(y/n) is a world renowned model, and when she packs her bags for Paris, some love interests of the superhero and super model variety come her way.
A little insight into this story:
The reader is very traditionally feminine, à la her career in mode...
When Valentina arrived, their arms were full of dress bags, and a drinks carrier with two (favourite drinks.)
They immediately set down the bags and hugged (y/n) on sight.
"(y/n), I have dreamt of the day that I finally got to dress you to go clubbing. And your début at Foncé?"
Valentina threw a bag at (y/n), unspokenly assigning her to dress in it.
"It will be legendary."
They took a sip from the straw of their drink as they watched (y/n) get changed. It was common practice between then, after years of being her personal stylist, Valentina and (y/n) were thick as thieves.
Once in the main outfit pieces , (y/n) twirled around for Valentina to see, they tugged at the hems and straps so it settled on her body perfectly.
Then, they pulled some accessories out of various bags to compliment it. The combination took several tries of shoes and jackets, but the final decision was perfect.
Valentina showed (y/n) to a mirror, as if displaying a find artwork in a gallery.
She stared at herself and ran her fingers over the rhinestoned fabric.
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"You don't think it's too much?"
(y/n) was suspicious of the amount of skin showing. She looked astonishing, but she feared the press reproductions of a scandalous outfit.
"You're going to Foncé, if you aren't dressed to the 10s, the tabloids will have your head. Trust me, have I ever failed you?"
She turned and admired her reflection as she contemplated.
"I trust you. How should I do my makeup?"
Valentina stripped the fur off (y/n)'s shoulders once the outfit was solidified, setting it aside for her to dress in later.
"Glitter, Lots of it. Gems. You have to sparkle or they wont let you in."
(y/n) paused mid motion as she undressed.
"What do you mean, 'wont let me in'?"
Valentina rolled her eyes and took another long , dramatic sip from their drink.
"Foncé. it's their whole idea. They make it pitch black and then shine lights into the crowd, everyone is a disco ball. I said I was surprised you got in, its ultra exclusive and 'très chic'" At the end, Valentina mocked a french dialect for effect.
(Y/n) picked up her own drink and sipped it down. The simple pleasure running down her throat as she relished in the treat.
In the empty space in her mind, (y/n)'s thoughts drifted to Adrien.
"Do you think Adrien will like it?"
Valentina rolled her eyes as they sprawled themself on (y/n)'s sofa.
