#zero to sixty couffaine

[verfound]

FIC: "The Rain had Other Ideas" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024; Lemony Fresh)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Mind the rating - this one's a bit explicit 🖤

Read on Ao3

Prompt 13: City Walks

Neither of them had been ready to call it a night yet.  Dinner was long past done, the bill had been paid, and the staff was starting to give them not-so-subtle little Looks that suggested they needed to vacate their table.  It was Friday night in Paris, after all, and they were far from the only customers waiting for service that night.  He had suggested taking a walk, because more than anything he had just wanted a little more time with her.  It was a nice night out: a little cloudy, a little cool, but not so bad that they wouldn’t enjoy some time strolling around the city catching up.

It had been too long, after all.  Since they’d seen each other for longer than a handful of minutes.  Since they’d both been in the same city for more than a handful of days.  Since she’d been able to remember what calm felt like, with his hand in hers and his presence grounding her.  Since he’d been able to get lost in the melody that always seemed to pour out of her, his favorite song for as long as he could remember.

He hadn’t wanted the night to end.  Not yet.

He hadn’t wanted them to be over.  Not so soon.

Not again.

Neither had she.

…the weather had had other ideas.

Her flat was closer than his, and added the luxury of no nosy sisters or sister-in-laws interrupting them with gentle ribbing or excited squeals.  And they’d both been soaked by the time they slipped through her door, so what happened next…

Well.

Could anyone really blame them?

Especially when she fell back against the door as soon as it was closed, looking up at him from under her lashes as her teeth pressed down on her lip, biting back a breathless laugh.  It was too easy to step closer, to rest his arms on either side of her, to crowd into her space just enough…

He waited.  Because of course he did – of course he was leaving the choice up to her, just like he always did – but she didn’t want to wait.  Not anymore.  Neither was really sure who moved first – whether he leaned in to close that last bit of distance, or if she tugged him down from the hands already fisted in his wet shirt – but the next thing either knew their mouths were pressed together in a hot, hungry kiss.

It was their first kiss.

It…didn’t feel like a first kiss.

It felt like a long time coming.

Like coming home.

Like neither was ready to be satisfied with just a kiss, and maybe that’s why.  Why his hoodie ended up on the floor by their feet, why her dress was already hanging open with the fingers steadily picking at the buttons moving lower and lower – and God damn it all, what masochist ever decided a dress needed that many buttons and how pissed would she be if he just…ripped the last few?  Why his mouth was already trailing along her jaw and down her neck and to the expanse of Marinette now open to him.  Why her head was already falling back against the door as she pushed herself closer, desperate for more and that and him.

He slid a little as his knees hit the wet floor – but that was only a reminder of how wet their clothes were, and wasn’t there some sage old wisdom about getting out of wet clothes before you caught cold?  He was still fumbling with the last few buttons – he wasn’t sure if the dress was a gift or a torture device anymore – when he noticed her shivering, her skin icy cold beneath his lips.  He did rip the last few when her fingers twisted in his hair and tugged, and she supposed she would have to forgive him for that – it wasn’t her favorite dress anyway, too many damn buttons – as he rose back up to press her against the door, covering her body with his own.

…even if his clothes were still wet, and they still needed gone, somehow it was still warmer.  With him against her like that.  It shouldn’t have been, she thought absently, but with his lips and hands on her like that…

But they had no idea what they were doing, beyond some carnal, primal instinct to get closer, so it was too easy for her to do a little hop-skip-jump, with the idea that she was going to be sexy and bold and lock her legs around his waist – just like all the romcoms said she was supposed to at this point – and…accidentally knee him in the groin.  And he dropped her as he stumbled back, his arms suddenly bracing against the door for an entirely different reason, but he was laughing – breathless, strained laughing – as he shook his head.  A thousand apologies tumbled from her lips, but the look in his eyes when he raised his head…his mouth was back on hers in a flash, and then she was squeaking when his hands cupped her ass and hauled her against him, lifting her just enough that she could scramble herself into position.

…neither really noticed, when her heels – because she wore heels now, and if that hadn’t royally fucked with his head when he’d met her at the restaurant earlier – dropped to the floor behind them, but he definitely noticed when her feet pushed just so against his ass.

And then he was moving, carrying her deeper into the flat – until his thighs banged into her coffee table.  They were both laughing as he stumbled towards the couch, dropping onto it less than gracefully as she asked if he was all right.  He kept her settled on top of him, and he was nuzzling her neck as he made some quip about how she was literally going to kill him.

He would still be hard-pressed to say what he’d meant, if what ultimately ended up killing him was her minefield of a flat or the sight (feel) of her half-dressed and sprawled out on his lap like…

…it was easier to carry on from here, though, so she just reached for his shirt and tugged it over his head.  There was a whispered promise about how that was the plan before she started kissing along his neck, and for a long moment he just…sat there, soaking up the moment.  Taking it all in: the feel of her against him, of her lips trailing fire along his skin, of fingers dancing down his chest.  To let his own hands wander, slipping into her open dress and sliding along smooth, smooth skin, until he was moving her arms back and watching her sleeves drop lower and lower, until the dress was barely a memory on the floor behind them.  To creep his hands higher, to find the hooks of her bra and, after a moment of curious fiddling, slip them open.  It was harder to be a passive participate once the straps slid down her shoulders and the cups dropped, revealing her perfect, creamy breasts to him.

They were lost in each other, ignorant to the world beyond the little space that was them and here and now.  Hawkmoth could come crashing through her balcony doors – not that he would, now that he’s been rotting in prison two, going on three years now – and it wouldn’t be enough to pull her away from him.  From the way his breath caught when she started fiddling with his belt – or how his hips rose to meet her when she started sliding his jeans off him.  How other things had already risen to meet her, and oh if that wasn’t something she wanted to spend the rest of the night – the rest of every night – exploring.  She had put him – them – on hold for too long, and now that she had him – now that he had her – neither were willing to give the other up.

Why had they waited so long?

Why had they spent so many years on wasted not yets and next times and somedays?

She remembered having a passing thought that first dates – first times – weren’t supposed to be like this, that maybe they were moving too fast, that maybe she should stop before they went too far…but too far was accepting his dinner invitation in the first place, and by the time he was hovering over her, desperate blue eyes searching her own as a whispered you’re sure? left his lips…there was nowhere else she’d rather be.  No one else she’d ever wanted to be with.

She’d made her choice, a long time ago.  She was just sorry it had taken her so long to finally act on it.

(…there had never been a choice, for him.  It had always been her.  It always would be.)

If kissing him had felt like coming home, she didn’t know how to describe the moment he was finally inside her.  He had no sooner pushed in than he’d stilled, and she was grateful for that – for the chance to adjust, to breathe, to just…be.  And maybe he needed that moment, too, so overwhelmed by the feelings – both physical and emotional, so much more than he had ever anticipated – suddenly crashing over him like the tide.  No, not…not suddenly, because there was never any suddenly with Marinette, but it was suddenly all too real, too much.

They were doing this.

They were finally doing this.

And she was clinging to him like she never wanted to let go – never wanted him to let go – and that was everything he had ever wanted.  And yeah, he needed a minute, to just lay there against her and soak it all in, to breathe and gather himself – as much as he wanted to gather her.  She moved first, her hand squeezing his shoulder as her face turned towards him, her nose brushing along his neck as she pushed out a steadying breath.  He felt like he was shaking, overwhelmed with it all, but maybe that was her – maybe it was both of them.  But then she was pushing up, lifting her hips just enough to press against his own, and a strangled little moan that sounded like move left her – and that was all the encouragement he needed.

And oh, once he started moving again…she surrendered herself to the moment, for once letting her brain shut off and letting herself just…be.  Every aching dream, every longing fantasy, the reality was so much better.  The feel of his lips on her skin, his cock buried inside her, the hand tangled in her hair and gently pulling with every thrust…it was so much better than she had ever dared to hope.  And when he shifted and sunk even deeper, hitting her just there…

If he had thought just being inside her was good, it had nothing on when she came.  She had already been gripping him so tight, but the way she clenched as her entire body tensed, trembling beneath him…he slowed, barely dragging out of her before sinking back in, over and over – anything to make the moment last longer.  Her head fell back, a quiet cry slipping past her lips, and oh.

He wanted more of that.

He wanted to hear that again, and louder, and for the rest of his life, if she’d let him.

He found himself redoubling his efforts, moving harder and faster against her until she was clinging to him again, barely hanging on as he drove her back to that point – back over that point, until it wasn’t just a cry but an outright scream she was gifting him with, and the groan that left him when she clamped down on his cock…

Her kisses were feather-light, little touches peppered along his neck and across his chest as she melted back into the couch.  Her lips lingered over his heart, searing his skin before her head fell back and hazy, satisfied eyes gleamed up at him.  He moved in for another kiss, his hand finding hers and holding it tightly as he pushed in and stilled, and God he was close…her other arm tightened around his shoulders, and her toes tickled along the back of his thigh, and he grunted as he pulled back and sank back in.

He wanted this to last.  He wanted to stay right where he was, safe inside her, forever.  He wanted to exhaust her, to make her come again and again until she was exhausted from the pleasure.  There was a part of him, a terrifyingly large part, that feared if he gave in, if he let this end…he didn’t want it to end.  He didn’t want them to end.  He…

“Let go,” she whispered in his ear, nipping by the stud before nuzzling her cheek against his.  “Come for me, Luka.”

And that was all he needed.  He snapped into her again, one, two, three more unsteady jerks of his hips, and then he was stilling against her as he emptied himself into her heat.  Her walls spasmed, fluttering around him, and he wasn’t sure if she was coming again – coming with him – or just still that sensitive from the last time, but the mewling little noise she made in his ear was one of his new favorite songs.

She was his favorite song, now more than ever, and he didn’t know how he could ever let her go.  Not again.  He wanted to spend the rest of his life…the rest of their lives learning how to play each other, familiarizing himself with their harmony until it was the only song he knew.  And maybe he was crazy, maybe it was moving way too fast, but when they had both finally started to come down and he was curled up behind her, nuzzling her neck as he fought the need to sleep he could feel drifting on the edges…maybe it was stupid, but it was too easy to voice that desire.

“…stay with me,” he whispered, begged, into her skin, and maybe it wasn’t so crazy, after all.  She was twisting suddenly, nearly knocking them off the couch – and God, she was going to hate herself for that later, because it was so much harder to clean a couch than a bed and they’d have so much more room besides – as she reached for his face, pulling it back to hers and kissing him as feverishly as she had before.

“Luka Couffaine, you silly, stupid, impossible man…” she breathed against his lips, her eyes burning into his, “…where else would I go?”

Outside, over the city, it rained on.  Inside, neither noticed as they drifted off, content to stay exactly where they were for the foreseeable future.

(…well.  Almost exactly where they were – Luka was willing to concede that the bed was a better option when Marinette moved in her sleep, rolling off the side of the couch and accidentally tugging him after her.  More room for lanky rock stars, she said.

Warmer, too.

And dryer.)

[verfound]

MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 31: Trick or Treat (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Ch31: Trick or Treat

“Mendeleiev had no right to send you there,” Luka bit.  She jumped when he slammed the fridge shut, the bottles in the door rattling from the force.

“She’s our boss,” she mumbled from where she was curled up on his couch.  “Head reaper.  I’m pretty sure that gives her every right.”

“Not there, Marinette.  Not tonight,” he said.  He came back out and handed her a bottle – sparkling water, the cherry flavored one she liked so much, she was relieved to see.  Drinking here – drinking with Luka, drinking after bad days, drinking anything stronger than sparkling water – tended to be…dangerous.  He sat down across from her when she took it, popping the lid on his own drink.  She almost smiled when she saw it was lemonade.  “Tomorrow’s Halloween.  Do you have any idea what happens on Halloween?”

“…kids go trick-or-treating, get hopped up on sugar, and terrorize their parents?” she guessed.  He choked on his drink, and she hid her smile with her knees.  “Sorry.”

“Yes, but no,” he laughed, shaking his head.  He put his drink down and turned to her, frowning.  “You show your face, Mari.  Your real face.”

She froze as his words sunk in.

“…my parents were at that party,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“They could have recognized you,” he said.  He sighed and reached for her, holding out his hand as he used the other to scrub at his eyes.  “Never mind the fucking haunted house.  I’m going to have words with her.”

“…I don’t understand why, though,” she said, shaking her head numbly.  “What’s…what’s so special about Halloween?  It’s just some stupid American craze.  Why does my face show?”

“It’s not just a ‘stupid American craze’, Marinette,” he said.  He wiggled his fingers at her again, and instead of taking his hand she put her drink on the table and threw herself at him, crawling into his lap.  He froze for a moment, but then he was wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.  Whatever this…whatever was between them, she was too tired to fight it tonight, and she found herself snuggling closer.  “It has deep roots.  Ancient roots.  In the Celtic festivals of Samhain.  Death gets a little closer to the living, and the veil thins just a bit more.”

“You sound like one of those crazy New Age people,” she mumbled into his chest.  His hand was absently combing through one of her pigtails, and he smiled as he gave it a gentle tug.

“Says the grim reaper,” he chuckled.  “I don’t know, Mari.  Some reapers say it’s just an old wives’ tale.  Most of us don’t seek out the people we knew to test it – or most of us can’t.  Fred…Fred did, though.  By accident.  Bumped into his daughter a few years back.  She…it didn’t end well.  Mylène fainted and hit her head on a bench.  Had to get checked out for trauma.”

“That’s horrible.  I think I prefer trick or treating,” Marinette said.  He hummed.  After a moment, she scrunched her hand in his shirt and turned to press her face against him.  He froze as she snuggled against him.  “Thank you.  For…for being there tonight.  For getting me out.”

“I hate that you were even put in that situation,” he grumbled, holding her closer.  “It was cruel.”

“But you were there, and it was…it was better,” she said.  Her fist tightened on his shirt, and she swallowed against the lump in her throat.  “…it’s always better.  With you.”

He sat up a bit, curling around her and holding her tighter.  Closer.  For a moment, she thought she felt his lips against her shoulder – against the bit of skin her collar revealed.  But…she had to be imagining that.

Right?

“I’ll always be there, Mari,” he whispered, and her heart stuttered in her chest.  She wondered at how quickly it could beat – how dizzy it could make her – when she was supposed to be dead.  When living things like beating hearts were supposed to be beyond her.  How Luka could make her feel like none of that mattered.

Like…like she could be alive again.

“Always.”