#but hey this girl isn't a self-insert! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deblklesb · 1 year

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[Head Over Heels — Abby x Reader Oneshot]

[rugby player!abby, artist!reader, fluff, pining]

cw: reader is a total mess, abby is brother's friend. there's not explicit content but still MDNI.

a/n: I've put my whole simpussy in this, like... reader is a loser lesbian and this fact is totally self-inserted, sorry not sorry. again, so so sorry for the wait! this is just some fluff with reader being a simp, a mess, all over the place for abby anderson teheehee 👉🏾👈🏾, i hope you like it anon!!!

word count: 3,4k | not proof read

!reblogs are highly appreciated!

The cool winter wind was reaching your face as you pedaled to your class, high speed across campus because you were late. The alarm didn't clock, you took too much time eating breakfast, and now you wish to all the heavens the teacher has not arrived yet.

Your brother was very much confused when you started to run around the house this morning.

"I didn't know you had class, you usually wake up first so I assumed…"

"The alarm didn't clock", you yelled from the bathroom, brushing your teeth as fast as you could, but decently.

Now, the open buttons of your shirt allowed the wind to come in so you wouldn't be as sweaty. Fixing your hair after parking and locking your bicycle, you greeted someone working and headed to the room, so frustrated to get late to your favorite class.

"You're lucky our model for today is more late than you", the teacher said as soon as you got inside.

"Sorry, Ms. Addams", your smile was weak. You wanted to disappear, that was your favorite teacher.

The only tripod available was in the front, no one liked it because the lightning from there was so confusing it messed up every sketch. Lucky for you, during winter the sun isn't that bright, so you fixed your stuff and just got a moment to breathe. Being a teacher's pet didn't mean sitting in the front, that was new for you.

"Hey, what happened?" Gloria, your friend, reached out. "You're never late"

"My alarm", you shudder, sighing. "Well, I'm here now. We just have to wait for the model"

"I heard is some girl from the rugby team"

Well, that's news. Your teacher is doing some work indeed, trying to expose her students to different body shapes and all.

"Nice. Perhaps she's nice and will carry me around, my legs are burning from pedaling so hard", it was a joke, a silly one, but as soon as a woman who wasn't enrolled in that class got in, you knew she could definitely carry you around. You also knew that because you knew her.

She was probably the biggest woman you've seen in person, and absolutely the most beautiful.

Freckled, creamy skin on her arms and face, honey-blonde hair in a braid that fell on her shoulder, a firm and strong body worthy of an athlete. Her clothes were simple, just cargo pants with a plain shirt and boots, but boy, oh boy, she was looking gorgeous. As always.

"Sorry for the time, boss, I had to get out later from early practice", for some unknown reason, her voice, too, sounded too good to be true and made you melt inside with just a simple phrase that wasn't even directed to you. "Hope it doesn't mess around with the class"

"It's okay, Abigail. And you don't have to call me boss, we've talked about it", your teacher smiled fondly, hugging the tall woman and making obvious the size difference. You were probably the same height as the dark-skinned woman, so that means you were as high as Abby's chin. Being next to her on other situations made you very self-aware of that fact.

This useless information would always make you squirm. This time it was on the chair in the middle of the class, hoping for all the God's nobody noticed.

"Kids, this is Abby. She will be our model for today and two other classes, so make use of the anatomy to study properly", she was very comfortable next to the rugby player, which made you deduce they knew each other well. "Well, now go prep yourself, darling, we have to start"

"Do I… Take everything, or something?" Just the mention of her being nude made your mind buzz around and it wasn't a good sign, considering you had to focus to draw.

"Keep your underwear, please", the older woman smiled sympathetically, turning around and heading to the back of the room, her usual initial spot in every live reference class.

Abby took off her boots and left next to an empty chair, starting to undress then.

Nobody was looking at you, but you tried to keep it cool and professional. Ignoring the heat on your face and the sweat arising on your palms, you looked at Gloria to hide your embarrassment and noticed she was looking back at you trying not to laugh.

"You're very gay", she whispered, making you roll your eyes and then look at your empty sketchbook. She wasn't wrong, though, you were very much a lesbian and it was obvious.

Those type of reactions were normal whenever Abby was around, but you could definitely go through that class without it.

You put effort into abstracting the sensations and feelings that make room into you as soon as Abby stands in the small, lifted platform in the center of the room, the ambient light hitting her just right. She positioned herself in a simple form, waving briefly at you from there when she spotted you in the front. You did the same back, a small smile to be nice - but not too big to give it away that being around her made you almost piss your pants - and then you all started to work

It was a figure drawing training, something you usually hated because you had to think too much about form, proportion, perspective and lightning. You loved to do loose sketches and grew very fond of gesture drawing, too much for your liking, so that now that you had to stick to the forms and not the rhythm and movement, your mind froze a little. Despite that, you loved doing art and loved that class even though it had nothing directly linked to your major.

Abby had strong features, in the sense of focus. The muscles of the arms and legs, the shape of her face, the abdomen and her whole posture caught your attention too much. It wasn't just the imagery, but a whole set of little elements that formed a distinctive energy. Even the braided hair was part of that, and at each second, each line traced and marked shadow, you tried to remind yourself that it was a class.

After 10 minutes or so, she took a break - admittedly, you had no idea how those models stood still for so long. While she stretched and relaxed her muscles, people started to talk with each other around the room, the small buzz of conversations surrounding, as you turned to Gloria.

"I'm dying here", you whispered, stretching your hands and fingers a bit. "She's so pretty"

"I have to admit… She is very handsome. I don't usually hang out in your brother's dorm so I don't see her often…"

"They're together all the time, I am very lucky to have my face shoved into a book all the time because then I don't have to have buckled knees around her" Gloria laughed at your despair, the whispers almost a cry for help.

"Let's gather our focus, people", Ms. Addams called, and just like that the break ended.

Although the object of analysis was Abby's body and structure, you just had to make a small drawing of her face. Shading and putting too much effort, you ended up doing another one. And by the time the class ended, you had a main figure drawing of her body in the first pose, two others of her face and another simple sketch. A very productive class, and you felt yourself bursting with inspiration still.

"I have a class in five minutes, so I'll have to go now, boss!", the blonde reached to her clothes as people started to pack their stuff. You tried not to look at her figure too much, but took your time putting the material in place just because, y'know… Care. It had nothing to do with the possibility to look at her from afar a little bit more.

"That's okay, Abigail. Thank you for your help, same time next week. Send a hug to your father!", Ms. Addams waved goodbye.

"Hey" you looked up from your backpack when Gloria tapped your shoulder. She pointed to the door, where Abby was standing, ready to go. The blonde was looking at you, a smile on her face. "Tell your brother he owes me twenty bucks. See ya!"

"Okay, bye", you nodded and chuckled lightly at the comment, imagining the type of bet they both must've done this time.

As soon as the other students started to get out, your friend gave you small punches in the arm, giggling.

"Stop!", you felt your face warm, it was so fucking ridiculous to be like this around her every time. And the worst part is that she didn't even notice you that much, so you were a head over heels with zero hope.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"What do you mean you were naked around my sister?!" You rolled your eyes with the discussion, ready for the mess your brother was about to make.

"Nobody was naked, I had underwear!" Abby's voice was playful, but you knew your brother was two steps from going serious about it.

"Stop being a drama king, asshole", you grunted while going to the kitchen, not even looking at them to escape the risk of drooling over the tall woman sitting on the couch.

"Hey, I'm the big brother here, I was supposed to be looking over you!" His voice started to get a pitch higher, you could imagine the indignant face already.

"You don't even give me rides home, too busy with your flings", you shout from the kitchen now, filling up your bottle.

You were trying so hard to focus on studying a subject you were not interested in, ready to throw it in the air to watch some Ghibli movies instead. Filling the water bottle was almost an excuse to get out of that madness, but having to hold your reactions because of Abby's presence was not ideal.

"That's right, get him again! Get him for me!" And now her voice is closer, almost like she's in the kitchen with you. It makes you flinch slightly, almost dropping the bottle before you turn around to see her strong figure on the entrance.

"Look, you touch her and I will fucking throw that rugby ball right into your face!"

"Jesus Christ, Matt, shut up! Nobody is keeping you from your shit, leave me alone?! It's just Abby!"

Your mom would be annoyed to be around you both, good thing you lived together alone.

"Yeah, Matt, it's just Abby!" She repeats.

You finally look at her properly. She has a simple shirt on and sweatpants, it's casual but it looks too good on her - as usual. Her hair is down - you loved her hair down - and a scrunchie lies on her wrist. Her freckles are so visible from where you stand, it's almost like cute details painted directly on her face to compose the most beautiful work of art.

"I would like to see it, by the way", you snap out of your trance with her words directed to you.

Her hips touch the kitchen counter when she's one step closer, a sympathetic smile making your hands tingle and her tone weaker now that she's just talking to you.

"What?"

"Your drawings. From the class"

"Oh-", you look away, trying to come up with an excuse. "But… We still have other classes to go. It's better to see it at the end and all… And they're not even that good", you're holding that water bottle for your dear life, afraid that it slips from your hands due to the sweat.

"You don't wanna show me, that's fine", she chuckle, hands up in acceptance.

"It's not that, it's just-"

"No, I'm not being funny, it's serious. If you don't wanna show me, it's okay. Was just curious y'know, after all I'm just standing there. Don't know how you do whatever you're doing"

That's the most you've ever talked to Abby, and she's so nice. Genuinely trying to make you comfortable. And it makes you fucking sick, you just wanna spit out that you would like to have her posing for you every day for ever, to have her like your muse, to kiss her face after drawing it millions of times- You're such a loser.

"Oh, I get it…" you nod, trying to come up with a good response. "Well, I guess after the classes, I mean when you stop posing for us, I could show you whatever I did. Just wanna be more confident, it takes a little bit more of time to be familiar to the subject"

"If that's your saying, boss lady, I absolutely believe it", she's smiling wider now and you just wanna scream into a pillow about how incredibly cute her cheeks are.

"Okay, ahm… I have to go back to the room… To study other stuff that is not art, unfortunately", you point to the corridor, mind going blank with the mere proximity between you both. "So, uh… See you later?"

"Hope so. Good study session", Abby gives you space to get out of the kitchen.

The rest of the afternoon you keep repeating that interaction in your mind. Analyzing you every word and wondering if she thought you were, like, embarrassing.

Still, the image of her cute cheeks when she smiled at you and the way she seemed really interested in your drawings took over your attention, it was all you could think about the rest of the day because you're such a simp and she's so beautiful. Fuck this.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It's now game season, which means that the college campus is a mess. Everybody seems so agitated, a buzz surrounds each corner while posters adorn the walls and murals, calling for the next big rugby game.

The hype around the event kinda mobilizes you too, even though you're not even that into sports. You're actually so out of this type of entertainment, but eventually if you sit to watch with your brother you get so excited and exalted that it almost looks like you've been following the teams forever. Matt actually thinks it is so funny that you keep asking him the rules and then start to scream at the TV once you'd pick it up enough to finally enjoy the match.

"If they don't kick their asses I'll actually lose fifty bucks" Gloria reveals as you both enter the building for the art class.

"Fifty?!" Your eyes almost jump from your skull. "Do you have that much faith in our team?"

"Well, don't you?"

"I don't know", she laughs. "Really, I don't follow them… But if you bet fifty bucks, they must be at least decent"

"Your girlfriend is a good player, if that's what you wanna ask", the taller woman smiles at you with that suggestive manner.

"I didn't ask!"

"But you were thinking about it"

"Shut up." You definitely were. "And she's not my girlfriend" Unfortunately.

As you both enter the room, early enough this time, you recall the fact that it's your last class with Abby as a model. Something inside of you mourns the future absence of such a big source of inspiration for you. Your sketchbook (the personal one) has pages filled with drawings of her - you didn't tell anyone, but you went through her instagram page and used some gym photos as references.

One night you brother stormed in your room and you had to close the book as fast as possible, trying to mask your embarrassment. If he knew that you were so into Abby, he would be a hundred percent more unbearable.

"Hey, teacher", the tall woman soon walked in the class, backpack and a massive bottle of water on one hand. "Last day, uh?"

"Yes, dear", people started to settle for the beginning of the session, fixing materials and angles. "I would like to thank you for your time and disposition, I imagine it isn't easy to stand in front of a class of stranges that are meticulously looking at you", everybody chuckled. Abby took her shirt in the corner, putting the clothes on a chair. Against your will, you absolutely checked on her. But life wouldn't let you have it, and so, like being conscious of your actions, the blonde glanced back at you, which caused you to face away immediately. Jesus fucking Christ, could you be more obvious? "So thank you, again, and I hope you somehow enjoyed the experience"

"I certainly did, boss" She smirked friendly, going to the small platform in front part of the room and standing with arms on her back, legs slightly spareted. Why on earth was she so good looking? "I don't really mind the looks, after all there are dozens of people staring at the games and judging us all the time, so… Well, thank you too for inviting me, it was truly nice! Needing againg, I'm here for it!"

You felt a tap on your shoulder and looked to the side, Gloria was smirking like she knew something you didn't.

"You'll get your pages wet with all the drooling", she muttered.

"Wanna see who gets the pages wet?" You playfully put a hand on your own watter bottle, having her giggling.

"Well, let's begin, shall we?"

Einstein for sure had a point with relativity, because that class flew away like a lightning for you. The biggest pity of all, since Abby wouldn't be there after that day.

Once again you end up doing a main drawing of her body, using the remaining time to put some doodles of her face around it. It was like this for every class, different than the ones she wasn't the model. However, by that time you were already used to sketching her - hence the alone sessions in your room - so you could do much easier work now. You hoped no one noticed this fact, because a question about how you got so instinctive when drawing Abby would be blatantly dodged.

You already could tell in detail the difference between her arm muscles and the last model, for example, but not only the imagery of it: you thought about the biological singularity of her muscle development.

As soon as the class ended, you closed the sketchbook and tried not to think too deeply about the whole situation. It would be fine. Abby would stop being the model and so you would see her less, consequently thinking about her less and moving on so easily. Like, so easily.

"Hey", you froze with her voice, more specifically when noticing that it was almost next to you. Her face was the first thing you saw when looking up from your backpack. "Are you coming to the game tonight?"

"Should I?"

"Well… I could use some cheers", she was still shirtless. Heck, she was still in her intimate clothes.

You were not thinking about how she used a simple bra and nice black boxers.

"I thought you had plenty. With all the staring", why were you being so sarcastic?

"Your staring is kinda different, if that's what you wanna hear", she smirked, crossing her arms. Good lord, save me from barking in front of her with all this attitude. "And I would like you there"

"So maybe I'll go", you shrugged, trying to be cool about it. Something inside of you said that maybe you were being too cool about it, maybe she would think you don't really care; that's not what you want her to think. Shit, were you doing this wrong?

"Don't tell your brother I asked you this while almost nude, I don't think he would let me get close to you ever again", her chuckles were so cute, she was so cute. You were so done.

"Oh, do you want to get close to me again?" Abby stepped back while still smirking, everybody seemed to be out already - though you couldn't tell exactly, she was still your main focus.

"Maybe" Now she shrugged, finally getting close to her clothes again. "Preferably when he's not around"

What was that? Oh, probably your heart skipping several beats.

"Talking like that, I might as well think you're hitting on me, Abby" The most surprising thing was how you weren't laying down on a puddle at this point. Instead, you were chuckling back, hands sweaty and stomach twisting in a rush.

"Am I?" She grabbed her pants. "You'll probably have to come to the game and see!"

After another smirk from her, you just shook your head and walked away from the room with a simple "See you later then".

The interaction started to play again in your mind, Gloria was standing outside with wide eyes and a smile fighting to appear. That adrenaline rush made your mind a whirlwind.

"What the fuck was that?!" Your friend whispered, holding your arm and following your steps.

[png dividers by @cafekitsune]

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kittycatasaurus · 8 months

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Love Flavoured Chocolates (2023 Willy Wonka/Reader)

(Cross posted to my AO3, I'm obsessed with Wonka and wanted to share this purely self indulgent reader insert because there simply isn't enough out there and hey it might encourage me to write some more if other people can also enjoy my writing!)

Word count: 3.2k

Willy had come to the Galéries Gourmet with nothing but his love for chocolate making, a wish to once more see his mother, and a hat full of dreams. One thing he certainly hadn’t accounted for was falling in love. He’d first had the pleasure of meeting you the first time Noodle smuggled him out of Scrubitt’s.

You'd befriended the young girl in passing on the street after she’d bumped into you with her laundry cart while neither of you were paying quite enough attention to where you were going. Though the collision was soft enough to keep you both on your feet, she had knocked the book your face was buried in straight to the ground causing you both to startle. Immediately the pair of you burst into apologies (which had made you laugh, despite the girl’s sincere panic), “You’re alright little missy, that was entirely my fault for not looking ahead of me, I simply can’t put this one down, I’m so close to finishing this new tale of a young detective!” You attempted to ease her worry with a big smile, it seemed to work as the girl’s face shifted from concern to interest. “Is-is that the latest Nancy Drew story?” She asked eagerly, trying to get a better look at the book in your hand. With a simple nod, keeping the easy smile on your face you answered, yes. From there the pair of you spent at least a half hour chattering excitedly about the fantastical feats of the young investigator until a nearby clocktower chimed, making her realise she was falling way behind schedule and would soon have to return to the wash house with a few deliveries still to make their destinations. “It’s been wonderful talking to you miss, but I’m afraid I really must hurry along, I hope I run into you again, my name is Noodle in case you see me before I see you!” The girl, now known to you as Noodle, what an interesting name, jumbled out as she made off to scurry away to wherever she needed to be. “I hope I see you again as well Noodle, you’ve been a delight to talk to! The name is Y/N” You called out after her and continued your stroll once she was out of sight, only somewhat more aware of your surroundings this time.

After that initial encounter you had run into each other a few times, eventually budding a wonderful friendship wherein you shared books and life stories with one another. Gradually you learned of Noodle’s more than unfortunate living situation and provided her comfort and reassurance in any ways you could, be that a book from your collection which she hadn’t yet read or a warm hug and shoulder to cry on, the girl became a younger sister figure to you.

This was where Wonka came into the picture, you and Noodle by this point had been friends for the better part of two years and saw each other frequently so you were understandably concerned when you hadn’t seen her around for the last couple of weeks. Just when the worry was getting to the point of you preparing yourself to storm into Scrubitt’s and demand to know about the wellbeing of your friend you saw her, tucked away from the main roads and pathways, talking to her trolley? Now that is upsetting, such a beautiful young mind lost to the madness of her circumstance. As you were about to approach, rounding the corner of the wall you’d hidden behind, a man emerged from the trolley clearly in conversation with the young girl. If not for your sheer confusion, you would have hastily approached the stranger as instinct kicked in to keep Noodle away from any potential danger. She didn't appear frightened or startled so logic told you this was no stranger to her, and therefore not a threat. Upon the realisation, you called out to your friend whom you’d missed in the two weeks of absence, “Noodle! Where’ve you been, little lady?” Immediately, both heads turned to face you and your breath caught in your throat as the mystery man turned and you finally caught a glimpse of his face. It was a beautiful face too, puppy-like hazel eyes, framed by fluttery long lashes, thick full eyebrows sat above them, complimenting his slender, pale face. Both pairs of eyes were wide upon you but you were still taking in the gorgeous man before you, to the point you failed to hear Noodle as she repeated your name, asking “Y/N? What are you doing here?” At the lack of response, she followed up “Earth to Y/N?” with a somewhat exasperated sigh after. Seeing the man turn to face Noodle shook you from your reverie and you let out a sharp little “Hmm?” “I said, what are you doing here Y/N? Were you following me or something?” Her look caused a twang of guilt for a second until you registered that, no you hadn’t been following Noodle, just actively looking out for her as you’d thought her to be missing. “Of course not you numpty! I heard your voice coming from a sketchy alley and saw you talking to your laundry pile, I only wanted to check you were alright, especially considering I haven’t seen you in a few weeks kid! It’s completely understandable for me to be at least a little worried, even more so after seeing a strange man come out of your trolley,” Your voice was taking on a bit of a scolding tone as you softened it to turn to the aforementioned man “No offence.” He shook his head as though to imply none taken as his eyes flitted between the two of you, the friendly smile never once leaving his face. “I take it this is Y/N, Noodle?” his eyes remained on her this time as she nodded back to him. Well that was unexpected, this mysterious dreamboat knew who you were courtesy of Noodle, and while you were flattered she told this new ‘friend’ about you, you worried over what she said in order for him to deduce your identity.

Together, the pair of them explained their plan to get the money to free themselves of Scrubitt’s unfair debt, going into detail about the wondrous and impossible chocolates made by who you now know to be ‘Willy Wonka, future chocolatier extraordinaire’. In all honesty your mind is positively racing to keep up, but with such bright smiles on their faces you can only nod your support and shoot a smile back, albeit a smaller one.

———————————

That had been a while ago, though it felt even longer. By this point, you had collectively put a stop to the chocolate cartel and Scrubitt and Bleacher. Wonka’s chocolates were doing better than ever and with everyone from the wash house going back to their old lives, Willy was alone again, well mostly. Abacus Crunch had been happy to remain the financial adviser for Willy and the group would do their best to stay in touch thanks to Lottie Bell and her phone operator gig but it was definitely lonely, going from all those people around him, that warm environment to nothing again. Although, you were still around weren’t you? You and Noodle? While you both saw her often, upon finding her mother and the library where she stayed, it was less and less that you found yourself in the young girl’s company, she had years of catching up to do after all. You wanted to believe that was why you were seeing less and less of Willy too, but the pair of you had no reason not to see each other often, after all, you’d quit your boring old job to help out and work with Willy at his shop as soon as it had been acquired. So then why did it feel like he was avoiding you, or attempting to shut you out.

This is where you find yourself as you sit with Noodle outside her mother’s library one warm evening. “I don’t understand Noodle, he seems lonely, it's simply a fact that he thrives off of being around other people so I don’t understand why he’s shutting himself away” a too big sigh leaves your mouth. “I miss him, I miss his cheshire grin, the confusing way he talks, even just seeing his garish purple coat” “Hmmm, kinda sounds like you love him” “Yeah, I just don’t know what’s u- WHAT?!?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOODLE?” Your face burns red as your brain takes a minute to register what the young girl chimes in with. In response she holds up her hands, palms facing you, “I’m just saying it as I see it.” With a shrug she shakes her head. Though her words do make you stop and think back to the many months you’ve known the eccentric chocolatier.

The first day you’d successfully sold Wonka’s chocolates on the street had resulted in a quick getaway where you and Willy had ended up lost in the tunnels below the city, escaping the corrupt chief of police for an hour or two as you attempted to meet up with the others to get Willy back to Scrubitt’s with the others in time for roll call. At this point you hadn’t yet been alone together, and the lack of familiarity seemingly made Willy nervous to the point his breathing got panicked and you shared a rather intimate moment where you helped ease his discomfort with a simple breathing exercise and hand massage. “Willy, give me your hand please,” you spoke in the most gentle tone you’d ever mustered after his laboured breaths stabilised, he acquiesced rather quickly as you reached out to him, gently cupping his hand. “I’m gonna trace the lines of your palm okay? It might tickle but I promise you, you’ll feel better.” The smile on your face eased any remaining nerves and once you started to caress his palm with your thumb he seemed to lose the last of the tension. “See,” your voice was still incredibly gentle, but now you were both smiling though his was significantly smaller than usual, “You’re okay, sweetie, I’m here” The pet name left your mouth so naturally neither of you reacted, though a moment later you flushed realising the implied closeness of calling him such a name. With level heads you managed to safely navigate your way back to the others in time and wished Willy a restful night. In retrospect that may very well have been when you first started to develop feelings for the man, you could no longer tell, in the objectively short time that you’d known him, you could think of at least a dozen other times that may have stimulated this apparent crush of yours. Though one particular memory comes to mind more often than the rest. The most recent to boot, the day you reunited Noodle with her mother!

It was the day you’d put an end to the cartel, Willy would finally be free to run his chocolate shop and live out the dream he’d shared with his late mother. The celebration in the Galéries Gourmet seemed to go on forever as everyone enjoyed the chocolate fountain filling up cups seemingly endlessly. A group effort had the shop back together in no time, looking as good as new. As the sun was finally descending from its high perch, your friends from Scrubitt’s all said their goodbyes and well wishes to Willy, Noodle and yourself. Leaving the three of you to lounge about in comfortable silence for a while. “We have a surprise for you, Noodle!” You said excitedly to the young girl who was almost falling asleep where she sat. Exchanging eye contact with Willy, you rose with Noodle in tow. Wide awake after jolting her about, she rushed to keep up with both of your longer legs as you sped away from the shop. Stopping abruptly outside of the library, Noodle gathered her bearings with a confused expression on her face and heavy breaths leaving her lungs, “The library?? What could possibly be so important in there you felt the need to sprint AND drag me along too no less!” She was understandably irritated, but you knew it would be worth all the effort soon enough. “Close your eyes for a second for me Noodle-dee!” Willy told her cheerfully as you approached the door holding onto the girl’s hand to bring her with you. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Now open them…” You whispered just loud enough for her to hear and comply. Before her, stood her mother, finally reunited after years of wishing and hoping. Immediately the two shared the warmest embrace you’d ever witnessed as you backed up and gave them their space, returning to Wonka’s side and overlooking the tender moment. A soft sniffle from beside you reached your ear and you glanced over to see Willy’s eyes glossy with unshed tears, the poor boy must’ve been reminded of his own mother in that moment, your heart hurt for him. “Come here sweetie,” you hummed to him, pulling the chocolatier into a comforting hug. “She’d be so proud of you right now, you know?” You got a teary chuckle in response to that as his arms wrapped around you. Noodle and her mother looked over to you now and you raised your arm in a wave to let them know you’d be heading back to leave them to catch up on all the time they’d spent apart.

The walk back wasn’t far, but it felt much longer without Noodle especially since you’d run practically the whole way there and were now strolling very leisurely. Neither of you said anything but you were touching in some way the entire time, holding hands for part of the walk, then switching to linking arms, even simply resting your hand on Willy’s back. Eventually you made it back to the shop, with the lights off, it was as though the magic was sleeping. As you entered ahead of Willy, you looked back to examine his expression, he wasn’t upset, of course not, he just reunited his dearest friend with her mother whom she thought long lost, perhaps forlorn was more accurate. The cogs in his head were clearly turning as he wrangled with his feelings, particularly regarding his mother and the seemingly impending loneliness he was soon to face. He stopped walking as soon as he entered, eyes still downcast as though expecting you to turn around and leave right then and there as well. With a low sigh you finally broke the silence “Willy, I’m not leaving you, not after that, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just walked out after seeing those tears in your eyes.” He looked up, this time they had escaped and he had a sad pout on his beautiful lips. “Can you tell me about her? Have you got any pictures?” You’d not heard much at all about his mother from him aside from how much he loved her and that she was the inspiration for his dream turned reality. Willy gave a little nod and led you through the store to his makeshift office/home/break room, and on the desk sat a framed photo of a beautiful woman with a very familiar smile. “Wow this is her then? She’s beautiful Willy, you look so much like her.” You said the last bit somewhat under your breath as you realised the implication of what you said (as much as you meant it, it seemed a bit forward). You picked up the picture and sat down on the sofa in the room, patting the seat next to you for Willy to sit beside you, the rest of the night was spent listening to stories of his childhood and asking questions. The pair of you laughed, you cried, and eventually Willy fell asleep with his head on your shoulder. Getting as comfortable as the pair of you could, you let yourself join him in the land of dreams shortly after.

Now, it had been a few weeks since you and Willy had experienced the almost intimate exchange of life stories, as well as your chat with Noodle and you had the day off. Willy was on a break from work and went to visit Noodle at the library to tell her all about that night and how great a person he found you to be, gushing over how ‘kind, pretty, sensitive, and funny’ you were but somehow avoiding the ‘L’ word and seemingly ignoring his feelings for you. Eventually, the girl could take it no longer and burst out “Either ask her out, or I will do it for you! You’re such an idiot Willy, it's so obvious you love Y/N and I don’t understand how you’ve danced around it for as long as you have!” Noodle’s frustration was apparent from her face alone, if her words somehow hadn’t conveyed exactly what she meant them to. Willy’s eyes went wide at her outburst and his face started to resemble a tomato almost in how brightly he was blushing. As he opened his mouth to make a retort, Noodle interrupted him with a raised finger and a look that shut him up before he could even make so much as a noise. “Go see her now Willy, or I will.” Was all she had to say to get him standing up and practically sprinting out of the door.

A hurried knock at your door startled you out of your thoughtless stare out the window, you sat up abruptly, I’m not expecting any visitors, you thought to yourself as you walked cautiously over to the door. Through the peephole, you spotted the one and only Willy Wonka, pleasantly surprised, you opened up the door to be pulled into a tight embrace. Despite the initial shock, you quickly recovered to hug your dear friend back, “Heya, what’s gotten into you, sweetpea?” Genuinely confused as to the context despite reciprocating the affectionate action. Pulling back from you to look into your eyes, Willy responded, “I love you, Y/N.” Cue the widening of your eyes as you started to stammer out a reply, “Wh-what, huh, I-” “I love you, Y/N, I can’t believe it took Noodle calling me an idiot to realise it but I’m hopelessly, wholeheartedly in love with you.” He affirmed with a fire behind his gaze. You realised then that he wasn’t joking, this wasn’t a prank or him using the word in a friendly sense. “You, you do?” Tears started to well up in your eyes as you looked into his, “I love you too, Willy Wonka.” Not wanting to keep him in suspense, you confessed right back. A laugh broke free from your mouth as the tears started to fall from your eyes. Gently cupping either side of his face, you brought your lips together in a sweet kiss that felt like it could last forever, his hands finding a comfortable perch on your hips as you held each other close. Breaking apart for air, you both giggled, and leaned back into each other for another kiss, this one escalating a little past wholesome as you softly tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth. Breathing heavily now, you separated once more to stare into each other's eyes. Willy Wonka had confessed his love to you and you were ecstatic to say you felt the same. This would be the start of something beautiful, of that you were sure.

#willy wonka x reader #willy wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka movie #wonka x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet wonka #reader insert

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howlingday · 1 month

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Ugh... Another Multiverse?

Jaune: Well, now that we know that the multiverse exists, we need to find more of us so we can all get back to our friends. But we gotta be careful in case anyone here could be another Jaune.

"Jaune": (Bumps into Jaune, Coffee spilt on) Hey! Watch what you're doing, asshole!

Jaune: Whoops! Sorry about that- Oh! Hey! Are you another Jaune?

"Jaune": Yeah, but I don't want anything to do with any of you unless you're some smokin' hot babes. You have no idea how much it sucks to be a Jaune hated for trying to get the girl. I'm also way more charming than any of you pricks.

Jaune: ...None of what you said made any sense.

Jaune: And wasn't there a Jaune who was pining for someone?

Jaune: Yeah, but he's live-action, so we don't talk about him.

"Jaune": (Scoffs) You're all just a bunch of limp-dicked soyboys who are probably self-inserts, dragging the good name of RWBY down and causing this whole multiverse thing. Well, would you look at that?! I figured it out for all of you! The least you could do is point me to the nearest girl-Jau-

Jaune: (Breaks his nose on his shield) Sheesh! Do you even hear yourself?! Or maybe you can't because god forbid you do any sort of self-reflection!

Jaune: Let me in on this!

Jaune: (Watches Jaune and Jaune beat up "Jaune")

Jaunes:

Jaune: Wait! Hold on a sec! Are we sure this is a Jaune? Check his ID.

Jaune: What do you mean?

Jaune: Look at his wallet! His name isn't even Jaune!

Jaune: Oh! So is he some kind of cospalyer? Our bad~!

Jaune: It makes sense. I mean, there's no way a real Jaune would talk the way he does.

Jaunes: (Leave)

Ruby: (Pops in, Steps on "Jaune") Ew! I stepped in shit!

#rwby #jaune arc #kelfunncheng #ruby rose

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sapphic-agent · 4 months

Note

One last autistic rant from me and I'll be quiet, but the way Horikoshi treated Mic? My god! Brace yourself, because this will be long.

He's one of the few competent adults in the series but his opinions are always dismissed. Over and over again. And he used to be a prominent character in the series before being shoved into the background. I feel that was intentional because Mic was one of the characters that debunked some of Horikoshi's plot points.

"Bakugou is being a bit aggressive towards a girl I know is sweet and doing her best." Don't care. Get smacked in the face by Horikoshi's self insert, even though you were thoughtful enough to watch over him while he was in A FULL BODY CAST!!!

"Hey, this guy might be abusing his son. Shouldn't we do something?" No one asked. Just keep on commentating, commentator. So nosy.

"There might be a traitor in UA." That’s stupid. We will start losing trust in each other if we start pointing fingers, says the guy who is supposed to be a sharpshooter.

"You're obviously favoring this kid because of Oboro." Shut up, Mic. No one asked you. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to neglect my actual students in favor of this self-victimizing kid.

"Our friend is a nomu and we found out who the culprit is." I'll only go if you do, but don't really want anything to do with it.

"Our other close friend died." Shut up, Mic, and tell me about the students that I've neglected up until this arc.

"I was right! There was a traitor!" Yeah, but he still can be a hero. See, even your friend who was negatively by the traitor is siding with him. You're just a jerk, Mic.

"I went to the hospital to save Oboro, who I've known longer than Aizawa, and he isn't there anymore." Shut up, Mic! You're just being negative.

"I'm sorry for crying. I'm supposed to be a man." I wasn't asking you, Mic. I was talking to our friend who is more so your friend because I only ever use him as an excuse for how I treat my students.

It's so frustrating that everyone, even his own 'friends', doesn't listen to Mic. And don’t get me started with how he's written in fanon most of the time. This is another thing that I rewrote for my AU. Sunny Day (Mic's counterpart) is based on Fanon!Mic, but I expanded more on her character and have her be more than just a blonde ditz. I gave her the support that Mic never really gets in canon, but she still supports others in turn. Sunny's arc even plays into Shoto's arc in my AU, where she helps him escape Endeavor's grasp.

Alrighty. That's all from me. I'll leave you be now. I just wanted share my one final tidbit.

It's funny because Fanon Dadzawa is actually Canon Mic. He's intelligent, attentive, and actually shows concern for the students. It's sad that he's just support for Aizawa's character, he really has potential as a standalone character.

Your asks have been great, please feel free to send more whenever!

#present mic #anti aizawa shota #mha critical #bnha critical #ask

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ego-meliorem-esse · 1 year

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I present to you my years long obsession - female America.

This is not a Nyotalia version it's just a concept of "what if everything is the same but Alfred was born a girl". Like i see so much potential! In a world where all the odds are stacked against her, she despite it all gets to where she is today. Making good and bad decisions along the way.

A lil hc/backstory for my main girl:

• Given name (by dad Arthur) is Elizabeth Felicity Kirkland but during the revolution changes her last name to Jones. Her first name change happens in the 1820/1830s when she changes it to Alexandra, also dropping her second name. (I was young when I came across the name and it means "defender/protector of man" and I was /obessed/ so i just stick to it since she is a loser and just thinks it's a cool sounding name)

• She goes by Alex/Al and I think that's neat :)

• My girl is tall. Like 181 cm tall. Sender but with visible muscles. She does want a bigger behind but her Anglo-Saxon genetics say nah.

• As a child she spent more time in England due to her being a girl so I think even if Arthur was absent he didn't allow her to spend much time alone in the colonies. She resents that ofc

• Just like with Alfred, Alex is very fkn close to Matt even if she forgets to call him or check up on him for months at a time. Al: "Hey man I know I just called a while ago but how've you been? Matt: "you called me 5 months ago..."

• Works at NASA as a part time aeronaitical engeneer. Loves physics, hates chemistry (self projection im sorry)

• During the revolution she dressed up as a boy but the people she worked with knew she wasn't one. People went along with it anyway.

• Other than during the American revolution, she dressed in feminine presenting clothes up until the 1930s. After that it was trousers all the way!

• Alex was never a nurse during wartime but definitely did accountaint work in ww1 and later joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF) where she stayed until 1943 when she joined her men fighting on the ground ( Conversion to Army status, Women's Army Corps - WAC). That's when she saw actual combat.

• Isn't fond of birds. Canaries are fine. Eagles are unsettling.

• Obsesses over a certan thing/hobby at a time up to a point where she perfects her skill. When she was about 14 (human years) it was the whole freedom and equality of man and all the politics regarding it. In the 1890s her obession was cars and motor vehicles. The 1910s brought a new obsession on womens rights. 1960s was space exploration where she devoted almost all her time researching and working for NASA, disregarding her goverment/state duties as a country. In the 1980s it was the internet. In 1990s she got really interested in the Balkan wars (self insert >:)) for whatever reason. Today her attention is mostly on social media and her attention span ia short af. Still really likes all things tech.

• Hasn't got many properties/real estate. Al does own a penthouse in Seaport, Boston and a late 17th and early 18th century colonial home in Newbury, Boston (that she needs to renovate asap). The only other real state she owns is in California, though modern and recently buit, it's not big nor does she spend much time there.

• Her personality is basicaly Alfred if he grew up as a woman and had to face opression based on sex and inequality that came with it. So still bubbly, extroverted, a social butterfly but also self-serving, idealistic, manipulative sprinkled in with sarcasm, cautiousness and craftiness. Same feckin sense of humour tho.

• In 1783, at the Treaty of Paris in Versailles both her and her father had to sign the document that started her independence (She herself had a human representitive 'cus of her age/sex bla bla but it was mostly formalities). At that signing Arthur gave her a flintlock pistol that he himself used in the 1640s. Not many words were exchanged, he just put it in her hand to keep. She still has it in her attic. Somewhere. She'd find it if she just takes the time to look for it I'm sure.

• In 1889 she straight up did her first war crime/murder of a fellow nation (if you don't count shooting her pops face off at Saratoga in 1777). After an altrication with Antonio that resulted in him insulting and slapping the girl for her audacity and mouthiness, she punched him straight in the jaw. A fight insued where she got ahold of his belt and straight up strangled him. Took her a while to process that and accept it. On the bright side Antonios scilence was heard around the world and while perplexed and insulted, older and influential (mostly male at that point) nations started to feel a glint of respect forming for the young startup.

• Al was given a family pocket watch by her father in the 90s (No more empire for Arthur so he sad :(((((( ) that was suppoaed to go to a firstborn son of a lord as an inheritance symbol. Everyone thought Jack would get it since Matt is techincally not Arthur's son. But even he would be expected to recieve it before Al. Then in an unexpected turn of events, while visiting her grumpy and nostalgeous empire-missing dad, Arthur pulled out the watch while eating stale kebabs in front of the telly and gave it to her casualy without as much as a word (The empire started with her, it shall end with her). She keeps it in her work desk drawer in a wooden box.

• Al and Zee have an interesting relationship. While being different in almost every aspect, there ia a mutual respect for eachother from eachother. While not really being able to see eye to eye, they are sisters in a certain roundabout and very fucked up way. Girls who learned that they are very much judged by their sex despite being daughters of a high ranking British lord. While aware that she will never be Alex/Elizabeth in her fathers eyes, Zee still gets treated as a treasure by her father. Much to Zee's annoyance.

• It's still Matt who's in Alex's shadow. Despite the dificulties she rises above and is the perfect child of an empire. Smart, intelligent, inquisitive, a fast learner and incredibly aware of the political and historical situation at all times. Even despite being a girl and less than a son in the eyes of a 17th/18th century society, she suceeds.

• Arthur wanted a son to come from his colonial endeavours, as all empires/nobility at the time did. And as all other empires at the time had. But ofc karma is a bitch and he's the only empire with an only child being a daughter. Though at first thougrly dissaponted, when he lays his eyes on his daughter for the first time, the only emotion he can feel is /joy/.

• Instead of sowing/knitting Al's education was very much focused on natural sciences, since that is where Arthur quickly realized she exels at. He swapped her Violin and General History of Music lessions with Astrophysics and The History of Astronomy. All in an attempt to stop her from making his ears bleed from the constant prattling about The Four Square Theorem or The Brachistocrone Curve. It only got worse, but his daughter was happy and content.

I have sooooo many more of these jfc i might do more later but for now this is all I can think of.

TLDR: Female America is great and has so much potential as a character hghhhhhhhh

#i needed yo get this out here eventually #its just so faacinatingghh #also no glasses us 1 i cant draw em for ahit and 2 ber sight is relatively good #she looks a bit like arthur but thats on purpose i think #oh welllllll #hetalia #hws america #aph america #nyo america #nyo!america #nyotalia #my art #myart #historical hetalia #alfred f jones

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turtlecleric · 5 months

Text

Bay!Mikey (insert save me meme here)

CWs: negative/self-deprecating thoughts

You consider it. Calling Mikey. Asking him to come over, to hold you until this sadness fades enough for you to feel like a person again. You consider it, and you get as far as hovering your thumb over the call icon before you sigh and lock your phone once more.

You shouldn't bother him. You're not exactly... fun to be around right now.

But. But he'd told you to call him the next time you felt like this. He'd specifically asked you to. Surely that means it's okay? Surely that means you should...

No. No, he was just being nice. He's such a nice guy, of course he would say that. And you believe he meant it, you do. But how could you do this to him? Subject him to this- this miserable thing that you've become?

Better to wait it out alone, you think. Like you always have. That way, no one else gets caught in the crossfire.

...You make it twenty minutes before you're pulling up his contact again. Maybe you could just. Text him. Or send him a meme? Or something. Just- just something that might garner a response without obligating him into anything.

You start to type out a casual greeting, but you quickly delete it. You try another, but... no, that's no good, either. Everything you think of saying seems... wrong. Or strange. Or stupid or rude or-

Okay. Well. You can just send him a meme.

You find one you know he'd like, and you make it all the way until it's time to press send until the doubt creeps in. What if he doesn't like it? What if it annoys him? What if you annoy him?

No, you're being irrational and far too harsh on yourself again. He's never indicated that he's found you annoying. Never. Your brain is just being mean.

...Right?

Fuck, you can't do it. You can't do it. That's so fucking ridiculous, isn't it? That you can't even send your friend a meme that you think he'd like because of your stupid inability to stop overthinking every little thing?

But what if you're right? What if you do annoy him? If you stop listening to that voice of warning, then you'll be even more annoying than you already are. He'll get tired of you. He'll stop wanting to talk to you, he'll pull away, and you'll deserve it.

Fuck. Fuck. Why are you crying?

Pathetic. That's what you are. A stupid, pathetic girl who can't do anything right, even something as simple as this. How could you ever even consider calling him when this is what he'd have to deal with? How could you-

There's a quick tapping at your window, and you freeze. Before you can do much else, the window opens and Mikey steps through, calling your name softly.

It's dark. You've got all the lights off, so the only light source comes from the window, but still, his eyes manage to find you within a few seconds. He bounds over to you, whispering excitedly about something. You're still reeling from the fact that he's here.

He crouches in front of you, and his chatter stops abruptly. You can't make out his expression in the darkness, but you do see the dark shape of his hand slowly reaching toward your face. He cups your cheek, and you can't help but lean into it. His thumb brushes across your cheek, smearing the tears there.

"Hey," he says, now somber instead of excited. "You okay? What's wrong?"

You open your mouth to answer, but instead you dissolve into tears. Immediately, he's wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. Nuzzling into your hair and murmuring soft words that only make you cry harder. You cling to him, shaking apart in his arms and burning with embarrassment.

"I'm here," he says. "I've got you, Starburst, it's okay. It's alright."

It's not. It's not alright. You're being a burden. An annoying, whiny, pathetic thing that he would be so much better off without, even if he doesn't know that.

Starburst, he calls you. Something bright and beautiful, and that's... not you. That will never be you. But you can't say that. He would just feel obligated to contradict it, because he's nice. And kind. And thoughtful.

Because he's Mikey.

And you're... this.

"I'm sorry," you whimper against his plastron, swiping at your eyes miserably. "I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm so sorry."

He shushes you, petting your hair. "Nothing to apologize for. It's alright. Everything is alright."

No. It's not.

But you let him hold you anyway.

---

Tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @khayalli @thejudiciousneurotic @justalotoffanfiction @mxalmighty @thelaundrybitch @shakeyourtrees

#turtlecleric scrolls #bay!mikey

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katshuya · 6 months

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No matter what George does. No matter if he twisted it into "Elia was ok and never felt humiliated nor used, and the Martells didn't mind what Rhaegar did" or if George decided never to talk about Elia. R x L will always be disgusting and not a tragic love story.

Any sane human being can see that.

Even in a creepy scenario where she was ok with it OR one where she didn't love Rhaegar, he will always be to blame, and he still used her.

That's why the R x L stans always try to either ignore her existence or reduce it into nothing and her into some kind of supernatural alien human that is ok with everything dirty done to her.

Because they know their oh so tragic, self insert true love story will always seem disgusting because of Elia's existence in the story.

No amount of excuses or fanarts will ever change this truth. No matter which characters George will make accepting and supporting of them (Ned, Arthur, Oberyn, Doran, Ashara, Lewyn and even Elia herself....ect). Why? Because it's unrealistic.

Even if R and L's were running away from Aerys, then suddenly *accidentally* saw a prophecy or fell in love.

OR Even if George made it that Rhaegar wouldn't have left her if she had been able to give him another child. It doesn't change that he abandoned her and their children in the worst way possible with no protection against Aerys and his loyal kingsguard. And even then, it's hard to believe she'd accept just because he told her : Hey, I see in my dreams that I have to have 3 children or we all die. Like, what is this? She almost died for that, no thanks to you and your one after another impregnation.

It's disgusting and not well-written at all.

That's just the plain truth.

That's why a huge part of the fandom dislikes it. Not because they "didn't read the books" or "they lack critical thinking".

It's actually because they know how to think instead of inserting themselves as not like other girls girl and shipping themselves with terrible husband and father, charismatic depressed prince charming.

Poor Rhaegar had a sense of doom following him and knew he'd die soon so Elia let him be? That's very idiotic.

No. Elia being fine with annulment or polygamy isn't normal unless she is forced to. And you know it.

#anti Rhaegar #elia martell #asoiaf #anti rhaegar x lyanna #game of thrones #elia deserves better #lyanna stark #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna isn't faultless #a song of ice and fire #grrm critical #Anti GRRM

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gaiuskamilah · 7 months

Note

Hey drop the Poppy opinion babe (please!)

CW for mentions of in-canon racism, harassment. also i've only read the first QB book so i don't know how things played out in the second one.

i think one thing choices players sometimes forget is that yes, while the nature of the game of makes it so you typically self-insert as the MC, you are ultimately not the MC and this isn't wholly your story. the writers are in charge of the story, and they have a narrative in mind. the problem with poppy is that so many entered queen b with a pre-conceived image of her in their heads and got mad when canon showed otherwise. because suddenly then, she wasn't the funny just mean girl you wanted to become an LI, she became a full-on racist, classist, misogynist bitch who didn't care that her rival was sexually harassed. in my opinion, to deny her these traits is to misread queen b and misread poppy's character.

reiterating: poppy is a racist, classist, misogynist bitch who didn't care that her rival was sexually harassed, and in the context of queen b, it makes perfect sense. queen b is satire. you are not supposed to blindly root for poppy or for MC who is "taking her down" (more on the latter later). it's set in an university, a historically exclusionary institution that for the longest time has dictated what ontology is, often to the benefit of the (white, european) ruling class. belvoire itself is a mockery of universities, where majority of the people who attend are rich, where they form alliances between themselves to get ahead in life more than they already are, where they hold each to such disgustingly weird standards to protect their own status quo. these old money families and these institutions are racist, they are classist, and they are threatened by anyone who doesn't wholly fit the ideal image of who should be a member. that is why MC and zoey are ostracized by the rest of belvoire - they're new money, their blood isn't blue enough, and in zoey's case, it's no doubt it's partially because she's Black.

poppy exemplifies being raised in these institutions and blue blooded families. she is old money, she is racist and classist towards anyone beneath her, she only cares for people as a means to her end, she is a misogynist who doesn't care that her rival was sexually harassed, and she holds everyone impossible standards of beauty, even herself. she's blonde and blondness has long been associated with wealth and the upper class, which hasn't exactly been a very open group of people. these are neutral statements; i am simply describing how she is in-canon. these institutions allow for people like her to come into being and into power, and to deny her those traits and demand that her bacchanalia plot with zoey be removed so you can continue fantasizing about her in peace is to miss the point of queen b, as queen b is fundamentally criticizing people like her.

in the latest choices secrets: revealed, chelsa stated that she never intended for poppy to be an LI because then she would have to be redeemed, and she simply isn't a character where that seems plausible:

and i agree. if you want to romance someone like poppy, or whatever picture in people's minds were of poppy, characters like becca davenport are right there. queen b isn't the place for it because of the book's satirical nature. i think that getting mad (if there are any people who got mad) that poppy isn't a "true" LI is to not give justice to the vision that chelsa, a Black woman, had for the book.

now, do i personally think stanning poppy is bad, or that poppy is a terrible person? well, poppy already is a terrible person. again, a neutral statement. however, i find her a good character in which she was used by the writers to exemplify everything wrong in archaic institutions - she serves her function well as that. it's similar to how i think miranda priestly from the devil wears prada is a good character in which she embodies everything wrong in the fashion industry and how it holds women to impossible standards and pits them against each other; she is terrible, and that is the point. you are meant to appreciate and know that she is terrible without stripping those features of her character away. you are not supposed to be upset that anne hathaway left her terrible boss behind, you are supposed to be happy that she stopped stripping away and molding herself into an image that conformed to a fucked up, exclusionary image of womanhood and fashion. that a lot of people seem to miss this point and just view the devil wears prada and queen b (and mean girls!) as "yass girlboss slay" stories is concerning to me. big win for capitalist feminism and i hate it.

related here is the queen b MC and how she is postured as someone who will "take poppy down". one thing i liked is that in the book 1 finale (at least how it turned out for me), MC is framed as someone just as bad as poppy, and this makes sense. no matter if you played her as a good girl or a bad girl, she is still someone who works within the institution, playing the rules of the game, and someone who upholds the legitimacy and power of the institution. a ruler is still a ruler and being queen still means that you hold a significant amount of unbalanced power over others. you still maintain the status quo, which is an inherently exclusionary one. nothing fundamentally changes; the only difference is who's on top, and that's a very shallow way to make progress, if any.

another related topic is how queen b is actually pretty good in showing how living in and being raised in these institutions is to the detriment of those in it, which also criticizes the very nature of the institution of the family. i think it also does well in stories like veil of secrets and crimes of passion 2 where archaic old money families serve as antagonists. but that's for another time lol.

tl;dr uwu-ifying poppy is to miss the point.

#anonymous #answered #playchoices #queen b #poppy min sinclair #my post

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aphverse-confessions · 4 months

Note

hello hey, self-proclaimed favourite anon tossing my hat about Jesson. I wanna take a crack at how people talk about Jesson because it's infuriating to see people be total extreme polars between the two. People think Jessica is an irredeemable monster, or they think Jessica gets way too much flack from her audience without understanding/acknowledging the questionable stuff.

REALLY HUGE DISCLAIMER HERE!!! I don't want this to be condoning the idea that people should be held accountable for 5+ year old behaviour. People can and will absolutely change, we shouldn't deny that people can change for the better and learn from their mistakes. Jess herself is capable of growth: she changed Kawaii~Chan's name to an actual name, Nana Ashida, actually gave a backstory to Nana and completely dropped Nana's weebish way of addressing people and dropped Kawaii~Chan as a name entirely. Give people credit where credit's due, treat people with grace and empathy.This entire confession is just my personal reflection on the Jesson debacle, just sorting out my own feelings about the two and trying to find a middle ground between the two extremes of hating Jesson and defending Jesson.

Speaking generally and not just in regards to Aphblr, a lot of people seem to completely completely blame Jess for everything wrong with the series and. Like, I don't think thats fair at all to Jess because it was Jason also contributing and helping out with the stories. We don't know who did what and quite frankly Jason did had an influence on the writing on the series so people shouldn't just scapegoat Jess.

Jess had self inserts, Jess was cringe, Jess butchered the love triangle are criticisms I saw during Youtube, Wattpad, etc during Jesson's hayday and some of these criticism's still persist. Which like... guys, Jess being cringey and self inserting into her stories isn't the most pressing issue you think it is, I'd LOVE to make mad dough self inserting and roleplaying with a harem of hot bishonen boys. I'm gonna be blunt, a very fair share of criticism towards Jess was quite misogynistic and I'm not going to deny that. Back in 2016-2019 people were awful and bashed her for the aforementioned which... ew. Hell!!! I even see some of this misogyny to current day on Youtube!!! Which . Fucking Sucks.

If you're gonna give Jess flack, give Jason flack. If you're gonna call Jess cringe and dumb for self inserting onto a cute perfect anime girl with her boy harem, call Jason 2x amount of that cringe for self inserting onto an edgy werewolf alpha + getting jealous over minecraft cubes. It takes two to tango and Jason definitely had a hand with how the series were written.

Something honestly more important to mention that people cite Jesson's badly written stories as a moral failing instead of actually criticizing the contents within the stories when portraying certain topics*** (put a pin in this, we will come back to this class). Like, people were putting more effort in dragging Jess about the bad writing of MCD and MyStreet with the love triangle + Aarmau, than actual problems with the portrayal of sensitive issues such as racism.

However, in spite of my defense of Jess, I'm gonna be blunt. There were a lot of fucking problems here, Scoob!!! Like. Actual problems with both Jessica and Jason as people that people sometimes overlook due to the more pettier criticisms/complaints. Yes, Jess was a victim of Internet's misogyny and that's 100% valid to acknowledge that, however I feel it's a disservice to handwave and not acknowledge the actual problems Jess had. Jess being a victim of misogyny and Jess doing bad shit are two statements that can co-exist.

Jesson being pariah-ed out of their own fandom isn't exactly undeserved considering all of the legitimate issues there were with the duo (not just Jess herself). It's not a 'hate-train' to not like Jesson or to still be discomforted by their previous behaviour because yeah. It. Was bad. Because we do point-proof-analysis round these parts bitches™, I will provide proof where I can.

To list the issues with Jesson off of the top of my head in no specific order: - Jess absolutely fetishized mlm on multiple occasions. Admitting she's Septiplier trash and fetishizing two real men's friendship when Jess was a 23 year old woman: (https://tinyurl.com/aph-confess) / (https://tinyurl.com/aph-septi-vid-react) - Adding onto the previous point, Jason 'Fans-shipping-my-wife's-Self-Insert-with-other-fictional-men-is-'whoring'-her-out' Bravura even admitted Jess's queerbaiting (https://tinyurl.com/jason-admits-the-queerbaiting) - Jason Bravura as a whole person: from his extremely possessive attitude towards the fanbase when it came to ships (https://tinyurl.com/jason-temper-tantrum), from how he absolutely fought with his tweenage fanbase back in 2016-2018-ish, him being really aggressive online in general, him having a horrible influence on the writing - Apparently Jason was responsible for the Ein-Aphmau incest??? I have no source for this, but would not be shocked if this was the case. - *** Romanticizing grooming/creepy as fuck age-gaps thru Aarmau and Gene PDH. I blame Jason for him being an alleged freak (going off of Jess's Draw my Life). Throw the whole man into the rancor pit at this point - *** The horribly done racism subplots of MCD and MyStreet. Oh my fucking god. I already went into this on my initial confession with Kip and Zoey+Aph being racist to him, the cutesy microaggressions. I already discussed about it in depth, here's the link to read more about it -> (https://tinyurl.com/confession-about-racism)

Jess using mlm to queerbait fans and fetishizing two REAL people as a grown ass woman was shitty, Jason is an entire cesspool of a person and was shitty. The horrible, tone-deaf messaging and portrayal of racism being so prominent throughout MCD/MyStreet was shitty. These problems don't suddenly stop being issues just because people raising petty points about Jesson.

Like there were a ton of problems with Jesson as people/content creators, it's not fair to just dismiss all of the listed as totally petty fandom wank. I feel like in modern day, it's a fair compromise to celebrate the media that they made without falling into praising them as people just because they made a cool Thang™. We can enjoy the stories they made without having to totally enjoy the people behind them. With my previous confessions, it sparked some healthy discussion within Aphblr and I hope this confession will raise some healthy discussion about Jesson as a whole where people can find a middle ground between totally loving/hating Jesson. This was a wholeass essay, so here's a shrimp as a reward 🦐

#aphmau confessions #aphmau #aphblr #aphverse #I agree with this #the Jesson debacle is a complex issue that includes a lot of misogyny directed at Jess #whilst simultaneously ignoring Jess's actual problematic behavior #but I don't think enough ppl are going to thoroughly read through this ask #but it's long enough it gives the proper nuance to the issue that countless confessions have tried to articulate before #jesson tag

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quickspinner · 7 months

Text

This is Crazy

Hey @haphira I'm your @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers secret admirer! I hope you enjoy this! The prompt I picked was "0 to married - blind date or one night stand turns into a three day date and married at the end." I also threw in a touch of Alya gets into Marinette's love life, just for fun.

Summary: Marinette's tired and frustrated. Work isn't going well, her social life is dead, and she doesn't believe in fairy tales anymore. When Alya insists there is someone who wants to meet her after the concert tonight, she figures at least it's a distraction from her boring life. She's not expecting the hottest rising rock star on the planet to walk through those doors--or anything that happens after that.

Rating: M for fade-to-black sexytimes and language

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | AO3

She felt ridiculous, now that she was here. Alone in this fancy lounge with its dim lighting and collection of fancy backlit bottles, dressed like—well. Like herself, but a version of herself that was maybe trying a bit too hard. Marinette adjusted her bustier top, checked for the thousandth time that the zipper that ran up the front was still snugged up at the top and not about to fall down.

She wished she had worn a longer skirt. The knee length ones restricted her movement more than she liked, and full-length wouldn’t have been appropriate for this venue, but she was constantly checking to make sure her miniskirt hadn’t ridden up a little bit too much.

But these were the kinds of clothes one wore at a rock concert—and it had been a good concert, Marinette had to admit. She’d had a lot more fun than she expected, and if she could have been riding the metro home now with her girls, chatting about the music and the hot musicians, she would have considered the outfit a low price to pay.

She wasn’t, though. She was standing here alone in a private lounge, waiting for…someone. She didn’t know who. Alya had insisted it was a surprise, and that the person really wanted to see her, and had heavily implied that whoever this— male , Alya had made sure she knew—someone was very much interested in Marinette. You know, in that way. That all Marinette had to do was be hot and sweet and she was guaranteed that this mystery someone would… insert eyebrow waggle .

Well. Marinette hadn’t had any eyebrow waggling in long enough that she let herself be talked into it. Even if this mystery someone wasn’t someone she could see herself with long term, maybe she could get some much needed…stress relief. At least Alya’s insistence on setting her up could be good for something.

If the mystery man ever showed up. Marinette was feeling more and more stupid by the moment. Waiting always felt longer than it was, she reminded herself, but she was also starting to feel uncomfortably like she had been stood up.

She eyed the self-serve bar at the back of the lounge and went to investigate, unsure if she was looking for liquid courage or something to drown her disappointment in. There had sure been a lot of disappointments for her lately. Most recently, she’d had a hugely important order canceled at the last minute, which was the only reason she had time for this concert. She should have been at home being her workaholic self, and the gut-wrenching disappointment she’d felt when the client told her they had changed their mind and decided to go with someone else wasn’t easy to shake.

Marinette sighed and poured herself a drink.

She was leaning back against the bar, sipping a small glass of gin, when the door opened, and she started.

She recognized the man who entered immediately, and her mouth dropped open a little. Was that—it couldn’t be. Her whole body flushed hot with the thought no way, this can’t be happening .

He was imminently recognizable, though, and even if he hadn’t looked just like his posters, she had just spent two hours staring at him on stage.

“Oh, sorry,” he said reflexively as he came in, and Marinette smiled.

“It’s okay, I just needed a quick drink.” She set the gin glass down on the bar. “I’m, um. I’m Marinette.”

“Marinette,” he said, advancing into the room and glancing around like he was expecting someone else. Marinette swallowed and tried not to look down. God, this was embarrassing. Well, he was the one who supposedly wanted to meet her, right? Though, knowing who he was now—an internationally famous rock star, well…who knows what Alya told him. The real thing was guaranteed to be a disappointment.

He approached the bar, finally, with an air of resignation, but clearly determined to at least be polite. “Nice to meet you. I’m Luka.”

Marinette giggled nervously. “Well, obviously.”

He blinked at her like he was finally focusing on her, and smiled. “Right.” His eyes swept over her, and she didn’t miss the appreciation there. That perked her up a little. Luka had changed from his stage clothes into a faded ripped shirt and equally ratty but comfortable-looking pants. She might have been offended that he hadn’t put in more effort for her, but he had just been on stage for hours under those awful lights, so she didn’t blame him for wanting to be comfortable.

Besides, he was really, really, hot. Not necessarily conventionally handsome; some of his features took a little getting used to, but he was interesting, as well as being tall and very fit. One had to be, she supposed, being on display the way rock stars always were.

Oh shit he was talking to her. “Mind if I join you?” he was asking, gesturing across the bar between them. “I’m parched.”

“Oh, of course,” Marinette said, moving sideways instinctively even before he came behind the bar. Ugh, she sounded like an idiot. The space wasn’t very wide and she had basically backed into it instead of coming out, so she leaned back against the bar, trying to arrange herself in a way that was casually attractive instead of unbearably awkward or brazenly sex-starved.

Luka, meanwhile, examined the backlit bottles, and then with a slight shake of his head, turned towards Marinette again. She liked the way his eyes flicked over her and then away, like he was trying not to stare. She wasn’t doing such a good job keeping her eyes to herself either, so she decided to just brazen it out.

“Don’t see anything you like?” she dared to ask, with a slight quirk of her eyebrow.

Something in his stance shifted, like her attempt at flirtation had put him on firmer ground. “Actually, I think I see exactly what I need.” He advanced towards her and Marinette’s heart jumped into her throat. She hadn’t expected him to take the bait that quickly.

He stopped just short of her, and gestured at the glasses hanging above her. “May I?”

His voice was rough, which she supposed was to be expected after the performance he had given. God, he was even hotter up close. If conversation was going nowhere, at least she wanted to get something out of this. What difference did it make what he thought of her after tonight, anyway? “Of course,” she said, putting her hands on the bar and leaning back. She watched his eyes follow her, flicking down at the suddenly very low neckline of her bustier once before he looked up again. He took another step forward, so that he was brushing up against her as he reached over her to snag a glass and bring it down. He didn’t back away as he set it on the counter, and Marinette couldn’t help grinning at him. He leaned in a little more to reach behind her for the carafe of water sitting there.

“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, still not backing off as he poured his glass of water.

“Very much,” Marinette said honestly. “To be honest, it was the first time I’ve heard your music. I’m definitely a fan now.”

“Are you?” he murmured, meeting her eyes for a moment, and she watched as he lifted the water glass to his lips and took a long drink.

“Definitely,” she said a little breathlessly, aware that she was ogling him shamelessly.

He made a thoughtful noise in his throat. “How many of those have you had?” He asked, before drinking again.

Marinette lifted her own glass. “Just this one.” Out of habit, she turned it so that the existing lip print on the glass matched where she sipped. It was Luka’s turn to swallow and stare, and then he set his water glass down decisively. He put his hands on the bar at either side of Marinette’s hips, and leaned down a little.

“Just to be clear,” he murmured, looking down at her with heavily lidded eyes. “Are you coming on to me? Because,” he continued, as a hot blush flooded up her face, “you are gorgeous and I’m horny as hell after that,” he tipped his head back to indicate the show he had just finished. “So assuming you are, I’d really like to continue this somewhere more private. As soon as possible.”

Marinette couldn’t help a grin, and she looked over her shoulder to eye the completely empty room. “It’s looking pretty private here,” she suggested, mostly just to buy time to figure out if she was really doing this.

“It won’t be for as long as I plan to need privacy,” he told her, leaning his hips harder into hers, and she bit her lip and made a sound in her throat that made him shiver. Fuck. Okay, she was definitely doing this.

“Well, if you insist,” she said breathlessly, and then his hands were on her waist, pulling her hard into him for a moment before he turned her to guide her out of the room.

***

Luka left Marinette in the bed, with a kiss and a whispered promise to be back, and went to shower. He sighed when he stepped into the warm spray, and smiled to himself. Despite the exhaustion now dragging at him, he felt good . The show had been amazing, and Marinette had given him exactly what he needed to top off the night. Shows always left him either feeling so drained and worn out that he wanted nothing more than to go to bed, or else put him on a high that made it impossible to sleep without some kind of release.

He’d actually thought tonight was going to be the low kind until he ducked into the closed lounge, too desperate for a drink to mind the ‘closed’ sign on the door. Then he saw Marinette leaning against the bar, illuminated by the backlighting like a work of art in a museum.

He hadn’t even had enough blood left in his brain to wonder why she was hanging out in the dimly lit, supposedly closed lounge. He was suddenly thirsty in an entirely different way.

It was an impulsive decision to invite her to come back to his room, but those were often his best, and he definitely had no reason to regret it now. His smile turned into a self-satisfied grin and he tilted his head back to wet his hair. Definitely no regrets there.

He shouldn’t take too long, though, or she might think he was trying to get rid of her. He cleaned himself up quickly. He almost wished he’d invited her to shower with him, but he needed this quiet moment after everything that had happened that night, and the hotel shower wasn’t really big enough for two. That was one thing he was looking forward to for the next leg of their tour; American hotel showers weren’t nearly so cramped.

Even as he thought it he found himself wishing then that they were staying in Paris a little longer. He wouldn’t have minded seeing Marinette again. She had this mix of sweetness and sexy that was very appealing to him and he could think of a few more things he’d enjoy doing with her. He felt a little shiver at the memory of her moans. He could listen to her sweet little whimpers for hours, and the beautiful crescendo had been satisfying in more ways than one. Her dazed smile afterward…he wanted to make her smile like that again.

The band was scheduled to leave tomorrow afternoon, though. They’d both known this was only a night.

Luka frowned. She had known that, right? Normally he made sure anyone who was with knew whether he was looking for temporary or long term, but he hadn’t really taken time for much more conversation than was related to the business at hand. He’d have to let her down gently if she’d been expecting more. Luka wasn’t exactly in a position to commit to anything else right now.

He sighed, turning off the water. He didn’t really want to have that conversation, but he didn’t want to string her along with a long-distance promise either…

Dumbass, he scolded himself as he dried off, and prepared to roll with whatever he found when he got out of the shower.

What he found was Marinette, sitting on the edge of the bed in a pool of soft lamplight, and biting her lip as she played with her fingers. She tried to smile at him, but she pulled the edges of the sheet wrapped around her a little tighter. Honestly, that just made her more appealing, with her shapely legs bare and just the important bits of her covered up, like one of those marble statues in the Louvre, only better, because she had color and breath, warmth and softness. He felt a song tickling at the back of his mind as he took in the line of her neck and shoulders, her mussed hair, and…her eyes. Her eyes turned up to him and his breath caught. He swallowed, and looked away, aware that his staring was making her uncomfortable. Her body language was closed and nervous, and he could imagine that she was feeling pretty vulnerable, in his room with no clothes on and clearly not sure what she should do next.

Luka picked up her unzipped top and miniskirt from the floor, and laid them over a chair with a small smile at the memories they conjured. “These are beautiful, on or off you,” he winked at her, and she blushed and ducked her head a little, which he found unreasonably charming, “but I can’t imagine they’ll be comfortable to sleep in. Hang on, I’ll grab you something.”

He found a clean shirt and sweatpants to pull on before he turned back to Marinette with another one of his t-shirts and a clean pair of boxers in his hands. He came to sit on the bed next to her and offered her the clothes, smiling at her whispered thanks.

“I should, um,” she paused to pull the shirt over her head, and Luka couldn’t make himself look away from the sheet that slipped down her body as he did so. That was definitely going in the song too, he decided. “I should probably go, though, right?”

“Do you have a room in the hotel?” he asked, and she blinked in surprise, and shook her head, sliding his shorts up over her legs.

“No, I live—I live in Paris. I can just take the metro home, or—”

Luka frowned. “At this time of night?” He reached out and stroked her hair back, and she relaxed a little at the tender touch, smiling at him. She definitely felt more confident now that she was covered, and she turned towards him a little as she answered.

“I’m a big girl,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“If you really want to go, I’ll call you a cab, but I’d be happy for you to stay the night here with me,” he offered. “This bed is plenty big enough for two.” He rested his hand on her back, resisting the urge to pull her against him.

It turned out he didn’t need to, because she scooted a little closer, and leaned into him, glancing up shyly. “I don’t—are you sure?”

Luka nodded, nuzzling her temple without thinking about it. She giggled.

“I wouldn’t have figured you for a cuddler,” she teased, and he grinned, glad to see her more comfortable, and put his arms around her.

“It’s a secret,” he teased back. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my image.”

Marinette laughed, and impulsively he kissed her, and she leaned into it, humming softly.

“You’re shaking,” Luka observed, when they parted.

“Cold,” she admitted, squeezing closer to him. “And my whole body feels like jelly. In a good way,” she assured him, with a cheeky smile, and he couldn’t help grinning back.

Luka leaned back and snagged the comforter they had long ago kicked off the end of the bed, and wrapped Marinette in it. She giggled in the puffy cocoon. “What about you?” she asked.

“I sleep hot,” he told her. “I don’t use it anyway.” He stood up and scooped the Marinette cocoon into his arms, laying her down on the bed and climbing back in beside her. He pulled the sheet Marinette had dropped back up over himself, and wrapped his arms around Marinette in her blanket cocoon. She squirmed until she was tucked up under his chin. He found himself drifting off almost immediately. Somewhere in his fuzzy mind he realized he hadn’t talked to her about his intentions, but he was so tired and comfortable that it was barely a speed bump on his way to dreamland.

***

Marinette woke to gentle kisses along her neck and shoulder, and shivered before she was even fully awake. She felt warm breath along her ear and lips pressed into her cheek.

“Good morning, beautiful. Are you a tea or a coffee person?” She rolled onto her back, partially undoing the cocoon of blankets she’d been wound up in. A pleasantly rough hand slipped under the blankets and her shirt—his shirt—to caress her bare belly, and she shivered again, blinking fully awake.

“Hmm,” she sighed, finally processing the question. “Coffee?” She smiled shyly up into Luka’s blue eyes, suppressing another shiver at the look he was giving her. “At least this morning.”

“Cream? Sugar?” he asked, his voice even rougher than the night before, and Marinette bit her lip.

“Please,” she finally managed, and Luka leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth, a long, slow kiss like the ones he had given her as they wound down from their lovemaking. She really liked those. He might be a playboy rock star but he somehow had a way of making her feel like she was the center of the world.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, stroking a hand through her messy hair, and as he pulled back and stood Marinette realized he was already fully dressed, in black ripped jeans dangling with chains, topped with artfully ripped and layered shirts. She swallowed, both appreciating the look on him and suddenly afraid he was about to ditch her or throw her out. He looked ready to get on with his day. What time was it? He hadn’t struck her as an early riser.

Never mind, she told herself as he left the room. She didn’t want to know. Her blanket cocoon was warm and comfortable, and he was bringing her coffee instead of telling her to go home, so he must not be sick of her presence yet. She pulled the wiggled herself at least partially upright, tugging the blanket back up over her shoulders. Luka’s shirt was big enough on her that the collar left a lot of skin exposed to the cold. And his lips, as he’d proved. If he was already dressed, though, he probably wasn’t planning on an encore this morning. She hadn’t been either, but found herself disappointed anyway.

She tried not to pout. Reluctantly, she wiggled herself out of the comforter long enough to find her phone and purse, but the battery was dead. Marinette felt a pang of guilt; she probably should have at least let Alya know she had met up with her mystery man and was fine, but it was too late now. Some investigation proved that while Luka’s charger was on the nightstand, it wasn’t compatible with her phone.

Oh well. She tucked the phone back in her tiny clutch and set it on the table, then went to cocoon herself in the blankets again. She felt really good; more relaxed than she had been since that cancellation call. Even if Luka was done with her, she definitely got the stress relief she was looking for.

Then again, he had supposedly told Alya he wanted to meet her, so maybe…

That was just stupid though. No expectations, no disappointments, Marinette reminded herself. If all she had was a good night—a great night—that was plenty. She felt more relaxed than she had in weeks. Months. She tucked her legs up in the blankets and sighed, leaning back against the headboard. This was a really nice hotel room. Suite. It was a suite, they’d had to navigate past the sitting room to get to the bedroom last night. The rock star life, she thought, a smile quirking her lips.

Might as well enjoy it while she had it.

***

Luka sent his assistant for better coffee than the hotel could offer, and ducked into the gift shop. It took longer than he would have liked, just like everything did since he became famous, but he was able to get out with his purchases just as Emilio returned with the coffee. Luka refused help, hanging the gift shop bag on his wrist and taking both cups of coffee. He let Emilio push the elevator button, and smiled acknowledgement of his reminder about the flight that afternoon.

Marinette didn’t look anything like an art piece when he shouldered his way back into the room, and Luka laughed at her cute face peeking from the pile of coverlet she was once again wrapped in. “You look cozy,” he told her, setting the coffee on the uselessly small table in the room. He set the bag from the gift shop in front of her. “I got you some warmer things to wear if you can bear to come out of there.”

He looked away while she wriggled out and changed into the sweatshirt and yoga pants he’d managed to get for her.

“I’m done,” she said, and he looked back, breaking into a grin at the slightly oversized “I heart Paris” sweatshirt. The sleeves threatened to creep over her hands as she cradled her cup of coffee, inhaling the scent before she took a careful sip.

“Good?” he asked, once again completely charmed. He liked the way she took time to savor things. Her pretty eyes darted around the room, and he wondered what she was thinking. It seemed to him like her mind never stopped. He remembered the way she had looked over him when he came into the lounge last night, the slight tilt of her head and the sense of being…analyzed in some way, before she decided to make her move. It clashed a little with her sweet softness this morning, and he found himself chuckling. It wasn’t the first time he had hooked up with a groupie, and somehow he always seemed to pick the soft ones, no matter how brazen they seemed in the moment.

“You’re up early,” Marinette commented, and then frowned. “Actually, what time is it?”

“Coming up on eleven,” Luka said, glancing at his phone. “But yeah, I had a business meeting this morning.” He rolled his eyes. “Corporate sponsors have no respect for rock star hours. They were pitching to take over our merch sales.”

“What company?” Marinette asked curiously. “If you can tell me,” she added, and Luka smiled. He whispered the company name in her ear. It wasn’t really a secret, he hadn’t signed an NDA yet, but he felt like teasing her a bit.

She wrinkled her nose, but said nothing. Luka quirked an eyebrow, curious about her reaction. “What?”

Marinette shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “Nothing. It’s none of my business.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She sighed and gave a little pout, then put her coffee down. “Their quality is terrible. Which isn’t necessarily a negative for you , I guess. If the shirts fall apart faster then fans will just buy more.” Luka frowned at the cynicism in her voice. “If it were me, though, I’d rather pay more for something that will last a little longer. If I’m going to pay to put my logo on something I don’t want it to fade out after a few washes. Of course, you could always work out some kind of split production, so the younger fans can buy the cheaper stuff and the die-hards that have the will or the money can pony up for the quality stuff, but that—” she paused, seeing his gaze on her, and blushed. “Like I said, that’s not really my business,” she finished, picking up her coffee quickly again.

Luka wasn’t even sure what kind of face he was making, caught in a tangled net of feelings he couldn’t quite figure out. He was surprised, he was impressed, he was chagrined, and kind of embarrassed that he hadn’t given anywhere near as much thought to the issue, which had come up several times in the last few months, as Marinette had in five minutes.

Marinette set her coffee down and hopped off the bed, mumbling something about needing the bathroom, and Luka just watched her go, mouth open slightly.

***

Marinette felt better after a shower, and dressed once again in her tourist trap giftware with a sigh. She needed to apologize to Luka, she decided. She shouldn’t be butting into his business. It wasn’t like she was his girlfriend. She didn’t have any right to be grilling him on his business practices.

He was sitting in the suite’s little living room, sipping his own coffee while he scrolled through something on a tablet.

“Um,” she began, shifting nervously, and he looked up, setting down the tablet. “I’m sorry. If it seemed like I was criticizing you earlier. I wasn’t, it’s really none of my business, I know I said that already, but, um. I know you probably have a lot of decisions to make, or you have people that make those decisions for you, and you probably know a lot more about the s-situation than I do, so, I just. Sorry if I—” She trailed off, as if not actually sure what she was sorry for.

Luka beckoned her, and she walked slowly towards him. When she was close enough, he took her hand and pulled her close, wrapping her up in his arms. After a stiff moment, she relaxed into him and sat on his knee to lean her face into his neck.

“I wasn’t offended,” he told her quietly, “and I will definitely ask for samples before we go any further. It’s not something I thought about, and I should have. I’m not out to rip off my fans.” Her head shot up but he put a finger across her lips. “I know. I’m not offended. Actually I really appreciate you being straight with me. It’s hard to find these days.” He smiled, looking fondly up into her shocked face. “You’re—” He stopped, because he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound trite or overused. Special. Different. Not like other girls. He’d sound like a pickup artist.

He suddenly found himself wishing he’d met her in a more casual way.

She was still blinking at him, and he realized she was still waiting for him to finish his sentence. Since he couldn’t, he leaned up and kissed her, softly, in a way he hoped conveyed reassurance and affection, and not just lust.

“You keep doing that,” she murmured, when their lips parted.

“Should I stop?” he smiled, a little crookedly.

“No, I—I like it,” she admitted, blushing faintly. “Just. Um.” Her gaze flicked to the bed behind them and then returned to his with something like guilt. “I didn’t expect it.”

“I didn’t expect you,” Luka replied, without thinking. Marinette blinked in surprise, and Luka bit his lip, feeling his own color rising. “I really like you, Marinette.”

She looked down. Her fingers at the nape of his neck twitched, and twined though a strand of his hair. “I like you too,” she whispered, and Luka grinned. “But you…” she trailed off, and met his eyes again, looking…sad.

Reality came crashing in on Luka and he sucked in a breath. Right. He was leaving. Soon, in fact, he realized, as he looked at the clock.

“Come with me,” he blurted, and was immediately convinced it was the best idea he’d ever had.

Marinette looked confused. “Where?”

“To New York. To start with, at least.” Luka slid her off his lap, and then moved to squat in front of her so they were facing each other. “I want—” he stalled, words again getting tangled up in his head. “I have a sense about people. I’ve learned to trust my instincts, and right now they’re telling me I shouldn’t let you just disappear. I want you to come on tour with me.” He swallowed and tried to grin. “I know it sounds crazy. ”

“It’s completely crazy,” Marinette cried, voice gone squeaky and breathless.

“I’ll make it work,” he insisted. “Worst case scenario, we have some fun, you can hang out at the hotel while I do my shows, we see the sights, and I buy you a plane ticket home when you get sick of me.” His tone softened. “I’m just not ready to tell you goodbye, Marinette.”

She gave him a smile that twitched, like she didn’t want to but she couldn’t help it. “That sounds like a song.”

“It absolutely does,” Luka agreed fervently. His whole body was thrumming with—something. Adrenaline or anticipation or fear or— “Please come with me, Marinette.”

Marinette took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Setting aside that the whole idea was fucking crazy —could she do it? She knew she could, even before she went down a mental list of commitments. Wasn’t that the whole reason she had been out on this stupid scheme to begin with? Because she was in a work slump with no immediate obligations to fulfill, no responsibilities at the bakery with her parents in Shanghai for the month. No one to hang out with, no one who needed her. And she hadn’t known what to do with herself.

So…why not do something crazy? Something no one would expect boring little Marinette to do?

And…the way he was looking at her, eyes intense and shining, practically vibrating with—she wasn’t sure what. Suspense? Excitement? Was this just a…thrill seeking type thing for him?

He saw her hesitation and fidgeted a bit on his heels, licking his lips. Preparing for rejection.

She unconsciously licked her own lips, and then offered a trembling smile. “Okay.”

Luka’s eyes lit up and he leaned in, placing a hand on hers and squeezing tightly enough to give his excitement away, even though all he said was, “Are you sure?”

And she was. “Yeah,” she grinned. “Let’s do it. I-if you really want to.”

Luka grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her hard. “I definitely want to. Let me make some calls. Do you have a passport?” He drew up short, as if just that moment realizing that that might be a dealbreaker. Even rock stars needed passports.

“Oh, mm-hmm.” Marinette turned towards her purse on the table and pulled out her wallet and passport to show him.”

Luka laughed. “You have it with you?”

“I like to be prepared,” Marinette defended, blushing. “Though this thing is so small I can’t carry half of what I usually do.” She couldn’t help smiling as Luka leaned forward and kissed her cheek again.

“No complaints here. That’ll make things easier. I’ll buy you anything else you need.”

“Luka, you can’t—” Marinette began, growing alarmed as the practicalities of the situation began to set in. Plane tickets, clothes—she didn’t even have anything comfortable to wear on the plane, she didn’t have her phone charger—the hotel could probably give her a toothbrush, but—

Luka’s finger on her lips interrupted both her protest and her spiraling thoughts. “Trust me, it’ll be the smartest thing I’ve spent money on since the band took off. I’m dragging you to a whole other country on no notice. Let me at least be a gentleman about it.” He flashed her an incongruously wicked grin, caressing her lips with his fingertip before he drew it away and turned to find his phone.

The bounce in his step made her smile despite her worries. Well, he was a good guy. Or at least she thought so, based on…nothing at all. This was insane. She was crazy.

Marinette took another breath, fighting down another wave of panic. No, it was fine. She had friends in the States that could help her out if she really needed it, humiliating as that would be, but it wouldn’t come to that anyway. She had her own money saved, after all, and if Luka turned out to be a complete douche and left her stranded somewhere once he lost interest, she’d be able to get herself home just fine.

He wouldn’t though. Something inside her was sure of it.

Marinette sighed, burying her face in the pillow to let out a quiet little scream.

At least no one would ever be able to call her boring again. Are you happy now, Alya?

***

Luka’s hands shook and he paced as he dialed Lucille’s number. He was reasonably confident that she could do what he was about to ask, but he wasn’t so sure about how she was going to take this. He had a fair number of one night stands, sure, but wasn’t that much of a playboy as rock stars go and he had certainly never asked to bring a hookup along on tour with him before.

Still, this was going to be hard to explain. He didn’t want to have to pull the “you work for me ” card. That wouldn’t be fair to her with all that she did for him.

When he explained the situation, though, all he really got was…silence.

“I know this sounds really crazy—” he began, but shut his mouth when Lucille cut him off.

“Your personal life isn’t my business,” she said briskly. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.

Luka winced at the implied disapproval, but decided it was best just to roll with it.

“Hey, can you—can you get her a room in the hotel in New York?” he asked. “I—” He paused, not sure how to put “I don’t want her to feel pressured to fuck me every night” in professional terms.

“Will do,” Lucille said, still in that clipped, matter-of-fact tone. “Do you want it near you or farther away?”

“Near is good.” Luka cleared his throat. “Next door would probably be fine.” He paused. “Can you find us a good place to eat one night while we’re there? Something fancy but not too touristy. Maybe some broadway tickets? She’d probably like that.” Not that he really knew anything about what she liked, but surely someone on the crew would take the tickets if Marinette didn’t want to go.

“Um…” That seemed to throw Lucille. “I can probably do that.”

“I know we’re on a really tight schedule in Chicago, but what about LA, is it whale season there? Can we book a whale-watching cruise?”

“I don’t really know, I’ll check. Whales might be farther north than LA proper.”

“Okay, well see if we can make time to get up there if so. See if we can schedule some beach time in between rehearsals, too.”

“O-okay. I can do that.”

Luka frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lucille said quickly. “You’re just not usually interested in that kind of stuff.”

“I don’t usually have time,” Luka replied, and then bit his lip. He didn’t really have time on this trip, either. “Just see if we can make it work. I don’t want to cause any problems for anyone.”

“It should be fine,” Lucille told him firmly. “I’ve told you before you work longer hours than you need to on tour. I’m…glad you’re thinking about taking some time.”

“Yeah,” Luka said lamely.

“Make sure your lady friend has all her documents in order. I can’t negotiate immigration and customs rules.”

“I will,” Luka promised. “What’s the absolute latest time I can get to the airport? Can we make a stop at her place before?”

“It’ll have to be a short stop or we’ll lose our departure slot,” Lucille sighed. “Your car’s already on the way to pick you up. Where does she live?”

“Uh—” Luka went back to the bedroom of his suite, and cracked open the door. “Marinette?”

***

They darted from the car to the back door of the bakery, neither keen on advertising Luka’s famous face following her inside. Marinette had asked if he wanted to wait in the car, but Luka found he really didn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was afraid Marinette would panic if he let her out of his sight or because of the intense curiosity he had been feeling about her since she agreed to this mad adventure.

“Don’t say anything,” Marinette warned him as they went up the stairs. “I know it’s really childish looking, and I’ve been meaning to redecorate for years, but then I kept thinking I was moving out, and…none of it ever happened.” Marinette looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her messy bun was adorable, but it didn’t look very stable.

“Don’t apologize for liking what you like,” Luka told her sincerely, looking at the very girly pink room. Not what he would have expected from the girl he saw leaning on the bar last night, but now that he’d spent time with her, it fit. Another bit of that song he’d been thinking about clicked into place as he squeezed Marinette’s hand. “We’ve got ten minutes,” he told her. “Just grab the personal stuff you really need. We can pick up anything you forget Stateside.”

“Right. Okay.” Marinette hesitated for a moment, making abortive moves in several different directions before committing to one. Luka chuckled, but once she got moving, she moved like lightning. Before he could blink there was a pink polkadot hardshell suitcase open on the chaise, and Marinette’s distractingly perfect lips were silently moving as she pivoted and ducked and grabbed items to throw inside. Despite his offer to buy her clothes, she threw her closet door open and snatched things off hangers to stuff in the bag. She pulled something red and sparkly out of a drawer that absolutely piqued Luka’s interest, but it was in the bag before he could get more than a glimpse. He started to take a step forward but had to step right back when Marinette rushed by him, muttering under her breath. He could feel the manic energy spilling out of her and his hand twitched with the urge to grab hers, to pull her in and get her to breathe for a minute—but they really didn’t have much time, so he clamped down on the impulse and let her do what she needed to do.

He couldn’t help glancing around curiously, taking in the different types of sewing machines, the cones of thread, several poster boards of color swatches and pictures. Mood boards, he realized. “You’re a designer?” he asked, and Marinette paused, turning to look at him in surprise. He nodded towards the mood boards. “My sister’s a model,” he explained. “I’ve seen a designer’s studio before.”

“Oh—well—I mean, yes, but—it’s complicated,” she said, and Luka nodded.

“Sorry, don’t let me distract you,” he said, waving her on. They were on a schedule, after all. He shouldn’t have interrupted her flow, it was just…He let his eyes rove over the pictures and clippings on the walls and resisted the impulse to poke around on her desk.

She paused in the middle of the room, silently ticking off her fingers as if going through a mental list. Then she did one more quick spin, eyes roving over the room. She turned to her suitcase and shut it, leaning on the lid as she reached down to snap the clasps. She pulled it off the chair and set it on its wheels on the floor. She looked up at him with a delighted grin. Her eyes were bright and her hair had come loose from all her sharp turns, and her beautiful eyes were huge and bright with excitement.

I love this girl, Luka thought giddily, and then had to choke on a laugh. What? Where did that even come from? Spending the night with a girl and then standing in her apartment for less than ten minutes—who decides they’re in love after that ?

Me, apparently, he thought, feeling the grin growing on his face as he looked back at her. Don’t be stupid, Luka. You’ll get overinvested and end up breaking the girl’s heart, if you don’t scare her off before we even make it to the airport.

He was already reaching to offer his hand, though, and she took it, dragging her suitcase behind her as they headed for the staircase.

Marinette was still going through things in her mind as Luka carried her suitcase down the stairs, trying to make sure she had everything she needed and reassuring herself that they weren’t traveling into the wilderness, and she could probably buy anything she had missed as long as she had her important documents with her.

The driver was leaning against the car, frowning at his phone and obviously anxious to leave. Luka gave him Marinette’s suitcase to throw in the back, and then opened the door. Marinette almost tripped in her hurry to get in and keep them from being delayed any longer. She rubbed her ankle as Luka slid in beside her. Marinette lurched against him as the anxious driver pulled sharply into the traffic.

“Sorry,” she gasped as he helped her right herself. She groped for the seatbelt, and jerked it across herself, snapping it into the buckle as they made another sharp turn.

Luka let out a breath as he finished doing the same, and leaned back. “Gotta love Paris traffic,” he sighed, and added under his breath, “and Paris drivers. Not that New York is much better.”

Marinette smiled a little shakily, twisting her hands together in her lap.

Back in the car, Luka took her hand, gently curling his fingers around it. “How are you feeling? Still sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Marinette smiled, surprised to realize she meant it—the little voice screaming in her head that this was crazy seemed to have given up for now. She was absolutely doing this. Impulsively, she leaned in and curled her hand around the back of Luka’s neck, pulling him into a kiss. He made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and opened his mouth for her as his hand left hers to squeeze her thigh.

The kiss was hot, and it sent shivers down her body, but it was different from the desperate, hungry energy of the night before. Softer, longer, not so rushed or single-minded. This was kissing for the enjoyment of it, not as a rush to something else. Luka’s hand on her thigh came up to cup her cheek, and he managed to wiggle his other arm between her and the seat to wrap around her waist, his fingers kneading gently into her lower back.

She pulled away sooner than she wanted to, conscious of the driver in the front, though he was so busy swearing under his breath at the other cars that she hoped he hadn’t taken too much note of the spectacle she was making. Luka let her break from him, but kept kissing her cheek, her jaw, up near her ear, until she scolded him quietly and put a hand on his chest to stop him from leaning in again. He grinned at her and settled back against the seat with his arm around her shoulders. Marinette smiled and leaned on him, breathing in his clean scent and light cologne.

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew was Luka quietly calling her name. She had just enough time to register that before the car door opening made her jump, and Luka helped her out of the car as she tried to bring herself fully awake.

“Sorr—” she began, but Luka hushed her.

“There will probably be reporters,” he told her, putting his arm around her waist. “Don’t say anything and don’t let anyone separate us. If the cameras bother you just hide your face on me. I’ll handle the rest.”

Marinette nodded, still feeling a little confused. “My bag—”

“My staff will handle it. Ready?”

She wasn’t, but she nodded anyway. Luka kept her hip pressed tight to his as they walked into the crowd of reporters. Figuring it was better to look shy than bewildered, Marinette turned her face into Luka’s arm. She peeked just enough to see where they were going and to see black-clad security making a path for them. Luka just walked straight forward, answering no questions and keeping a calm, disinterested expression. This must be normal for him, she figured. He was used to it.

She wasn’t exactly used to it, but Luka’s calm made it easy to keep her own, and she just concentrated on not tripping on her own feet or Luka’s.

“You all right?” he asked, once they were inside. “You handled that well.”

“Y-yeah,” she said, and tried to smile up at him.

“Sorry, I should have warned you about that. They’ll probably pop up a few more times until we get through security, but then we should be clear, at least for a while.”

“It’s all right.”

It wasn’t Marinette’s first introduction to the lifestyles of the rich and famous, but they’d never been up in her face before. She was, she admitted to herself, a little shaken, but not too much.

Everything went fast after that. Despite her cadre of famous friends, Marinette was still caught off-guard at how much easier everything could be when people knew your face. In some ways, at least.

Luka did stop in the airport for pictures with fans, and to sign a few autographs, but a short, stocky young man turned up before they were halfway to the security desk and began hustling them along.

“Oh good, you made it,” he puffed, a little out of breath and a little red in the face. “We need to get you through security and then you can schmooze if you want.”

“Marinette, this is Emilio,” Luka said dryly, giving her an apologetic grin as he lengthened his stride a bit. Emilio was only a little taller than Marinette but he set a brisk pace. “He’s my assistant. It’s his job to make sure I get where I’m supposed to be before I’m supposed to get there.”

Emilio rolled his eyes. “He’d never get anywhere on time if it weren’t for me.”

“That’s not my fault,” Luka protested.

“You’re just too nice to say no to fans without me to be the bad guy,” Emilio shot back.

“That is why I hired you,” Luka admitted.

Emilio rolled his eyes, and then offered Marinette a flustered grin. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

“Marinette,” she put in.

“Marinette. Sorry to rush you both along—”

“You know we’re just going to end up sitting in the lounge waiting on the crew to get the plane ready,” Luka complained.

“—but security doesn’t care how famous you are,” Emilio finished pointedly.

Luka rolled his eyes, but kept pace with Emilio, Marinette’s hand clutched in his own.

***

“I hate the hurry up and wait schtick,” Luka complained, reaching to open the door to the private rich-people lounge. “But it’s so much better than it was when we were flying commercial. At least it’ll be quiet in here.” He hesitated, and pulled his hand back, taking Marinette’s arm and moving her a few steps away.

“What’s wrong?” Marinette asked.

“I just figured we should get our story straight before we go in there,” Luka replied with an embarrassed smile that Marinette found rather sweet. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, blinking. “That makes sense.”

Luka seemed to hesitate for a moment, licking his lips as he tried to decide what he wanted to say. She had noticed that it sometimes took him a moment to think through his words, and she found she liked it—both that he was so careful and thoughtful about what he said, and the reminder that, famous or not, in some ways he was still just a regular guy.

“Would you be comfortable with me introducing you as my girlfriend?” he finally asked. “That would probably be simplest.”

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” she asked slowly. “Or if I’m okay with being called that?”

Luka shrugged, and she was amused to see the high points of his cheeks turning pink. “Either. Both. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He hesitated again, and then said quickly, “Yes, I’m asking you to be my girlfriend. For however long this lasts, at least.”

Marinette wasn’t sure if she was more thrown by the request or by the corollary.

Luka sighed, running his fingers through his hair, and let his bag slip off his shoulder to the floor. “This is why I hate labels,” he muttered, and then tried to grin at her. “We can talk about what all it means when we get to New York and have some privacy, I promise. Right now I just mean that I’m with you and only you, until you—or we, I guess—decide we want something to change. Does that work?”

Marinette considered that for a moment, and then nodded. It would make things easier to have a title that people understood, and it came with a set of assumptions that would benefit them both for now. He was right, and they could work out the real meaning of what they were to each other when they got to New York. Worst case scenario, we have some fun, you can hang out at the hotel while I do my shows, we see the sights, and I buy you a plane ticket home when you get sick of me. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder what he considered the best case scenario.

The quick flash of his smile, a real smile, and the excitement in his eyes as he picked up his bag and took her hand, made her smile too, and she let him lead her into the lounge.

There was a group of people lounging in and around chairs, most of them sporting earbuds amongst the glint of their piercings. Luka called out to them, and they all smiled, turning towards him.

“Guys, this is Marinette, my girlfriend.” He grinned at her like the word delighted him, despite his grumbling about labels. “She’s going to be hanging out with us for the next few stops.”

The reactions were all surprised to some degree, but then friendly as they nodded, smiled, or gave a small wave. Marinette made a self-conscious little wave of her own. “Nice to meet you all,” she said. “Sorry if I made Luka late.”

She got a few chuckles at that. One green-haired girl rolled her eyes with a good-natured smile, and said, “We’re always waiting on somebody or other, it feels like. I guess it’s Luka’s turn. We’re not on the plane yet so we probably have at least another hour before we can take off anyway.”

Marinette smiled back, and tried to pay attention while Luka gave names and roles. Then he tugged her away, pulling her towards a separate group of chairs.

“Don’t you want to sit with your friends?” Marinette asked.

“Later,” Luka told her, squeezing her hand. “I have some things I want to work on, and I need a little space.” He gave her hand another little tug before she could offer to leave him alone. “You can stay, I don’t mind. And I’m definitely not leaving you with those maniacs by yourself.”

Marinette laughed, and sat down in the seat he indicated.

“You want a drink?” Luka asked, and when she nodded, he went to the lounge’s little bar and brought back two bottles of water. Marinette was already digging in her capacious purse.

“I need to call Alya,” she sighed, pulling out the phone charger she had stuffed into it during her packing frenzy. She plugged her phone and charger into the port in the table next to her as Luka set her water down on it. “She’s probably frothing at the mouth by now. How do you know her, anyway?”

“Know who?” Luka asked, settling back with a notebook balanced on one knee and the other water bottle in his hand.

“Alya.” Marinette watched him throw his head back and drink, and had to look away.

“I don’t know anyone named Alya,” he said when he lowered the bottle.

Marinette frowned at him, twisting open her own water. “Alya Cesaire? She said you wanted to meet me last night. That’s why I was in the lounge. Security let me in and everything.”

Luka’s eyebrows raised slightly. “I didn’t know you were going to be in the lounge. It was supposed to be closed off to the public.”

“It was. I had to get Security to let me in.”

“They just let you in?”

“Well, I had to give them my name at the backstage door, and then they took me to the lounge and let me in. Because you asked to meet me.”

Luka shook his head slowly. “I don’t know who you were supposed to meet there, but it wasn’t me. I’m glad you were there, but I definitely didn’t ask to meet you.”

Marinette stared at him for a full three seconds, not even blinking, before she could get his words to make sense. “O-oh. Oh. Oh, um.” She put a hand over her mouth. “S-she didn’t tell me who I was supposed to be meeting, and when you came in I thought—oh my God. Oh my God. ”

Luka frowned, studying her face. “Does it have to change anything?”

“Yes! …No. No, I guess it doesn’t. Shouldn’t it though?” She moved her hand to her forehead, feeling almost dizzy from the sudden change in her perspective.

“I don’t really see why.” Luka picked up her other hand, rubbing his thumb across the back of it. “We met. We had a good time. We liked each other and we want to see where things go.” He hesitated. “I mean, if you really wanted to meet this mystery person then—”

Marinette shook her head weakly. She hadn’t really cared that much, and had only gone to make

Alya happy, and because she was bored and depressed and any kind of escape from her daily life seemed appealing.

Well. She sure got that much, didn’t she? She was shaking, and could barely meet Luka’s gaze as he continued, “Then…it seems like we should be okay?”

“I guess we are, I just…” Marinette shrank a little, grabbing a handful of hair and tugging sharply. “I feel stupid. I thought—I mean I thought you wanted me, all that time, and—”

“I did,” Luka cut her off, squeezing her hand. “From the moment I saw you leaning against that bar.”

“Not like that ,” Marinette groaned, and then amended, “Well, not just like that. I mean—” She stopped, her thoughts hopelessly tangled, trying to figure out what she had been thinking last night—was it only last night? It seemed like so long ago.

“It’s not just like that,” Luka said, pulling her knuckles to her lips. “Not anymore. I promise, Marinette. So let’s just roll with it, okay?” He cupped her cheek to turn her face towards him, and she took in the worried look on his face. Her breath hitched a little, and then she put her hand over his.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” She smiled at him. He smiled back, and leaned forward to kiss her softly.

“Anytime you want out, you just tell me,” he whispered. “I’ll send you straight home, no hard feelings.”

“I don’t want out,” she blurted, almost before he was done talking. “I don’t, Luka. I’m sorry, it just…it startled me.” She studied him. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“A little,” Luka admitted. “I don’t really love the idea that you only—” he glanced towards the band, but no one was paying attention to them, “—did what you did because you were expecting—” he paused. “What were you expecting?”

Marinette groaned, putting her face in her hand. “I don’t even know. Honestly, Alya’s setups have never worked out before. I just thought—well, when I saw you, I thought…” She felt her face going redder and redder.

“You thought, you might as well hit that?”

“No!” Marinette said, horrified, but when she looked up she saw that Luka was grinning.

“Hey, I’m not going to pretend I was thinking anything different,” he teased. “But I think it worked out.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and Marinette burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it, he looked so silly.

“It did,” she giggled. “And now I’m running away with the hot rock star.”

“You’re the first groupie I’ve ever kidnapped,” Luka teased. Despite his light tone, she felt the way his grip on her hand softened. Not like he was letting go, more just a release of tension. She’d worried him, she realized.

“I’m glad things turned out the way they did,” she told him, making sure to meet his eyes and squeeze his hand back. His shoulders relaxed a little, and she smiled at him with genuine fondness. She was learning to read him, she realized. He kept a lot behind that laid back attitude, she was beginning to see.

Still.

“I really need to talk to Alya now,” she groaned.

“You need me to give you a minute?” Luka asked, and she shook her head, picking up her phone. It had enough battery now to power on and sure enough, there were a bunch of messages waiting for her. One was just a check in from her parents, and she sent them back a quick, mostly-true reply. She didn’t bother with the ones from Alya, just hit the button to call her. She held it away from her ear until she heard Alya’s voice screeching her name—her full name, of course, and then brought it back to her ear when Alya’s voice dropped to a more normal volume.

“Where have you been ?” Alya demanded. “I almost called the police and reported you missing. Adrien said you never showed up and—”

“ Adrien ?” Marinette demanded, and Luka glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “The mystery man you wanted me to meet was Adrien? ”

“Yes, and you blew it!”

“There was nothing to blow, Alya!” Marinette exclaimed, and then scowled at Luka when he choked on a laugh next to her. She flailed her hand in his direction, smacking his shoulder a couple of times, while he tried to smother his chortling. “Would you please just let that whole thing go? Why on earth would you think I wanted to meet him?” Dressed like that, she thought, slapping a hand on her face. What a disaster that would have been, she was sure.

“Oh, come on, he said he wanted to see you, and he’d been missing you a lot, and I just knew he’d finally gotten a clue and you were so hot last night I thought for sure—”

“She’s not wrong,” Luka muttered, and Marinette whipped her head around to glare at him. He shrugged. “Sorry, she’s loud.”

“Anyway,” Alya said, finally taking a breath, as Marinette turned her back to Luka. “Never mind all of that, where were you? You stood him up and—”

“I thought he stood me up!” Marinette broke in. “He was late ! I almost left, I decided to just have a quick drink first, and then L—and then someone came in, and I thought he was who you were setting me up with, and—and we went out. For a while.” She wouldn’t turn and look at Luka. She wouldn’t. She was sure he was laughing at her again. “My phone died. Alya, I can’t believe you tried to set me up with Adrien again. And you didn’t even warn me!”

“Adrien’s always late these days, it’s the cost of fame. He can’t walk to the bathroom without getting stopped for autographs and selfies, and he’s too nice to say no.”

“Well, you should have warned me about that too then.”

“I just thought you’d be less of a spazz if you didn’t have time to overthink it first!”

Marinette closed her eyes. “Alya, when has that ever worked.” Especially with Adrien.

“Okay, okay,” Alya groaned. “I just thought, it would be so romantic, one last chance after you both thought that it was over for good—it would have made such a story!”

“I’m not a story, Alya,” Marinette folded her free arm and pouted.

“Well there must be some story. Spill it, Marinette, who’s the guy you ran into? Please don’t tell me you blew off Adrien Agreste, Supermodel Actor, for some pathetic roadie who bought you a drink.”

Marinette’s eyebrows raised, and she glanced over her shoulder at Luka. “I definitely did not do that. I’ll tell you about it later, I’m—” about to get on a plane with a guy I just met “—busy.”

“And we’re back to the same old refrain,” Alya groaned. “You need to live a little, Marinette.”

“I’m hanging up now, Alya.”

“Marineeeeeeeeeette,” Alya whined, but Marinette rolled her eyes and ended the call.

She dropped the phone on the table and folded her arms, sinking into her chair as she pouted.

“You okay?” Luka asked, draping his arm behind her and letting his fingers play with her loose hair.

“Yeah.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “She’s just determined to make me the main character in one of her screenplays, I swear. You’d think a writer would know better how unrealistic that all is.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and Marinette closed her eyes as Luka’s fingers moved to the back of her neck, massaging gently.

“Well, if you want,” he said slowly, and she looked at him. “We can absolutely give her a story. Maybe not the one she was hoping for, but…”

Marinette tilted her head curiously. “What do you mean?”

Luka leaned toward her, a wicked grin on his face that made her insides melt a little, and whispered a plan in her ear.

Marinette’s mouth twitched as she tried to keep in her smile. “I’ll think about it.”

***

The band’s private jet made her jaw drop in spite of herself.

“Wow,” she muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, it seems a little extravagant,” Luka confessed, running a self-conscious hand through his hair. “But commercial travel just got too difficult with all of our gear and the band and the staff. Not to mention the fans and the reporters. It’s just easier this way, and I have to admit, way more comfortable for an 8-hour flight. We use trains here on the continent but it’s hard to get around the US that way.”

“It’s really nice,” Marinette said, smiling at him. It was, too, with large, plush single seats on each side and a matching couch beyond. There was a sliding wood-panel pushed aside so that she could see the same type of single seats lining the cabin beyond.

“It keeps us from killing each other at least,” he said lightly. “Pick a seat. We’ll stay up here so you—so we can have some privacy.”

Marinette sat a little gingerly in one of the plush seats. There was a wooden rail at her elbow with drink holders in it

“Need anything else?” Luka asked, and Marinette smiled at him, and shook her head.

“I’m good.”

“Do you mind if I leave you for a bit?” he asked, tilting his head towards the couch behind the forward-facing seats. A slightly battered looking black-and-white guitar was strapped into a stand there. “I have some things I’d like to work on while we’re in the air.”

“Of course. I don’t want to get in the way of your work.”

He smiled at her. “Come and get me or call Emilio if you need anything.”

Marinette pulled her own notebook out of her bag. She curled up in the plane seat and looked out of the window, idly sketching random shapes as a warmup.

Luka also warmed up behind her, playing scales and other short ditties she didn’t know well enough to identify. Eventually he segued into another tune that she recognized from the concert, and then another.

Then he started playing something she hadn’t heard before. The melody inexplicably made her heart beat faster. It was new, but also…familiar. Not the tune, but the way it made her feel. It reminded her of…

Marinette peeked around the side of her seat and watched him for a moment. Luka was electric on stage, charged up and full of energy, but his face now was thoughtful, his brow slightly furrowed, his eyes closed even though his fingers were moving unerringly across the strings. Occasionally he would stop and go back, replaying a piece he’d just done but with some changes. It was a fascinating look at a process Marinette had never put much thought into.

Just then, someone—she thought it was the drummer, but she was still fuzzy on names—stuck their head in through the partition. “That a new one, Luka?” he asked, and Luka made an affirmative noise, but didn’t look up from his instrument. Apparently this was normal for him, because the person just grinned, and then grinned wider when he saw Marinette, and disappeared back behind the partition.

Marinette relaxed back in her seat, looking out of the window. The sun was setting, and she took out her colored pencils to capture the colors. It was weirdly refreshing, she found, to be drawing without a real goal, without a client or a concept in mind. Just…exploring, and recording, and letting her thoughts go where they wanted. She jotted notes on the margin or the next page any time something interesting occurred to her, but otherwise she just let her mind wander. She sketched the sunset, and then the pattern of the wood grain on the drink rail beside her, and anything else that caught her eye. Then she started sketching from memory; the backlit drink display from last night, one of Luka’s tattoos, the curve of his shoulder and neck emerging from the sheet—

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about that all of a sudden? She swallowed and turned the page.

“Hey.” She jumped as Luka’s voice came from behind her. “You still doing okay?” he asked, with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said, unsuccessfully covering a yawn.

“I’m done for a little while,” he said. “If you want you can come lay on the couch back here and take a nap. It’s going to be late night Paris time by the time we land in New York.”

“Thanks. I might in a little while.”

“I’ve got to take a meeting with the guys in the back,” he said, stroking a gentle hand over her hair. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Call me if—”

“—I need anything.” She smiled. “I’m really fine.”

“Okay.” He leaned forward, and kissed her forehead before retreating to the back of the plane. She heard some catcalls and whistles and a good-natured, “Yeah, yeah, knock it off,” before he slid the partition shut.

It was funny, she thought, he really did treat her like she was his girlfriend, and not just a fuckbuddy or arm candy, either. The idea of that chat they were supposed to have, about what they really were to each other, suddenly made her stomach feel funny.

This whole scenario was so insane. She couldn’t believe she could possibly be so good at sex that the hottest rock star on the planet (in all possible meanings of the world) would be enthralled by her. He hadn’t even tried anything sexual since they went to sleep last night. Though there hadn’t been many private moments. A salacious thought or two crossed her mind about joining the mile high club when he came back, but she wasn’t sure she was bold enough to have sex with him with just that one little fake wood sliding wall separating them from his entire staff.

Marinette licked her lips and closed her sketchbook decisively. No more drawing in this mood. She got out her earphones and plugged them in, and turned some music on her phone. She didn’t have anything from Luka. She’d have to fix that soon. She really had had her head in the sand, Marinette thought, to have missed out on his music for this long. She put her chin on her fist and looked out at the night sky. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting out there now, the jet’s lights drowning at the stars and nothing but clouds or ocean below them, too dark to see clearly.

Before long, she felt her eyes dropping, and her head nodding, so she moved over to the couch and stretched out. It was surprisingly comfortable, though she would have liked a pillow. She folded her arms under her head, and dropped off quickly.

She woke with a start when someone touched her.

“It’s just me,” Luka said, kissing her cheek. “Can I join you?”

Marinette hummed agreement and scooted against the back of the couch. Luka somehow folded his lanky form onto the couch with her, tucking his bent legs between hers. He’d brought a pillow from somewhere that he propped under his own head, and his arms became Marinette’s pillow. Her neck was probably going to complain in the morning, but Luka was warm and smelled nice, and she was asleep again before she could overthink it.

Emilio woke them up in time to strap in for their landing in New York. Luka gave Marinette an adorable sleepy smile as they both buckled in, and he reached his hand across the aisle. Marinette put her hand in his and felt him squeeze it.

The airport wasn’t very full and all the shops were quiet and dark as they walked through. They mostly passed unremarked until they got to the door where their ride would be waiting.

“Pappos ahoy,” Luka said quietly, leaning over Marinette’s shoulder. She could see the people milling around outside of the airport doors and at least one of them had a camera. “Have you decided?”

Marinette looked up at him and nodded.

“Let’s do this then,” Luka grinned, and Marinette had to grin back. She reached up and smoothed her hair self-consciously, and felt Luka’s arm curl around her waist.

They walked out of the door that way, Marinette keeping her face up and smiling brightly. Neither of them spoke to any of the reporters that shouted at them, looking only at each other.

As the driver opened the car door to let them in, they turned to each other. Marinette put her arms around his neck, and pressed up on her toes. He met her halfway in a soft, long kiss, giving plenty of time for the cameras to catch the whole thing. The flurry of shutter clicks was still going when they parted. Luka helped Marinette in the car and then slid in after her, kissing her one more time before the door closed.

There’s your story, Alya, Marinette thought smugly, settling into the car seat.

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