Hi all, Pear Holiday here! This is a one-shot I wrote for an anonymous prompt that came in for the Miraculous Fanwork Discord's Tumblr 500 Celebration that said the following:

"Hi! Idk if the ficlets are still open but I'd love to read your take on 15 (switching targets) with Marichat. Thank you regardless and lots of virtual hugs ?￢ﾀﾝ

Thanks for submitting the prompt, anon! Most of the time I spent on this story was figuring out how to spin this prompt into something more original, and then building this AU world. What resulted was an idea for a monster of a chapter fic that I want to flesh out later down the line — but for the sake of fulfilling this prompt, I had to pare it down quite a bit. This fic is basically a taste of what I had in mind, so there's some loose ends I didn't get to tie up completely neatly. Maybe I'll expand it into a story of its own later on... No promises, though! Thanks as always for reading, and do drop a like/comment if you enjoyed it!

Hugs,
Pear

PUSHING DAISIES: A MARICHAT AU ONESHOT

The garden was much too big, Plagg grumbled to himself as he flew with his precious afternoon snack nestled in his arms. From the conservatory in the middle—the lifeless crystal heart of the massive grounds—extended several paths, arteries and capillaries, leading to orchards, ponds, and even a large hedge maze. His master was not an indulgent man when it came to anything else, but the grounds of his estate were a self-contained ecosystem in and of itself.

He dodged the pencil pines and finely manicured hedges lining the pea gravel-lined main path, finally seeing the marble fountain at the main gate.

Plagg descended on the rim of the fountain, placed the wax paper bundle down beside him, and sniffed. Spring in the realm meant that the grounds were heady with the scent of tulips and sweet peas beckoning willing pollinators with their scent, while the pads of water lilies were bobbing slowly onto the surface of the eastern pond. He frowned, swatting away a white butterfly. How did humans actually enjoy this? This stench was downright offensive.

The kwami unwrapped the paper and inhaled, letting out a smile. Ah, aged camembert. Beautiful, delicate, and as fragrant as it was delicious. Mouth watering, he brought the precious morsel closer to take the first bite.

"Plagg," a voice suddenly boomed throughout the garden, causing the white butterflies all over the grounds to stir. "The gates, please."

He rolled his eyes and swallowed the piece whole. "Always has the worst timing, I swear." With a snap of his fingers, the iron gates in front of the fountain opened.

On the other side of them appeared a dimensional rip, then a steel-toed boot shaped like a cat paw. A black-clad man emerged from the rip, carrying what appeared to be a small figure swaddled in white cloth. His black cloak billowed behind him as he moved swiftly past the gates and down the main path, the pale gravel crunching beneath his feet. Plagg quickly took flight once more and dropped into the cat-eared hood of Chat Noir's cloak.

"Another young one today?" Plagg asked, licking the remnants of his snack off his paw.

The blond man nodded. "A shame, really."

Chat Noir quickly made his way into the conservatory. Carefully, he placed the bundle onto a bed surrounded by daffodils. "Plagg, if you could be so kind as to set the table."

Wordlessly, the kwami flitted away.

White butterflies descended upon the bundle, and the cloth disappeared into the bed to reveal a young woman. Chat Noir made his way over to the head of the bed as he swatted the butterflies away. Removing a glove, he touched her forehead which emitted a neon-green glow. But as he pulled his hand away, he saw the faintest spark of red.

Red?

Strange. But then again, it could've just been his eyes playing tricks on him.

Below, the young woman stirred. Slowly, her blue eyes opened and wandered about, taking in her surroundings. Then she focused her gaze on the black-clad figure towering above her.

"Um, who are you? Where am I?" she said, her voice slightly hoarse.

"This way," was Chat Noir's only reply as he walked ahead, gesturing toward a table with two seats.

"I, er, don't want to step on these flowers," the woman smiled sheepishly, gesturing below her. Something akin to surprise registered deep within him. Nobody else had ever expressed any concern for the daffodils before.

With a wry smile, he walked back toward her and carefully guided her off the bed. He walked ahead once more to the table, and pulled out a chair. Once she sat down, he took the seat opposite her.

The woman looked down at the table, and a single cup of steaming liquid and a macaron appeared. It was almost as if they'd sublimated into existence. She furrowed her brow in confusion.

Chat gestured toward them, motioning for her to partake.

The woman eyed them suspiciously. "You still haven't answered my question."

"It's just tea," He finally said, despite being fully aware of what she'd meant.

She toyed with the edge of the ornate plate holding the macaron. "I'm not touching this stuff until you tell me what the deal is with this place."

Chat Noir sighed. "Lila Rossi, you are dead." He began, willing his voice to not sound deadpan despite having to deliver this same monologue dozens of times per day. "I am called by many names, but you can refer to me as Chat Noir. This place is complicated to explain, but the best way I can put it is that this is a metaphysical plane that lies between the realms of the living and the dead—why are you laughing?"

"Well, this is terribly awkward, to say the least." The pigtailed woman giggled—a touch too patronizingly for his liking—"because I'm not Lila Rossi."

"What do you mean?" Chat Noir frowned as he produced a card from the pocket of his black jeans and read it over. "Lila Rossi, lobbyist. Scorpio sun, Cancer moon, Gemini rising. Reddish brown hair, green eyes, olive complexion, death by car crash..." He did a quick once-over of the woman in front of him. Then looked back down at the card. She was right — this black-haired, blue-eyed woman certainly couldn't be Lila Rossi.

Chat Noir cursed under his breath. How had this happened?

"I don't know who Lila Rossi is, but my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng." The woman supplied helpfully. "The last thing I remember is being in my car, yeah. I was driving when—oh my god." Her eyes widened. "Does this mean that this Lila woman is..."

He ran his claw-gloved hand through his blond locks. "Unfortunately, yes. But..." Pulling out the death ledger for the day, he did a quick scan. No Dupain-Chengs there—Marinette or otherwise—though that name sounded oddly familiar. "So it doesn't look like you're supposed to be."

"Oh… oh my god. It's all my fault." Her face was in her hands. "I must've not been paying attention, and now an innocent person is dead for it."

"You couldn't have stopped it." Chat Noir replied, matter-of-factly. "A truck ran a red light, hitting her and t-boning the passenger's side of your car. She was crushed against your car so it wasn't your doing. Surprisingly, there was just one casualty, and you were relatively unscathed—"

At that, the tears she'd been holding at bay trickled down his face, and guilt flooded him almost immediately. Wait, guilt? He'd not felt that in centuries. Or anything, for that matter. It was almost a bit nostalgic, feeling something.

But still, perhaps he should've been a bit more sensitive.

"I'm… sorry." He said, feeling oddly helpless. Usually, he would've conjured up a box of tissues and continued on with his spiel. Lots of firsts today, it seemed, starting with the fact that he'd picked up the wrong soul . Never in centuries of reaping souls had he made such a mistake.

Marinette looked up at him. "Well, I— wait, what's that creature carrying the box of tissues?"

It was, of course, Plagg, who'd thought to be more considerate where his master clearly hadn't had the foresight to be. But more shocked than Marinette was Chat Noir — how was she able to see Plagg? Kwami, after all, were invisible to all humans, even in this realm.

"You can… see me?" Plagg croaked, dropping the box in surprise. It landed squarely on Chat Noir's nose and onto the wooden table with a gentle thud.

She blinked, sniffling. "Um, yes. Am I not supposed to be able to?"

"Not really." Chat managed, frowning as he rubbed his nose. How was this possible? Well, no matter. She'd be on her way back soon enough.

"What is this, anyway?" Marinette picked up the teacup and peered inside, sniffing. "Rosehip? Cherry blossom?"

"Ah, don't drink that. If you do, you won't be able to return to the world of the living—" His gloved hand brushed against hers, which emitted another red spark. Startled, Marinette let go of the cup. Plagg dove toward it, managing to salvage it just before it hit the table.

Chat Noir and his kwami looked at each other, their matching green eyes as wide as saucers. It couldn't be. Could it?

"It's worth a shot." Plagg murmured. "Maybe the gods have finally taken mercy on you."

Unlikely. But still, there was no harm in trying.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng... if you could, um, be so kind as to take my hand?" Chat Noir reached his bare hand toward hers.

"Um, sure." She tentatively took his hand.

Immediately a red glow appeared where their hands met. The light grew bigger and bigger, until it enveloped them both. Electricity coursed through Chat Noir's veins. And… were those tears pricking his eyes? It'd been so long since he'd been wrung of all his tears that the sensation felt absolutely foreign.

The conservatory, the garden, and all of the butterflies melted away to white. All he could see was Marinette, her hand in his. Her black stud earrings, which had been hidden behind her hair, now glowed red.

There was no mistaking it. They were the earrings of the one chosen by Creation.

Marinette turned to him, seemingly suspended in midair. Her bluebell eyes met his, and then her gaze dropped down to his hands. The glove on his other arm melted away, revealing his ring. The ring—and its bearer—which she'd been searching for for centuries across dozens of lifetimes. Realization flooded her eyes.

"Chat… chaton? Is… is it really you?"

"My Lady." He smiled, his first genuine smile in centuries.

Pulling her close, he buried his head in her hair. "God, how I've missed you."

Marinette smiled against his chest, her eyes welling up with tears. "I've kept you waiting quite a while, haven't I, kitty?"

Chat Noir shook his head, pulling her closer. "I would've gladly waited another thousand lifetimes for you."