My favorite Smut/Fluff parts from different Miraculous Ladybug fanfictions!

Ladybug + Chatblanc (not my story)

Oneshot called [give me my sin again by Bronte

NONE OF THESE STORYS ARE FROM WATTPAD THEY ARE FROM A WEBSITE (NOT APP) CALLED ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN!

Enjoy <3

Chat Blanc smells her before he sees her. Bunnix has sent a hundred different versions of her, but none of them have ever been her. Young versions, old versions, mirrors versions from an alternate timeline...

None of them can hold a candle to the one that stands before him now.

She's his age, early twenties, all lean muscle and ragged edges. He's fought a thousand adversaries at her side and the thought of standing toe to toe with her raises his hackles as much as his growl raises her eyebrows. She knows the stakes, she's not as foolish as the rest of them.

But there's more than just stubborn determination in those blue eyes he's come to abhor.

They fight and there's so much more than hate behind each kick and parry, her teeth bared with an unspoken wrath of a partner left in the shadows. He left her reality, left her alone to struggle by herself against Le Papillon and although his soul is corrupt, his Miraculous broken, the gnash of her teeth spurs something in his gut.

Driving her elbow into his spine, Chat Blanc is reminded of what it means to feel.

"You left me," she hisses in his ear, throwing a vicious punch and kneeing him in the side. He throws up his hand and catches her fist with his palm, wincing for the first time in months as the hurt comes flooding back, their nights together, their nights apart. Her fingers creak under the pressure of his grip and she never breaks, never falters from the soul baring stare she gives him, delving passed the catatonic blues of his eyes to discern the depravity of his heart.

They pause, their breathes intermingling. He has her by the neck, his claws mere inches from her jugular. She has him by the balls, centimetres from playing dirty in a fight she knows she could win in a heartbeat.

An impasse.

O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.

He recognises the glint in her eyes. He sees himself reflected in her thoughts too, raw and strained and over eager. They were soft once, untainted by the heat between them. Sparks turned into embers and set their whole world on fire.

He's the first to break, and some things never change. He's yanking her hair back and she's groaning against his lips like she belongs there, hoisted forwards and up against the planes of his chest. He's delirious, hungry, needy, forceful in his desire to claim what is his and what has always been his even if he's not quite himself, corrupted beyond a shadow of a doubt. She doesn't seem to care, not with the way she's scrabbling for purchase along his shoulders, his spine, his collarbones as he kisses her like a starved man, all teeth and tongue and hunger barely sated, lost beyond her soul.

"You should have fought harder."

Her words are like a blister, a threat and a curse combined as she scrapes her teeth along the column of his throat. She's out to hurt him and he spares no expense at returning the favour, driving his fangs deep into the sensitive flesh at the nape of her neck. She cries out and Chat doesn't have half a mind to care, already running his tongue against the puncture wounds in apology, aroused beyond inflection. It's the kind of thing he's only ever dreamed about doing as his former self, staking claim with a mating bite that will surely scar and leave no argument as to who she belongs to. She's his and no one else may stake a claim lest he tear their spines from their bodies and present them to her as an offering, an alms to the temple of Her.