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smimon · 1 year ago

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Omg asking asks, am grabbing this opportunity 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀:

🍫 If you don’t like cheese (will you give me yours or are you a fellow cheese enthusiast?)

🦋🌿🎵📷💌🙃🍪

🐶 dog or kitty 👀👀👀👀

🌸 tell me about your biggest compliment 👀👀👀

🐰

Sorry this is a bit much but I highlighted the ones you need to answer 👀👀👀👀👀👀😸 no pressure tho

Hiii thanks for the ask! Are you ready?! This got a bit long so follow below XD Let's goooo

🍫 Cheese or chocolate? - Cheese wins big time! I love all kinds of cheese and trying new cheese varieties! Unfortunately cheese isn't good for me and I can only eat fairly small amounts 😔 (small compared to what I would prefer, it's still more than average person lol) so after I try a bit of the cheese you can have the rest 😁

🦋 Describe yourself in three words. - Tough one! Should it be three separate words or a three-word sentence? Whatever. Maybe something like "artist", "stubborn", and of course "silly" 🤡

🌿 Describe your favorite outfit. - Okay in general I am not a fan of having an appearance and I feel the best when wearing cosplay, my favorite costume so far is White/Hilda from Pokemon Black and White 😁 But if I have to choose something more casual then it probably would be teal turtleneck, black waistcoat, grey skinny trousers and black boots 🤗 I'll see how I feel about my Berlin gig outfit but I haven't worn it yet so it doesn't count xD

🎵 Last song you listened to? - Mic Mac! 🙌🙌🙌🙌

📷 What’s set as your phone’s lockscreen? - Boo! My phone's settings are broken and I cannot choose any photo outside the default gallery! Boo! But I imagine it's this one:

💌 Do you talk to yourself? - It seems so! I only noticed like last month. Must be a side effect of isolation. And sometimes at work, when I'm very busy, I might start singing 😂 but I stop as soon as I notice lol

🙃 What’s a weird fact that you know? - Barnacles might look like molluscs, but they are actually crustaceans! The outer shell is formed from their foreheads and inside there is a little guy that looks like a shrimp 😁

🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be? - Maybe a French macaron because I tend to be pretentious and difficult 😂

🐶 Are you more of a dog person or a cat person? - CATS ONLY! In this house we love and respect God's perfect predators 😤

🌸 Best compliment you ever received? - Oh shit I am so very bad at taking compliments 🙈 I guess there are two strong competitors. First, when my therapist of all people told me that I am doing well at university since I never failed an exam despite studying a difficult field. It made me feel proud because before that I only focused on how much I struggled. And the second one, when a certain someone asked me if they can get my art as a tattoo 👀🙈

🐰 What do you think says the most about a person? - I am not good at reading people, but I think you can tell quite a lot from how a person treats animals, especially cats. Will they mostly care about not getting fur all over them, will they play with the animal and show some feelings, will they maybe take a photo to show to their loved ones? I find that fairly interesting.

That would be it! Hope you are satisfied 😁 thank you for the ask! 🫡🥹🥹🥹🤗🤗🤗

#ask #j-restlessgeek #emoji ask game #this was fun

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ladyseidr · 2 years ago

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@ahogedetective asked: ❝ Today was Kaede’s special day, so Shuichi wanted to make sure she has nothing but fun. He first treated her to lunch at a nice little restaurant, then got boba tea with her afterwards. Since the weather was nice, he suggested they could find a bench at the park to drinks at. He spotted one right by the big fountain in the park, feeling that such a nice view would make enjoying their stuff together even better.

“The fountain always looks so pretty... especially when it’s peaceful and quiet like this. We chose the perfect time to come!” He chuckles, taking a small sip of his tea. But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to bring her here, of course; he also wanted to finally surprise her with the gifts he got for her. After a while of chatting, he starts going inside of his bag as he says: “I have something else for you, too: your gifts... !” What takes out is one small gift box, and a medium-sized one. In the smaller one, was box of homemade birthday cake macarons, topped with sprinkles. Half were filled with vanilla, while the other half was filled with chocolate. “I made macarons for you! I thought you’d love to enjoy them with your bubble tea!" Also in that bag was a purple insulated travel mug with a design of pink flowers on it, paired with bags of caramel and mocha frappe mixes.

And then inside of the bigger gift box... was a pink portable piano keyboard, small enough where it could lay comfortably across her lap. It even came with a bag to travel it with, along with a small stand attached to the keyboard to place music sheets. “I-I also wanted to surprise you with this... ! I wanted to get you a bigger one, but I thought that would probably make it a bit harder to carry around, ahaha... s-so I hope this works just fine!! So that you can be able to play music, no matter where you are... I imagine that would feel very nice to do if you want to do so at your favorite spots. And... if you ever want to... I’d love to join you and listen whenever you’d like. I think that’d be nice... but yes, I hope you love it and your other gifts, and will have a lot of fun using it, Kaede. Happy Birthday... !” He smiles brightly, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE GOODEST GIRL!!! 🎉🎹🎂) ❞ ( Birthday ask!! )

What better way was there to spend a birthday than with your best friend? Shuichi had already made it a wonderful birthday with both lunch and boba tea. She had a skip in her step before they ever even made it to the park. She took her seat on the bench, nodding. "It's perfect right now. Especially with a good drink." She wobbled her drink playfully before taking another sip. Shuichi pulling gifts from his back was met with a bright smile, Kaede taking the smaller box first and, drink set to the side, opening it. "Oh, these look amazing!" She plucked a chocolate macaron from the box, taking a bite. The sweet, rich flavor was almost comforting in a way. She hummed happily. "You always make the best desserts." She meant it. They were even better knowing they were from Shuichi. The mug and drink mixes brought her an equal amount of joy. "This is so cute! I can wait to try the these too." Finally she took the larger gift box, shooting Shuichi a confused if excited glance at the size of it. Upon opening it, however, she gasped. "Oh. . . my god." She gawked over it for a good couple of minutes, taking it from the box and examining it with more excitement than she had thought possible. She then set it aside, turned, and practically launched herself at Shuichi. She pulled him into a tight hug. "It's perfect! You really are the best, geez." Squeezing him once more for good measure, she released him with a laugh. "You always know just the thing to do. This is going to be so useful!"

"Y'know, I think I'll play you what I've been working on after we finish our drinks—" she grabbed the box of macarons, scooting over so she could set it between them, "—and share these!" And then she paused, fiddling with her fingers for a moment before adding more softly, "You really have made this the best birthday, so. . . thanks."

#ahogedetective #d a n g a n r o n p a /#[ birthday posts 🎂 ]#((!!!!!!! SHE IS SO HAPPY RN))#((a really fun day AND the perfect gifts!!))#((she is So appreciative to have shuichi in her life i stg—))#☽—— ⸢ ask ⸥

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foodieforthoughts · 3 years ago

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Hi, my darling! I love your writing and I have a special ask for you: my birthday is in July 14th, a big and important holiday in France. So, how could it be if Henry brings me to Paris to celebrate my day (this is one of my biggest dreams)? (in case to describe the reader's physical characteristics I'd like it to be a plus size one, please ❤️) P.S.: Forgive my writing. English is not my mother language.

Honey! I know it has been ages since you sent this but now seems the perfect time. Happy birthday to you in advance sweetheart. 🤗❤️

Also, I only know about 14th of July celebrations from what's available on the internet, if I have made any mistakes I'm sorry about it. 🙈 Also, also, I haven't described the physical attributes of the reader. I hope that is okay. 😇

Title: Mon amour

You were pretty sure Henry was going to miss your birthday this year, what with him being away for filming and only a couple more hours until your birthday. But you were completely taken by surprise when he called, asking you to head out to the airport and pack whatever you deemed necessary.

"You are crazy, Henry!" You exclaimed on the phone, standing outside the airport in the night with a hurriedly packed bag. "What is happening?!"

"Hurry up, love." You nearly shrieked when out of nowhere Henry came up to you and grabbed your hand. Tugging you along to follow him, instructing you to take out your passport, Henry led you through the gate inside the airport.

It was only when you saw the boarding pass, your happiness knew no bounds as you realised he was taking you to Paris for your birthday.

Being in Paris for July 14th celebration, an important day called la fête nationale, was at the top of your bucket list. Henry explained how he had meant to come home one day prior but bad weather and some delays with filming had pushed his plans to the last minute. He had apologized for it but you assured him there wasn't any need for them. There was nothing to forgive, on the contrary, he got a big kiss and a tight hug when the plane took off. You were pretty sure your were floating to cloud nine even before the Eiffel Tower came into view.

Henry had left no stone unturned to make your stay special. A room in Shangri-la with an amazing view of the Seine river, complimented by the giant, wrought iron symbol of love for romantics, was already booked for next four days and decorated with balloons for your birthday. You felt your heart could burst with the surprises he had planned, unfolding one after another and making you teary eyed, only for Henry to take you in his arms and kiss the tears away.

"Good morning, love." He greeted you the next day, naked and still in bed with his arms around you. Running his hand through your hair and kissing your lips, Henry wished you a 'happy birthday' again.

Despite sleeping only for a few hours, both of you were eager to spend the day out and about it in the city. Henry had to try to blend in with the crowd, wearing a cap and casual clothes yet still managing to look like an adonis, making you laugh when he hung the DSLR from his shoulder. Luckily for him with the moustache he had going on for his upcoming movie, he looked almost, if not entirely, unrecognizable.

After watching the military parade in Champs-Elysées, he took you for a dessert splurge around the avenue. From all the crêpes, éclairs, madeleines and macarons, you were getting a sugar rush, joking and laughing with a constantly soaring high. Since Henry was on a strict diet, he only had taken a small bite from your crêpe, sitting and listening to you, amused at the sheer level of your excitement.

Lucky for you, before you could go on a downward spiral from the drop in blood sugar, Henry got you hydrated and tucked in the bed for a nap. You had protested initially, but all your complains vanished when he started kissing you and whispering in your ear in his low, gruff voice, how much he had missed you.

It wasn't until late afternoon that you finally woke up to find Henry in the balcony, sipping on tea and basking in the evening sunlight. You sneaked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking in a deep breath of his scent while resting your face against his taut back.

"How did I ever become so lucky to have you in my life?" You mumbled against his shirt, smiling to yourself as you said it.

"I am the lucky one to find you." He placed the cup on the railing, twisting to pull you to stand in front of him. Trapping you in between his arms, he kissed your nose causing his moustache to tickle your skin and make you giggle.

You sighed happily, throwing your arms around his neck and running your hand through his hair. Gazing at him with a smile, you were mesmerized by his captivating blue eyes like it had been the very first time.

"We better start getting ready to head out again." He caressed your cheek with his thumb as he spoke.

"Yeah? We could stay in though. Maybe continue from when you stopped in the afternoon?" You winked at him, making him chuckle.

"Later tonight, baby. I have one more thing planned for you."

When you stepped inside the Bateaux Parisiens, you knew why Henry had asked you to pack 'something fancy'. Donning a sleek blazer suit himself, Henry looked dashing as always. Live music playing in the background, an elegant menu of scrumptious food, glasses of Champagne Jacquart Brut Mosaïque, accompanied by the love of your life while cruising down the river with magnificent view of the city on both sides, you knew dinner couldn't have been any more lavish than this. Henry was recognised by few, approached for photos which Henry would have generally declined but you insisted he should go for it. Their smiling faces and elated shrieks only somehow lifted up your spirits even more.

When the boat stopped near the Eiffel Tower with only a few minutes until the fireworks display, Henry grabbed your hand and took you up to the deck. It was already crowded but he managed to find a spot at the far end of the boat. He draped an arm around your shoulder, yours enveloping his waist as you waited for the fireworks to start.

Everything about your birthday was perfect. You were brought to tears as the vibrant colours of the fireworks glowed in the night sky. Henry hugged you closer, kissing the top of your head and watched the beautiful display with you.

Through the crackle of the fireworks, glimmer of the colours sparkling in his eyes, you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his soft lips.

"Thank you for making this day special, Henry." You whispered in his ears, placing another kiss on his cheek.

"Special day for a special lady." He winked at you, before leaning down to kiss you deeply.

#henry cavill requests #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill

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after-witch · 4 years ago

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A Christmas Interlude [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: A Christmas Interlude [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: A (late) Christmas snippet, set in the Oh Sugar Sugar series.

Notes: yandere, kidnapped

[Christmas is an incredibly busy season for bakers. Juggling special orders, Christmas cakes, lookie-loos and families eager to warm up after walking around admiring the Christmas lights can bring stress, stress, stress. There’s hot chocolate to be made, fresh warm cookies to pull out of the oven, window trees to be decorated. So much to do in very little time.

But it’s also… fun. It’s a blast to decorate Christmas treats, which can be much more elaborate than everyday bakery goods with no need for justification. Miniature gingerbread houses with teeny M&M snowmen, macarons stacked like little trees, and more peppermint than you can shake a stick at--pun intended. Planning out what goodies you’ll be hosting seasonally is an intriguing and rewarding challenge and let’s face it, there’s nothing more comforting than a warm cup of hot chocolate at the end of a brisk Christmas workday.

Not that any of that matters.

Not that you’re doing anything for Christmas this year.

Or rather, not that you’re doing anything you want for Christmas this year.

“It’s not very pretty.”

Your captor’s voice cuts through your bittersweet thoughts so starkly that you almost jerk, coming close to ruining what progress you’ve made on an admittedly pitiful looking Christmas cake.

How can it be pretty? You think. I’m in your bare-bones kitchen. There’s nothing to decorate it with but frosting and food coloring and old birthday candles. And oh, yeah, I’m making it under duress.

You weren’t quite at gunpoint, no; L didn’t order you to make it. He didn’t say if you didn’t make it, he’d do something bad. Really, the worst he’d done (aside from kidnapping you) was force you to be around him. Force you to listen to him talk and rant and ask questions that you hated answering. But if you didn’t answer, he’d wheedle it out, somehow poking and prodding at every sensitivity without you ever saying a word.

And so, the cake was your reprieve. If you make him a Christmas cake, he’ll let you do anything you want for Christmas. Aside from leave, he’d said, but that was a given.

You feel him leaning down over your shoulder and cringe. He likes invading your bubble. Does he like that you hate it? You can’t really tell, and you don’t want to ask him because that might make him think you want to know more about him. For all that he’s asked about you--whether you answer or not--you’ve refused to indulge in his desire for you to play along.

You sigh and scooch the kitchen stool down, just enough to give yourself some space.

“It’s hard to make it look pretty when I don’t have anything to work with.”

L raises his eyebrow just in time for you to glance over.

“What do you need to work with?”

You chortle, and it’s probably the first time you’ve made a noise other than annoyed, angry, frustrated, sad, and helpless inside your prison. L almost looks… surprised.

“I thought you were into baked goods? I need…” You stop, and you think about your bakery, think about all the supplies you’d normally have arranged out every morning for decorating. “… sprinkles. Different kinds. Big and small and sparkly. Better food coloring, this stuff is too runny and it’s not vibrant. Royal icing for harder bits, so, confectioner’s sugar, little bit of lemon juice, real butter. Flavorings--extracts, you know. Almond, cherry.”

As you continue listing off the goodies, an image of a pretty cake comes to mind. A tiered cake, topped with little house, though not gingerbread--you can’t stand the stuff--but a pretty little cake house with royal icing frames and snowmen made of cake balls and a peppermint chimney on top. Christmas flowers adorning the other tiers, sugar or frosting bows. Simple but elegant, whimsical and cute. It would be on a display case in your shop and you’d smile when customers asked you if it was for sale; “No, a labor of love--but you can special order something similar.”

What becomes a theoretical shopping list has turned bittersweet and you trail off, resting your head in your hand and sighing, all in the hopes that you won’t start crying. He’s so damn analytical when you cry.

You do jerk when you feel L’s hand on your back suddenly, soft and light and rubbing up and down.

Oh. Oh no. That’s new. He’s trying to comfort you and it might just be more aggravating than his desire to analyze. You squirm, but there’s nowhere to go and you’re forced to accept yet another unwanted intrusion in your life.

“I’m going to take a nap,” you whisper, and you ignore his little noise of protest as you set down the spatula and leave your unfinished cake sitting on the countertop. Ugly and unfinished and pointless. You hate that you can relate to the feeling, but a nap will wash it away, like it always does. At least until you’re forced to confront your reality again.

Still groggy, you walk back into the kitchen and the unexpected sight you find there hits you so hard that you think you might still be dreaming. But the softness of your nap has long worn off, and there’s no denying that the items in front of you are real, solid--and delicious.

It’s… your list, more or less. Neatly arranged on the now-cleared countertop, your earlier cake set to the side. He even got out the bowls and whisks and other little odds-and-ends that you would have chosen yourself, if you were willingly setting out ingredients for a baking session.

L is standing behind the counter, half-looking at you, half-looking at the goodies in front of him. He idly pushes a spatula around on the counter, waiting for you to say something, anything, about this… turn of events.

There are a lot of things you could say. You might say. You want to say. But for now, you’ll make do with a simple query:

“Did you get any chocolate chips?”

He smiles. And pops one into his mouth.

The cake is beautiful--was beautiful, before you took the sharpest knife in the kitchen and ceremoniously cut into it, creating picture-perfect slices that ruin the look but fill up a cake plate just right.

You serve yourself a heaping slice, then cut a second for another plate you pulled out of the cupboard. You don’t want L to get ideas about you being domesticated or humbled or anything of the sort, but, a gesture--cake on a plate--was better than having to actually say “thank you” to the man that’s holding you against your will.

The second mug of hot chocolate, topped with a swirl of cream and cinnamon, is a habit. You always make extra when you’re eating sweets at Christmastime with--friends. But L is not a friend. A habit, you remind yourself, just a habit.

You settle down on the sofa and watch as L fiddles with the remote, looking for the Christmas movie you’d asked to watch as your reward for making the cake. It’s tradition: you always eat something sweet, drink homemade hot chocolate--not cocoa--and watch your favorite Christmas movie in the evening. He makes a little noise of triumph when he finally spots it, and you suppress an amused huff. He has weird habits. You do too, you suppose, being kidnapped notwithstanding.

You stare straight at the screen. Straight at the opening music and opening scene that you’re oh-so-familiar with. You don’t want to see him spot the cake, don’t want to see him eye the mug of warm, delicious hot chocolate. You don’t want to see if he’s pleased or surprised or humbled or if he looks patronizing and slaps on a I-told-you-you’d-come-around smug expression.

You don’t look, but you feel the sofa dip next to you as he nestles in with his own treats. He’s close and warm and munching away happily at the slice in front of him.

Well, shit. You forgot to include “you have to sit somewhere else” as part of your agreement.

#yandere #yandere death note #yandere l lawliet #l lawliet x reader #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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dreamylittlesugarcube · 3 years ago

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All You Knead is Love, Part 2

*I do not own these images, credit goes to the original owners*

Genre: Romance, Fluff, slightly impure thoughts (maybe?)

Characters: You x Kyungsoo

Summary: You’ve become a weekly fixture at the cafe Kyungsoo co-owns, as well as an unofficial taste-tester. Seduction via croissants ;) #croissantaesthetic

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Other dancers may be on the floor. Dear, but my eyes will see only you. Only you have that magic technique. When we sway, I go weak.”

You hum along absentmindedly to the soothing, yet sensual tones of the one and only Michael Bublé. Whoever was in charge of choosing the tunes for this place was your kind of person.You close your eyes as you take your first sip of a chai tea latte made by the incomparable Minseok. You sit at a table inside the Frosted Penguin, pretending to be busy doing some “work”. And by “work”, you mean scrolling through Pinterest, looking for recipes to save to your “Must Try” board, while you try not to stare at Kyungsoo *too much*. You’ve been coming to the Frosted Penguin every week before your voice lesson for the past few months, partially for the delicious Nutella croissants, and partially to steal glances and exchange banter with Kyungsoo.

You bite into your croissant and groan out loud as your teeth break through the crunchy texture of the outside and reach the soft center of the inside. You chew slowly, savoring the texture, as well as the sweet taste of the chocolate hazelnut treasure at the center. You open your eyes to see Minseok smirking at your apparent enjoyment of the drink and pastry. The man was a serious flirt, always ready with an easy smile, a wink, and a “no charge for the extra foam, babe”. You knew he enjoyed an easy time with women, and was flirty with many of the female customers that came in, though always careful to stay just on this side of professional. You were pretty sure he had your number, as far as Kyungsoo was concerned. Whenever you interacted with Kyungsoo, you’d catch Minseok giving the two of you a smarmy smile, like he could see inside your brain to the mostly fluffy, but sometimes impure thoughts you were having about Kyungsoo.

You raise your eyebrows and shoot him a look, and he has the audacity to look offended, like he has absolutely no idea what he is doing to deserve this type of treatment. Innocent, my behind, you think.

As you stare Minseok down in an attempt to assert dominance, you hear the sound of a throat being cleared. You look up to find Kyungsoo staring down at you. Your heart stutters and you hope you aren’t blushing as much as you fear you are blushing. Since you’d started making the Frosted Penguin a regular part of your week, you’d definitely come out of your shell when it came to talking with Kyungsoo. You admired the sweet, professional side that he shows his customers (and you in the beginning), like when he politely asks an elderly lady about her day while ringing her up, or as he works with a mother-to-be to find the perfect flavor of macaron for her baby shower. But the part of him that enchants you the most is the goofy, playful side that he only shows to his close friends, like Chanyeol and Minseok.

As the weeks pass, you notice Kyungsoo opening up to you in his own small ways. You’d come in one week last month, and after listening to you rant about a co-worker who wouldn’t stop stealing your food from the communal fridge, Kyungsoo had hit you with one of his cheesy baking puns and handed you a plate with a new flavor of petit four that he had been working on. To “to make you feel better”, he’d said. Kyungsoo was always whipping up new pastry creations that he was considering putting on the menu and you had not-so-subtly volunteered to be an unofficial taster for his new creations. Since then, like clockwork, he always had a new treat for you to try every time you came in. He’d started by peeking at you from the inside of the kitchen door to gauge your reaction, and after a little coaxing on your part, he now frequently joined you at your table to get your feedback on what he made.

The sound of a throat clearing for the second time brings you back from your reverie and you realize you’ve probably been staring into space like an idiot for the past minute or so. Kyungsoo smiles at you, the sides of his eyes crinkling in a way that gives you butterflies in your stomach.

“Y/N! I was hoping you’d swing by today. I just finished a batch of almond crème brûlée croissants that I want to get your opinion on. I’m considering using this recipe for a corporate account that wants a 10-foot croissant tower for a big corporate party.”

He slides a plate with a heavenly looking pastry towards you. There’s a slightly stiff glaze on top, giving the croissant a shiny, bruleed look. You eagerly pull the pastry closer to you, ready in an instant to take a bite, despite the fact that you’d just absolutely demolished one of his incomparable Nutella croissants. You make eye contact with Kyungsoo as you sink your teeth into the flaky pastry. You groan appreciatively as the flavor hits your tongue. Amazing as usual, you think. Is there anything this man can’t do? Kyungsoo’s gaze is trained on your face as he waits for your words.

“It’s delicious Kyungsoo, the outside gives the impression of breaking into a fresh crème brûlée, and the almond paste on the inside is sweet but not overpowering. Really good. A+ material. Though I am still partial to your Nutella croissants because they are AHH-mazing.” Though you definitely wouldn’t say no to this croissant, if given the option. You playfully take another large bite out of the flaky pastry in front you. “Ab..hmm.hmmm…ly hmmicious,” you say with your mouth full.

Kyungsoo smiles, his eyes roaming around your face before zeroing in on your lips. Suddenly, he leans towards you with his hand outstretched. You freeze mid-swallow, the piece of croissant suddenly stuck in your throat, as Kyungsoo’s thumb rubs some wayward powdered sugar off your lip. Shocked, you can only stare at the man in front of you, as he proceeds to stick his thumb in his mouth, sucking off the sugary substance.

Oh. My. Lanta. Were you dreaming right now? You’d fantasized about touching Kyungsoo and him touching you countless times before this, if you were honest. Your hands had briefly touched a couple of times as he’d reached across the bakery case to hand you your boxes of pastries, and you wondered if you had imagined his fingers lingering on yours for a few seconds longer than was polite. Kyungsoo had soft hands, hands that were marked with strength from years of kneading dough and working hard making the most amazing works of art. What would it feel like to have his hand squeeze yours before bringing it to his heart-shaped lips for a kiss? How would it be to feel his strong hands on the small of your back, as he held you against his body? Had Kyungsoo always been this smooth? Kyungsoo wasn’t touchy with customers, seeming to honor professional boundaries as law.

However, as your brain struggled to reconnect with your body, you saw Kyungsoo’s heart-shaped lips curve into a smile, his pinch-worthy cheeks scrunch upwards, his dark eyes focus on your face, and his low voice start to seductively pull you into his magnetic field once more.

“Mmm…delicious…” he murmured, making it clear that he wasn’t just talking about the sugar.

And the out-of-body experience continues, you think. Stuff like this only happens in Korean dramas. The female lead gets ice cream on her nose or lip while on a date at an amusement park and the male lead tenderly removes it with care before pulling her in for an intimate, soft kiss. A kiss. You try not to make it obvious as your gaze moves to his pink, plump lips, imagining something other than Kyungsoo’s finger touching your lips. You just sit there staring, unsure of what to do or say. Thankfully, you’re saved by the sound of footsteps exiting the kitchen and Chanyeol’s booming voice.

“Kyungsoo,” he calls, “there’s a customer on the phone who’d like to talk to you about a wedding order.” He holds out the phone to Kyungsoo, waiting for him to walk over and take it from him.

Kyungsoo gives you a meaningful look before turning to Chanyeol and saying, “Be right there, Yeol.” He turns back to you and lays his hand over yours briefly, “I have to go help a customer right now, and you should get going, isn’t it almost time for your voice lesson? 3:30, right?”.

He pats your hand and grins before pivoting towards the counter to take the phone from Chanyeol. He grabs the phone from Chanyeol and you can hear him talking business as disappears into the kitchen like the baking genius he is.

You check your watch and wince at the time. You’d spent so much time getting lost in Kyungsoo’s eyes…and smile…and lips…and laugh…that you forgot your original purpose for being downtown in the first place. The man disoriented you to an insane degree, that was for sure, and you weren’t entirely certain that the man didn’t know that and use it to his advantage. You were starting to realize that while Kyungsoo has both a professional and goofy side, he also has a smooth and charming side that you hope you’ll have the opportunity to see again. Each part of his personality had its charms, even the part that was overly critical of your attempts at making souffles to rival his.

As you get up to leave, you catch Chanyeol looking at you strangely. You raise your eyebrows and give him a “What?” stare. Chanyeol shakes his head and a knowing look appears on his face. Damn it. Are Chanyeol and Minseok in kahoots to give you crap about your apparently-obvious crush on Kyungsoo? You aren’t sure how much more of this you can take, but unfortunately, access to Kyungsoo and his delicious croissants means both of them came with the territory.

You pack your computer in your bag, grab your purse, chug the rest of your now luke-warm chai tea latte, and high-tail it out of there before Chanyeol has the chance to make any embarrassing remarks about the situation.

As you make your way out the door, you hear Chanyeol call out, “Bye, Y/N. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you real, real soon,” he holds out both of the “reals” for emphasis, before chuckling to himself. As much as Chanyeol infuriated you when he was like this, he was right. You would be back, every week like clockwork. Or maybe sooner, a girl could never have too many Nutella croissants in a week, right?

~~~~~~

Stay tuned for Part 3!

Thank you all for following along with my story so far! Is there a dessert that you’d love to imagine yourself splitting with Kyungsoo in a cafe somewhere? If so, leave me a comment below :)

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george-fabian-weasley · 4 years ago

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the mad hatter — g. w.(chapter 3)

Summary: You had found clear evidence that showed George as The Mad Hatter. And it had ruined you more than you thought.

Words: 2,771 words

Warnings: TW death, TW murder, TW poisoning, TW injuries, thriller, angst, fem!reader, husband!george, dad!george, serialkiller!george, sadism, bickering, mentions of sharp objects,

Disclaimer: I'm sorry for the 3 hours of delay, guys! My Internet wasn't working that well lately! Anyway, here's chapter 3! Prepare for some tissues, because this is pretty angsty. Reblogs and Comments are Highly Appreciated!

the mad hatter masterlist!

masterlist! | general taglist! | buy me a coffee!

“... Recorders?”

Inside the big drawer of George’s, were neatly placed recorders. You were confused, what the hell was he doing with these recorders in the first place?

Each of those recorders was labeled with initials you didn’t understand, along with them were numbers, six numbers underneath the letters. You reached for one, the top of the stack.

‘D. B.’

‘120121’

“DB…? What’s DB?” You muttered to yourself, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You tried to wreck your mind, thinking hard. There was a small voice in your mind, telling you the answer. Slowly it got louder and louder and louder until it’s the only thing you heard.

‘David Bush. 12th January 2021.’

The first victim of The Mad Hatter.

Without you knowing it, your fingers had grasped the recorder and pressed it to play. For the first few seconds, you only heard the static noises of the wheels inside the recorder turning.

“Date. 12th January. Subject. David Bush.”

It was George. This is his voice. But at the same time, it’s not. The voice you knew was gentle, understanding, and loving. This voice, however… was rough, deep and… and murderous.

George was breathing heavily on the tape as if he had exercised after a long while. You could hear him trying to regulate his breathings with the deep breaths he made. “I… I’ve stopped doing this for a while. It was a perfect shame that I did,” George huffed out a breath that you assumed a smile rose on his lips.

“Because I’ve forgotten how thrilling it was.”

It was an understatement; the fact that goosebumps ran up your spine heavily as you heard him. What… What was he talking about? What is the thrill? Please, please please, don’t let it be what’s in your mind. Please—

“Subject was held at knifepoint when I gave him those lovely macarons I bought from the newly opened bakery. Only I’ve put my own special ingredient in, just for him,” George’s voice cut your train of thoughts off. The way he held his words was delicate, like a piece of paper shaped into a knife kind of delicate. You could hear from his voice that he was smiling, he was smiling big.

You could imagine him at that moment, on the 12th of January, sitting in his workspace holding the recorder in his hand and let out all those words… purposely recorded.

“I’ve only tried my luck when I gave him those, and it seems my luck has not yet run out. Because a few moments later, he couldn’t breathe on his own. He couldn’t breathe, and as I watched him fight for a huff of air, excitement bubbles inside of me. The thrill, the nicotine of it all was, exhilarating. Addicting. I didn’t know why I stopped doing this in the first place.”

You felt like throwing up. He didn’t have to say what he was doing, or what was the special ingredient. Everything clicked in perfectly. Way too perfectly.

It’s him. George is The Mad Hatter.

You took a shaky deep breath, trying to digest everything. The Mad Hatter… was your own husband. The man that you have wed. The man that you have born a child with. The man that you’re in love with. You felt your heart ramming up your chest, the palpitations were fast and so unnatural, you felt like you would have a heart attack if it continued for a few minutes. You ran a hand through your hair, suddenly feeling chills on your body, it was cold in here.

“I did mess up though,” His words caused you to look up to the recorder. “I brought with me a thermos of tea, in case I was feeling cold. And I did, but I accidentally spilled some of them on his hands.”

“Thinking back about it, it wasn’t a mess up at all,” He started to chuckle, “Because as soon as it made contact with his hands, the subject let out this hoarse, strained scream. And it was… It was nothing I’ve ever heard before.”

“It was a masterpiece.”

You pressed the stop button on the recorder. You literally couldn’t bear to hear another word coming out of the recorder. Who is he? Who is your husband? Do you really know him? Or do you only know the front that he used in front of you for the past 7 years?

Your eyes snapped back to the content of the drawer. You rummaged through them all, the initials and the numbers. All of them aligned with the names of the victims and the dates they had been murdered.

David Bush. Peter Pettigrew. Severus Snape. Barty Crouch Jr. Spencer Gillard. Albus Dumbledore. Ralph Wilkins. Every single one of them, and their own recorders of confessions. All victims of The Mad Hatter. Victims of George Weasley.

And then you heard the front door open.

“We’re home!” Rafael’s cheerful voice had caught you off guard. You glanced at the watch on your wrist in haste, it was only 3:30 pm, they weren’t supposed to be back until 5. You felt fear running through your bones. What if George caught you snooping around? What if he's mad at you?

Wait. No. Why would you be scared? You’re not the murderer here, he is.

“Y/N, love? Are you home? We saw your shoes at the front of the house,” George’s voice, different from the one you had listened to in the recorder, had disgusted you in many ways you couldn't have imagined. You would've never thought his voice, which you loved so much before, could bring so much anger and hatred in you. But here we are.

Hearing him say your name, with love after, was he really honest? Or was he just lying, like he always does for the past 7 years? Hearing him saying it was repulsive, dirty, and full of hate.

He’s fooling with you. How dare he.

You stormed out of George’s workroom, surprising the two of them. “Mumma— '' Rafa's words were cut off when you grabbed his wrist, “Rafa, baby, I need you to be in your room for a minute alright? Mumma’s talking with Papa.”

“B-But— ” He was cut off again when you pushed him into his room and slammed the door shut. You could hear your son slamming his arms on the door, wailing to get out already.

George looked at you in confusion, “Darling, what— ” “Don’t call me darling. Or love, or honey or literally anything else!” You snapped, seething your next words, “It disgusts me.”

“What are you talking about?” George tried to get close to you, he tried to hold your hand but you shrugged it off harshly, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me.”

“Mumma! Let me out!!!” Rafael’s screams and wails had your husband’s attention, “Let him out of his room, Y/N,” he said seriously. You chuckled with no humor, “No, no. I’m not letting you near him again.” You narrowed your eyes at him, watching his furrowing his eyebrows.

“He’s my son!” George’s voice started to rise. You clenched your jaw, “He’s mine too! And I have the right to protect him from a serial killer!”

“You’re scaring him— wait what?” George looked at you with a frown. You shook your head as you scoffed, amused by his faux innocence, “You can’t fool me, George. Not anymore.”

“Papa! Papa, help me!” Rafael sobbed from the other side of the door. You watched as the hard look on George softened at the voice of your son. You were struggling as well, you have never heard him sounded so scared and terrified, and it was because of you.

But you had to protect him.

"Let him out, Y/N," George voiced out trembling. You took a shaky breath, "I will, as soon as I put you into cuffs. Turn around."

"What?" "I said turn around!"

"Rafa, baby, please hang on for a minute okay? Mumma's letting you out soon, can you stop crying for me?" You called out to your son. You heard the little sniffles, "Mumma, I'm scared…"

You heard your heart break into pieces, "I know baby, I'm so sorry, but just a little longer okay? Can you be a big boy for me?" You asked, and it was silent before Rafael let out a small, strained 'okay'.

"Y/N, please," George voiced out, "Let him out. He's scared out of his mind!" "I'm scared too, George! I'm scared too!" You cried out loud, feeling tears threatening to come out. You weren't sure if those were tears of fear or betrayal.

“Of what?!” “Of you.”

You walked towards him and pushed George to the wall, his back facing you. "Wha— hey!" he complained. "George Weasley," You spat out, gripping the handcuffs on your pockets and strained him with all your will to not let him move, "You're under arrest for the first-degree murder of 7 people. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."

You purposely tightened the handcuffs, causing him to groan in pain. You neared your mouth to his ear, pushing his body against the wall harder.

"Teatime is over, you sick bastard."

"Mumma, why is Uncle Blaise here? And who are these people in our home?" Rafael asked you in your arms. You sighed as you laid down on the couch, hugging your son tight. "These people are going to check our home, baby. They're good people, don't worry." You sighed out, playing with his hair.

A moment later, George passed by the two of you as he was escorted by a few police officers out of your house. He was handcuffed. "Papa?" Rafael rose, calling his Papa. George looked up and saw him, and he smiled, "Papa's going to be fine, Rafa!"

"Are they going to hurt Papa? Where are they taking him?" Rafael turned to you, worry etched on his face. You strained a smile, an effort to comfort your son, "Papa will be safe, Rafa. I promise."

"Mumma promise that Papa will be fine? And he'll come back home to us?" His little voice asked, his little pinky finger lifted. You opened your mouth, and closed it back again; speechless. You knew George won't ever step his foot back in here. You wouldn't allow it.

But for the sake of your son's innocence, a fake promise is still a promise. So, hooking together your pinky with his, you whispered, "Pinky promise."

"Mumma's going to the bathroom, okay? Can you stay with Auntie Lav for me?" You asked, and Rafa obediently nodded. You smiled softly, kissing his forehead, "That's my good boy."

As you leave your son with Lavender, the smile on your lips vanishes instantly. You looked left to right, precious belongings of yours ransacked and searched by your fellow police officers for clues and evidence that George may have brought into the house.

Your home, destroyed because of your so-called loving husband.

It was overwhelming; watching your home, the place where you first moved in together, the place where you made love to your husband, the place where Rafa had his first walk on, the place where you called home for 7 years, ruined.

Your life is ruined.

You felt your chest constricting, igniting a sensation of pain inside of you, and you struggled to see, due to tears blocking your vision. You quickly went to the bathroom, slamming the door shut as you leaned your back on the wooden surface.

You placed your hand on your mouth, clasping it down tight, hoping it could muffle the pained sobs coming out of your lips. It was a breakdown you would never wish to happen to anyone else. Your knees felt weak, so you slid down and collapsed on the tiled floor, tears dropping with the soft sound of 'plop' each time.

You remembered the first time you had met George. He was tall and dashing, you met him in his shop he ran with his brother, Fred. He was friendly and kind, showing you around the shop for hours before you asked for his number. You felt a connection towards him that pulled you into him, and you thought he felt the same when he called you later that night.

Was that all a lie?

You remembered the first time you had your date, it was at a park and you held hands as you walked on the trails in the forest of autumn. There were dead leaves everywhere, and you had thought the brownish-red surroundings had made his orange hair pop out more. George was so beautiful during that date, as he smiled at you, as he kissed your forehead, as he kissed your lips with such tenderness.

Was that the truth?

You remembered the first time you had told him you loved him. You were in bed, cuddling in winter because the heater of his house broke down. He was listening to you talking about one of the cases of Izzy Einstein when you stopped and stared into his eyes. He said what's wrong and you said, nothing, it's just that I realized that I love you. He was silent for a while before a soft smile rested on his lips as he spoke, I love you too, my love.

All of those… Do those moments mean nothing to him?

Fuck those early times, because what about your marriage? He proposed! Your child? He wanted kids too! Your life together as a small happy family? He told you he was happy!

Was he lying the whole time? Did he even love Rafa? Did he even like this family he built together with you?

Did he even love you?

Thousands and thousands of questions ran through your head that you didn't even have time to process all. They were bombarding your mind non-stop. It had become so noisy in there, "Shut up," You sobbed, holding your head tightly with your hands. Tears running down your cheeks furiously as you shook your head, a weak attempt of shooing the thoughts away, "Shut up!" You cried again, whimpers coming out of your mouth as you failed to silence the noise in your head.

You felt so many things at once. You couldn't even name a quarter of them. Everything was happening so fast and it's… it's not fair for you. It's not fair for anyone.

Angry. Frustrated. Betrayed. Annoyed. Upset. Disappointed. Disgusted. Repulsed. Responsible. Heartbroken.

And those weren't even half of it. How you wish things wouldn't have changed. How you wished you would've never taken this case in the first place. How you wished you could have your small, happy family back.

How you wish you could turn back time, with the ignorance for the truth.

But you can't. Everything is bare now. Everything is exposed. Your husband on cuffs, your son scared out of his mind, your home ransacked, you broke down in the bathroom, what good did it bring; solving this case for your family? Nothing.

Not even a promotion can heal the deep wound in this family. And it pained you that things will never be the same again without George.

Before you knew him as a serial killer, he was your husband. He was the father of your child. He was attentive, responsible, loving, caring, gentle, the perfect man for you. The perfect father for Rafa.

He was the love of your life. And he still is.

The tears coming out of your eyes were relentless, they won't stop coming out and you felt exhausted. Emotionally and mentally exhausted. You gasped for air as you cried, hearing the several knocks on the door from Blaise, "Y/N, open the door, please."

"Leave me alone, Blaise, please," You mustered out, with a weak voice. "Open this door, Y/N, " He said again, and you closed your eyes at his stubbornness.

"Blaise, please," You whimpered desperately, shakily taking in a breath, "Leave. I just want to be alone."

It was silent at the other side, and then a sigh, "I'm taking Rafa to my house. It's getting late and Lav wants to cook him something," He said and you unconsciously nodded, even though he couldn't see you, "... Thank you."

"... Take care, Y/N."

You silently scoffed at his goodbye, how could you? How could you take care of yourself? Your life is ruined. Your family is ruined. Everything, everything had gone into dust.

Everything.

TAGLIST:

@multifandom-but @sirenswhispers @lilac-skies-xd @obsessedunicorn24 @foggyturtleknightangel@evewithluv@softlyqoos @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @lilypad-55449 @fiantomartell @hopemalfoyweasley @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @bucketandpotato@klausdatprettyboi @adoregin@littlechillies @phuvioqhile @sweetnspicysimp@wand3ringr0s3 @harrypotter289 @emptyporsche @tallyovie @the-unmanaged-mischief @missmulti @gcdricreads @waffleweasley @amourtentiaa @lunalovecroft @loveboyhalo @lupinsclassroom @breadqueen95 @iwritesiriusly @weasleyclaw@sevsbitxh@freds-slut @acosmis-t @colorfulprofessornickelangel @vote4weasleys @anchoeritic@alluringshawn @cute-sidney@anna-banana-13 @lostaurorax @emrysts @rosietoesy @lilgeorgie78 @prismarts @an2402lths

#george weasley x reader #george weasley series #the mad hatter series #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x you #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x y/n #george-fabian-weasley

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mintaka14 · 3 years ago

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Locked Out

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Two - Unlocked

The knock came again, and Luka sighed, dropping the towel that he’d been rubbing over his damp hair around his shoulders. He padded out of the bathroom and over to the front door, yanking it open.

“Jules, if you’ve forgotten your keys again, I swear –“ the words died as he met the insanely blue eyes that he’d been dreaming about ever since he’d first seen them. Her gaze slid over the towel around his shoulders, and dropped to the towel around his waist, and then jerked back up to his face again, which he was pretty sure was turning all sorts of red.

“Here!” she squeaked. “For you. If you want them, the box, I mean. Not the underwear. That’s Juleka’s, obviously, not that she can’t have what’s in the box too. Because I made enough for both of you, and oh God I’m going to just stop talking now.”

With a strangled sound, she shoved a pair of silk and lace underpants at him, and a box with them. He caught box and underwear by reflex.

Unfortunately, the movement dislodged his towel, and he could feel it sliding. There was a confused moment when he grabbed for it, bobbled the box, and heard Marinette squeak. Through the dim mists of his awareness, it occurred to him that she’d probably automatically tried to catch the towel before it could go too far south. That was not, however, where her hands ended up.

There was a frozen moment when Luka became very conscious of small, warm hands on his bare skin, the towel caught and scarcely preserving his modesty as her palms pressed into the dip under his abdominal muscles. Wide blue eyes lifted to stare up at him in horror. Luka drew in a slow, calming breath and let it out, desperately trying to think unsexy thoughts. Those gorgeous blue eyes of hers were not making that easy.

“Out here? Really?” his sister’s voice drawled. “Are you trying to get us kicked out of the building for public indecency?”

Yep. That would do it. Luka looked up to find Juleka in the hallway, her hands full of shopping bags. Marinette squeaked again, and snatched her hands back, and somehow Luka managed to catch at the towel, the box and the underpants still perched on top without losing any of them. He ended up wedged awkwardly against the doorframe with the towel trapped between the wall and his hips, and the box wobbling precariously as he tried to tuck the towel more firmly into place, while his sister stalked towards him and Marinette turned a brilliant shade of red.

“Oh, hey, Marinette,” Juleka said casually. “You’ve met my idiot brother, right?”

She edged past them both, plucking the pair of underpants off the box in Luka’s hand as she went past. He felt a hand on his back, and a sudden shove, and then there was the sound of the door closing and Juleka’s evil cackle on the other side.

“Jules! I’m going to kill you,” he growled. His sister laughed harder.

Luka knew, even before he put his hand on the door handle, that it would be locked. It didn’t stop him from frantically jerking at the handle while Marinette watched with wide eyes. Finally, he accepted the inevitable, and turned back to his dream girl with a sigh.

“If I strangle my sister, will you testify that it was justifiable homicide at my trial?” he asked. Marinette gave a choke of laughter.

“For the right offer, I’ll help you hide the body.”

“What would you consider the right offer?” His worldly goods. His songs. His heart… she could have all of it.

That beautiful smile turned a little mischievous. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

One of the neighbours emerged from their door and threw them a scandalised look, and Luka remembered that he was still a little less than fully attired as the neighbour scurried away. He glanced back at Juleka’s door, which was still firmly closed. He sighed.

“In the meantime, I guess I’m stuck out here until Jules decides to take pity on me.”

Marinette held up a finger in the sign for wait.

“Give me a minute,” she told him, and before he could say anything, she’d disappeared down the hall and up the staircase to the next floor.

About the point when he realised that it was rather chilly in the corridor in nothing but a towel that was feeling smaller all the time, it occurred to him that he was actually standing around in the corridor in nothing but a damp towel at the request of a woman he’d only met twice under odd circumstances. That didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have.

He was still holding the box Marinette had shoved at him.

It did cross his mind that maybe he’d been the victim of some weird practical joke. Before he had a chance to get really worried, however, he heard the sound of returning footsteps on the stairs, and Marinette rounded the corner. She was focused on the black case in her hands and whatever she was pulling out of it, an adorable frown on her face, and as she got closer he saw the light catch on something metal. It looked like a peculiar ring of keys.

Marinette walked past him and bent down to the door handle. Luka lifted his eyes to the ceiling. The curve of her ass in those jeans was not something he wanted to be thinking about in the middle of the very public hallway, particularly while he was in a state of undress. He shuffled uncomfortably in his towel, listening to her muttering under her breath.

“I always wanted to try this,” she said, and he realised she was talking to him. “It turns out there are locksmithing courses you can do, and if I’d had my kit with me the other day I might not have had to climb up the balcony, but then we wouldn’t have met, which would have been a shame.”

Yes! he agreed with silent fervour.

“Still, at least it means I can try it out now, and …” Finally, there was a click, and Marinette straightened. “Tadah!”

She beamed at him, and reached out to turn the handle, swinging the door wide open.

“I knew that would come in handy one day,” she told him triumphantly as she slid the tool back into its case.

Luka came to a realisation that he was making a strange whining noise when she tilted her head quizzically.

“Marry me,” Luka said, and the words only caught up with him when he saw her eyes go wide. He scrubbed one hand over his face. “Oh, God.”

“Luka?”

“I’ve been trying to work out a way to ask you out that didn’t make me sound like a complete creep,” he admitted ruefully. “This was not what I had in mind. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of talking you into going out to dinner with me after this, is there?”

Her eyes flicked down and back up, so fast that he wasn’t sure he’d seen it.

And then she bit her lip. The look she gave him from under the sweep of her dark lashes with those devastating eyes of hers left him wondering if he was having an out of body experience.

“Oh, I don’t know.” The purr he could hear in her voice fried whatever functional brain cells he had left. “You might be able to persuade me. It might be a good idea to put some pants on first.”

“Pants. Yes. Right.” He looked around vaguely as if they might magically appear, and Marinette giggled, one hand going to her mouth. “Pants before dinner. Tonight?” he asked hopefully.

Words.

Would be useful.

Marinette smiled at him like the breaking dawn. “Tonight would be good. Juleka has my phone number.” She was walking backwards slowly towards the staircase, her eyes still on him and her smile bright.

“Call me,” she said shyly, and pivoted on her heel, running lightly up the stairs before Luka could collect his wits enough to respond.

Luka had no idea how he managed to walk inside, or get clothes on, but he was sitting on the couch in jeans and a tshirt and staring into space when Juleka came out of the bathroom and did a double take.

“How on earth did you get in? I locked that,” she said, and eyed the wide open front door. She kicked Luka’s bare foot a few times until he blinked and focused.

“Marinette,” he said blissfully, and Juleka’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know she can pick locks?”

There was a long moment while his sister stared down at him. He opened Marinette’s box which had somehow ended up intact. It was full of macarons, and he absently ate one. It was amazing.

“She’s incredible,” he sighed, and Juleka rolled her eyes, reaching for the macarons. Luka glared at her, and snatched the box away.

“You locked me out. You don’t get Marinette’s macarons.” He took another one and stared at it thoughtfully. “ Macaron. That’s pretty. Maybe we could name our first child Macaron.”

“What the hell did she do to your brain?” Juleka said incredulously. “You might want to wait at least a few months before you start planning the wedding and a family, though.”

“Oh, I already proposed,” Luka said vaguely. “She thought we should get dinner first.”

There was an even longer silence this time, then… “You what?”

He had a feeling that there was something he was supposed to remember.

Dinner. Marinette.

Tonight!

She’d said yes. She’d said yes!

He looked down, and he was definitely wearing pants. Marinette had said that that was important.

“Can I have Marinette’s phone number?” he asked Juleka.

She blinked. “So… you proposed to her… but you don’t have her phone number,” she said slowly. “That makes sense. Seriously, I’m a little terrified right now of what might happen if you two do get married and have kids together.”

Luka felt a goofy smile spread across his face at the thought. Juleka shook her head, and, in spite of his protest, swiped a macaron from the box he was guarding.

“Damn, that’s good,” she mumbled around a mouthful, and pulled out her phone with her other hand. “I’d ask if she knows what she’s getting herself into, but honestly, she’s even more bonkers than you are. You’re a perfect pair.”

“I certainly hope so,” Luka agreed happily, and wandered away with the box full of macarons to call Marinette.

#lukanette #pro lukamari #Locked Out AU #they're idiots your honor #oh no!#the towel!

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the-record · 4 years ago

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The City of Romance

Summary: On Spencer’s mandatory leave, he plans a trip to Paris, France where he meets an unforgettable face.

A/N: I got this idea during my language class. Please excuse my terrible French, I am still learning. This might be 2 parts? Maybe 3? I’ll figure it out. Anyways if you have any ideas for this or other requests let me know!

Italics: Translation French to English.

This is more of an introduction <3

Part 2, Part 3

Check out my masterlist here!

For as long as you remembered, you had stayed with your mom in France during summers and worked at her café. Specifically her café in Paris. It was a dream. She made lots of business and your family was already pretty well off. You met lots of people working this job, however one seemed to stick out to you.

“Bienvenue! Que puis-ie vous offrir aujourd’hui?” “Welcome! What can I offer you today?”

“Sorry, I don’t speak French.” You smiled at the tall man in front of you. He was handsome and seemed kind but nervous.

“No worries. Welcome, what can I get you today?” He seemed relived at the fact you spoke English. You would’ve too.

“Can I get a coffee, 2 boxes of macarons, and 3 chocolate croissants?” You smiled and typed in the order on the computer on the counter.

“Of course. Will that be all?” He smiled and nodded. “Great. Your total is 24.50.” He handed you the foreign currency and you started to make his coffee and box his treats. “Here you are. Have a great day...”

“Spencer. You too,” He looked at your name tag, “Y/N. I should be on my way, I have a flight. Bye!” You smiled and waved.

The rest of the day you couldn’t get that boy out of your head. You were a little disappointed that he would have already left France but the thought of visiting your uncle made it better. You stayed with your mom in the summer and your dad the rest of the year. After he passed, your uncle had promised to take care of you while you were in America. You were a grown adult but that didn’t stop him. Even 3 weeks later, as you boarded the flight, you couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer. What did he need 3 chocolate croissants for? You need the delectable treats you brought for your uncle. He was going to meet you at his work and asked you to bring something for him. You couldn’t bring something just for him though, so you brought something for all of his team. You had never met his team but that didn’t stop you. They were his family, so they would be yours too.

He met you downstairs on the ground floor after you got through security.

“Bella!” You smiled and basically ran to hug him.

“Uncle David!” He squeezed you tight.

“How was Paris? And your flight?” You giggled a little.

“It was beautiful as always. You have to come visit me and mom some time. My flight was weird. Not in a bad way, I just met someone I guess and, never mind. How are you?”

“I’m good. I think coming out of retirement was definitely a good idea.” You both talked all the way up and all the way to his office.

“Oh, I totally forgot. I brought you guys some stuff from the café. Mom started working with a local bakery and their macarons are just perfect. And don’t even get me started on the croissants.” You pulled out the boxes from your bag and placed them on his desk.

“I know just the person who would love some of these. Come on, I will introduce you to her first.” You smiled and followed him to a dark room with a wall covered with monitors.

“Wow.” In such a dark space sat a bright colored blonde. Her outfit had lots of fun colors and her hair was curled. Her makeup and earrings were fun and exciting. Everything about her radiated good energy.

“Rossi what’s- And who is this beauty next to you? Hoping she’s not wife number 4.” You laughed.

“This is my niece Y/N. Y/N this is Penelope Garcia our technical analyst.” You held out your hand.

“It’s great to meet you Penelope. I heard you like pastries?” You held out a box and her face lit up.

“I love them! Ok wow, these look amazing, where are they from?” Her smile was huge as she looked at the croissants.

“Actually they’re from Paris.” Her jaw dropped. “My mom owns a café and bakery in Paris France. I’m just here during the year for school.” She is still stunned.

“Well wow. I don’t know what else to say. Wait yes I do. Thank for these!” You smiled.

“Of course. If you ever need some just tell David and they will be sent to your front door.” She held her arms out for a hug which you gave her.

“Alright, well I am going to take Y/N to meet the rest of the team. Bye Garcia!” She waved as you two walked out.

“I like her. She’s very fun. Not boring like you.” You joked. You saw a group of people standing over by a counter and that’s when you saw him. The man from the café. “Long time no see.” He was a little confused when he heard you, but when he saw you he understood.

“Oh hey Y/N. What are you doing here?”

“I’m just visiting my uncle. So this is where you were rushing off to then?”

“Yeah.” You saw a small smile creep on his face. It wasn’t a lot but you noticed it.

“Woah let’s slow down here pretty boy. Rossi, who is this?” You stared over at the man next to him. He was tall with a strong build and holding a cup of coffee.

“This is my niece Y/N. Y/N this is Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and I guess you already know Spencer.” You nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” They all stared at you both positively bewildered. “Oh, uh he came by the café I work at. He got a bunch of macarons.”

“Wait, you work where those came from?” The lady who was apparently known as Emily.

“Yeah, my mom owns it and I work there during the summer. Speaking of.” You pulled out a smaller box filled with cookies and macarons. “These are for you guys.

“Thank you gorgeous. I guess we may have to thank Spencer then for introducing us to these.” You giggled softly.

“I guess you will.” Your phone rang and you noticed the caller ID to be your mom. “Sorry. I have to answer this real quick.” You walked a few feet away before answering. “Salut maman!” “Hey mom!”

“Salut bebe! Avez-vous atterri?” “Hi baby! Have you landed?”

“Quais. Je parle en fait aux collegues de David. Puis-ie vous appeler un peu?” “Yeah. I’m actually talking to David’s colleagues. Can I call you in a bit?”

“Bien sûr. Je t'aime.” “Of course. I love you.”

“Je t'aime aussi. Au revoir.“ “I love you too. Bye.” You hung up the phone and headed back over to them.

“Well genius what did she say?” You laughed as you walked back.

“He wouldn’t know.” They all gave you an odd and ashamed look for asking him.

“She’s right. I don’t know French.”

“Spencer Reid. You have an eidetic memory and went to a new country and didn’t learn French?”

“Well I learned a little but I didn’t really need to learn any. A lot of the natives knew English.” You nodded.

“He’s right. And it was my mom, she was asking if I landed.” Suddenly another blonde woman popped over. JJ. You had met her before by accident. Last time you came to visit you had a late flight in and so when you came by David’s house he was having a dinner party but everyone had left except her. She wanted to get to know you and you got coffee. “JJ!”

“Oh my goodness Y/N! What’re you doing here?” She pulled you into a quick hug.

“I’m staying with David now for school because of what happened.” She gave a sympathetic smile.

Your father had passed away from a house fire. He was a bit older and already had health issues so the smoke inhalation was too much and he sadly passed.

“That’s great. How’s school been going?”

“Pretty well. I take some extra courses during the summer so I am looking for a job currently because I have everything I need done.”

“What career are you going into?” Derek questioned.

“Teaching. Specifically elementary because I can’t stand teenagers. They do not hold back, and as great as some of them are, I want my kids to be able and come see there first or kindergarten teacher years from now. I think I may have found a school around here but they haven’t gotten back to me yet.” They all nodded. “Well I was going to get some coffee if anyone wants to come along.”

“Reid why don’t you go?” Derek was patting him on the break to try and convince him to.

“Uh sure. If that’s okay with you of course.” You smiled.

“Of course. Let’s go I guess.” You walked with Spencer out to your uncles car that he so kindly lent you for the time being. He kept your car at his mansion so you wouldn’t have to worry about it. “Where should we go? I don’t normally come down here with David so I don’t really know a ton.” You asked as you got into the drivers side.

“There’s a little coffee shop not to far from here.” He gave you the directions as you drove. When you got there you ordered a coffee and a sandwich. Truth be told you were starved.

“So what degrees do you have?” He sipped his coffee before answering.

“I have a PhD in math, physics, and engineering as well as 3 BAs.” You jaw was 6 feet under. You assumed he was smart but damn.

“Wow. That’s... Impressive.” You laughed softly.

“Yeah. What about you? You said you wanted to be a teacher.”

“I have a bachelors in elementary education and one in special education. That is more so I can be more inclusive in the classroom. Honestly it’s pretty smart to get one because all children learn in very different ways. Like me, I loved reading when I was a child but I learned better by listening and looking at pictures. Some children think noise is distracting or that bright fun colored pictures are so we have to think about all of them and not just the majority. So far I have found a lot of different teaching methods to cater to all students. It’s really interesting. Sorry I’m rambling aren’t I? I do that when I get excited.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. One time I told a detective that it’s safer to kiss instead of shake hands.”

“Ooh. Yikes. Don’t tell that to kids though, they will run around kissing each other and get some kind of disease I swear.” Conversation flowed easily between you both. You both took turns rambling while the other listened. It was comforting to have someone who actually listened and could understand you when you spoke a mile a minute.

He couldn’t help but think the same. Most of his friends had teased him over his facts. You listened and asked questions. You didn’t cut him off or laugh. You were actually interested as was he when you spoke. You talked pretty fast but he managed to keep up. Before you realized it was no longer 1:30. It was 4:15. You had talked with him for hours and it only felt like minutes. You texted your uncle that you would just wait in the car for him but when Spencer got out you felt like you had to do it.

“Wait! Spencer!” He stopped and spun to see you running towards him. “Would you like to go out for dinner sometime? Maybe this weekend if you’re not on a case?” His smile was blinding.

“I love that.” You exchanged phone numbers.

“Perfect. Hopefully see you this weekend.” You placed a quick kiss on his cheek before running back to the car. He felt weak in the knees and thought he might collapse right then and there. Luckily he kept himself up until he got to the office. He was so excited and while he may not be religious, he prayed there wouldn’t be a case.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #david rossi #Jennifer Jareau #jennifer jareau fanfiction #Penelope Garcia #derek morgan #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fluff

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2manyfandoms2count · 4 years ago

Text

I love you (not) - Chapter 8

Somehow, this went over the 2k words mark. No wonder I'm running late on @marichatmay now. Oops? (I guess I just really like writing cooking scenes)

Hope you enjoy!

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

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Chapter 8: In which the kids think about kissing each other a lot, but it's still too early

Chat Noir’s heart was heavy as he made his way towards Marinette’s place.

He knew that his decision to break up with her was the right one; he’d kept up the charade long enough, and he wasn’t comfortable with the fact that she was reaching out for him through Ladybug. They’d undeniably spent some nice moments together, the memory of which he cherished dearly, but he was afraid that Marinette was getting too confident about the strength of their relationship (and the fact that he found himself thinking about her a lot hadn’t been an argument in favour of not playing along a little longer).

His already cloudy mood had further been dampened by the really sucky day he’d had. His father had come up with yet another fashion shoot, which had prevented him from attending the Kitty Section rehearsal he’d been looking forward to all week. Then, Lila had managed to get them paired up for a History project, which he wouldn’t have minded too much had it not been for the fact that she’d bragged all morning about a trip to New York she’d be making the week they were supposed to work on the task, meaning that he’d have to do all the work himself. Finally, to top everything off, an Akuma had interrupted the only free period he had for the rest of the week; it had been nice to see Ladybug, but he wished he’d used the time to collect his thoughts and rehearse what he’d say to Marinette.

He landed on her balcony with a loud thump, and knocked on her skylight.

“Just a minute!” she called out, and he heard her rifle around her room before running up her ladder and opening her skylight.

“Hi,” she beamed, slightly flushed and breathless, as she ushered him in.

He felt his heart clench in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was better that she seemed in a great mood, but he didn’t have time to ponder on the topic too much; she tugged him down the stairs, and all but pushed him on her chaise, before reverently presenting him with a wrapped package.

“Happy birthday, kitty.” She bit her lip, anxiously waiting for him to open it.

Chat Noir toyed with it. He’d been so busy in the past week that his lie about his birthday had completely slipped his mind. He found himself in a difficult situation. Either he could come clean to her about his intentions, and apologise about everything he’d put her through, or… He could open Marinette’s present. Which, knowing her, would be very thoughtful and amazing. She looked very excited about it.

The temptation was too great.

“You remembered!” He gave her a small smile as his claws gently tore through the tape, and found himself with a neatly folded knitted, black product on his knees. He got up and held it out before him; he had to lift it for it not to drag on the floor, it was so long. She hadn’t just seen something that made her think about him. She must have spent ages working on it. For him .

The bright green paw in the middle, associated with the matching cotton sheet that lined the blanket left little doubt as to that fact.

Marinette’s smile falling and her rambling snapped him out from his silent admiration of the gift. He engulfed her in a hug, holding her close to compensate for his speechlessness.

“It’s purr-fect, Princess,” he croaked, letting go of her and clutching the blanket again. “I mean, look at this stitching; how did you manage to get it so regular? And this yarn…” He purred as he rubbed it against his cheek. “It’s so soft.”

“Well, you deserve something that isn’t scratchy,” Marinette giggled.

“But you didn’t have to go so hard on this! This could almost be… A cape!” He wrapped it around his shoulders, holding its two top corners with one hand, and bowed before her. “Your knight at your service, Princess.” He took her hand and kissed it with a wink, before immediately standing up and wrapping it around him differently, therefore missing Marinette’s tension and flush. “It works as a toga, too!”

“A very historically accurate one at that,” Marinette snorted.

“Hey, you don’t know what my predecessors wore.” He crossed his arms over his chest. The top of his makeshift toga fell over them. Marinette grabbed a couple of safety pins and moved closer to him to secure it back.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m utterly ignorant when it comes to past Miraculous wielders,” she said as she did so. “Mind teaching me about them?” She looked up at him. She was very close, for the second time in the evening, her eyes glinting mischievously in the almost half-light.

His breath hitched as the thought that he’d only have to lean in a tiny bit to kiss her curious smile off her lips crossed his mind.

His stomach rumbled, then, and he jumped back, feeling his cheeks redden. He was about to use it as an excuse to leave when he noticed the colours had drained from Marinette’s face.

“I’m so sorry Chat! I forgot to make you some macarons!” She gasped.

He almost laughed at how cute she was, but smiled tenderly instead, and held her shoulders. “Marinette, you made me a full blanket yourself in one week. I’m good without the macarons.”

“But you don’t have a birthday cake, and you’re hungry, and ugh, how could I forget...” She rubbed her eyes frustratedly.

His stomach manifested itself again, proving her point. With all his interruptions, he wasn’t sure he’d eaten more than an apple since breakfast. He really should be going to right that wrong.

“Okay, that settles it.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her trap door. He quickly stepped out of the blanket and tossed it back on her chaise; it wasn't very practical to walk in. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she started to open it. “My parents are sleeping, I think, so we’ll go down to the bakery kitchen. We’ll need to be quiet, though.”

“Okay,” he whispered back.

They cautiously sneaked down the stairs, stopping at any floorboard creak, hearts racing as they listened for any movement. They remained silent even after Marinette had carefully closed the front door of the apartment behind them, holding each other’s hand tightly, as if the stakes were much higher than Chat being sent home and Marinette to bed if they were discovered.

“It’s a bit late to make macarons, but how do you feel about chouquettes?” Marinette hid a sly grin as she turned the light on in the kitchen. She knew exactly what he thought about them.

“That seems like an excellent option.” Chat’s eyes lit up hungrily.

“Good. Could you turn on the oven? 250°C.” She indicated, while she took out the ingredients.

“Oui, Chef.” He executed. “What next?”

“If you could measure out 250mL of milk, then pour it in this saucepan,” she handed him a carton of milk and a measuring jug, before putting the saucepan on a hob and adding other ingredients to it. He followed her instructions, then, seeing as there was barely any left in the container, chugged the remainder, before sighing contently and throwing the carton over his shoulder, without looking. It landed straight in the dustbin.

Marinette paused in the middle of cutting the butter, baffled.

“What?” Chat asked when she’d stood there, blinking, for a couple of minutes.

“I’m sorry, what was that ?” She shook her head and waved her knife between him and the dustbin.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t ask if it was alright for me to finish it,” he said sheepishly. “I can buy you another-”

“I’m not talking about that, although maybe I should, because how stereotypical that you, a cat superhero, should drink milk,” she waved his apology away, raking the butter into the pan. “I’m talking about your aim. Do you play basketball?”

“Sometimes.” Chat scratched the back of his head. It wasn’t exactly true. He’d just perfected the art of landing baskets from any angle of his room out of boredom; it’d been his biggest challenge for a while.

“Maybe you should try out for a team or something.” She handed him four eggs, a bowl and a whisk. He started breaking them.

“If my schedule clears up, maybe.” He doubted his father would encourage the idea. He’d repeated that Agreste men were soloists enough times that Adrien sometimes heard it in his dreams; and unlike fencing, basketball was a team sport.

“Oh, right. Of course.” Marinette nodded. She hesitated to probe further; on the one hand, she was curious about what her partner was up to outside of their duties; it was difficult to probe how he was holding up, sometimes. On the other hand, she was afraid of learning too much about him. She decided to change the subject. “Could you gradually add the eggs to this while I mix?”

“Of course!” He cleared his throat. “These really aren’t hard to make, could you write the recipe down for me so I can make them again at home?” This was going to make great patrol snacks. He was sure Ladybug would appreciate them.

“Yep, no problem!” She finished stirring the ingredients together and pulled out a baking tray and two piping bags. She poked around for greaseproof paper while Chat filled the latter with the batter, before remembering that her parents had mentioned that they’d ran out over dinner.

“Hmm, this isn’t the most traditional way, but we’ll put some flour on the tray and then pipe the chouquettes directly on it. Would you mind taking care of that while I get the sugar?”

Chat nodded, grabbing the bag. He started sprinkling the surface, reaching in the packet every so often. It made the flour fly out a little, tickling his nose. He scrunched it, trying to get rid of the sensation, but it was no use.

He turned away from the tray and prepared to sneeze, instinctively putting the hand that still contained flour in front of his nose… Just as Marinette came back next to him.

“Achoo!” White powder flew everywhere, and Marinette jumped back.

“Ew, Chat!” She exclaimed, quickly dusting it off of her.

“I’m so sorry!” His eyes widened and he bit his lower lip, trying to contain his smile at her bewildered face. He had to admit, white hair looked nice on Marinette.

How cute , Marinette thought, before mentally slapping herself. No matter how true the statement was, it wasn’t helping at all. She reached for the packet and threw a fistful of flour at him to distract herself.

“Hey!”

“An eye for an eye!” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Is it really, though? I didn’t do it on purr-pose,” he said as his eyes landed on the flour packet.

Marinette started backing away, seeing exactly where he was going. “Now, now, no need to be rash about this, remember, we still have to cook the chou- eek!” She started running around the kitchen island as Chat sprung into a chase.

“Come back here, you little scoundrel!”

“Chat please! Think about your poor stomach!” She switched direction as Chat did the same.

“It can wait.” He grinned, gracefully leaping over the island.

Marinette squeaked again as she jumped out of his way, but found herself stuck between two shelving units. Chat approached her slowly, his devilish smile getting wider as the distance between them vanished. He pulled a fistful of flour out of the bag, and she felt her heart beat faster in her chest. Not just because of the imminent threat.

“I’m sorry Chat, I shouldn’t have done that…” She trailed off, backing herself further against the wall. “But this is going to make a mess, think about the clean up…” She pleaded.

Chat paused, his fist above her head losing a bit of its contents. She blinked slowly. Cat kisses, he thought. His eyes flickered to her lips. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss her, for real. He dared not go down that route.

“You’re right.” He shook his head, and brought his arm down, releasing the flour he’d been holding in the packet. “If I’m going to make a mess…” He paused, taking a small step back, and Marinette sighed in relief. “Better do it right.” He lifted the packet and emptied it all on her head.

“What the-” Marinette spluttered out, starting to get rid of it. She heard Chat laugh as he watched her, without so much as offering his help.

“Say cheese!” She was suddenly blinded by a flashing light, and her head shot up.

“Sorry, had to immortalise the moment.” Chat grinned, showing her the picture on his baton.

She glowered at him, and he moved out of her reach, just in case she decided to retaliate.

“You can’t be mad at me, I’m the birthday boy!”

She rolled her eyes, the hint of a smile forming on her lips as she finished dusting off most of the flour from her clothes and went to fetch the broom. Little did he know, she couldn’t be mad at him at all, since, A, she supposed that she’d been in the wrong in the first place, and B, it was him . Not that she’d admit it out loud, though. “I guess you’re right. You’d better hurry up making the chouquettes, then, else I’m putting you on broom duty.”

Chat happily complied.

---

As he left Marinette’s house, a full packet of warm Chouquettes in hand (he’d made his choice between it and the blanket), he had to admit to himself that even though he hadn’t accomplished his goal, it didn’t really matter.

There’d be plenty of other opportunities to talk to her, and he couldn’t say no to the opportunity of having fun; they were too rare an occurrence to pass up on.

#flour scene sponsored by that fic i started writing years ago and never finished :')#marichatmay2021 #marichat may #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #marichat #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #day 10: cooking together #elle writes #love you (too)

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minty-chocco · 4 years ago

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hallo may i request Riddle falling out of love... And reader knows but isn't ready for the possibilities...👉👈 I like hurting myself with angst😔🤡👊✨ love your writing~

𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 🧁

Pairing: Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Angst if it’s not your fancy + it’s cliche (｡•́︿•̀｡)

Word Count: 1.8k words

Extra Notes: I got carried away for this prompt (*/ω＼) I was just listening to random songs and suddenly the one that got away played and I remembered this ask so I decided to do this! This is the first time i’m writing about this kind of prompt and I apologize in advance since I kinda strayed from it but I tried my best nonetheless. I hope you enjoy reading! o(>ω<)o

The scenery was quiet and serene. This would be relaxing to some but to you, the silence was suffocating. The rose garden was devoid of students except for the two of you. It were bereft of any winds and the tree leaves surrounding the garden hung limp as some fell to their own accord.

Clutching at your tea cup you looked at the young redhaired man across you. He was on his dorm uniform as usual, his cape was neatly placed on the back of his chair, taking a sip from his drink.

His face was one of awkwardness, shifting uncomfortably on his seat. Looking anywhere but at you.

You pondered as to why. Is it because of guilt? Or was it because of you? Is your presence was starting to become unbearable to him?

“Riddle.” You called out for him and the dorm leader froze but turned to look at you. Your eyes have finally met his for the first time this evening.

“Yes, (Y/N)?” He looked at you, his tone of speaking changed as if he’s talking to a stranger. It no longer held the soft tone he would use as he always regarded you.

“After we finish, let’s go explore the rose maze, okay?” You smiled at him, trying your best to be enthusiastic and keeping a friendly atmosphere. You gently caressed the marble colored tea cup you’re holding.

This is your last day with him after all.

“Okay.” He shortly replied. Riddle took a sugar cube and plopped 2 blocks in his chamomile tea. The brown herb-brew water splashed lightly upon the impact and the sugar instantly melted after meeting the hot tea, he then took a teaspoon to fully mix his drink.

You nodded at his answer, satisfied that he even replied. He would’ve just ignored you or nodded at your question. You thought maybe he was being considerate of you.

You lift the silver glassware tea cup and took notice of your features from the reflection of the drink.

You looked miserable. The dark circles on your eyes were deep-set and tired for crying yourself to sleep every day.

The sweet desserts on the table in celebration of your anniversary were bright lovely colors in contrast to the monochrome mood settling in between the two of you.

You took a strawberry flavored macaron and took a bite. You tasted nothing. Trey’s sweet always had such a sweet and unique flavoring on it in which you admire so you’re always looking forward at his treats but today it tasted bland.

Maybe your mood was affecting your taste buds. You felt a little upset that you could no longer enjoy the simple things in life because you felt so miserable. This relationship was draining you.

After finishing a few sweets and drank your tea you two decided to be on your way. There were some left since you didn’t have the appetite but you were sure that Grim and the rest of your friends would happily eat them. Good for them. At least they are happy.

You stood up from your seat and gestured to Riddle. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t take too much time.” He reminded firmly and followed you behind soon after. He’s treating you like any other students and not as a lover. “We should head back early.”

“Let’s not talk about that.” You said waving him off not wanting to be reminded of time. The limited time that you two have left.

You two strolled around the maze, the sun was reaching its peak. Riddle was quietly following you from behind, 5 feet away from you.

You smiled bitterly at yourself, you two used to walk side by side while holding hands but now it’s as if he’s also mocking the distance that grew between you two.

You stopped upon arriving at a familiar place at the part of the garden. The two of you sat at a nearby bench, Riddle made sure he isn’t too close to you before taking a seat.

“Remember when we first got together?” You recalled a memory from a past and looked to see Riddle’s reaction, his face was burdened with guilt and a mix of regret. He couldn’t even face you.

“This is where we first got together.” He answered and gazed at the painted roses. “Trey and Cater were helping me confess.”

You chuckled fondly at the memory. As if nothing’s wrong. “Yeah. You were stuttering at your words back then.”

Looking back, Riddle was as red as his hair but not in anger but in pure embarrassment back then. You were surprised at his sudden confession not expecting him to return your feelings at all.

When you accepted, Riddle couldn’t be happier and the two of you shared your first kiss in this place.

Your relationship with him wasn’t perfect. Just like any other couples, you two would fight. His temper doesn’t help during arguments either but you two made sure at the end of the day you two would make up, not wanting the other to sleep with a heavy heart.

There might be some misunderstandings but the two of you would often communicate with each other to help understand each side.

Riddle was awkward at the first stages of your relationship. This was his first relationship and he wants to become a good partner for you. Despite his loaded duties, he’ll always made sure to have time for you.

The heartslabyul dorm leader would have one on one tea parties with you atleast 2 times a week. He’ll make you desserts without the help of Trey to show his sincerity, although it might not be the best, you appreciate his effort and would happily eat what he offered.

He’ll be shy just from a small romantic gesture like holding hands but even so, he would never let go and his grip is secure. He makes sure that you’re not failing any subjects and would glad to go on to study dates with you. He always called your name with such fondness that you can’t help but feel loved.

You once tried to make up a pet name for the two of you in which he politely declined. Riddle said he liked it when he calls your name because he loves your name as he does to you. This of course made you flustered, he didn’t even realize what he was saying until it dwelled on him which made him redder than you.

You felt hot burning pain build up on your chest at the sweet memories which will soon turn into bittersweet ones. “You promised to treat me well back then.. What happened now?”

Riddle couldn’t answer. How could he answer that?

Noticing the lack of response, you whispered to yourself. “Promises really do meant to be broken.”

“(Y/N).” He warned. Riddle’s voice was cold and no longer held the fondness when saying your name before.

“I was just joking.” You let out a forced laugh. “Happy anniversary.”

By your words, Riddle felt guilt again that he had been feeling all this time. Regret washed over his expression like a slow wave on a beach in the night. Each wave was icy and cold such as he was feeling right now but he knows he can no longer go back.

Although it was inevitable, he can’t force himself in a relationship with someone he no longer loves. Riddle really didn’t want to keep you hoping any longer so he wanted to break up with you yesterday but you had begged him to at least celebrate your anniversary. Just lie to each other again one last time.

“We should head back.” Riddle suggested not wanting to be here any longer. He stood up not waiting for your reply when you suddenly held his hand.

“Wait.” You felt desperate, you wanted to be with him more. You help on tightly not wanting to let go. “C-can you stay a little longer?”

“I can’t. I have to check the dorm.” He tried to loosen up your grip but you held on tighter.

“I love you.” You declared your love for him once again hoping it was enough to make him stay but silence was followed. As if it will.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized in a small voice. He was being nice to you out of respect being his first love but his words for you were cruel that he inflicted unintentionally. If he had been aware, he would not have cared one iota.

Your breath hitched. “Can’t.. you just say it back one last time?”

“I can’t keep lying to you, (Y/N).”

“Please.” You pleaded. “Just this time.”

Riddle felt frustrated but obeyed nonetheless. He hoped that at least this could give you peace. “I love you.”

There, you finally heard the words that you haven’t heard for a long time now. That phrase was supposed to make any person feel butterflies but it was different for you. It was 3 words that expresses someone’s feelings of affection but Riddle’s words felt empty. It made you feel worse and you finally let go of his hand.

But instead he didn’t leave, he looked at you one last time with a pitiful expression on his face directed at you and you hated it. You didn’t want his pity. “You deserve better.”

You gritted your teeth wanting to scream at him. Why? Just when did it go wrong?

He smiled at you and gently caressed your hair. This is the least he could do to comfort you. “I really did love you, (Y/N). Thank you for everything. You’re still welcome at heartslabyul anytime.”

Riddle soon turned his back on you and walked away.

You could only stare blankly at his retreating figure. No tears were shed, you already had cried enough upon realizing he doesn’t love you anymore.

Instead, you felt empty.

How ironic it is that in this exact spot that your relationship started but it’s also the very same place that ended it.

Deep down, you knew this would happen but refused to accept it. Even when Riddle would often ignore you in between classes, you’ll think maybe he is having a bad day. Even when he would look annoyed whenever you initiate physical affection, you’ll think maybe he is just tired. Even when he no longer calls your name with such warmth, you’ll think maybe he isn’t in the mood.

But that routine held on for a month now. At some point, you can’t make out excuses anymore because you have already been giving him too much.

Maybe if things could’ve been done differently, the outcome would’ve changed.

Maybe if you tried hard enough.

But you could only dwell on the possibilities.

In another life, surely you two would still be happily together.

Sadly, that story isn’t yours to tell.

Because the story of the two of you already ended here.

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 ��𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈! 🌙

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst riddle #riddle x reader #twst riddle x reader #freshly baked cupcakes

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dragons-bones · 4 years ago

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FFXIV Write Entry #1: The Bluebird of Ishgard

Prompt: crux | Master Post | On AO3

This fill is a combination of both the FFXIV Write prompt, and a prompt from the Book Club server as posited by @pudgy-puk: “aymeric takes his date to The Fanciest ishgardian patisserie and drops an ABSURD amount of money.“

We are starting off FFXIV Write with EXACTLY MY BRAND! This takes place post 3.1 and references the events of my FFXIV Write 2019 fill, “Finally.”

Please enjoy!

Synnove hummed quietly to herself as she walked with Aymeric through the streets of Ishgard, her right hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. His own right hand gently covered hers, and every few moments he softly rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. A silly grin tugged at her lips every time he did, a flush of pleasure rising on her cheeks.

Aymeric had arrived at Fortemps Manor shortly after lunch, dressed down in simple leathers and that fur-lined leather coat he had worn that day not-so-long ago when she and Galette had run into him shopping along the Jeweled Crozier. He had asked for the pleasure of her company on a leisurely walk through the city—“I am not yet allowed the more strenuous exercise of the sparring ring,” he had said ruefully, a twinkle in his ice blue eyes, “but I am, thankfully, allowed to stretch my legs on daily walks.”—and after being subjected to a frantic wardrobe change by Rere (“We’re in a relationship! I don’t need to impress him! And why is this skirt in my size?” “Shush, be glad I’m always prepared on your behalf, and wear this sweater with it! Oooooh and the green shawl Heron made for you, I have the perfect pin to go with it.” “Rereha!”), she had been out the door with him, hand in hand.

Their leisurely ramble had taken them through parts of the city Synnove hadn’t visited, or had only walked through or by once or twice. Neighborhoods of the minor or vassel houses; the district where the merchants and burgeoning nouveau riche dwelled. Small parks carefully tended to preserve some green within the limits of the city; statues of minor saints and folk heroes of the Dragonsong War; a street lined on either side by greenhouses, the area bristling with dragonkillers. Aymeric had a story for each place: here was where a childhood friend had lived, before his family had moved out of the city; that was the house of his mother’s least favorite cousin, whom social propriety had declared Mama still had to entertain; there was he played at knights and dragons most often; that was the saint for whom his father—“The one who raised me.”—had been named.

She had enjoyed listening to him speak, his tone shading equally with fondness or wistfulness or, in the case of his mother’s least favorite cousin, palpable disdain. They so rarely had moments of quiet, never mind such moments together, and the opportunity to learn more about his home through his eyes had been an honor. She was sorry for the outing to end.

Except, instead of taking the turn that would lead them back the Fortemps Manor, Aymeric began to lead them in the direction of the Jeweled Crozier and all its myriad shops. Synnove made a questioning sound, looking up at him.

Aymeric grinned at her and kissed her forehead. “My lady was kind enough to accompany me about Ishgard in the cold, without complaint,” he said cheerfully, “and listen to me ramble besides. The least I can do is provide her some refreshment and something hot to drink in return.”

She laughed in delight, and pushed herself to her toes to kiss his cheek. “It was my pleasure to walk with you today,” she said, “but I’ll not refuse the offer of a treat. Lead on, my knight.”

The main thoroughfares were busier than the side streets, and the pair garnered some attention as the Lord Commander and a Warrior of Light, though blessedly no one approached them. Aymeric turned them down onto the lane that housed most of the Pillars’ cafes and bakeries, and Synnove’s stomach rumbled at the enticing aromas of coffee and bread and sugar that perfumed the air here.

He took them past the places where she and her friends often supped, past even the cafes about which Emmanellain waxed poetic. The traffic thinned as they walked, the businesses becoming more exclusive, the displays of pastries and menus becoming more elaborate and frankly obscene. Synnove looked around in growing surprise, her eyebrows rising, even as Aymeric continued to smile, secretive and mischievous.

Finally, they stopped in front of a patisserie in whose window was a display of éclairs so decadent that Synnove reflexively swallowed the saliva suddenly flooding her mouth. The choux was so fluffy it looked as if it was about to float, the chocolate icing thick and so dark is seemed to gleam black in the shop’s light. Some were left plain, but others hinted at the flavor of the cream or custard within each: candied orange peels; coffee beans; halved strawberries; roasted chestnuts. She swallowed again and glanced up at the placard over the shop’s door.

A simple bluebird in flight, holding a sprig of mint, was the only hint at the patisserie’s identity.

Synnove felt the color drain from her face. “Aymeric…”

Aymeric raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles and she turned to look at him. He was smiling, the rogue, as brilliant and joyous as when they had first kissed after retaking the Vault mere weeks ago. “Let me spoil you,” he purred.

For a few heartbeats she was absolutely torn: the tiny five-year old watching her parents and aunt count every gil to make the week’s earnings feed six people, along with the frugal adult who owned her own home, at war with the same tiny five-year old who loved sweets of all sorts and the hopeless romantic who secretly wished to have someone dote on her without reservation. “Refreshments and something hot to drink” at the most exclusive, most expensive patisserie in Ishgard. Not even Rereha, with her near bottomless trust fund interest, had wandered this far down the lane…though in fairness to Rere, that more due to being perfectly content with a coffee and croissant at the first shop that caught her eye.

Synnove chewed on her bottom lip, glancing back and forth between Aymeric and the Bluebird. Finally, sugar and romance won out. “All right,” she said, only a little bit weakly.

Her knight kissed her knuckles once more, and without further ado, led her inside.

The scent of cooking sugar sent her stomach growling again and as Aymeric helped her shrug out of her heavy winter coat, she looked around with wide eyes. Éclairs, macarons, petit fours, madeleines, opera cakes, mille-feuille, bavarois of all sorts—there were more types of cakes and cookies and tarts on display then she could name. She let Aymeric lead her to her a table—the only one in the shop—and as she took her seat, she saw one of the staff quickly dart over to the door and flip the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’ She whipped her head around to stare at Aymeric as he sat.

He reached for her hands and she let him take them, her knuckles going white as she squeezed. Raising her hands, he kissed the back of her right, and then her left, quietly murmuring, “It’s all right, my love,” he said with a wry grin. “Anyone who wants to enjoy the Bluebird’s delights on premise must make a reservation ahead of time to ensure the table will be free.”

Synnove narrowed her eyes and hissed, “How long have you been planning this?”

“Not that long,” he said cheerfully. “A fortnight, perhaps.”

They let go of one another as a server brought them cups of coffee in surprisingly plain white mugs, heavy and thick to keep the liquid hot for as long as possible. As the server stepped away to flit back behind the counter, Synnove stretched her leg beneath the table and hooked her ankle around Aymeric’s. He beamed and raised his coffee to take a sip, and she followed suit.

She purred at the first taste. It was a dark roast, rich and flavorful, and roasted so carefully there was no hint of bitterness. While she would always love the coffeehouses of Limsa Lominsa best, there were more than a few cafes in her seaside home that could stand to take a lesson from the Bluebird in coffee brewing. Without cream or sugar, it would be the perfect compliment to the sugary delights of the pastries.

Aymeric smiled at her over his mug, and that was when the first of the treats arrived.

Éclairs, four of them, cut in to make for easier sharing, and to show off the flavored fillings within: one vanilla, one chocolate, one coffee, and one strawberry.

Synnove’s eyes went wider. She had never seen a pastry so generously filled before; the sight was actually borderline obscene, and the part of her mind where a facsimile of Rereha lived was dying to make a crude joke. She raised her eyes to meet Aymeric’s and he actually waggled his eyebrows at her.

She burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hands to try and stifle the sound, shoulders shaking. Aymeric joined her, his own laugh slightly softer, though it came from deep in his belly.

“You took that far better than Mama ever did,” he said as they calmed. “I hadn’t the faintest idea of just what Da meant by it until I was fourteen, but Mama slapped his arm every time and turned red as a tomato.”

Synnove smiled and warmth suffused her, as it did whenever Aymeric offhandedly spoke of Rolandoix and Gwenaëlle de Borel. It was such a joy and honor to have these pieces of his past shared with her. “Did they come here often?” she said, eyes on Aymeric as she reached for a half of the vanilla éclair.

“Four times a year,” he said, eyes going distant as he reminisced. “Our birthdays, and their wedding anniversary. It was one of the few frivolities they allowed themselves, and one of the few times of year they would spoil me rotten!” He grinned, a touch sad recalling his parents, before he shook his head and gestured to her. “And here I am on the cusp of becoming maudlin, and when I wish to be spoiling you. Eat!”

She laughed, and raising the éclair to her mouth, took a bite.

Almost immediately she moaned in rapture. Oh, but the choux was as wonderfully fluffy and cloudlike as it had appeared, practically melting on her tongue. The icing was a truly sinfully dark chocolate, bittersweet and more like a ganache than she had anticipated. And the crème, oh sweet gods, the crème. She was used to vanilla being a light flavor, delicate and easily overwhelmed, but this was so intensely concentrated it was more than a match for the chocolate icing.

She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and stared at Aymeric with wonder. His smile was equal parts delight and lasciviousness as he took a bite of the chocolate éclair. He chewed, swallowed, and drawled out, “Now, aren’t you glad you let me treat you?”

Synnove nodded frantically, finishing her bite with a swallow, and the popped remainder of her vanilla éclair into her mouth, another happy moan escaping her as she did. The chocolate, coffee, and strawberry éclairs were just as intensely flavored, exploding on her tongue in a riot of sensation, but the vanilla remained her favorite of the set.

From there they were served an entire tasting menu of the Bluebird’s finest treats. Palmiers were next, crispy and light and absolutely decadent when dipped into her coffee. Opera cake followed, the layers of buttercream, almond sponge cake soaked in coffee liqueur, and coffee ganache melding together that her toes curled in her boots and Aymeric had to laughingly fend off her fork with his own when she tried to steal a piece of his opera cake when hers was gone. Meringues were fourth, lighter than air, and slices of traditional fig bavarois fifth, the jelly bright and smooth. Then an assortment of flavored macarons, then mille-feuile, then buttery madeleines, and on and on and on, with heavy, rich desserts alternated with light, simpler fare.

Each pastry was exquisitely made, the quality of ingredients and care of the craftsmanship shining through. She didn’t bother to hide any of her appreciative hums or groans, and while Aymeric’s eyes flashed every time she did, the staff of the Bluebird, when she caught sight of them, wore large, delighted smiles of their own, rightfully proud to have a new customer so enjoy their hard work. Even better than the wonderful desserts, though, was the knowledge that it was Aymeric who had wanted to share something he considered special with her, and continue following the traditions of his family.

After all, she thought, pleasure suffusing her at the thought: it was exactly a moon today since the attack on the Vault, and the night they had confessed their feelings for one another.

The servers cleared away the last plates and refilled their coffee mugs, and Synnove sat back with a content sigh, cradling her mug in her hands. “Thank you for this, Aymeric,” she said, beaming at him. “I am well and truly spoiled.”

Aymeric smiled at her and hooked their other ankles together so that they were a tangle of limbs beneath the table. “I’m glad,” he said, voice soft. And then his smile turned cheeky. “But we’re not done quite yet…”

His gaze was somewhere behind her shoulder, and she turned to follow it. Approaching them with a tray in hand was a plump, stately elezen matron wearing the traditional garb of a culinarian, a bluebird embroidered over her heart. Synnove guessed she must be Madame Iriene, the owner and chief pastry chef of the Bluebird.

Madame Iriene stopped next to their little table and gave a half bow. “By request,” she said, a sly look in her eye, “a special finale in honor of the Lord Commander’s lady.”

Synnove blinked in shock, glancing askance at Aymeric. His smile widened.

Madame Iriene set the tray between them, revealing its contents: two plates, each with three pastries arranged in a neat row.

The first was small pudding pie, topped with a dollop of fresh whipped cream. The second was a soft bun, golden brown and delicious, smelling ever so faintly of apples. The third was a trio of three caramels, unusually darkened, and sprinkled with red flakes on top.

Synnove stared at them, mouth going dry. These—these were—

“A chocolate pudding pie, its crust made of crushed chocolate cookies,” Madame Iriene began to list, “topped with mint-infused whipped cream. A soft bread bun, stuffed with apples spiced with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, and star anise. Caramels, infused with coffee and dragon pepper.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and Synnove set her coffee down so she could once more bring her hands to her mouth.

Galette. Tyr. Ivar.

Representations of exactly how the aether around each of their summoning foci tasted to her senses.

Aymeric made a concerned noise and Synnove looked up at him as her tears overflowed. “Synnove, are you all right?” he said gently, reaching for her. “My apologies, I overstepped—”

She lunged forward (Madame Iriene darted out of the way with the dexterity of a woman thirty years younger), grabbing Aymeric’s face between her hands, and kissed him for all she was worth. He grunted in surprise, frozen for a moment, before he brought his hands up to cup her shoulders and return her kiss with a relieved laugh.

“Thank you,” she said in between kisses and the occasional teary hiccup. “Thank you, thank you, I can’t believe you remembered, I babbled about it moons ago, I didn’t even know anyone was paying attention—”

“How could I not pay attention?” her knight said, drawing back to look at her with pure adoration. “It’s you, and something important to you.”

Synnove sniffled, overwhelmed. She had already made a claim on him, and he on her, a moon ago, but this? As far as she was concerned, he was hers, and she was his.

Forever.

#ffxivwrite2020 #final fantasy xiv #oc: synnove greywolfe #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #\o/#dt's writing #this is my longest raw fill ever #it has blown 'shovel talk' out of the water by seven hundred words #also *adds the CORRECT fic link whoops*

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

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The Other ML Crossover Nobody Wanted

Sooooo…

How many of you have read Petshop of Horrors?

No wait! Come back! I swear it’s not too horrible this time!

In a non-Miraculous version of events, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a bullied and lonely girl. She’s creative and resilient, but has few friends and low self esteem.

Things happen similarly to Origins in canon. The first day of school comes and she’s already figuring it’s bound to be another bad year. Her parents attempt to help by sending her off with a box of macarons to share to try and make friends.

Only instead of Master Fu, she happens to run into a rather peculiar man. Androgynous. Different colored eyes. Long nails. And wearing full oriental clothing.

She helps him and even offers him one of the her bakery’s macarons (which he loves). And somehow, he can tell she has problems. Despite herself, she admits to her fears and her desire to have friends.

The strange man introduces himself as Count D, and as a way of thanking her, he directs her to his Petshop, where he says he sells hopes and dreams. And he offers to find her her perfect companion.

With little else for it, she decides she’ll at least check it out and agrees to go with him.

At the petshop, he offers to give her a pet that will help her and takes her to the back of his store...which strangely seems bigger inside than it should be. He leads to to a particular room.

And inside is a young blond boy who D says is going to be her new pet.

“You can’t just give me a boy as a pet!”

“Don’t be silly. This is a cat.”

Despite the Count’s reassurances, Marinette remains skeptical, but ends up having little choice in the matter. D tells her that this “pet” will help with her problems. And the boy (who calls himself “Chat Noir”) insists on going with her and swears to protect her.

She’s reluctant and demands to know the catch. D is impressed she bothers to ask, but remains vague. At best, he reassures her that as long as she’s good to him, he will return the favor.

So Marinette returns home with a “cat”. Said “cat” is very affectionate and rather needy of her attention. But he’s a great listener and will let Marinette vent to him all of her feelings. He’s also supportive and encourages her. He becomes her friend, as weird as he is.

But...

She wants real friends.

The next day, when she goes to school, she discovers a new student.

“Adrien”.

Who is her cat.

She panics and tries to hide him, only to discover that everyone else sees him as a regular kid. Not only that, he’s pretty and popular and Marinette vicariously becomes popular for knowing him. She doesn’t really like this though since she figures people are only really interested in her because she knows him.

While “Adrien” is getting along with the other members of class, Marinette goes off by herself to begrudge his interference in her social life. Chloe of course takes the chance to antagonize Marinette and try to steal her seat to sit behind this cute new boy she’s heard about. This is how Marinette meets and befriends Alya, who is also a new student. Together, they stand up to Chloe and decide to be friends.

Chloe goes off in a huff, and they think that’s the end of it.

But once class starts, Chloe sees “Adrien” and freaks.

It turns out that Chat Noir in this human form looks just like a boy Chloe knew. A childhood friend of hers named Adrien Agreste.

Suspicious.

Chat gets a little down after this and doesn’t want to talk about it. Which is fine by Marinette, because that is what the internet is for! And new best friend Alya is on the case to help her solve this mystery—because this Alya is a fan of mysteries, and a new transfer student from out of nowhere who looks just like a kid who died is definitely a mystery. And possibly supernatural.

With Alya’s help, Marinette discovers a young male model named Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste of the fashion company. Adrien was a model for his father’s brand until he collapsed one day and passed away suddenly. Gabriel Agreste has been holed up in his mansion ever since, and has refused to leave his home or make any public appearances. But he has been known to have a particularly volatile temper, seemingly going out of his way to upset people for unknown reasons.

Chat Noir develops a strange interest in the case and asks to visit. She’s wary, but agrees and takes him to the mansion. Somehow, he knows the access codes to unlock the gates and doors, and manages to get her inside.

The mansion is strangely empty.

They work their way through the rooms, including Adrien’s old bedroom, which looks like it’s been untouched for at least a year. They eventually find their way to Gabriel’s office.

And discover a secret entrance to a hidden basement below.

Down there, they discover a pale, sunken-faced, sickly Gabriel Agreste single-mindedly focused on caring for a strange cocoon. The man is clearly unwell and possibly mad, as he insists the cocoon is his comatose wife. And that everything he’s doing is to wake her.

It becomes clear that like Marinette, Gabriel was also a customer of Count D’s petshop. Only his “pet” is apparently an insect of some sort whom he has been bewitched to see as his dead wife.

Chat Noir is furious and confronts him for neglecting his son for “this”.

The truth comes out.

Adrien Agreste died due to malnutrition, exhaustion, and stress. He had been overworked as a model, working long hours and was kept on a strict diet. Adrien was horribly neglected and desperate to get any sort of approval from his father, so he forced himself to keep at it until his body eventually gave out.

Gabriel Agreste had been a broken man after his wife’s “disappearance”. When he came upon Count D, he was introduced to a “pet”—a cocoon containing an exotic species of moth, which took on the form of his wife in a state of stasis. He signed the contract to keep her and had been focused on “waking” her ever since. To the point of obsession and neglecting all other things.

Including his son.

Chat Noir is strangely angered by this. It takes Marinette’s interference to calm him and keep him from attacking the broken man.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Because Gabriel had a contract for this pet. With three rules of his own to follow:

1. Keep her in a cool space with plenty of moisture.

2. She is an empathetic creature and needs to be stimulated by proximity to high emotions.

3. Do not let her feel isolation.

In lines with these terms, Gabriel had been spending all of his time with her so she would not be isolated. In addition, he had taken to intentionally upsetting people in order to stir up high emotions—often of the negative variety—in some mad attempt to “feed” or stimulate her in hopes she would awaken. In this way, the third rule made sense to him in that if she was empathetic and could sense emotions, she could feel a lack of them and would die if she felt alone.

Gabriel is desperate. He’s been at it for years and still no sign of life from the cocoon. He’s insistent that he keep trying though, because everything will be better once she wakes up.

It’s Marinette who figures out what’s actually happened. And she has to break the news to both Gabriel and Chat.

Gabriel misunderstood the second and third rule of the contract.

For the second rule, she needed to be exposed to high emotions. They didn’t all have to be negative. Happiness counted. Love counted. Excitement and pleasure and bursts of creativity and even all the little mundanities of life would count just fine. But Gabriel thought that the highest emotions were the ones that got the most physical reaction, and had thus been consistently making people around him miserable for this purpose.

Then the third rule, she needed to not feel isolation. For this, he stayed with her constantly. But he failed to realize that this didn’t only mean that she could feel isolated, but that as an empathetic creature, she could feel when OTHERS were isolated.

Like Adrien, whom had been neglected by his father and locked away in his room when he wasn’t being used as a dress up doll.

For years, Gabriel had been exposing her to constant negative emotions of everyone he dealt with and neglecting his own son. That’s a lot of bad feelings he was creating, and a lot of sad/mad/scared/hurt and just all around painful feelings he’d been forcibly exposing her to.

Without realizing it, Gabriel had been poisoning her all along. That’s why she never woke up. And now she never will.

Gabriel refuses to believe it. He breaks down. His wife was lost to him again—for good this time and by his own hand. His son was an unfortunate casualty of his obsession. All former friends and companions driven away. Even his own health and well being was neglected. He was a truly miserable man.

With little other choice, Marinette calls the authorities to get Gabriel some help.

She notices Chat Noir had left and leaves Gabriel to the care of health care workers.

She eventually finds Chat Noir in Adrien’s room.

She also finds a picture there. One of the few of a genuinely happy Adrien Agreste.

And his pet black cat affectionately named “Chat Noir”.

“I hated this room. It was always big but empty. And no matter how much space I had, I always felt trapped. I could never leave. Never go out. Never interact with anyone else.”

“…”

“And your room is so much smaller. So I should be worse off there, shouldn’t I? But it’s warm. And so full of life. And you’re there. And I was so…so happy. It was like what home used to be. What home should be.”

“Chat…”

“How could that make such a difference? I didn’t understand it. Because I thought…surely he loved me the same, right? He slumped. “I just wanted to know why. That was all I ever wanted. And now I finally do and…I can’t stand it.”

“Chat?”

“It just makes me hate this place more.”

“Tell me. Are you…Adrien?”

“I was. I think?” He shook his head. “I don’t know anymore.”

He looked to her, wounded and desperate and practically begging all at once.

“Can I stay with you?”

“…”

“Please?”

_________________________

That night, Marinette slept in her bed, exhausted from the events of the day.

A warm ball of fluff purring as he was held securely in her arms.

#ml au #crossover #ml crossover #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir #petshop of horrors #gabriel is a bad dad #bad dad gabriel agreste #bad dad is also probably a bad husband

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cinnamoonsworld · 4 years ago

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Two Worlds Collide - Chapter 3 [Aizawa x fem!reader]

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the support you are giving me for this work of mine, I hugh you all in thought! In this chapter I will focus on the history of the reader, enjoy! Thanks to my boyfriend for the translation! <3 Previous chapters: ch 1 | ch 2 You can also find me on Ao3!

Warnings: none Word count: 1.582 —————————————————————————— Chapter 3 You have never understood how you became a singer. It all happened randomly. Until high school, the one who always stole the spotlights was your best friend Rumi Usagiyama. She was the energic one among you two, the one everyone admired and the one everyone wanted to be friend with. You always were the shy one, and lots of people marked you as the "Weirdo" because of your Telekinesis power. For some mysterious reason, since the first day of school, Rumi wanted to be your friend. And from that moment, you two became inseparable. "Rumi, I'm sure he hates me." You let yourself off while fixing your dresses in the closet. Your first work day at the U.A. just ended, and you bolted in your room in the 1-A's dorm to put your things in order. You had a really strict schedule, and you had to do everything in perfect timing. "Who?" Asked you surprised your best friend. "Eraserhead." You answered while folding a shirt. "I overheard what he was talking about me with the Head this morning... He is not ok with having a singer working with him..." "Maybe is just envy!" Shouted Rumi while bursting in laugh. "I have never worked with him, but I heard he is a really elusive person... Probably he hates everyone without difference, what can you know!" "Maybe you're right..." you sighed. "Hey, hey, don't ever sigh like that again!" Rumi scolded you. "Remember why you are at the U.A.! Do not let yourself down for someone who does not even know you!" "You're right." You answered while give a shy smile. "Listen, can we hang out in the next days?" "Sure thing!" strongly said your friend. "Smell you later for the organisation, now i gotta train!" You had just the time to greet Rumi that she already hung up. You loved her energy and the way she was so sure about everything, and you were hoping to have the same qualities as she had. Few years ago... "Come on (Y/N) let's go!" Said Rumi while pulling you from the sleeve of the uniform. "This is our last school festival together and we have to do EVERYTHING." You looked at her hesitating, you only wanted to stay calm and talk about anime and manga with the comic club. Instead your friend had different plans for you and for that day. She wanted to get you past afternoon with your legs screaming in pain for how long you would have walked. "So, let's start with the Horror House!" Shouted the girl dragging you inside the school.Two hours had passed, and you had already done every activities your school mates had prepared inside each classrooms. Now was the outside activities' turn, and Rumi absolutely wanted to take you to karaoke. "Why you want to go to the Karaoke if your voice is like a strangled chicken?" You asked while swallowing a macaron the bakery lab sold you little time before. "I told you, i want to do everything! Not even the Karaoke is safe from me!" Answered Rumi while placing herself on a little stage with the microphone. "Hey you! We want to sing!" The 2-B schoolers looked at Rumi in awe. She was the best and most talented student of Shiketsu, and everyone knew her. And so, everyone knew you because you two were always together. Even though she was the most extrovert and cheerful of the two for sure. Rumi stepped on the stage and had the songs list given to her. When she choose the song, ripped the microphone off its staff. "Good afternoon Shiketsu!" She screamed enthusiastci at the microphone. "I am Rumy Usagiyama and now i'll sing for ya!" Only by hearing her name, a big crowd swarmed in front of the stage. As to be expected, she didn't hit a single note. But her energy made all those mistakes to be fogged by her, giving her a huge applause. When she stepped down the stage, a bunch of boys surrounded her to give her compliments about her spotlight. You were hoping that while she was distracted by them, you could have escaped. Unfortunately she tossed you on the stage before you could even make a step. She gave you the songs list, you had no idea what to sing. There were lots and lots of song, and lots very good. Until your eyes locked on a Rock Ballad, and you decided to do that without hesitation. Right after its start, you closed your eyes and started singing. You wanted to feel the emotions of that song fully, and when you opened your eyes, people was staring at you in total awe, including Rumi. More people started to come closer, curios by that voice, and all were surprised to see that it was Miruko's best friend. You were singing with lots of passion, trying to act all the emotion that song created. When the song ended, after a moment of silence a big cheerful roar exploded in the audience. Rumi jumped on the stage, looking at you completely exhalted. "(Y/N)... You can sing?" Asked you confused. "Well... not really" You whispered looking at the ground. "It's a passion I have since I was little and sometimes I sing something alone" "You were awsome!" Shouted your best friend hugging you. "Why did you never told me that?!" "Well... you never asked and I thought it was not that important." You answered while burying yourself in that hug. "You are amazing and you deserve that everyone know it! Come on, don't hide yourself! Sing another song immediately!" pushed you Rumi giving you the list again. This time you choosed a pop song, and started to sing enthusiastically. Right in that moment, passed by the one who choosed that your future was in the music world, and that he wanted to be your manager, Eizo Tanaka. He was a musical producer, and he was at the sport festival because one of the teacher was one of his childhood friends and he promised that he would have come visit him here at school. For sure he was not expecting something like that. By now, 5 years has passed since you became a famous singer, but yet for you it feels strange. When you sing or walk on a stage, you become more confident and energic than you usually are. It seems almost that Rumi's attitude posesses you while you start an exhibition, and people love your life energy and your skills. During interviews, althought, they do not understand how you can be so shy and clumsy, almost like you are embarassed of being seen by others. It looked like Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde, even Tanaka, your manager, noticed that. During these years, he tried to make you more extrovert like your friend, but all in vain. This "need" he had to make you change, always put you under pressure, and you felt really bad everytime Tanaka losed his patience telling you that maybe it would have been better if Rumi was the good singer and not you. You thought that yourself, maybe it was better that she was at your place. Surely she would have been better than you on lots of things. You did not even know how to balance yourself betweeen College, concerts and conselour license's exams. It only costed nights without sleeping, panic attacks and depression, but in the end, you did it. Your wake up call recalled you from your thoughts. It was time to go to the Recording room, and you could have not been in late. You took your bag and running out 1-A's dorm. You did not even realized you almost bumped on Aizawa and Toshinori that were coming in right at that moment. You were so focused on what you had to do that you did not even noticed what was surrounding you. "Who is that girl?" Asked Toshinori visibly confused. "She is (Y/L/N), my new assistant and class counselor." answered a fed up Aizawa. "She is a singer." "Amazing!" happily shouted Allmight, "So you don't get bored during the lessons!" "I do not want someone to entertain me during my lessons." answered coldly Eraserhead: "I want someone who is a professionist and can do his job with the kids, not someone who steps on a stage and sing some stupid songs." "Well if she is here, she is qualified for sure." Answered Toshinori. The fact Aizawa was so against a co-worker was not a good sign. "You had reasons to blame her on her first day? I'm noticing you don't roll good with her..." "I think she is not fit for my class." Interrupted Aizawa: "They already are under a huge spotlight, a singer was not what they needed. What's next from the Commission, a TV host? I just want them to live as calm as they can. If the Commision wants to get views by this, I will oppose them." Toshinori sighed hearing Aizawa's words. Probably he was not wrong, but it was too soon to say if she was doing or not a good job. Aizawa could not hold back a irritating feeling when thinking about you, and that day, it happened quite often. He was just hoping to get better as soon as possibile, because he knew that otherwise it would have been harder to work with you. He just wanted the good for his students, only that.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #aizawa shouta x reader

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flowerfan2 · 4 years ago

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All Vows

A/N: Given that this is the second year in a row I’ve been inspired (compelled?) to write a Good Omens fic on Yom Kippur, I’m inclined to think there’s something to it. But who knows.

See below for more info and author’s notes. L’shana tova, everyone.

All Vows, A03

It's Yom Kippur again, and Crowley can't stop watching you tube videos of the Kol Nidrei service. It's hard to know where he fits, but Aziraphale is there to help.

Crowley hit pause on the video he was watching and shifted on the couch, pulling out his earbuds when it became clear that Aziraphale was talking to him (he could hear him either way, of course, but Aziraphale said it was rude to keep them in during a conversation).

“Are you still listening to Kol Nidrei services?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t think you’re actually required to do it multiple times.” There was a soft smile tugging at his face, but Crowley didn’t mind the gentle teasing. He knew he was being a little, well, obsessive.

“I’m not required to do it at all,” he reminded Aziraphale. Demons didn’t need to go to temple. Crowley was aiming for a casual tone, but he kind of ruined it by swiping at his eyes, which were leaking rather annoyingly. Traitors.

“Being able to remotely watch Yom Kippur services from all over the world is a silver-”

“Do not say that again, Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled, returning to more familiar territory. Aziraphale continued to find the “silver lining” in the COVID disaster in everything from less crowded roads to the months and months he’d had to try out different variations on his macaron recipe (Crowley had drawn the line at lobster maracons with buttercream and crabmeat filling), and every time, it grated on his nerves. No “rain bow” was going to make up for this disaster.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said, sliding over and taking Crowley’s hand. “I don’t mean to downplay your concern. But it is long past sundown here, and presumably in…” Aziraphale craned his neck to see what Crowley had been watching on his tablet, “New York City, and I think you can take a break now.”

Crowley let out a long breath, and laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Kol Nidrei means ‘all vows’ in Aramaic,” he said.

“Hmm, yes,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Do you remember, then – when it got started… medieval times, all those persecuted Jews, forced to convert to other religions, wanted to return to their own community.” …”

“But they were worried that the oath they had sworn to God to follow another religion would get in the way. So the congregations developed the Kol Nidrei prayer to absolve them of the oaths they had made.”

Crowley digs his chin into Aziraphale’s warm shoulder, and Aziraphale gives his hand a squeeze. Of course Aziraphale knows all about it, they were both there, bearing witness to the many ways humans have wronged each other year after year in the name of religion. But something about this particular religious ritual, a legal formula recited every fall to address each person’s own relationship with their god, has hit him hard tonight.

“D’ya think it worksss for me?” Crowley asked quietly, his voice rebelling against him as surely as his eyes had earlier. “Can I be forgiven, for the vows I sssshouldn’t have made? Or does it not work, since She threw me out in the first place?” Was it still a vow against God if God pretty much forced him into it?

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, unclasping his hand from Crowley’s and enveloping him in a tight hug instead. “It works for everyone. Vah-yoe-mare Adonai, sah-lach-tee kid’vorecha.”

“And Adonai said, ‘I have pardoned them as you have asked,’” Crowley repeated, roughly translating the end of the prayer he had heard so many times.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Aziraphale adjusting his hold on Crowley to something more comfortable. Crowley snuggled against Aziraphale’s chest, rubbing his cheek along the worn velvet of Aziraphale’s waistcoat, a feeling of safety and warmth spreading through his body.

“So, which one was your favorite?” Aziraphale asked after a while, shifting so that he could reclaim his tea from where he had abandoned it at the other end of the couch. It was still at the perfect temperature, of course, despite the fact that he hadn’t taken a sip of it for quite a while.

“My favorite…?”

“Your favorite service. You must have watched a dozen of them tonight.”

It had been more than that, actually, if you counted all of the ones Crowley just checked out on you tube for a few minutes and then noped out of if it wasn’t particularly interesting.

“I always found that fancy congregation in Manhattan a bit too stuffy,” Aziraphale said, referring to the last one Crowley had viewed, and Crowley huffed out a laugh. Anything too stuffy for Aziraphale was, let’s say, more than a bit behind the times.

“Newt and Anathema had a good service in their backyard, actually,” Crowley said, grabbing his phone and swiping around until he found what he was looking for, then playing a snippet of the recording for Aziraphale. There were less traditional instruments playing along with the traditional prayers, and Aziraphale smiled as they heard what sounded like a ukulele.

“Anathema will really do anything for Newt, won’t she?” Aziraphale murmured approvingly. Anathema wasn’t Jewish, at least not by birth.

“Well, she thinks the cantor might be under some sort of spell, given how long she can hold out those high notes without breathing, so she’s taking a professional interest.”

Crowley showed Aziraphale a few pictures Anathema had sent him that afternoon, of Newt and Anathema’s yard, set up for a small group of neighbors with chairs spread out at least six feet apart. Their guests were all bringing their own prayer books, or using their phones to access the texts. Even some communities who usually wouldn’t allow the use of technology on the holidays had made exceptions for a variety of practices given the need to stay safe during the pandemic, although Crowley was pretty sure Newt and Anathema weren’t so conservative in their observance anyway.

“Things really are different this year,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded. “Yup. Tomorrow someone is coming by to play the shofar for them. Apparently the guy is just going to go from house to house, if you want him to come play it for you, you just have to let him know and he’ll stop by. Home-delivery shofar blowing. But,” Crowley broke off, swiping until he found another photograph, and then turning his phone so Aziraphale could see the image of the long, curved ram’s horn with a mask somehow attached to the end, “it has to wear a mask too. It could be a super-spreader.”

Aziraphale stared at the photo of the shofar with a mask on it and started to giggle. Crowley harrumphed, but then Aziraphale did that little wiggle that meant he was truly endeared, and Crowley started giggling too.

“Humans are endlessly creative,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s neck, when the giggles had subsided and they were once more curled up around each other. “They will rise to this challenge, as they have before.”

“Do you really think so, angel?” Crowley asked.

“I do, Crowley. I really do. And we’ll be here to watch them.”

“Together,” Crowley said shyly, hiding his blush in the soft fluff of Aziraphale’s hair. Because no matter what vows Crowley had made, no matter what heaven or hell had required of him, somehow, Aziraphale was still here.

“Yes, of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale replied, nuzzling a delicate kiss into the spot just behind Crowley’s ear, fond and steady and true. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

_____

Note: Here I am again, for some crazy reason, writing another Yom Kippur fic. Yom Kippur is the traditional Jewish day of atonement, and the Kol Nidrei prayer is thought to have originated as a result of Jews being forced to convert to Christianity or Islam upon pain of death. Afterwards, many of the forced converts wanted to return to Judaism, but this was complicated by the fact that they had been forced to swear vows to another religion. The Kol Nidrei legal formula was developed to enable them to return, and is recited each year at the beginning of Yom Kippur to absolve them of their vows to God made under duress. The melody of the Kol Nidrei prayer, which became standardized in the 1800’s, is particularly haunting. To hear and see the Kol Nidrei sung by Cantor Angela Buchdahl, the first Asian-American to be ordained as a rabbi and cantor and an amazing person, go here.

Jewish communities around the world, large and small, have been conducting remotely accessible services this year, and finding numerous ways to allow people to come together for high holiday observance in one form or another while still following social distancing guidelines and keeping each other safe. As just one of many examples, Temple Emanu-El of New York has made its high holiday services available online to everyone; you can find the Kol Nidrei service here. (As described on Wikipedia,Temple Emanu-El is the first Reform Jewish congregation in New York City and, because of its size and prominence, has served as a flagship congregation in the Reform branch of Judaism since its founding in 1845. Its landmark Romanesque Revival building on Fifth Avenue is one of the largest synagogues in the world. I was there once for a wedding - it blew me away, and honestly, most Jewish synagogues don’t look anything like it, but it is a very lovely place to have visited).

#Good Omens #Jewish Good Omens #Good Omens fic #Aziraphale #Crowley #ineffable husbands

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