#So a class that would match his struggles with his intense moods felt fitting and interesting~

[fdragon-art]

Day 51 (30 Days | Homestuck - Day 29) - Fantrolls/Fankids time! ("Made of Rage (WIP)")

"The Mage of Rage can be especially volatile. Even while knowing their rage so fully, they're still unable to truly stop it. Handled well, and they may tear a path through enemies as easy as a knife through grub sauce.

Handled poorly? Well...let's not dwell about that, shall we?"

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[violettelueur]

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI || WITH YOU

| featuring : fushiguro megumi from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors, but other than that n/a

| form : imagine

| word count : 1773

| published : 05 december

| request : Can i have a regular black coffee with Megumi finding y/n crying on the bathroom floor bc she has been experiencing a burn out?🥺✨Your jujutsu kaisen writings is what keeps me sane at the moment💞😭✨

| barista’s notes : hey hey hey~ guess who is back? it’s me barista violettelueur ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆ and when i was typing this out, i was listening to ‘Lost in Paradise’ by ALI and AIKO, which all of you know, it’s jujutsu kaisen’s ending! i love it so so much  ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ but lowkey, it doesn’t match the theme of this imagine here ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ other than that, thank you so much for loving my work and for the cup of classic black coffee order (jujutsu kaisen request!) and please come again soon!

Exhausted. Heavy. Drained. That was all you felt.

Once you were able to go through the door of your dorm room, all you wanted to do was to fall flat on to the wooden floor and lay there for who knows how long. 5 minutes? 30 minutes? An hour? Maybe even a whole day? You were just extremely exhausted. However, you knew that you had to train with your classmates for the Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event the next day, so sleeping on the cold floor was no the best option.

Slowly struggling to make your way to your bathroom, you quickly gripped onto the side of the sink so you didn’t lose your balance due to your fatigue from today’s mission that you had to go on alone. From what you could even recall for the few past weeks, you were constantly being set on different missions at random times due to the lack of sorcerers there were in the school nowadays. From your knowledge, the third years were suspended for the time being, Gojo was constantly being set out for domestic travels as well as some business behind the scenes that you weren’t informed about, Nanami reported to you that he was investigating a crime that had occurred at Kinema Cinema and the first years (your year) and the second years were training for the event, leaving you the only Grade 1 sorcerer within Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College to be set these missions that seemed to be endless at this point.

Since the beginning, you knew that this was going to be your life once you step foot into the Jujutsu Sorcerer school, but you weren’t aware of the constant hardships that were randomly going to be set out to you. Ijichi even commented that this was unusual for a first-year student like you to be sent on numerous mission like the ones you’ve completed - some even being back to back on the same day - leading him to apologies every time you would enter his car to which you would always tell him that it was never his fault - how could it be? It wasn’t his fault that the higher-ups were demanding you to go off to do these missions. You felt exceedingly guilty for making him continuously drive you around to the locations and waiting for you to finish, not even knowing if you were going to come back alive or not.

However, you couldn’t be more grateful that he was in your company during this draining time. If it wasn’t for Ijichi in your presence, you knew you would have broken down earlier than you had now.

Turning on the faucet, you immediately heard a stream of water gushing from the spout before it was slowly filling up the bowl with the clear liquid. All you wanted to do was to plant your face in and scream out all the intense pressure that has been placed upon your shoulders. Yet you knew, it wasn’t that easy. It never was. 

Before you would even realise what was happening, the hand that was gripping onto the sink suddenly slipped causing the remaining strength that you had in you to disappear as your body immediately fell onto the white tiled floor. 

You were at your breaking point.  

You felt tears begin to uncontrollably stream down your face causing you to grip the top of your head before lacing your fingers tightly onto your hair - so tightly that you could pull out a few strands from your clasp - trying to release at least some of the pressure that was running through your veins.

 Suddenly, you heard a knocking sound from the distance, for a second, distracting you from the state that you were in now. However, you didn’t answer. You didn’t have the strength to. You didn’t have the effort to tell the person to go away nor open your mouth to make a sound. The knocking still continued even with your lack of response, but still, there was no response with you.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

Megumi. Megumi was at the door. Yet you still didn’t have the effort to answer your boyfriend. You were just at the point where you were just burnt out - the higher-ups have really burned you to the point of mental and physical exhaustion.

“Y/N, your door is unlocked, I’m coming in,”

‘No...please don’t’

However, there was no use. You had already heard the click on your handle being pushed down before your door swung open, followed by the tapping of footsteps being heard as Fushiguro began to walk into your room, trying to locate where you were.

“Y/N, where are you?” Fushiguro asked in a worried tone since he was informed by Iijchi that you had returned and that you had most likely stationed yourself in your dorm room after being treated by Ieiri, due to the number of missions that you had completed today. Due to him not being able to see you for even a few weeks without you heading off somewhere, Fushiguro wanted to check up on you to make sure that you were okay and had the idea you had probably fallen asleep. Yet your figure was not on your bed, it was still neatly made from this morning and there was no sign that you had even sat on it. 

Shutting his mouth, Fushiguro began to carefully listen to his surroundings trying to see if he could hear you or anything out of the ordinary in his search for you, only for him to suddenly detect the sound of water being poured or spilt causing him to turn towards the bathroom, only to discover the door opened with the faucet tap running rapidly as water began to overflow onto the ground, leading him to rush into the bathroom to turn it off.

Letting out a sigh of relief once the water stopped, he immediately turned around to find you on the ground, hands in your hair as tears flowed down your face. You looked terrible to put it into lighter terms. You looked like you’ve been through the worst wreckage. You looked like you had lost the will to even move. 

Quickly crouching down to your level - ignoring the water on the ground, Fushiguro managed to carefully lift your body up before placing you on his lap trying to comfort you in any way possible, as he then took a hold of your hands - causing you to relax your grip - to gently remove them from your hair making you weren’t in any pain from the tight grasp you had. Pulling you closer into his embrace, Fushiguro began to slowly run his hand up and down your arm to try to calm you down from your tearful fit before using his other to push away any straying strands of hair that were in your face, so he would wipe away any of the tears that were still present on your eyes or cheeks.

“Shhh, I got you, You’re okay, I’m right here with you,” Fushiguro tenderly muttered to you before placing your head on the crook of his neck as he then began to run his fingers through the strands of your messy hair, carefully brushing out any knots that were created. Fushiguro didn’t even have to ask what was wrong. He already had a slight idea of what was going for the past few weeks.

Due to the lack of sorcerers being available within the school and the stack of higher class missions being piled up, you were the only sorcerer qualified to even go on these missions leaving you to undertake these task alone - much to his dismay, but he had no obligation to go due to his grade as a sorcerer himself. He knew you were strong based on being a sorcerer as well as your emotional and mental state, but everyone has their limits, no matter how long or short one person can hold on to their sanity. Everyone has their limits - he was surprised that you were able to hold on for this long, to be honest, he didn’t think he himself could have lasted as long as you did.

Every day when he had a minimal chance of seeing you, Fushiguro slowly began to notice that you were gradually breaking down, you were becoming more worn out, you were becoming less motivation, you lacked in performance when you were able to train with everyone, and you were slowly detaching yourself from everyone - you were somewhat becoming like him in some way. Fushiguro tired to lighten up your mood by inviting you over to his dorm to watch a movie or to simply cuddle with him, and he knew that you were exceptionally grateful for everything that he was doing, you showed it with the most beautiful smiles and light laughs that you could give him. He just felt so useless.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he suddenly felt a pair of arms being wrapped around his neck, causing him to realise that you seemed to snap out of your own daze. “Thank you so much, Megumi….I’m so happy that I’m with you,” you whispered to him before you tightened your hold on his neck - but not to the point where it was suffocating - before you continued with the three words that always made his heart stop before it would go into a rage as if he had just ran a marathon, “I love you,”.

Even in your current state, you still managed to somehow make Fushiguro feel like he was helping you - to which he completely was, he just didn’t know  - leading him to engulf you in his arms before placing a light kiss on your temple to help you relax your body and calm you down even more.

“I got you, I’m right here with you Y/N,” Fushiguro replied back to you before tightening his hold on you as if he was the one that needed comforting, “I love you too,”.

Being with Fushiguro was something you knew to never take from granted, he was like the moonlight that comforted you when you felt so alone in the night. Fushiguro wasn’t someone to express his affection so openly, but for him to try to help you in every way possible - even if he was somewhat out of his character - was something you could never take for granted from the little kisses to the little dorm invites - yeah you really were lucky. Fushiguro Megumi was really the perfect boyfriend

“With you, I know I’m going to be okay Megumi”

[angst-fairygodmother]

May I send in a request if it’s not too much trouble? Maybe some mutual pining/yearning with Diego, and it’s just really fluffy? I know it’s not a lot plait wise, sorry, so you can kinda do whatever, as long as it’s fluffy(I love your angst but i am in desperate need of some fluffy with my #1 stubby husband) 💚💚💚💚

A/N: Hello darling! This is a fantastic trope! Thank you so much for your request. Hope it’s everything you were looking for 😊 Word Count: 1861

You had known Diego Hargreeves for years, shared laughs and tears and secrets with him and he had shared them with you. You had met his mother. You were confident in calling him your closest friend. So of course, like a romance movie cliché, somewhere between bickering over the last slice of pizza and trying to stay up long enough to watch every Star Wars movie in one sitting, you’d fallen in love with him. But, like any good protagonist, you were too stubborn to admit it, too sure that he was still in love with Eudora Patch and would never see you in that way and it would only ruin your friendship.

So you tried to move on, kissed frog after frog, hoping for one of them to be Prince Charming, even though you knew he was standing right beside you, ready to throw knives if any of them treated you wrong.

He also did things like warn you that it was dangerous being friends with him or try convince you that he wasn’t worth it, whatever ‘it’ was. Eventually you convinced him to stop that nonsense by agreeing to take some sort of self-defense class, which turned into him teaching you self-defense, and then basic self-defense and boxing.

And then you found yourself rearranging your entire schedule so that you could go down to the Fighting Lion and get your first lesson, and then maybe hang around to watch Diego’s match. But you definitely weren’t in love with him and had totally moved on. Absolutely.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” Diego asked, trying hard to play the question as an off-hand curiosity as he gave you a greeting hug. And if he held you a little tighter or for a few seconds longer than he had in the past, who would know.

“I, um. I cancelled,” you replied, not meeting his eye.

“Oh?” his brows shot up in surprise. You had been talking about this date for weeks, and sounded really into the guy.

“Yeah. I just, wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

“What?” he laughed incredulously. “Two days ago you wouldn’t shut up about him.”

“Well, things change, alright?” you snapped. “Now are we going to sit around gossiping like old hens or are you going to teach me how to fight?”

He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “Yeah, yeah. Go change and I’ll get set up.”

When you walked back out of the locker-room in your tight-fitted workout clothes a few minutes later, pausing to use the wall to help you stretch your limbs, Diego couldn’t help trailing his eyes over your form especially lingering on your ass and the way it filled out your shorts. He bit his lip, forcing himself to turn away before you noticed.

“Alright, Hargreeves,” you said, and he looked over at you, trying his best to pretend he had just noticed your return. “I’m all dressed up. What’s next?”

You flashed him a smile, the kind that he wished he could believe was specially reserved for him, but in fact was the same bright and enthusiastic one you gave the whole world.

“Wrap your hands and wrists for support,” he said, tossing you a roll of tape.

Fumbling a bit, you caught the tossed object and stared at it as if it was a snake threatening to bite.

Diego chuckled. “Do you need me to show you what to do?”

Biting your lip, Diego’s eyes flicking down to them at the motion, you shrugged. “That would probably be for the best.”

Almost immediately, you regretted agreeing to that as he walked over, taking one of your hands in both of his. You knew that it was just to keep you steady and still while he wrapped, but still it made your heart race and you could only hope that he didn’t notice. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, watching the intense focus on his face, hearing him speak but not the words he said as he explained how to do it so you could for yourself in the future. In your head, he was saying sweet nothings and holding your hand just to hold it, and you felt frustrated with how much you wanted that thought to be real.

“There,” he said, securing the end of the tape on your second hand with a pat and shaking you out of your dream-state. “You’re good.”

“Huh?” you frowned, mind slow to catch up to reality. “Oh, right. Thanks.”

From there, you did all you could stay focused, especially when he decided the best teaching method after the most basic information to keep you from hurting yourself was to just throw you into a fight against him and tell you to do your best. You were impressed with how you held your own, dodging more than striking sure, but he was meant to be a superhero and you had the reflexes to avoid his blows. (It at no point occurred to you that he might be going easy on you.)

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t win a fight if you don’t hit me,” he scolded, laughing.

“But I can’t lose it if I don’t get hit either,” you panted, struggling not to let your guard drop as you grew tired.

“Yes you can,” Diego stopped, dropping his hands and shifting into lecture mode. “Exhausting yourself is just as dangerous. If you’re trying to avoid a fight, which you should, get one good swing in to stun the other person and then run. Don’t just dodge and duck like you’re toying with them. Because you will screw up.”

You huffed. “Fine, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” you snapped. “Any other tips?”

“Every time you dodge, you drop your left side, leaving yourself vulnerable.”

“Noted. Back to the fight now?”

“Are you actually going to fight or just keep dancing?” his eyes crinkled in a smile and your heart skipped a beat, again.

“If you want to see dancing, I can dance,” you suggested with a smirk. “But yes, I promise I’ll take your suggestions and use them to beat you, and actually do it this time.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and raised his hands back up, stance shifting. “Bring it then.”

“Sure you can handle that babe?” you taunted, darting in on a feint.

Only he froze at your teasing nickname, and your fist connected with a solid ‘crack!’ Diego stumbled backwards on the mats, hands coming up to cup his now bleeding nose.

“Ow!” he groaned.

“Shit! Oh god Diego, I’m so sorry!” you yelled, panicked, rushing over to him and placing your hands over his, trying to guide them down so you could inspect the damage you caused. “Is it broken? Do you need tissues? A doctor?”

“No, no it’s fine,” he assured you, shrugging you off, voice muffled and distorted by his hands and the rapid swelling of his face.

“What happened?” you snapped, voice still high with fear. “That was an easy shot to block!”

“I…I don’t know,” he muttered.

His eyes locked with yours and you stood there, staring at each other.

“I just…you called me babe…”

Your stomach lurched. You had, without thinking anything of it. It had been a joke, or maybe a subconscious slip of the tongue. Had it upset him? Or did you dare to hope…?

“That was an excellent hit,” he continued, finally bringing his hands down, checking to see if his nose was still bleeding and sniffing dramatically to clear the airway. “If you do that any time someone gives you a hard time, no one’s ever going to dare mess with you.”

You smiled weakly. “I don’t think most of my enemies would be so in love with me I could distract them so easily…”

“I wasn’t…I’m not…what are you talking about?” he scoffed.

“Relax, Di,” you sighed. “It was a joke.”

You both lapsed into a momentary silence.

“What if…I was?” he asked hesitantly a moment later, just as you were about to ask if the training session was over.

“What if you were what?” you countered, frowning and puzzled.

“…in love with you…” the confession was so low and mumbled that you wouldn’t have caught it at all if you hadn’t been so familiar with Diego and all of his moods.

You laughed nervously. “I must have hit you harder than I thought, cus you’re not making any sense.”

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“You…what?” You blinked at him, dumb-founded. “You can’t be.”

You thought you must be dreaming, there was no way this conversation could possibly happening, so you settled firmly on denial, not wanting to fall for his prank or whatever this was. Because if he were telling the truth, then you had denied yourself and hurt yourself for years for no actual reason, and that wouldn’t be fair.

“Why can’t I be?” he asked, stepping closer, frowning.

“Well…because…” you cast about for any good reason why your best friend that you were in love with shouldn’t or couldn’t be in love with you right back.

“Y/N, you don’t have to make up excuses. I won’t be upset if you don’t feel the same, and I won’t let it ruin our friendship. It hasn’t so far.”

“How…how long?” you choked out, now fighting back tears.

He shrugged. “A year or two at least. I can’t really say when it happened.”

“Oh, Diego…why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, unable to meet your eye. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem like the right time? And then you were dating other people.”

“Because I was trying to get over you!” you shouted, your frustration at the ridiculousness of it all spilling over. “I thought you were still in love with Patch or some dumb shit so I was dating other people. I thought if I found someone good enough, someone fine, I could make myself feel for them what I feel about you, you asshole!”

He stared at you, mouth agape. The horror of everything you just admitted hit you like a brick to the face and you felt the intense blush flood over your face and neck and like you were going to be sick; you wanted to actually vomit.

"W-what?"

The tears that had been stinging spilled down your cheeks. Rough, calloused fingers and tape wrapped palms reached up to brush away their wet tracks.

"Y/N…?"

"I've been in love with you for years, dammit. I just...never had the guts to tell you'" you admitted at a whisper.

And then his lips were on yours and it was...actually kind of awkward, wet with tears and tangy with the lingering salt-metallic taste of his blood and both your sweat. Pulling back to rest your forehead against his, you smiled softly.

"Not that I didn't appreciate it, because I have been wanting to kiss you for a long time now, but maybe we should clean up a little first?" You suggested.

He laughed. "Yeah, probably. And I have a fight later to drop out of."

"What? Drop out of? Why?"

"I've waited too long to take you on a date. I'm not waiting another minute."

[bellesque]

idk if your requests are open still but royal loki concept with a midgardian reader— yeah? maybe? take it wherever you want from there and be creative because your other fics are and just amAZING! i might be late but anywayy— happy birthday, even though it was yesterday!

Midnight’s Mischief (Loki x Reader)

Read on my AO3.

Summary:

You only wanted to feel like a princess for a night.

You didn’t expect to meet an actual prince.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Dancing, Royal Loki, some Cinderella Elements

A/N: Listen you can’t give me so much freedom like this because I feel in my bones this is going to turn into a multichaptered fic and I have a million other wips side-eyeing me rn

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids @rorybutnotgilmore @myraiswack @green-valkyrie (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

BEING IN A whimsical, fairytale ball has always been high on your list of escapism fantasies.

You wondered if princess parties (like the ones in movies) were actually real when royalty was still a thing. If they got to attend extravagant, lavish balls in venues that seemed to reach the high heavens, with castle corridors illuminated by candlelight and crystal chandeliers. Whether fact or fiction, you’ve never been more excited for a night than you are now.

Just for tonight, you allow the indulgence of looking—and feeling—like royalty.

Your heels clack against the marbled tiles of the venue as you and your friend Leigh navigate your way to the Regency Ballroom. Careful not to trip over your ball gown, you glance at Leigh. Beside you she shimmies, adjusting the top of her gown to fit her boobs better.

“I feel twelve,” she mutters, brazenly cupping her breasts.

“Oh, please. As if you’ve never wanted to be a princess for a night.”

“I mean, yeah, when I was twelve. And I’m saying this with love, but the fact that you’ve got on a fucking crown isn’t exactly helping me feel like an adult here.”

Your cheeks grow warm. “I’m sure I’m not the only one,” you say, a little defensive. “And by the way, it’s a tiara.”

Leigh smirks at you, perfectly painted lips curling at the edges. “Twenty bucks?”

“Fifteen.”

“Bo-ring.”

“Fine.”

She claps her hands, looping her arm with yours. The Regency Ballroom is right ahead. “I hope you know that I agreed to this because you said there’d be some yummy men. Potential knights in shining armor, all that jazz.”

“And I value your honesty,” you say, nodding a thank you to the servers who open the large doors as you approach. “But, for the record—”

“Whoa, the organizers of this thing were not playing.”

It’s true: the place is more than what you imagined from the email invite you received prior. Aside from the grandeur of the venue itself, the entire ambience transports you into what feels like another world entirely. Soft, regal music swells from the mini orchestra that plays on the raised platform, and everyone’s dressed in gowns of all colors and periods and styles.

It makes you a little giddy to see everyone commit to the event to such an extent. You wish this becomes a regular occasion.

“You don’t mind if I ditch you, right? If I, hypothetically, find someone cute?” Leigh grabs a glass of wine from a passing waiter. “Because I saw this guy in a tailcoat on the way inside, and he was kinda giving me looks already, so…”

Leigh is neither best friend nor fair weather friend. She’s in town for a few days, and having been partners in a high school class once, she somehow felt the need to ring you up, pleading for you to take her anywhere because she was dying of boredom.

You mentioned that you had an extra ticket, and she said yes before you could even finish your sentence and tell her it was to a costume ball.

“Hey, no worries,” you beam, plucking the wine glass from her fingers and taking a dainty sip, “by all means, mingle! Meet someone! Get swept off your feet! It’s a party. It’s what I was going to do whether or not you came anyway, so don’t be too guilty.”

“Okay, great!” She kisses you on the cheek. “Because he’s kind of already waiting.” Leigh jerks her head to the buffet table across the room, where a broad-shouldered man stands tentatively, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He’s clearly waiting for someone—that someone specifically being Leigh, if the not so surreptitious glances your way are any indication.

Before she can leave, a lady with a hoop skirt that’s draped more than the large windows of the ballroom comes into your peripheral, something glittering atop her bouffant hair.

You lift your chin at Leigh triumphantly. “Pay up first, baby, you saw that tiara.”

“Fifteen.”

“You said twenty!”

“I changed my mind!” she calls as she lifts the hem of her gown off the floor, retreating. Laughing, Leigh waves and you bring up a hand as the man places a meaty hand on her shoulder blade.

Well. You knew you’d lose her for the night. Just not this quickly.

Still, what you said is true. Leigh’s absence doesn’t dampen your mood. You’re happy standing by the tables at the side, observing people and their different gowns, with a glass of rosé in hand. Couples trickle into and out of the ballroom dance floor; others mingle by the tables like you, occasionally nibbling on the fanciest finger food you could ever imagine. The light reflecting from the gorgeous, majestic chandelier dances over the partygoers, and you revel in the moment, wanting to commit this to memory. Simply existing in it. The minuet transitions into a waltz, and more people and their partners taking to the dance floor with excited grins on their faces.

You would like to take your dress out for a twirl at some point before the night ends. If only a gentleman were to ask.

“That’s a lovely color on you, my lady.”

Speak of the—you turn around, glad you didn’t startle so much to the point of spilling perfectly good wine, to face whoever spoke to you. A subtle smirk plays on the face of a lithe man dressed in what looks to be costume straight out of a period film. Or fantasy period film. It doesn’t really make sense, but somehow he makes it work.

You glance down at your gown: a rich forest green with silver detailing cinched around your waist. “Oh, uh… thanks.” You smile politely.

Only it falters after a couple seconds, because he pins you with an expectant look. “My… lord…?” you try, uncertain.

Satisfaction spreads across his face, confusing you mildly. Did he really wait to be addressed…?

“Would you care to dance?” he asks, taking a step towards you and bending forward. A bow, you realize, as he holds the posture while awaiting your answer.

“O-okay, sure.”

You slip your hand in his outstretched one, his slender fingers clasping around you and leading you gently to the middle of the dance floor. His back is as straight as a board as he guides you towards him, and when you’re a pace away he pulls you closer. His hand settles on the small of your back, yours on his shoulder.

And then you’re waltzing; slowly, tentatively, shyly. Though he takes the lead you can’t follow as well as you should, your bafflement blocking you from waltzing like you do in your daydreams. And as weird as it sounds, he’s distracting you from dancing—even if you’re dancing with him.

He’s good-looking. Strong, cutting features with a regal gait. He stands much taller than you are, his head angled down towards you so his green eyes pierce you with the intensity of the sun at high noon.

He doesn’t break eye contact with you. As much as you try to look away, fixate your attention instead on the couples that sway around you, your gaze always finds his. And he probably hasn’t looked away from you once. There’s no malice in it though—he regards you with somewhat of a silent, amused curiosity.

If it’s awkward to be dancing with a good-looking stranger who seemingly can’t take his eyes off you, it doesn’t help that you’re both painfully silent. You expect him to make polite small talk as he guides your steps—only aside from the lovely orchestra playing and the faint chatter of the attendees around you, all that’s heard is the sound of your breathing.

The music winds down, violins sustaining their last note, and your expectations are shattered once again when instead of this mystery man guiding you into a twirling finish, he spins you into the next dance.

Another waltz.

“Do I scare you, princess?” he asks, raising his chin slightly.

You jump a little at his sudden question. “Um. Maybe a little?”

The man sighs, giving a short chuckle as he shakes his head minutely. The hand on your back releases you as you circle around him, one of your arms outstretched as gracefully as you can manage, before you come back in front of him and rest your hand back on his shoulder.

“Perhaps my reputation does precede me,” he mutters.

You blink, even more confused now. “Sorry?”

“Do you…” He narrows his eyes in near disbelief. “Do you not know who I am?”

“I think I’d remember if you told me your name,” you say with a sheepish laugh. Of course you’d remember. With a face like his and the rich voice to match, meeting him on a night like tonight? You’d remember it forever.

“Ah. Then—forgive me, my lady.” He pulls away from you to bow cordially. “Prince Loki, of Asgard.”

Stunned doesn’t seem to cover the emotion racing through you. No one else seems to mind that you’ve both stopped smack dab in the center for him to bow to you with a flourish of his cape. He looks up at you, expectant, yet again, and so you hastily curtsy and mumble your name.

He rises, taking you once again in his arms and picking up where you left off in perfect rhythm to the music. It’s a little disorienting. Your mind struggles to catch up: so far he’s bowed to you twice, is leading you through a perfect waltz, and is, apparently, a prince.

“And your kingdom, my lady?”

“What?”

“Am I to believe you’re a princess with no people to rule over?” he smirks.

And then somehow, realization dawns on you: he’s an actor. Trying to get you into some kind of fantasy, medieval, whatever character to really sell the idea to yourself that you have actually been whisked away, into a story akin to fiction.

“Okay,” you snort, “since we’re doing this whole made up thing, fine, I’ll humor you. Uh”—you rack your brains, glancing at the chandelier overhead—“Genovia.”

“Genovia,” Prince Loki repeats, as though testing the name on his tongue. It comes out melodic and velvety, making you shiver involuntarily. “Sounds… quaint. Not as dreadful or painfully dull as some of the other kingdoms I’ve heard of tonight. What in the Nine is New Jersey?”

You laugh this time, an actual belly laugh, your head tipping back in mirth at his delivery. You sober up sooner than you’d like when you see he’s still absolutely mystified.

“Well, that’s what it is,” you add helpfully. “Genovia… it… yeah.”

“What are your people famous for?”

Damn. He’s really making you think. “Gosh, um…” You blow out a raspberry. “Horses? Apples? Archery? Oh! Mattress surfing.”

Prince Loki hums thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Either he’s an exceptionally good actor, or he really hasn’t seen The Princess Diaries. Or, a part of you begins to argue, he could actually be who he says he is—

But that wouldn’t make sense.

Could it?

“Well, what about you?” you say quickly, seizing the opportunity to deflect. “What’s uh, what’s Asgard famous for?”

“The Realm Eternal,” Loki says, completely serious. “Warriors of strength, leaders of justice.” He pauses at your lost expression. “Have you not heard of it?”

You have a feeling he has more to say, so you shake your head. Prince Loki spins you around once, before continuing.

“Asgardians are the peacekeepers of the Nine Realms, endowed with strength of all facets to keep the realms from falling. Thwart the possible dangers it can be to itself before it starts, or finish disputes where they arise. We protect. Asgard plays a vital role, if not the most vital of all the realms.”

“And you’re their prince.”

The corners of Loki’s lips curl upwards. “One of them.”

“So you have a brother.”

You’re not sure why you’re still entertaining him at this point. The waltz’s cadence does nothing to separate you from each other, and neither does the lively first note of the polka. Instead Loki’s leading you into a quicker step, bouncing in the most poised manner you’ve ever seen a man dance in.

“Aye,” he says. “Most prefer him to myself.”

“I prefer you,” you blurt out mindlessly, immediately feeling regret in the form of heat crawling up your neck.

Prince Loki’s piercing green eyes light up in surprise. “Not many would,” he murmurs.

“Well, I mean—” you backpedal, “—I don’t—I haven’t met—”

The entrance to the ballroom rattles in its hinges, followed by a booming thud. Heads swivel to the source of the commotion and even the orchestra falters. You are no exception, craning your neck to look behind Loki and at the doors.

He is the only one who seems completely unfazed.

“Perhaps that is for the best. Ready for our big finish, princess?”

Bang! The doors swing open, and strange men in very detailed costumes—metal armor, odd-shaped helmets—charge in, long spears in hand. Your mouth falls open. You’ve never seen anything like them. The attendees gasp collectively, some dancers pulling away from their partners to retreat to the sides of the room.

But Loki places his hands on your hips, lifting you off your feet and into the air, and instructs, “Eyes on me, princess.”

“Wh—” He spins you around, the world around you blurring, and you fix your attention on him so as not to get dizzy. “Prince Loki, I think we should get ou—”

He sets your feet on the ground, a mad intensity in his eyes—and Loki wraps his arms around you and kisses you.

Well. You’ve had multiple daydreams about how tonight would go. This is definitely not one of them.

His arms tighten around your waist, and swarms of butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. Your feet are on the ground, but with your fingers and toes tingling with every soft movement of his lips against yours, it feels like you’re floating. He’s kissing you. You’re kissing him.

The clanging of armor jolts you apart, but Loki keeps you within arm’s reach. Your heart pounds against your sternum.

“I like it when you say my name,” he murmurs.

“Prince Loki!” one of the strange men shouts. The prince in front of you flinches slightly, and then huffs in amusement.

“Don’t like it when they do.”

“I—what?”

Loki sighs. “I’m afraid I have to bid you good night. And farewell.”

“Wait, who are they?” Question after question presents itself, your mind a jumbled mess and your knees still shaking from that damn kiss. “What do they want?”

“The Einherjar. Ah. Well.” He brushes a thumb over your cheekbone. “What’s life without a little mischief?”

“Your Highness!”

“Where is he?”

He pulls you by the elbows, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, and whispers in a voice that could melt butter, “Something to remember me by.”

And then he takes off, a cheeky grin splitting his face as he keeps his eyes trained on his pursuers, slinking through the crowd and towards a nondescript door. An exit.

The strange men sift through the partygoers. Some shake their heads in fear, cowering; others shrug. You simply hope they do not approach you. And by some mad stroke of luck, when they’re a few feet away from you—they ignore you entirely.

Loki catches your eye by the small archway, and with a mischievous wink and a heartstopping smile, he disappears with a flash of his green cape.

You exhale, a little shakily, as one armored man shouts instructions and points to the door. They bolt after him, each footfall thunderous. A few seconds tick past, and once the clatter disappears completely the orchestra warms up again.

Back to normal. Just a little. But you—you’re still reeling from what just happened.

Leigh sidles up to you, poking your side.

“So,” she says, “who was the knight in shining armor, and what’d they want with him?”

His kiss, the feel of his mouth against yours, still tingles at your lips, lingering like the warmth of a fire. You stare at the open door, still trying to make sense of what on Earth just happened.

“I… I think I just met a prince.”

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 6

(x-3)x(y+15)=q-(x+21) and I really couldn’t give a fuck about what x equals right now. I’d been sitting at this same desk for an hour now; Steve and Nancy either side as they rewrote his application; whilst I tried to help alongside desperately attempting not to fail another algebra test.

Nance clearly had something on her mind, as her and Steve weren’t making googly eyes at each other half as much as they usually do. Trouble in paradise, perhaps? Must be nice. Meanwhile I couldn’t get a very different brand of trouble out of my head, no matter how much I tried to avoid him.

Billy Hargrove. A name that before this week, would’ve meant nothing to me, had gradually become the scourge of my very existence. As if his introduction wasn’t problematic enough; he insisted on making me feel like I was a zebra in a lion’s pen at all times.

He didn’t even have to speak for him to become an unbearable nuisance. Just his very presence in the hallway was enough to sour my mood. All the time; I’d feel his eyes on me, whether I was walking in the hallway, or sitting down for lunch. He could be speaking with Tommy H, or even flirting with another girl, but still; his eyes would remain fixated on me.

The highlight of my day had to be Mrs McKinley’s English class, where normally Robin Buckley sits behind me, but today Robin was sick, so guess who had the privilege? Billy Hargrove; and I didn’t even have Steve to swap seats with; stupid fucking college application!

So Billy strolls into class ten minutes late like he bought the place, then decides to squeeze his way past my desk, giving me a not so subtle view of his crotch whilst he smirks the whole time. Then, as if he’s not been enough of an ass; he seats himself right behind me.

But I ignore him, trying to keep my eyes on the board whilst I’m intensely aware of his on the back of my neck.

However; Billy couldn’t even let me suffer in silence. Instead he leans forward until I can feel his breath on my neck, and asks me “Can I borrow a pencil?” In a voice that is husky enough that it sent a shiver down my spine; much to my humiliation.

So I turned around and said “No; you can’t borrow a pencil” and just when I’m about to tell him exactly where he can stick that proverbial pencil, Mrs McKinley notices and asks if anything is wrong.

I was about to assure her that everything was fine and she could go back to teaching her class and I could go back to silently rueing the day Billy’s parents decided to have sex, when of course Mullethead himself had to say something.

“I was just asking if I could borrow a pencil.” He remarked; with a smile so sweet, I wanted to slap it into next week.

“Well, Miss Hopper; if you could be so kind...” Mrs McKinley prompted, and despite her polite tone, I knew she had a penchant for handing out detention slips, so I did as she asked.

As I bluntly refused to make any kind of physical contact with the sleaze-ball, I pulled out another pencil from my case and left it on my table well within his reach. But even then; he had to go the extra mile to make me uncomfortable.

He got up from his seat and leaned right over me, till I was practically caged by his body, encased in the scent of Marlboro cigarettes and cologne. He slid his hand forward till it met mine, totally ignoring the pencil I’d gotten out for him, in favour of sliding the one out of my hand; dexterous fingers making as much contact with my own as possible.

He then had the cheek to whisper in my ear “Thank you, sweetheart” as if any of this had been voluntary, as if he wasn’t a total creeper.

But I thanked God above that he was done as I settled back into my work, throwing myself into the life’s work of Dante and wondering which circle of hell Billy would be burning in, when I felt something rub up my leg.

And of course I moved it, thinking maybe the school had rats again and not planning to check any time soon, when it happened again, but this time; a deep chuckle accompanied it. I dared a look behind me at the unsuitably smug asshole as he shot me a wink and a kiss as if this was so amusing to him.

So the next time he did it, I kicked him; hard. But he was too fast, so before my motorcycle boot could make contact, his leg was gone; along with my patience.

But what could I do? If I made a scene; Mrs McKinley was sure to write me up for detention, so I had no choice but to suffer in silence as Billy Hargrove continued to attempt to play footsie throughout the rest of English class.

———————————

Now with not one, but two classes to catch up on, I couldn’t get that smug son of a bitch out of my head. I needed to get out of here, or else I’d scream. I got up from my seat, grabbing my backpack off an empty chair.

“Lo; are you...” began Steve; concern clear on his face. I continued to grab my jacket, pulling out my pack of smokes.

“Yeah. Just need a smoke.” I mumbled, and flew out of there before he could start insisting otherwise.

The last thing I needed was a well meaning Steve. He was enough of a hothead without the poking of a known jackass like Billy. Plus; if Jonathan could give Steve a black eye, Billy could pulverise him completely, and that was something I really didn’t need to see.

Instead I cruised through the hallways of Hawkins High, shoving on my leather jacket as I continued on my mission for nicotine and distraction. The front doors were just ahead, which meant I was seconds away from fresh air and heavy smoke.

I’d been right about the fresh air, but the heavy smoke seemed to have other ideas as I struggled to light the Marlboro hanging from my mouth. Of course; today would be the damn day I ran out of lighter fluid; as if it couldn’t get any worse...

“Need a light?” Quirked a silky smooth Californian accent, and I had to resist rolling my eyes, because of course; God had a sense of humour.

Still, I turned to him, pulling the smoke from my mouth so I could properly give him a verbal assault on his jackassery this week.

“Jesus; don’t you have anything better to do with your time?” I groaned, and apparently he didn’t. Standing there with a flickering lighter in hand, an unlit smoke hanging from smirking lips; he made a pretty picture, but one I was definitely not buying.

“Just tryna’ help out” He purred, but the friendly neighbour routine really wasn’t working on me. I gave him a look that should’ve said “really; asshole?”

But he took it as a challenge, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow as he flicked the lighter on again.

However annoying Billy Hargrove was, I was fucking desperate for a smoke and had no intention of scouring the whole school for a lighter and risking getting caught by Mrs McKinley again.

So I sighed and rolled my eyes; making it loud and clear I was doing this under duress, then I stepped forward, putting the unlit smoke back in my mouth.

Billy had never looked so smug as he stepped into my space; an intoxicating musk of leather, cigarette smoke, cheap cologne and something else, which was altogether so Billy; it could make me gag.

He towered over me, making a clear effort to make me feel small as he bent down and lit my cigarette; his blue eyes meeting mine over the flame and for a moment, my stomach did backflips.

I stepped back, really not comfortable with getting caught up in this man’s magnetism, taking a drag from my cigarette. The heady taste of tobacco steadying my quickening pulse as I let out a stream of smoke, turning to watch the sun reflect off of car roofs in the parking lot, rather than risk falling into Billy’s eyes.

“No thank you?” He said, and I raised an eyebrow because I knew the thank you he had in mind contained no words.

“You’re pushing it, Hargrove.” I warned, but he took it all in his stride; a million watt smile stretching as he he just stood and watched me, his own cigarette still hanging unlit and forgotten.

“So is there a reason you followed me out here, or are you just here to continue being an inescapable pest?” I asked, if just to fill the air with noise, rather than cigarette smoke and some sort of weird tension Billy brought wherever he went.

He gave me a smile, and for a moment; it was almost sweet, before saying “I just wanted to know if you were going to Tina’s party tonight?”

And of course, I was. Everyone with even an ounce of social status was going, and even if I didn’t want to; Steve made it pretty damn clear he would have a hissy fit if I wasn’t at his house by seven.

I let out a laugh, because I couldn’t quite believe that I was even attempting having a normal conversation with Billy Hargrove.

“Does it matter?” I asked dryly; he was asking a stupid question, so why should he get a straight answer.

“Well, how else am I supposed to know what you’ll be wearing tonight?” He asked with a smile, and I could almost feel the lion’s jaws closing in around me, but not if I could get there first.

“Why? Worried we’ll match?” I offered him my sharpest grin; raised brow included.

He let out a dark chuckle; the kind that made your stomach clench whether you wanted it to or not, and leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath tickling my neck.

“Need something to get me through afternoon classes” He purred; his hand reaching out to brush at my own; a seemingly innocent gesture that he made drip with sexual intention.

But I wasn’t having it. Billy could pick some other girl to play porn star in his daytime fantasies.

I stepped closer to him; close enough that I could see the freckles the sun had left on his cheeks and the way the corners of his mouth rose at the newfound close proximity. His eyes flickered down to my mouth; his thoughts crystal clear on his face as his teeth bit down on his lips.

Not today; sweetheart.

“In your dreams; asshole.” I growled, cramming as much venom as I could in the words.

And if my words weren’t clear enough; I lifted up my still smouldering cigarette, and pressed it hard against the collar of his denim jacket; certain it would leave a nasty mark.

I dropped the cigarette butt to the floor, but to my great annoyance; his smile didn’t even falter.

He liked it when I bit back!

So I did the only thing I could do in the situation, and stormed off, leaving an unsuitably smug Billy Hargrove staring at my ass for the second time this week.

[evilrubberducke]

Read You Like a Book

A fluff filled IzuMina story about dorks and dates. Not too much to say besides that. I hope you enjoy.

Summary: In the midst of a lovely date, Mina discovers that Izuku might just be paying more attention to her than she ever realized.

Also on AO3!

“Midoriiiiiii, you lied to me!” Mina whined as she took in the building before her.

The Csilla Book Emporium was the largest bookstore she’d ever seen, spanning nearly a block in length and several stories in height, all filled to the brim with books of every sort. Supposedly they had every book under the sun, and if you couldn’t find it on their shelves they would have it sent there in just a few days. Under normal circumstances, Mina would have been happy to spend the afternoon there with Izuku.

It was the sign out front, proudly advertising their “First day of summer textbook/workbook sale!” that gave her pause.

“I didn’t lie!” He protested, though he seemed to be having trouble keeping eye contact with her. “I told you I wanted to take you somewhere fun. This is fun!”

“It’s schoolwork Midori.” she put on her best pout, a technique which had improved dramatically since they had started dating. He was a sucker for a good pout, and if you used puppy dog eyes as well, it was a surefire way to get what you wanted.

“I know, but if we get it done now, we won’t have to worry about it later.” He was holding surprisingly firm under her gaze, only shifting a little bit as he spoke.

She held out for a long moment, but eventually she was the one that cracked first. “Fiiiiine. But I’m holding you to your word. You’re taking me out somewhere fun after this.”

He smiled at that. “Ok. We’ll go anywhere you want.”

She shook her head. “Nuh uh. You don’t get out of it that easy. I came here to be wooed, only to be bait and switched. You’ve got to earn your way back into my good graces, and that starts with coming up with somewhere nice to take me.”

At that, Izuku began to resemble the boy she remembered from their first year at UA. The ball of perpetually frightened energy who couldn’t keep himself from muttering about Heroes every few minutes. She’d almost forgotten how cute he could be when he was off balance like this. These days he seemed like he could take anyone on without even flinching, and the smile he always wore reminded her enough of All Might that she had started to give Todoroki’s crackpot theories some real consideration.

His muttering now a soothing background noise, Mina pulled her boyfriend into the bookstore.

---

The pair had headed straight into the workbook section, competing with several other students for precious space and even more precious deals.

Izuku proved surprisingly adept at claiming space among the crowd. He didn’t really fight for space so much as slip through the gaps between people, pulling Mina along behind him. When she asked he claimed he had learned from watching his mother navigate sales at the grocery store which he would only describe as ‘cut throat’.

She could tell he was taking their task seriously, as he didn’t even notice the amount of attention they were getting from the other patrons. The crowd had quickly clocked the presence of UA students, and from there it was only a quick jump to recognizing UA’s rising power couple.

Mina was a little embarrassed by the whole situation. Some enterprising reporter (read nosey snitch) had snuck into the back halls during their second sports festival. They had caught a picture of her and Izuku cuddling between matches, and ran a story about ‘Love Blooming on the Battlefield’. With her and Izuku both placing in the top five for the festival, people had quickly started to call them a power couple, and comparing them to UA’s previous big three.

It was odd to think that she now possessed  a following. Sure, it was a select following but it was still a strange experience. She’d even had someone come up and ask for her autograph the other day. It really made the fact that she was a hero feel real to her.

At least they were being left alone. There were whispers, and more than a few intrigued looks thrown their way, but no one tried to disturb them. Mina wasn’t sure if it was due to respect for their status, not wanting to miss a workbook they were looking for, or if they were intimidated by Izuku’s intense focus as he hunted for whatever it was he was searching for.

No matter the reason, Mina took the opportunity to browse with Izuku. Much as she was loath to admit it, having the extra books would be useful for their studying, something she knew Izuku would manage to corral her into at some point this summer. Resigned to her fate, she rolled up her sleeves and got to searching.

---

It still amazed her how astute Izuku could be. Every workbook he grabbed was for a subject she was struggling with, or had scored poorly on in their last exam. She hadn't even discussed the exam with him, too disappointed in her own performance. Sure, a C was better than she had been doing at the start of the year, some would even call it a great improvement. It just didn’t feel like one when compared to the rest of the class. With three perfect scores, one by Izuku himself, and several more As, it just left her feeling like she was falling behind with every step.

She’d tried he best, she really had. But in the end the concepts refused to stick in her head no matter how much she studied.

She sighed as she hefted a math workbook up and glared at the cover. It was so frustrating to be praised for her excellent combat skills, only to be lambasted week after week over something she just couldn’t seem to master.

She looked up as Izuku squeezed her hand absentmindedly, while he debated the value of two texts of his own. Even so deep in his own head, his muttering going full bore, a part of him was still making sure she was okay.

It warmed her heart in a way she couldn't even begin to describe. She returned the squeeze and cuddled closer to him. It was hard to be sad with his warmth leaking into her.

---

“I-I’m sorry it’s not much.” Izuku apologized. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

They were in a cafe just off Mustafu’s main shopping street. It was a cozy place, run by a small family who were more concerned with making sure their customers were satisfied than with making a profit. Entering the business felt like stepping into the home of a long lost relative. A few patrons waited in line, and more were seated at tables around the cafe, but it didn’t seem crowded in the slightest.

“It’s perfect Midori.” Mina said.

It really was too. Mina had heard about this place from Uraraka a few weeks ago. Apparently the pink cheeked girl had stumbled across it during one of her patrols with Ryuku. Since then, she had been singing the praises of the cafe, calling it a hidden gem of Mustafu.

Mina was inclined to agree. The menu was smaller than most of the popular cafes that she had been to, but it felt like it was curated rather than limited. Each of them had a cute name, and a small little blurb about how it could help your mood. Ever since she had heard Uraraka mention it, she had wanted to come here.

She just didn’t remember telling Izuku about it.

“But...how did you know I wanted to come here?” She asked, confused.

“You were talking about how you wanted to go here with Uraraka the other day, weren’t you?” It was more of a question than an answer.

She cast her mind back to the conversation in question. They’d been chatting in the common room, taking a break from homework to have a quick snack. Izuku had been there of course, he’d been helping her study since before they had even started officially dating, but she was sure he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been in one of his muttering fits, focused on creating a new super move.

Now that she thought about it, this wasn’t the first time he’d known something about her without her having to state it. For instance, the time he’d shown up with flowers for her mother’s birthday even though she’d only told Toru about it. Or when he’d switched to buying her cherry sparkling water instead of lemon when she got tired of the flavor.

But it wasn’t for everything. When they were planning a surprise party for Todoroki, Izuku had come close to forgetting about it, despite being there for the planning meeting.

And then it hit her. The thread connecting his random fact acquisition was her. It was like some part of his mind was paying attention to what she was saying, or even just thinking about, despite the other 90% being occupied.

It was only just a theory, but now she wanted to test it.

“Midori, do you know what my favorite movie is?”

The sudden shift in topic seemed to take him by surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Umm, The Princess Bride, right?”

It was absolutely right. She considered it a guilty pleasure, and most definitely hadn’t watched it with anyone from UA. After all, she had a reputation as the dorm’s number one horror buff to maintain.

It was...odd to realize that he knew her so well without even seeming to try. She knew plenty of stuff about her boyfriend of course, but it was different with Izuku. He wore his heart on his sleeve in so many ways. It was easy to tell what he liked, from his favorite hero to his favorite foods. Even his more subtle tastes were obvious when you looked, though not everyone seemed to be able to take the hints. Just a few weeks before, Kirishima had dragged Izuku to a raunchy comedy with the rest of the guys in the class. She wasn’t sure exactly what he saw, but Izuku had looked vaguely traumatized by the experience.

He was easy to please, always happy to help or to listen to her talk, completely able to entertain himself if she left him alone, and an all around sweety. He would be the most low maintenance boyfriend in the world, if it weren’t for his insistence on self sacrifice.

She was pulled from her musings when they reached the front of the line. She had already made her choice when she had first seen the menu, but Izuku had waffled for a while. When he finally chose his drink, it was all she could do to hold back a snort. The woman who took their order seemed surprised, but after looking him over, she nodded once and punched the request in.

The “Little Hero” was clearly meant for children, a chocolaty affair with a generous helping of whipped cream on the top. When Izuku finally laid eyes on his drink, his brow scrunched up in confusion, and Mina finally lost it, cackling softly at her boyfriend’s misstep.

Izuku did his best imitation of a strawberry while he meekly accepted his drink and made a beeline for the table they had picked out and Mina followed him, still recovering from her bout of mirth.

The seats they had managed to get were hidden slightly from the rest of the cafe by a large potted plant. Mina appreciated the bit of privacy that it afforded them. She didn’t really care about being watched, but she did enjoy having a bit more alone time with her boyfriend.

“Enjoying your drink?” She teased as he took a tentative sip. The barista had really gone all out, adding chocolate shavings as well as sprinkles and a stick of cinnamon to the top of what Mina was sure was an unhealthy amount of whipped cream. Her own drink was fairly simple by comparison. An Iced coffee with some cinnamon to give it some extra flavoring, with a small heart drawn in the cream for her, which was a nice little touch.

“It...it’s pretty good.” Izuku said timidly, eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of him.

“Apparently!” She said with a chuckle. When he lifted his head up to look at her, she could see that a bit of whipped cream had lodged itself at the end of his nose. Combined with the confused and slightly embarrassed look on his face, it made for an insanely cute picture. Mina was half tempted to whip out her phone to commemorate the moment, but decided against it.

Instead she reached across the table and deftly wiped the offending spot away. Then on a whim, she took a moment to run her thumb along his cheek.

Izuku relaxed into her touch, his eyes closing as he sighed in contentment.

Mina felt her heart skip a beat. She was sure in that moment that she was the luckiest girl in the world. Izuku was beyond strong, incredibly smart, and so dedicated she was sure he would crawl through hell on bloody hands and knees if it meant saving someone in trouble. And here he was, melting like putty in her hands simply because he enjoyed being around her.

It made her feel truly special.

--

They didn’t get any studying done that day, much to Izuku’s chagrin. Instead, they spent the day wandering Mustafu to see if they could find any other hidden gems like the cafe. It wasn’t a productive day, but it was a pleasant one. A day spent in easy company was just what the pair had needed after the stress of UA. And at the end of the day, they were both perfectly content to fall asleep in the arms of the one person in the world who could read them like a book.

[simplejjs]

Chapter 3 of My Reveal story

Finally a kiss!  Hee hee hee!!  

I have been told that I should say, “I won’t post the next until I get one thousand likes,” but I replied that that is mean.  :-)

My Reveal Story   Chapter 3   by JJ Sprinkle

Adrien woke up with a song in his heart.  Last night had gone even better than he had hoped, and today he would get to spend all day close to the person he loved and admired.  Before leaving the sanctuary of his bedroom, Adrien flicked through favorite photos of his mom saved on his phone and murmured, “You’d really like her, Mom.”

In the corner, Adrien heard Plagg waking up with a loud stretch.  He usually waited until just before Adrien headed down to breakfast to rouse himself.  “Breakfast time?” Plagg confirmed as the flitted over to Adrien.  Seeing what Adrien was doing, Plagg placed one paw delicately on Adrien’s shoulder while he too looked at the phone screen.

With a quick swipe and click, Adrien closed his photos app and turned off his phone.  Pocketing it, he turned and said unemotionally, “Let’s get you some cheese.”  Plagg silently zoomed next to Adrien, unwilling to voice the sadness he knew Adrien was covering up.

Changing the mood, Plagg intentionally mocked Adrien, “Are you going to speed through breakfast again, so you can *stare* at Marinette?”

“Sure thing, Plagg.  Other than fighting akumas, it’s the best part of my day.  Now c’mon and hide.”  Adrien held open his white shirt for Plagg to fly into.

A hot breakfast was waiting on the table for him, and as Adrien helped himself to juice, Nathalie walked in.  “Good morning,” Nathalie said, cool as a cucumber.  Adrien returned her greeting as she pulled up his schedule for the day.  “You have a fitting during lunch for your shoot tomorrow.  Immediately after school you will return home for Chinese.”

Adrien interrupted her, “Nathalie, we were given group projects in History yesterday, “ he lied.  “My group wants to meet directly after school in the library.  It’s not like I can meet at lunch, so please can you push the Chinese off for an hour?”

Nathalie flicked her eyes off of the tablet to evaluate Adrien. He tried to look sincere and appealing.  Returning to the tablet, Nathalie swiped her fingers rapidly across its screen and then announced, “Fine.  You’ll have one hour.”

Adrien exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“After Chinese, your father has arranged an art history tour at the Louvre.  You will then have dinner out.  Then, obviously, homework.”  Nathalie cleared her screen, and reached for an empty glass.  A servant in a black and white uniform efficiently filled it with juice.  While Nathalie was distracted, Adrien smuggled two thick slices of camembert to Plagg.

As he tried calmly to eat his breakfast, he coyly dropped slices of cheese into the linen napkin spread on his lap. Gathering its corners together, Adrien pushed his empty plate to the side, rose, and declared, “I would like to leave for school now.”

Nathalie immediately tapped her tablet’s screen, and said, “Marceau will be waiting for you.”

Adrien’s footsteps echoed loudly on the marble floor of the entry hall.  He grabbed his backpack, tossed the stinky napkin full of cheese into its outer pocket, and then walked directly towards the imposing front doors.  Placing one hand on the doorknob, Adrien offered to the empty space, “Bye, Dad.”  Then he pulled open the door and walked out into the morning sun.

His bodyguard was waiting for him in the car.  As soon as Adrien slammed the car door behind him, the bodyguard took off.

Again Adrien found himself tapping the leather armrest of the plush sedan.  To give himself something else to do, Adrien pulled the linen napkin back out of his backpack and offered a slice of cheese to his breast pocket.  Plagg needed no persuasion, and grabbed the cheese from his hand.  Muffled sounds of satisfied chewing brought a grin to Adrien’s face, followed by a whispered demand, “More!”  For the entire drive, Adrien passed sticky, stinky slices of cheese to Plagg, and wondered that Plagg didn’t get sick of them.

Arriving at the school, Adrien finally let himself smile in anticipation.  “Thanks,” he said, hopping out, and Marceau grunted.  Adrien raced up the stairs of the school, dashed through the courtyard, and made a beeline for the corner in the locker room where he had positioned himself the day before.  

It was not long before Marinette entered, alone.  She glanced quickly around the locker room, overlooking Adrien, then started removing books from her bag.  Adrien watched her, remembering how she had teased him about losing the computer games, and remembering how red she had gone when he had mentioned kissing the night before  He gazed at her face, teased his imagination with her lips, and wished he knew just what to say to get his entire Ladybug to love him.

Alya and Nino entered together, in close conversation.  Nino was talking with his hands.  Alya immediately saw Marinette, and then closely scanned the rest of the room until her eyes came to rest on Adrien.  Raising her arm high to wave, she called out loudly, “Hi Adrien!”  Marinette jumped, and looked around again panicked.  She too saw Adrien, and saw that he was watching her, and then turned and tried to escape into her locker.  

Adrien grabbed his book bag and stood up.  “Hey!” Plagg complained about the jolting movement from his shirt pocket.

With his model smile, Adrien walked directly over to Marinette.  “Good morning, Marinette.”

Marinette peeked over her shoulder, “M- Morning Adrien!”  Her eyes shone.

“Did you get all of your homework done last night?” he asked.

Marinette had stayed up quite late struggling to finish the second half of her Math.  Thoughts of Cat Noir and Adrien had chased each other around in her brain all night long.  “Um, no,” she answered honestly.  “I didn’t even start History.  Um, how ‘bout you?”

‘She’s still nervous,’ Adrien thought, then answered aloud, “Mostly.  I had double Latin, so that took awhile.” ‘But it was worth it,’ he added to himself.  Alya wandered casually up and stood just inside the peripheral vision of both of them.  “Do you want to meet in the library after class, and work on History together?”

“Really?” Marinette asked, “Are you sure?”

“Sweetie, of course he’s sure,” Alya broke in, patting Marinette’s shoulder.  While Marinette stared at Adrien, Alya turned to him and replied, “Of course she does.  She was already asking me if I would work on History with her but I have my Ladyblog to work on.”

“I did?” Marinette turned a surprised look to Alya, who raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Marinette.  “Oh!  I did!” Marinette said to Adrien, then added a little shyly, “Of course I’d like to.”

Not a single second of this interaction was missed by Chloe, who took the opportunity to sail up and drape her arm around Adrien, effectively turning him away from Marinette and Alya.  “Adrien! How fun!” she exclaimed loudly, “Daddy says you and I have a *private* tour of the Louvre this evening!  Just you and me!” She looked significantly over her shoulder at Marinette.

“Uh, right,” Adrien replied, nervously, “I didn’t know you would be there…”

“Daddikins arranged it, and I *knew* you would want *me* there, so of course I’m coming!  I wouldn’t miss it for the world…” she purred.  Then, she tugged on Adrien to lead him away.

Adrien did not wish to cause a scene, so he went, but first he looked over his shoulder and mouthed, “The library!” and smiled.  But his smile faded at the upset look on Marinette’s face, and the glower darkening Alya’s.  When they finally got to class, and Nino slipped in beside him, Nino simply looked Adrien up and down, shaking his head, “You’ve got a lot to learn about women, my man!”  Glumly, Adrien sighed.

Despite Chloe’s interference, Adrien felt that the morning went well.  Midterms were coming up, so their classes were intense enough that there was very little chatting while the teachers were lecturing, but between bells Adrien tried hard to smooth over the rough patch that Chloe had sowed.  At first, Alya watched him hawkishly, dubiously, but after a while she relaxed enough to suggest that Nino and Adrien join Marinette and her for lunch.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Adrien said, “I have a fitting for a photo shoot at lunchtime.”

“Heh heh!” Nino laughed, “The life of a model, dude!”

Adrien saw his opportunity and took it, “I’m not just a pretty face, Nino.  I bet I could beat you at an armwrestle!”

“You’re on!” Nino exclaimed, pushing up his sleeve and resting his elbow on the desk.  Adrien glanced to his left to make sure that Marinette and Alya were watching.  He noticed with satisfaction that Marinette’s eyes were narrowed attentively.

Within a second of starting, Adrien knew that Nino did not stand a chance against him.  Still, he drew out the match, so that when he finally won it looked like he had had to work at it.  As the rows around them applauded, Adrien grinned up at Marinette and suggested, “Care to try?”

He could see Ladybug’s mind clicking away behind Marinette’s eyes, and was not surprised when she said, “Yes, okay.”

Rising, Adrien slipped onto the bench next to her and held out his arm.

Marinette placed her hand in his, and Adrien folded his fingers over hers.  Her hand almost disappeared.  They both extended their other hands to hold them against the desk between them.  Nino counted down, “Two, One, Go!” and they began to wrestle.

In fact, Adrien flicked his eyes up to Marinette’s face, surprised by her strength.  He would not win this competition as easily as he had won against Nino, but he knew he could indeed have won.  However, struggling back and forth, Adrien slowly allowed Marinette to push his hand down, down, down to the desk.

Nino slapped the desk and grabbed Marinette’s hand, holding it in the air and announcing, “Marinette wins!”

As everyone cheered, Adrien opened his eyes innocently and remarked, “Wow, Marinette, I guess you’re stronger than me!”

Marinette opened her mouth as if to say something, and then pressed it closed again, instead giving Adrien a weak smile. At that point the teacher walked in, and all attention was turned to class.  

Except… Marinette found herself staring out the window and silently cursing Cat Noir.

After the day’s classes were done, Marinette was at her locker wondering uncertainly if Adrien still remembered about the library.  Chloe had been pushy and self-important throughout the day, frequently mentioning how close Adrien’s father and her own were.  Marinette could not imagine that after all, Adrien really wanted to study with her in the library, yet she didn’t want to completely give up hope, but she could not figure out how to mention it to Adrien without looking like a love-sick cow.  She sighed.

“Hey, Mari,” Adrien’s voice whispered in her ear, “Are you still up for working on History together?”

Marinette turned quickly, giddiness overcoming her, and nodded.  She opened her mouth to speak but Adrien put his finger to his lips to shush her.  “Grab your stuff and follow me,” he whispered.

Marinette did as he asked, quietly closing her locker door and following Adrien’s lead.  When he got to the hallway, he first peeked right and left before stepping out.  Marinette followed him in a direction away from the library.  They took a set of back stairs, traversed a couple of smaller hallways, and finally stopped in front of a closed door.  Again checking left and right, Adrien opened the door and ushered Marinette inside.  She saw that his bookbag was already placed on the table that took up almost half of the small room.  A window looked out onto the back street of the school, with a small park beyond.  The room was sunny but intimate.

Adrien closed the door and leaned against it.  In his normal voice he apologized, “I hope this is okay?  We can go to the library if you want, but I think Chloe was planning to study there as well, and I - uh - I just thought it might be a little quieter in here.”  He smiled a little nervously, obviously waiting for her agreement.

“No, no, this is fine!” Marinette felt funny.  Her heart was racing, and her thoughts were scattered.  She had to lecture herself not to read too much into Adrien’s behavior, but a large part of her felt complimented and relieved.

Adrien walked over to his bookbag and started pulling out his work.  “This is where I have my Latin lessons, and sometimes my Chinese.  I don’t think they use it much after school hours.”

“It’s really great,” Marinette offered, then thought she ought to pull out her books just like Adrien.  “I don’t need any of the books in the library, I think, so we can stay here as long as you want.”  When Adrien glanced at her, amused, Marinette added, “To study…”

Adrien could almost feel the shadow of his Cat Noir ears flicking as he teased her, “To study.”  A blush stained Marinette’s cheeks.

“So, what’s your essay on?” Adrien asked, holding out the chair next to his for Marinette to sit.

“Umm, I’m writing about Napoleon’s march into Russia and the role the soldiers’ uniforms played in their defeat.”

Adrien nodded, impressed.  “That sounds interesting.  I’m just writing about the Napoleonic Code.”

The two chatted back and forth about their subjects, and why they had chosen them.

“So ultimately it’s your interest in fashion that led you to the French uniforms?” Adrien asked.

Talking about her favorite subject, Marinette’s eyes glowed, “Well, yes, but it’s really about the materials that go into fashion.  Well,” she giggled, “you should know, of anyone!  But the materials can play an enormous role in the functionality of a design, like the tin buttons on the uniforms that crumbled in the cold.”  Marinette realized that she was blathering, and let herself peter out, “Well, anyway, that’s all.”

Adrien remarked with sincerity, “I’d like to read it when you’re done.”

“Um, sure…” Marinette answered, awkwardly.  She wasn’t sure she believed him.  “Well, I guess we ought to work…”

“Right,” Adrien agreed.  They worked companionably for almost ten minutes, when Adrien broke the silence.

“So what material do you think Ladybug and Cat Noir’s outfits are made of?”

Marinette’s head popped up, and searching Adrien’s face she said, “What?”

“You know,” he explained, “you’ve seen Cat Noir up close, and I’ve seen Ladybug a couple of times.  I’ve wondered about the material in their suits.  Like, are they just superheroes anyway, or is it the suits that give them extra power, or what?  Haven’t you wondered that?”

Marinette was very careful how she answered, “Uh, I guess.  I didn’t really examine Cat Noir’s outfit…”

“I don’t know if I could ever do what they do,” Adrien said, innocently changing tack.  “They must be incredibly brave.”

“Um… yah.”  Marinette agreed, but then added, “Or maybe they’re just normal people, like, like you or me, and then sometimes they can change.”

“C’mon,” scoffed Adrien, “you can’t really believe that!”  He snickered, and Marinette frowned down at her paper.  “I mean, I can’t even stand up to my father most of the time.  Can you imagine me standing up to the bad guys they fight?”  Adrien sniggered.

Marinette was silent.  She felt her heart constrict a little, and she remembered the words she had used with Cat Noir to describe Adrien, ‘He’s just a regular guy, okay?  He’s just a nice, smart, kind guy.’  Suddenly, Marinette felt a longing to be sitting next to Cat Noir.  For all of the deception between them, in many ways Marinette realized she could be more honest with Cat Noir about her true person, than with anyone else in the world.  She sighed.

Next to her, Adrien seemed to be diligently working on his essay.  However, inside he was panicking, wondering if by downplaying his civilian self in Marinette’s eyes he was really pushing her towards his Cat Noir side, or if he was just merely pushing her away.

After about twenty minutes of fast scribbling and desultory chatting between the two of them, Adrien checked his watch and knew he had to get going.  “My father has scheduled Chinese for me this afternoon, and then there's the Louvre tour.”  He snorted as he pushed his books into his bag.

Closing her notebook, Marinette asked, “Is he really as demanding as all that?”

“You have no idea,” was all that Adrien would say.

“Well,” Marinette offered charitably, “at least you’ll have Chloe with you at the Louvre, so it won’t be all academic.”  She did not add that, knowing Chloe, it was likely to be the opposite of academic.

Adrien placed his hand under Marinette’s elbow and, like an old fashioned gentleman, helped her to rise.  “Yes, well, Chloe is… Chloe.  I wish *you* could come to the Louvre with me instead, Marinette.  I know I would enjoy it much more.”  He still had his hand under Marinette’s elbow.

Marinette’s heart flip flopped, and she smiled up into Adrien’s eyes.  He ran his hand along her arm until he held her hand between them, and looking down, he played gently with her fingers.  Little frissons of electricity zipped through Marinette, landing somewhere near her stomach.

“I really wish you could come with me,” he repeated.  They gazed at each other, and Marinette’s mouth went dry.

Adrien knew he shouldn’t.  He had put so much thought into how to get Marinette thinking of both sides of him as potential boyfriend material, and kissing Marinette right now was not part of the plan.  It might skew her against Cat Noir again.  But he was still panicking a little, fearful that he had overplayed his hand, fearful that he might not get another chance to kiss his Ladybug.

Adrien’s gaze flicked down to Marinette’s soft, pink lips, and his resolve crumbled.  Raising his right hand, still holding Marinette’s hand with his left, Adrien used one finger to gently trace her jawline.  Coming to rest beneath her bottom lip, Adrien asked hesitantly, “Marinette, may I kiss you?”

Marinette’s cheeks glowed an enchanting pink, and unable to speak, she merely nodded her head.

Slowly, tentatively, Adrien lowered his lips to hers.  Marinette’s eyes drifted closed, as Adrien’s hand snaked behind her neck to cradle the back of her head.  At first, Adrien’s kisses were like soft butterflies, but soon he deepened the kiss into something more than romantic.  

Letting go of Marinette’s hand, Adrien wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her entire body against his.  Of their own volition, Marinette’s arms found their way up to his shoulders, and she wove her fingers into his silky golden hair.  Slanting his head, Adrien deepened the kiss even more, and Marinette quickly lost herself in an explosion of emotions.  Adrien poured all of the love, admiration, and tenderness he felt into his kiss, and Marinette’s natural shyness disappeared as she rose on her tiptoes, pushed her lithe body even more against his solid frame, and met him kiss for kiss.  As in everything else, they were equal partners.

Both were lost in a world of sensation, and both were jarred back to reality by the sudden ringing of Adrien's phone.

They pulled apart, not yet letting go of the other, still half drunk and panting for breath.  Green eyes drowned in blue, but finally Adrien said, “I have to go.  That’s my driver calling.”  He did not make a move to let Marinette go.

Marinette lowered her gaze, her shyness returning, and slowly she pulled her hands down to his shoulders.  She couldn’t quite let go of him, because her head was still spinning and she wasn’t sure she was up to standing.

The phone went quiet for a moment, and then started ringing incessantly again.  

Finally letting go of Marinette’s waist, Adrien placed his hands over Marinette’s and pulled them from his shoulders.  They held hands between their bodies, and when Marinette looked back up into Adrien’s eyes, he could see that her lips were swollen and red from his kisses.

“Oh my God, Mari-” he said, but bit off the rest.  She was not ready to hear it; she would not believe it.

The phone started ringing again.  Finally letting her go, Adrien grabbed his bookbag and phone, and dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose, he said again, “I’ve got to go.”  Moving to the door, he gazed one more time back at Marinette.  She was standing where he had left her, with two fingers pressed to her rosy lips.  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Adrien promised, and then left.

Racing down the hall to the front of the school, Adrien almost tripped when Plagg zoomed out in front of him.  “So how was it, Loverboy?” Plagg teased.

“Shut up, Plagg,” Adrien said.  His head was still too full to manage anything more.

     To Be Continued.....!    by JJ Sprinkle

Up Next:  https://simplejjs.tumblr.com/post/166714124815/chapter-4-of-my-reveal-story

[newstfionline]

When her daughter died, she turned to exercise to quell her grief

By Amanda Loudin, Washington Post, July 15, 2017

Twenty months ago, Tamara Grand experienced every mother’s greatest fear: the loss of a child. Struggling with her grief, the 49-year-old personal trainer turned to what has always been her first line of defense when dealing with stress: exercise. While nothing could fill the hole in Grand’s heart, she has found that movement makes it easier to face her grief and move forward.

Robert Neimeyer, a professor of psychology at the University of Memphis whose research and practice focuses on bereavement, says that while exercise is by no means a panacea, it can play a valuable role in adapting to loss. “It provides both direct benefits to mood and health, and indirect benefits as it forces you out of isolation and into the world,” he says.

Allison Gilbert, a New York-based grief expert and author of “Passed and Present,” says that what grief takes away--energy, joy, focus--exercise can give back. “Death of a loved one involves so many emotional drains,” she explains. “Exercise allows you to come into a space where you can focus on yourself, and helps decrease the pulls on your energy. It restores some of your buoyancy.”

The link between exercise and depression, often a hallmark of grief, is well documented. George Mammen, a University of Toronto PhD candidate, reviewed 25 pieces of research and concluded that moderate exercise can boost mood and help ward off depression in the long term. “Many studies have demonstrated the effectiveness of exercise regimens in improving mood for people who are moderately depressed, effects that are observed within a few weeks of beginning a fitness program,” Neimeyer says.

It doesn’t end with the emotional benefits, either. Neimeyer points out that fitness “pushes back” against the physical health risks of bereavement. “Research suggests that having a regular exercise routine introduces a healthy structure into life, contributing to better nutrition and sleep patterns,” he says. “In this way, exercise promotes positive outcomes and indirectly mitigates the negative impact of grief, such as eating poorly or relying on vices to perk us up or calm us down.”

Numerous studies have looked at exercise as a method for treating depression. Patrick Smith, an associate professor of psychiatry at Duke University and co-author of several studies on the topic including “Is Exercise a Viable Treatment for Depression?,” says, “The short story is that in most head-to-head studies, exercise is equally as effective as antidepressants.”

What Smith and others have not determined is the amount of exercise required to deliver mood benefits. “We used standard cardiac rehab protocols (three times per week at 70-85 percent max heart rate) in our studies, but the jury is out on what certain threshold is necessary for benefits,” he wrote in the abstract of one of his studies. “We do know that neurotransmitters [brain chemicals] are modified via exercise, leading to improved mood.”

That effect is transient, as people experience an exercise-induced surge in brain chemicals associated with improved mood, Smith says. But “once they feel the effects, they are more likely to return for more,” he says, “and that can lead to lasting changes and impacts.”

Over time, though, Smith says, “these same changes appear to have more enduring, systemic effects,” possibly even causing the growth of neurons in a part of the brain that often atrophies in depressed people.

“The key is for patients to find something convenient and enjoyable enough that they will keep at it for the long term,” he explained in an email. “It’s difficult to quantify how long the long-term antidepressant effects of exercise are, but ... one of the best predictors of continued remission from depression is whether or not participants kept exercising. In almost every study I’ve been a part of, regardless of their initial treatment (medication, exercise, or placebo), when we evaluated participants again six months to a year after ending the intervention, those who either continued or started exercising regularly had the lowest risk of relapsing into depression.”

Just two weeks after losing her 13-year-old daughter to complications from a genetic heart condition, Grand, of British Columbia, forced herself back to the gym. “As a fitness professional, my brain knew that movement would be an important part of my grieving process,” she says.

While exercise was the right idea, doing it in her regular gym where she was well known wasn’t, Grand says. “It was difficult and awkward, and I felt like I was on show,” she says. “People constantly interrupted my workouts to offer condolences and ask questions,” which was emotionally draining.

This was more than Grand was ready for. “After about six weeks of trying this, a friend suggested a change of scenery might be in order,” she says.

She signed on for a small-group strength and conditioning program at another facility. “This worked wonders for me,” she says. “Not only was I anonymous, but all I had to do was show up and do the work.”

Grand spent the next eight months as part of this group. “At the end of that time, I felt ready to go back to my regular gym and take charge of my own workouts again,” she says. “I also returned to teaching group exercise about two months after Clara’s death. The fantastic energy I get from my morning classes has often spilled over and sustained me for the rest of the day.”

Adrienne Langelier, a licensed professional counselor from The Woodlands, Tex., says that emotional stress can make it hard to push yourself physically, but doing so should be seen as an important part of self-care. “I was scheduled to run a marathon when my grandmother was in the hospital dying,” she says. “I wrestled with running it, but in the end, pushing through allowed me to be more present for my family.”

Her passion for running and ability to get out and do it helped with the intense grief she felt when her grandmother died, Langelier says. “Running filled my well instead of emptying it.”

Recognizing and acting upon a desire for movement is key for anyone looking at exercise as an outlet for grief. “You will feel different on different days, so you need to be respectful of that and match your exercise intent to your needs,” Langelier explains.

Gilbert says that ideally, exercise is transformational during grief. “It’s an opportunity to remove stress and gain the capacity to build resilience and make yourself happy.”

In the early stages of grief, it is easy to be passive and let others take care of you. “Through my own personal loss, I learned that it was up to me to move forward and find joy and happiness,” Gilbert says. “As the support goes away, it’s crucial to take the reins and take care of yourself.”

The best type of exercise will vary from one person to the next. Gilbert is a fan of yoga and getting outside. Langelier is drawn to the rhythm of running, and for Grand, strength training is the answer. “If you’re new to exercise, don’t put pressure on yourself to make it a routine,” suggests Gilbert. “Try it once, and if it feels good, go back and do it again.”

Grand says that in the early stages of grief, all she wanted from exercise was escape--”from my house, my family, my friends, acquaintances and my own thoughts. Lifting weights did that for me, and it still does. At the 18-month mark, I’m back to my old routine of teaching and training.”