#(that is the correct spelling of his name I don't care what Banjo says)

[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