Credit: Originally posted on my tumblr account on Feb 9, 2016. Inspired by starrycove's art.
It's not the first time that his baton has deflected a hit meant for her.
She doesn't have to say anything in acknowledgement, because the way she grins at him—and his own answering smirk—is weightier than anything either of them can articulate.
—
It's not the first time he's pushed her away from an incoming hit.
Her scream of "Chat Noir!" is wrapped in warm gratitude and cold worry. His shout of "I'm okay! Go get 'im!" is laced with rich loyalty and solid trust.
—
It's not the first time he's swept her in his arms to carry them away from imminent injury.
Afterwards, when they turn to each other, smile, bump fists, and say, "Well played," they're not just talking about the purified akuma.
—
It's not the first time he's refused a fist bump.
Like that time with the dinosaur, so long ago, he launches himself at her, clutching her to himself.
Like that time, he murmurs, "I thought I lost you…"
And like that time, what she hears is, "Don't you ever do that again!"
—
It's not the first time he's taken the blow to protect her.
She knows he considers it part of his job, but it never gets easier. And each time he does it, it only adds to her nightmares: he's disappeared in her very arms, been controlled by evil in front of her very eyes…
And now, he's bleeding red into her very hands.
It's times like this that she's most terrified of the possibility that, somehow, her powers might not put everything back to the way they should be.
His lips curve into an achingly familiar smirk, and the action inaudibly screams so many things she doesn't want to hear. Don't say that, don't say that—
"Go get 'im," he murmurs, and she refuses to acknowledge that it sounds like a good-bye.
He raises his fist, but she ignores it, swooping down to press shaking lips onto his dirtied forehead.
"Save that for later," she commands, but a flickering conflict in his eyes tells her that he hears her begging, "Stay, don't give up, stay."
She continues the fight by herself, and each throw of her bandalore hisses, "You'll pay for what you've done!"
She catches the akuma, of course, and when her mouth yells, "Miraculous Ladybug!", her heart chants, "Let him be okay, please please please…"
The ladybugs scatter, and she turns to see him already on his feet and running to her.
When they both laugh and reach for each other, it's an expression of numbing relief.
When her hands clutch his shoulders and his fingers tangle in her hair, it's a cry of, "Never leave me, ever."
When they exclaim, "Bien joué!" it's a declaration of "I love you."
And when their lips meet in a heartfelt kiss, it's a fervent promise that every single day following will end like this.
(But purrreferably without one of them almost dying.)