An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Warning: Age Gap
Rated: T
Summary: Thief!AU. The Miraculous and Akuma crews have teamed up for a job, but something happens and Ladybug and Hawkmoth get trapped in a room together.
Wordcount: 1911
“Why did I agree to this job?” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the bleeding and leaning against the cement wall. “No one's answering on the comms. We're probably going to be in here for a while.”
She watched him as he sighed, closed his eyes, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He propped his other arm forward, over his knee, letting his other leg lay straight. Ladybug came over and squatted in front of him. “Does it- does it hurt?” He cracked an eye open and eyed her.
“I'm almost certain that we've traded worse injuries.”
“I- I know,” She pouted. Hawkmoth chuckled, closing his eye again.
“I never knew you cared, little bug.”
She huffed and stood again, walking to the other side of the small room to sit on a small crate only a few feet from him. “Fine. I don't.” He had stopped pinching his nose and lay the arm across the outstretched leg but kept his eyes closed, head back against the wall. She took the opportunity to study the man. What else was she going to do? She'd exhausted all ideas for escape, and he was right. They were probably trapped for an indeterminable amount of time.
The silvery, nearly full head mask hid his hair and eyebrows and smoothed the planes of his face and neck to disguise his precise age, but she knew his eyes were light blue like the late dawn sky and that he was probably some shade of blonde and older than she. Was he a golden blonde or platinum? Was he a ginger? Was he graying yet? The fit of the mask accentuated the sharp angles of his face, of his high cheekbones, the firm line of his jaw. To see his ordinarily animated mouth in a state of repose was novel. Her fingers itched to trace their line and she clenched and unclenched her hands as if to scold them.
Her gaze continued down the covered column of his neck. Where the mask ended was camouflaged by the high collar of his aubergine turtlenecked shirt. He still wore his lavender (clearly bespoke) jacket. There was no pinching or drooping at the seams of the shoulder and the fit was so obviously tailored for him. The legs of his trousers hugged his thighs and embraced his calves with the gentle ease of design. No off-the-rack outfit could be so suitably fitted. It could easily be mistaken for a suit. The dark, metallic boots even recalled formal shoes. In his position, with that ensemble, he could easily be part of a “Thief Chic” spread in some niche magazine or editorial feature article.
She'd been looking for inspiration for her next article. Of course, as well made as the mask seemed to be, it wouldn't work for her purposes. It would have to be replaced. They could make up a butterfly-inspired domino with a sateen finish. It would leave his hair exposed, but she could get it styled. Would they keep it with the staid mood of most formal wear and slick it back? She thought it might be sexier to give him a faded undercut with the top longish and lightly tousled. It could fall just over those piercing, pale eyes as he peered out of the mask as though he wanted to thieve you. It was too bad he was a wanted criminal. He would have been a great model. She hummed her approval...
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