#but...using a skill to prompt a robot to do the same thing seems pointless to me

[bananonbinary]

all that stuff about ai stuff said, i do think ai art is more comprehensible as "art" to me than ai writing. because in order for the artist to make any meaningful creative decisions, they'd have to write really detailed prompts, and at that point i dont really understand why you wouldnt just....write the thing. how does writing a prompt to write something save any writing effort??

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

Wanda + Vision +[Name??]

So I wrote this all just now and I wanted to actually follow the entire Wandavision series so this should be done after 9 maybe 10 chapters. This chapter is very very very awkward and I did that on purpose because I wanted to write in the style of an outsider who is describing what’s happening.

If you watch Wandavision you know there are times when you’re watching Wanda’s show and times when you’re watching the miniseries on Disney + and it’s usually signified but the borderlines on the tv. Well I don’t have borderlines but I can switch up writing styles. When it’s awkward think of the parts that Wanda has edited and aired on tv herself. Almost as if sometimes I(as the author) am on the outside of the hex.

There are very minor changes to the original details so you can skim if you’d like but then ending from the weird spacing part down is important.I hope you Enjoy!

Chapter One: Filmed in front of a live studio audience.

The Screen is in black and white as a theme song plays over a montage of a car driving into town. In it sits a man in a suit and woman in a white dress. From the sign and the cans dragging from the back of the car, the two driving are a cute and apparently newlywed couple.

“A newlywed couple just moved to town. A regular husband and wife who left the big city to find a new life. Wanda Vision”

The man, apparently Vision, steps out of the car as his wife Wanda points toward the house’s for sale sign and zaps it so it says sold. He lifts her in his arms and carries her towards the door but phases through as she drops on the ground shaking her head in disapproval with a smile on her face.

“She’s a magical cal in a small town locale. He’s a homie who’s part machine. How will these two fit in...”

Vision opens the door and picks Wanda up once again. He successfully phases through a small chair while holding her in his arms. Vision puts Wanda down and they begin to dance as the credits roll over their faces. 

“Wanda Vision” the theme song finishes as the screen fades to black. The scene changes and Wanda points at several things and they begin to levitate in the style of an old time visual effect. As she puts the levitating plates away Vision walks through the kitchen with his nose in the newspaper. A plate crashes over his head.

“My wife and her flying saucers”

“My husband and his indestructible head” cue the laugh track.

Wanda reads off the menu of a human man’s dreams as vision stares boredly into the newspaper. He reminds her she doesn’t eat. She jokes.

“Wanda?”

“Hmm”

“Is there something special about today?”

“Well I know the apron was a bit much dear but I am doing my best to blend in”

“No no there on the calendar someone’s drawn a little heart. Right above today’s date”

“Oh yes the heart.” Her voice pitches “Well don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Vis.”

“Forgotten? Oh Wanda I’m incapable of forgetting I remember everything and that’s not an exaggeration. In fact, I’m incapable of exaggeration.

The two go back and forth as it becomes more and more obvious that neither one of them knows what’s going on. To get out of the conversation Vision heads to work and Wanda reminds him of his robotic look. He shakes his face as sparkles appear. He heads off to work and Wanda comes closer to the calendar. It is August 23rd and she just can’t seem to remember what’s going to happen. She hears a knocking noise before the screen glitches. No picture comes up but a distinct phrase can be heard. “Happy Birthday to me”

The picture clears up and Wanda is interacting with a cheerful woman who introduces herself as Agnes. Agnes jokes with Wanda and presents her a plant before asking Wanda questions that just can’t seem to be answered. Not without magic of course. Questions about the occupants of the home, how things became so settled and why the date could be so special to the newlyweds. Agnes asks if it’s a birthday and Wanda refuses assuredly although she is very wrong. With Agnes’ prompting Wanda decides it is her anniversary and should do something special to keep Vision happy. Wanda agrees.

Vision is seen finishing work as he attempts to fit in, but he finishes his workload so quickly it is kind of odd. His coworker Norm stares in astonishment and offers to help Vision in any way. Vision in his confusion wants to know what exactly they do there. He seems to just know what to do at certain moments but he doesn’t know how or why. It is kind of… odd. Norm and Vision go through a pointless conversation because neither of them know exactly what is going on and Vision reacts poorly to one of Norm’s jokes. In his solution Norm asks Vision to vent his frustrations. In the middle of their conversation Vision’s boss Mr Hart tells Vision he is excited for their dinner because if it doesn’t go well Vision will be fired. Vision assumes that is what the heart is for and assures him everything will go smoothly before looking off in worry.

Wanda and Agnes are discussing what Wanda can do to enhance their anniversary evening. Wanda rightly inquires about the seduction techniques she should be putting into place. The phone rings and Wanda and Vision begin talking about their plans for the evening. Vision says he’s nervous for the evening and Wanda feels flattered. Vision suggests that the evening is of utmost importance and Wanda gets nervous implying that it is only one night. The two seem to think they are on the same page but neither of them is reading the right book. Wanda seems to think a seduction technique is required, and Vision assumes his wife is waiting at home ready to impress his boss. 

Vision arrives home with the Harts and calls out to Wanda who comes around in a shawl and places her hands over Mr Hart’s eyes. It isn’t until Vision comes out of the kitchen that she realizes her mistake. They clumsily cover Wanda’s mistake by implying it is from her European culture. Mr Hart implies that he is hostile towards communist Europeans and his wife chides him. Wanda and Vision meet in the kitchen to straighten out their misunderstandings. Vision is obviously really intrigued by Wanda’s outfit and keeps circling back to it. Wanda realizes there needs to be a home cooked meal on the table. Flashing a dress onto her body she calls over Agnes to bring over some food.

Mr Hart and Vision are chatting in the living room and Mrs Hart gets a little antsy hoping to help Wanda in the kitchen so she’d have something to do while the boys talk business. Agnes makes a lot of noise in the kitchen so Mrs Hart is very inclined to help. After Wanda shows Agnes out Mrs Hart opens the shutters to the kitchen. Vision draws her attention by singing. Not horribly but very obviously strained. By singing he entertains Mrs Hart but Mr Hart is not at all please. Wanda becomes overwhelmed and her powers start to cause accidents. She forgets things and shouts leaving Vision to cover for her. He comes into the kitchen to help as Wanda switches out with him. The Hart’s are starved and do not feel very happy with their visit to Wanda and Vision’s household. Wanda very poorly distracts them and Agnes knocks on the door causing further confusion.

Wanda walks into the kitchen with a mind to fix everything. She magics up breakfast for dinner and serves it up as Mr Hart begins to doubt vision and doubt his management skills. Everything is done just in time and all four sit down to eat. Mrs Hart goes on a similar line of questioning like Agnes and asks Wanda questions she simply does not have the answer to, like how long they’ve been married, why the move and why they don’t have children. Neither Wanda or vision can answer the questions and Mr Hart escalates the situation by continuously questioning the newlyweds. Mrs Hart tries to deescalate the situation but is no help. As Mr Hart becomes more and more indignant he chokes. As if he’s joking Mrs Hart demands he stop it. 

The longer the choking goes on the perspective changes. Mrs Hart no longer demands her husband stop and turns to Wanda as she pleads. Her smile does not change but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The camera pans to a confused Vision, then Wanda and back to Mrs Hart. Wanda asks Vision to help Mr Hart and he phases his hand through the man’s throat to pull out a chocolate covered strawberry. The ones Wanda left in the kitchen before preparing dinner. When he recovers the Harts leave. Mrs Hart ushering them out with a joke. Suddenly Mr Hart is proud of Vision and suggests Vision may be getting a promotion. The Harts interaction with Wanda is strange but with Vision they talk almost normally. When the two finally leave, Wanda sighs and Vision reverts to his normal form.

Wanda points out that the two of them are an unusual couple that don’t have an anniversary or a song or wedding rings. They designate August 23rd as their anniversary. Their song becomes yakkity yak. Vision asks Wanda to make them rings and when she waves her finger they get rings dedicated to each other and say I do. They kiss and Vision presses a button and the live studio audience cheers them on. The credits appear to roll as Wanda and Vision’s faces are framed in a hexagon. Then the music suddenly stops and they look at each other. Almost as if her magic was delayed another set of rings appear on their fingers and their front door opens.

“Happy Birthday to me and Happy Anniversary to you my loves”

Wanda looks at the door in surprise and alarm. Vision has another one of those moments where he just knows exactly what to do and turns towards the door. He uses Wanda’s hand to help her up off the couch and leads her to the door. She follows trusting her husband. Vision walks up to the man and using his free hand to grab the man’s face he leans in and kisses him.

“Happy Birthday [Name]. I love you”

[Name] turns toward Wanda and gives her a brilliant smile. “Happy Anniversary Wanda.” 

Wanda is confused yet charmed and she thinks about the second ring on her finger. She looks [Name] in the eyes and smiles a genuine smile. “Happy Birthday [Name]” and as she leans in to give him a kiss, the cameras fade to black. 

[gukyi]

inside the mind of gukyi

recently, i’ve been getting a lot of asks asking me for writing tips/advice/my process, so i figured i’d save everyone some time and make this post to answer your questions! if you still want to ask me about writing and have any specific inquiries, feel free to send them my way!

i am not a professional writer and these are not professional tips. i’m still a student and have lots to learn; in no way can this be considered complete. this is merely my process, how i write, and what i’ve learned over the past several years as i’ve explored the creative writing field both on and off tumblr. 

this is a really, really long post. as you all probably know, i’m an extremely wordy person, and there is certainly no shortage of words in this. but i figured that if you guys can read a 50k jungkook fake dating fic, you guys can read this.

HOW I GET STARTED

i know that that blank, white word document seems insurmountable and daunting. i’m telling you right now, it’s not. 

where my inspo comes from:

anywhere. i find inspiration in everything, i look at my life and the world around me and think “how can i write a fic about this?”. earnestly yours was inspired by a story told to my friends and i by the drama club director. moonlight melody was inspired by the time i went to florence over the summer and saw a student orchestra from germany perform in palazzo vecchio. the underwear thief was inspired by my dad’s own cat when he was a student. it’s ridiculous to say, but i am constantly thinking of new ideas to write. i have several unwritten ones floating around in my head right now.

when my thoughts are particularly dry or i just need to refresh, i’ll do this ask game where i ask you for a fic title and i will have to come up with a story. more often than not it will produce some fantastic prompts for me to work off of. this is how dirt and glitter galore will come to be. 

how i turn that inspo into a story:

okay, i have an idea in my head. let’s take moonlight melody, for example. i saw the student orchestra perform and then i wanted to write a fic about it. so, without writing anything down, i started to think about what kind of fic it would be. would my characters be orchestra students? would the two leads be friends? enemies? strangers? how would they fall in love? where would they go? what would they do? what obstacles would they face?

i don’t need to answer all of these questions. all i need to do is to pick an alternate universe to place my characters into and pick a trope, and i’m off. for moonlight melody, i actually jumped through two other ideas before settling on what it is now. originally, it was a friends to lovers/acquaintances to lovers fic between two students on a school trip to italy. then, it become an enemies to lovers fic between the two warring top members of the orchestra. finally, it was a fake dating au to get revenge on the oc’s trickster of a best friend. 

HOW I MAKE A PLOT

i have the idea. i have the au. i have the trope. now, i need to figure out how to get from point a to point b. 

planning... sort of:

if you’ve been following me even for 5 minutes you probably know that i plan out probably about 2% of my fics. those fics are ice prince and the truth between us. those are genuinely the only two fics i have planned from start to finish before i even wrote down a single word of the fic. the rest of my fics have been lightly planned at best and were mostly the product of me making stuff up as i go. 

i know that a lot of writers on tumblr like to plan out their fics ahead of time, which is honestly the less-chaotic way to go about it. almost every time i attempt to do this, i bail on the fic, so it’s clearly not my forte. 

instead, i divide my “plan” of action into three parts: the inciting incident, the climax, and the resolution. i decide what is going to propel the plot forward, where the peak of the action and the emotion is going to be, and what the end goal is. this is really all i need to write a fic, because i can fill the blank spaces between each major part of the story with little scenes that will slowly snowball into the climax, and then the conclusion. these blank spaces are typically known as the rising and falling action. 

so you don’t plan anything????

though these rising and falling action scenes are typically made up on the spot, once i have an idea of what’s going to happen in each individual scene, i will make a very brief bullet point that tells me how to go about it. taking moonlight melody again, i knew that the inciting incident would be hoseok stealing oc’s headphones as another prank, the climax would be the day that jungkook confessed, and the resolution would be the flight home. the scenes in the middle were wholly unplanned, though, to ensure that i wouldn’t forget anything, i had bullet points at the bottom of the document that looked like this:

gondola tour in venice (seokjin, hoseok, jungkook, oc)

they all go drinking

jungkook nearly confesses to oc but instead just throws up

brief, but the point is there. this is typically how i go about all of my fics. the main three parts are fleshed out but everything else is spontaneously thought of.

HOW I MAKE A CHARACTER

plots are pointless if your characters are boring.

creating a character bio:

these aren’t so much bios as they are background information. characters need context for existing so that the plot can move forward. i almost never write out little plans for my individual characters since this information i can typically remember, but if you can’t or if you think fleshing out your characters on paper is easier, by all means. my bios (in my head) consist of qualities and characteristics that are either 1) inalienable (meaning that they don’t change throughout the course of the fic) or 2) very present at the beginning of the fic but may change over time. to me, the character bios are how i view the character at the start of the fic, rather than the end. 

this can include stuff like hobbies, occupation, and qualities. for jungkook from moonlight melody, it would look something like this:

photographer

best underclassman violinist

reserved but comes out of his shell around friends

supports taehyung’s antics

had a crush on oc for ages

general fine arts hoe

if you’re a fic writer, feel free to base your characters off of the traits they possess in real life/canon-ly, but also don’t be afraid to give their personalities a makeover. they should fit with your fic. you don’t need to retain their original traits just for your writing. 

developing my characters:

this i almost always keep reserved for main characters only. all of my quirky best friends in my fics are flat (meaning they don’t have any character development) just because they typically function as comic relief and don’t need to have some big character arch to be important. 

character development is how my characters go from enemies to lovers and friends to lovers because obviously, to go from such polar opposites, something has to change. quite frankly i’m not the best at character development but one thing i make sure about is that it’s subtle. it’s really, really unnatural for characters who have been enemies for their entire lives to suddenly just Up And Kiss like it’s nobody’s business. there has to be a slow shift because before they can be lovers, they have to be friends. subtlety is key. i’m still working on my character development skills because i don’t think they’re that hot. 

making my characters realistic:

this is my favorite, favorite part of writing. favorite. i love it because i get to throw in all these dumbass quirks to make the characters fun and relatable and not boring masses of dialogue. this is the part where i get especially creative, because there are just so many things that make people tick. i throw in random traits and characteristics like “raw corn allergy” or “aspires to be instagram famous” or “frequently quotes vines for no apparent reason” because people in real life are like this. they aren’t robots, machines with the same general makeup but slight variations. everyone’s different. 

in a more serious sense, this also applies to traits that are generally less favorable to society, even if they aren’t in the grand scheme of things. jungkook from the underwear thief regularly wishes for a black hole to suck him up and remove him from reality. the oc in start anew fears her own past and clings to it at the same time. broken rings & queens and kings’ oc often lets her pride get the better of her. 

these characteristics make characters human, which in turn makes them relatable, which i think adds to the charm of my writing, because people feel like they’re kin with the characters they’re reading about. 

HOW TO WRITE DIALOGUE

i have a couple answered asks about writing dialogue: this one about using dialogue to start a story and this one about how to make dialogue seem natural and this one about how to use dialogue to propel a story rather than prose. dialogue is another one of my favorite parts about writing, and i would generally consider myself a dialogue writer rather than a description writer. 

i write dialogue by listening to how people speak. this can be in any context, from people in real life to movies and tv shows to youtube videos. every now and then i will just take out my headphones and listen to other people talk, their mannerisms, they way they conduct themselves through their voices. then, i will take that and apply it to my own characters. granted, i embellish my characters’ speaking patterns slightly because obviously i want my characters to be more exciting that the people i know in real life, but the basis is the same. 

colloquialism and vernacular plays a big part in this. people don’t speak like they write research papers. at least, i don’t. even as i write this, this is how i would be speaking if i were telling you all of this information in person rather than typing it out and posting it. i almost always write how i speak. it’s just the kind of language that flows most naturally to me. so, in my fics, i make sure to use slang words and abbreviations and whatnot because that is how i speak regularly and that is how other people around me speak as well. 

when i say embellish, i sort of mean making them sound cooler than the people you know in real life. ain’t nobody who i speak to on a regular basis saying cool analogies and figurative language. that’s the part that i typically embellish. for example, jungkook in the underwear thief tells taehyung, “i’m gonna have to wash these again just because you put your blackhead-filled nose up to it.” now, i have never heard the phrase “blackhead-filled nose” uttered before in my life. but i made jungkook say it as an embellishment on his already realistic speaking patterns. 

one thing that i was asked to include is how to vary action words after dialogue to make the story seem less “he said she said” and more professional. i’m guilty of doing the “he said she said” thing a bunch, which is apparently a big writing no-no, but jk rowling also has a habit of doing it so take from that what you will. generally, i like to stick to a couple of main action verbs that explain emotions like “furrowed brows” (represents confusion) or “sighs” (resignation) or “groans/complains” (annoyance). or, i’ll just go straight into an action verb that doesn’t have anything to do with speaking, like “smirks” or “rolls eyes” or something like that.

HOW I STAY MOTIVATED AND PRODUCTIVE

this is a misleading subtitle because i am, on a regular basis, neither motivated nor productive.

motivation and other elusive social concepts:

the only thing i can vouch for concerning motivation is that if you aren’t enjoying what you write, stop writing it. it’s that simple, really. i have a lot of wips that will die along with the end of the earth without anybody besides myself seeing them because i got to a point in the fic where i just wasn’t enjoying myself anymore. above everything else, when i write i want to be having fun. it’s a goddamn hobby and it shouldn’t be a chore. i find peace of mind when i write, and so i will continue to do it.

reading also helps a lot. i typically try to read, whether it be fic or an actual published novel, every single night. if i am reading something that i am especially enjoying or that i find just... genuinely outstanding, then i’m more inclined to want to work on my own thing because holy shit, that thing i just read was so good i want to do that. 

productivity? never heard of her:

you may or may not be familiar with the fact that the majority of moving on was written between the hours of 12am to 7am the day it was going to be posted, with a 3 hour nap during that time period. don’t do that. 

i try to write for at least an hour or two every night, but the key word here is try. if i’m particularly busy or just not feeling up to it, i won’t. it’s really no big deal. a lot of the times my productivity will go up and down like the wall street stocks with most of it occurring closer to the time i want the fic to be posted. on those days, i set myself mildly strict guidelines for writing time and try to get as much of it done as possible. i know that i can write about 1k an hour, but if i’m really in The Mood then i can write 1k in 30 minutes. 

MY UNCONVENTIONAL (OR CONVENTIONAL) HABITS

i write best when it’s dark outside, and some of my finest work is produced roughly at 2am. i will listen to the same song over and over and over if it’s the only inspo i can find for a fic (i’m looking at you, moonlight melody). my writing spaces have to be neat, whether they be my desk or my bed. i always try to have water with me because stay hydrated, folks! i check my word count like every five minutes even if i haven’t written anything. if i’m not feeling inspired for a fic i will typically turn to tumblr to see if you guys can elicit some sort of inspo for the fic, either by asking you guys to ask me questions about my fic or working on a wips page. my word count estimates are either right on target or gross underestimates. i have a habit of repeating opening clauses for effect, typically three times right after each other.

ANSWERING YOUR QUESTIONS

hopefully most of the things you guys were looking for were already answered, but i did get some requests for more targeted answers. bear in mind, this is just how i would go about doing these things, so you can do whatever you want with this information!

how to structure sentences and make sure they’re the right length:

try to mix long sentences and short sentences together. a line of dialogue doesn’t need be accompanied by a big paragraph all the time. you can often just make a new paragraph right after the quote; you don’t even need an action verb. balance out your sentences. if you have a long paragraph with long sentences, make the next line a couple of words. 

how to make a sfw fic interesting:

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: a fic does not need smut to be interesting. not everything needs to be sexual in nature. when you think about it, most books aren’t sexual in nature, and there are plenty of interesting ones out there. alongside the plot, what makes a story really interesting are the characters. see the character section above for how i try to keep my characters fun and lovable.

how to write smooth sentences/have flow:

one rule of thumb i always try to follow is to not have each new paragraph start with the same word. there are plenty of ways to start a new paragraph with a word other than “you” or “then” or “so” and it makes your writing interesting and diverse. to have flow, try to find cadence in your writing. a rhythm, perhaps. read your sentences back to yourself. it should flow smoothly on your tongue and the words should come to you naturally without any thinking at all. if you want to change topics, do so slowly. don’t try and pull 180 turns with your writing, it’s abrupt and unnecessary. 

how to be detailed:

figurative language. that’s it. any type of figurative language. rhetorical devices work, too (here’s a great list). figurative language is the spice of writing. try to use metaphors, similes, analogies, and allusions that are relevant to the time period in which your story is set.

alongside this, try and think about everything that your character is doing during that scene or that dialogue, and not just their face. think about how the world is interacting with them. are they nursing a cup of coffee? tapping their feet? is the wind blowing their hair slightly? see your characters as people and not just faces.

how to title:

ugh, titles, my nemesis. i title all of my fics after i write them because when i’m finished with the fic, i’ve got a pretty good grasp as to where the story is headed and can name it accordingly. some tips for titling are to find those cool word blogs/sites and snatch up a word from there that seems to match or think of a common phrase/idiom/whatever that matches your fic and either use it or alter it slightly. quite honestly though, most of my titles come straight out of my ass.

HOW TO NAVIGATE THE BTS WRITING COMMUNITY

bear in mind that this is just how i have personally experienced the community while writing here on tumblr and that this is not representative of everyone’s experiences. also these are mostly just tips so you are under no obligation to take my advice or believe what i say!

if you are an sfw writer/uncomfortable with writing smut, cool. that’s cool. that is so cool because me too. i know that the pattern on tumblr is that nsfw fics get hella press and everyone else is left in the dust, and this may cause you to feel the need to include smut in your fic to gain notes but please, don’t. don’t do it. it’s not worth it because you should always 100% be comfortable with what you are writing. do not let other people determine your writing (unless you are writing something distasteful in which case um, maybe stop that?). 

writing should not be a chore. do not let people on tumblr, whether they are your followers or not, pressure you into thinking/feeling otherwise. you are doing this for free. you are getting nothing in return except for notes on a social media website. you do not owe anybody anything. 

there is no secret sauce for becoming a quote unquote “popular” blog. popularity is overrated anyway and quite frankly any decent human being on this website, even if they have 100k followers, will tell you the same thing. it’s all a hoax. write what you love and love what you write and people will find your blog. readers can tell when your heart isn’t in it. don’t let the numbers get to your head because they’re almost pointless.

be a nice person? people like nice people? it’s pretty self explanatory. here’s the thing. you don’t owe your followers anything but they don’t owe you anything either. don’t treat them as such. they aren’t less than you because you write and they do not. love and respect your followers because they will do the same to you. 

HOW TO WRITE LIKE A WRITER

write. write write write write write. don’t stop. even if it takes you months, years to write. do it. 

i hope this was helpful!! i could probably go on and on for a million years about each of my quirks and habits when it comes to writing, but i wanted to make sure that you guys finished reading this thing before the turn of the next century. i also have a tag on my blog called #writing tips where i answer some questions a little more specifically, though there may be some repeated information just because my process hasn’t changed all that much. as always, message me with feedback for this post or any additional questions you might have concerning my writing process or with some specific requests for writing tips!!!

[insanitysscribblings]

Reyna Writes: Partners Under Covers - An Alyadrien Week Prompt

IT IS THE 18TH HERE, WHICH MEANS IT’S OFFICIALLY DAY #7 OF ALYADRIEN WEEK HERE, SO NOW I CAN POST THIS AND N O O N E C A N S T O P M E.

For Alyadrien Week #7: AU

Waiting to post this was fucking t o r t u r e, since I had it finished about a week ago, but oh well.

Normally @siderealsandman is my enabler in stuff like this, but this time around, it’s more @bullysquadess‘s fault. :P

Enjoy! <3

~Reyna

When prompted, the neighbors of one Adrien Agreste would have a lot to say about him, all good things:

“M. Agreste? Oh, he’s so kind, I just love him.”

“Adrien? Yes, he’s such a joy to have in the neighborhood! Always volunteers at the neighborhood barbecues, and he never has a bad thing to say about anyone!”

“Oh yes, Adrien Agreste. Just between you and me, if I didn’t have a partner, I’d certainly like a shot at him…hell, I think Jean would probably agree!”

Former part-time model Adrien Agreste made his living by teaching piano lessons for kids, teens, adults—basically anyone who wanted to learn—at the local rec center, where all the townsfolk gathered to learn a variety of skills, be it the piano, cooking, dancing, or even quilting. And he was never without business—when he wasn’t teaching at the rec center, people were practically lining up for private lessons outside his two-story home, which was grander than a few of the houses, but modest enough, considering his gigantic inheritance when his father passed. He was always ready with a helping hand and a smile, which would make him an easy target when it came to shady individuals, but he was just so pure that anyone who tried to scam him seemed to end up giving up with a thousand apologies, which he always accepted. Adrien Agreste was simply too pure for anyone to mean him harm.

That…and his lawyer was not someone to be trifled with.

“Oh, Adrien, hello!” Called Mme. Dumont as she spotted Adrien exiting his house; she hurried to meet him at his gate, and Adrien stumbled to an abrupt stop to avoid running into her, which meant his briefcase went flying, its contents spilling out.

“Oops,” Adrien chuckled, stooping down to hurriedly gather up his fallen possessions. “Hello, Mme. Dumont. How’s Noah doing?”

“Oh, his fever has dropped significantly, thank goodness. By the way, thank you so much for that soup recipe!” Mme. Dumont gushed, leaning over to help Adrien. “It was just as you said—just a bowl-ful, and his cough cleared right up! You’re amazing!”

“I actually got the recipe from the guy who teaches cooking classes at the rec center, but I’m happy I was able to help…ah,” Adrien cut himself off as his neighbor’s hand closed around his last item before he did. He inwardly sighed as Mme. Dumont held the lighter up to her face, shock crossing her expression.

“Adrien! I didn’t know you smoked!” She cried predictably, and Adrien had to work not to roll his eyes. Of course, of course—picture-perfect Adrien Agreste couldn’t have such a filthy habit as smoking. For shame!

“I don’t,” he admitted, gently plucking the lighter from his neighbor’s hand and stuffing it into his pocket as he straightened up. “It’s just a memento, really. It was my father’s.”

Ah-ha—as soon as he played the ‘orphan’ card, it was suddenly all tragic expressions and sympathetic pats. Worked every time.

“Where are you off to today?” Mme. Dumont inquired as Adrien unlocked his car with the press of a button, following him as he tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat. “You don’t normally leave your home around this time of day…”

Mme. Dumont was inconveniently nosy. However, she also happened to sleep early, so Adrien didn’t mind it as much during the day, so long as he remained unobserved during the night…

“I have to see my lawyer today,” Adrien informed her, privately amused at the scandalized look on his neighbor’s face.

“Is that no good cousin of yours still giving you trouble over your father’s estate? Why, if I were still practicing, I’d have a good mind to—”

“I appreciate your concern, Mme. Dumont, truly, I do,” Adrien assured her with a pat to her shoulder, “but I really should go. If I’m late, my attorney will have my head.”

“Oh, of course! You drive safe now, dear! If you need a pick-me-up of some hot chocolate and cookies, you know where to find me!”

“Of course, Mme. Dumont,” Adrien replied courteously, instead of reminding her that he was twenty-five years old, not one of her young children. He knew she meant well, really, but sometimes the doting from her—from everyone—got to be too much.

As he got into and started his car, Adrien let himself breathe. At least he had an excuse to meet the one person who never took any of his shit today. Honestly, bless his cousin for being so stubborn—whether he knew it or not, Adrien really owed him for contesting his father’s will and tying them up in litigations that would take months to solve, if he insisted upon being so adamant. Really, Adrien wasn’t about to complain—even if the proceedings could be considered tedious at best, he did have one hell of a lawyer.

“You’re late.”

“Nice to see you too, Alya,” Adrien replied, raising an eyebrow as he entered the boardroom, ruffling his hair in that casual way that didn’t fool Alya for a second. “Did I miss anything important?”

Alya adjusted her glasses, eyeing him shrewdly.

“Of course not—we can’t very well accomplish anything without you here, now can we?”

“Please note,” said the unpleasant woman that Felix Agreste had hired to be his lawyer—the leggy blonde with the big mouth and a tongue as sharp as her nails, “that both my client and myself are present on time.”

“Punctuality won’t make up for a shoddy defense, sweetheart,” Alya shot back, examining her nails in a bored fashion as Adrien took his seat beside her. The opposing lawyer—Bourgeois, was it?—made a disgusted noise, muttering under her breath as Adrien’s cousin sat still, gazing dispassionately at the pair of them. Really, Alya was convinced the man was a robot—they had already met several times to go over every fine point in this goddamn will, but he still had yet to make any sort of facial expression that resembled a human’s. More and more, Alya began to wonder if he was even really invested in trying to weasel Adrien’s inheritance out from under him…or if this was just an elaborate ruse of some sort.

Alya glanced over at her client; he caught her eye, a corner of his mouth lifting up, a familiar glint in his gaze.

Oh, right—the only people that were doing the japing was them.

“Well,” Alya began, flipping her notepad open to a heavily graffitied page, most of it concerning the case before them…but a few of the written comments were slights against the other lawyer and Adrien’s cousin when Alya got bored of arguing the same point over and over again without getting anywhere. “Shall we start from the top?”

Despite how utterly pointless these meetings were, Adrien had to admit, he loved watching Alya work. There was something about watching a woman in slacks, a vest, and a button-up shirt argue fiercely but concisely, fire simmering in the hazel eyes behind her glasses as she shut down every point Mlle. Bourgeois tried to make with cold facts that she must have memorized at this point, for she barely glanced at her notepad the whole time. Not that this was surprising—not only was Alya excellent at her job, but the argument was so redundant at this point that Adrien himself could probably recite his father’s entire will from memory, including the finer details, like what kind of suit his father had wanted to be buried in (an Armani double-breasted charcoal black suit, with a red ascot and pocket handkerchief to match).

“Look, you can try and press your point until you’re blue in the face, but the fact still remains that Felix Agreste is not entitled to a single euro more than what Gabriel Agreste had already bequeathed to him and his family,” Alya stated, getting up from her chair now, her palms flat against the table as she scowled darkly at Mlle. Bourgeois, who looked ready to tear Alya’s eyes out…hmm, maybe that was why her nails were so sharp.

“And it is still our stance that, since M. Agreste’s death was so sudden, that there could be foul play to consider!” Mlle. Bourgeois insisted, punching the table with a surprising amount of force. Adrien glanced over, watching Alya roll her eyes.

“Oh please, not this again,” she huffed, falling back into her chair and crossing her arms. “The police launched a full investigation—the man died of a heart attack. Besides, everything was already in Adrien’s name when his father passed—if you’re honestly going to push the ‘foul play’ angle, then that makes your client just as suspicious, if not more so.”

“How dare you!”

“Hey, I’m just using your own logic against you. Don’t like it? Find another offense.” The ‘I dare you’ was implied in Alya’s tone, and Adrien absolutely loved it.

There was a sudden knock on the door, and the bailiff poked his head into the meeting room.

“Time’s up,” he chimed, and Adrien glanced at his watch in some surprise. Wow…amazing how two hours flew by, just like that. “Has a settlement been reached?”

Mlle. Bourgeois growled under her breath, swiping her belongings off the table and cramming them into her designer briefcase. Adrien watched Alya throw the bailiff a smirk.

“That answer your question, Claude?”

The bailiff shook his head, stepping into the room.

“Well…regardless, you’ll have to break for today,” Claude insisted. Mlle. Bourgeois gave another growl of discontent, but Alya merely shrugged, jerking her head for Adrien to follow her.

“Same time next month?” He joked, shooting a grin at the blondes across the table from him as he stood up. Neither of them looked amused, but it didn’t much matter to Adrien, who let the door fall shut behind him with a click.

He followed Alya outside the law office, to the alley. There, Alya fished out a cigarette pack from an inner pocket of her vest, sticking one between her lips while holding out her free hand. Obligingly, Adrien drew out his lighter and handed it over.

“You know smoking’s bad for you,” he said, smirking as Alya lit her cigarette and exhaled smoke, rolling her eyes at him at the same time.

“I started smoking because of you and your bullshit family drama,” she accused, dropping her professional manner as she pointed the cigarette at him before taking another drag. “And anyway, what the fuck? Every time I see your goddamn cousin, he looks more and more like he just doesn’t give a shit. If he doesn’t care about the money, then what the fuck is he wasting all our time for?”

“You got me,” Adrien replied with a shrug, unable to help the way he watched Alya’s lips curve around the cigarette as she smoked. “At this point, his lawyer cares more than we do.”

“Oh, she doesn’t care, either” Alya contradicted him with a slight shake of her head. “She just likes to argue with me. It’s the only way she knows how to relieve her sexual tension with me.”

Adrien slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Is there something I should know about?” He drawled, resting his forearm against the wall above Alya’s head, leaning over her as she glanced up at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Are you literally sleeping with the enemy?”

She lowered her glasses enough so her eyes were without a barricade as she shot him a deadpan look.

“Oh please. I’m a fuckin’ professional, I’ll have you know.” She paused to take another drag, her expression turning thoughtful. “…I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, though…”

“Oh?”

Alya shrugged casually, exhaling smoke away from Adrien as she pushed herself off the wall.

“Guess I just have a thing for blondes.”

Adrien felt himself warm at this, sternly ordering himself to keep the stupid grin he could feel forming off his face as Alya turned her back to him, snuffing out her cigarette with the heel of her dress shoe. She turned to him, folding her arms.

“You free tonight?”

“Lonely?” Adrien teased, snickering as Alya’s head titled to the side.

“Focus,” she insisted, glancing around surreptitiously as she lowered her voice. “We might have a potential job tonight.”

Okay, now Adrien’s interest was piqued.

“I’m listening…”

“Not here,” Alya said, quirking her eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he was mentally sane. “Later.”

Before Adrien could press for more details, Alya was moving past him. A tremor went through him at the briefest touch of her hand on his waist before she was behind him now, shoes snapping smartly against the concrete as she made her way back to the front of the building, her smoke break apparently over. Adrien watched her go, the flash of red that was her ponytail disappearing too soon for his liking, yet he knew it was necessary. It was important to keep up appearances, after all…

Turning back around, Adrien slipped his hand into his pocket, where he felt his lighter drop when Alya touched him. Along with his lighter was a folded slip of paper, curt words in Alya’s handwriting written across it. Adrien took in the message quickly, smirking at the reminder to burn the scrap of paper when he was done reading. He snorted and clicked his lighter to life, setting the scrap ablaze, watching it burn in between his thumb and forefinger for as long as he dared to before letting it go, leaving the ashes to scatter in the breeze.

As if he had to be reminded of how to do his actual job.

“You’re late.”

“Hmm…déjà vu,” the agent known as Chat Noir purred as he slunk up behind his partner where she was lying on the roof, shamelessly admiring the way that black spy suit clung to her curves. “I’m beginning to think that maybe you just set your watch five minutes too early for everything.”

Vixen only paused in her watch to shoot him a dry look over her shoulder, eyes framed by the black domino mask she wore instead of her usual glasses, before she refocused on her task, her binoculars aimed at the CACEIS bank across the street.

“Just watch my back, Chat. I can still trust you to do that much, yeah?”

“Of course,” said Chat, adjusting his own mask as he continued to ogle. “I’ve been watching your back since I got here.”

Vixen didn’t seem to catch his meaning for a minute; once she did, her head tilted to the side, and she turned to scowl at him…or she tried, in any case. Her smirk kind of ruined it.

“Would you focus? We actually have an objective tonight.” She turned back around to resume her watch. “And though I know my ass is phenomenal, it ain’t the objective.”

“Says you.”

Vixen scoffed.

“If you don’t focus, Tiger, you’ll only get to look tonight,” she warned him, the threat effective enough to get Chat concentrating on the goal at hand.

“Right…so our target is CACEIS tonight?”

“Yep,” Vixen answered, and Chat watched as she changed the focus on her night vision binoculars. “Apparently, they recently gained a very wealthy patron, who just opened an account worth no less than five-hundred and twenty-thousand euros”

Chat let out a low whistle.

“Damn…and we’re stealing from this patron because…?”

“Because he’s an asshole who embezzled all that money from a charity and quickly moved it before it could be traced back to him. I think we should do our damnedest to give it back,” Vixen informed him, tensing after a second. “Ah-ha.”

“Did Monarch just give you the signal?”

“Yep—cameras are down. We have about five minutes to get in, make the transfer, and get out without anyone noticing.” Vixen got up, tucking her binoculars back into the pouch at her side, turning to grin at Chat. “You ready to fly?”

Chat Noir let out a snort as Vixen dug something out from the small duffel bag hanging at her side.

“Remind me again why we’re the ones doing the B&E this time?”

“Because Ladybug and Paon were the ones that gathered intel this time around,” Vixen reminded him, yanking something familiar out of her duffel bag and turning to take careful aim at the building. “While they’re good with snatching physical things, my particular skilled touch with computers is necessary tonight.”

“Believe me, I know how skilled your touch is,” Chat remarked, smirking as Vixen gave an obligatory eye roll. “I’m just saying it’s strange, since they usually do the flying…”

Vixen ignored him, closing one eye as she breathed slowly…

She took the shot. The grappling hook flew through the air, clamping onto the top of the building.

“Come on,” she beckoned him, securing the other end of the rope to the antenna next to them before she stepped onto the ledge of the roof, clipping her harness to the rope to zip-line across the street. Chat sighed as he approached.

“You know this part makes me nervous…”

Vixen gazed up at him, looking amused for some mysterious reason.

“Wha—” Chat began to ask, intrigued by the mischief in her gaze…but he soon got his answer when Vixen yanked him forward by his collar, the tip of her tongue tracing up his neck before she gave his ear a light nip. Promptly, Chat forgot about anything that wasn’t the tingling of his earlobe, and the blood that was rapidly rushing south…

Vixen snapped her fingers in front of his face, her smile all fox as she tugged him closer, wrapping his arms around her.

“Just focus on that for a few seconds while we fly,” she teased him, patting his thigh. “Come on, climb up.”

Chat obeyed automatically, and for the next few seconds, he amused himself with memories of the last time he and Vixen had had the privilege of being alone…hands dragging across skin, lips pressing against each other, tongues tangling, hips thrusting…god, it had been too long…

“Chat? You can let go now.”

Chat Noir blinked; he hadn’t realized they were already on the roof of the bank until just then. Reluctantly, he made himself climb down from Vixen’s back, though he still stood very close to her as she unhooked herself from the rope above them. She turned slightly, pressing a hand to his chest to make him step back a step.

“Down, boy,” she urged him, though amusement still glinted in her gaze. “We still have a job to do, remember?”

Chat let himself pout.

“You started it,” he pointed out, a frustrated growl trailing the end of his sentence. Vixen gave him an apologetic smile before she stepped away.

“I’ll make it up to you later, Tiger.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Vixen put a finger to her lips and waved him forward. They stealthily made their way across the roof, to the skylight glittering in the starlight, in the center of the roof. Chat grinned, tugging his glass cutting glove over his normal work glove…which was essentially a clawed glove with a strong suction cup sewn into the palm, used for breaking and entering. A simple glass cutter would’ve done the job just as well…but aesthetic.

Chat Noir cut a hole into the glass big enough for him and Vixen to wiggle through, using the suction section of his glove to cling to the glass and very, very carefully pull it out. As he was working, Vixen was busy securing another length of rope so they could rappel inside. Just as she began to feed the rope through the hole, however, Chat had to catch her arm, going utterly still…for a guard had chosen that exact moment to appear.

He seemed to be on his normal rounds, sweeping the dark hallway with his industrial flashlight, suspecting nothing…or he didn’t, at least, until a smaller flashlight suddenly clonked him on the head. Chat’s eyes went to Vixen, who was looking down at the open pouch over her chest, mouthing silent swears as the guard rubbed his head and cursed himself, crouching down to get a good look at what had nailed him. He picked up the flashlight, staring curiously…and then his head began to lift…

There was nothing for it; it had to be now or never. Chat chose now.

Swiftly sticking his legs into the hole, he let himself drop. The guard only managed a yelp that hopefully hadn’t carried too far before Chat landed on him. He didn’t struggle as Chat crouched over him, wondering if he needed to put the guard in a chokehold. A quick check told him that the guard was still alive, but unconscious, and he breathed a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet—

Pain lanced through his ankle, and Chat hissed. Fuck, he had managed to fuck up his ankle. That was just his luck.

Doing his best not to put too much weight on it without making it obvious that he was hurt, Chat grabbed the knocked out guard, jerking his head for Vixen to join him as he dragged the guard to a nearby nook, where he hid him behind a large potted plant.

“Are you crazy?!” Vixen hissed behind him, and Chat jumped; he hadn’t heard her come down. “You could’ve seriously hurt yourself!”

“I’m fine,” Chat lied, hiding his grimace behind a confident grin. “Let’s go—we only have a couple more minutes before the cameras cut back on, right?”

Vixen huffed. It was clear she wanted to stand here for another minute to chew him out, but they had a mission to accomplish, and so she just swiped the flashlight that had fallen earlier, briefly checking the mini-map of the bank she had on her, swiftly glancing around.

“Stay on my tail,” she ordered him, tucking both items away and waiting until Chat had his night vision goggles in place before she pulled on her own, speed-creeping down the hall to their right. Chat followed her as swiftly as he could, cringing as his ankle throbbed. He was going to need some ice later…

Vixen abruptly stopped and pushed him back into the wall beside her; a guard appeared, but he was turning right, and once he was a decent way down the hall, she pulled Chat after her as she went left, leading him to a door down the hall. It appeared to be an office of some kind; there was a name stamped on the window—Marcel Dubois. The name was registered, but then ruled as inconsequential, because their goal was the computer that sat upon the desk within.

Lifting his goggles, Chat Noir gestured for the flashlight as he pulled out his tool bag of lock picks. As he worked, tongue clenched between his teeth, Vixen angled the light, watching him work; her presence was a physical touch upon his back, making him shiver—

The lock clicked, and Chat grinned triumphantly.

“Give me sixty seconds,” Vixen muttered to him as she passed, darting into the office and carefully sliding her skilled hands over the computer. It whirred to life under her touch, and for forty-five seconds, Chat watched Vixen’s eyes fly across the screen, processing information incredibly fast as she hacked into the system and made the necessary transfers—

Suddenly, all the lights in the building seemed to flash on, and an alarm sounded, as obnoxious and unappreciated as the sudden bright light that stung Chat’s eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Vixen swore, her gaze cutting to her stop watch. “Monarch promised me at least another minute before the cameras cut back on!”

“It could be that they just found the unconscious guard, or the hole we left in the skylight…” The nearby rumbling of footsteps and voices had Chat edging the door shut, locking it for good measure. “Yeah, it was probably definitely one of those two things.”

“Fuck.” Vixen glared at the computer screen in front of her, fingers digging into her hair, dislodging red locks from her ponytail. “The transfer isn’t finished yet!”

“We don’t need to panic just yet. It’s not like they know we’re in here—”

“Hey! Who’s in there?!”

There was a thump against the door, a grunt, and the unmistakable jangle of keys.

“Check that,” Chat mumbled, hastily making his way over to the desk. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have been leaning against the door in the first place—his dark clothes against the window kind of made it obvious that there was someone in there. “Time to go.”

“Just a few more seconds!”

“We don’t have a few more seconds!” Chat reminded Vixen, as if the rattling of the handle wasn’t ominous enough.

“Almost…yes!” Vixen cheered as a message appeared on the computer screen, signaling that the transfer to an untraceable account was complete. She slammed her hand on the power button of the computer just as Chat yanked her from behind the desk, shoving the window open. Mercifully, the fire escape was right where it was meant to be, and Chat helped Vixen out onto it, climbing out just as someone burst into the office behind them.

“HEY!” A furious voice called, but Vixen and Chat Noir didn’t even stop to catch their breath—Vixen slid down the ladder, jumping back as Chat followed suit—

“Urgh!” Chat groaned, his right leg giving out from under him as his ankle quit on him, in too much pain to properly support him. Beside him, Vixen gasped.

“You are hurt!” She accused him, and Chat winced at her tone. He was going to pay for this later…

“I’m—ow, fuck—I’m fine!” He insisted anyway, even though his right leg began to violently shake underneath him, refusing to support his weight at all. But he couldn’t focus on it—there was crashing behind them; they were being pursued. “Just go, I’ll catch up! Go!”

“Like hell!”

Ignoring his protests, Vixen ducked down in front of him, pulling his arms over her once again, lifting him with a huge grunt. Chat took a moment to be impressed by her raw strength before another shout behind them alarmed him—

“STOP! GET BACK HERE!”

Vixen did not obey—even with Chat’s full weight, she full-on sprinted from the alley, darting across the street, apparently oblivious to the loud honking as she darted out in front of traffic. Chat chanced a glance back, and he nearly wept with relief at the sight of the bank guards being impeded by a large bus that got in their way, blocking them from view.

Oh thank god. That was way too close.

“Vixen—Vix, you can put me down, we lost them,” he said, but Vixen ignored him, despite the fact that her breath was heavy as she raced to the other side of the street; she refused to put him down until they reached the discreet, dark car parked on the corner two blocks away. Vixen threw open the door, pushing Chat inside before she climbed in behind him. The slam of the door was the cue to the driver, who quietly started the engine and sped down the street, effortlessly blending into downtown traffic.

“Wow,” said the woman in the passenger seat, blinking startled blue eyes as she gaped at the two of them. “What happened to you two?”

Chat met gold eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Rough night?” Asked the driver, and Chat let out a sigh. Maybe not ‘rough’…but it definitely could have gone better…

“Just….drive…” Vixen huffed, panting through her exhaustion. Chat noticed Ladybug and Paon exchange a glance, but neither of them said another word.

Chat’s ankle was throbbing, his boot way too uncomfortable now. He undid the laces and eased it off, hissing in pain. Without the pressure of his boot, he felt a little better, but his ankle still pulsed unpleasantly. Oh god, he dearly hoped it wasn’t broken…

Chat Noir glanced over at Vixen, who was staring at his ankle as she worked to catch her breath. She glanced up to meet his gaze, her eyes tight, and they stared at each other, as if to mutually register just how close they had cut things tonight.

After a moment, Chat offered a small smile.

“So…your place or mine?” He joked in an undertone, hoping to lighten the mood. Vixen just stared at him, and Chat cringed inwardly, certain she was about to shut him down—

“…Mine,” Vixen answered, looking away after a moment to stare out the window. Chat let out a breath of relief, tugging off his mask. In front of them, Paon chuckled.

“You guys just can’t get enough of each other, huh?”

“Shut up, Bird Boy.”

“You should’ve told me you were hurt.”

“It wasn’t a big deal—”

“We literally risk our lives to pull off these heists, Agreste,” Alya cut through his bullshit reply, her eyes sharp as she glared at him, looking sheepish as he sat on her bed while she knelt in front of him to take care of his ankle. “You have to tell me when you’re compromised. That’s the only way this works.”

“Okay,” Adrien replied, wincing as she shifted the ice pack on his ankle. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

Alya huffed, accepting the apology, but still thoroughly irritated with him as she wrapped his poor, abused ankle. What the hell had he been thinking, dropping on that guard like that? If they had been armed guards, he would have been in serious trouble!

She secured the end of the gauze, inspecting her handiwork grimly.

“You’re gonna have to stay off it for a few days,” she said, folding her arms as her elbows rested on his knees, frowning up at him. “You’ll be seriously lucky if it isn’t broken. Jesus, Adrien, of all the stupid things to do—”

“Alya,” Adrien cut her off, and Alya felt her expression soften despite herself as he slid a hand over her cheek, “I’m all right. We accomplished the mission—Monarch will get to work on moving the money as soon as possible—and we made it out of there without getting caught. Everything’s fine.”

Alya sighed from her core, still frowning, but it probably had lost its fierceness at this point. It wasn’t fair for Adrien to comfort her like this when she wanted to be mad at him for being so reckless; he somehow always knew just what to say to ease her concerns and help her breathe again. The bastard.

She only allowed his touch to placate her for a moment longer before she took his hand away from her face, lacing her fingers with his as she worked to make her expression severe again.

“Be more careful,” she ordered him. Adrien smiled a little at her.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “So…”

Alya lifted a brow.

“So?”

“We accomplished our mission…”

“Yeah?”

“And you did say you’d make up for a certain, very distracting thing you did to me earlier…”

Alya’s lips curved into a devious smirk.

“Really? In all the excitement, I seem to have forgotten…”

“Well I remember,” Adrien insisted, raising his eyebrows. “Vividly.”

That brought a laugh out of Alya. God, he had such a one-track mind sometimes…

“You seriously want to have sex while you’re in pain?” She asked him, leaning forward so that their noses almost touched, giving him an exaggerated wide-eyed look. “I didn’t think you were such a masochist, Agreste.”

“It’s less that I’m a masochist…” Adrien began, carefully scooting forward so that Alya’s torso was practically in his lap, his head tilting to the side as he leaned over her. “…and more that you drive me crazy just by being near me, Césaire.”

“Is that right?” Alya teased, nudging him back so she could climb up, settling herself properly into his lap as she smirked down at him. “Well, I guess I do owe you for distracting you earlier…”

“Yes you do,” Adrien was quick to press, his cheeks flushing red as Alya traced those perfect cheekbones of his with her thumbs. “I expect to be repaid in full.”

“Well…what kind of lawyer would I be if I didn’t cater to my client’s wishes?” Alya asked with a grin before she swooped down and captured Adrien’s lips with her own.

After all, picture-perfect Adrien Agreste had a reputation for having the fiercest lawyer in Paris. And, heist society notwithstanding, Alya had a reputation to uphold.

...

I am weak for espionage stories and have descended into Alyadrien Hell and nothing can pull me back.

I even have a WIP called Alyadrien Hell. The next prompt involves them having sex in a closet because of misplaced underwear.

...You’ll see. ;)

Hope you enjoyed! <3

~Reyna

[cyuya-nakahara]

You’re Insufferable (We’re Inseparable) - Ch4

read on ao3

Dazai is nothing if not persistent.

Chapter 4: The Dog and the Hare

"Are you busy?" The question startled Chuuya as he emerged from the tearoom, and he looked to the side to see Dazai sitting against the wall beside the door, a book in hand and small bag beside him. He looked like he'd been there for hours. "What are you doing here?" He asked, sliding the door shut behind him. Dazai slipped a bookmark in his book's pages and closed it, setting it aside. He looked up to meet Chuuya's eye. "Waiting for you." He said honestly. "I was hoping you'd like to go to the park." Chuuya raised a brow and studied the other boy closely. "I'm not dressed for it." He said cautiously, gesturing at his kimono. "Kouyou would kill me if I ruined her clothes." Suddenly it clicked for Dazai that the ratty clothes Chuuya had worn on the mission were probably the only articles of clothing that Chuuya owned for himself, and he searched for a compromise. "We could sit in the tea garden." He suggested, gesturing in the general direction of Kouyou's gardens. "You could change into something more casual first." "Why do you keep trying to be around me?" Dazai jostled his bag. "I brought candy." It wasn't an answer, and the redhead wasn't impressed by the offer in the slightest, but to his own surprise— "Fine." He said flatly. A change of clothes later, Dazai and Chuuya found themselves sitting on a stone bench in Kouyou's garden, watching fish swim and leaves fall from the stresses of the breeze. They sat silently, listening to the wind in the pines. A silence stretched on for what seemed to be forever, but Chuuya finally broke it. "What are we doing out here?" He said bluntly, shattering the meditative atmosphere. His voice seemed tired and disillusioned, because he was. He couldn't fathom why Dazai had come here to meet him at all. "I just want to talk." The boy answered back. Dazai kicked his legs as he looked at the ground. "We started poorly. Pretend I don't know you." "That's not hard." Chuuya laughed and he continued, "I hardly know you at all." He spoke with a laugh but his words fell on a silent backdrop, ringing true for both of them. Everything they knew of each other was derived from a few short encounters and a great deal of assumptions. Chuuya, for example, knew the other boy was called Dazai. He knew he was always bandaged up in some way, and he knew he was cared for by the greasy man that had insulted him when he'd first been brought in. He knew he could neutralise gifts, and he knew he was a bit of a prick. He didn't know much else at all. And Dazai knew little more. He knew Chuuya's full name, and he knew Kouyou cared for him. He knew his gift manipulated gravity, and that he'd been living on the streets before the Mafia had found him. He knew the progression of roles he had in his short time in the Mafia thus far, and he knew a bit of Chuuya's tactical strengths. He knew that Kouyou didn't wish to cut  his hair for whatever reason, and assorted other bits of trivia without context or importance. Neither knew much of the other at all. "I think we should just start over." Dazai said, leaning on his unbroken arm. "Introduce yourself, like we never even met. I'll do the same." He looked at Chuuya, studying his face. Chuuya looked back, and then sighed. He still hadn't gotten any word on why the other kid cared so much, but there wasn't any harm here. "Nakahara Chuuya." He said hesitantly, unsure of what kind of game they were playing. "Dazai." The other responded. And then, like robot, continued: "I am gifted. My gift is 'No Longer Human', and it is that any gift I come into contact with is rendered null and void." He spoke almost mechanically, and Chuuya wondered how many times the brunet had said those exact words before. It was a weird way for him to introduce himself; Chuuya hadn't even thought to mention his ability. Dazai apparently hadn't thought to give his full name. It bugged him. "Mine is 'For the Tainted Sorrow'," he said, still not onboard with whatever Dazai was trying to do, "as you might recall, it manipulates gravity." "How does it work?" Chuuya scoffed. "I'm not telling you that. I know your 'no trust in the Mafia' deal and I don't know what you're up to. I'm not telling you anything in depth about my ability, no way, dude." Dazai nodded, unsurprised. "Okay." The two sat in an uncomfortable silence filled only by the bubbling of the pond for well over a minute before either spoke again. "'No Longer Human' is a gift of the highest priority and potency." Dazai explained without prompting, breaking the silence and looking at the ground. "It activates when I touch an ability in use, no matter what it is, how strong its effects may be, or if I want it to. My ability will always neutralise other gifts before they act on me." "You can't turn it off?" Chuuya asked, raising a brow. That was an idea that was foreign to him. His own ability was something he turned on and off at will with relative ease, and so was pretty much every other ability he'd ever encountered. Something he used when he needed it. It happened without warning sometimes, but he could stop it eventually. The way the other talked about this, though, was what Dazai had even really a gift? The way it was described, it seemed more like...an extra feature of his body. Like Dazai's body had dark hair and fair skin, and it neutralised abilities on contact. Gifts had always seemed like special skills to Chuuya. Controllable things. Things that could be harnessed and trained. "No." Dazai said simply. "Can you?" Chuuya had taken to pulling the leaves off of a nearby plant, amassing a small pile in his lap. "I'd thought everyone could." He mumbled. Dazai frowned. "I'm still not telling you anything about mine." Chuuya added, looking at Dazai as he fiddled with a leaf in his hand. The other boy nodded. "That's fair." Another long silence ensued, but Chuuya was the one to break it this time. "So uh," he started, trying to make new conversation without tripping over words, "you're...important huh? I mean, you're my age, right?" Dazai wasn't entirely following. "I turned 11 recently." He said flatly, eyes on the other. Chuuya bit his lip and leaned back on his hands. "So you must be important right? I was supposed to be your bodyguard or something, but you're just a kid. And Kouyou talks really nice about you too. What makes you so special? Kouyou says you're smart." "I suppose that's true." The conversation fell flat on its face and another silence ensued. Chuuya began tearing up the leaves in his lap. This exercise they were doing was pointless— they were exchanging info but were they actually getting anywhere? It was just small talk, and Chuuya wasn't keen on small talk. He wasn't particularly good at small talk, he didn't like small talk, and in his experience small talk didn't like him. He usually wound up saying something wrong, and depending on who he was talking to, that ranged from uncomfortable to disastrous. Dazai didn't seem like he'd be the disaster sort, but that didn't mean he wanted to chance it. "Look—" he said, tossing a leaf into the pond, "what do you want? Why do you keep trying to talk to me? Just tell me straight up, please." He looked at Dazai in earnest. He liked "straight up". He liked honest expressions and uncomplicated conversations. He liked to say what he thought, whenever possible, and he preferred when others did the same. It rarely worked out that way, but it was what he liked, and it was what he wanted from this conversation badly. Dazai, however, did not like "straight up". "We started off badly." Dazai said again, his voice as practiced and scripted as his talk of his ability. "I just want to be friends." "Have you ever actually made a friend?" The question came out before Chuuya even thought to think and he immediately bit down on his lip as the discomfort hit the atmosphere like an atom bomb. A silence grew and the silence was telling —Dazai, like himself, probably had not had many opportunities for that. Chuuya reached out to touch the other. "Hey dude, I haven't really either." He said apologetically, trying to ease the damage. The brunet looked down at his arm and stared, and a different expression slipped underneath the blank one he'd been wearing as he observed the redhead's arm that extended from his sleeve. Chuuya wasn't sure what that meant. It was weird but it didn't seem bad. He wasn't sure what changed, but this expression seemed...real, and Dazai looked like a person had come to take his body off autopilot. "Do you like sweets?" He asked, his eyes still fixed on Chuuya's skin as he changed topics entirely. Chuuya drew his arm back slowly. "What kind?" "I don't actually know." He confessed, but he got out his bag, pulling out a handful of hard wrapped candies. "I just stole a handful of whatever Mori had in his jar for Elise. I'm not actually allowed to have them." Chuuya grimaced at Mori's name. He took the hard candy from Dazai when it was handed to him, but he didn't dare to eat it. "Is this stuff even safe?" He asked. Dazai was already popping one into his mouth. "Probably —ugh, cinnamon." He took the candy right back out of his mouth and wrapped it back up while Chuuya continued to look at his like it might secretly be full of razors. Dazai selected a yellow one this time, confident that the flavour possibilities for that colour were safe, and slid it in his mouth. "These are Elise's." He reiterated, talking around the candy. "Mori likes her. And besides, poisoning a bowl of candy that he and Elise eat from on the off chance that I steal some to give to you is a method that's inefficient, unguaranteed, and not his style. The candies are almost certainly safe." Chuuya reluctantly put one in his mouth. Dazai clearly trusted his judgement on the matter enough to eat them. And if something happened, well, at least he wouldn't be in the hospital alone. "Why is Elise allowed to have them but you're not?" He asked, tucking the hard candy in his cheek and pulling his legs up onto the bench. He turned to sit sideways facing Dazai. Dazai shrugged. "He likes her better I guess; poor girl. Why won't Kouyou let you cut your hair?" He said the question easily but it dropped awkwardly and Chuuya frowned, confused. "I could if I wanted, she's not stopping me. I just like it long." Oh. "It's pretty." Dazai said as a weak save for the implication of his question. It wasn't a lie, though. "Thank you." Dazai paused, looking at the pond, and then at Chuuya, at his hair and his clothes. He looked like Kouyou's spitting image, and the brunet wondered what that felt like to him. Did he abhor it? Like it? Did he even know? He wouldn't ask. "Do you enjoy learning from her?" He asked instead. His question was vague, designed to try and get the information he wanted. Chuuya just threw another leaf into the pond and answered simply, "I hate tea." It was an understandable answer for the circumstances. The conversations went on, with vague questions and cautious answers, until the sun began to sink lower in the sky. And by the time that came...well, they weren't quite friendly, but they weren't hostile either. And something between them made it seem so hard for either to leave. "I have to go." Chuuya said, rising from the bench and extending a hand to the other. Dazai nodded. He should have returned home long ago. "I'll come again." He said, and took Chuuya's hand to help himself up.