Miraculous Reveals and More (A collection of One-Shots)

Shot in the Dark (3589 words)

((CW: blood, guns, gunshots/wounds))

She didn't blame him. Not really.

He was drunk, which was less than ideal for everyone's sake that night. If anything, Ladybug was glad that it was her that took the bullet and not anyone else in Paris.

The literal bullet.

The sound of the bullet exploding out of its muzzle in his hand sobered him up enough to realize what he'd done, only a second too late.

The bar patrons, who were still smirking from watching this middle-aged man get escorted out of the bar for having one-too-many, were now slack-jawed. All conversation halted when the gunshot was heard, but breaths were held when they saw who the gun was pointed at.

Ladybug had heard the commotion of the man exiting onto the sidewalk; drunken, angry garble spilling from his mouth. After security left him, leaving him unsteady on the street corner, he attempted to stumble his way back to the door.

On patrol, Ladybug swung in front of him, arms up, eyes kind. "Hey, why don't I help you get home, sir? Can I call you a cab?" she offered.

Non-Akuma problems were usually easy enough. Cats stuck in trees, lost kids at the playground, that sort of stuff mixed with the very occasional robbery, was a piece of cake compared to 10 story tall stone giants and Sentimonsters.

This wasn't atypical from other nights on patrol. Until it was.

The man doesn't reply right away, keeping a steady shuffle towards the door of the bar. "Sir, it's pretty late. Let's get you home," she says a bit more firmly, keeping herself between the man and the door.

He shakes his head, "I wanst fi-finished yet," he grunts, not looking at her as he tries to shuffle around her.

His delayed reflexes are easy to keep up with at least. Ladybug easily blocks him, urging him to stop. "I think the manager here has other ideas" she tries to joke, to keep the conversation light-hearted despite his deepening brow. "Which way do you live?"

He blinked slowly, "M-yy, mmy hat," he slurs, pointing to the bar, "in-nsidee-"

She took a quick glance at the door, "You forgot your hat in there?" she raises an eyebrow.

She watched his mind process her words then nod sluggishly, sticking his hand in his pocket.

Ladybug nodded in response, "Okay, just stay out here for one minute and I'll get your hat. Then we'll get you home. Deal?" she negotiated.

The same delayed reaction.

"Okay. I'll be right back" she smiled warmly, then turned her back to him to go inside.

Then there was the explosion of the gun going off, cracking the air around them. Followed all too soon by the feeling that she'd been shoved, or poked forcefully from behind. She stumbled forward a half-step. Her right-hand flies to her back where pain is spreading from the supposed impact of whatever this man did to her.

She tries to hold her grimace back when she turns back around to face him, opening her mouth to scold, but the glint of the gun in the street lights makes her head spin before she can get any words out.

Dumbfounded, she pulled her hand away from her back, taking in the glossy maroon that has covered her normally bright red-suited fingers.

She felt like she was moving in slow motion, or the world around her had been sped up.

The bar door bursts open behind her, a few people rushing around her to incapacitate the shooter, who seemed frozen until someone yanked the gun from his hand. His wide eyes blink soberly, locking with Ladybug's.