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quickspinner · 4 years

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Spontaneity

I don’t even know what this is, my brain is too fried to work on the big stuff and I just needed to relieve my soul this week, so have some Lukanette fluff.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was over Adrien Agreste.

She’d resolved to make it happen, had put in the necessary effort, she’d done everything she was supposed to do (as informed by both her mother and grandmother, who were both very wise women) and yet had never expected to succeed. Somewhere in her romantic teenaged heart she’d believed that she would die sad and alone, sighing over pictures of Adrien with his children and grandchildren and great grandchildren until she finally withered away like her poor broken heart.

Yet, despite all of her expectations, Marinette was okay. Well. Relatively speaking. There were an awful lot of things besides boy trouble dragging her down, but it was a relief to cross at least that one stressor off the list, and it made her less vulnerable to several of the other troubles.

Marinette was less relieved to find that new feelings could grow in her cracked heart as easily as weeds in a cracked sidewalk. She didn’t want to feel any of those things for someone else, not yet.

But, since when did what Marinette wanted count for anything? After a few fleeting crushes that thankfully didn’t get very far, and which certainly didn’t have anything to do with her trying to distract herself from scarier feelings that she wasn’t ready to face, there was still only one boy who had the kind of effect on her that Adrien did. Except, not, because while she was still nervous and occasionally flustered, she never felt the crushing doubt and anxiety she’d felt when she talked to Adrien.

Possibly because Luka had made sure she had no doubts about his feelings for her. It was easier to face rejection when you knew it was pretty damn unlikely.

Easier, but still not easy.

But if she wanted anything to happen, she was going to have to meet him halfway. Luka knew she had feelings for someone else, and while that didn't seem to stop him from caring about her, it was absolutely enough to stop him from making any kind of move on her. His usual repertoire of touches continued—a light touch on her waist to steady her or let her know he was moving past, a hand to pull her up, and of course the patented Luka Couffaine Shoulder Grab of Comfort™—but he never moved a single step beyond those boundaries unless she did so first. But when she did, he always reciprocated. If she took his hand, he closed his fingers around hers. If she leaned into him, he put his arm around her. If she buried her face in his chest, he held her, lightly if she did nothing else, tightly if she pressed close.

Marinette had never imagined that kind of love until Luka showed it to her. The kind that was unselfish and unassuming, quietly honest, tenderly respectful, and only as present as you wanted it to be, as long as you didn’t look in his eyes. Because when his eyes met hers, she felt it down to her bones, whether he intended it or not.

Surely if she kissed him, he would kiss her. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about finding the right words. She just had to find the right moment.

Unfortunately Marinette sucked at finding the right moment. She had come up with plan after complicated plan to create the right moment with Adrien, and had failed spectacularly every time. And while Adrien might have appreciated the effort and the drama, Luka was much more low key, and she wasn’t even sure what the right ingredients were for the right moment with him, let alone how to put them together. She knew that it included him and her and probably his guitar, but what else?

She couldn’t ask the girls. Weirdness aside, Luka would want it to be personal, not something to share with so many people. Wouldn’t he? She wondered if he had ever thought about The Moment and what it looked like to him.

Spontaneous. Natural. Easy.

All things Marinette was kind of horrible at—except when she was with Luka.

A quiet, in-between moment, the unplanned atmosphere of studio lights, and words from the heart not intended for a reply. An affirmation more than a confession. Gentle, but not passionless.

Ugh, she had so much to live up to.

“You’re thinking awfully hard tonight.”

Marinette jumped.

“Sorry,” Luka smiled at her. “Just wondering what’s on your mind, if you feel like sharing.” He didn’t bother saying it was okay if she didn’t. He’d said it enough times to know she knew.

Marinette stared at the rapidly darkening sky through the glass of the Liberty’s sunroom and contemplated how to sum it up for him without giving herself entirely away. Luka was perceptive and insightful and would know the truth if she gave him even the slightest hint.

Which might solve her problem, actually, but he deserved better. “Being spontaneous,” she said at last, and pouted at the immediate quiet laughter that shook him.

“That’s not really how being spontaneous works, you know,” he teased.

Marinette pouted harder.

“Aw, Marinette,” he sighed with a smile, setting his guitar aside—a silent invitation for her to come closer if she wanted.

She very much wanted, so she slid over next to him. He lifted his arm and she dipped under it, snuggling against his side and drawing her feet up onto the couch beside her.

“You seem happier today,” Luka observed. “I’m glad.”

Marinette hummed in agreement without really answering, still preoccupied.

“Can I ask what you’re planning to be spontaneous about?” he added, and she wanted to smack him for the obvious amusement in his voice.

“No,” she said shortly.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled. “Sorry.”

Marinette pushed herself up and moved to face him. Luka’s arm moved from her shoulder to her waist as she turned, and he looked back at her with a mixture of curiosity and patience, probably thinking she was about to confess all her troubles.

He was wrong though. Marinette might suck at romance but she was really good at vengeance and she was about to get him back for teasing her. She could too be spontaneous.

Marinette leaned up, caught his collar with one hand to pull him the little distance she needed to reach, and kissed him. Quickly, and a little too hard, and she hadn’t held his face or looked in his eyes or even moved her lips or any of that, but she made the move, right, and that was what mattered, even if she was so...so Marinette about it.

Oh God, what had she been thinking?

Luka looked surprised, and the high points of his cheeks tinted red, just enough to be noticeable. “Thank you,” he said with a faint smile.

Marinette felt her own face flood with color, and she promptly buried her face in his shoulder with a small squeak. She felt stupid and incompetent and young—

She felt Luka’s chest move as he took in one slow, deep breath, and then another. Crap, he was deciding what to do. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, not daring to look up.

Slowly his arm tightened around her waist, and he took another breath. The hand on her back moved, and she felt his long fingers slip into her hair and comb gently through. It felt good, and she relaxed a little. Then he stopped, and touched the back of her neck lightly, not applying pressure in any way but still somehow conveying that he wanted her to look up at him.

“Marinette?” he said quietly. It came out rough, and he cleared his throat. Marinette took a deep breath of her own and pushed back to look at him, determined to see this through even if the embarrassment killed her. “I’m sorry,” he said, “It's just, I don’t want to be wrong about this or—or read more than you meant to, I—“ Oh, Luka, she thought, and she took his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. Whatever he was saying trailed off, turning into a small needy sound as Marinette kissed him again, firmly but not so hard, though just as quick because she still wasn’t that brave. They shared a quick gasping breath and then he was kissing her and she nearly forgot to breathe at all as her hands fell back to his chest, her fingers curling in the fabric of his hoodie, trying to respond as Luka kissed her again and again. It was soft and gentle and Luka, but there was still something in the way he clutched at her waist, the quick, shallow breaths moving his chest under her hands, and the way his eyes stayed closed for a moment afterwards that made her feel all shivery inside.

Luka rested his forehead against hers and if there was a bit of finally in his sigh, it wasn’t the finally of you’ve come to your senses, it was I’ve wanted to do that for forever, and it made joy instead of guilt well up in Marinette’s chest. She snuggled back against him, dropping her head back down to his shoulder, and felt him enfold her, squeezing her tight without any of his usual caution. Luka curled around her, resting his chin on top of her head, and somehow even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was happy.

She made him happy. Marinette smiled, huge and bright, and though he couldn’t see her face either, she felt him chuckle and knew that he knew too.

#quickspins #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #first kiss #all that remains

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watchtheblog · 7 years

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invidious consumption

i was crippled with anxiety in the weeks leading up to my 21st birthday (just last year! wow, time sure does fly!) terrified that one of my earnest girlfriends, in an innocent but spectacularly misguided attempt to celebrate me, would surprise me by hiring a limo** - with a sunroof that i would be expected to stick my upper body out of - to drive us around times square because she had misinterpreted my denouncement of a limo full of rabble (one of whom - having witnessed my disdainful facial expression - had rolled down her window to look at me pityingly and emit with no irony the query, “jealous?”) as repressed curiosity… when in actuality it had been a manifestation of my vehement distaste for unfettered, garish exhibitions of joy.

(limo sidebar: my alter ego, reina, is *obsessed* with limos:

you can see more of her work here. HIRE ME TO RUN YOUR DATING APP ACCOUNT THAT YOU USE TO AMUSE YOURSELF AT THE EXPENSE OF DESPERATE MIDDLE AGED MEN IN YOUR AREA!)

while the last time i was flailing my body through a limo’s sunroof was never, i can say with the utmost confidence, i could go to my grave never having had 50-100% of my body in a limo and my life will have been full.

ditto drunkenly slurring “genie in a bottle” in a neon lighted basement in chinatown with strangers who smell like a chain hibachi restaurant. (i’m describing a karaoke bar. did it work?)

double ditto having a man in a thong swathe me in a sash and other bridal accoutrements and proceed to rub his muscles on me in the name of tradition at a bachelorette party (which is why i don’t allow anyone near me who owns a michael kors purse, whose favorite movie stars reese witherspoon, anyone who has seen magic mike in a theatre, or anyone who thinks instagramming a glass of wine with a caption about “relaxing” is an appropriate thing to instagram… also anyone who has ever posted a collage or that “year in review” on instagram. also anyone who wishes family members who don’t have instagram a happy birthday/father’s day/mother’s day etc. on instagram. #instagram #spon)

fear of having to refuse to partake in the activities someone has planned for me because they assault my sensibilities - and therefore having no celebration at all - has not stopped me from expecting to be surprised in some way on my birthday (september 26th. that is my birthday) every year since i turned 14 my first year at boarding school.

my parents are not “fun” people. they don’t “do” surprises. my mom is not “warm” and my dad is not “sneaky”.

despite this, i was absolutely convinced that my parents - who lived in new york and had acrimoniously divorced the summer before - would surprise me for my birthday and, i don’t know… take me to dinner and look at me, my mother contemplating why she’d crossed the atlantic ocean to do this when she could have just not and instead she could be in new york at like, the chobani store (this is a private joke for myself about my mom and her v specific, repellent personality). but no, instead, she’s in london with her ex husband… watching their daughter eat her weight in prosciutto and not even have the decency to have adopted a british accent yet.

honestly, the best possible outcome was no less grim than this… and yet!

when i woke up, assuming they’d taken a red eye, i calculated time for collecting their bags, getting lost and added two hours in case my recalcitrant mother had gotten detained for saying “bomb” on an airplane in a post 9/11 world - something she has literally done for sport; i have borne witness to it.

so, at lunch until the end of the school day, i stared out the window, waiting for them to arrive. when school ended and they hadn’t arrived, i expected them to surprise me in the dining hall at dinner. they didn’t. when my dad called me after study hall to wish me a happy birthday i thought, “oh maybe just my mom is coming…”

neither of them showed… nor did they the next three birthdays i had there, even though every year i woke up with the same eagerness of anticipation.

(that christmas, aged 14, i learned there was no santa.)

the perpetuation of this surprise fantasy allows me to excitedly anticipate a thoughtfully placid fete… and then inevitably gently fails to come to fruition, effectively allowing me to enjoy a day pleasantly marked by sangfroid, as i consider the calamity that “could have been” while at a dinner i have guilted one to three of my five friends into attending at the last minute!

and THAT is the cycle of my birthday and the 364 leading up to my birthday. (my birthday is a lifestyle, just like drake said.)

(an alternative explanation is that i continue to delude myself into thinking someone will plan a surprise party for me *in order* to be disappointed so that i may blame any potential melancholy on someone (everyone!) else instead of my hatin ass for being a human being who is impossible to please and whose inability to literally be “fun loving” and embrace gauche celebratory activities has barred her from ever experiencing the type of youthful excitement katy perry songs are about. this is a shitty but also v honest assessment. thank you for reading.)

ALL THAT BEING SAID … if you’ve been here before, you know my hatred of vulgar displays of birth nostalgia does not prevent me from loving being celebrated privately and has never stopped me from treating my birthday like it’s a wedding and creating a tacky but v self aware registry for the occasion.

so without further ado …

my birthday list! (which - because i refuse to leave my home unless it's to go to a lawyer's office to sign a contract and pick up a check for a series order for my pilot - is the only acceptable way in which you may celebrate me privately. so if you choose not to celebrate me financially, please consider yourself removed from the following list.)

thanks!

(if for some perverse reason you’d like to see my prior innocent but spectacularly misguided registries, please go here. it’s a doozy! however, please note i will only be accepting gifts from this year’s registry. so stay current!)

also, i’m not going to say whether or not anyone has ever purchased something for me off one of my lists, but i will quote william blake “If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise” as opposed to albert einstein and you may draw your own conclusions.

the list.

givenchy pandora purse

here are 1, 2, 3, 4 options

a casual throw for my bed

i just love something easy you know? i beg you to click that link and know that the description includes this: “perfect for cuddling in the cold”. literally lmao. correct. and unfortunately there’s zero other way for me to cuddle in the cold.

seriously though a casual throw

this one is on sale in the white, which is the only color i allow on my bed. isn’t that nice!

ditto this one

here’s one that isn’t

a pillow

i need a firm pillow. i didn’t know that. i thought i liked soft. but then i realized i like firm and my pillows are soft. you can see my dilemma. here or here or here

this bathrobe

it’s a bathrobe. you know how they go.

a juicero

i don’t know how many times i have to ask. i’m not even putting a link because i’m so furious. ditto: a range rover. smh.

a personalized clutch

do what you will. small or big

a vacation

you know... so i can chill from all the stress of waking up and realizing i have to figure out how to spend the next 10 hours… every. single. mother. fucking. day. here are some places i’d like to go. you’re more than welcome to book a trip for yourself, but i will not engage with you in any way. (i kept it domestic…ish to be polite)

arizona

this is a whole spa thing…

tulum

utah. also utah

montana

this is an all inclusive ranch experience… can you imagine the discreet fun i would have! and the joy you would get from witnessing that, second hand.

wyoming

erewhon gift card

somewhere in the range of $1000-5000 should take care of me for the fall. if you need to understand why, please read this

macarons

not shitty ones. please use bottega louie as a standard but you can find better i’m sure. go to france! i want like 45 of them. pistachio is my favorite; i also like rose, salted caramel, strawberry.

i want to go to a lakers game, but i must be courtside.

no link.

sunglasses chain thing

i am v embarrassed to put this here because i was directed to it from some bop’s instagram i never should have been on… but we all make mistakes and now you can literally pay for mine. (when i typed “sunglass chain”, it autocorrected sunglass to dumbass.) feel free to have a regular glasses chain custom made if you’d rather not support the local business of an instagram celebrity. i wear glasses now to look smarter but uglier.

a candle

this candle smells like the gramercy hotel in new york. i once stepped on john mcenroe’s foot “accidentally” at the bar inside this hotel in 2013. that is enough of an interesting story to make you buy me 5 of these candles, right? consider it preemptive retribution for the serena williams comment.

a yoga mat

it’s a long story… i saw a spider in my home and my neighbor called the police on me because i was yelling and crying so loudly she thought i was being murdered. but in actuality, i was heaving a yoga mat across the room to cover the intruder... and then i stomped it to smithereens, effectively rendering the yoga mat - which had previously never been in use - useless. i need another one. and this one is one of the most expensive ones i could find. it’s luxuriously dense, like my cerebrum.

really good headphones

i think this pair are really good but then again i am an idiot. i will accept any that someone deems “really good”.

megaphone

i’d like a megaphone for reasons i don’t feel comfortable getting into here. i have not googled but any top of the line megaphone should do.

in conclusion, i will settle for a job a dinner at olive garden or nobu malibu on my birthday - with uber suv roundtrip fee included - where no one sings happy birthday to me and no one asks “how my career is going”! my birthday is september 26th.

godspeed.

#my birthday #lists of things #lists of things i want #birthday lists #9/26; never forget #hello it's my birthday #Happy Birthday To Me #birthday gifts #things i want #invidious consumption #waste!

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