Chapter Text
It was almost three AM when Marinette heard the knock on her front door. Actually, she didn’t hear the knocking at first – she hadn’t heard much of anything, as she had been sleeping, like normal people do at…2:46 AM. The only reason she got up to answer the door was because the knocker was persistent – and, after what her kwami had balefully informed her was a good ten minutes of disrupted sleep, Tikki had woken her up.
…she was going to murder whoever was on the other side of her door.
They were still knocking by the time she had pulled on her robe and made her way through the flat to yank the front door open with an irritated, grumbly “What?!”
Luka blinked stupidly at her from the hall, his fist raised to start banging again. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, his face was flushed, his clothes (his nice clothes, she couldn’t help but notice) rumpled, and…was that a twig in his hair?
“Luka?” she asked, blinking back at him. He swallowed, still watching her, before he nodded and clapped his hands on her shoulders.
“Marinette,” he said, voice slurry but serious. Was he…was he drunk? “I need a favor.”
“O…ok?” she answered. He pursed his lips and studied her, as if he was suddenly unsure now that the moment of actual asking had come. Or…or as if he was just drunk enough that he was seeing maybe three of her and couldn’t decide which one to ask, she realized as his eyes drifted between her face and the sides of her head a few times.
“It’s kind of a big one,” he finally said, focusing on the her in the center. The real her. He squeezed her shoulders. “Like…huge.”
“Whatever you need, Luka,” she said, reaching up to grasp his wrists. Her thumbs brushed against his bracelets and cuffs, and he smiled a little stupidly at that. Without her hands holding it in place, her robe fell open, and his eyes darted down to the tank and sleep shorts she wore underneath. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He was honestly starting to scare her a little. “I’ll do it.”
He swallowed again, tearing his eyes away from her pajamas and back to her face. His eyes were still glassy and bright as he brought his hands up from her shoulders to cup her face. He leaned in until their foreheads touched, his eyes nearly crossing as he stared into her own.
“I need you to marry me,” he said, voice steady and calm and so very serious. Despite the glassy eyes and what was definitely a twig that was now poking into her own hair.
…and what.
“S…sorry?” she coughed, nearly choking on the words in her suddenly too-dry throat. He took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes. She could definitely smell alcohol on his breath. What the hell had even happened? Luka…ok, he’d been drunk before, but rarely and usually only under duress and he’d definitely never showed up at her door at three AM and proposed because of it?
“Marry me,” he said, his thumbs brushing distractingly against her skin. She was amazed at how gentle his touch was, considering how intoxicated he seemed. “Tonight.”
“…it’s three in the morning,” she said, and his lips quirked in a smile.
“Tomorning, then,” he chuckled, but then he paused and seemed to think about it. “…nah. Still dark. Still night.”
“You’re drunk,” she said, but he just smiled at her like that didn’t really matter. Like that wasn’t influencing his decision-making process at all.
“C’mon, Mari,” he wheedled. “You said you’d do it. Whatever I need. I need you to marry me.”
“You need to come inside and sleep this off,” she said, squeezing his wrists. “We can talk about this in the morning.”
“We can be married by morning,” he said, opening his eyes and grinning at her.
“You can be throwing up by morning,” she tutted, though they both knew it was a lie. Luka had an impressive tolerance for alcohol as far as a lightweight like Marinette was concerned, and unfair as it was he would probably make it to morning with nothing worse than a minor headache.
“You can be my wife by morning,” he huffed. His smile turned lazy – stupid – again. “God, can you imagine that? You could be my wife.”
“We’re not even dating, Luka,” she said. For a crazy moment, she thought he was going to swoop in and kiss her. He was staring awfully hard at her mouth.
“…dating’s stupid,” he finally said, shaking his head. “What’s the point? I’m just gonna marry you anyway. I’ve wasted so much time with you, Marinette. I’m done wasting time. So let’s skip the more wasted time and start with the marrying me.”
“Dating is not stupid, Luka,” she said. She hated how she sounded like she was whining. “I…I like dating. I was…” she paused, swallowing, and her voice was barely above a whisper as she continued, “…I was looking forward to dating you.”
“God, I love you,” he breathed, and he did lean in to kiss her cheek that time. Her face burned where his lips touched. “I will date the hell out of you. After we’re married.”
“Luka!” she laughed (a little maniacally), and he chuckled as he pressed his forehead against hers. She rubbed her hands along his arms, sighing when he started humming. She only sort of recognized the song: it was one she knew he’d been working on for a while, but as far as she knew wasn’t done yet. Sometimes, it felt like he’d been stuck on it since she was fifteen. “C’mon. Stop…what brought this on, anyway?”
“I don’t want to go to label parties alone anymore,” he said. She blinked, and the next thing she knew his hands were off of her face. His arms had wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close, and he turned his head to press his cheek against her hair. “I would always have a date if we were married.”
“…we don’t have to be married for me to join you at a party, though?” she laughed a little nervously. He shook his head.
“I want you there, by my side, your ring on my finger…and guys don’t wear engagement rings, so we have to get married,” he said, nodding. She could feel her hair sliding under his cheek. It kind of tickled. “Chloé might keep her fucking hands to herself if I had your ring.”
“Wait, what?” she asked, her hand tensing where it had landed on his shoulder. The other was in his hair, and it had also stilled at his words, pulling his hair a little as she tried not to make a fist. She couldn’t have heard him right.
“I hate her so much, Mari,” he sighed. “Girl can’t take a fucking hint. She just grabbed me, like I have any interest in her. She’d have to stay away if my wife was there, right? And then my wife could grab me.”
“Grab you…grab you where, Luka?” she asked, the rush of anger suddenly making her wide awake. It wouldn’t be the first time Chloé had gotten handsy around the rising rock star, especially if she’d had alcohol herself. Marinette still remembered the release party where Chloé, drunk on too many fruity cocktails, had congratulated Luka by slapping and grabbing a handful of his ass. He made a little noise but didn’t actually answer, instead pressing his face into her hair. “Luka. Did she…where…”
“It’s not important,” he sighed. She couldn’t help but think it really was. “I got away from her. And I maybe took Ding up on a few shots after. And I kept thinking…Mari should be here. Mari could grab my junk in public and I wouldn’t punch her in the face. I…I might have a restraining order in the morning? Roger was talking too fast. Or Chloé was yelling too much.”
“You what?” she squeaked. He hummed, snuggling closer. “Luka. What the fuck –”
“God, you’re hot when you cuss,” he murmured with a breathy laugh. “C’mon. We can go to the Liberty and Ma can have us married in twenty minutes.” He paused and stood a bit straighter, lifting his head to frown at the ceiling. She just stared at him as he puffed out his lips and tilted his head from side to side, considering. “Wait…no. Maybe thirty? I can’t remember where she’s moored this week.”
“Luka, we can’t…she can’t…” she groaned and tightened her hands on his arms. He looked back at her, that silly little smile back on his face. “Come in and sleep this off. We’ll…we can talk about this in the morning, ok?”
“I don’t need sleep, Marinette – I need to marry you,” he huffed. His hands were on her face again. “Why aren’t we married already?”
“Because we’ve never even dated,” she reminded him, and he rolled his eyes.
“Ok, well, why haven’t we done that, either? Damn it, Marinette, why am I such a fucking idiot with you?” he groaned. “Why have I wasted so much time? Why didn’t I ever ask you out?”
“…you’re too drunk for this conversation, Luka,” she said shakily, moving her hands back to his wrists. “Or…or I’m not drunk enough.”
“I can get you a drink on the way to Ma’s,” he said. “Or we can get you a drink there. God knows she’s stocked.”
“We are definitely not getting married tonight if you get me drunk,” she snapped. He didn’t seem to notice her tone, though.
“…so you’ll marry me if you’re not drunk? Ok. Let’s go,” he said, stepping away. She didn’t move when he tugged on her hand, though. He looked back at her with a frown. “Mari. Boat’s that way,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. He paused and looked around, orienting himself. “Or…that way. Some way. Gotta get outside first, though, and I’m pretty sure the lift was back that way.”
“Luka, we’re not going to the Liberty!” she sighed, pulling him back to her. “Besides, we’d have to stop at a courthouse first, or –”
“Ma keeps extra licenses around,” he said, shaking his head. “In case. Y’know. People always looking for a random captain to marry ‘em. We’re good. We’re good?”
“We’re really not, Luka,” she sighed. “We’re…ok. Ok. We’re gonna go get some sleep, ok? And if you still want to do this in the morning, we’ll…we’ll go see the Captain, ok?”
“I’ll still need to marry you in the morning, Marinette,” he said, pulling her against his chest. His lips were against her temple, hot and soft and making her wonder what they’d feel like against… “I don’t want to waste another second. I want…I…”
“…need to sleep,” she said, pressing her face against his chest. “Come on inside, Luka.”
“…I can stay?” he asked, and she nodded. “With you?” Another nod. “…for good?”
“Ask me in the morning,” she sighed, tugging him through her door. She kicked it closed and pushed him towards her room, trusting Tikki to make sure the door was locked. Luka moved…not easily, not really, as the alcohol had made him heavy-footed and shambly, but he still went where she led him.
…he always had, if she let herself think about it. She wasn’t sure she should be thinking about it. Not right now. Not when…
“You said it was three in the morning,” he said as she pushed him towards her bed. He sat down without thinking, grinning at her as she bent to remove his boots. She pursed her lips when she got a good look at his knees on the way: they were muddy, which only reminded her of the twig in his hair, and…did she really want him in her bed right now? She’d have to wash everything come morning. Maybe she should have left him on the couch… “Marinette. It’s morning now, Marinette.”
“Luka, what the hell happened?” she sighed, ignoring the way he was prodding at her shoulder. She couldn’t think about that right now. She couldn’t… “Where did all this mud come from?”
“Shit – sorry!” he yelped, and then she was yelping as he rushed to his feet. She had been halfway through removing his second boot, which he kicked unceremoniously towards her dresser. He was struggling with his jeans, his currently-less-than-agile fingers slipping against the button. “Lemme just…off…”
“Luka, wait, it’s fine! You can…you don’t…” she tried to say, but his jeans were already around his knees and he was bent over and blinking those wide, glassy eyes at her and…she swallowed when he smiled slowly. Her face felt like every ounce of blood had settled in her cheeks. That stupid smile had always been terribly unfair on her heart.
“It’s really rude,” he said slowly, dropping back onto her bed as his jeans fell to his ankles. He was still leaning towards her, and she swallowed as his hand cupped her burning cheek. “…really, really rude…to go to bed in muddy clothes. Especially if you want to stay in that bed.”
“Y-you…Luka…” she stammered, but her mouth snapped shut when his thumb brushed against her lip.
“Can I stay in your bed, Marinette?” he asked, angling his face as he leaned towards her. “Can I marry you and stay here forever?”
…he was trying to kill her, wasn’t he?
“Y-you…you’re drunk…” she argued weakly.
“Never been more clear in my life,” he whispered, the words a ghosted breath against her lips. “It hit me. About four shots in. Or maybe jumping the fence – Penny did a great job with those roses, but I’m pretty sure there’s thorns in my ass. Sometime after Chloé sent Roger after me. Or after I sent him on her.”
“What the hell happened tonight, Luka?” she asked softly, matching his quiet tone but still sounding dazed. He chuckled, his thumb still absently stroking her lip. She needed him to stop doing that: it was making her head as muddy as his jeans.
“Jagged threw a stupid party I was required to go to,” he said, his nose nudging hers. “And I realized we are not married enough for me to keep going to his parties alone. I’m really fucking sick of being alone, Mari.”
“Lu…Luka…” she breathed.
“…can I kiss you?” he asked, his eyes closing as his forehead pressed into her own. “Can I marry you? Can I stay with you?”
“Ask me tomorrow,” she said, gently pushing a hand against his chest. He leaned back, frowning as he blinked his eyes open. They were less bloodshot, but still hazy. She reached up and plucked the twig from his hair. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she held it up for him. “Maybe after you shower.”
“I…should sleep on the couch,” he said, nodding. She forced a smile on her lips and bent to pull his jeans the rest of the way off, dropping the twig on top of them once she’d set them aside. He chuckled and wiggled his socked toes at her. “I always knew you wanted to undress me.”
“…Luka, I will punch you in the face,” she said, though there wasn’t any animosity behind it. She glanced up at him with a smile, and he took a shaky breath. “Go to sleep.”
“Stay with me,” he said. When she pursed her lips, he reached for her hands and pulled her up until she was standing – and then pulled again, until she settled on his lap with a squeak. His arms wrapped around her waist as her hands found his shoulders. “I need you to stay. I need you to marry me.”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning, Luka,” she said, patting his shoulder. His fingers were tapping along her lower back, and it wasn’t fair how every touch felt like an electric ping.
“Promise?” he asked. She pushed against his shoulders, and he went easier that time. She climbed off his lap and settled beside him, leaning back against the headboard and brushing her fingers through his bangs. She didn’t quite trust herself to lay down with him. That didn’t stop him from tossing an arm across her lap and curling against her legs like he belonged there.
“…promise,” she whispered, but she could already hear him snoring, his cheek pressed against her thigh. Her heart stuttered at the sight of his sleeping face, and she looked up with a thick swallow. Tikki was hovering just inside her open door, watching them with a soft smile on her face. The kwami giggled before zipping back into the living room, where her fellow kwamis were hidden around their little nests, hopefully still sleeping. She looked back down at Luka as he shifted, his hand curling around her hip and holding on. She sighed and dropped her head back against the headboard.
“…I am so fucked,” she mumbled. The answering giggles from the other room, all confirming her assessment, did nothing to make her feel any better.