Disclaimer: Miraculous Ladybug © Zagtoon / Toei Animation - Full disclaimer on my profile.
Summary: With his dark costume and despite the shock of blonde hair, he seems to melt seamlessly into the shadows almost without realising it, leaving just his jade eyes slicing through the crisp air. Drabble; Lucky Charm. Fanfiction for the upcoming anime "Miraculous Ladybug".
A/N: So...look at me writing fanfiction for an anime that has only been announced a few days ago and won't be released until next year. Eheh. I just had to. I'm far too emotionally invested in this show already, and I already have an OTP for it. I tried to keep it vague enough that I don't misjudge too much when it comes to the characters.
I'm aware it hasn't yet a category on FF, but I'll move it to the correct category once one exists.
(Just...search on YouTube for the video titled "Ladybug PV". Watch it. It is amazing.)
I'm 99% sure that this is the first ever "ML" fanfiction written. I actually accomplished something in life!
His eyes are always there.
Marinette has never had a pet cat in an official sense, though her street is infested with them, pacing fences and pawing at doors for food and peering from bushes, so she is hardly a stranger to feline eyes watching from shadows and crevices - but with Chat Noir, the sensation is entirely different, because not only are the eyes larger but they're distinctly human beneath the luminous green sheen, communicating feelings that no ordinary cat eyes would communicate. They appear to be disembodied in the Paris night, the dusky blue iris' at the centre sparkling.
Not that he makes much of an effort towards hiding (he might smile more widely, or blow a kiss, or simply wave) - but with his dark costume and despite the shock of blonde hair, he seems to melt seamlessly into the shadows almost without realising it, leaving just his jade eyes slicing through the crisp air. Sometimes a wickedly sharp grin, too. Like the Cheshire Cat, she thinks.
They aren't the eyes she wishes would watch at her - very non-feline eyes that always regard her with cool detachment, belonging to a certain other blonde. Tall and regal and utterly, painfully unattainable.
If only her luck would extend towards attracting his attention rather than that of the egotistical, goofy, wannabe-romantic cat who pursues her across rooftops and throws her roses.
(And really, "If I become a criminal, can I steal a kiss?" is far too cliché a line to ever work - even if her mouth had curled upwards into a small smirk. In amusement at his failed attempts, of course.)
Nevertheless, despite herself, she comes to find an...almost comforting familiarity in those eyes. They start to become a staple part of her Ladybug routine, and when she's tumbling and freefalling through Paris, catching a glimmer of green out of the corner of her eye becomes familiar, even reassuring.
And if a blow from a mentally-conjured mallet hits too close to home, if a swarm of wings and feathers and snapping beaks mobs her and overwhelms her, he appears - a leather-clad body materialises around that Cheshire grin and a foot, a right hook, blindsides the offender. (Not that she needs the help. Ninety-nine per cent of the time.)
Then when the criminal is out for the count, trussed up on the ground with a black eye, he'll lightly graze the back of her hand with his lips like a gentleman, perhaps trade with her a quip or two and drop a cheesy pick-up line.
She'll turn her head away, of course, but she can't lie to herself - a small part of her enjoys the attention.
So sometimes, she'll stall. Hesitate at a rooftop edge. Turn her head; tuck her small, pointed chin into her collarbone; find that emerald glimmer. She'll shoot a small, kind smile in its direction, devoid of mirth at his expense, before leaping towards the latest threat to Paris' citizens' safety.
(And the glimmer will shine just a little more brightly.)