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[give me my sin again]

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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.

"You should have never stopped."

They’re the first words he's spoken since ending up here in a world of his own making, the foundations of this universe obliterated beneath the fury of his power. Cataclysmic energy bubbles beneath his skin like molten magma, a stark white, marble Mount Vesuvius ready to lay claim to every last living soul.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

She hauls him down to her level and captures his breath with a kiss so profound that it leaves his lungs burning, drowning in the unmistakable force of the only woman capable of driving him to ruin.

Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.

His claws tear her suit to shreds, her skin marred with angry red lines and she crumbles, dragging him down with her. The heat of her body, her legs around his waist, her lips, her thighs, her centre against his rapidly hardening cock; it's too much and not enough after what feels like an eternity of nothingness, of rage and nothing else, of spiralling hate and naked fury. His memories spring anew, lust overtaking the urge to rip her heart from her chest as she bares her throat to him. She trusts him not to kill her and she's stupid for trying, but he can't bring himself to do anything but growl against the weight of her love and claw off the last barrier between them.

"I've missed you," she says, running her hands down his bare chest in the same ragged breath. He wants to tear her apart and keep her here forever, locked in his embrace so that she may never leave his side again. She looks like she'll agree, judging by the way she throws her head back and keens as he runs his tongue across her nipples, the texture so much rougher than it ever was before.

Her eyes widen, “Chat?”

He doesn’t reply, although another coarse lash of his tongue all but answers her questions and leaves her panting, her hands buried in his hair. She tugs and he bites, careful not to draw blood; he’ll mark her in other ways, but not here and not now.

She drags him back up to her lips and dives in for another sloppy, open mouthed kiss, and her courage couldn’t come at a worse time. He’s furious and their embrace soon becomes a struggle for control that he’s determined not to lose as she tugs the rest of his suit down his back, leaving him to deal with the rest. 

“You’re mine,” he growls, eyes half lidded and burning. Ladybug can’t bring herself to say otherwise, not against the low, warning rumble in his chest or the flames dancing in his eyes. She burns for looking at him and she can’t say otherwise, she can’t act otherwise as he slowly kisses his way down her abdomen and buries himself between her thighs, fucking her with his mouth and fingers. He eats her like he’s always done but there’s a far deadlier edge to every lap of his tongue; he draws her clit between his lips and sucks, his claws breaking skin as she comes against his lips.

Chat Blanc doesn’t stop his assault, his senses waning as a bestial snarl tears from his lips. He crawls back up her body and tangles his claws in the hair at the back of her skull, jerking her head back to bare the soft, pale skin of her throat once more. He can see his bite marks, still red and aching, and something ignites like a heavy ache at the base of his spine, the need to join themselves together overthrowing any other thoughts rampaging through his brain.

She whimpers, spreading her thighs, pushing her belly out in submission. 

He thrusts inside of her, splitting her open to the core.

She swears, curses, screams as he fucks into her, her body adjusting with every little jerk of his hips, erratic and senseless. She bites him and it only spurs him onwards, her hands a perfect contrast to the filth pouring from her lips, caressing and holding on for dear life as he pushes himself deeper and deeper. He’s changed physically and she’s realised that now, her eyes rolling backwards as she gives in aknew, content to hold on and encourage him to fuck her harder, faster, to make up for the lost time and the heartbreak, the tears and the shadows he’d left behind. He’s begging, her name a supplication, her body an entreaty to his humanity, lost in the wash of a Miraculous gone rogue. He can’t fight her anymore, he can’t resist her as she calls to him, pleading for release as the pressure builds at the base of his spine. They slam together, hips and tongues colliding, and Chat Blanc prays that the bruises shared between them will last forever, a final monument to their love.

Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

He can’t hold out for much longer, not with the way the barbs on his cock make everything so much tighter, so much wetter. The way she's rocking back and forth in a desperate rhythm has him entirely at her mercy, her eyes closed, her mouth slack. He can feel the heat building and can’t be bothered to hold back, not when she’s crying out, pleading with him to come inside her. He wants to please her, he wants to breed her, and with one last feral howl ripping from his throat, he sinks his teeth into her shoulder and shakes in her embrace, filling her completely.

The base of his cock flares and Ladybug quivers, eyes wide and unseeing as she follows directly on his heels. She cries out, near mindless, shuddering beneath his body as her release shatters every bit of resolve she had left, leaving her boneless and heavy in his arms. He holds on to her and pants, laving her skin with his tongue because he can’t do anything else against the possessive urge burning through his veins; she is his and his alone, thoroughly and unconditionally, in this state or in another. Black or white, cursed or blessed or beseeched, he and her are and will always be made for each other, an ouroboros of monsters and magic and neverending devotion.

He pulls out of her eventually, holding her against his body. He’s heavy, his breath laboured, and she settles against his side for lack of being able to do anything but catch her breath. Their war is far from over, until it isn’t; she snags the ring from his slackened finger and the world is suddenly blossoming with bright technicolour.

He remembers though, always.

Give me my sin again.