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BLOG IS MOVING
So for... all of the fourteen followers I have here: 
Future posts will go up on @tea-for-you because having two creative blogs is one more than needed and the other has a url that people can spell
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aspirations
anyway, the ballpoint pen IS my favourite drawing tool
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In My Dreams (Ladrien)
Summary:
Adrien sees Ladybug at the ball and cannot resist dancing with her.
Note:
I'd like to dedicate this to the five people on my dash who are starved for Ladrien content. Nothing but love for you.
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She was beautiful.
At least, that’s what Adrien would think, if he could have thoughts and he wasn’t insanely captivated at the moment. Truth was, she was even more than that. She always had been.
She was Ladybug, there in the flesh at this stupid Parisian ball that his father had put on. She was there for… Who knows what reason. Really, if he could just transform for five seconds, he would ask.
He desperately wanted to ask.
To bad he was stuck there as Adrien Agreste. The famous model garnering even more attention that a hero of Paris would have. He couldn’t transform, not now—
But he could—If he was lucky enough—touch her.
He could look at her and that cloth-made mask and wonder who she really was, take in the artistry of her gown that had everyone staring—Marinette made it, no doubt—and memorize the way she looked in something other than a superhero costume. He could pretend to know her in another way, if only for a moment.
And it was stupid, and it was selfish, and it was everything he shouldn’t have done. But for just five minutes, he could pretend to be someone else, someone who Ladybug would let dance with her the way that he desperately wanted to. Someone who could talk to her outside of the mask and have those stupid, mindless conversations he always craved.
Adrien Agreste was a selfish man, and yet…
“Hi,” because there were no eloquent introductions in his repertoire, “if it isn’t too much, could I bother you to dance?” He’d repeated the proposition a hundred times before walking up to her, amazed that in this ball, for once, she was not the most important person in the room. No, she was somehow lost in an array of heroes and supermodels and bloggers and whatever else his father deemed moderately respectable.
And really, when he was talking to her, it was easy to ignore the way that his father watched him in the background.
She blushed a lovely light pink color that he’d wasn’t sure the origin for, but that he wanted to memorize and keep to himself for the rest of his life. Her hand touched his, devoid of the latex and leather that so often separated them, and her fingers slid into his far too easily. A part of him worried that she would realize why.
Maybe a few years in the future when he finally told her his identity, she would look back at this moment and laugh. Maybe she’d realize how ridiculously excited he was at that moment, that he was fighting every natural reaction in his body to not present her with sweaty palms. Maybe she would realize that when he slid his hand around her waist his hands knew how to grip her just right because he had done it hundreds of times before and her body’s shape was practically implanted in his palms.
Adrien swallowed as she drew close to him, one hand at his shoulder and the other tightening around his. Her blue eyes drifted up to meet his and that dusting of rose across her cheeks only became darker, a blush appearing across his own face to match it.
“You don’t have to be nervous around me,” he said. “I’m just Adrien, but you…” She was so much more—to him, to Paris—God, he wished he could tell her, but those words died on his tongue, replaced by the need to hold her and only that. He had to focus on what little he had in the moments that he had it for.
But it was like she knew that, that those fleeting, dreamlike moments were an anchor for him. They would be what he repeated in his head over and over again before he went to bed at night. Her cradled against his body, the two of them moving in perfect sync like they belonged together—like she was some creature that existed outside of his wildest dreams.
“You could never be just Adrien to me,” she whispered.
She had to make it better, didn’t she?
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rumours
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interviews
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disguises
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trust fall
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@ladrienjune​
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forbidden love
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@ladrienjune​
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private island
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@ladrienjune​ 
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Napping (wingfic - UST - rainfall)
Water weights the air like lead, but Marinette perseveres as it drips down her back, soaks her socks and shoes. Her left wing quivers in the unnatural angle; she bites down to bear the straining muscles and Adrien, limp and heavy beneath it. Late night photoshoot, or early morning. Sleepy in class, clumsy in fencing until stumbling his foot at the wrong angle, didn’t want to call his driver when she found him on the steps.
He was asleep when the rainfall came, warm against her shoulder, against the suddenly cold air. Marinette lifted her wing, and didn’t wake him.
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museum / English / making
Adrien admires paintings with bemused politeness and won’t accept Marinette’s apologies.
“Nathalie let me go! She knows you’re into art, she’ll totally believe we’re staying here all morning.”
“The other won’t come until noon. We can wait elsewhere.”
“I don’t mind.” He squints at the Matisse gouache.
"I always envied artists. I'm no good with my hands."
"That's not true!” she protests on instinct, but Adrien shakes his head.
"You’re amazing. But me? Stick drawings and pearls on strings. Your birthday present was the height of my skills. Honestly,” and the word is wistful, “I'm only good for destroying things."
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celebrity AU/accidental proposal/bittersweet
Adrien is-
terrified, in the shutter of cameras and things not for the eyes of others-
not for her. There is someone else, and this ring is-
is going to be on the internet in five minutes, because Adrien is-  
”Yes,” she says, and Adrien looks heartbroken, because she isn’t-
”Thank you,” and he slips it onto her finger as the world watches.
She’s not the girl Adrien has pined after for years, but that part of Adrien Agreste is something only his friends know.
Marinette doesn’t know whose name it is Adrien won’t say. She knows whose it isn’t.
- - - 
(I know it’s not a celebrity AU when he’s a celebrity in canon. Blame my prompt generator)
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Vagary
(I might never finish writing this story, but I really, really like this beginning) 
ETA: nvm, posted to AO3
Alya’s life changed - profoundly, irreversibly - by something as unremarkably everyday as a girl talking to a boy in front of her on a Monday morning.
Because the girl, of course, was Marinette, panting into the classroom a hair before Miss Bustier for first period. And the boy - who else - was Adrien, the kind of puppydog person who was always happy to meet any friend but whose grin had a light she had never seen before as  Marinette met his eyes dead on and slammed a small, white, plastic container onto his copy of The Misanthrope.
“Did you know,” she greeted him, then heaved a breath, “that Camembert cheese is aged for three weeks.”
“Yes,” he replied bemused, smile still with that radiance he’d never had in any of his photos.
“Yes,” said Marinette in a tone arid, “so I hope all parties involved are aware that I’m not doing that.”
“Duly noted.”
“Dude,” said Nino, honing in on in the wrong part of the perplexing play, “you made him cheese?”
“Yes,” said Marinette as she finally slid into place next to Alya, but her eyes were still set on Adrien, whose torso had turned to follow her and who now was all but hanging over her desk.
“Can I try some?”
“No.” Marinette and Adrien replied in a tandem like practised, still caught in whatever unspoken universe that was quivering in the space between them. And Alya, standing outside of it, was suddenly aware of the silence. All conversation had fallen apart as the class had registered what was happening on the front row. Even Miss Bustier was frozen, and Alya found herself counting the seconds from the clock on the wall in the pin-drop silence as Adrien Agreste’s smile grew in milimetre increments as time ticked by like syrup and he just stared at Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
The weird moment lasted until Miss Bustier pulled herself out of the current and clapped her hands together. Adrien turned around with no further words and Marinette took out her books, and Alya heard nothing of what their teacher instructed.
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Chat “I’m a Hot Teen Model” Noir
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