Hey guys, this is a lil somethin' I'm gonna be writing when I want to take a break from serious things and just want to write for the enjoyment of it. It's most likely gonna be super depressing and angsty with some pretty adult themes/language/situations, so you have been warned. Also I'm going with what someone on tumblr said about calling her yo-yo a bandalore(the old french word for it), because I'm gonna get real tired of writing "her yo-yo did this..etc." Also really hoping I got the french translation right, haven't lived in France for a while now and my French is not what it used to beee.
(C) I don't own the Miraculous Ladybug or any of its characters.
You Left Me
Ladybug clutched at her ribs, breaths coming sharp and fast as blood pooled between her fingers. She was crouched in a battle stance, back leg trembling at the hip where her suit was soaked through. The girl on the ground behind her sobbed brokenly as she tried desperately to pull down the hem of her torn skirt, the gashes on her thighs glistening wetly in time with the ugly glint off the blade currently being brandished at them.
The man's eyes were crazed, bulging, adrenaline coursing through his dilated pupils, the knife in his hand violent with it. Ladybug's eyes flickered to her right before she could help herself and the resulting onslaught of disappointment made her teeth clench in anger – partly because of her traitorous eyes, and partly because there had been the tiniest shred of hope remaining there to begin with. But it had been four years since she'd seen a trace of that glossy black leather, and she'd survived without him so far. She would continue to do so.
Her bandalore smashed into their attacker's hand, the knife skidding out of the alley and into the lamp-lit street.
"You bitch –" he advanced, teeth bared, the words steaming from his lips in the frigid Parisian air.
Her entire left side was numb, vision blurring from blood loss. Her trembling fingers found the holster attached to her thigh and unsheathed the knife held there, the sight of the naked steel churning her stomach with revulsion and desperation. She pointed it at the man. He paused. Her lips pulled back in a snarl and she lunged, the blade slicing the back of his jacket as he retreated back into the night.
"…Ladybug?" The voice was a tentative rasp and Ladybug looked down at the girl in the mud, took in the whites of her eyes and the pupils that were focused solely on the weapon in the hand of her rescuer. Ladybug dropped the knife, both of them flinching as it clattered to the ground. She fell to her knees, suppressing the urge to dry-heave.
"Go to the hospital, tell them what happened. Have them do tests for his DNA. They'll catch him. Go quickly before he comes back." The girl blinked at her, face uncomprehending.
"But…you need help –"
"I'm fine. Go. NOW." The girl staggered to her feet, limping towards the end of the alleyway. She turned back as she was about to round the corner to the street, looked at the girl that was once the savior of Paris.
"But Ladybug, where are your spots?"
She left without waiting for an answer.
Marinette collapsed on her bed, careful to not tear the dressing she'd wrapped around her rib cage and rip open her stitches. She really had needed to go the hospital, but would have to make do with her own handiwork – being a top-notch designer really was useful sometimes, if she did say so herself. Her kwami, Tikki, was silent as she lay there. She snuck a glance at the tiny red bug and realized that was indeed all she was – there wasn't a single black spot on her skin anymore.
"…Has it really been that long, Tikki?" The ceiling cracks bore down on her in the darkness. She felt the kwami stroke her hair from the pillow, the rhythmic motion calming her aching body as she waited for the pain meds to kick in.
"I'm sure he had his reasons for leaving. You had both defeated Hawkmoth, Paris was safe. He didn't leave out of fear, at least." Tikki replied and Marinette sighed, having never considered him one to run from fright in the first place. He had been many, many things, but a coward was not on that list.
She sometimes wondered if she would sleep better if he had run simply from being afraid, at least then she would have an explanation as to why he suddenly disappeared with no warning. All the parades and award ceremonies had only been tinged by pity towards her as she stood on those podiums alone. The looks on people's faces when they saw her and the tragic newspaper headlines led to her not showing up for events, and eventually the invitations had stopped coming.
Hell, whenever citizens did actually manage to catch a glimpse of her most of them didn't recognize her anyway. Not without her spots.
And those had started disappearing when Chat Noir had decided to leave, one for each month he had been apart from her, and now there were finally none left.
So many things unanswered already~
Feel free to drop me a review, the more I get the more I'll be motivated to write, probably.