, making it hard for him to play the part right. Especially when on top of that, his desires as Chat Noir did not leave him once he took the mask off. Dreams of Ladybug plagued him; to hold her, to feel her. Adrien could only compartmentalise himself so much.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Adrien looked up at crowded dinner table absentmindedly. His eyes danced from conceited face to conceited face, boredom inching its way across his body. It was that painful time of the month, once again. He would've much preferred to be with his real friends, playing a Fortnite tournament at Nino's house that evening (a new chapter had just dropped!) but alas, his father was not a lenient man and deemed these dinners a mandatory obligation. 

Gabriel Agreste, though he'd not commented on it yet, had noticed the way school-Adrien had started to bleed into Adrien Agreste, the brand and he wasn't awfully thrilled by it. The son that had once asked 'how high' when told to jump, would now ask 'why' instead. 

They were in the vast dining hall of the Bourgeois' fancy penthouse, waitstaff hanging off of the walls ready to do their bidding. A multi-million dollar chandelier—Adrien only knew it was worth that much because the mayor had bragged about it when he'd showed them in—twinkled above them, blinding the blonde when he looked at it from certain angles. Intricate panelling coated the walls, painted a metallic gold to—in Andre's words, once again—really bring the the space together. Candelabra's dotted the blood red table cloth, giving the dinner a moody atmosphere. He supposed he should thank the New York tax-payer for his meal. 

"You know, we need to start doing this more then once a month," Andre Bourgeois—yes, that Bourgeois—said to no one in particular through a spoonful of caviar (yes, they were that type of rich). 

His wife, Audrey Bourgeois, sent a disdain-filled look his way over the Dior sunglasses she insisted on wearing indoors. "Andre, your manners," she chastised him, their daughter watching along with a nod. Chloe looked up to her mother—wanted to be just like the ex Victoria's Secret model when she grew up—even if Audrey barely acknowledged her daughter (and credited getting pregnant with her the downfall of her career). 

"Yeah," Chloe echoed, "manners, Daddy."

There was an awkward laugh expelled by a few of the tables occupants, trying to extinguish the fire on the brink of igniting. "We're not up and coming anymore," Norman Osborn cut in, hoping to spare everyone the headache of the married couple's bickering. "Time is money—now more then ever." 

"I'll say," Andre replied, clearing his throat as he turned away from his wife. "It's almost election time again, I swear it sneaks up on me every time." New Yorks long-term major meant it light-hearted but Gabriel Agreste's eyes narrowed at how casually he spoke. 

"I hope you're not taking you're role for granted, Andre," he warned, his tone hiding something that Adrien was clearly missing (not that he really cared to know, his fathers business was of no interest to him yet). "It would be a shame if someone were to. . . replace you."

The tubby man's expression sobered and he sat up straighter. "Indeed," he replied, staring down into the bottom of his wine glass. He'd already down the contents and he beckoned a server over for a refill. 

Relishing in the opportunity, Audrey clicked her fingers and summoned the tables attention onto her. "I told him—I said, 'Andre, I'll leave you if you fuck this up.' I did," Audrey told the whole table, making Harry Osborn—who'd remained silent like all the offspring—choke on his bite of food. Audrey's expression showed she took great pleasure in the embarrassment she'd caused her husband. "He almost cried, pathetic really." Adrien looked down at at the empty wine glass beside her, trying to count back how many she'd consumed. 

In all honesty, Adrien had never liked Audrey Bourgeoise. He was too young to remember what she'd been like when she was still New York's 'It Girl' (her words, not his) but in her retirement she'd turned into the most bitter woman he'd ever met. She walked around as if the world owed her everything, the deepest chip carved into her shoulder. His eyes flickered to Chloe, who's gaze of admiration hadn't wavered from her mother, and he had to bite back a sigh. He'd never seen it before but her mother was a foresight into the person the blonde girl would most likely turn into. He feared she was far too deep down this path to turn back. 

"Darling, let's not repeat private conversations," Andre murmured, not looking up from the wine glass he'd just downed.

Norman Osborn coughed awkwardly before his eyes locked with Adrien's across the table, sending him a playful smile. "Kids, you're all being awfully quiet tonight—usually we're fighting to get a word in over you lot," he said lightheartedly, showing his perfectly straight teeth. 

"There's not much to really talk about, father," Harry commented, rolling his eyes at the way Adrien shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Some people would rather break up the band."

"Ridiculous," Chloe added, rolling her vowels theatrically as she sent a sour pout his way. "Utterly ridiculous."

Norman shook his head at this, smiling. "Ah, there's nothing like a bit of teenage drama. Isn't that right, Gabe?" 

"Right," Gabriel mumbled, watching Andre and Audrey closely as they continued to bicker under their breath at each other. A moment passed before he turned to Norman with a question. "Have we managed to get into contact with Toombes again? I have a myriad of questions for him still." 

Norman sighed. "No, he's a harder man to get in contact with a second time round." He paused, eyes surveying the uninterested children before adding, "and the. . . other search? Anything?" 

"These things take time, Norman," Gabriel snapped, voice sharper then the knife he'd been cutting his steak with. "It's early days still, do not rush me."

"I can only lie to the board for so long," Norman shot back, holding his arms up defensively, "they'll grow suspicious of where all this funding is disappearing to. . ."

Adrien was positively bored. His falling out with Chloe and Harry only made these dinners even more unpleasant—at least before, they could complain about it together but now he had to sit there, wallowing in misery alone. If he kept a mental tally of how many words he'd said all night, he'd probably be able to count on his fingers—not having spoken since the initial greeting upon arrival. He could've probably done this in his sleep and no one would have noticed. 

Across the table, he peered at Andre who's knuckles were going white with how tightly he was gripping onto his expensive wine glass. If he'd spent a single second in the gym, Adrien would've expected the dish to shatter under his grip by now. Beside him, Audrey's lips had not stopped moving as she tore into every fibre of her husbands very being—getting progressively louder as she spoke. The conversation between Chloe and Harry came to a halt, as did the one between Gabriel and Norman. The staff all averted their gazes, knowing they'd get yelled at for staring if they paid attention. 

Audrey had grown very animated in her yelling, swinging her own glass of wine back and fourth. Adrien's gaze was fixated on the liquid that sloshed about, anticipating when some would escape the glass—a wine stain on her clothes would only set her off more. "—well, if you weren't such a useless, fat sack of shit—"

Through gritted teeth, trying to keep his tone even as to not traumatise their daughter, Andre hissed, "honey, stop."

"Oh, shut up Andre and fight me like a man," she barked back, looking at him with not a single ounce of love. Adrien wondered if they ever actually loved each other or was it a marriage of power and status?

"Audrey, don't do this in front of Chloe," he said, tone still low as he tried to not attract everyone's attention and ruin dinner (again). 

His daughter scoffed. "Daddy, don't be a coward." Her words were like a sharp sword, twisting through his flesh and expelling a damp pool of blood at his feet. 

Adrien shuffled awkwardly in his seat as she continued to prod and poke her husband, lower hanging insults constantly fired his way. Eventually, beside him, he heard a chair scrape against the floor. "Excuse me. I have to make a call," he said plainly, pointedly not looking at Norman. 

"Gabe—!" But his lifelong friend brushed him off, disappearing into the hall. Norman swore under his breath, reaching for his drink to down the contents as the storm that was Andre and Audrey's marriage raged on before them. 

Trying not to stare at Audrey who'd knocked her chair over as she got to her feet in order to stand over her husband, Adrien averted his gaze to the roof. He started up at the sparkly chandelier, ignoring the blinding light it expelled. As Audrey continued to hurt blows, Adrien squinted at the small purple glowing creature weaving through the chandelier. 

Horror washed through him as the bug made a beeline for the mayor of New York. His body jerked up and Audrey faltered as a deep purple glow washed over him, her scream caught in the back of her throat. Staff stood petrified in place as their boss transformed before them. His fair skin morphed into a sky blue hue and the sash he wore so proudly—the one that declared his power as the leader of New York—warped into a deeper red and blue colour (as did the suit he wore). A super suit materialised from Hawkmoth's power—comprised of dark blue and red striped latex with gold shoulder pads. For a moment, everything was silent and he didn't attack—presumably because Hawkmoth was giving him his orders. 

Adrien's head whipped back and fourth, scanning for a source of where the Akuma could've been sent in from. His gaze landed on the opening balcony doors on the other side of the room. He then looked back at the ajar door at the end of the table his father had disappeared through, trying to plan an escape so he could transform. 

An unintelligible roar emerged from Andre's mouth as staff screamed in fear, scrambling to usher everyone out of harms way. Adrien used to panic to his advantage, charging through the door and throwing the first broom closet he came across open. He allowed himself two seconds to catch his breath before crying out, "claws out!" He threw his head back at the familiar sensation of his Chat Noir suit melding over his body, black leather cupping every exposed inch of his skin. Finally, when the mask fully formed across his skin and he'd sent an alert to Ladybug, he cracked the door open barely a millimetre to check no one was in the corridor to catch him. When he assessed the coast was clear, his launched out of the closet and barrelled down the hall. 

"—oh, Andre. Seriously? Getting yourself Akumatised like all the other common people in this city does not make you a less sorry excuse of a man," Audrey Bourgeois had been shouting, her shrill voice sounding like nails against a chalkboard with his Chat Noir enhanced hearing. "Honestly, I—"

"I am no longer just Andre—!" He roared, standing over the woman—the only brave soul that hadn't been cowering in the corner. In the corner of his eye, Chat saw Chloe and Harry holding each other in the corner. "I am Malediktator and you will obey me, woman."

Audrey faltered, taking rapid steps back as he inches closer and closer until he had her trapping in the corner. "By the power vested in me, you will be a devoted wife once again," he ordered, voice booming. A white glowing sphere of power emerged from the badge in the centre of his sash, striking his wife and melting the bitterness right of her face. 

"Oh, Andre. . ." She cooed, falling to his feet. "Andre, my love. . . Let me kiss it better, I—"

"Yes, that's much better." Satisfied, he turned his back on her. "Who's next?" His eyes landed on his daughter, the spoilt brat she was. Ideas on how to order her into a better offspring circulated his mind until—

"Ooh, I volunteer as tribute—!" Chat Noir purred, standing in the centre of the dining table so that he had the high ground—table manners went out of the window in battle, he'd decided. "I'm a pretty obedient kitty, I'll have you know."

The initial shock on his face disappeared instantly and his eyes narrowed. "You." 

Chat grinned back at him, leaning on his baton for support. "Me," he affirmed, eyes flickering to the window in case Ladybug happened to show up. 

Andre—or Malediktator—inhaled sharply, generating power before he shouted, "by the power vested in me, I order you to give me your Miraculous—!" 

Chat Noir would've found it comical if there hadn't been a glowing orb of dominance being lobbed at him. With ease he dodged it, flipping backwards off the table and staring over the tall candelabra at Andre, who's frustration was visible across his face. "There's a Baseball pitch downtown, you should go sometime for throwing practised," the teenage superhero sassed. 

Before Andre could retaliate again, two figures landed on the balcony and tore into the room. Ladybug, looking as majestic as ever, clutched her yo-yo and landed into a fighting stance as she took in the state of the room. "This creeps been following me since Fifth Avenue," she grumbled as Spider-Man appeared behind her, equipped in his upgraded suit. "I tried to get here as fast as I could."

"Ladybugs going to save us—!" Chloe, still cowering in the corner in Harry's arms cheered and suddenly looked a little less afraid. Chat Noir's gaze shifted over to them once again, guilt bubbling in the pit of his stomach that he'd not thought to clear civilians from the fight scene. The flushed cheeks of his childhood friends would probably sit at the back of his mind for a long time to come. 

Ladybug, however, just rolled her eyes at Chloe. It made Chat Noir frown a little but anything he could've said was cut off by Spider-Man's obnoxiously high pitched voice (seriously, was this kid old enough to have even hit puberty yet?). 

"Hey—! I just don't wanna miss the fight this time," Spider-Man told them, holding his arms up defensively. The eyes of his suit narrowed—which, if Ladybug hadn't hated him so much, she'd almost find the technology cool (pretty useless but cool nonetheless). 

Ladybug rolled her eyes again, this time more aggressively. "Ugh." Her focus shifted up towards the villain, who'd been sizing the two of them up while they bickered. She cursed internally for allowing herself to be even momentarily distracted by fucking Spider-Man. She should've had some sort of planned cooked up by now, readying herself to free him from Hawkmoth's influence. 

Andre Bourgeois looked right through Ladybug to the newer hero, frowning. "Spider-Man? You're of no use to me," he told him in a loud and crisp voice (which Spider-Man, using context clues, tried to figure out where he'd heard it before). 

"That makes two off us," Ladybug muttered under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she surveyed the room. 

"I'm trying to help you," Spider-Man hissed in a low tone, not taking his eyes off the Akuma-victim as he tried to use physics to determine how he could web this guy up in a way that would effectively immobilise him. He tried to visualise every move—like a chess game—that they'd need to make in order to bring him down, a solid idea forming. 

"Ladybug, however. . . I'm going to need that pretty Miraculous now," the mayor said, turning to the girl with a devious smirk—as if he just expected her to willingly hand her earrings over. "Be a good girl and hand it over."

"Fat chance—!" Through her mask, her eyes turned into slits and she fell back into a ready fight stance, sensing an attack any second. 

"Oh, we'll see about that—" Andre muttered, cracking his large knuckles before charging up another surge of power. The sound sent a chill up Ladybug's spine as she tried to preempt his attack. 

"Duck—!" Chat Noir shouted, diving to be where they were standing to act as a sacrifice if he had to. 

Obliging, the two heroes threw their bodies to the floor. "—By the power vested in me, I order you to give me your Miraculous—!" Ladybug peered upwards as the white blast soared above them and splattered against the wall, leaving scotch marks in its wake. Avoid the blasts, got it. Mind control powers, how original of Hawkmoth. (She often laid awake late at night and pondered the parameters of his powers—what couldn't he do?) 

"Buddy, I told you, throwing practice," Chat Noir quipped with a smirk, getting back to his feet and theatrically brushing nonexistent dust off his suit. "You really need it."

"Argh—!" the man fumed, charging towards to them but his bulky costume slowed him down immensely. (That's why all three heroes had gone with latex; functionality over fashion—although, Chat Noir personally liked to this his suit was both functional and fashionable.) 

"Where's the Akuma—?" Ladybug shouted, jumping out of the way of another blast and landing into a crouched position. She whipped her head to the side to look at Chat Noir as he spoke. Having been the first on the scene she hoped he had some sort of extra insight on what they're up against.  

"In his sash, I think," replied Chat, sliding across the floor as yet another blast was sent their way—this one bigger then the last two.

Flanking their left, Spider-Man didn't take his eyes of Andre as he absorbed this information—it would make sense to be the sash, it was the centrepiece of his costume. Another thing he noticed was that the big guy, knowing he has no Miraculous, showed little to no interest in fighting the superhero hailing from Queens. Assessing that, Spider-Man voiced a plan that—in all honesty—Chat Noir didn't hate. "What if I come up behind and web his feet—he's not attacking me and then you can knock him off his feet and Ladybug can—"

"You are not calling the shots here," Ladybug hissed, hanging from the chandelier by her yo-yo string as she sent a glare down in Spider-Mans general direction. Who did he think he was?

Growing agitated by their continuous dodging and paranoid of an offensive attack, the ten staff member that were huddled under the table caught his attention. "By the power vested in me, I order you to be my shield—!" Holding plates and trays up like shields, a gaggle of minimum wage workers dressed in all black stood before him. Human shield style. 

"Oh great, now he's got an army," Spider-Man grunted, sending an annoyed look Ladybugs way through his mask. If only she'd just listened to him and not wasted time—

"Work on taking out the protection squad, I'll tie up his limbs before grabbing the sash," she said to Chat Noir, landing on her feet next to him and pointedly ignoring Spider-Mans comment. She threw her yo-yo out, the polka-dotted device springing back up as she contemplated whether or not she needed to activate her lucky charm or not. 

Saluting, Chat Noir charges into the fight with his baton at the ready to immobilise the pawns. "Got it." Watching on for a second, they observed the way he immediately discarded one of the trays the staff had used to ward him off. 

"Wait, I'm not apart of the plan," Spider-Man called as Ladybug swung back up on the chandelier again. 

"Just stay out of my way—!" She called back, focusing intently on the way Chat Noir threw the staff to the ground and trying to find an opening. The mind control was proving to make them a lot more resilient, continuing to get back up. 

Before Ladybug could jump in, Spider-Man did so instead. He collided with the first human-shield in a blur of red, blue and web fluid. He left the first already dazed worker on the ground before him, cocooned in his web fluid (how gross). Looking over his shoulder, Chat understood the new plan and continued to immobilise them while Spider-Man stuck them to the floor (while they continued to dodge continuous blasts from Andre). With narrow eyes, Ladybug continued to watch on as she waited for an opening to present itself. 

Finally, when the frontlines of the defensive squad was taken down enough for there to be a hole in the line, did she throw her yo-yo forward. Andre roared in shock as the string tangled its way around his widely built torso. Distracted, he tore at the magic string to try and free himself as Ladybug flew forward. 

"No," he screeched as she threw them both to the ground, ripping at his sash. He tried to swat her away until suddenly, his hands were stuck to the ground in a splat sound. "I order you to give me your Miraculous, this instant—!"

Ladybug looked up to Spider-Man staring down at her, Andre's webbed up hands at his feet. Rather then thanking him for the minuscule bit of help, she looked back down at the mayors vibrantly coloured sash. As he squirmed, shouting insults at them for foiling him, she tore the fabric off him and the butterfly flew out. 

Before it could escape and corrupt someone else, she took it in her hands and purified it. "Goodbye, little butterfly. . ." She whispered, freeing the now white moth as the room restored itself in a flash, leaving a confused mayor it's wake. 

As if on cue, the police barged through the front door, stopping in their tracks at the heroes having already handled it. The officers filed in, checking on the civilians and asking anyone who'd answer them what had happened. 

Shaking her head, Ladybug looked at Chat and gestures for him to follow her. The two heroes jumped from the balcony, swinging across buildings until they reached a quiet roof top. A satisfied feeling grew inside Ladybug, happy that they were one-step ahead of Hawkmoth once again. 

"Good job, team," came another voice, followed by a thump—way to stick the landing, Spider-Man. The hero awkwardly climbed back to his feet, hoping it was dark enough that they didn't see the fall but Chat Noir's bright smirk let him know better. 

Ladybug groaned out loud and turned to glare at him. "What do you want now, Avenger," she said, the last word laced with the venom used to give him his powers. 

Spider-Man shook his head. "Oh, so that's what this is about? You're jealous Tony—Iron Man didn't invite you to the fight as well?" 

Ladybug scoffed while Chat Noir took a seat on the roof edge, legs dangling off as he opted to watch this argument play out. He enjoyed how Ladybug looked when she was mad—especially when it wasn't directed at him. 

"Then what is it? Why won't you accept my help?" The young hero persisted, crossing the distance between them so he was in front of Ladybugs thin frame. The moonlight shone down on her, making her already bright suit look luminous. 

"I don't want it. Simple," she shot back. 

Spider-Man threw his arms in the air, frustrated. "You can't say I'm unequipped anymore, the new suit, I—"

Ladybug raised a dark eyebrow at him. "Present from Iron Man, your new sugar daddy?" 

Chat about nearly choked on his tongue while Spider-Man guffawed at her. "First of all, that's literally illegal—"

"I knew you were a child," she spoke over him, sending a smirk in Chat Noir's direction. 

He raised his hands as to say 'don't involve me', looking down at the blinking lights of his ring. Suddenly, the dinner flashed across his mind and his mind began to race—they were all going to be looking for him, fuck. "I— I gotta go. . ." He said in a panic, rising to his feet. He hadn't given any of them a chance to say anything before using his baton to launch himself across to a neighbouring rooftop.

Chapter Text

TEN | WHAT TIME IS IT?  (SUMMERTIME)

                         FRESHMAN YEAR WAS OFFICIALLY ON THE WIND DOWN. Midtown's campus, once bustling with the nervous energy of new beginnings, now feels like a place of familiar routines and established friendships. The atmosphere throughout the final week of the school year was a feeling Marinette wished she could catch in a jar and stare at whenever she got lonely. Students pertaining to all the various cliques were a lot more friendly to innocent bystanders, far too enraptured in summer vacation plans to mock the inferior. Even Chloe Bourgeois and her ginger accomplice Sabrina Raincomprix had practically (minus a few snarky comments in passing) left the girl alone. Chloe was too busy bragging about month-long cruise across Europe she was going on (God help anyone stuck on the open waters with that girl. Marinette would rather be on the deck of the Titanic than on a boat with Chloe). 

Most—if not all—final assessments had been handed in for the year, like a heavy weight lifted off everyone's worn down shoulders. As a reward, movies played on battered projectors (because for a school that could funnel thousands into the robotics lab, the other classroom supplies hadn't been upgraded in the last century) in classrooms and teachers eased up on having a structure for class (though, Marinette's not sure if they were rewarding themselves or the students with the much needed break). There was of course Marinette's history teacher who insisted they mustn't waste time on beginning the first topic of next year. But other then that downer, the last week of school was great. 

Another joy of the final week was seeing Peter Parker be segregated from the rest of their cohort. Shipped off to the back corner of the classroom, facing the wall as they watched films while he completed tests he'd missed during his spontaneous trip to Germany (serves him right). She'd look back at him, shoulders hunched over the desk as he intently read the exam sheet, a feeling of immense satisfaction that the loudness of High School Musical 3: Senior Year was probably making it harder for him to concentrate—which meant she'd probably score higher than him on his test.

Beside her, as Troy Bolton walked on the roof of his high school hallway, singing his heart out, Alya and Michelle had been discussing the news (as they always did). Marinette tried to tune them out and focus on the film but fragments of their conversation penetrated her concentration on the movie (she's still annoyed they spoke over the Prom song). 

"—yeah, it was a Bourgeois staff member," Michelle had been saying in a low voice, laptop open in front of her on the lowest brightness settings as she scrolled through the various articles. "I'd get Akumatised, too if I had to work for that family."

Marinette's neck snapped in their direction, eyebrows furrowed. Her hair whipped into her face due to the speed at which she turned. "Wait, what? Who got Akumatised?" She coughed, trying to bring her voice back down to a neutral octave. There's no way she heard that right. . . 

Her two friends turned to her, catching the brunette up in the conversation. "Oh, on the weekend apparently some chef that works for Chloe's parents got got Akumatised," Alya explained, her gaze floating over to where the spoilt blonde sat towards the front of the classroom. She and Sabrina were animatedly discussing the various outfits Chloe had bought especially for her trip (Marinette hoped her suitcase fell overboard as soon as it left the dock). The teacher had given up telling the girls to keep it down, accepting that the movie now came with Chloe's fashion commentary in the background. 

Michelle scoffed, tapping her pencil against her cheek thoughtfully. "Surprised it's never happened before, to be honest," she said under her breath, ignoring the glare Alya sent her way. "Working with that family would turn anyone evil," she added defensively, adding some minor detail to her sketch. 

"The chef. . . ?" Marinette repeated, perplexed as she replayed that night at the Bourgeois's in her mind. Sure, the mayor had used his staff as puppets but none of them had been Akumatised. . . ? Unless something had gone down after she'd left—although, the likelihood of that felt so extremely low. She hadn't known it to be possible for an Akuma to be stopped without her powers (there hadn't been an opportunity to try it). 

Alya rolled her eyes playfully, used to her friend being so perpetually out of the loop. She would be surprised if Marinette even knew who was running for president. "Yeah, do you not keep up with the news?" 

Marinette half nodded, still very confused. "But I thought. . . Was the chef named?"

"No, they protected their identity for privacy or whatever," Michelle cut in, looking unimpressed as she remembered the way Alya & Max Kante's faces had been unabashedly plastered over the news. Think piece after think piece, tearing about these children and the motives they must possess to join the dark side (like they had a choice!). 

Marinette remembered that time as well, her face also forming into a deep frown; so, money could get your name hidden from the press? She bit back a sigh. Of course Andre Bourgeois wouldn't own up to falling victim to Hawkmoth's manipulation—imagine how much that would deter voters (ugh). Who wants to vote for a weak minded mayor? Anything to keep his image squeaky-clean, right? How pathetic did a grown man have to be to hide behind an unnamed employee—he'd rather people dig through his staff archives, invading their information to find the rat rather then just standing up and saying 'it was me.' If she could vote, she certainly wouldn't pick him (and not just because he was involved in creating Chloe). 

The pig-tail wearing girl twirled her pen between her fingers, feeling herself grow more and more annoyed as Michelle and Alya's conversation continued on. "—my moneys on Chloe's nanny."

Alya waved off the suggestion, opening a new tab on her computer screen. "Surely she's too old to have a nanny still—?" 

Michelle leant over, reading the newest status updates on her friends 'LadyBlog' (Marinette pointedly looked away, knowing any information on it was going to stress her out). "Girl, I've seen him drop her off lunch before," Michelle replied, making Alya laugh at the thought that Chloe Bourgeois still needs a babysitter. 

In the back of the classroom, hearing having magnified since that fateful spider bite, Peter Parker frowned down at his test paper—just as Marinette had. 

🕷️🐞🐈‍⬛

THE USUALLY PACKED CAFETERIA WAS FAIRLY EMPTY—AS WAS THE NORM ON THE LAST WEEK OF SCHOOL. Many of their peers, coming from wealthy families, had already left for their vacations in tropical destinations. Peter Parker could only dream of being somewhere on a beach right now, catching a tan (that's a lie, he doesn't tan—he just burns to a crisp and suffers for a week) and listening to the soothing waves splash against the hypothetical shore. 

Rows of neatly arranged tables and chairs—that were usually covered in rowdy teenagers and mess—stood in stark symmetry, their emptiness amplifying the soft echo of footsteps on the tiled floor and cutlery against teeth. He'd been sat at the usual long table his friend-group shared with Marinette's friends (he knew the others' names, he swears). Being lowest in the food chain, it was one of the most busted tables in the joint; one overfilled water bottle away from caving in on itself. There was graffiti all over the top surface—crude drawings and profanities scrawled in various coloured markers. Ned, sitting beside him, picked at an already scratched up drawing of a penis while Nino unloaded his summer plans on them with great excitement. 

"—and then after I get back from Ohio, I think we should all try to get summer jobs together," the headphone wearing (yes, he was still trying to make that a trend and yes, it was no closer to catching on) boy explained enthusiastically, grinning at his friends. He reached into the bag of Doritos he'd packed for lunch in preference to eating the—as he called it—lethal cafeteria food. 

"Summer jobs?" Peter echoed, looking up from the defiled table with furrowed eyebrows. He didn't remember agreeing to such an idea (where on earth would that in with his superhero-ing? That basically was his summer job. Plus, what if Tony Stark needed him again? Imagine how embarrassing it'd be if he had to turn down an Avengers level threat because he had a shift instead—he'd never be allowed on the team again). 

Ned sat forward, partially intrigued at the prospect. It would be nice to have his own spending money for once, rather then asking his Mom constantly. "Where did you have in mind?" 

Looking very pleased with himself, Nino pulled out his phone and brandished a photo of a colourful poster. It was clearly taken of a notice board at a dark subway station. "I saw a flyer saying Game-Stop was hiring summer staff—we're so qualified for that," he explained as his friends squinted to read the blurry writing (he couldn't have used to the flash, at least?). His blind optimism and confidence made Peter nearly laugh. 

Adrien raised an eyebrow, running a hand through his golden locks. "Are we. . . ?" He had never so much as worked a cash register in his life, he's not sure how much Game-Stop would appreciate his lack of items on his resume. 

"Duh. We've got a combined Valorant rank of like Radiant," Nino enthused, shoving his phone back in his pocket. "What other qualifications could you possibly need?" A store for nerds run by nerds (they're the nerds in both instances, by the way). "I know every Minecraft recipe—if that also happens to come up in the interview."

Ned scoffed at how blasé his friend was being about this, he highly doubted their Valorant ranks were going to be an interview question. "Do you have like any customer service skills?" He asked, already knowing the answer was a big fat nope. 

"I've babysat my cousins before and I have to talk to my aunt about it—she's a customer," Nino retorted, smirking. Sure, he had made a terrible babysitter and he had gotten locked in the laundry room by an army of evil five-year-olds but his friends didn't need to know that. 

Ned rolled his eyes. "I dare you to say this in a job interview," he snarked, already imagining the train wreck now. 

Nino threw his hands in the air. "At least I have experience!" 

"Hey, I delivered newspapers in the fifth grade—that's way more experience then you," Ned bit back. 

"Child labour does not count," Nino replied, looking to Peter and Adrien for help but both put their hands up, opting to stay out of this debate. Though, they both wore knowing smirks as they watched on. 

"Sure it does!"

Deciding to diffuse the playful fight, Adrien cut in. "I already have a summer job. . . technically," he told them, catching everyone off guard. The blonde had been holding out information. 

It was Ned who asked, "you do?" 

"Yeah, my father emailed me my schedule this morning," Adrien nodded, pulling out his phone (which was a much newer model then all theirs combined). "I'm gonna have no free time between all these gigs," he sighed, scrolling through a brightly colour-coded schedule. Peter could've sworn he caught sight of at least three designer brands. 

Sometimes they forgot that Adrien was also Adrien Agreste. He was not like them. Adrien could retire today and still be better off then they'd ever be. As much as he liked to downplay the lavishes he came from, it was still there humming gently in the background. Often, they just saw him as 'their friend Adrien'—no, he was much, much more then that. Hailing from his families empire, Adrien had risen into a world-famous, top model that was renowned across the fashion industry. At only fifteen years of age, he'd already achieved more success then any of them could ever even dream of (and Peter literally stole Captain America's shield). Adrien was a permanent fixture on the cover of every elite magazine and even a favourite on the runway (at only fifteen, mind you). Despite the glitz and glamour of his career, Adrien remained remarkably grounded, choosing to let his work speak for itself while subtly navigating the world of luxury that came with his success. He seemed to revel in the normalcy of teenage life far more then any of his notorious achievements. 

"Well, I got that Stark Internship all summer. I can't get a job on top of that," the brunette said, boasting just a little bit in case someone cool was listening. "Iron Man might need me." 

Down the other end of the table, he heard a loud scoff and he turned subtly to see Marinette roll her eyes. His lips parted and he suppressed a sigh, feeling embarrassed. He wanted to bury his head in his arms on the table—to hide the way his cheeks began to burn at the fact she'd heard him trying to brag. It felt as though a giant, bright spotlight had just beamed down on him and he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. 

His crisis didn't stop the conversation occurring around him. "Looks like it's just you, me and Game-Stop, Neddy-Boy," Nino called out enthusiastically, throwing an arm around his life-long friends shoulders. He wore a goofy grin and Peter noticed Alya smiling down the long table at him, which made Peter feel even worse.  

"I'm going to have to coach you through the interview if we've got any shot at working together," Ned huffed, pushing his friend off of him with a playful smirk.

🕷️🐞🐈‍⬛

THE LAST AFTERNOON OF FRESHMAN YEAR HAD FINALLY COME. The final bell had rung out, wailing down the halls as a way to signify the three months of freedom had begun. Students clamoured in and out of the halls, shouting goodbyes over their shoulders in a rush to escape incase summer magically disappeared. Well, most students. Those who were prepping for immaculate college applications were resigned to the school for two more hours after the joyous sound, final practices and rehearsals to be had still. 

Mr Harrington, with the Regionals trophy they'd retained at the start of the year beside him, sat at the head of the wooden table in the back of the library. The Marching Band—thanks to summer renovations starting early—had kicked them out of their usual auditorium. The librarian sat at her station, watching them like a hawk (she'd not been happy when they'd shown up, claiming the library was closed for the summer). "Alright, so. . . summer vacation," the bearded teacher began, unenthusiastically. "God, I hate summer vacation, it's so lonely—especially since Tabitha left. At least during the semester—"

All the students exchanged awkward glances around the table. Cutting him off, Liz Allen let out a cough in order to derail his personal story before it got too emotionally scarring. "Erm, Mr Harrington? Nationals?" She offered in a gentle voice. 

"Right. Nationals." Their teacher murmured, nodding to himself in an attempt to compartmentalise the pain from his recent divorce. 

The sniffle he let out after speaking caused Liz to jump in again. Clasping her hands together and smiling out at her teammates, she said. "We've worked so hard all year to get where we are. I'm proud of each and every one of you." Her eye contact with every single person at the table made Marinette know the girl meant every single word she said. 

"We are proud of you," Mr Harrington cut in, pointing between them before wiping his eyes once again. "So proud of you," he wailed, accepting the tissue box Cindy Moon offered him and loudly blowing his nose beside a cringing Liz. 

"Enjoy the break," the dark-haired girl told them with one of the most genuine smiles Marinette had ever seen. That was the thing about Liz Allen; what you saw is what you got. She was like a gentle breeze that passed through, blowing away anything bad in the world while she was around. She was the type of girl that would drop anything and give the shirt off her back to anyone in need. There was an endless stream of optimism that pooled out of the girl—Marinette wished for just a slither of it. If there was a volunteer committee to join on campus, Liz was always the one leading it. In the corner of her eye, Marinette saw the look of adoration Peter Parker sent the soon-to-be seniors way and let out a huff. 

Liz continued with her speech, "you've earned the time off—have fun." She paused, sending a look Flash Thompsons way, "just not too much fun. Try to keep up a little revision over the summer so we can pick right up where we left off." 

There was an orchestra of agreement from various sides of the table as she sat back in her seat. A sudden clearing of a throat made everyone look up. Standing one pace behind them was Adrien Agreste, awkwardly clutching his book bag. "Sorry, I didn't know you guys had moved practice," he muttered awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck in an attempt to hide from all the stares. He counted the chairs, noticing there wasn't a single one spare. 

Clumsily standing up, Mr Harrington waved the blonde over. "Adrien! I forgot to email you, I've been so scrambled since—"

"Wait what're you doing here?" Marinette blurted out before she knew what she was saying. Her entire face flushed bright red as Adrien turned to smile at her—his perfect teeth on full display. Her stomach did an entire Olympic level gymnastics routine. 

The boy opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Mr Harrington. "Adrien here wants to join the team—Nino recommended him," he announced, gesturing to the nerdy boy Adrien spent most of his time with since starting at Midtown. Nino just beamed up at his friend, elated to have finally convinced him to join an in-school extra curricular (apparently it had taken a lot of convincing for his father to agree—the big emphasis on learning was the main argument Adrien had used). 

Marinette tried to remain calm. She'd only just learnt how to act normal around Adrien in their shared classes—the ones where they sat on opposite sides on and didn't talk. The routine at staring at him from afar was solid. Not once had she mentally prepared herself for this type of proximity to the boy. She's not even sure if she'll be able to function properly. How was she supposed to beat Peter Parker with such a huge (and handsome) distraction clouding her mind at every single practice next year? She's not sure she can grow enough self control in three months to not be affected by his presence come Sophomore year.

Betty Brant and Cindy Moon broke out into an argument over who was offering up their chair for the billionaires son (until Ned just dragged one over from another table). The blonde took his place awkwardly between Nino and Flash, who scowled at him (obviously still feeling betrayed by Adrien ditching his friend group). 

Down the table, Peter Parker watched on as Marinette became the embodiment of the heart-eyes emoji. Since he'd made his presence known, the girls gaze hadn't left Adrien's annoyingly perfect face (nor had most of the other girls at the table, actually). Her entire demeanour shifted and Peter had never seen her in such a. . . soft state. Her features looked entirely different to how she presented herself towards him. While the looks she sent the brunette were usually loaded with weapons, the one she sent Adrien was the polar opposite. This version of Marinette was one Peter Parker often wished he knew rather then constantly spectating it on the sidelines, in moments she was blissfully unaware of him. 

Chapter Text

ELEVEN | AND SO IT BEGINS AGAIN

                         GIRLHOOD MEANT SO MANY THINGS TO MANY DIFFERENT PEOPLE ALL AROUND THE WORLD. It was a concept vague enough that everyone just smiled and contemplated on past memories when it was thrown into conversation. What was integral to girlhood in someone else's perspective might not have even happened in someone else's definition. A fragment of the definition that was mutually agreed upon, however, is that girlhood feels like home. It feels like a warm embrace of high-pitched laughter and not worrying about the woes of the world. Girlhood is a thick blanket of nostalgia that we look back on and wish we never left.

Sleepovers in Marinette's childhood bedroom is how she imagined girlhood. Her pink walls—a colour she'd picked out when she could barely walk—acting as a backdrop to the formation of core memories. It's filled with nameless pop music playing in the background, fuzzy pyjamas covering her body and movies her friends would talk over because the actions of the protagonist just didn't make sense. Girlhood is her cheeks aching from not being able to wipe the grin away all night. These were the stories she would tell her future grandchildren when they asked about her youth.

It was the brink of Sophomore year—the beginning of the end of girlhood.

A deep purple coloured binder that had been coated in sequins, diamantés and glitter sat open at the centre of the circle they sat in, sprawled out on Marinette's white shag carpet. A pile of brightly coloured glitter gel pens laid beside it while the trio giggled as they stared down at the task at hand.

Forgotten in the background was Marinette's beat up laptop, where a monologue declaring Edward Cullen a vampire poured out the water-damaged speakers, sounding static (fun fact: dropping computers in deep puddles would cause damage, as much as random people on Quora would try to convince you otherwise). His pained voice made Alya roll her eyes, reaching over Michelle to close the lid so they could focus without interruption. Marinette pouted, complaining that she was watching that.

"Okay," the box-dyed red-head asserted, sitting up straight and inviting her friends to pay attention to what she was saying. "Sophomore year is pivotal in our high school careers—we need to set out strict goals to make it count," she insisted, tossing a colourful gel pen to each girl. Being uncoordinated out of costume, the pen smacked Marinette square across the face.

Michelle couldn't help but scoff at how dramatic Alya was making this out to be. "Strict goals? Do we get decapitated if we fail?" She deadpanned, drawing a squiggle on her knee to make sure the pens actually worked (you could never be sure with cheap stationery).

Alya rolled her eyes at the curly-haired pessimist. "If I say yes, will that motivate you?" She sassed back, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Quite the opposite," Michelle remarked, tapping her pen against her devilish smirk. "But it's the thought that counts, I guess."

"Marinette? What're your goals?" Alya asked as Michelle bent down to write her first task on the glorified to-do-list.

So, the thing is, there was a really obvious goal to Marinette—the only issue was she couldn't say it out loud. (Well, technically she could but it would probably cause a lot of issues). Her friends were not privy to the double-life she lived and with Alya's growing obsession with unmasking her alter ego's identity only doubling in strength over the break. . . today wasn't the day to confess. So, instead of the obvious answer being: defeat Hawkmoth (for good), she said, "win at Nationals, duh," instead.

"Write that down," Alya urged Michelle who, being a bit of an artist, had the neatest handwriting of the group. "But. . . you don't have any solo goals?" Alya pried, studying her friend intently.

"Um. . ." Again, she couldn't exactly disclose her solo goal. "Beat out Peter Parker for top marks?" She settled on, knowing her friends had been waiting for this to come up at some point because hey, she wasn't lying—this was most certainly her second most important goal. Flashes of her future—clad in cap and gown as they announced her as the classes valedictorian while Peter Parker ran off the stage in a mess of tears and snot (a girl could only dream).

That answer seemed to satisfy Alya's thirst for blood as she ordered Michelle to write that one down, too. "Well, one of my goals is to completely transform the school news from second-hand embarrassment to something people want to tune into every morning," she told them, not once faltering in self confidence (she'd revealed earlier in the night that she'd watched a lot of TED Talks about manifestation on her flight back from her grandparents ranch).

"So, Betty got back to you about joining?" Marinette asked, laying on her stomach and resting her head in her palms. She remembered texting Alya about this topic a few weeks back.

"Yep and she liked my segment idea: Super-Watch," the girl boasted, looking over Michelle's shoulder intently as she wrote out the goals in swirly glittery handwriting.

Titling her head to the side, Marinette raised a questioning thin eyebrow as she twisted her fingers through her loose pigtails. She stared across the circle at Alya. "What's that gonna be about?"

She should've been able to predict the answer, in hindsight. "Super hero sightings, duh," Alya scoffed, pulling out her phone and holding the camera up to pose for a photo with a flirtatious looking pout.

Michelle snorted, taking her attention of the page long enough to send a knowing look her friends way. "Is Nino off work now?"

"Yeah. . ." She replied, the implications of her friends words flying over her head at first before she looked up with a frown. "We're just friends." Alya sent a playful kick her friends way, almost causing the girl to accidentally draw a line across the whole page.

Marinette sighed, rolling onto her back. "I wish Adrien and I were friends," she huffed, staring up at the beams that held her ceiling together. Her room was once the attic but with a lot of work (and a lot of love), her parents had transformed it into a pretty loft. She even had a small balcony that overlooked the city. Oftentimes after patrol she'd sit there and just watch the twinkling lights of traffic in the distance, decompressing from whatever stressful situation she'd just been in.

"Add it to the list," Alya muttered.

Alarmed, the girl rolled back over. "No, no, no—! That's not necessary— You'll jinx it—!" She squealed, trying to knock the pen out of Michelle's hands.

"Positive affirmations, Mari," Alya cut in, waving a disapproving finger at her. "If you're feeling extra lucky, we could write go to Homecoming with Adrien."

Marinette nearly choked on her own tongue at the deranged thought. Soon enough her mind was flooding with the mental images of Adrien Agreste clad in a fancy, perfectly tailored suit for her. She imagined him walking up to her front door, holding out a corsage for her and smiling elegantly for the millions of photos her Mom would insist on taking. Suddenly the pressure of his hands could be felt against her waist as they slow danced to that one song from the movies. . . God, her skin had started to feel like it was melting—

She'd been so enraptured in her daydream that she'd not even noticed the conversation had transitioned away from Adrien. "—and are you gonna join any other extra-curricular's. . . ?"

Marinette had to do a double take to realise the question had been directed at her. "Um. . . I'm not sure yet," she admitted, blinking away her fantasies as reality came flooding back.

In a perfect world Marinette Dupain-Cheng would've dedicated herself to every single extra-curricular possible—as many as possible to make her college transcript stand out. Her timetable would've been Hermione Granger in The Prisoner of Azkaban level deranged. Instead, her fingers rested on her enchanted earrings and she let out a quiet sigh. As long as there was crime to fight, she couldn't spread herself too thinly.

🐞🕷️🐈‍⬛

                         FOR MOST AVERAGE COMMUTERS, THE JOURNEY ON THE SUBWAY WAS TRANQUIL TIME OF RELAXATION BEFORE THE DAY UNLOADED ON THEM. In the cramped metal box, people filled every empty space with various pastimes. There was always the odd businessman, who had a laptop balancing on his lap as he expertly polished off a presentation he was due to give that morning. In the darker corners hid teenagers from lower socioeconomic schools—giggling amongst themselves as they passed around a new flavour of Juul. Mothers stood by the exits as they clutched their rowdy children who tried their hardest to break free.

New York, New York; the city that didn't sleep—the only place on Earth where it was unusual for there to not be a passed-out homeless person stinking up the carriage. Everyone here had somewhere else they were supposed to be, there wasn't time to "love thy neighbour" (or in this examples case—check they're still breathing, at the very least).

Peter Parker, clad in a cheap zip-up hoodie he'd inherited as a hand-me-down from his now deceased uncle, stood amongst the chaos. His headphones—the cheap off-brand variety—were turned right up and he stared intently down at his phone screen, scrolling through the messages that never seemed to garner a response. He huffed at the little tick beside them that indicated they'd definitely been sent. . . Just, no one had bothered to even open them (yet).

The loud-speaker announcing his stop managed to bleed over the music filling his ear drums, making the boy stuff his battered device in his back pocket. He adjusted the straps of his corduroy backpack as he stepped onto the platform, sighing as the morning sun beamed down on him. In the horizon stood Midtown Science and Technology—unchanged from how he'd left it at the end of Freshman year. Once again the school building was buzzing with life; its students, new and old, pouring out of every orifice.

With a spring in his step that was most likely going to disappear by second period, he bounded down the dilapidated footpath. He passes the sports field, observing that the football team had wasted absolutely no time in picking things back up (not that Midtown ever went far in any of the competitions, this was a science school after all—the football team had a high ratio of scrawny nerds playing in pivotal positions because numbers were so low).

To be fair, he should have looked both ways before he tried to dart across the drop-off bay. The shock of a loud horn and tyres screeching made him knock one of his headphones loose and he looked up at none other than Flash Thompson. His summer had been so peaceful without having to listen to his obnoxious voice.

Perched in front of the fancy leather steering wheel of an expensive looking convertible, Flash grinned at him through the windscreen. His patronising smirk had not become any less punchable over the break, unfortunately. "What's up, Penis Parker?"

"Twenty bucks if you actually hit him," came a voice Peter had missed even less: Harry Osborn. From the passenger seat of the shiny car, the rich man's son pointed his middle finger in Peter's direction and he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the crude gesture—seriously?

Looking away for a second—wearing an indignant look, Flash says, "no way, this cars way too expensive to wreck over someone like him."

From the backseat, Chloe Bourgeois groaned in annoyance. The blonde girl was sporting a very dark spray-tan to go with her brand new (and just as bleached) hair extensions. "He's that scrawny, there won't even be a dent—" Okay, so it wasn't entirely good to be back. Some things weren't ever going to change.

Shaking his head, Peter scurried off of the road and pushed open the school doors as he shoved his headphones into his back pocket. The weathered doors groaned under the force he put on them as he stepped through. A wave of shrill voices excited to see their friends and body odour hit him like a truck as he took in the busy hallway. His heightened senses made everything sharper—the slam of a locker door, the smell of a banana rotting at the bottom of someone's book bag.

Overheard, a TV hung on the wall. Peter watched intently as the school news broadcast began—although the production was usually terrible, Peter always found it entertaining to watch.

"Rise and shine, Midtown Science and Technology," blonde haired Betty Brant sat up straight beside her co-star, her colourless hair a perfect contrast against their blue set. She shuffled her notes nervously before saying her line. Her eyes squinted, sending an annoyed look at whoever stood behind the camera as they continued to adjust the angle profusely.

Beside her sat curly haired Jason Ionello, looking bored. "Students, don't forget about your Homecoming tickets. . . Do you have a dare for Homecoming?" He peered at Betty in the corner of his eye, awaiting her response nervously.

"Thanks. Jason but I already have a date," she mumbled, letting out an awkward cough.

"Okay," Jason muttered as the camera zoomed in on his crestfallen face.

"Yeah. . ." Betty stared awkwardly ahead, trying to get the attention of whoever was operating the camera.

Peter heard a faint 'oh' before the screen changed—with one of the stock PowerPoint transitions. Alya Cessaire was now on the screen, smiling awkwardly as she waited for her cue to start talking. "Thanks Betty and Jason," she said in a robotic voice. The ginger was standing in front of a green screen and Peter's jaw went slack when he realised her shirt was the exact same shade. "Now its time for your daily dose of Super-Watch," she enthused, waving her hands as the background changed into a low resolution image of Ladybug (which clipped with her top). "Here are your latest Ladybug sightings—"

"Damn it. You, in my office right now." Peter's attention was ripped away as he turned to see Principal Morita directing Max Kante towards his office. The dark-skinned boy had been pulled up for flying his blue robot, Markov indoors.

Shaking his head in bemusement, the teen made a beeline for his locker—still in the same hall as last year. As he bent inside, placing his new binders inside, he felt light pressure on his shoulder.

His best friend—since as long as he could remember—Ned Leeds, sporting a fresh hair cut, balanced a Lego Mini-figure on his friends shoulder as he imitated Emperor Palpatine. "Join me, and together. . .  We'll build my new Lego Death Star. . ."

"What—?" Peter spun around to stare at his friend, excited that the set had finally come.

Nino Lahiffe, who had been standing beside Ned, threw an excited arm around his friend. (Yes, he was still trying to make bulky headphones around the neck a fashion trend.) "Yeah, it came in the mail today! I saw the box, it's huge."

"No way, that's awesome. How many pieces?" Peter enthused, ignoring the judgemental stares of the cheerleaders a few lockers down. They were irrelevant when their friend group had been counting down this delivery for months.

"Three thousand, eight hundred and three," Ned said proudly, holding his chin up high. All the over-time shifts he'd taken on in order to afford it had finally felt worth it.

"That's insane," Adrien Agreste marvelled, also sporting a fresh back-to-school haircut. Unlike Ned and Nino, who Peter had visited at work sporadically all summer, Peter hadn't seen much of Adrien since the last school year had let out. Sure, his face had adorned magazines and billboards across the city but Adrien had been shackled to a busy schedule that took him across oceans all summer. (He'd barely even had time to play online video games with them!)

"We're all still on to build it tomorrow night, right?" Ned asked the group, looking around at his friends.

Nino sighed, leaning against one of the closed lockers. "Man, I wish. I'm working every single night this week—they're making me pick up your slack," he grumbled, alluding to Ned's sudden. . . Departure from their shared job during the final week of summer vacation (it had been a big topic of contention in the groupchat).

Pouting, Ned looked to his blonde friend. "Ugh. Adrien?"

"I have piano and Mandarin Tuesday nights, sorry," he informed Ned, scratching the back of his neck. It was the first day back and Adrien already felt like a neglectful friend.

"Peter, you're unemployed," the Filipino boy huffed, sending a hopeful look his way.

Closing his locker, Peter offered his friend a regretful look. "I've got the Stark—"

Rolling his eyes, Ned finished of his sentence for him—it had been the same excuse all summer. "Mm-hmm. Stark Internship. Always got that internship."

"Yeah, well. . . Hopefully soon it'll lead to a real job with them," Peter explained as they began traversing down the busy hallway, dodging lost Freshman (thankful that wasn't them anymore).

Nino sighed wistfully at the thought of his best friend being co-workers with some of the people that they studied in their various science classes. "That would be so sweet. We'd all have cool jobs. . . Well, except for Ned but we'll find you something, buddy," he joked, knocking elbow into Ned's ribs.

"I took the fall for your screw up—!" Ned huffed, throwing his hands in the air.

"You can't prove that—!" Nino retorted.

Peter and Adrien exchanged looks, glad some things never changed. While Nino and Ned loved to bicker, it was all love (mostly). They both had big personalities and sometimes they'd clash but Peter hadn't known them to stay annoyed at each other for longer than half a day.

"Anyways, Peter. I'll knock out the basic bones of the Death Star at my place. And then I'll come by afterwards. . ." The sound of Ned's voice faded away as Peter's attention turned elsewhere—more specifically towards the girl rounding into the hallway, with her two friends flanking her.

If this were a movie, doves and fireworks would be exploding behind her as she walked (for dramatic effect).

Over the warmer three months, Peter Parker had become a frequent visitor of Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie. It'd started off with Aunt May mentioning she craved baked goods and sending him off to retrieve her phone order from the store. He'd honestly forgotten it was her family's business until he'd bounded through the front door and seen her working the till.

And thus started a weekly routine of Peter Parker trying to catch glimpses of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Even on days when May wasn't even feeling like baked goods, he'd still stop by in hopes that she'd be there. Sometimes she would be at the counter like the first time and other times he'd look past her dad to see the girl sat at the back. She'd normally be sat behind a pastel pink sewing machine, eyebrows furrowed as she tried to align her stitches perfectly. He oftentimes had the urge to call out and ask her what she was making. But he didn't, obviously. He just liked to admire the way her face was etched with deep concentration.

Yes, if it wasn't already painfully apparent, Peter Parker had developed the slightest of crushes on Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It hadn't been intentional (that's for sure). In fact, he wasn't exactly sure how it had happened—especially when she didn't once acknowledge him after the first visit to the store.

Maybe it had been her finally accepting his follow request on Instagram (he'd only had to resend it about six times—there was some glitch that kept cancelling it). He had caught himself staring at her selfies an ungodly amount of times before he'd even realised how he felt. At first he'd blamed it on her just being a good photographer, he liked the angles and poses she experimented with.

But then he found himself thinking about her during the quiet moments on his patrol and that's when he knew he was done for.

(Only Peter Parker would develop a crush on a girl that, for all intents and purposes, couldn't stand him.)

He watched as her pupils widened when she looked up, her gaze going right through him and landing on the blonde boy beside him. There was a violent gurgle in his stomach as he watched the girl trip over her own feet, almost landing face-first on the tiled floor if it wasn't for Alya steadying her. Even from where he stood, he could hear her awkward laugh echo against the walls. 

He sighed. "Yeah. . . That'd be great, Ned," Peter mumbled, not knowing what he'd even agreed to. He didn't get a second to ponder on it before the school bell rang out overhead.

Chapter Text

TWELVE | ACADEMIC WEAPON OR VICTIM

                         AS MUCH AS EVERYONE WOULD COMPLAIN ABOUT SCHOOL BEING BACK IN, THERE WERE SOME POSITIVES TO BE KNOWN. Stepping back into the cosy, familiar realm of school, where the scent of chalk and the hum of fluorescent lights create a symphony of structure and possibility. Marinette Dupain-Cheng led a life built upon a mountain of chaos and uncertainty (and not just because she was a teenage superhero). Having the safety blanket that was a rigid weekly timetable seemed to soften the noise and reign her in a little. Here, amidst the comfort of routine and the thrill of new challenges, the world outside seems to pause, allowing the luxury of discovery to unfold in the most delightful of ways.

As much as students oftentimes complained about being stuck in the confines of school—someday these moments they took for granted would be nothing more than distant memories they could hardly recall clearly. Each classroom, with its neatly lined desks and bulletin boards brimming with colourful maps and motivational quotes, where every lesson and project added a new chapter to the adventure that was life. The rhythmic clatter of lockers opening and closing is like a cheerful metronome, keeping time in this orderly ballet of learning, while the gentle buzz of anticipation in the hallways wraps around you like a warm, reassuring hug. In two years it would all be gone—replaced with dorm rooms, cold lecture halls and strangers that would never know her story the way the peers that had been with her since elementary school did.

Marinette tried not to think too hard about the uncertainty of her future—the tsunami of questions and hopes would send her down a spiral that'd ruin her entire week. And so, she turned her attention back to her lesson before she could even get the lid off that jar of worms.

In the sanctuary of the back row sat Marinette and Michelle Jones as their physics teacher wrote out exemplar questions on the battered whiteboard (new school year, same busted equipment). Natural light poured into the classroom, illuminating the classroom in a much more comfortable way then the fluorescent overhead lights in her other classes had. Acting like a backing track to their teachers' spiel, the old and over-worked air-conditioning unit whined to be put out of its misery. Marinette's brand new notebook sat open in front of her—already filled with three pages worth of messily written notes.

"—okay, so how do we calculate linear acceleration between points A and B?" Mrs Warren, a curly haired older woman looked around her classroom at the sea of teenagers that bore looks that screamed they'd rather be anywhere else but here. From the front row—popped collar and all—shot up a copper arm with an urgency that one would think he was busting for the toilet. "Flash?"

Looking pleased with himself, he consulted his notes before confidently saying that, "it's the product of sine of the angle and gravity divided by the mass." His smug smile was soon washed from his face.

"Nope," Mrs Warren cut in, shaking her curly head and Marinette saw the boy's shoulders sag in indignation before his head snapped back down to glare at his textbook—as if that would somehow make his answer less wrong.

With the chance to get the glory of saying the correct answer, Marinette started scribbling numbers messily in her notebook. Unlike Alya, she didn't care if she had pretty notebooks to look back on at the end of the year—all that mattered was she answered the most right answers. The solution was on the tip of her tongue as an array of hands shot into the air—all yielding the incorrect answer, she hoped. She could feel it coming to her any moment now—

Sat dead in the middle of the fourth row was Peter Parker, laptop half-open in front of him as he rested his head on the cool mahogany desk. Marinette could recognise the bright red YouTube logo anywhere on his taped together screen—he was watching Spider-Man highlight reels in class? Maybe he wasn't going to be much competition this year, after all. . .

"Peter? You still with us?" Mrs Warren queried, stopping in front of his desk as he closed the computer lid and sat up to take in the writing on the board.

He hesitated in his answer and Marinette took this as him not knowing. The triumphant feeling of victory overcame her prematurely and she dropped her pen for a second—just to watch him blunder before all of their eyes. ". . . yeah, uh. . . Mass cancels out. So, it's just gravity times sine," he said after a moment.

A smile spread across their teacher's weathered face before she stalked back to the whiteboard and uncapped her squeaky pen. "Right. See, Flash, being the fastest isn't always the best if you are wrong," the elder woman remarked as she wrote up the answer Peter had just given. There was a mass scratch of pens and pencils as everyone else followed suit.

"You're dead," Flash mouthed, turning his greasy head around to shoot a glare in Peter's direction. The boy didn't seem to react, very desensitised to his life being threatened.

"Ugh, I was just about to answer that," Marinette huffed, pushing her textbook away and crossing her arms like an upset toddler. The motivation that had possessed her just moments ago had vanished.

Michelle scoffed, not taking her eyes from the whiteboard as she copied down the next question they'd been given. "You were still doing the calculations in your book. . . ?" She pointed out dryly.

Marinette rolled her eyes. "So? I was like one second off the answer. Stupid Peter Parker," she grumbled, her eyes fixed on the back of his brunette head. It simply wasn't fair that no matter how much work she seemed to put in, she couldn't get any sort of edge over him—he was always three steps ahead with all the right answers. It poisoned her mind with bright green envy.

"Can't believe I've got another school year of listening to this," Michelle muttered, earning a light shove from her best friend.

The rest of her classes until lunch seemed to follow the exact same template (and it was driving Marinette insane). Peter would appear at his desk with a vacant expression, seeming as though he was transported to some other planet. Only for whatever teacher to call on him and for the boy to miraculously whip up the correct answer out of thin air. She was beginning to think Tony Stark—and that stupid internship—had implanted some sort of chip in his head to transport correct answers to him (except Peter had always been a prodigy, even when they were kids).

By the time the bell rang—freeing her from 'The Peter Parker Show' for an hour—she'd developed a slight twitch in her left eye.

The twitch didn't go away—especially when she saw Ned Leeds, Peter Parker and Nino Lahiffe already seated at their end of their shared table. Great, her eyes were going to be assaulted by his presence all lunchtime as well. There were about four seats between where the boys sat and where the girls sat—being so far down the social food chain, no one ever tried to occupy the empty space at their table.

Before she could stew on her annoyance for too long, a god amongst the mere mortals walked over to the table and squeezed in next to Nino. With tendrils of golden hair weaved by Jesus Christ himself, Adrien Agreste greeted his friends with his usual charismatic smile. Resting her head on her knuckles, she let out a happy sigh and admired him while her friends debated politics that—no matter how hard she tried to understand—just flew right over her head. Staring at Adrien was much less stressful then trying to add anything insightful to their debates.

She just simply stayed put, taking in the way the corners of Adriens emerald green eyes creased whenever he expelled a laugh over something someone had said. Oh, what she would give to make him laugh like that.

Marinette, not paying her much attention, saw Liz Allen—looking rejuvenated from summer vacation—approach their table with a clipboard pressed against her chest. "Hey girls, just wondering if any of you guys were interested in joining the Homecoming committee? It's worth extra credit and Principal Morita said he wanted more sophomores to be a part of the committee," she explained, sending hopeful smiles to each of them.

"When are the meetings?" Alya asked, leaning forward.

"Most afternoons and some mornings—depending what this semester's Decathlon practice schedule looks like," Liz told her, pressing her lips together as she waited for one of them to hopefully accept the invite.

A hypothetical lightbulb seemed to illuminate above Alya's head before she said, "Marinette was saying last night she needs some more extracurriculars, right?"

Attention still strictly on Adrien's arms, Marinette didn't even spare a second glance at her friend—not wanting to miss a second of him. "Hmmm. . . ? Sure. . ."

"Awesome! I'll email you all the details after school—keep a lookout," Liz beamed, clapping her hands together before writing Marinette's name down. Blinking slowly, Marinette watched her stalk over to the next table and repeat her spiel.

"Okay—wait, what just happened?" The pig-tail wearing girl frowned, finally looking away from her gorgeous crush to send an accusatory glare her friends way.

"You just joined the Homecoming committee," Michelle deadpanned, licking her finger before loudly turning the page in her book.

Marinette guffawed at her friend, unable to produce a complete sentence as she absorbed the information. "Alya—! I don't. . . Where am I going to have the time to do that on top of. . ." She trailed off, knowing the tail end of that sentence could've revealed some very dangerous information.

"Hey, you get to choose the theme. Betty told me last year's theme was jungle—you can save this year's one from being tragic," Alya shrugged, unpeeling her banana as Marinette continued to glare at her.

"I wish you'd been here to see the horrifying animal print suits all the football players wore," Michelle told Alya with a smirk and Marinette cringed at the solid month her Instagram feed was plagued with photos from that night.

The memory had Marinette thinking about how little time Alya had been in her life and yet, how important she'd become. She could hardly even remember what school was like without the girl.

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                         MIDTOWN SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY WAS ONE OF THE LEADING SCHOOLS IN THE COUNTRY FOR BREEDING THE NEXT GENERATION OF TONY STARKS AND BRUCE BANNERS. Sports and arts weren't what earned someone praised at this school; no, good grades and exceptional academic achievements did. The alumni tab on the schools Wikipedia page was extensive—from world renowned scientists to society-altering inventors, geniuses had walked these halls and sat at the same desks they did. Greatness wasn't just encouraged, it was expected. The underachievers weren't coddled here, they were social pariahs.

Being future national scholastic decathlon champions—again, with Alya and her manifestation obsession—the team felt immense pressure every time they met for practice. Nationals were right around the corner and they had no room to still be making blatant mistakes. They had to bring that trophy home—there wouldn't be another chance until senior year.

Inside the quaint auditorium, a mock round of competition was being held. Ned, Marinette, Nino and Abraham were all sat behind the black table with bells at the ready. Their captain, Liz, stood tall at her podium holding a stack of colourful cue cards.

"Let's move to the next question. What is the heaviest naturally-occurring element?" She asked, looking up as the words left her plump lips.

Prematurely, Nino slammed his hand against his bell and blurted out that, "hydrogen is the lightest—that's not the question, okay. . ." His cheeks burned as he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. From the floor, Alya gave him a supportive smile that made him feel a bit better.

Marinette flipped through her textbook aggressively, the answer escaping her at the moment. She knew this, she knew this—

"Uranium!" Abraham called, dinging his bell triumphantly.

Liz beamed at the boy. "That's correct. Thank you, Abraham."

The dark-skinned boy quietly pumped his fist in the air, sending a smug look Marinette's way. Everyone knew how competitive she was. Huffing, Marinette sat back in her seat as she waited for the next question.

"Please open your books to page ten," Liz instructed and there was a loud rustle of pages as everyone searched for the right page.

A few feet away from the commotion, Peter sat at a table with their coach Mr Harrington who wore a sorrowful expression at what the boy was saying to him. "Peter, its nationals. Is there no way you could take one weekend off?"

Everyone on the team's interest peaked at the conversation and an army of prying eyes turned to stare. Visibly uncomfortable with everyone staring, Peter tells Mr Harrington that, "I can't go to Washington because if Mr Stark needs me, then I have to be here," he said in that voice that drove Marinette insane (seriously, he should take a vow of silence for her mental well-being).

From the far back of the auditorium with his feet propped up on a desk, Flash scoffed at the pathetic excuse Peter was giving. "You've never even been in the same room as Tony Stark," he drawled, peering over his textbook smugly. Marionette hated to agree with the spoilt boy but there was no way his security team let a lowly intern like Peter in the same room as Tony Stark.

Cindy Moon, with brows furrowed, sat up straighter from her spot on the floor. "Wait, what's happening?" Alarm was plastered across her features.

"Peter's not going to Washington," Alya, from another corner of the floor with a laptop balancing on her crossed legs, replied with a grimace. While she didn't carry the burning hatred Marinette did for the boy, he was sure testing her patience by pulling something like this.

Nino, wringing his hands together in confusion, studied Peter from where he was sat on the stage. "Wait, you never mentioned this. . . ?"

Liz, tossing her hair over her shoulder and planting a hand on the groove of her hip, turned to send a frustrated look Peter's way. "Really? Right before nationals?"

"According to Marinette, he already quit the marching band and robotics lab," Michelle remarked, leaning against a wall looking bored with a book open on her lap.

At that comment, Peter sat up a bit straighter and cast a sideways glance at Marinette. The girl's face had gone a light shade of pink as everyone turned to stare at her. Marinette threw her arms in the air, glaring at Michelle. "What? It's public knowledge," she insisted when Abraham made a snide comment under his breath.

Liz heaved a loud sigh. "Well, Flash, guess you're in for Peter."

Flash pretends to think this over thoroughly. "Ooh, I don't know. I gotta check my calendar first. I got a hot date with Black Widow coming up."

Marinette rolls her eyes as Abraham dings his bell for the hundredth time. "That is false. No woman will ever love you."

There's an orchestra of sniggers as Flash looks to Mr Harrington for back-up. The middle-aged man sighs before warning Abraham, "what did I tell you about using the bell for comedic purposes?"

Marinette tunes out the rest of the conversation, her eyes still trained on Peter and his shocking revelation. If he wasn't going to be on the team anymore, who was she to compete against? She always performed her best when she was pitted against the boy. That's not to say she didn't exceed without him as motivation. . . It just wasn't nearly as satisfying

🕷️🐞🐈‍⬛

                         BEING THE WATCHER OVER NEW YORK DEFINITELY TOOK IT OUT OF HER.Marinette sat on her small patio clad in pink plaid pyjama bottoms and a white cami top. The insane levels of pollution and carbon emissions kept the New York air warm at night—even in late September. The breeze flowed through her dark hair, sending it in all sorts of directions. Her eyes were fixated on the city skyline; the blinking traffic lights and pointy buildings—she was convinced she could sit in this spot forever if the world allowed her to.

Just as she felt the adrenaline from stopping a shooting merely forty minutes ago begin to leave her system and be replaced by a tranquil tiredness, she heard a familiar thwip. Her head shot to the left and saw him—how could she not? His costume was a nauseatingly bright blue and red. Any peace she had felt seconds ago was gone, replaced with annoyance.

Spider-Man was perched on a ledge on top of the building adjacent from hers, scanning the street below. Before she could even attempt to run away to the safe confines of her room, he spotted her.

Seconds later he was landing in front of her. "Howdy, Miss. . . What brings you to the roof at this hour?" He asked, trying to make his voice deeper than it sounded when she was in her own brightly coloured costume.

Her eyebrows shot up. "I live here?"

"Oh, right. Duh." He let out an awkward cough, leaning against the brick wall to make himself seem more casual and laid back.

While Marinette was waging a mental battle fueled by annoyance, Peter was having one of his own—his being led by anxiety. In the confines of their school walls, they didn't talk much (mostly because she didn't really seem to like him very much but he was choosing to ignore that fact). He's not sure if she realised it but she was an intimidating person to talk to—even behind a mask and a superhero person, he was still afraid of embarrassing himself in front of her or saying something stupid.

Breaking the moment of silence, she asked, "why're you still out on patrol? It's a school night."

He shrugged casually. "I have a free period for the first period, so—I, uh mean. . ." He was grateful she couldn't see his face and how red it had gone the second he caught himself. Clearing his throat and making his voice deeper once again he asked, "why should I care if it's a school night?"

Marinette let out a sarcastic laugh. "It's a wonder you've not accidentally told someone your identity by accident already."

Again, he was glad she couldn't see his face right now. "What can I say? Being mysterious just comes naturally to me," he said, flexing his biceps and looking at her in the corner of his eye to see if she was impressed.

She wasn't. "Not sure that's how I'd describe you."

He coughed again, trying to mask his awkwardness as he looked around for something else to talk about—he wanted so desperately to keep talking to her. His eyes landed on the big sign on the other side of the roof. "So. . . what's a Spidey gotta do to get one of the world famous vanilla slices?"

"It's almost midnight. . . ? We've been closed for six hours," she deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah but I'm Spider-Man," he replied as if that changed anything.

Her eyebrows went far up her forehead. "Is that supposed to impress me?"

"Um, yes?"

"You're no Ladybug," she muttered, standing up from where she'd been sitting. She was tired of this conversation (and tired in general, if she was being honest).

Panicked, knowing he was losing her interest in talking, he said, "hey, I'll have you know that Ladybug is actually kinda mean."

"Maybe you're just annoying," she grunted, looking him up and down (and he suddenly felt very insecure at how compact this suit made certain parts of his body appear).

"You're feisty," he joked, trying to remember how he'd seen movie characters flirt.

She yawned. "I'm tired."

"Oh—! Goodnight, Mar. . . Miss," he stuttered, watching as she walked over to the open double doors. He couldn't help but marvel at the glimpse into her bedroom he was getting; pink walls coated in posters (he could've sworn he spotted Adrien on one of them) and a mannequin covered in pin-ridden fabric.

"Yeah, thanks," she grunted, turning to close the doors.

"I'll come back for the slice during opening hours!" He called out, smiling before realising she couldn't even see it under his mask.

"I won't hold my breath," she muttered quietly before pulling the doors closed behind her.

Chapter Text

THIRTEEN | THE KNOCK OFF AVENGERS

                         MARINETTE OFTEN WONDERED IF THE UNIVERSE WAS OUT TO GET HER.It constantly dangled the idea of being a normal girl with a normal life in her face before tossing it into an inferno. Her daily life was a bingo sheet of unfortunate events being selected by a displeased caller. She could imagine whatever deity that ruled over them watching her from above and laughing as she blundered her way through life.

And look, she was used to being late at this point—everyone around her was used to it, even. That didn't make it any less embarrassing when it constantly happened but she digresses.

Her two left feet could only carry her so fast across the stained floors of Midtown Science and Technology. She slipped and slided round every sharp corner, dodging her fellow students as best she could. The girl's cheeks were flushed with deep pink blotches of stress which only darkened every time she'd caught sight of an overhead clock reminding her how late she was. Marinette could feel that some of her hair had fallen free from their pigtail prison, becoming embedded in sweat across the sides of her face. Way to really sell the flustered look—maybe the committee would take pity on her when they saw her. . . ? (She could only hope for pity over annoyance.)

She would like the record to state that it wasn't her fault she was late, it was her overly chatty Geography teacher's fault. If she hadn't gone on a massive tirade about her upcoming wedding plans instead of known Wakandan history, her class would've been dismissed on time. (Like, seriously. When will teachers learn that students only pretend to be interested in their personal lives so they can waste time and not do schoolwork? This lady fell for the bait every single time.)

The door was in sight and she heaved a few loud pants before throwing it open. "I'm here—!" She gurgled, doubling over herself and pretending she couldn't feel all the eyes staring daggers into her soul (if she didn't look at them then did they even really exist?). Her throat was burning and her lungs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds.

"Wow, you actually showed up," red-haired Sabrina Raincomprix remarked from her spot at the end of the table. Marinette's head shot up long enough to make sure Chloe wasn't here, too (the blonde never travelled far without her minion so it was better to be safe then sorry). Sometimes Marinette wonders if the mayor's daughter had Sabrina on some sort of payroll; their dynamic was far too unhealthy for the girl to willingly stay being her friend.

Marinette just offered her a vengeful smile. "Class ran late," she explained before remembering Sabrina literally sat in front of her in Geography. Hell, her and Chloe had been the ones to ask their teacher if she'd picked out a dress yet. The girl couldn't hide her frown as she tried to calculate how the fuck the ginger had basically teleported to the meeting.

She could tell Sabrina was cooking up some bitchy quip about the fact but Liz cut her off. The senior looked up with an understanding smile. "Hey Mari, just take a seat anywhere," Liz said absently before looking back down at her binder. "Okay, so, as I was saying about the ticket prices. . ."

Eagerly wanting to melt into the background, Marinette threw herself into the nearest available seat (that was also as far away from Sabrina as possible). She rested her head in her arms on the table and the idea to take a nap crossed her mind once or twice (she'd not been able to sleep well after talking to Spider-Man, he'd been plaguing her thoughts and it was pissing her off). However, a small voice from her left stopped her eyes from fluttering shut just yet.

"Hey," he said and Marinette rolled her head to look up at the boy she'd plopped down beside.

He was older than her by a year, maybe two and wore a very sincere smile as he studied her. His hair was jet black like hers but with blue deep streaks that looked luminescent beneath the overhead light when he moved around. He looked as though he'd crawled straight out of a Tumblr fan-blog with his lip ring and pale skin. It took her a moment to recognise who he was but he had the same pair of bright almond shaped eyes as his sister, Juleka (and the same eyeliner, come to think of it).

Luka Couffaine. He was the grade above her and they'd only ever spoken in passing the few times she'd gone over to study with Juleka. She'd often heard guitars flooding from his room until his purple-haired sister would bang on his door and tell him to shut up. The older boy had always been around—just not really on her radar. Looking at him now, she wondered if an alternative style ran in their family.

"Hi," she whispered back, smiling sweetly at the boy. It wasn't often that boys in older grades even looked at her (unless she was biting the curb—in that case they just pointed and laughed).

"Didn't peg you as a Homecoming committee type," he admitted, eyeing the Advanced Astrophysics textbook peeking out of her school bag. (It wasn't a textbook correlating to any of her classes, she just wanted to do some recreational reading when she had the free time.)

The girl's eyebrows shot up and the words were falling from her mouth before she could even think. "I mean, I could say the same thing about you," she guffawed, nodding at his leather jacket and painted nails—black, obviously.

He shrugged. "Needed more things for my college transcript. You?"

"My friend volunteered me," she huffed, not even wanting to think about her college transcript because that would spiral her into thinking about Peter Parker. And having Spider-Man on the brain was painful enough, she didn't need both her enemies clogging up the space. . .

"Ah, classic," he chuckled lightly, still not breaking eye contact.

"Can you guys shut up, I can't hear Liz," someone on the other side of Luka hissed.

The two shared a look; a silent laugh shared between them before blubbering out halfhearted apologies. She should've expected there to be some passionate people in this meeting—most of them actually wanted to be there, after all. Not everyone had college transcripts to overstuff or Alya's to force their hand.

"—and Chloe told to me to ask if—"

"Sabrina. If Chloe wants any input, she should've joined the committee herself," Liz reminded the girl, sounding exhausted and knowing this was going to be a recurring conversation.

Sabrina pushed her round glasses up the bridge of her nose before replying. "She would but she's got modelling practice after school and then—"

"Anyways," Liz spoke over her with an eye roll, less interested than Marinette on the happenings of Chloe Bourgeois. "I think we should move on to brainstorming some themes. Any ideas?" She sent an expectant look everyone's way and it was met with a chorus of cliche, overdone ideas.

Marinette decided to go back to tuning it out (besides, any input she'd have probably would get disregarded anyways—she was only a Sophomore). She studied the other members of the committee closely; from Betty Brant to Felicia Hardy, everyone had some sort of reason to be here. Everyone had looks of deep concentration as they pondered every idea thrown out. She'd feel less out of place in gym class at this point.

Her eyes land on the clock again: twenty minutes until lunch—she could tough this out.

🕷️🐞🐈‍⬛

THE FAMILIAR RUFFLE OF FLASH CARDS AND FLUTTER OF TEXTBOOK PAGES OVERCAST WITH A SLIGHT TINGE OF B.O. A place where Marinette felt at home, encased in the knowledge that poured through her mind with all likeminded individuals. Where a big stack of textbooks was the equivalent of a Gucci belt. The quaint auditorium echoed exceptional levels of general knowledge from wall-to-wall.

Since Peter Parker's sudden departure, decathlon practice had a new vibe cast over it (at least, in Marinette's humble opinion, it did). What had once been a place where she felt as though she was thrown into fight or flight constantly—her laser focus and guard needing to be six foot tall at all times, now felt like an optional extracurricular rather than a battleground once again. Gone was the burning desire to throw her hand over the bell first, praying that she would blurt out the correct answer before Peter Parker could even process what had been asked (although, the muscle memory remained). Her anchor was gone and so was her drive to conquer, with no one to compete against.

And sure, she could try to pick a new teammate to violently compare herself against but none were on the same wavelength her and Peter Parker had been on. No one would have been nearly as satisfying to win against, unfortunately.

By not being here, Peter Parker was still finding new ways to get in her head and sabotage her freaking life. It's like he did it on purpose—concocted some master plan to throw her off and swoop in for valedictorian at the last moment. Ugh.

As practice normally went, they were once again in the midst of a mock tournament—with the starting lineup split into two teams in order to battle it out. Liz Allen, their dutiful captain (how the hell she had so much free time for all these clubs, Marinette will never know), stood at her wooden podium in front of the stage as she read out questions in a clear voice. "Okay, moving into a history question now. When was the first U.S dollar printed?"

Her expectant gaze was cast over them as a flurry of 'um' and 'ahs' flooded the room. Each team feverishly racked their brains for the specific year. Instinctively, Marinette slammed her palm on the bell before her, before she herself had actually conjured the answer in her own mind. Her skin flushed as the clock ticked and everyone looked at her, awaiting to be enlightened. "1860. . .?" She called out, voice shaking as a different year flashed across her mind and she wanted to slap herself.

The look on Liz's face was enough for her to know she was wrong, the brunette didn't need to say it. "Someone can still steal this," she said with a shake of her head as she looked over at the other team.

Marinette felt as though she lost hearing for a moment when Flash (of all fucking people) rang his own bell and gave out the correct answer. "1862, duh. Liz, we need harder questions, dude," he scoffed, leaning back in his chair and almost losing his balance.

"Crap—! I knew that, I swear—" A groan escaped Marinette's lips and she wanted to slam her face against her desk until she passed out, anything to seek refuge from this humiliation.

From beside her, Ned Leeds scoffed. "Dude, you've got the last five questions wrong. Why do you keep ringing the bell if you don't know the answer?"

"It's not her fault she's stupid," Flash retorted, flashing a grin their way. His comment was met with a symphony's of people defending Marinette's honour but she could hardly hear them.

Marinette was driving a chariot and she could feel the reigns slipping as the wheels tipped. One more rough corner and she was going to capsize.

From his desk towards the back of the room, Mr Harrington cleared his throat. "Okay, um, Marinette? How about you take a seat on the sidelines for the rest of practice today. . . ?" Their bearded teacher muttered, not quite making eye contact with her (it was a known fact Mr Harrington hated discipline. . . something to do with his ex-wife telling their therapist she felt controlled by him setting boundaries regarding monogamy).

"Oh. . . Um, okay," she replied in a small voice as she scooped her belonging off the table.

"Alya, you're in for Marinette today," Mr Harrington announced and there was messy sound of crumpling paper as Alya scrambled to get to her feet.

"Hey, everyone has off days," Liz told the girl as she walked down the stairs. Marinette felt as though Liz 'every boy as a crush on my perfect face' Allen was the last person that should be saying something like that to Marinette. As if Liz had ever had an off day in her life.

As Alya passed her, the dark skinned girl put a hand on her friend's forearm as if to ask if she was alright. Marinette just nodded before putting her head down and taking a seat in one of the desks, paying little attention to who she'd sat down beside.

"You know, at least you're on the starting line up," said Adrien Agreste, sea green eyes looking down at her with an assiduous look. "I don't think I've even been up on the stage all year yet," he added, his tone lighthearted.

Her mouth bobbed open and closed, making her resemble a simple minded gold fish. "I. . ." She blinked slowly, captivated by his pretty face and silky hair. She was close enough to reach out and touch—

The sound of footsteps ripped her attention away and before she knew it, Mr Harrington was standing in front of her desk wearing a worried look. "Marinette? Is something going on with you? Because my therapist—not the one Tabitha stole from me, the new one—she told me that bottling things up is really unhealthy and—"

Her eyes widened and embarrassment flooded her mind as she heard Nino let out a loud snort at their teachers words. "I'm just tired. Um. . . You know, its a big jump from Freshman to Sophomore and. . . Stuff. . ." She blubbered, running a nervous hand through one of her pigtails.

Mr Harrington nodded solemnly, understanding. "Well, if you need to talk ever I've learnt some very good self healing techniques—"

"Thanks. . . I'll, uh. . . keep that in mind. . ." She mumbled, face officially bright red.

"We can't have one of our best teammates off her game going into nationals, can we? Especially since Peter quit on us." The divorced man chortled, trying to make light of the situation but Marinette just felt her stomach bubble in unease. No pressure at all. . .

For the rest of practice Marinette sat straight as a board, staring at her open textbook in resignation. Her eyes were unfocused, making the words unreadable—like how someone failing an eye test sees the chart. She could hear Adrien and Nino chatting away to her left and the occasional Peter name drop sent a shiver down her spine (it was like the boy befriended her crush out of spite).

Twenty minutes later and Marinette couldn't have been more thankful that it was her last period as the final bell bounced down the battered school halls. She ducked her head down as everyone started filing out of the room (the last thing she wanted was for Mr Harrington to try and talk to her again). Marinette needed to get out of that room and maybe do a séance to cleanse all the negative energy clinging to her body (god, she was spending too much time with Alya).

She hadn't even realised she'd walked out of the room shoulder-to-should with Adrien until he squeezed her forearm supportively. "I'll see you tomorrow," he called out over his shoulder, already a few paces down the hallway.

The girl stood in place for a moment, her arm scorched from where he'd touched her. As her peers breezed past her rigid body, she watched as Adrien's perfect figure disappeared into the sea of students. A part of her wanted to follow him home and never leave his side (but the rational side of her told her that was a crime). When she was sure he was completely out of site, she turned on her heel towards the side exit she usually took to her train station (the front gates were far too congested for her to get out on time).

Not paying much attention, she threw open the heavy fire door—almost tripping over her own feet and eating the pavement. As she caught herself just in time, she looked up to see Peter Parker standing before the eight foot iron gates. She could roll her eyes; of course she'd run into him now. She wondered if he already knew about her blunders in decathlon practice (Ned seemed like the type to enjoy gossiping).

Before she could conjure some bitchy insult to throw his way, a gust of wind tore through the stray worksheets in her hands. Groaning, she awkwardly scrambled to catch them before they landed in the dirt (her worksheets get ruined would be her final straw).

When she looked back up, her eyebrows furrowed deeply. Peter Parker stood at the other side of the closed gate, looking extremely pleased with himself. She wanted to shout out that he was an asshole for closing it on her but the sound of the train nearing took priority. Adjusting her backpack straps, she tore open the gate and power-walked up the path—a few paces behind Peter Parker (she couldn't look like she was walking up there with him, even if they were getting on the same train).

She was breathless by the time she climbed the concrete steps to the platform, wheezing as she saw the metal doors start to close on the nearest carriage. A slew of angry curse-words escaped her lips as she pushed herself to run to the door (even though her hip burned).

Thanks to his enhanced hearing, Peter Parker looked up at the right time and instinctively jammed his foot in the way of the automatic door censors. Marinette had no time to be annoyed at his presence as she barrelled in, colliding with his shoulder.

Honestly, she'd expected him to buckle under her weight (even though, since the summer, he'd grown almost a whole head taller than her) but instead, she just rebounded off him. (What happened to him being built like a noodle? Why did his chest feel fucking solid?) Peter's brown eyes widen and he yanked her back towards him before she could ricochet into an elderly woman sitting near them.

"Crap. Are you alright?" He asked, not letting go of her waist. Their chests were pressed together and she could feel his minty breath mixing with hers (boy was she glad he was the only person she knew who took this line—the shame of being caught in this position would be unbearable).

Annoyed and flustered, she pulled away from him. Embarrassed, he shoved his hands in his pocket. Real smooth, Peter.

"I'm fine. . . Thanks," she grumbled, nodding at the doors before turning on her heel towards an empty set of four seats facing each other. Sighing in relief, she slumped down and tossed her backpack on the chair adjacent. Usually she enjoyed the commute home but now, all she wanted was to just lie in her bed. She yearned for the heavy comforter that would consume her and make all her problems disappear for a little while.

Closing her eyes, she tried to steady her heart rate and calm her mood. However, the universe had other plans and she felt a pair of legs balance on the seat beside her. Peaking her left eye open, she was met with the site of Peter fucking Parker once again.

It was bad enough he sabotaged her in decathlon and then pushed her into an old lady. Now he wanted to sit with her? The nerve of some people.

Eyes open completely now, she glared across at him as he tapped away at the screen of his busted phone. She wondered if it was Ned texting the groupchat to make fun of her for getting answers wrong. His eyebrows were bunched together so whoever he was texting, he sure was invested.

Marinette tried to look out the window or listen to music but she couldn't ignore him in front of her. Heaving a sigh and needing a win, she reached into her school bag and pulled out her physic textbook (Peter's best subject). She could at least rub it in to him that she was a better student then him.

Tapping her pen against the glossy pages of her battered textbook (whoever had used it last year spilt a lot of coffee on it), she made a big show that she's doing her homework. He didn't look up, however. This has her rolling her eyes before she started actually writing out questions, trying not to let the bumps of the poorly maintained railway make it look messy.

She couldn't help herself from looking up every few moments to see if he'd noticed her yet. Each time she felt her frustration deepen that he was still engrossed in his crappy phone (seriously, the least his Stark Internship could do was provide him with a working phone from this decade). As Marinette looked back down at her textbook, she let out a groan.

This finally caught Peter's attention and he looked up over his screen at her with a knowing smile (she could punch him). His tilted his head to read the textbook title before letting out a half laugh. "Right. Mrs Warren picked the hardest questions to start the year, I swear," he muttered playfully.

Marinette had to bite the side of her cheek to prevent herself from saying something rude. "Not really," she landed on, hoping he'd stop talking to her now.

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, leaning forward to try and look at her notebook to see where she was up to. She saw the cogs and gears turn in his mind as he had an idea. "You know, I finished this at lunch. I can send you my answers if you wanna double chec—"

Marinette slammed her textbook shut loudly, causing nearby passengers to look their way. "No need—I was just checking my work. I finished this ages ago." A big fat lie.

Peter's eyebrows shot upward. "We were only assigned the homework yesterday—?"

The robotic voice of the announcer cut him off, declaring that they had arrived at Marinette's station. Finally the gods smiled down on her. She didn't hesitate scooping up her possessions and making her swift exit from this conversation. Peter, still hunched forward in his seat, watched her disappear through the bustling crowds of the subway station with a longing frown. The doors closed before his eyes and he was moving once again.

Marinette, being so deep in her murderous thoughts about Peter Parker, hadn't paid any attention to her short walk home. Before the girl knew it, she was elbowing her parents store door open. The bell rang above her head, causing her frantic-looking mother to look up over the counter and sigh in relief that it was only her daughter rather than another wave of demanding customers. The after school period was always the most busy period for the bakery—with parents and children alike flocking to get a taste of her father's secret family recipes. Customers were cramped in every free corner, awaiting the fulfilment of their orders.

Ducking under the counter, Marinette placed a light kiss on her father's cheek which made his tired look turn into a bright smile. "How was school, honey?" He called over his shoulder as she passed through to get to her mother.

"Long," she sighed, kissing her short mother's flushed cheek.

Sabine shook her head lovingly, offering her daughter a plate of banana bread. "Just came out the oven."

Grateful, Marinette took the plate and broke off a large chunk. "I'm gonna be upstairs studying—we have this huge test next week," she lied through the food in her mouth.

"We won't bother you," her mother hummed, giving her daughter's cheeks an affectionate slap.

Marinette bolted up the stairs, backpack bouncing against her spine. As she shoved the rest of her food in her mouth, she pushed her bedroom door open. Her chaotic room was just how she'd left it in the morning; various outfit options were tossed over her bed and her vanity was an absolute mess. Deciding that cleaning it was an issue for a later date, she flopped down into her pink swivel desk chair.

As she reclined back, Marinette looked up at the clock and sighed: 3:45pm. Typically she preferred to start her patrols when the sun went down (because the last thing she needed was her neighbours seeing Ladybug flying in and out of her patio. At least the darkness would somewhat conceal her). Sliding her phone out of her pocket, she checked the weather app for when sunset was predicted to be: 5:55pm. That gave her about two hours to catch up on all her homework (and maybe revise decathlon topics some more). Not a single Peter Parker in sight in here to distract her.

After giving herself two more minutes of relaxation, she awoke her dormant computer and logged into her email account. Scrolling past all the spam (she's never letting her father use her email to sign up to things ever again), her eyes narrowed at an email from Liz about the next meetings time and talking points (she had Homecoming homework now, is this serious?). Reaching for her phone again Marinette opened the silly yellow app and sent Alya a Snapchat of her emails with a scathing caption about dooming her to be stuck in this stupid committee forever. Alya just replied with a selfie of her and Nino sticking their tongues out, which Marinette couldn't help but roll her eyes at.

Shoving all distractions out the way, she opened the criteria sheet her history teacher had sent her and got to work. She imagined Peter Parker, the perfectionist he was, had somehow already managed to finish his presentation already—he was annoying like that. Using her annoyance to fuel her, she managed to tear through all the research by the time her phone alarm was ringing.

Having been buried under a mountain of textbooks and Wikipedia pages, Marinette had typed feverishly as the minutes blurred away in a haze of primary and secondary sources. Time had slipped away unnoticed as her presentation consumed her; the outside world had faded away into nothing but a distant hum. She hadn't even noticed the natural lighting fade away until she looked up to see the orange and pink hues of the sky pouring in through her ajar window was the only light left.

The evening had crept in like a quiet, old friend to remind her that another day had slipped away in her pursuit for knowledge. She debated on staying in an extra half hour to finalise her sources before deciding New York City needed her more.

As she got up and stretched her cramped legs, she checked her bedroom door was locked before whispering her transformation, "spots on."

Trying to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible, she slinked out onto her patio and disappeared into the night (she's screwed the day her parents check on her when she's supposed to be studying away).

She'd had approximately ten minutes of peace after meeting with Chat Noir—swinging and jumping from building to building—before she saw him, legs swinging over the side of someone's fire escape. Ladybug watched Spider-Man from an adjacent building as he dialled a phone number (she's surprised his touch screen even worked through his suit). Trying to be as quiet as possible, she leapt to the fire escape above his and stared down.

"Hey, Happy! Um, here's my report for tonight. I stopped a grand theft bicycle. Couldn't find the owner, so I just left a note. Um. . . I helped this lost old Dominican lady. She was really nice and bought me a churro. So. . . I just, uh, feel like I could be doing more. You know? Just curious when the next real mission is gonna be, just call me back it's—"

She couldn't contain her laughter at his phone call, doubling over the railing loudly. "Oh, my god, Are you being ghosted by The Avengers?"

Spider-Man almost jumped out of his skin as he frantically looked around for her. "What—! No, of course not. Mr Stark is a really busy guy and asks me to give status reports," he insisted, standing up as his voice went a few octaves higher.

"Uh-huh. And when was the last report he actually replied to?" The female hero asked, lips curling upwards vindictively.

"This is all confidential Avengers information, I'll have you know," he huffed, crossing his wide arms across his chest (not that she paid much attention to his arms, by the way).

Ladybug scoffed, resting her head on the hand rail as she stared down at the blue and red hero. "Ah yes, I'm sure the team will implode if the knowledge of your churro got leaked. Oh wait, it has already imploded."

"Mr Stark told me to think of it as a hiatus. Like One Direction," he retorted defensively, scowling under his mask.

"Does that make Captain America Zayn?" She teased.

Spider-Man hesitated, thinking back to the fight he'd had with the patriotic hero. "I. . . He's more of a Niall, though."

Ladybug rolled her eyes. "It's been two years since they broke up. I'm not sure One Direction is the comparison you want to be making, anyways," she pointed out, faking a yawn as she periodically looked up to make sure they weren't missing heinous crimes.

"It's a hiatus," he bit back, rolling his eyes under his mask.

"Yeah, okay," she sarcastically agreed with him. "Tell that to all the solo music."

He couldn't believe he was discussing the politics of One Direction with her. "Whatever." Spider-Man looked around as he shoved his phone back into his suit (she had no idea where he actually stored it). "Where's your friend?" He asked, not used to seeing one without the other.

Ladybug shrugged, looking down at him again. "We split up to cover more ground. It's a pretty quiet night, anyways. No Hawkmoth—"

However, before she could even get her entire sentence out, there was a crash from the streets below. Both their heads whipped down as they scanned for the source of the noise. ". . . Can't wait to see this thing, guys," a sketchy figure said gleefully as him and his cronies entered a nearby bank.

Scrambling to refill his web fluid, Spider-Man mumbled, "and I think you jinxed it."

"Crap. Follow my lead," Ladybug hissed bossily, yo-yo at the ready as she launched herself down to the street below.

"Wait, I spotted them—you follow my lead—!" Spider-Man called after her, almost losing his footing and falling from the building (though, he'd survived worse falls when he'd first started to learn the ropes of his powers).

Pointedly ignoring him (and honestly hoping he'd just let her handle this. . . As unlikely as that would be), she swung and landed gracefully just by the alleyway near the entrance to the bank. She pushed her back flush against the wall as she listened in on their conversation, trying to strategize the best sneak attack. She needed to see their capabilities before she'd be sure on the best mode of attack.

"Yo, this high tech stuff makes it too easy," one of them said in a gruff voice that made her grit her teeth.

Another chuckled to himself. "Told you it was worth it."

Just when she'd figured out how to approach this Spider-Man, rather then stopping to listen to the plan she'd formulated, strolled right into the bank. She had attempted to grab at him, hurling silent protests his way but the web-slinger did not listen. Ladybug let out a loud groan as he disappeared inside; so much for a surprise attack.

She stuck her head around the corner, watching as he awkwardly leant against one of the walls. "What's up, guys? You forgot your PIN numbers?" He quipped, clearing his throat.

The bandits, still somewhat surprised by his presence (though not as surprised as they would've been if he'd let her make the plan), stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Ladybug nearly choked on her own tongue when she saw they were all dressed in cheap Avengers masks (but only the men. . . Were Black Widow and The Scarlet Witch not good enough to cosplay as while robbing banks? Ugh, sexism). Besides the masks, they were all fairly ordinary looking people.

"Woah! You're the Avengers. What are you guys doing here?" Spider-Man exclaimed, pretending to be excited. Ladybug couldn't help but roll her eyes at his need to turn every fight into a sarcastic comment battle—someday someone was going to recognise his annoying voice and expose his identity.

Fake Iron Man attempted to load his gun but Spider-Man was too quick, using his web fluid to snatch it free and knock the phoney to the ground. Ladybug tried to get a good look at the gun while still staying concealed in the shadows—it wasn't tech she had ever seen before (and she used to be in robotics lab until Peter Parker had joined). She tried to take mental images of as many details of it as possible, hoping to do extensive research when she got home.

Meanwhile, Spider-Man was still throwing out unfunny one-liners as he fought 'The Avengers'. As he stuck fake Thor to a wall with his web fluid, he turned to fake Iron Man and said, "Iron Man. Hey, what are you doing robbing a bank? You're a billionaire."

Rather than answering, the crook threw a punch at the boy, which he dodged easily by hanging from the roof.

Tired of watching him fumble this, Ladybug wrapped her yo-yo around fake Iron Man's feet and launched him into one of the already destroyed ATM's. "I told you to follow my lead," she hissed.

"Holy shit. It's Ladybug," fake Captain America muttered, backing up a little.

Hearing this, Spider-Man turned to him "So, Captain America. . . Would you say you're more of a Niall or Zayn? The answer is really important to me—"

"Oh, my god—!" Ladybug groaned, throwing her hands in the air.

While they're both caught off guard, fake Hulk aimed one of the high tech weapons at them. Ladybug tried to react by launching a chunk of scrap metal at them with her yo-yo but they managed to dodge it. Using the foreign guns, a purple beam is fired at them. Both hero's are ripped from the floor and suspended in the air for a short moment by the force field.

"This feels so weird," Spider-Man commented, voice distorted before they're thrown against the wall.

Scrambling to their feet, he looks to Ladybug for answers. "Whoa, what is that thing?"

Ladybug, nursing a definitely bruised arm flared at him. "How am I supposed to know—?" She retorted before the gun ripped them into the air, throwing them up and down against the marble floors.

Ladybug groaned, trying to move her limbs into a position to defend her body from further injury.

"I'm starting. . . To think. . . You're not. . . The Avengers!" Spider-Man groaned beside her, sticking his hand to the ground long enough to shoot his webs at a desk. Relief washed over Ladybug as the metal furniture came barrelling towards the fake Avenger, knocking him to the ground and freeing them.

"Alright guys, let's wrap this up. It's a school night," Spider-Man joked, taking on one of the other guys that charged at him.

"I'm going to kill you if you don't shut up," Ladybug snapped, finally free. Using this opportunity, she threw her yo-yo string at one of the other guys, dragging him to her feet. She bent down to slip his mask away, seeing if his face was recognisable. "So, how do jerks like you get access to tech like this. . . ?" She pondered, kicking over one of the guns as she looked it over and squinted at the purple detailing. There was something eerily familiar.

"No—! Wait, wait—"

Having looked away from the active fight for a second, Ladybug looked up just in time for Spider-Man to be diving at her. "The fuck are you—?" But before she could finish her sentence, there was a loud explosion and the store across the street burst into flames.

Spider-Man scrambled to his feet, looking from the bank to the store with hesitation before sprinting away. "Mr Delmar—!"

Ladybug hurdled over the rubble of the bank, trying to get back into the crumpled building in search of the guys they'd been fighting. Her heart sank when she saw the one that'd been webbed to the wall had been cut free—they'd all got away.

Sirens neared as she ran back over the street to Spider-Man, who was helping an old man. She waited until he gave the man his cat back before pushing him in the chest. "They got away!" She growled.

"No—! What about the guy on the wall?" A wave of horror flushed across his body as he looked past her.

"They all got away," she spat, swinging up onto the roof of a nearby building.

Spider-Man was right on her heels. "Look, let me call Happy."

"Who?" She glared at him, not in the mood for another one of his sarcastic comments (that he probably practiced in the mirror).

"Mr Starks head of security, he can—"

"Oh great, we're calling Iron Man's butler," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure he'll be so much help." 

Spider-Man tuned her negativity out as he dialled the number again. His face lit up under the mask at Happy actually answering the phone. "Happy, the craziest thing just happened to me. These guys were robbing an ATM with these high tech weapons—"

Ladybug raised an eyebrow at whatever being said on the other line cut him off. "Is he sending the real Thor to help us?" She remarked over his shoulder.

"Yeah, but—" he tried to say into the phone but was cut off again.

Ladybug followed him as he jumped onto another rooftop, not done with him yet. Her interest is peaked again when he stops in his tracks at something said.

"Wait. Wait! You're moving? Who's moving?"

She tilted her head to the side, wishing he put the phone of speaker—she was a very nosy person.

"But what about me?"

She raised a brow at him, smirking. "Oh, my god, are they kicking you out of the team?"

He glared at her over his shoulder before jumping down into an alleyway. She followed him closely, very curious to know the resolution of this phone call.

Spider-Man leant against the wall for a second, scratching the back of his mask. "Well, what if Mr Stark needs me or something, I don't know, something big goes down? Can I please just talk to Mr Stark?"

Ladybug scoffed again.

She watched as the web slinger frantically looked around the trash cans they stood by. "I am responsible. I— Oh, crap. My backpacks gone. . . I'll call you back."As he hung up, he turned to glare at ladybug before realising she couldn't see his expression.

"And you made out like you were close with Iron Man," she chortled, very bemused by his humbling phone call.

Just then, Chat Noir dropped down in the alleyway. Night had official struck and his leather costume blended into the backdrop of the night sky. "Hey, do you guys know what happened at that bank down the street?"

"Why don't you ask Spidey over here?" Ladybug said, putting a sassy hand on her hip.

"Huh?"

"We both were under-equipped to fight. . . whatever that was," Spider-Man growled through ground teeth.

"We would've had a better chance if you'd have listened to me," she snapped before turning to Chat. "See? This is what I told you would happen if we worked with him."

Spider-Man threw his arms in the air, frustrated. "I'm sorry, okay! I was trying to save Mr Delmar."

"I'm so lost right now. . ." Chat Noir looked back and fourth between them, as if he was watching the Wimbledon again.

"He wouldn't have needed saving if you had just listened to me," Ladybug snapped.

Upset the bad guys got away and annoyed he'd lost another backpack, Spider-Man sighed in resignation. "I gotta go, I don't have time for this."

"He's so infuriating," she seethed, turning to Chat Noir with a sour look under her mask.

He ran a hand through his golden locks. "So. . . Are you going to fill me in or what?"

"Ugh."

Chapter Text

FOURTEEN | GEEKS DON'T DO GYM

                         AS THE SHRILL BLARE OF HER ALARM CLOCK PIERCED THE COCOON OF HER DREAMS. MARINETTE GROANED AND BURIED HER HEAD DEEPER BENEATH A MOUNTAIN OF SILK PILLOWS. The symphony of New York City poured in through her window—a cacophony of honking taxis, off key street performers belting out half-remembered show tunes and the distant wail of a sirens that sound more like a disgruntled cat. She squinted at the slivers of sunlight peeking through her curtains like a cheeky child, wishing she didn't have to get up. Mornings, with their relentless optimism and bright-eyed ambition, felt like a cruel joke played by the universe.

She groaned dramatically as she unlocked her phone, the bright screen blinding her as she attempted to disable her alarm. There was a string of notifications from her friends, although it was mostly just acquaintances from her class sending their morning streaks and links to conspiracy theories from Michelle.

It took every ounce of strength for her to not roll back over and drift back into a peaceful slumber. The thought was so tempting. The only thing that got her out of bed was a mental image of Peter Parker giving the valedictorian speech because she missed crucial information the one day she missed school—the horror!

With her eyes barely open, she dragged her groggy feet across the cold floor and into her disorganised ensuite. She stepped over the minefield of dirty laundry as she sought out the mirror, ready to assess the damage. Her reflection was a chaotic masterpiece of bedhead and sleep-crusted eyes. Strands of her dark hair jutted out at all sorts of wild angles, resembling  a frizzy halo. The remnants of yesterday's exhausting day still clung to her in the form of purple bags (and not the designer type) making themselves at home under her eyes. Marinette examined her collection of sprays and creams scattered across the vanity, wondering if there was any hope for a dramatic makeover.

She sighed, settling for a boiling shower instead. Maybe she could burn away the shit-show.

Clad in a towel, she stared into her open closet with a look of despair. Nothing appealed to her and the clock was close to ticking over into running late territory. She looked over at the unfinished project still waiting by her sewing machine with longing—she would finish it tonight, no excuses. All out of time and options, she settled with the first top she could find that semi-matched her favourite pair of jeans.

With her hairbrush still in her hand, she wandered downstairs. She descended down into the living room, immediately met with her mother standing rigidly in front of the TV with her hands balanced in the groove of her hips.

"—and though the robbers were thwarted, not at the cost of local sandwich shop pictured here—"

Marinette coughed awkwardly to get her mothers attention. "Morning?"

Her mother jumped a little, clearly shaken by the news broadcast she'd been watching. "Oh, good morning honey," Sabine looked over her shoulder for a moment before lowering the TV volume with a frown. "Did you see this? Just a block from us. . . It's horrible what people will do for greed," she added, nodding at the screen.

Marinette nodded slowly, "Is everyone okay?" She asked, sliding into one of the barstools situated in front of the kitchen island. Her mother had put a bowl of yoghurt with fruit out for the girl and she couldn't have been more grateful. She was already halfway through slurping all the contents up before her mother replied.

Sabine sighed. "No one was hurt but the crooks got away, though," she told her daughter and Marinette tried to stay neutral in her reaction. Her mother paused for a moment before adding, "if you ever see something like this, you need to run away as fast as you can. There are enough heroes in this godforsaken city."

"Yes, Mom," she groaned, throwing her head back as she moved to rinse her bowl in the sink. She ignored the pit in her stomach as she kissed her mother goodbye.

"There's a closure at your normal stop from the fire, you'll have to walk to the one over. Are you okay getting there?" Her mother asked, hands on the girl's shoulders as she studied her daughter's tired expression. Her mother always got like this when something went down in their neighbourhood (which was often).

"I'll be fine," Marinette assured her, slipping free from her mothers grip. "Save me a bagel, please!" She added quickly. Slinging her backpack over her shoulders and shoving the door open. 

The late September breeze smacked her right across the face as soon as she stepped out onto the street. As Marinette peered out at the swivelling chaos of New York traffic, a shiver of guilt danced along her spine. The city that never slept buzzed with life but beneath its vibrant surface lay shadows only she could see. With every honk and shout, she felt the immense weight of her double life press further down—a teenage hero cloaked in secrecy, hiding her true self from the very people who loved her the most. She could vividly imagine the horror-struck look on her mother's face at finding out her only child filled her free time battling the likes of Hawkmoth.

She tried not to dwell on the hypothetical too much on her walk. This was New York, after all, a city where danger lurked around every street corner—from rogue A.I.'s to alien invasions. Marinette was in harms way just by living in this city.

With an Arctic Monkeys album filling her eardrums, she stopped in front of the obliterated sandwich shop. The area was taped off and a cleanup crew had already been assigned to remove the rubble. An officer supervised the operation, sending onlookers on their way if they got too close. Marinette felt the guilt claw its way back into the forefront of her mind.

At the lull between the song shifting into another, she hears a familiar voice ask a very peculiar question. "Do you lay eggs?"

The girl looked over her shoulder to see Ned Leeds and Peter Parker standing a few paces behind where she was, gawking at the destruction. She felt her eyebrows shoot upwards at the fact that Peter was carrying a stack of thick textbooks in front of him rather than a backpack—did the Stark Internship not fund them?

"What? No." Peter laughs, looking up long enough to catch a glimpse of Marinette. She saw his mouth open to say something else as they locked eyes.

Before she could get sucked into meaningless small talk, she put her head down and continued on her way to the train stop.

In the sprawling maze that was New York City, where towering skyscrapers loomed like giants over the streets that pulsed with relentless energy, there simply wasn't time for small talk—especially not with people you couldn't stand. Marinette couldn't help but roll her eyes at the thought of forced pleasantries with those two. Here, every second felt precious—like a fast paced dance of ambition and urgency.

Just as she powered down the cracked steps into the underground, she felt her phone buzz. Slipping it from her back pocket, an annoyed huff escaped her lips at the message she was reading.

ALYA: Hey! Can you like and reblog my new post pleaseeeee!!!!!

Marinette sighed as she tapped the link and impatiently waited for the Tumblr app to load (stupid underground messing with her cell service). She disregarded the lengthy text post Alya had written as blurry security camera footage of her and Spider-Man played. As she watched the bandits escape once more and she tried not to let the annoyance she'd gone to bed cloaked in plague her again.

🕷️🐞🐈‍⬛

WITHIN THE CONFINES OF MIDTOWN SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOHY, HISTORY LESSONS OFTEN FELT LIKE A SUPERHERO DOCUMENTARY THAN A TYPICAL CLASS. Marinette sat hunched towards the back of her classroom as her teacher blabbered on a very passionate lecture about the Sokovia Accords. They didn't just have to learn the dates of human wars anymore but alien invasions and defrosting of super soldiers. It had only been five years since the battle of New York and the average civilian was still trying to grasp with the fact that Thor was no longer just a character from long forgotten myths.

If the day ever came where Marinette's superhero alter ego became a heading in her textbook, it would be the same day she'd drop out of school. She had fought tooth and nail to keep Ladybug—and by extension, Chat Noir—distinct from the controversies swirling around the Avengers and their high profile exploits (and even higher profile blunders). Outside of Spider-Man being a pest, there had been other run-ins (it turns out Nick Fury didn't take kindly to people who declined his invitations). But Marinette refused to let Ladybug succumb to the pressure of becoming yet another name on their ever-expanding roster of heroes.

For her, being Ladybug was about protecting her city, not becoming a pawn in someone else's agenda.

"The Sokovia Accords were put into place to begin regulating. . ," their balding teacher explained, pointing to his colourful slideshow. Marinette couldn't help but tune it all out (plus, it's not like their teacher was repeating new information—The Accords had plagued every news station for months).

She rested her cheek against the cool, smooth surface of her worn down desk as she watched Alya discreetly type away on a half-open laptop. "The comments are going crazy about the new Ladybug and Spider-Man footage," she'd whispered to her.

Marinette had just hummed supportively, having no interest in hearing what the comments had to say about her.

"—but, like, can you summon an army of spiders?"

The girl couldn't help but turn to stare at the boys sitting at the desk in front of her, confused. This was the second weird question she'd overheard Ned ask him today.

"No, Ned," Peter sighed, not looking up from his paper as his pen scratched away notes from the slideshow.

Ned tilted his head to the side. "Okay but have you even tried. . . ?"

Marinette's glare bore a hole in the back of Peter's head to the point where he felt goosebumps raise on the nape of his neck. As he hissed at his friend to stop with the questions, he peaked over his shoulder at the girl, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "Shut up, dude," he repeated, quickly looking away with flushed cheeks.

She remembered Nino saying they were planning a Dungeons and Dragons campaign soon, so she just assumed it was to do with that (way to be stereotypical geeks).

After what had felt like an eternity in purgatory (it had literally been twenty minutes), the bell freed them from their dull class. The only issue was they were on their way to an even worse fate: gym class.

Marinette couldn't wait until she was a senior and could drop gym for another science class. (Like seriously, this was a school for nerds—why was gym still mandatory? Some of her peers were one asthma attack away from not discovering the cure to cancer.)

Her whole class was gathered on the bleachers, dressed in Midtown's potent blue and gold uniform. Marinette tugged at a loose thread on her shorts as their teacher, Coach Wilson, rolled out a box TV that looked like it was built when Captain America was born. And speaking of the super soldier/internationally wanted criminal, he smiled out at them from the dusty screen, clad in his patriotic uniform. Seriously, the red and blue suit was blindingly crisp.

"Hi. I'm Captain America. Whether you're in the classroom or on the battlefield. . ."

Marinette once again found herself attempting to tune out the lecture—they'd been playing these videos for four years now, she could basically recite them. She glanced to her left at Michelle, who was shamelessly engrossed in a new novel. (Back in the first week of freshman year, Coach Wilson had accepted defeat in trying to get Michelle to care about this class—he was just happy she even showed up.)

Once again, Marinette found herself overhearing Ned and Peter's conversation. God, why must they talk so loudly around her—they were basically begging for eavesdroppers. "Do you know him, too?"

". . . Fitness can be the difference between success or failure."

"Yeah, we met," Peter boasted, leaning back with a sly smile. Marinette glared at the way the seam of his top stretched under the ripple of muscle his biceps now pertained (literally since when?). If he strained the fabric much more, it may just burst—not that she paid attention to that stuff.

The pigtailed girl couldn't hold back her scoff at his admission. "Yeah, right," Marinette accidentally mumbled out loud, before clamping a hand over her mouth.

Peter looked over at her again, mumbling something about his Stark Internship before leaning into Ned's ear and whispering something else that made his bigger friend's jaw drop. Marinette Dupain-Cheng wanted Peter Parker to shove his internship up his—

"Today, my good friend, your gym teacher," Captain America went on, speaking with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm. He paused, indicating to the side of the screen for Coach Wilson to give a very unamused wave. ". . . will be conducting the Captain America Fitness Challenge."

As the screen changed to list the drills, Coach Wilson put his hands together for a slow clap. "Thank you, Captain. . . I'm pretty sure this guy's a war criminal now, but whatever. I have to show these videos. It's required by the state. Let's do it." Before anyone could protest, he blew into his whistle and began ushering everyone up from their seats.

There was a chorus of groans followed by the rustling of bodies that had an aversion to physical activity. "Oh, boo hoo," the coach muttered again as he began assigning groups different drills. "Pair up!"

Marinette turned to Alya with a hopeful doe-eyed look, holding out a hand for her to accept. The red-head made a clicking noise with her tongue before dragging her friend by the hand to go grab a foam mat. Still not looking up from her novel, Michelle shuffled behind them.

For the first drill, they were supposed to do sit-ups and Marinette begged her friend to go first. Michelle laid sprawled out on a mat beside theirs, holding her book in the air like a bench press. As Marinette held onto her panting friend's ankles, she could not stop herself from glaring across the gym at Peter Parker (even though Adrien was right next to him, glistening in beautiful sweat like a glazed doughnut).

She couldn't shake the annoyance over the fact that Peter wasn't struggling like he normally would. While her ability in sport (outside of her magical costume) was limited, she'd still been slightly more physically fit than him her whole life. Seeing him easily tear through sit-ups while he talked to Ned made her eye twitch. Her mind wandered back to his arms under his gym kit. Of course he was the type of guy to spend all summer getting fit in order to add another thing to the list of 'Things Peter is better than Marinette at'.

"Do you think he's bullshitting about that stupid Internship?" Marinette asked snidely, not taking her eyes off him.

Panting, Alya paused to give her friend a confused stare as she attempted not to lose her count. "Huh. Who?"

Marinette nodded in the brunette's direction with a deep scowl. "Parker. He always goes on about that Stark internship but I've never seen any. . . proof."

Her friend suppressed an eye roll; it was only a matter of time for Marinette to shoehorn Peter Parker in their conversation everyday, whether or not she realised she did it. "I mean, it's not like you talk to him to get any proof," Alya pointed out, reaching for her dented metal water bottle and taking a big swig.

"What, and you do?" Marinette rolled her eyes, arms crossing her chest. It was bad enough Alya and Nino were talking, she didn't think she could deal with more friend group crossover.

But Alya just shrugged. "Sometimes, yeah. In passing when I'm hanging out with Nino."

"Traitor," the girl murmured.

"I don't get why you hate him so much, he's a pretty nice guy," Alya commented, laying back down into position and bracing her abdomen for more pain.

That was the problem—he was so nice, it was infuriating. "Whatever. I still don't buy that internship is real," Marinette grunted, holding onto her friends ankles once again.

"Isn't his profile picture on Instagram literally a selfie with Tony Stark?" Alya pointed out.

"I unfollowed him," the girl told her. She'd gotten annoyed when Peter had sent her a science-related meme allegedly intended for Ned. "And that could've been a meet and greet—"

"Peter knows Spider-Man—!"

All exercise stopped. The gym went quiet as everyone looked around, eyes landing on Ned Leeds with confusion. Oh, here we go.

Peter Parker, feeling very small with all the stares, jumped to his feet. Marinette watched as he awkwardly scratched at the crook of his neck, nervously trying to stutter out an explanation to Ned's outlandish statement. "No, I don't. No. . . I—I mean. . ."

"They're friends," Ned added, also standing up with a proud grin. Marinette rolled her eyes; Spider-Man would be friends with someone as insufferable as Peter Parker (if that internship was even real).

Staying on the ground, Nino (who, for once, wasn't wearing his signature headphones) frowned up at his two childhood best friends. "Wait, you never said you were actually friends with him," he murmured, sounding a little hurt from being kept in the dark.

A fourth person entered the conversation, Flash Thompson. "Yeah, like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends," he scoffed.

"Hey Parker, as the saying goes—liars get stitches," Harry Osborn cut in, looking like the only person who wasn't drenched in sweat from working out.

Alya and Marinette exchanged looks. "That's not. . ."

"I've met him. Yeah. A couple times. But it's, um. . . Through the Stark Internship. Mm-hmm," Peter continued, choosing to ignore Harry's vague threat. "Yeah, well. I'm not really supposed to talk about it," he added, shooting a glare back at Ned.

Nino continued to look like a lost puppy. He looked to Adrien, as if to ask if he knew about this but the blonde just shrugged. Peter had always been very illusive when it came to talking about his Stark Internship and what exactly it pertained. "Not even to your best friends—?"

Flash and Harry took a step to Peter, smirking as they sized the nerdy boy up. "Well, that's awesome!" Flash said with mock enthusiasm. "Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz's party. Right?"

"Oh, won't that just be terrific," Harry agreed, putting an arm around Peter's rigid shoulders as he spun the boy around to face Liz. "We should get Spider-Man to do a keg-stand."

Liz, looking a little perturbed by the way the boys were acting, smiled warmly at Peter. "Yeah, I'm having people over friday night. You're more than welcome to come," she told him, shrugging nonchalantly.

Peter seemed awestruck that he was being invited to a social event that wasn't school-related (and by the girl every boy had a crush on, no less). "Having a party?" He echoed with wide eyes.

"Yeah, it's gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend Spider-Man," Flash continued, clapping Peter on the chest.

Chloe Bourgeois scoffed loudly. "Whatever. Ladybug has literally been to my house. She's way cooler than freaking Spider-Man," the blonde cut in with her shrill voice from the bleachers as she filed her nails in boredom. She had issues with other people being centre of attention as opposed to herself.

"Um. . ." Peter couldn't take his eyes off Liz (Marinette wanted to barf) as he tried to come up with some sort of excuse to get out of going.

Liz sighed. "It's okay. I know Peter's way too busy for parties anyway, so. . ." She said, giving the boy an out from having to come.

Flash and Harry weren't accepting this, however. "Come on. He'll be there. Right, Parker?"

As Peter went to decline, coaches whistle blew and he ordered everyone to switch. "Don't be a pussy," Harry whispered in the boys ear before sauntering off with his friends, letting out a loud laugh at something Chloe whispered in his ear.

Frustrated, Peter throws his hands in the air and swivels to glare at his best friend. He moved closer, dipping his head down in an attempt to keep his voice low. "What are you doing?"

From where she was sat, Marinette couldn't hear Ned's hushed reply and she frowned. Curious, Alya got to her feet. "I guess we're going to Liz's party after all," her friend said absentmindedly.

"Ugh. Why?" Marinette groaned. Liz had invited the whole decathlon team ages ago but she had immediately declined (Ladybug hardly had time for the Homecoming committee, let alone house parties).

"I can't miss out on the chance to get an exclusive scoop from Spider-Man," Alya replied as if it were the most obvious thing ever before turning to walk over to the boys.

Marinette scrambled to her feet in order to go after her. "He's literally lying, though," she hissed, power walking to keep up with her friend.

"And what if he's not? All the best reporters are willing to take these risks," Alya retorted.

"You just wanna hangout with Nino un-chaperoned," Marinette murmured, earning a playfully elbow to the ribs just as they reached where the boys were standing.

Nino, Adrien, Ned and Peter all stood around talking in low voices. "Dude, how come you never mentioned being tight with Spider-Man? That's not information you keep from your boys," Nino whined accusingly.

"He probably had his reasons, Nino," Adrien cut in, putting a hand on the shorter boys shoulder soothingly. Marinette took in a deep breath as they approached, ordering herself to act normal around him.

"But—"

Peter gulped loudly. "Remember all the, uhm, NDA's?"

"So, Spider-Man? Is that legit?" Alya butted into the conversation, eyeing Peter skeptically. His eyes widened, having not realised them approaching.

"Uh. . ." The boy ran a hand through his hair, looking past Alya at the scowling Marinette. Her eyes were so distracting—

"Oh, yeah. He'll be there," Ned answered for him, patting his friends back encouragingly.

Marinette rolled her eyes. "Sounds irresponsible for a hero to take the night off saving the city for a house party," she pointed out, cringing at the idea of attending a party as Ladybug. She would never let her alter ego become a gimmick or a consumable product that people felt entitled to.

Peter frowned at her comment, hesitating slightly with his retort. "He's just gonna stop by quickly, you know? As a favour,"

"Do you think he'd answer some questions for my blog?" Alya asked, trying to get Peter to meet her eye (he was still staring at Marinettes).

He shrugged. "Um, maybe. . . ?"

The shrill sound of the whistle cut through their conversation and they turned to stare at their annoyed gym teacher. "You six—get back to it!"

"I guess I'll see you Friday night then," Marinette muttered, eyes gliding over Peter's arms once again.

His eyes went wide as saucers. "You. . . will?"

Chapter Text

FIFTEEN | NUMBER ONE PARTY ANTHEM

                    THE LOW HUM OF THE RADIO FILLED THE COMFORTABLE SILENCE SHROUDING HER PARENTS' HATCHBACK AS MARINETTE'S FATHER DROVE THEM TO LIZ ALLEN'S HOUSE PARTY. Sitting in the passenger seat, the part-time vigilante felt a sense of dread wash over her as she swiped through Snapchat story posts hyping up this party—from Betty Brant and Cindy Moon posing with wine coolers to Flash Thompson flexing his expensive DJ set-up. Even Adrien Agreste posted an outfit photo to his adoring fans (which Marinette may or may not have screenshot and saved for later. . . No one check her camera roll, please).

Her friend, Alya, was practically dragging her to the event, insisting that house parties were a normal teenage right-of-passage that "everyone had to experience." But with her responsibilities as Ladybug always looming in the back of her mind, it was a bit hard to enjoy the normalcy of mingling with her peers during prime patrol hours. And her parents, who were supposed to discourage irresponsible stuff like parties, had jumped at the idea when Marinette had brought it up ("You're always cramped up in your room studying," her mother had said. "This will be good for you.").

And so, there she was, in the pink party dress she'd sewn over the summer. Alya had been enthralled with the idea of Marinette wearing it since she'd seen it sitting on her mannequin in the background of one of her Snapchats. Marinette ran her fingers across one of the seams, frowning at some of the imperfections. They weren't obvious to the untrained eye but she knew they were there.

Leaning her head on the window, she stared out as the skyscrapers were slowly replaced by neat suburban houses with picket fences. Of course Liz Allen grew up in the pristine suburbs—could her life get any more perfect? She already had the looks, the smarts and all the boys like Peter Parker tripping over themselves in love with her.

Speaking of her nemesis. Marinette couldn't shake the curiosity about whether Peter Parker would in fact show up with Spider-Man on his arm. She couldn't help but wonder if the boy knew who was under the mask. Every inkling of information she got only made her more perturbed by Spider-Man's existence; what could he possibly have in common with Peter if he wasn't also an annoying geek? Marinette had to internally slap herself when she found herself slipping into an almost daydream about whether there was more to Peter than met the eye—that could explain why he claimed to be friends with Spider-Man (rather than just an acquaintance).

"Is this the right house?" Came her fathers voice, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Marinette peered out at the house they were parked in front of. "Yep," she sighed, feeling slightly jealous of the beautiful building Liz was being raised in. Comprising of high ceilings and giant windows that showcased the fancy furniture, the modern house stood in front of them to once again reiterate they weren't even in the same league as Liz Allen.

"Try to smile," her father joked, pulling up the handbrake. Marinette let out a sigh as he leant over his daughter, pushing open her car door eagerly. "Unless there's boys. Don't smile at them."

She looked back at Alya with wide, pleading eyes. "Do we have to go in?"

Alya, who was dressed like she'd walked off her own Tumblr dashboard (down to the lace choker and tattered Converse) scoffed at her. "I am not missing my Spider-Man scoop—"

"I can't believe you're still buying into that," Marinette said darkly, turning back to the front with a scowl.

"—plus, Michelle is already here. We can't ditch her," Alya finished with a scowl of her own as she picked up her glittery clutch. "Come on," she ordered, reaching around to undo her seatbelt before climbing out.

Marinette gave her father one last pleading look which he just met with a mock-innocent smile. "Ugh," she groaned dramatically as she climbed out.

"Call me when you need to be picked up!" Tom Dupain-Cheng called as he drove off.

The well-maintained lawn was littered with familiar faces as everyone made the trek up the pristine driveway (they were definitely in the we-have-a-gardener-to-look-after-the-lawn tax bracket). Marinette hadn't realised just how popular Liz was and how many people also copped invites to her house. She couldn't even imagine having so many bodies packed into her quaint family home (her mother might just have a heart attack at the thought).

"Peter—!" A voice that Marinette had only heard sparingly in her life call out. "Have fun, okay?" She turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of Peter's aunt, May Parker. Peter's aunt was a mid-thirties woman and she'd grown up hearing male adults constantly say May was far too beautiful to be someone's aunt. . . Whatever that meant.

"I will," the brunette boy, dressed nicer then he normally would but still dorky, sighed as he turned to face his friends. He happened to lock eyes with Marinette in the process, making his pupils dilate. She pointedly turned away.

"Bye May!" Ned and Nino chorused, standing side-by-side as they wore shit-eating grins. 

Beside them, Adrien looked around as May drove off. He was clad in a black fitted button up that only went down to his elbow and some cream slacks. He looked like he'd come straight from one of his photoshoots. "Hey, look, it's Marinette. . . !" He called out, waving the girls over. "Oh, um, and Alya."

The grass crunched under the girls shoes as they walked over to join them. "Hey guys. Nice hat, Ned," said Alya as she planted a kiss on Nino's cheek, face going bright red at the way everyone stared at them. Them kissing in public was a new development that Marinette was not aware of.

"I told you the hat was a good idea," Ned muttered, elbowing Nino as he ran a finger across the front of his cowboy hat.

The dark skinned boy, wearing a backwards red cap, scoffed. "Whatever, dude. I still think you look like you walked right out of Brokeback Mountain."

"Dude?" Ned gawked at him, jaw slack.

Alya waved their conversation off as she turned to Peter wearing a serious look. "So, Peter. Do you know what time Spider-Man is coming?"

"Um. . . Soon? I'll have to text him and ask. . ." Peter replied, nervously tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"Can I have Spider-Man's number, too?" Nino asked hopefully.

It was Ned's turn to scoff at him. "Nino. You can't ask Peter to dox Spider-Man, bro."

At that, Nino grabbed Alya by the hand and tugged her up the driveway. Everyone else followed close behind. Marinette somehow found herself standing between Peter and Adrien, unsure whether to stare at Adrien or glare at Peter.

"I'm surprised you even showed," she muttered, sending a sideways glance in Peter's direction.

Not being used to Marinette starting conversations with him, all the words escaped Peter as he tried to come up with a witty remark. Something to make her smile at him. "I. . ."

"I like your dress, Marinette," Adrien cut in out of the blue as they walked. Goosebumps rose on her skin as he looked her up and down (she suddenly felt naked before his piercing gaze).

All the air seemed to leave her lungs. "I. . . Oh, my god? Thank you—! Um. . ."

"She made it herself," Alya jumped in, looking back at them with a smirk.

Peter watched them interact with a frown, annoyed that he didn't think to compliment her first. Flashes of her bent over a sewing machine out the back of her parents' shop as the sun illuminated down on her, catching the girl's hair in the light so it practically glowed appeared in his mind. He wished he'd been brave and spoken to her over those months. He remembered back in middle-school when they'd done Home Economics, she'd always loved the sewing unit.

There was a specific memory of her that had always stuck out to him. Their teacher, a useless and bitter old lady that should've retired a decade beforehand, had been no help in the students learning to sew. A younger, prepubescent Peter had been hunched over his sewing machine losing his mind over trying to thread his needle. He'd tried every tip his friends had given him but nothing would get the string through the microscopic hole. Marinette had been a natural, obviously (what wasn't she good at) and she'd noticed his struggle. Rolling her eyes, she'd bent over his shoulder and shoved the thread through for him. He still remembered the way her body spray had smelt. Maybe that was truly when his crush on her had started.

"Wow, that's so impressive. I'll have to introduce you to Anna Wintour at the next Met Gala—she loves up and coming designers," Adrien had said, almost sounding a little boastful and making Peter roll his eyes.

"Anna Wintour?" Marinette echoed, choking on her own tongue as Adrien held the front door open for her. Peter had to catch the door for himself, Adrien's chivalry—accidental or not—failing to extend his way.

As they entered the lively party, Marinette wasn't sure where to look first; there was a lot to take in. From the gorgeous interior of Liz's house to the group of people huddled around someone chugging straight vodka in the corner, it was a recipe for chaos. In another corner, atop a small podium, was a very expensive looking set of DJ decks belonging to none other than Flash Thompson. Dressed in one of his usual douchey popped collar polo shirts, Flash stood behind the table (looking very short in comparison) as he continuously swatted Chloe Bourgeois's hand away from the buttons.

"Stop, I'm not using your playlist," he snapped, pressing a button that filled the room with air horn sound effects and seemed very proud of himself for it. "It's my set-up. Hands off," he reiterated when she reached for his laptop again.

The blonde, dressed in what seemed to be a yellow dress from Louis Vuitton (yes, Marinette obviously kept up with the high end brands latest lines), stomped her foot like a little kid. "Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. No one wants to listen to Jay Z all night, Eugene," she grumbled.

Flash cringed at the usage of his government name. "Well, they don't wanna listen to 5 Seconds of Summer either," he retorted, flicking through songs.

"How do you know that they don't—?" Chloe remarked, glowering at whatever was on his screen.

Harry Osborn, who was sporting an open Hawaiian shirt, just shook his head at them from the other side of the decks. "Just use mine. God," he huffed, shoving his unlocked phone in Flash's hand.

Marinette couldn't help but stare at Harry's get-up. He wore nothing underneath the tropical shirt, leaving his bare chest exposed for everyone to bear witness to. It was like he was begging for female attention tonight. Marinette also couldn't help but notice Chloe's eyes periodically flickering in the direction of the boy's light abs. How interesting.

Continuing on her way, their group entered the kitchen where a lot of people were convening around the snack table. One of those people happened to fill Marinette with relief just by being present.

"Can't believe you guys are at this lame party," Michelle deadpanned, buttering a slice of toast while bearing no emotion.

"But you're here too," Ned pointed out, frowning.

Michelle quirked a brow at him as she took a bite of her toast. "Am I?" As Ned was left to ponder what she meant by that, the curly-haired girl turned to face Marinette. "How many times did you try to bail on the way?"

"Lost count," Marinette told her honestly, blushing a little at the way Adrien was watching their conversation closely.

"You didn't wanna come?" He questioned, confused why anyone wouldn't want the excuse to get out of their parents house. Though he had to remind himself that most of his friends came from households that were full of love and life—a glaring contrast to the cold halls of his fathers mansion. While their childhoods were packed full of laughter and finger painting, his was an evolution of diaper commercials to Calvin Klein partnerships.

Before Marinette had the chance to cough up some lame reason, Liz spotted them and a bright grin spread across her perfect face. "Oh, my gosh. Hey guys! Cool hat, Ned," she exclaimed, holding a red solo cup.

Ned, smirking, elbowed Nino, who just rolled his eyes. "Hi Liz," the boy emphasises, tipping his leather hat at her.

"Liz, hi," Peter squeaked nervously and Marinatte had to fight off the scowl as she watched him ogle Liz. She's not sure why watching Peter Parker crush on Liz Allen always annoyed her. Maybe it was his audacity to like someone so far above them.

"This is such a nice house," said Alya, politely as her eyes surveyed the room.

Liz, still beaming, clasped her hands together. "I'm so happy you guys came. There's pizza and drinks. Help yourself."

"What a great party," Peter said, almost sounding robotic. Marinette studied his demeanour (not willingly, it just happened).

"Thanks," Liz chirped, taking a sip from the cup she was sporting.

Michelle took another loud bite of her toast, offering some to Marinette. "Toast?"

As the girl opened her mouth to decline, there was the sound of glass breaking that caught all their attention. Stress flashed across Liz's face before she went to excuse herself, "my parents will kill me if anything's broken."

When the girl disappeared, Ned and Peter burst into frantic whispering which Marinette wasn't given much time to dwell on or attempt to eavesdrop. Alya and Nino had quickly disappeared to get drinks (and alone time) and Michelle had also disappeared into the shadows somewhere, waiting to terrorise drunk party-goers with her conspiracy theories. That left Marinette standing in the kitchen with Adrien.

They stood for a moment as Marinette fought the urge to not gawk at him. Her moments alone with Adrien were sparse and she knew there were plenty of other fangirls that would sell organs to be where she stood. But yet, she couldn't let her mind get lost in his brilliance like she normally would. Not when Peter Parker and Ned Leeds were discussing, what she could only assume was the Spider-Man cameo very nearby—she wanted to know what was going on with that.

"So, do you go to many parties?" Adrien asked, leaning against the marble counter. Marinette tried not to stare at the way his forearms flexed under the pressure, making one of the bold veins even more prominent.

Shaking both distractions away, she tried to focus on him making conversation (because, oh my god? Adrien Agreste was talking to her at a house party?) "Hm. . . ? Oh, um not really, to be honest," she muttered, the corner of her eye still flickering over to Peter Parker. Her gaze darted away every time he looked over his shoulder back at her. It was as if some sixth sense alerted him everytime she stared.

"Same," Adrien admitted, recapturing her attention. "I wasn't even allowed to go to any of the fashion shows after parties this summer—my father said it would be bad for my image or whatever," he huffed, rolling his eyes at the last part.

"So is this like your first party?" She questioned.

"Yeah, kinda. Is that lame of me?" His golden skin became tainted by a pink blush across his cheeks.

Trying to make him feel better, in the only way she knew how, Marinette decided to overshare. "I mean, I haven't been to a party since middle school. And we played musical chairs most of the time and someone peed their pants. . ." (that someone being Nino).

He smiled at her wistfully. "I would've loved to do stuff like that as a kid—not the peeing pants part, obviously, I—"

"Did Chloe and Harry not have birthday parties?" Marinette asked, tilting her head to the side in confusion.

Adrien shrugged. "They did but they were more. . . Formal?"

"What, like caviar and non-alcoholic champagne?" Marinette joked, imagining the most ridiculous banquet hall being rented out for Chloe's four friends while butlers waited on them, hand and foot.

"You're not too far off. . ." Adrien murmured bitterly.

"Oh—!"

He shook his head, forcing an optimistic smile back on his face. Best not dwell on the childhood he could've had and ruin the moment he was living in currently. "But hey, better late than never," Adrien gestured around the party, stretching his arms out like a flamboyant real estate agent showing a potential buyer around a house.

"How'd you convince your dad to let you come?" The girl asked, genuinely curious.

Adrien looked away from her, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I didn't. . . He's away on business and thinks I'm at home, safe. . ."

Before Marinette could say anything, the grating sound of a screeching microphone cut through their conversation. They both peered across at the DJ decks that Flash stood behind as he wore a smirk. "Penis Parker, what's up?"

"Oh, here we go," Marinette muttered, looking back at a frozen Peter.

"He's relentless," Adrien concurred.

Having captured the entire room's attention, Flash relished in the moment. "So, where's your pal Spider-Man? Let me guess. In Canada with your imaginary girlfriend?"

Marinette looked at Adrien quickly before asking, "how did you ever like him?"

"I really didn't," Adrien grunted.

"That's not Spider-Man. That's just Ned in a red shirt," Flash continued, smirking into his microphone.

Okay, Adrien had to admit that one was a little funny. Knowing Marinette wasn't the biggest fan of Peter (she was less than subtle about it), he turned to her with the small grin he'd not been able to fight off but found it melting away immediately. Marinette was staring across the room at Peter, mouth forming a straight line.

Adrien racked his brain on ways to regain her attention. "Hey, um. . . Do you wanna grab some drinks?"

"Oh, I don't drink—" She said dismissively, still not looking away from Peter and Ned.

"Surely Liz has some soda," the blonde boy countered.

Marinette finally looked at him for long enough to give him a small smile and the brief look seemed to put him at ease. "Then sure!" Her smile faded momentarily, however, when she looked back to see Peter had disappeared. Ned was left on his own, talking to Michelle as he wore a frightened look at whatever she was telling him (that girl needed to get off Reddit).

The girl's eyes darted side-to-side, trying to spot where he'd gone. How had he vanished in such a short period of time—?

"Coming?" Adrien prompted, holding out a hand for her.

Marinette was so mentally side-tracked that she accepted his grip without a second thought. It wasn't until they were halfway across the dancefloor that the fire started to burn in her palm and reality set in. She stared down at her feet as they weaved in and out of drunk teenagers, eyes bulging out of her skull. Adrien Agreste was holding her hand at a house party—granted, it was for the convenience of not getting split up but she wasn't one to get bogged down in the small details.

His hands were just as she'd been imagining they would be all these months; rough but soft and strong. A contradiction that just made perfect sense when it came to Adrien Agreste. His long fingers wrapped around her own, encasing them in a prison she'd gladly do a life sentence in.

Even when they reached the fold out table, he didn't let go. Instead, he opted to pour them both soda one-handed—a feat that she couldn't help but find attractive (she could only dream of being so coordinated). Marinette continued to stare down at their joined hands, specifically at one of the extra prominent veins running down his wrist. She had to be hallucinating, it was the only explanation.

"Here. I hope it's not flat," he said, handing her the red cup that she gladly accepted.

She instantaneously took a sip and immediately regretted it. There was not a single ounce of fizz in that cup. "It's great," she replied unconvincingly as she peered into the cup. Yep, not a bubble in sight.

Adrien took a sip himself and grimaced. "Maybe vodka isn't such a bad idea," he joked, ditching his cup at the table.

"If you pretend it's juice, it's not that bad," Marinette giggled, taking another sip and biting back a displeased look.

Akin to a little kid, Adrien threw his head back and laughed at the face she pulled—the sound, in her opinion, was comparable to harps in a regal symphony.

There she stood, gazing up at Adrien Agreste, under the vibrant glow of neon strobe lights as she watched her crush laugh at something she had said (something that wasn't even that funny, might she add). She was captivated by the kaleidoscope of colours that danced across his face, making his eyes shimmer like emeralds in a treasure chest. In that moment everything else faded away and was replaced by a rush of warmth inside her chest.

It was only in the presence of Adrien that Marinette felt giddy like this—like a normal teenage girl. The woes of saving New York didn't matter in that moment.

A shift in the song cut Adrien's laughter short and he looked up with wide, sparkling eyes. "Wait, I love this song," he commented as Justin Bieber's voice filled the busy living room, the Spanish lyrics of Despacito bouncing against the walls. The blonde gazed towards the dance floor—that people had started to stumble onto—and then back at Marinette with a playful look.

The girl had to have been dreaming, there's no way this was happening. She felt an aggressive flutter of butterflies in her stomach as she looked past him longingly at a couple messily making out on the dancefloor. The magic of the night wrapped around them as she looked back at her crush.

"M—me too!" She had managed to stammer out after a myriad of fantasies played out in her mind (she particularly liked the part where they got married and adopted a bunch of hamsters).

His set of perfect teeth glistened at her as his grin widened. "Dance with me then," he demanded playfully, reaching out for her shaking hand once again.

A surprised squeak escaped her lips as she allowed herself to be tugged away from the refreshments table. Her joints went rigid as he guided her towards the makeshift dance floor, where a lot of their peers were visibly wasted and had no issue flailing their limbs about madly. Marinette hoped she'd one day get to that stage of carefreeness.

As the chorus to the Spanish song began, Adrien twirled the girl and she couldn't contain her child-like giggle as she stumbled into him on the way back around. "I have to warn you, I have two left feet."

The corners of Adrien's eyes crinkled at her confession as his smile widened. "Lucky for you, I did ballroom dance lessons with my mom when I was younger," he said in a low voice as his spare hand rested on the crook of her hip and began guiding them in small circles.

A part of Marinette felt the urge to pinch herself to make sure this was really happening but the other half of her didn't want to wake up from this dream. "What aren't you good at," she sighed before catching that she'd said that out loud and not in her head.

Adrien just laughed at the way her face went red. "Chemistry," he mumbled, pulling her a little closer as the song came to a close.

Their eyes were locked and Marinette felt like she was in a movie scene—

"Hey lovebirds," came Alya as she and Nino approached them, looking a little unsteady on their feet. The boy had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, somewhat using her to prop himself up. They'd been gone only twenty minutes, how the hell had they managed to consume so much alcohol? Nino in particular had bloodshot eyes a a vacant grin.

Alarm flashed across Marinette's face at her friend's greeting. "Ha, ha. Funny," Adrien muttered, rolling his eyes as he let her go and took a step back to shove Nino playfully. The dark skinned boy stumbled back a little, having to use Alya to steady himself.

"Where's Peter-man? Wait. . . Spider-Peter. . . ?" Alya stammered, frowning as she tried to clear her thoughts.

A strange feeling erupted in the pit of her stomach at the mention of her bitter rival. Marinette peaked a glance at Adrien, who was preoccupied scanning the room. The only comparable sensation she could compare how her stomach felt was guilt but that made absolutely no sense.

Adrien shrugged. "Guess he was lying about knowing Spider-Man and bailed," he concurred when he couldn't spot the brunette anywhere.

"Peter wouldn't do that," Nino slurred, frowning.

It seemed they weren't the only ones questioning where the boy had disappeared to. Suddenly the music cut and the obnoxious sound of airhorns was forced upon them again. "DJ Flash," a robotic voice called over the speakers.

Their eyes all shot up at the DJ decks to a smirking Harry Osborn and Flash Thompson looking directing at their group. "Lahiffe! Where's your buddy Parker? I thought he was bringing Spider-Man, or did he ditch you?"

The boy, who was feeling the harsh effects of the straight tequila he'd just chugged, felt as though a bright spotlight had been thrown on him. Everyone was craning their necks to stare. "I. . . He was supposed to but I don't know where he. . ." Nino could hardly get out coherent sentences and Marinette took pity on him.

"Yeah, I mean, that's what you've been telling everyone all night," Flash retorted, making a point to theatrically pretend to look around the room before adding, "but I'm not seeing any superheroes, are you?" He turned to Harry.

"Are we counting Neville?" Harry sneered, nodding at an off putting kid in their year that lived his life in a sweat-stained Captain America get-up.

At that, Flash played the air horn sound effect again and the crowd that had gathered laughed collectively.

Sweat was beading down Nino's face as his legs shook however, he didn't back down. "Something probably came up, uhm—with that internship and shit," he retorted, defending his friend's honour the best he could in his altered state of mind.

Flash scoffed. "Peter Parker being too busy for his friends? Wow, what a shocker—who would've seen that one coming, am I right?" He turned for the audience's opinion and a lot of people nodded along, whispering amongst themselves.

"I just. . . Thought he'd actually pull through. . ." Nino mumbled, feeling small.

"Well, I guess Spider-Man isn't interested in hanging out with you losers after all. Must hurt," Flash replied, mock sympathy laced his tone.

"Man, fuck you—!" The tequila gave him the confidence to say but he was promptly drowned out by Flash's air horn sound effect again.

The spoilt boy lifted the microphone back to his mouth as he retained everyone's attention once more. "Hey guys, I got an idea," he shouted excitedly into the microphone. "When I say Penis, you say Parker. Penis!"

"Parker!" Of course the group of teenagers jumped on the opportunity to make fun of a classmate that wasn't even present. High school functioned as a hive mind—kill or be killed.

As Alya tried to comfort a shaking Nino, Marinette felt annoyance course through her veins. She looked around the room and saw Ned crouched in the corner speaking rapidly into his phone. Typical.

Just when she had the idea to go over there and demand to know what the hell had happened to Peter, a familiar glow of purple flew in through one of the ajar windows. Her lips fell into an 'o' shape as her eyes locked with the glowing butterfly that was making a beeline straight towards them. An Akuma attack now?

Dropping Adriens hand (as much as she didn't want to), Marinette dived for Nino instinctively. Being so drunk, he fell to the ground like a domino. "The f—?" He groaned, clutching his stomach as he fought off the urge to puke.

Marinette didn't have time to explain as she jumped to her feet once more, aggressively swatting the air as the Akuma tried to weave around her. She was not letting Nino get targeted by Hawkmoth at his first high school house party (that would ruin his chances of ever getting invited to another one).

Adrien, put a hand on her shoulder and tried to follow her line of vision to understand why she'd started to freak out suddenly. "What are you—? Oh, my god. . . Is that?" His eyes widened when realised.

"Help me kill it—!" Marinette screeched and the three immediately began waving their arms rapidly.

Someone managed to make connection with the create, knocking it put of the air and before anyone could hesitate, a tattered Doc Marten flattened the creature. Marinette looked up at Michelle, relieved at her random reappearance.

No one spoke for a second as the curly-haired girl pulled her foot back. What was left was a splattered white carcass, the grey juices it exuded would probably stain the marble floors. Its wings were detached, crumpled a few centimetres away. The purple glow that had surrounded the creature moments ago had vanished, leaving an innocent creature dead in its place. It's not like the butterfly chose to be a vessel of evil.

"I think we should get him home," Alya said after a moment (not after snapping a photo of the deceased creature, which Marinette found a little insensitive).

Alya and Adrien took a hold of either side of the boy, slinging his arms around their shoulders and shuffled to the door. "But I wanna see Spider-Man," he protested, eyes barely open.

"You will when you get home," Alya mumbled soothingly, rubbing his back.

Marinette walked ahead, holding open the front door. Her eyes did one last look over the party to make sure no other Akuma's were lurking in a dark corner somewhere. When she was satisfied finally, her eyes brushed past a family photo wall and she had to do a double take.

A photograph of a smiling man, who she could only assume was Liz's dad based on the other photos on the wall, shaking the hand of a younger Gabriel Agreste caught her eye. They were stood in a lab, beaming at whoever was taking the photo. Marinette frowned as she pulled the door closed, trying to rack her brain for what Liz said her dad did for work.

"I didn't know your dad was friends with Liz's dad," Marinette muttered to Adrien as they walked down the driveway.

Adrien, who'd been multitasking calling his person driver and keeping Nino upright, paused and sent a confused look the girls way. "Huh. . . ? Neither did I. . ."

Chapter Text

SIXTEEN | STAY A LITTLE WHILE

                    A HULKING PRESSENCE ON THE EDGE OF THE UPPER EAST SIDE, THE AGRESTE FAMILY MANSION MADE ALL THE OTHER NOBLE HOUSES SEEM INSIGNIFICANT IN COMPARISON. It's vastness cast a shadow over the gated community the father and son resided in; an imposing structure wrapped in an aura of cold elegance. Unlike a lot of their neighbours, that had a lot more classically designed structures, the Agreste family home was constructed with a modern eye. Its sleek futuristic lines were a stark contrast against the cloudy sky, giving it an almost otherworldly pressence. The gardens, pruned to perfection and spanning an acre, made all the other ones look like a childs vegetable patch with its rigid hedges and pointed rose bushes. In his fifteen years on this earth, Adrien Agreste had never seen so much as a blade of grass out of place.

Inside, the vast rooms felt empty and contained a constant, almost haunting echo to them, the silence typically only broken by the faint rustle of curtains in the drafty halls. Shadows often danced across perfectly polished marble floors, alluding to at a time when this home was once filled with warmth and laughter. The walls, adorned with striking art, seemed to silently mourn the absence of life, while the sleek furniture stood like lonely sentinels, untouched and draped in an unsettling stillness.

And although Adrien Agreste had long since come to dread these dinners, he was also grateful for the silence to be broken. He would gladly accepting having to sit through surface level small talk with the Osborns and the Bourgeois' over the silence.

Ever since he had enrolled at Midtown Science and Technology, Adrien had found coming home even more lonely than before (which was saying something because he used to have an army of imaginary friends as a child). He always felt empty when the school bell would ring and he'd have to leave the constant noise he'd grown to find so comforting. The ghost of what his life could have been–if his mother was still alive–haunted the blonde far too often these days. A constant punch in the guts to remind him that he would never know the love his friends grew up in.

Fictional media always pushed the idea that money couldn't buy happiness and as a little kid, who could point at any toy in a catalogue and have it appear in his room the next day, he had never quite grasped the concept. However, the older he got and the more time he spent having friends that weren't conjured in his imagination, the more he was starting to get it. Adrien would happily watch every high wall of this house burn to the ground if he could live one more day with his parents from before (or even just parent. Singular).

The sound of his name made the boy, who had been robotically running his fork back and fourth through his mashed potatoes, look up. Everyone seemed to be staring expectantly at him (except Audrey Bourgeois, who was too enthralled in her glass of rosé to notice anything going on around her). The boy inhaled sharply as he uttered a quiet, "pardon?"

"You went to this party, too?" His father repeated, sharp eyes narrowed as he ran bony fingers through his gelled hair.

Adrien paled, opening his mouth to come up with some sort of excuse to justify his actions but before he evem got the chance, Chloe cut in. "Yeah, but only because I practically forced him, right Adrikans?" She said, meeting his eye before pointedly looking back at his father with a childlike smile that allowed her to get away with anything growing up.

"Y–yeah," Adrien stuttered, nodding along slowly as he attempted to regain his composure.

"Like, I probably called him at least ten times until he finally caved," Chloe affirmed, not batting an eye at the straight lies pouring from her mouth. "'Cause, I mean, what's the point of a high school party if Adrien can't come, too? Right?"

Gabriels frown deepened, accentuating the lines embedded in his forehead from all the stress of running a company (at least, that's what he'd say to the media). "Adrien knows he's not allowed to go to parties," he said firmly and the boy knew he was in for it when the guests left. A pit formed in his stomach at the thought.

"Oh, Gabe. He's fifteen," Norman Osborn jumped in, patting his friend on the back."It's just a party. Harry's at one every other night and he's turned out fine," Adrien and his father both bit back smirks at this. "Besides, we all probably got up to a whole lot worse at their age."

His fathers business partner had always been a source of comfort for Adrien. The boy would never forget the way the Osborn's practically took him in after his mother died—when his own father had shut himself away from the world (and his son). He wouldn't even be able to count the amount of nights he spent sleeping in Harry's bed (because he refused to sleep in the guest room alone) trying to make sense of his mother not being alive anymore. Harry had lost his mother, too. He'd got it.

Adrien peered across the table at his ex-best friend, the image of his younger self appearing in his mind. How did that little toothless boy turn into the kind of person to push his best friends into trash cans? He couldn't mentally accept that boy who'd accepted him as a brother was now nothing more than just a stranger.

Gabriel scoffed at Norman's comment. "Hardly."

"We should all be celebrating the fact that the kids seemed to all be friends again," the billionaire enthused, smiling warmly at each teenager.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Adrien, catching him staring. "Yeah, you could say that," he muttered, almost successfully masking his bitterness.

Gabriel paused before shaking his head dismissively. "I don't like that you were so close to an almost Akuma attack. It's bad enough there was one at your school," he spoke firmly. Adrien couldn't help but find it funny that his father left out the fact that there had been one at their last dinner (bringing it up probably wouldn't go well either).

Major Bourgeois cleared his throat, seeming to also remember what had happened at the last dinner. "Harry, are you sure of what you saw. . . ? I know there was probably a lot of drinking going on," he pried, smiling nervously.

"Adrien better not have been drinking," Gabriel interjected darkly, glaring into his wine glass.

The blonde violently shook his head. "No, father."

"I know what I saw. It was a glowy purple butterfly and those frea—friends of Adriens killed it," Harry explained, crossing his arms. "Why would I make that up?"

"Were you there for that, Adrien?" Norman asked, leaning in curiously after placing his now empty glass on the table. A staff member immediately rushed forward to refill it.

An overwhelming feeling overtook him and Adrien felt as though it would be best to downplay his involvement. "Oh, um. I thought Marinette was just scared of bugs, I didn't even realise it may have been an Akuma," he replied, keeping his tone light.

His father shook his head silently before saying, "this is exactly why I don't let you go to these things. You're not aware enough of your surroundings."

Andre scratched his balding head before looking to his daughter thoughtfully. "Marinette? Isn't that the girl you always talk about, Chloe?"

Her face went red and she pouted at her father, agitated. "I don't talk about her, I complain. There's a difference, ugh."

"My bad, sweetie," he apologised, reaching to pat her arm but she snatched it away harshly.

Soon enough the conversation shifted into business talk and Adrien half tuned them out, uninterested on how sales were looking for the quarter. His life was basically a long-winded business venture, anyways.

"I managed to talk to Toombes," Norman had said in a low tone at some point.

"And?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

"He mostly had a lot to say about that meddling Tony Stark," Norman grumbled darkly, shaking his head.

Adrien let out a resigned sigh as he looked down at his mostly untouched meal; the vibrancy of the roasted vegetables had seemed to fade as the night went on. They looked as dull as he felt.

Adrien's father's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass, knuckles turning white. "That Tony Stark, I tell you what. . ."

This reaction to the billionaire's name wasn't out of the ordinary. Stark Industries and Oscorp had a long standing bitter rivalry that the CEO's on either side made no secret in hiding—jabs at each other was the norm in interviews. Both companies fought tooth and nail to be at the top of the industry.

Although he was fairly younger when it happened, Adrien had a vivid memory of the day Tony Stark revealed himself as Iron Man to the world. He didn't remember it by the messy press conference but by his fathers explosive reaction. If smoke had started coming out his father's ears when he'd been stood rigidly in front of the TV, Adrien wouldn't have been surprised—he had never seen his father so filled with rage. From that day on, Gabriel Agreste had become a loud voice against vigilante heroes and had been one of the powerful figures that had pushed for The Sokovia Accords (information the boy had only recently found out). Adrien had never met someone—besides maybe Ladybug—who was more against The Avengers Initiative.

Oftentimes when he had a moment to himself while on patrol, he liked to imagine the look of horror his father would wear if he ever found out what his son got up to. Not only was he breaking every rule he'd ever been given but he was doing exactly what Tony Stark had done (on paper he and Adrien were a lot alike, actually). Every time he donned the Chat Noir persona, it was a very loud act of rebellion.

Later, when the clatter of cutlery stopped and all the plots had disappeared, the deafening silence returned. Most of the staff had gone home for the night—probably to quaint homes with people waiting by the door ready to hug them. Adrien was in a constant battle with the bitterness that coursed through his lonely veins.

Banished back to the confines of his cavernous chamber, the boy was perched at the end of his ginormous California king bed—its vastness like an ocean threatening to swallow him whole. His gaze was fixed on the moonlight spilling like silver lace across the night sky, casting shadows that danced across his walls. Each beam whispered secrets of faraway dreams he would never obtain, while the cool night air carried a distant sigh, reminding him that wealth, though vast, cannot fill the hollow ache of longing. The stars twinkle like jewels in a crown he never wished to wear, and he feels as if he might drown in the endless expanse of his own despair, wondering if the night, with all its beauty, can understand the weight of his solitude.

He almost hadn't hear his door, expertly fashioned not to groan under constant use, crack open. A chill ran down his spine at the sight of his father, looming at the entrance as no more then a slender silhouette. "Do not ever defy my wishes again, Adrien," he reiterated, voice eerily calm.

The blonde nodded timidly. "Yes, father."

There was no goodnight or I love you exchanged—just a faint nod in acknowledgment. Gabriel did not linger, pulling the door closed behind him and his son was once again left alone with only the moonlight as company.

Adrien flung himself backwards, sinking into the deep covers.

He laid there for a moment, watching the shadows of the night dance across his ceiling before exhaling loudly. He dug through the covers, his phone having been consumed by them at some point.

Finally, when he rescued the device, he went straight for the contacts app (and squinted painfully at the brightness). His thumb hesitated over the name, one he'd not sought out in months.

ADRIEN: Thanks for trying to cover for me

CHLOE: Did he go easy on you?

ADRIEN: Yeah, I guess

CHLOE: I'm glad

🕷️🐞🐈‍⬛

ACROSS THE VAST CITY, THE WIND HOWLED THROUGH THE STREETS, CARRYING WHISPERS OF UNSPOKEN DESIRES AS MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG GAZED UP AT THE SAME MOON. Her hair was damp, tendrils dripping down her shoulders. She had gone on patrol solo tonight, Chat Noir having pre-warned her that he had a family commitment that night. It wasn't until nights where she was left to traverse the New York rooftops alone that she realised how much she missed his company (even if he was a serial flirt). Having him to bounce sarcastic quips off kept her alert.

Her weathered patio had seen better days, rusted lawn chair creaking as she sank further into it's embrace. She soaked up the moonlight as if she was waiting for a tan to form on her milky skin. She held a flaky croissant, each glorious bite was a small reward after a night spent chasing shadows and protecting New York. Marinette savoured the buttery layers, crumbs dusting her fingertips, a moment of sweetness amidst the chaos of her double life. The air was filled with the faint scent of blooming flowers (which had finally started to come alive after her planting them weeks ago), and she let out a contented sigh, momentarily lost in the tranquility, far removed from the superhero she had been just hours before.

As Marinette enjoyed her croissants, a flutter of anticipation danced in her chest, an unspoken expectation threading through her thoughts. She absently watched the sky, where the clouds drifted lazily, imagining the thrill of a sudden rustle in the air. The moonlight felt almost electric, as if the world held its breath, waiting for something—or someone—to break the routine of her quiet late dinner. She couldn't shake the feeling that this moment, with its delicate pastries and gentle breeze, was just a prelude to an unexpected encounter, a spark of magic lingering just beyond the horizon.

She had caught a glimpse of him—still under her mask—but he'd disappeared into the shadows before her eyes could even adjust to his appearance.

"Do you ever sleep?" A familar hero inquired, voice laced with a smile.

Marinette jumped a little in her seat, craning her neck to look behind her. He was perched a top their rusted satellite before dropping down and taking a few strides towards her. She twisted her entire torso around so she was facing him properly before replying, "I could ask you the same question, Spider-Man."

She could've sworn she saw the face underneath the spandex mask morph into a grin. "No but I swear you're out here everytime I go on patrol," he continued, making himself comfortable in the lounge chair usually reserved for Alya.

Her gaze lingered on his casual stance before looking back to his face. "Are you stalking me?" She questioned, raising a dark brow at him as she took another slow bite of her pastry. The girl attempted to eat away her smirk at his reaction.

He shot forward in his seat, horrified at the accusation (her light tone flew right over his head). "What? No!" He insisted, waving his arms frantically as he tried to explain himself. "I just pass by on my way home, that's all—"

"Spider-Man lives in Queens, eh? You make it easier and easier for someone to narrow done who you are," she teased, amused by his panic. But she wasn't wrong; a little investigating and the wrong person could learn his identity quite easily. She liked to think she was very careful but Alya's blog violently humbled her often, somehow catching every little trip up.

The webslinger momentarily stopped in his tracks before resting back into the lawn chair. "I never said I lived here," he mumbled, averting his gaze to the street below.

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, looking at him with sparkling eyes and a smirk.

"I don't!" He insisted, lunging forward again before composing himself and leaning back in his seat. She could laugh at his attempt in looking nonchalant. "I mean, I don't or whatever. . ."

Marinette buried her head in her hands as she let out a high pitched giggle. "God, you're so easy to rile up," she chortled, voice muffled by her palms.

"Give me a break, it's been a long weekend," he huffed indignantly, crossing his arms and pouting under his mask.

A quiet moment passed between them as Marinette got her laughter under control, sucking in deeply and sitting up straight once again. Spider-Man watched her curiously as she looked back up at the sky, grateful she couldn't see how mesmirised he was by the way her face illuminated under the moonlight. The soft light danced in her ebony hair, tricking his eyes into thinking it was a deep midnight blue. He longed to touch it—to know if it was as silky as it looked.

Feeling his stare, Marinette looked back at him before extending her plate to him. "Want one?" She offered, nodding down at the two croissants still waiting to be consumed.

His eyes widened at the offer as looked down longingly at the floral painted desert plate. "Y—you're offering me. . . ?" He couldn't quite get the sentence out, not used to her kindness being directed at him.

She shrugged, pushing the plate closer to him. "I know it's not a vanilla slice, but—"

"Thank you," he said quickly as he tentatively took the pastry between his fingers.

She watched him quizzically as he hesitantly looked away from her and lifted the bottom of his mask to take a bite. The light was too low for her to really distinguish much about his appearance other than pale skin. And she had no interest in unmasking him (at least, not in this moment).

Marinette couldn't help but note his hesitation and genuine surprise at her gesture, however. The gesture felt small and insignificant, yet it stirred something deep within her, a flicker of vulnerability she hadn't anticipated him to show. She paused, a swirl of confusion in her mind—why did this simple act seem to resonate so profoundly with him? As Ladybug, she had often held him at arm's length, her tone clipped and her defenses high. But that was Ladybug, not Marinette. Yet now, under the moon's gentle glow, the barriers began to dissolve. The night wrapped around them, creating a cocoon where past misunderstandings faded into the background.

In that fleeting moment, Marinette understood that kindness could transcend masks and misgivings. As he savored the croissant, a smile breaking across his face, she felt an uncharted connection blossoming—two souls sharing a quiet bond, discovering that even amidst the complexities of their lives, the simplest gestures could spark a light in the dark.

Maybe Spidey wasn't so bad, she supposed.

🕷️🐞🐈‍⬛

MARINETTE STOOD HUNCHED OVER HER WORKBENCH, FRUSTRATION BUBBLING BENEATH THE SURFACE AS SHE FUMBLED WITH THE TOOLS. Unlike her usual creative endeavours—like sewing and sketching—where her imagination flowed effortlessly, this space felt foreign and daunting. The wood stubbornly refused to bend to her will, the saw seemed to mock her clumsy attempts, and each miscalculated cut sent a ripple of annoyance through her. She watched her classmates skillfully shaping their projects, their confidence a stark contrast to her growing self-doubt. For someone who thrived on creativity and artistry, feeling out of her depth in this setting was a bitter pill to swallow. The tension gnawed at her, the fear of not measuring up overshadowing the joy she usually found in creating.

Her project was so straightforward (according to the website she'd got the plans off), she felt the inanimate parts sneering up at her everytime she hammered in another bent nail. She had become well acquainted with the back end of a hammer enough that she even knew its technical name (peen. . .  what a word, though, she insists on being mature about it). The pile of wasted nails grew rapidly beside her.

Frustrated that she needed to remove another one from her splintered wooden plank (which was going to need replacing again at this point), she let out a loud huff and looked around the workshop as everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. Even Harry Osborn was expertly sanding the edges of his project, receiving constant praise from Chloe, who had Sabrina working hard on her project. Why had she let her dad talk her into taking an elective none of her friends were also in? (Handy life skills and the other reasons he'd given her sounded moronic now.)

As she looked around the bustling atmosphere of Midtown's woodshop, her eyes—like moth to a flame—landed across the way at Peter Parker. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he focused intently at whatever was in front of him, hammer in hand. Her eyebrows shot upwards as he brought it down to whatever he was working on clumsily, sending a guilty look to his surroundings at the abnormal noise it made in the clash. She tried to rack her brain for what he was supposed to be making but drew a blank. This was the one class she was too preoccupied in to pay attention to him in (plus they equally sucked, sad far as she was aware).

Just then, however, Ned Leeds approached then bench. With hands on his hips, he peered across the stray tools at his best friend. "Hey, thanks for bailing on us," Ned grunted, crossing his arms as he awaited a lengthy apology.

Peter hardly looked up, reaching to his left for a screwdriver. "Yeah, well, something came up," he muttered, nodding at whatever was before them.

Ned's rigid posture went slack as he bent down to inspect Peter's project. "Oh, what is that?"

As his body blocked her view, Marinette tried to crane her neck for a better view—clearly whatever Peter was working on had nothing to do with school (maybe he was making a bomb and she needed to warn everyone). She cursed Ned for not standing slightly to the left as she bobbed her head side to side in an attempt to see past him. At the same time, much to her annoyance, Le Chien Kim began sawing loudly at the table behind her and she couldn't even hear their conversation anymore (and she was a terrible lip-reader even after a million YouTube tutorials on it).

Pouting, she looked over her shoulder at her broad classmate to gage how much longer he would be at it. Unfortunately, he seemed to have a huge pile of wood before him with penciled lines marked on them all.

A sudden loud bang emitted from their direction and Marinette, along with the rest of the class, momentarily stopped to stare. Peter and Ned both look across at their teacher, Mr Hapgood, worried but the older man didn't even look up from his novel. "Keep your fingers clear of the blades," he instructed, licking his finger and turning a page. (Mr Hapgood was the type of teacher that should've retired a decade ago but needed the money too much.)

Marinette felt herself creeping around her table, trying to inconspiculously get closer and find out what they were up to. The Art of War said one needed to know thy enemy, after all. And again, what if they were building a bomb?

At the same time, Adrien and a sour looking Nino approached their table. The latter boy wasn't sporting his normal headphones (having been banned from wearing them in the workshop after almost amputating a finger in Freshman orientation week). "Oh, look who it is," he scoffed, stopping in front of the two boys.

Peter, who had frantically scrambled to shove something in his pocket, scratched the back of his head as he looked guiltily at his friend. "Hey man, I'm sorry for disappearing at the party—"

"You better have a mind blowingly good excuse, man," Nino cut him off. "Alya was so bummed out, dude. You promised her a scoop."

"I. . . had an emergency meeting with Mr Stark? Yep," Peter explained, voice raising an octave. Marinette frowned as she inched closer, clocking that he was lying (you unintentionally learn someone's tells when you're in a constant battle with them).

Nino scoffed, crossing his arms. "Tony Stark was in India according to a magazine I saw on Thursday. For some royal wedding," the boy reminded him.

"Yeah, um, he's back," Peter mumbled, unconvincingly.

Ned nodded along enthusiastically, eyes a little manic as he backed his friend up. "Yeah, it's true—didn't you guys see that Iron Man footage on Alya's blog?" He inquired, giving Nino a look that implied he should be paying better attention to his (basically) girlfriend.

As Nino frowned again, Adrien jumped in. "Is that why Spider-Man didn't show?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. He was at the meeting," he informed them, biting the inner corner of his chapped lips.

"And you're not gonna tell us what it was for. . . ?" Nino huffed, slumping into one of the stools and digging around his bag for the plans of his own project.

"Can't," Peter replied apologetically, shrugging.

Marinette hadn't realised that, in her eavesdropping, her feet had carried her over to the foot of their table. Adrien noticed her first, eyes surveying her for a reason possible reason why she'd shuffled over—it wasn't like her to seek them out. ". . . Did you need something, Marinette?" He asked.

Okay, so Marinette couldn't exactly admit that she was listening in on their conversation. "I—Do you have a spare hammer?" She spluttered, smiling nervously at them.

"Like the one you're holding?" Ned questioned, looking down at the slightly rusted tool she'd forgotten to put down.

With a red face, she nodded. "Um. Yeah. . . I don't like this one?"

Adrien chuckled a little, finding her absurdity very endearing. "I'll trade you," he offered, reaching across the table for the hammer Peter had just been using.

"T—thank you." Marinette's heart palpitated as he reached for her hammer, skin brushing against hers.

Adrien, inspecting the hammer she claimed to not like, continued the conversation, "so, how was the rest of your weekend?"

"It was good," she squeaked.

Mr Hapgood looked up from his book and glared at Marinette. "Please stay at your designated work benches!" He ordered before turning his attention back to the literary work of Stephen King.

"See you in decathlon practice," Marinette whispered to a smiling Adrien before promptly spinning on her heel.

Overtaken by some sort of otherworldly feeling, Peter called out, "bye Marinette," to the girl. He felt embarrassed as soon as the syllables left his mouth, wishing he could yank them back inside. Especially when she sent a confused glare over her shoulder back at him.

The rest of the school day ticked on in a moderately uneventful manner (which Marinette appreciated in the chaos of the rest of her life). Most of her classes blew by in a flurry of shooting her hand in the air before Peter Parker could (and still not getting chosen). Her ink smudged hands were eager for a well deserved break when fourth period came to a conclusion.

Lunch was its typical thunderstorm of Alya and Michelle debating topics they didn't know a whole lot about in order to sound more distinguished—it was a mystery why neither had joined the debate team yet. Marinette didn't intentionally tune them out but when the conversation kept circling back to her alter ego, she didn't want to hear it anymore.

Instead, her gaze was fixed on the boys down the end of their table, who'd been discussing the schematics of incorporating alien technology with human technology (what a weird lunch topic, why did no one wanna talk about the weather anymore?). More specifically she watched the brunette who had been shooting daggers at Ned since the conversation had kicked off.

"—I mean, it's all well and good to hypothesise this but with no alien tech to use as a dummy, we can't even begin to imagine the possibilities," Nino had been rambling, excited by the prospect. "It's the same as how, theoretically, it would be possible to fashion a lightsaber with the right tech."

"It is technically alien tech," Ned agreed, pointedly not meeting Peter's look.

"Exactly! Which is why—"

And they had lost her as fast as they'd got her. As curious as she was to know what was going on with her nemesis, she would still rather watch paint dry than listen to a conversation about Star Wars. Marinette didn't even like Star Wars—which she blames Peter for ruining. If he hadn't talked about Luke Skywalker so much in grade school, she might've been more inclined to give the films a chance. But it was out of spite that she refused to sit down and watch them (even after the countless slideshows he had made about the franchise in third grade trying to convince his peers to watch).

Lunch was over quickly and as was the rest of the school day. Marinette dragged her feet across the squeaky floors, ignoring the grating sound her sneakers made as she lugged her stack of heavy textbooks to Decathlon practice.

The halls were fairly empty with most students having either left or joined their after school clubs by now. She had been hurrying down the mathematics corridor when she saw Ned and Peter walking the opposite direction. Pausing and being still extremely curious, she tucked herself into one of the alcoves and listened in on their conversation as they approached.

"First, I say we put the glowy thing in the mass spectrometer," Ned had been saying cheerfully.

Peter snickered. "First, we gotta come up with a better name than 'glowy thing'," he joked, sticking his hands in his pocket and looking around.

"You're right," Ned concurred.

Marinette frowned as she peaked around the corner. Glowy thing? What on earth could that mean—?

"Are you on your way to chess club, too?" Asked a voice that made her jump.

Marinette spun around to be met with Luka's easy smile. "I. . . No. I'm on the decathlon team," she stammered, feeling like a kid caught stealing candy. It was extremely embarrassing to be caught lurking and eavesdropping on people she vocally hated (especially when it's happened twice in one day).

Luka titled his head to the side as he studied her. "Didn't that start fifteen minutes ago?"

Her face reddened more. Yes, it had. "I forgot my. . . textbooks," she told him, holding the heavy stack up for emphasis.

"Peter—!"

"No. Stay there, Ned."

It took everything in Marinette not to whip around and gawk at whatever was unfolding behind her, especially since Luka hadn't reacted to it either. "Textbooks are pretty important," Luka agreed playfully, not breaking eye contact.

"Totally," Marinette nodded, slowly turning around. She squinted when she noticed Peter had disappeared, leaving Ned awkwardly standing in front of the chess meeting room.

"What are you doing," Max Kante asked, tapping on the glass to get Ned's attention.

Jumping a little, Ned gave him an awkward shrug. "Nothing," he said inconspicuously and Marinette narrowed her eyes.

"Oh."

"Yeah. You good?" Ned asked, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Max looked down at the chess board in front of him and back at Ned. "Chess."

"There's some colourful people in your grade," says Luka, starting down the corridor with a chuckle.

Marinette nods in agreement, only half paying attention. "Right."