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okay, so.
marinette has a problem.
the problem is luka's hands.
no, no, that's not fair. actually, the problem is luka's entire arms— the hands are included, of course, but the arms thing. with his chest. and his shoulders. and his torso. okay, the top half of him. not really much of his legs, but those are... just as much of a problem. okay, yeah, she's having a problem. she's having a problem with him.
most specifically the arms, though.
she absolutely, positively, cannot stand the way he grips the steering wheel whenever he drives, because his hands are massive, and the steering wheel of his beatup mitsubishi is nothing but a tea-cup saucer, and she really, really likes them.
hello.
hi.
especially when he grips the wheel and his knuckles go white and it reminds her very, very much of something else.
“please,” she begs.
“no,” he responds, and he drums along the steering wheel in a delightful little pattern that she can't stop watching. tap tap tap. tap, tap, tap. tap... tap... tap... “we’re not stopping for coffee. put away the puppy eyes, kitty.” then, he adds, before she can even respond: “sorry, ‘coffee’.”
“i heard those quotation marks,” she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at him, though he doesn't meet her gaze to see it. he knows it's there. it's a sixth sense. just like he knew she was batting her eyes at him in a way he can't refuse. “are you just upset that i like good coffee?”
“good coffee," he scoffs, doing something with his palms against the wheel that has her brain starting to whirr. how is it that his hands are just so... big? "sorry, no, you mean american coffee. coffee that's just sugar and syrup.”
“and they’re right,” she argues. “please? as a thank you for coming with you to carrefour?”
“a thank you?” he laughs out loud, merging into a roundabout. hands. hands. hands, hands, hands. strong forearms. enticing biceps. she's a dog sitting outside a butchershop, waiting for someone to take pity and toss her a bone. he could crush her and she'd whimper out a thank you. “you invited yourself!”
she bites her lip. his hand is on the shiftknob so he can change gears. she's about to swoon. “i... uh—" what was she saying? "i don’t trust your yogurt choices.”
“greek yogurt is good.”
“it’s disgusting,” she continues, pointing at an exit that she wants him to take, because coffee is that way. he does. she doesn't have to give him directions, because he knows where they're going, because it's her favourite new coffeehouse. “anything that's not strawberry flavoured yogurt is a problem. what's with the adventurous streak with the vanilla flavour? coconut? are you out of your mind?”
“sometimes i wonder why your tastebuds are still so childish,” he teases. left hand in his lap for a moment. holy jesus. “sugary, strawberry—”
“let a woman live a little! i deserve treats! cute treats! big treats! cute, big treats!” she blinks at the silence, listening him tap, tap, tapping away. “hold on, hold it, i didn't invite myself, i live with you.”
“you couch surf.”
“you ass,” she giggles. “i do not. and since when do you consider your own bed a couch? pretty sure you were adamant about it being a futon when you first got it.”
he turns the ignition off before she even realizes it. here they are, in the parking lot, and she has yet to look away from that tender touch he has with his wheel.
"before we go in, look up at me for a second?"
"huh?"
he is way, way too close to her personal space when he leans over. blue eyes spark in the sunlight coming in and reflecting from the hood of the truck. "look up, kitty."
"yeah?"
god, he's gorgeous. she can't stop biting her lip, wiggling her tongue against her gums to make her canines stop humming.
"we can get your coffee. if"—a finger wag follows, touching her on the tip of her nose—"you stop looking at me like i'm a top sirloin."
she blinks passively. "what?"
"i know you well enough to know you get this look in your eye when you're hungry," he muses, thumb on her mouth. he presses in. lightly. just enough to squish her bottom lip. he's leaning over her in a way that feels like he's about to kiss her, maybe shut himself up for a little while, but he doesn't want to bridge the gap just yet. "you also do it when you're horny. i know you're not hungry because you tossed all of my offers to get beignets out the window, but you keep squirming in your seat everytime i move. you're salivating."
"i— i just want coffee," she wheezes.
"yeah? you sure?"
"y-yeah."
"so if i reach behind my seat to grab your purse, you're not going to hiss just because it makes my arms look nice?"
"i think you're overestimating how much i find you attractive."
"i am very much not," he laughs. "you're forgetting i've known you since whatever. let's get your drink and go home, you're not going to get any easier to keep still when you have sugar in you— remember that we need to pack away the groceries into the fridge before you jump me."
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