#i visited her home in Paris which is now a museum and it was everything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pablitogavii · 10 months

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Hey i really appreciate and love your writing 💕 it's so realistic an your hurt/comfort and fluff stories always turn my day better and it's all just so adorable. Thank you for your writing

Can I please request a gavi x reader fluff where she is a talkative person (which Pablo thinks is just adorable and loves her) but her "friends" always tease her about it and never let her finish and make her third wheel with them. One day, Pablo comes back from training and finds her sad and quiet and asks her what's up and she asks him whether he thinks that she's annoying which he absolutely denies and asks her why she would say that and she finally confesses about her toxic friends and he comforts her. Thank you once again and love you ❤️

I relate so much to this!! I can talk so much about stuff I am passionate about that I fear others would be annoyed with me :((

Chatty

"And I visited this museum when I traveled to Paris with Pablo and the art there is just beyond this world..like the expression and the way the colors match on top of the oily portraits..so breathtaking" you were showing photos to your friends from your recent travels really feeling passionate about art but none of them seemed to care.

"Yeah..yeah..we get it! Your boyfriend is rich and is paying for your travels to see some old paintings" one of them said rolling her eyes and soon afterwards everyone else joined.

"I mean who even cares about some old paintings that all look the same anyways!?" she added and you gulped turning of your phone feeling sad that they spoke like that about something you cared so much about.

"And you've been talking about it for the past hour! Can't you just shut up already!" and with that you grabbed your bag and walked out of the cafe catching a taxi that drove you back home.

Pablo was in training and you just curled up on the couch turning on some TV but weren't really paying attention to what's on the screen. You started to wonder if Pablo thought the same as your friend..were you talking too much? Were you annoying him too?

When he came home, he found you on that same couch just starting in one spot with a frown on your face and he sat besides you immediately asking what is wrong.

"Nada.." you said and the fact that you were not using many words like always to explain details made him curious as to who got you this sad. He was even a little angry that someone would hurt his precious girl like this.

"I know you better than that preciosa..you can tell your Pablito everything, alright?" he took your hand and you sighed looking into those kind brown eyes giving him a weak smile. He was so gentle with you that it warmed your heart.

"Maybe that's the problem.." you say and now he furrowed his eyebrows in complete confusion as to what you mean with that.

"Am I talking too much Pablo?? Am I annoying you??" you ask and Pablo was taken back staying silent for a moment wondering why would you ever think something like that.

"You're not saying no...I knew it!" you said about to move away but he pulls you back holding your face and making you look at him.

"I couldn't believe you asked me something like that princesa..that's why I was quiet..I love hearing you talk..especially about art because your eyes sparkle and you get all excited..and then you smile which drives me loco" Pablo said and a tear escaped your lip and he dried it pulling you closer and kissing your lips lovingly.

"Who told you that you talking is annoying princesa?? Huh?" Pablo said after pulling away and you sighed telling him what happened with your "friends" this morning.

"They are cabrónes princesa! Jealous and simple minded. Taking you to that museum and seeing that bright smile was enough for me to fall in love with art the same way I fell for you..you made me want to like it" he said moving a strand on your hair behind your ear and you smiled remembering how fun it was when you explained history of each painting to Pablo who listened intensively.

"I love you so much Pablito.." you moved closer sniffing a little and resting your head onto his shoulder as he smiled kissing the top of your head pulling you even closer and you cuddled on the couch together.

"Can you tell me that story about the painting we saw in Paris again..the love story?" Pablo asked and you blushed nodding your head and starting to tell him the supposed love story between the artist and model who was on the painting you saw and Pablo liked the most.

"And she loved him because he would talk to her while painting..he didn't only care about her looks" you finished blushing when you realized why Pablo asked you to tell this story again.

"Precioso amor.." you say and he chuckled nodding his head and leaning in to kiss you lovingly while nodding his head.

#pablo gavi x you #fc barca #fc barcelona #pablo gavi x y/n #gavi #gavigif #fc barça #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi #pablo gavi icons #pablogavixreadersmut #pablogavixreaderfluff #gavi x vini #gavi x yn #gavi x you #gavi x reader #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavira #gavira

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toomuchracket · 1 year

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per the last ask (I’m a different anon) maybe birthday party verse! Matty and reader take a trip to celebrate a publication of hers and they rent a car (maybe a vintage convertible like in that one music vid) and matty is looking all classic driving reader down pch on their way to dinner and so it’s kind of a mix of sunshine baby/golden/style and then after dinner they decide to take a dip in the ocean 😌

gonna change the location of this because i had an idea about it anyway but it's a similar vibe!! so i think that the holiday starts in paris - you've been asked to do a little talk and a signing of your most recent book at the shakespeare and company bookshop, which is a huge fucking deal and something you're so so excited about, and naturally matty's glowing with pride and goes to paris with you. and you have a few days there before your event, just reminiscing on the last time you were there with your friends, and visiting museums and doing a bit of shopping. matty's in extra-proud boyfriend mode and attempting to buy you everything your eyes linger on for more than a second "as a well-done! a little treat!"; at the event itself (which he's already given you flowers for), he's watching you from the edges of the crowd, totally in awe of you (someone snaps a pic of him smiling at you like you hung the moon and tweets it, someone else tweets to say that they spoke to him and he literally just gushed about you for five minutes straight lol), and he almost cries after he cheekily queues for you to sign his copy of the book, because you address it to "the love of my life" and kiss the page to leave a lipstick mark on it for him lol.

anyway, i think at dinner afterwards, you probably say something like "god, i really don't want to go home in two days" and matty just beams and goes "well, good, because we're not", and then he reveals that he's booked a cottage somewhere in bordeaux for the two of you to stay in for the next week - you're immediately so so excited, and then you're like slightly panicked because "i didn't bring enough clothes!", and matty laughs like "well, now you'll need to let me take you shopping, sweetheart, yeah?" and you roll your eyes but you do let him buy you armfuls of new sundresses the next day lol. and the day after shopping, you and matty have a two-hour long train journey to bordeaux - which is spent listening to an album together and eating sweets lol - where there's a car waiting for you outside; a classic red vintage convertible (like the one from that clip of matty in l.a.), which matty is SO smug about. you tease him about it a little, like "you're sure you can drive on the opposite side of the road?" and "this is so new wave cinema of you. you've got postmodernism brainrot, baby", but that's just to distract yourself from jumping his bones because jesus christ he looks so hot driving with his sunglasses on and his hair all curly and messy (you take like 455883 pics of him like this. new lockscreen material for certain). i think you probably get lost a couple of times on the way to the cottage - you're responsible for navigating with the map and it's in french, for fuck's sake lol - but neither of you mind, because it's just so perfect driving through the french countryside with the wind in your hair and the sun on your faces. and the week is like the total antithesis to your busy time in paris; you just laze about in the sunshine, smoking and fucking (lol) and eating good food (but you both do end up getting inspired and writing some stuff for your respective next projects lol), before getting a little bit dressed up in the early evenings to tour some of the MANY vineyards nearby, having dinner and getting pleasantly tipsy on red wine. the very last night, you go to the vineyard where That Wine, the one you guys bonded over and love sharing, is made. and maybe, just maybe, a certain question is popped... idk! who's to say? regardless, it's perfect <3

#mads muses #mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #into the birthday partyverse

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 7 months

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HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 59

*Warning Adult Content*

What does it mean to come home?

In Martin Hunter's experience, it depends who's waiting for you there.

As a kid, getting out of school and going home meant relief, playing with his brothers and sisters, delicious food cooked by his mom or dad, the comforting drudgery of homework and the promised reward of video games or his favorite cartoons.

As an adult, home became a place of anxiety.

Would Elena be waiting for him?

What sort of mood would she be in?

What might she have said or done to the kids in his absence?

Martin's greatest fear, on the rare occasions when he was away for any extended amount of time, was that he would come back to find them gone.

Now, as his partner, Skylar West parks their rental car in front of their house and four small figures burst from the front door and race across the lawn to greet them, coming home is pure joy.

********

Back on the private island, Shanti had promised to visit Martin's family before returning to her own realm and let them know that all was well.

Miguel's wolf, too, had visited his father once more in a dream, in which he told him how proud he was of him and how he had saved them all.

After that, however, there had been only a few phone calls from hotel rooms, which Martin kept short to avoid ridiculous fees.

Speaking of fees, as soon as Shanti disappeared into the sea, leaving them behind on the island, reality had caught up to Martin and he had a minor panic attack over how on earth they were going to get home with no passports and no money.

Fortunately, Skylar had been wrong about himself.

He had lost his ability to transform, to swim like a fish and breathe water instead of air but he had not lost his siren's Voice.

A quick trip to the U.S. Consulate in Palermo and they had everything they needed, which was proof enough that Skylar's Voice retained it's unnaturally persuasive power.

One does not simply walk into the U.S. Consulate, announce that one has no identification of any kind, request a replacement passport and expect to be accommodated speedily.

With their papers in hand, they'd visited a few reputable dealers of antiquities and a jeweler or two and exchanged some Mer-salvaged treasures and pearls for cash.

Thus equipped, they were set to travel in style.

Skylar led Martin on a meandering tour up through Italy, across the top of Spain and into France, where they followed the western coast, keeping mostly to small towns.

Finally they struck inland for Paris and from there caught a first-class flight to San Francisco.

They rested there for a day, visiting the Museum of Modern Art and Fisherman's Wharf, before renting a comfortable car and heading for home.

They could have made the drive in a day but Skylar had one last place he wanted to visit, the beach near Bodega Bay where they'd camped with the kids, where they bonded and where Skylar first made contact with Natalis and his 'father.'

Skylar said he wanted to watch the sun set over the ocean one more time before he bid the sea goodbye for a while and to give them the closure of coming full circle through their strange ordeal.

"Will you miss it?" Martin asked, as the last gleam of the sun slipped beneath the rim of the horizon, where a thin band of lavender-hued mist separated a dark sea from the turquoise and tangerine sky.

They'd parked at an overlook atop a bluff at a place called Duncan's Landing.

Below them was the little cove in which they'd made love.

"The sea will always call to me," Skylar said.

"As a siren song in my blood. There will be times I can't ignore it, when I feel I must go mad if I cannot hear the waves and feel the salt spray in the air. Then I will answer it and come to a place such as this, to soothe my soul. But I won't stay long and I hope I will not be alone."

Martin leant against him and closed his eyes, letting the sea saturate his senses, the rhythmic roar of waves and the buffeting wind against his skin, carrying with it the occasional cool kiss of salted mist.

"Sounds a bit like being a wolf. After a while our human skin starts to feel too tight and we long for freedom and release, the simplicity of a wolf's mind, wild as the sea but devoid of human thought."

"Hmm. I wonder what would happen if you bit me," Skylar mused.

"Would I become like you or turn out a scaly mer-wolf monster? Or would I become something else entirely?"

Martin pulled away from him in surprise and Skylar laughed.

"A question for the future, maybe."

"Maybe."

Martin leant against his mate again, looping an arm around his waist and filling his lungs with sea air.

Personally, the less magic, mayhem and mystery in his life, the happier he'd be.

At least for a while.

Martin suspected that between Flora, Miguel, Nico and Rio, he had some mayhem in his future, at least and probably plenty of magic and mystery, too.

They'd spent a last night alone together, at a little bed-and-breakfast 'the rainbow flag flying from the porch of which told them they'd be welcome' before completing the last leg of their journey and arriving home.

********

"Daddy."

Smiling so hard his face hurt, Martin is tackled to the ground and buried beneath a miniature dog pile.

The kids haven't been this glad to see him in a long time and it reminds Martin how fast time flies.

When Flora and Miguel were younger, they loved to run all the way across the school's playing field to greet him at the end of each day.

They'd meet in the middle and he'd pretend to be knocked off his feet, then roll around in the grass while they smothered him in 'attack' kisses.

Pretty soon, he'll be cheering them on as they graduate high school.

First dates, first jobs, first cars, first loves, tears sting his eyes at the thought of how much he could have missed and how grateful he is to be here now.

"Why are you crying, Daddy?" Nico asks, concern pinching his little brow.

He'll be a handsome one when he grows up, a real heartbreaker, for sure.

"I'm just happy, sweetheart," Martin says, catching his breath and drawing him and Rio into a hug.

"I'm happy to be home."

At his back, Skylar kneels and rests a hand on Martin's shoulder where he sits on the ground.

"Me, too," Skylar says.

"Are you gonna stay this time, Mr. Sky?" Rio asks, tears streaking his own cheeks.

He's the most empathetic of the four and cries easily.

Martin glances at him over his shoulder and Skylar smiles at him.

"Yes, I'm here to stay."

********

"What about Papa Sky," Skylar asks later that night as they lie in bed together.

It had been a full day of catching up with the family, especially Martin's brother Noah and his partner, Ambrose, who while they offered to look after the kids again any time they needed, seemed glad enough to be rid of them after three weeks.

"They could still call me 'Mr. West' at school, if you like."

Martin laughs into his pillow, half drunk with lingering jet lag and the sheer relief of lying in his own bed.

Despite his best efforts, Skylar hadn't been able to get Nico and Rio to drop the Mr. from before his name.

"Sounds good to me," Martin says, rolling to face him.

Skylar leans in and kisses his lover .

"You taste like the sea," Martin says.

Skylar draws back.

"The 'sea' contains quite a wide variety, my dear. There's everything from the beach at low tide to the freshest zephyr on the open waves."

Martin smiles, touching the end of his nose to Skylar's.

"The latter, definitely."

"You taste like... Well, you taste like toothpaste and mouthwash," Skylar says.

"Utterly mundane, adorable and perfect."

"Better than dog breath," Martin grins.

Skylar snorts.

"Go to sleep, my beautiful, wonderful, wolf-hearted man. Tomorrow, we start anew and we have everything ahead of us."

********

It takes a while but day by day, peace returns to their lives.

For Martin, true peace comes to nest in his heart for the first time, for which he is more grateful with each passing day.

If Skylar isn't beside him when he wakes, Martin hears him in the shower or downstairs making breakfast for the kids.

And each night, they fall asleep in each other's arms, knowing that each breath they take together is a gift.

Skylar returns to work for the school but rather than art 'he confessed he couldn't remain an objective judge when it came to the children' he coaches swim team.

Meanwhile, Martin returns to my role as a stay-at-home dad, for the moment.

Not everything is roses, disappearing from the face of the known earth for several weeks comes with consequences, as his agent duly informs him.

The publisher dropped him, apparently, due to his lack of ability to meet their deadlines and the offer of an advance has been withdrawn.

For once in his life, Martin is not worried.

Money is meaningless to Skylar, he can literally scoop it from the sea... 'Or his family can, anyway'.

He is not about to rely on him for everything or stop doing his share but he's also okay with letting Skylar take care of him, at least for a little while.

Because at long last, after everything, Martin is finally willing to believe what everyone's been telling him all along.

He fucked up in the past but he doesn't have to let the past define him.

He's more than the sum of his failures and he deserves something good.

He deserves a break.

So, he embraces it.

He throws himself into long overdue home repairs, take notes for a new book inspired by their trip through Europe and shower the kids in as much attention as they'll tolerate.

Martin let the past go.

At least, until the past comes knocking, literally in the form of his ex-wife Elena, almost a month to the day since our return.

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helenflaneur · 2 years

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Three Nights in Paris

30th June - 6th July

When in Paris we stay at the ‘Port de Paris Arsenal’ where you can be sure the Sapeur Pompiers (very fit French firefighters) will prevent your boat from sinking. The beautiful “Petrus III’ was soon on an even keel thanks to those brave boys in neoprene.

Paris in the summer. A city of long days and short nights.

The Paris Mairie has been renovating since we were last moored at the Arsenal Port located next to the Bastille.

Previously the port was mostly secured after 10pm from the general public. Now however, after removing the roundabout at the Bastille column and creating instead a public (curved) square the noisy, singing, partying, ‘happy its summer’ public can wander past the boats moored on the green side of the port until they go home. At 5am….or whenever.

It’s a big city. You expect noise and people. That is part of the fun.

Fortunately we were moored on the other side of the port, rafted up to a welcoming French live-aboard.

The port bridge features in the last episode of ‘Lupin’. This is for you, Bernie.

This time in Paris we wanted to visit some of the smaller museums we hadn’t seen before. With this in mind we went first to the ‘Musee National Jean-Jacques Henner’ and had it all to ourselves. Along with security guards who rarely looked up from their phones. Henner was an artist who typified everything the Impressionists were reacting against.

He won the ‘Prix de Rome’ and exhibited in the Salon shows many times and was given all sorts of awards and commissions during his lifetime. His work is lovely but deeply conservative. His museum is in the building he lived and worked in through his lifetime. No long queues here.

As we were in the bourgeois right bank ‘Grand Boulevards’ area we came across the covered arcades. I have been wanting to explore them for years.

They were around the corner from where we ate lunch: the entertaining and more than 120 years old ‘Bouillion Chartier’ restaurant.

The doorman and waiters made a point of being as charismatic and delightful as possible. The food might have been fairly Coles cafeteria (but with snails and bloc de foie gras de canard on the menu) but the experience was memorable for all the right reasons.

Our Paris visit coincided with Flemington friends Barbara and Ian and we all visited Musee National Picasso Paris.

The excellent exhibition concentrated on Picasso’s daughter Maya Ruiz-Picasso. Many of the artworks featured her and were also given by her to the state in order to avoid significant taxes.

Picasso was such a prolific artist. Able to produce enough artworks to have shows in both Paris and Melbourne at the same time.

I was very excited to see Picasso’s ‘Bulls Head’ made from a bicycle seat and handle bars,

and Duchamp’s provocative ‘Fountain’ previously only seen by me in black and white photos in my Janson’s ‘History of Art’ book from school days.

After three nights in Paris we wanted somewhere cool and green and shady so we motored up the Marne river where we were still on the Metro system. Suburb-wise it was like being in Belgrave but we were only 8km from the centre of town. Because we were so close to Paris I left Mark to install solar panels and took advantage of the first Sunday in the month when most of the museums are free to visit the ‘Musee de L’Orangerie’ for the first time.

It’s permanent collection contained some of my favourite Picassos…

and the curated exhibition focused on ‘The Decorative Impressionists’. It contained wonderful, often early Impressionist artworks, when they were commissioned to paint interiors. I don’t usually like Renoir but this one was fetching.

It was refreshing to see some of the women Impressionists featured such as Berthe Morisot

and Mary Cassatt.

We stayed on our pontoon which was fitted with a security gate (so secure even small children could open it so as to paddle in the water as the weather hotted up) for 5 nights so we could have a final evening with Di and Graeme before they returned to The Netherlands.

Time now to head north-east into the Champagne district. Fingers crossed there will be enough water in the canals.

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abbyindenhaag · 1 year

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a whirlwind tour of paris (i’m exhausted)

Never one to let a good trip go to waste, when Bart returned on Sunday to Boston and piles of work (sorry Bart), I sallied forth to Paris. I give the Eurostar a 3.5/5 rating and assume the plane would have been a 2: it was cheaper to get to the train and I incurred less carbon emissions, but I still had to go through security-lite (boo), and there were massive crowds because a train to Disneyland left at the same time.

Franck gallantly picked me up at the Gare du Nord and -- as he did through the whole visit -- narrated the surroundings with anecdotes and founding histories like a professional tour guide. A light lunch (hummus and toasted focaccia bread -- remarkably good) obtained, and then Franck shuttled me over to the nearby Musee Marmottan Monet. I couldn’t find any Monet anywhere in the place, but it had several great examples of the fashion of the times. If your (lady) nips weren’t showing, or your (male) earlobes were, you were in big trouble, apparently.

There were also various decorative pieces since the museum was in a kind of restored 17th-century house/partment. I thought this totally dysfunctional clock was kind of funny:

For dinner Franck made a particular Lyonnaise dish which was braised white asparagus with homemade chive mayonnaise, also with gnocchi and homemade tomato sauce (yum). I helped shave the asparagus and quizzed Franck about finance. Valerie was busy at work sorting out some tax issues (maybe I shouldn’t say this, but apparently she has many, like 20, investment properties in Paris and she had elected not to declare them for about 10 years because of the high wealth taxes, but now has decided that was a mistake and is trying to correct it, but it’s of course complicated to sort out. People seem to bend the rules a bit more in Paris than at home; Franck also told me without any remorse about how they use the parking permit of Valerie’s disabled 90-something-year-old mother because they don’t like how Anne Hidalgo is trying to push cars out of Paris and want to fight back. I too have been known to occasionally park without a permit, but only for like 10 minutes to do some shopping... I wonder if the pushback is because all rules are just somehow stricter in France. At a later point Franck told me about how his downstairs neighbor tried to sue them because they had changed the layout of their apartment so that Franck’s kitchen was on top of the neighbor’s bedroom and it was too noisy. I mean, I’m all for assigning property rights, but it seemed like the property right wasn’t clear because Franck said it might have worked and it might not have, depending on the judge. That definitely doesn’t seem efficient. Also another neighbor in the building is currently suing the rest of them because an intercom system was installed without his consent. What is happening over there?!?!)

Anyway. Berenice and Philomen were both at home; Philomen is studying for a big exam to get into orthodontic school so she was mostly absorbed with that, but Berenice is in the apprenticeship portion of her education and so had a bit more time to chat. It was nice getting to know them a bit at dinner.

Monday was May Day, aka Labor Day, which was a surprise to good ol’ America-Centric Abby over here. So everything was closed. In the morning Franck took me and Berenice for a walk in the Jardin de Bagatelle, which is basically a large garden the size of Boston Common with about one-twentieth the number of people and infinitely more peacocks. Also lots of feral cats. It’s tulip season so there were several beds abounding in the stuff, nicely arranged too:

Lunch was an incredibly delicious North African lamb stew plus couscous from a neighborhood takeout place. We had also picked up pastries on the way back but were too impossibly full to attempt them after lunch. A thunderstorm then passed through, so I couldn’t resist briefly napping in my borrowed room, listening to raindrops falling on the skylight with the knowledge that I was practically in a Parisian garret. Franck then gave me some Metro tickets and directed me towards the Petit Palais, which turned out to be closed but it was just as well since it was quite a long walk back anyways. I crossed the Quai d’Orsay, walked west along the Seine, crossed again at Alma, went north along Georges V to the Champs-Elysee, turned south again at the Arc du Triomphe roughly following Avenue Kleber, passed the Trocadero and the Tour Eiffel, then made my way through Auteuil (still can’t pronounce that for my life) back to Rue Mozart. It was fun to see people selling lilies-of-the-valley on the street and know that, as Wikipedia taught me the previous day, this was a special Labor Day tradition.

Dinner was definitely good but unfortunately I can’t remember anything about it except for the (delicious!!!! omg!! brie-like) Sancerre goat cheese at the end, because we finally got ~~the pastries~~ for dessert and they were so exciting. My favorite was the signature of the patisserie, called the Eclipse, which is kind of a cookie with caramel on top, then coated with Chantilly cream and then dusted with chocolate cookie crumble. SO GOOD. (In the photo below, it’s the one there are two of.)

The next day, (are you tired yet? I am) Franck loaned me a helmet and showed me how to use the Velib’ bike rental system, which I took to his office with him. The bikes are all electric, which I tried not to use too much but it was kind of a thrill to see how easy it was to go up hills. The bike route -- along the Seine, then into the fashion district around the Louvre -- was full of bicyclists despite the fact that apparently it is Paris’s holiday week. (In perhaps the most obvious manifestation I saw of secularism, Easter holidays in France are apparently split across different weeks by region, such that Paris has holidays this week and next, while other parts of the country had them earlier. Also, both May 1 and May 8 are holidays so many people take advantage to take 4 days off and have a 10 day vacation. Thus, Tiphanie and her family were in Spain and I didn’t get to see them.) I would be a bit scared to bike that route at another time or at a lower level of expertise -- there isn’t very much room and people operate at very different speeds, so there was lots of passing. Plus very little regard seems to be given to traffic markings or stoplights. But it all worked out in the end.

Franck works, as I mentioned, in a fashion district, so there were several interior design stores and textile shops, and in a nearby plaza there was a fashion shoot taking place all morning (which I of course found exciting.) Franck took me through a very cool tiled gallery to the Museum of the Biblioteque National de France. We saw the reading room, where Sue apparently did a lot of research at one time, and then many many artifacts, which will get their own post. I then met up with Franck for lunch (truffle pasta, yum but I couldn’t finish it sadly) and afterwards took myself over to the Musee d’Orsay.

Oh, Musee d’Orsay, you pool of beauty. Obviously since it’s so large I didn’t get to see everything -- not that it’s possible to spend an appropriate amount of time with each work anyway, if you have the physical limitations of a typical human. If there’s a museum in the world I would like to pull a Mrs. Basil E Frankweiler stunt in, it would be this one, maybe 90% because of the beauty of the spaciousness and light from the train station ceiling, but also because I felt there was a very high concentration of good/surprising art.

Ok, so obviously I exhausted myself with that, but then I biked back to Franck and Valerie on the south side of the Seine this time (left bank??) and then Franck and Valerie took me out to dinner at a restaurant inside another renovated palace (they have so many of them). This one currently houses a museum and showroom for the Baccarat crystal house, which is one of four major luxury crystal producers (all facts due, as always, to Franck). The cuisine was very haute; my first dish was a haddock puree (think something that looks like whipped cream but tastes like fish) piped atop a pea puree, with a candied egg yolk; my second dish was veal with gnocchi; and dessert was a tarte tatin. I got to know Valerie a little better this time because Berenice and Philomen weren’t there; my impression is she is fairly consumed by her work except when it is superseded by her devotion to her family. Their apartment is filled with photographs of all the children at different ages; kids’ toys are piled up behind the couch for Tiphanie’s young ones (Tiphanie lives like a 2 minute walk away); and when I asked what was important about a vacation for her Franck said she liked to have all her family with her, like a mother duck. Aww. Also, she judged the plastic surgery of two heavily-surgeried women who entered the restaurant after us, and asked me how common it is for women in the US to have plastic surgery. Unfortunately, I couldn’t provide much of an answer.

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soulmate-game · 3 years

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Well, here is the stupid thing I was alluding to. It’s mostly a filler chapter, but yeah.

Harley’s Plea for Help, Chapter 3

“Well, that took a while,” a relatively deep female voice smoothly drawled. The plants placed right next to the window pulled away, no longer blocking the pathway inside. The two figures who were perched right outside the windowsill took the invitation and climbed inside, the shorter of the two looking at the woman who had spoken and smiling widely.

“Auntie Ivy!” Marinette happily exclaimed, making the redhead across from her grin back.

“That’s me. It sure is nice to actually see you in person, little Marigold,” she held out her arms for a hug, which Marinette instantly ran in to accept. “Video calls are never quite enough, are they? You’re so tiny! Are you sure you eat alright?”

“Auntie Ivyyyyyy,” Marinette whined, knowing full well that Ivy was just teasing her.

“So, what took you all so long?” Ivy asked Red Hood, even as she kept her arms wrapped around her soon-to-be daughter in law. “Usually you bats are all about getting back on the streets to punch people, we didn’t think you’d be bringing her in at almost one in the morning.”

Hood shrugged, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Your little garden fairy nearly gave us the slip. Went straight out the back exit instead of doin’ anything showy like we half expected and we almost missed her.”

“I stopped as soon as I noticed who they were, I swear!” Marinette pulled away from Ivy, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t expect Momma to send them to babysit me before our first full day being in Gotham. In hindsight, though, I really should have.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Ivy agreed with a smirk, ruffling Marinette’s hair and making her pigtails go a little crooked. “And I know for a fact that you’ve done some stunts off your balcony back in Paris, so at least I know you can be responsible and hold yourself back from doing the same here. Must get that from me, because we both know it doesn’t come from Harley.”

Marinette and Hood both had to laugh at that. Being responsible was definitely not a trait that Marinette could have inherited from anybody in her family tree, that was for sure.

“Are ya makin’ fun of me in front of my daughter?” the comically scandalized voice announced the arrival of one Harley Quinn, who walked into the room in white onesie pajamas with a poker print on them. All of the “joker” cards were crossed out heavily with red sharpie, and a few of them had black-sharpie devil horns and handlebar mustaches vandalizing them. Marinette even caught one such card with a googly eye on it, the matching eye having fallen off and leaving only a small circle of since-dried hot glue where it used to be. “If you guys are gonna be that way, fine! Ivy dyes her hair!”

“No she doesn’t,” Marinette deadpanned, clearly fighting against a giant grin. The corners of her lips gave her away, they never stopped twitching with repressed mirth. “But you do. I got the pictures to prove—- aah!” Harley tackled her daughter to the ground, attacking her with tickles immediately.

“Take it back! My hair is naturally blond!”

“Yeah, naturally— hahahahaha! Sandy blonde! You— hahaha! Have just as much brown— stop I can’t breathe! hahahaha!— as yellow!”

“Hmph,” Harley finally backed off, crossing her eyes and looking away from Marinette with an exaggerated pout. “How dare you reveal my darkest secret?”

“I was a natural redhead even before I got my powers,” was all Ivy had to say, looking all too amused at this turn of events. “Your original costume completely covered your hair.”

“Don’t worry, Harley,” Red Hood butted in, reminding the three girls that he was still here. His tone suggested that he was definitely smiling under his helmet. “We found out about your hair dye years ago.”

“I just cover up the brown parts! It’s not like I’m changin’ much,” she argued before standing up again. “Thanks for gettin’ my cupcake back safely, little birdie. Oh, that's right! I made cupcakes! Hang on, lemme grab one for your trip back!” with that, she span on her heels and ran back further into the apartment. Marinette dashed over to Hood, immediately shoving him to the window.

“Quick, save yourself! Momma can’t bake for her life!” she whispered urgently. “I’ll say you were called away for an emergency, just hurry!”

“It’s not even a lie, getting away from Harley’s baking is an emergency,” Ivy agreed, waving as the vigilante took their advice and fled. It was only three seconds later that Harley slid back into the room, nearly falling due to the feet of her onesie having pretty much zero friction. Her face immediately fell when she saw that her victim was gone, leaving her standing there with a cupcake that was about twice as much frosting as actual cake, covered in sprinkles like a kid’s craft project that was smothered in glitter. The frosting was also shapeless, just heaped on the cake like a half-melted scoop of ice cream. She sighed in despair.

“There goes my chance of giving a bat diabetes. You guys warned him, didn’t ya?”

They both nodded shamelessly. “We’re not that cruel, Harley,” Ivy defended, getting up from her spot on her cushioned armchair and wrapping an arm around her fiance’s waist before she kissed the top of her head gently. “Hood got our little Marigold back safe and sound, and he’s even started a garden at his apartment. He doesn’t deserve to be poisoned by you.”

“I thought you said he got a single cactus at the flea market last month,” Harley deadpanned, making Ivy shrug.

“Might as well be a garden for him, and it’s something he’s not likely to kill so that’s a plus to me. He’s actually taking really good care of the little baby.”

“Speaking of garden!” Marinette gently took the sad excuse of a pastry away from her mom and sat it down on a side table before ushering both of them over to the living room and onto the sofa. “My garden back home is growing so big, I don’t think I can keep everything much longer. I barely have room to walk on the terrace, with all the vines and leaves and branches. Got any ideas of what I can do?”

“Of course! Do you have pictures, Marigold?”

—*—*—*—*—*

Slipping back through her hotel window at six in the morning was risky, since it involved climbing the wall and hoping nobody saw, but her classmates were so unpredictable that it was the only way she could be sure nobody would find out that she had violated curfew and snuck out. Of course, having Red Robin waiting outside her mom’s apartment’s terrace to escort her back helped. At least she knew that no street cams would record her comings or goings, and his grappling hook made the whole scale-the-hotel-wall business much more efficient.

Once she was inside, she sighed happily. “Thanks, now—“ her apology was cut off as Red Robin held up a finger to tell her to wait.

“Hold that thought, be right back. Don’t move.”

Thinking, rightfully, that something was wrong, Marinette obeyed. She watched Red Robin leap off of her hotel balcony and disappear into the streets. Immediately, she began a search to make sure her room had been left untampered— everything important had been packed in the backpack that she had taken to her mom’s place, but still. Could never be too careful. By the time she finished checking for bugs or any signs of snooping, Red Robin landed back on her balcony.

“Here we go.”

Turning to face him, Marinette opened her mouth to ask what the problem had been— only to tear up a little and walk over to the vigilante.

“Oh, my hero. Truly, my one and only savior. Knight in shining red Kevlar. I’m running on two hours of sleep and you have read my mind!” The pigtailed drama queen eagerly took the coffee that he offered her, and he sipped from a larger cup that looked like he had grabbed it from the same place. Marinette almost instantly sighed in gratitude when the hot drink lightly scalded her tongue. This. This was the elixir of life.

To his credit, Red Robin was able to restrain himself to merely an amused smirk. Probably because he was running on just as little sleep as she was. “Sorry it’s only a small, I figured it was best to have something you could finish quickly and easily hide the evidence for. If you need more caffeine, I happen to know that Wayne Enterprises has a very good coffee shop in their main hall. You’ll be touring there today, right?” He asked, taking another sip as he waited for the answer that he already knew.

Marinette nodded absently, drinking in the euphoria of her coffee as she tried to both savor it yet finish it as quickly as safely possible. When she came up for air, she said; “Yeah, that’s right. We’re touring Wayne Enterprises for most of the day, having lunch there, and leaving for dinner after the tour. Then we have a visit to the Gotham Museum of Fine Art, and we’ll stay there until about eight-thirty before heading back to the hotel.”

Red Robin nodded, then turned and looked out the window at the slowly rising sun. Sunrise was always a bit later in Gotham, partly because of the abundance of high-rises and partly because of the thick cloud cover and ever-present fog on the edges of the city making everything seem darker than it should have been. He had to be at work soon himself, which is why he had been chosen to escort her to the hotel in the first place, but that meant that he had to be heading off.

“Alright. We arranged for a bodyguard we trust to keep an eye on your class during the WE tour, but he doesn't know who you are or that we’re the ones who asked. We’re still in the process of arranging someone to shadow you after the tour, but we’ll tell you about that once it’s solidified. Until then, follow the usual self-defense procedures if you suspect anyone of following you. You have the panic button we gave you?”

Marinette nodded, gulping down the last of her coffee and carefully putting it in her room’s tiny trash can. “Got it. Thanks, again. Seriously,” she met his eyes— or, probably did since they were hidden behind that weird white film that the whole Batfam had covering the eyeholes of their masks. “I mean it. For listening to me, for listening to Mom. It means a lot. I’ll keep the panic button on me, and I’ll use it if I think I can’t handle a situation on my own. I’ll cooperate with the people you get to watch over the class, and I’ll do my best to not get into any trouble. No promises, but I’ll do my best,” she maintained eye contact until Red Robin nodded, hiding his expression behind his coffee cup. After a second, he cleared his throat.

“Well then. We’ll contact you once we have anything to say about your intel. Until then, I gotta go. And by the way?”

Marinette tilted her head curiously as Red Robin paused for just a moment on her balcony railing, aiming a smirk back at her. “Yeah?”

“Welcome to Gotham.”

And if she couldn’t help but smile widely as he grappled off into the fog-veiled sunrise? Well, only she had to know. She wasted no time closing and locking the glass balcony door, and pulling the curtains over it completely. Once that was done, she couldn’t help but do a little shimmy of Joy. She was caffeinated, she met Auntie Ivy in person for the first time, she got to sleep next to her momma— and she was in Gotham! Technically her hometown— or town she was conceived in? Didn’t matter. Point was, even with the chaos and dark energy clouding the very air, she couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in that city. Like that was where she was always meant to end up, where she could thrive and the environment that she was made to thrive in. The environment that she was born to start fixing.

She beamed at herself in her bathroom mirror as she gave herself one more once-over. Yeah, so far her visit to Gotham was going much better than she could have hoped. Now, she just had to make sure it stayed that way.

Three businesslike raps sounded against the door to her room, just in time for Marinette to feed Tikki one more cookie and straighten her purse on her shoulder. Madame Mendelieve’s voice called out from the other side of the door in her usual no-nonsense bark;

“Dupain-Cheng! Room check! It’s time to get up, we’re meeting down in the lobby in ten minutes.”

Marinette ran up to the door, not quite able to contain her energy, and swung it open with her trademark large, beaming smile.

“Way ahead of you, Madame Mendelieve!”

Her science teacher blinked, adjusting her glasses on her nose as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Ah. You’re already awake and ready?”

Marinette giggled and nodded. “Yup! I was so excited for the tour that I could barely sleep! Does the hotel breakfast include free coffee?”

—*—*—*—*—*

The hotel breakfast did, in fact, include coffee. What it did not include, however, was free coffee that Marinette could reasonably stomach. Especially after the heaven in a cup that Red Robin had gotten for her earlier, the watered down motor oil in the hotel lobby had been unbearable. She had barely managed two sips before regretfully throwing the rest away. Which is what brought her to stand in line at the very same coffee shop that Red Robin had mentioned was in the main hall of Wayne Enterprises, as the rest of her class mingled and waited for their teachers to check their tour group in and their tour guide to arrive.

“Hmm. Sorry, this is my first time ordering here,” she apologized when she reached the counter, gaining a slight lopsided grin from the barista at the register. “Um, I usually like strong coffee, with a lot of caffeine, but I also like something sweet. I don’t need anything too complicated though, do you have any recommendations?”

The barista gave her a customer service smile that seemed just a tad softer at the edges than usual. “Sure! So, we can add an extra shot or two of espresso to any of our drinks, to make it stronger and give it an extra kick. If you’re looking for good sweet flavors, the classics are our white chocolate or caramel. But we also have a seasonal syrup right now that I personally love, which is our cinnamon butterscotch. Did you wanna try that?”

Marinette smiled widely. “That sounds delicious! Then, if I could have your largest size café latte, hot, with… two extra shots and that syrup? Does that sound good?”

The barista actually let loose a soft laugh, already keying in the order. “If you’re a coffee lover and a sweet tooth at the same time, then you’ll love it. If not, come back during your tour’s lunch break and I’ll make you something else.”

Marinette made a little more small talk as she handed over the proper cash for the order, and grabbed her drink after just another minute’s wait. She turned around, taking a sip of the unsurprisingly heavenly coffee and started off to join her class.

Only to realize none of them were where she had left them. She sighed, starting to reach into her purse to see if anyone had texted her about where they were going, but a heavy presence stopped her. She could feel him approaching from in front of her, slightly to her right, but she couldn’t hear him at all. On guard, she straightened up and turned to observe the potential threat.

A security guard. Marinette blinked, running over what she had been told earlier that morning. Was he..?

He seemed to notice her instinctually defensive posture because he raised his hands to show he meant no harm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he apologized. “I’m the guard that was assigned to your tour group. I offered to stay behind until you got your coffee while the rest of your group went ahead and got the run-down on all the boring rules and whatnot of the tour. Figured you’d already know everything they had to say anyway, you’re the class president right?”

Marinette relaxed her posture, nodding and sending the man a relieved smile. “Yeah, that’s right. Well, that explains why they left without me then. Usually Madame Mendelieve is strict about following rules though, how’d you convince her to go on without me?”

The man chuckled, jerking his head to show that she should follow him as he began to lead the way to a side door. Marinette kept her guard up just in case, but wasn’t too worried. If nothing else, she was still in the middle of a super crowded building and the other security guards around didn’t seem concerned. She could easily yell for help if she needed to.

“Well, can’t you tell it was my devilish charm?” He teased, grinning. He waited until she rolled her eyes to continue; “but really, I’m like a second tour guide. She made me show a lotta proof that I’m actually assigned to you guys and not just faking it, not that I can blame her. Eventually she saw the logic in my suggestion and agreed. See, there they are,” he pointed casually ahead of them in the large side hallway they had entered. Sure enough, near the end of the hallway was her class at what looked to be the tail-end of a standard rules-and-guidelines speech from the tour guide. “By the way,” the guard spoke up again, holding his hand out. “My name’s Jason. You’ll be seeing me more often, since I’m supposed to guard you guys for all of your visits to the Tower. Call me if you need help with anything, ‘kay kid?”

Marinette grinned, now positive that this guy really was the guard that Red Robin had said was assigned to her class. She switched the hand she was holding her coffee in so that she could properly grab Jason’s hand for a shake.

“Got it, Monsieur Jason. Let’s both hope I don’t end up needing your help though, I think that would be easier on both of us,” she joked, earning a chuckle from the large man. And— yeah, now that she was relaxed, he really was big, wasn’t he? Then again, Marinette didn’t always realize when people were a bit larger or more buff than they should be. Living with her dad had seriously skewed her perception of the normal size of an adult male (which, she learned when she was seven, most definitely was not almost seven feet tall and muscled enough to make a pro wrestler jealous). But she would like to think she had gotten better in that aspect, and Jason was definitely a big guy. A little over six feet tall, she thought, and though the guard outfit hid a good portion of his physique, she could tell he carried enough muscle to do serious damage if he wanted to.

With a wave, she left him to join her class and sipped at her latte. She had figured that the Bat Clan’s criteria for civilians that they would put to guard her class had to be high, but now she had to wonder just how high. Most police officers or security guards were fit, sure, but not like Jason. Casting a quick glance back at him, she confirmed that he had quite a few faded but visible scars. Again, more than your average officer even for Gotham. Who had they tasked with her class’ safety, exactly?

An elbow in her side distracted her from her thoughts, forcing her to blink and stop her cup from going back to her lips. The grin of none other than Adrien Agreste greeted her when she snapped out of her own head long enough to pay attention to her surroundings. He jerked his head to indicate that the class was already starting to move off.

“Come on, Mari or you’ll get left behind again,” he teased. She grinned back at him, rolling her eyes but falling into step beside him as they followed at the back of their class. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gonna marry that coffee. You haven’t zoned out that badly in years,” his tone was light and cheery, but Marinette didn’t miss the concern in his emerald eyes. She sighed, gently bumping her shoulders against his in silent reassurance.

“I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. But this really is good coffee. Elixir of the gods,” then, just to provoke him, she took a giant gulp of the still steaming hot drink. Adrien grimaced in pained sympathy even though Marinette didn’t seem affected at all.

“Oww, Marineeeeeeeeeette,” he whined. “Don’t do that, my throat hurts just watching you guzzle hot coffee like that,” he complained, rubbing at his neck to make his point clear.

“Wimp,” she teased, unrepentant. Adrien just groaned dramatically.

“I’m not a wimp, you’re just concerningly used to burning your throat from the inside out,” he accused. “Anyway, how’d it go?” He was being deliberately vague, but it was obvious to her what he meant. He was only one she had told about visiting her mom, after all, just in case she needed a quick getaway.

In fact, he was the only one of her friends that she had even told about her biological parents. Alix knew too, but only because of time shenanigans. Marinette was fine with it now, but still.

“It went great,” she smiled widely at him, keeping her voice low but casual. “If I have a chance, I’ll introduce you sometime during the trip. I have a feeling you’ll love Auntie Selina, but I have to meet her first. All I have so far are stories.”

“Fair enough,” Adrien agreed easily. “But you don’t have to, you know that right? I’d love to meet your family, but I’m also fine just being your pseudo-brother like I have been up until now. I know it might be a bit… uncomfortable, for you.”

“Nah,” Marinette shrugged. “Nerve wracking, maybe. But that’s also about half the things that I do in my life period, anxiety is no joke. I’ll catastrophize for a while, but I know you’ll love them and they’ll love you.”

“Sounds like they have paw-some taste,” he didn’t even miss a beat with his puns, earning a playful glare for his efforts.

“Never mind. You’re a heathen. Disowned. Who are you?”

“Mariiiiii,” he whined, causing them both to laugh for a while before focusing on the tour.

So far, so good, Marinette thought.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 1 Part 2

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman @deathssilentapproach-blog @user00000003 @frieddonutsweets @blur-of-colours @prettylittlebutterflie @ladyqnoirr @a-star-with-a-human-name @mizzy-pop @laurcad123 @dorkus-minimus @chocolatecatstheron @tazanna-blythe @golden-promises @literaryhiraeth @asrainterstellar @hewantedbeefintheparkinglot @miraculous-trinity-leo @missanalysis @lovelyautumnsunflower @lolieg @ann0631 @whitetiger1249 @meow-now @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #soulmate-game #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damimari #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #bio!mom harley quinn #eventual daminette #probably #daminette #platonic jasonette #platonic timinette #platonic timari #platonic dickinette #platonic brucinette #Joker can choke on a cactus

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dreamwritesimagines · 3 years

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Burn The Witch 1 - Decoy [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Here we go my loves, the first chapter! ❤ I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

As always, I don’t own anything.

Word Count: 2200

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, death, manipulation, language.

Summary: Trouble has a way of following certain people.

Sometimes you wondered whether you would run away screaming when you were a child if you knew what kind of a person you would turn into.

It wasn’t exactly your fault though. For years and years, several people had put the blame on several different things. Eventually they would reach the same conclusion though; the psychiatrists, your superiors, the very few people you could call your family, they all agreed on one thing.

It wasn’t you, it was the abandonment.

The abandonment you went through when you were a teenager had somehow started this domino, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop this constant fall, not even you.

But as you would figure out soon, you were lucky. Instead of being consumed by your anger, you could direct it somewhere else. You were recruited and trained from a very young age, and somewhere along the way, you realized that if you wanted to survive you were going to have to sacrifice certain things.

Forgiveness was the first one to disappear. Guilt was another.

Then fear.

Then, love.

Ah well. Worse things happen in the world every day.

If anything it made your job easier.

You cracked your neck and opened the door to your apartment, the key sticking to your fingers because of the blood on your hands for a moment and you made a face as you shut the door, leaning back.

A very long shower and a bottle of wine sounded like a good idea.

You placed your gun on the table, took the dagger strapped to your thigh out of its holster and got the knives out of the heels of your shoes before flinging yourself onto your couch and turning the TV on.

“Also called Sokovia Accords 2.0 by the critics—“

“What the superheroes think about this remains a mystery—“

“The first time caused a huge rift between Captain America and Iron Man but nobody knows the new Captain America Sam Wilson’s comment on it—“

You didn’t get to change the channel again when your phone started vibrating in your pocket, making you sit up straight. You muted the TV, and checked the caller I.D before you answered.

“Hey there.”

“Hi, how’s Paris?” the cheerful voice of your best friend reached you, “Had enough croissants yet?”

A small smile pulled at your lips. After your only parental figure had left you to go God knew where, General had decided to adopt you and raise you like a daughter. His actual daughter Chloe had welcomed you with open arms, and you had been best friends since then.

Her being the top analyst of the division didn’t hurt either.

“Mm hm, because that’s all I’m doing. Eating croissants, visiting museums—”

“Killing and maiming targets...” she mused, finishing your sentence for you and you heaved a sigh.

“Somehow that last one isn’t included in the city guide,” you pointed out. “Chloe, you know this is a line for—“

“Official contact from General, yeah yeah,” she said, “In my defense, you didn’t pick up the phone an hour ago when I called you from my phone.”

“Do you know how hard it is to use touch screen when your hands are covered in blood?”

“What happened to your sniper rifle, did it fall into Seine?”

“It required close combat,” you said, “And the target swallowed the chip before I could get it, so I had to perform a spontaneous autopsy.”

“Just so you know, whenever you talk about your job I have to watch like a hundred cute videos after I hang up.”

“Happens.” you said, “How’s everything?”

“You missed us already?”

You grinned, “Maybe.”

“Good, because dad wants you back. He’ll contact you any day now.”

Your head snapped up and you stood up from the couch, “Really?”

“Duh. Have you seen how negotiations for these new Accords are going? It’s going to be a mess and we need you here.”

“The second one hasn’t passed officially.”

“Well no, but you know how my father thinks.” she said and you tilted your head.

“Are we sure it’s General who wants me there and not you?”

“Okay, that was one prank ages ago and I didn’t hear the end of it!” she protested, “Don’t you trust me at all?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I’m being the perfect friend and calling you to give you some good news but if you’re going to be like this, my news can wait until you get here.”

You pulled your brows together, “What news?”

“What do I get in return?”

“My endless gratitude,” you deadpanned, “Come on. What news?”

“You can’t tell anyone yet but I think you’re getting a promotion.”

Your breath got caught in your throat, “You’re joking.”

“Don’t forget about me when you become a handler, you hear me?” She let out a laugh, I need friends in high places.”

“Your dad runs the division Chloe. It doesn’t get any higher than that.”

“That doesn’t count!”

You pressed a hand over your chest, “Just— what kind of a promotion are we talking about?”

“I mean I snooped around his files and casually committed treason.” she said, “But even I don’t know yet. They must be still making the adjustments.”

You opened your mouth to reply but then your phone vibrated again and you lowered it to check the message on the screen.

It was simple but again, all his texts were simple and to the point.

From: General

Time to come back. Jet leaves in 2 hours.

Here goes my shower and wine night.

“Chloe?” you said, walking to the sink to wash your hands so that you could start packing, “You want anything from here? I’m coming home.”

***

The best thing about being on the move all the time was that you could pack in minutes and the division would take care of the things you had left behind.

Apartments, belongings-

Not that you carried any belongings with you, or bought any more than necessary. It would’ve made you form a bond, which was less than ideal for any spy.

You suppressed the yawn splitting your face and made your way to General’s office. This jet-lag was going to make your life pretty difficult in the following 24 hours, and you were painfully aware of it, but it wasn’t like you could just ask for some time to rest.

That could wait. Your job was more important.

“General?” you knocked on the half open door and he raised his head to look at you before motioning you to enter the room.

“Y/N,” he said, “Close the door please. It’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Take a seat,” he said and you cleared your throat, then perched on the edge of the chair.

“I’ve heard you eliminated the threat and got rid of our target quite fast,” he said, “And we have the chip now.”

You nodded silently, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Well, that shows me you’re ready for the next step,” he said “No reason to beat around the bush, you’re getting a promotion.”

Pride burst through your system but you tried to control your expression to stop the grin threatening to pull at your lips.

“Thank you sir.”

“Here are the details for your next mission,” he said, handing you a file that was stamped as Top Secret and you flipped the page to find information about your next identity.

Alias: Shrike

“Shrike,” you murmured to yourself, turning the pages, “Like the bird?”

“Mm hm. I assume you’ve heard about the Accords issue?”

You looked up, “Only a little,” you said, “The first one was a disaster and the government had to drop it after The Blip due to the public’s reaction, resurrected people insisted that the superheroes were the ones who saved them, not the government. Then the government said they would go over the details and change it in a way that would benefit both the public and the superheroes, but I haven’t seen the new version.”

“There were some adjustments but to be honest with you, it’s the same deal. We can’t have superheroes running wild with no orders,” he said, “I need you on both fronts, one with terminating specific targets, and one with….well, you’ll see.”

You flipped the page and blinked a couple of times, your stomach dropping.

You were good, but you weren’t that good.

“You- you’re sending me after Captain America, sir?”

“Ah no,” he said, “Don’t worry. Wilson doesn’t have a past we can use against him, and trust me, we checked. The guy is an actual hero but we need a bad guy.”

You turned the page and shut your eyes for a moment.

Bucky Barnes.

Right. You should’ve known.

The government wanted and needed Captain America on their side, but Bucky Barnes could fall for all they cared.

“Sir I appreciate your trust in my abilities but not even an army could take down the Winter Soldier the last time—” you started but General shook his head.

“Y/N, you’re not going to kill him,” he said, “That’s the second front I was talking about. We need you to get close to him, to form a personal bond and gather intel we can use in the future.”

You gawked at him, “I’m sorry?”

“Barnes is the perfect candidate. He can help us with necessary information to prove to the public that superheroes need to answer to someone; us. Besides if it all goes bad, we can just say he was a threat. With that kind of past no one would think he was innocent to begin with.”

Your head was spinning. Scratch that, the whole room was spinning.

You were good at finding and terminating targets, not forming personal bonds or playing this

“When you say get close to him….” You trailed off, your voice way too weak and he smiled slightly.

“You’re an attractive woman, I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that.”

That. That was your promotion.

Not an operations officer, not a handler, but a lover who also happened to kill people.

They were going to use you as a honey trap for him.

“Sir, I don’t think-“ you started, but he held up a hand.

“Before you say no,” he said, “Let me remind you that this will benefit your career greatly, and you will have your own team. Show us you can handle it, and the position you want will be within your reach, you have my word. You want to be a handler, don’t you?”

You dragged your fingernails on the file, deep in thought.

“Barnes is one of the many dangerous people we may need to stop one day, and the only way to do it is to keep him under control and learn everything he knows until we’re ready to take him in.”

“But if these new Accords don’t pass—“ you started but he shook his head.

“Even if they don’t, and that’s a big if,” he said, “He’s still a valuable asset to have. We all have to perform certain missions, Y/N. Even if we don’t particularly like them. You will thank me in the future, when your career flourishes.”

Your blinked a couple of times, a bitterness appearing in your mouth.

“Of course,” you managed to say, “You’re— you’re right sir. It’s a good plan. I accept the position.”

“Great!” he clapped his hands together, “We have a target for you for tomorrow night, there’s this gallery opening. He needs to be eliminated, I think you can handle that? Start planning how it will go with Barnes as well, we can’t lose any time.”

You pursed your lips together and closed the file, “Of course.”

“Congratulations.” he leaned in slightly, “Your dad would be so proud of you if he could see you now.”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it felt like it was getting bigger and bigger.

“I don’t need his approval,” you rasped out and walked to the door, but stopped when you heard him speak.

“Shrike,” he used your alias for the first time and you looked over your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I don’t have to remind you that this mission is top secret. If he figures out who you are, or what you’re up to…” he clicked his tongue, “Kill him.”

You paused for a moment, then tilted your head and smiled at him.

“As you wish, sir.” you managed to say, then walked out of his office as if someone was chasing you. You made your way straight to the bathroom and slammed the file on the marble counter, then pulled out the small picture sticking out from the corner. It was an old black and white picture of him with Steve Rogers, probably taken in the 40s, both of them smiling.

When you lowered the picture to attach it back to the paper, your eyes caught the tiny print under his aliases.

Confirmed Kills: Exact number unknown (Credited with 100+ assassinations)

You were in way, way over your head now.

“Oh, fuck.”

Chapter 2

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #the winter soldier #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier imagine #burn the witch

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

Text

One Summer In Paris ~ Is She Mine? ~ JJK

WORD COUNT: 3.4 K

GENRE: Fluffy, romance, ex-lovers to lovers, smut at a later date

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

DESCRIPTION: Jeon Jungkook had always loved Paris with its amazing views, incredible museums and the small Bookshop right across from the Effiel Tower. It was were he spent a lot of his summer breaks as a kid so he loved it well into his adulthood. There was one bookshop he rented a room in the summer that changed his life. It was a place where he felt happy and at peace whenever he had the chance to stay there. Where he fell in love for the first time and had his first heartbreak, a lot of firsts for him were in Paris. But what happens when he goes back to the same book shop four years later and finds the love of his life in the arms of another with a daughter who looks suspiciously like him…

THEMES: Single Parent, Jungkook x Fem!Reader, self insert, Smut will be included in a later chapter

MASTERLIST || NEXT

As soon as the plane touched the floor Jungkook instantly felt at home even if his home wasn't Paris it was still felt like home to him. Everything about Paris made him feel at peace and in a place, he couldn't help but fall in love with more and more every time they came here. Pulling his bag through the airport calling Namjoon to let him know that he'd arrived in Paris safely like the leader had requested but he had to have been sleeping because there was no answer from him so he just put his baseball cap on paired with some sunglasses and walked out, keeping his head down as he walked.

The joys of the break coming like this meant that no one knew where he was heading, not even his manager knew that Jungkook had flown to France he didn't want everyone following him around he wanted it to be just like his old times there when he was a kid and the last summer he was there. This break was about spending time alone and just having some time to breathe, no paparazzi, no fans. He adored all of ARMY but sometimes he just needed some time to himself.

It was almost four years to the date when the boys all took a break from their idol life to spend some time off and away from everything and just like today he flew to Paris. One of the places he'd loved as a kid since he would always come here on his summer breaks,

"Bonjour," He greeted one of the cab drivers who nodded at him through the rearview mirror with no response, waiting for the address to be given to him. Jungkook could recite the address as if it was his own home address, it had never left his brain even in the four years he'd been away from it.

"234 Louvre Road please," It was the address of an apartment above a book shop, one that he'd spent most of his inside of when he came to Paris with his grandmother, and the one he'd been in four summers ago the last time he was alone in the city without the boys around. Of course, they'd been there many times since but Jungkook could never break away from them or the paparazzi long enough to go and visit the small shop.

"Right away Sir, what brings you to the city of love?" Jungkook assumed he was trying to make some conversation to help pass the time so he just decided to speak back to him. The man was balding and had a thick black beard, he couldn't have been any older than his 50's.

"I've missed coming here, so I decided it was time for a visit." He chuckled to himself even though what he was saying wasn't funny. It was the nervous chuckle he did whenever he didn't know what to say, he turned and began staring out of the window as he passed by everything. Nothing had changed, the views were still spectacular no matter the angle you looked from, everything was still just as beautiful as ever. The sun was already starting to set in the city and it made everything look more impressive than it already did, the fairy lights were just starting to twinkle on the Effiel Tower.

"No story of a long lost love living here? I've heard them all kid and I can read you like a book," The man laughed softly as he pulled onto the main road, Jungkook's heart sank at the thought of you even still being in Paris, you would have been long gone by now there was no way of knowing.

"No. Not for me." He lied, laughing it off as though it wasn't weighing him down so he kept his attention on the view out of the window, looking at all the different people that were around him. All of the couples running along together, families huddled together as they toured the city of love.

This was supposed to be a creative break for him, Namjoon told him that he thought Jungkook could have a breakthrough with some lyrics he'd been struggling on so he was hoping Namjoon was right about that. Paris was always one of the places Jungkook felt most creative, the art and the people all inspiring him. It was where he'd written a lot of the love songs that were on his mixtape...That wasn't released yet, Jungkook didn't think it was ready but he was sure after this break it would be. He just needed something...More.

"Here you go sir," Jungkook tipped the taxi driver and got out at the small book shop.

It was just the way he remembered it from his childhood and the summer he'd spent there. The small shop nestled right between the river and across from the Effiel tower, the view from the apartments above it was honestly breathtaking and made him wonder how the place was still just a book shop instead of a B&B but he didn't mind, the place was still there, still his private little nesting place. He wondered if the inside had changed all over the last four years of him being gone, Grace was always crazy about changing everything inside. Going on about how the decor was wrong, or the shelves needed rearranging whenever she didn't like something in its place. He was about to head inside of the shop when he froze in place, his hand on the handle of his suitcase tensing while his knuckles turned when he saw you standing there.

Reaching across the counter probably speaking French to one of the customers since it was practically your native tongue the way you spoke it, your hair was longer than it was Four summers ago and you seemed happier somehow. The corners of your lips were turned up in a smile and it made his stomach flip and kick the longer he watched you engaging with someone. Although he had no idea what you were saying he was making it up in his head, imagining what you would say to someone who was asking for a book recommendation. It had been one of your favourite things to do in the shop, you'd read so many different books Jungkook always wondered how you kept it all in your head.

"Excusez-Moi monsieur, Allez-Vous à l'intérieur?" Excuse me, sir, are you going in?" Jungkook was pulled from his daydream about you and turned to see a small elderly lady holding a stack of books in her hand, he'd hardly heard her and he doubted that he would if she hadn't have tapped his shoulder to gain his attention. She frowned at him as she watched him, Jungkook could have sworn she looked an awful lot like Grace but he couldn't be sure.

"Oh, Oh...Sorry. No." He stepped out of the way darting to hide down the side of the shop when you looked up. There was a bell above the door that alerted whoever was working that someone had entered so you glanced up, right as Grace walked through the door with a stack of books in her hand.

"Bonjour!" He heard your voice and it was just as sweet as he remembered it from before, you still sounded like you which was good since you were you and not some alien that was disguised to look like you...He knew it was impossible. But his flight over here had been cramped full of dreams about you...Nightmares rather. One stemming from an Alien abduction to the next one of you flipping out at him when you see him.

"There was an odd boy outside, I'm sure I know him." That was his cue to leave that meant that the woman had been Grace. Grace was like a mother to you so he knew you would have told her all about him and why he'd left you, he dragged his suitcase down the cobbled road trying to find another taxi service. He couldn't stay in the apartment above the bookshop you were working in. It would feel too weird but his heart was aching to go and see you one last time. To get one last glance at you before he disappeared, his heart yearned for it but he shook his head, keeping his eyes downcast as he tried to find a cab.

"An odd boy? Madame Grace, you think everyone is odd," You laughed softly at the elderly lady taking her in the direction of the back of the shop to settle her down with a pot of tea and one of the books she'd brought along with her. It was her own store but she'd never read anything from inside of it. 'It's all junk' She said to you one day as she settled down with books in different languages you could never understand.

"He was really odd, just watching you through the window. I thought he was going to come in but then I startled him," She continued ranting about how he shouldn't have been standing in the doorway like that how it would only deter people from coming into the charming little bookshop she owned. You poured her a cup of tea into the small teacup and shook your head at her,

"I'm sure he was just lost Madame Grace," Your voice came out softly and she patted the top of your hand, she always knew you were nice to everyone.

"Where is your handsome boyfriend?" She meant David, of course, she loved him since she was the one to set you up with him and he was..."One of a kind." There was one thing about him, you hadn't worked out what it was going on between you, you knew he liked you a lot and he and Arehum - your daughter - got along perfectly well but you weren't sure how you felt about him. There was nothing wrong with him of course, he was a great guy but there just wasn't something there that made you feel connected to him.

"He's out with Arehum." You spoke to her, she sighed happily going back to her books as you left to go and answer the bell that had been ringing, it was the latest delivery of books that had been ordered in. Josh was standing there with a clipboard and a box that looked relatively heavy.

"Has the person renting the apartment been by yet?" The delivery boy - Josh - asked as he handed you a box full of books, you grunted putting them down behind the counter. Everyone you were close with knew the ins and outs of the shop and were interested to see who you'd finally decided to rent the apartment out to.

"Not yet, I'm sure they'll turn up soon though. I can't believe someone wants that place, no one's been up there in years." You said as you began singing on the small pad he was holding out for you. The bookshop you worked in had two apartments above it, the bookshop was the bottom and basement floor - the basement was mostly used for storage. Then the apartments were on the second and third floors both of them relatively big to say they were just some small apartments.

The third floor was one that an ex-boyfriend of yours had stayed in over the summer four years ago since then no one had rented the apartment out. Mostly because you never advertised it anymore, the thought of someone going up there...Being there where your memories were didn't sit right with you but when someone called to book it you couldn't say no. So you had to venture up there the other day when you had to clean it out since Grace was far too old to come to the shop and do it herself. She struggled walking around alone nevermind climbing up all those stairs and cleaning.

"I hope so anyway, I didn't clean that place out for nothing." You joked as Josh bean walking out of the door and left you to deal with the boxes in front of you. Most of them were on the History of Paris and some were old cliche romances that Grace had clearly snuck onto the order, she was a sucker for the cliches and as much as it pained you to admit it...So were you. The cliche romances where there are two people one bed or enemies to lovers...They were always a favourite of yours.

This was not how Jungkook wanted to spend his holiday, he'd been longing to stay in that apartment since it was where all of his memories were but seeing you there sent him into a wave of emotions, mostly guilt for what he'd done to you. How things had ended between you both wasn't the best of ways.

The Hotel Antoniette was the hotel he'd found the quickest, it was close to the bookshop in case he found himself brave enough to head inside at a later date. The hotel was huge and elaborate, probably since it had been a palace belonging to a French Aristocracy. It was close to the Tuileries Garden and the Louvre which he adored, he could remember all of the times he'd spent roaming around the museum and the garden with you hand in hand as you spoke about your day in the shop and his time in Paris. Back then you had no idea who he was, to you he was just Jungkook who'd been travelling on his break from college to come and see Paris and decided to stay a little longer for the ''view'.' Which of course, the view was you. He wished he'd been honest with you about who he really was. Maybe none of it would have happened. Maybe you would have somehow made it all work out, he could still be happy with you.

His suite was right on the top floor - the best that money could buy him, he figured it would bring more privacy if he could just hide out in the hotel room most of the days. He was sure he could find something to occupy his mind if he did end up stuck here. The room had french-style windows that opened up onto a balcony giving him the most magnificent view of Paris he pushed the doors open to look at the fairy lights on the Effiel Tower in the pitch-black night. He kept his eyes on the structure, watching the way all the lights changed somehow making them look like stars. It was stunning to look at but his mind was going back to you in that book shop. He wondered how you were, How you'd been doing over the last four years and if you'd even remember him but, of course, you would. How could you after what you went through together? That kind of love couldn't have been one-sided and he doubted you could forget it so easily.

Trying to distract himself he went back into his suite to go and unpack his bag, the whole place was like a huge apartment all decorated in white with marble counters. The bedding was a pale-peach kind of colour stacked high with pillows that he had no idea how he was going to get back onto the bed the next morning when he got up. He slid his bag over to the dressing room and almost dropped the case on the spot, it was only half of the size of the bedroom and it was lined wall to wall with mirrors all doubling as wardrobes he could see himself in every square inch of the room so he began unpacking as quickly as he could, making a promise to himself not to go in there at night time because it scared him. The thought of walking into a dark room and catching his own reflection...He'd seen enough horror movies to know better than that.

By the time he got back out of the hotel it was getting close to 10:30 pm and he wanted to stop by the shop one last time, just to see you and maybe try to speak to you. He had his hat on, hoodie pulled around his body with some shorts on since it was summer and quite warm at night, most of the shops were already closing up but he noticed the lights inside the book store were all on.

"Grace I can lock up alone," Your voice came out smooth as you spoke the small old lady who'd been outside of the shop earlier when Jungkook had been there confirming it to be Grace. You slid a cup of what looked like something hot into her hand it was steaming and Jungkook scoffed. Who could drink hot drinks in this weather? It was far too hot for that. It was much better to have a cold drink on a night like this.

"How was your day?" Grace questioned you sitting back against an armchair that was inside of the shop, Jungkook remembered picking the chair out with you at a car boot sale you both went to. He remembered taking it back to the shop in a struggle before the both of you curled up to sleep in it. The chair wasn't huge but it was comfy enough to take a nap together there for an hour or two until he woke up and had a dead arm from the position you'd fallen asleep in. Jungkook felt like such a creep for watching through the giant glass window but there was something about you that was different that he couldn't put his finger on.

"It was okay, Josh came by with a new delivery. How was your day Areum?" You called out behind Grace, Jungkook wondered who Areum was who you seemed to change your tone for. Your tone went from soft to even softer as you looked down at someone. Jungkook remembered you mentioning the name a lot around him but he knew it wasn't one of your friends. All of your friends had french snotty names which were one of the reasons he never wanted to meet them, that and he couldn't risk them knowing who he was and blabbing it to the press that he was in Paris with a girl.

"Areum, how was your day?!" Grace asked politely and a small girl came out from one of the bookshelves dressed in a Princess dress twirling around and waving a wand in the air, Jungkook's mouth fell open as his eyes landed on the small girl. Her hair was long to the lower of her back it was curled at the ends and she had the biggest smiles he'd ever seen on her face as she twirled around and around in one spot.

As he finally got a good look at her his heart sank to the floor as he realised she was the spitting image of him, she had his smile, his eyes and hair colour even the little dimple that he had on his left cheek. He stumbled into a metal table knocking it over and knocking the sign to the shop over, you laughed looking up to see which drunken idiot had knocked it over this time but the smile faded from your lips as soon as you locked eyes with him outside of the window. Your heart began to pound as you stared at one another, your mouth falling into an 'O' shape the longer you watched him. Part of you was praying it was just your eyes playing tricks on you.

"Y/n?" Everyone was in the background as you stared at Jungkook through the window swallowing the huge lump in your throat. No one else in the room mattered now that your eyes were on him. Grace followed your gaze wondering what the big deal was when she saw the same boy from before standing there. Both of you having a stare off as you looked at one another through the giant window.

"He was outside earlier! I told you he was a creep, I'll ring the police." You shook your head rapidly, taking her hand away from the shop phone and telling her to take Areum up the staircase instead. Grace nodded rushing your very confused daughter up the stairs in the back of the shop while Jungkook made his way into the shop, red in the face as he looked at the small girl. All of the dots in his head connecting to get a different image but one still remained as he watched the small girl. Her eyes locking with his as it hit him,

"Y/n...Is she mine?"

MASTERLIST || NEXT

A/N: Just an introduction chapter but what do you guys think so far? 💞✨ If you’d like to be added to a tagline for it let me know

@taestannie @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @fan-ati--c @kneel-begyourpardon @sw33tnight @sweeneyblue1 @rjsmochii @innersooya

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sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

Text

Da capo - part 6

Trail post part 1 to 5

Ritenuto (Italian: 'held back')

It was raining.

Harry stared out of the window of the restless night watching the sky pour down over the earthly land. He sat there on the bed, hearing faint hustling from outside in the hallway and the sound of water crashing against the window, he remained there, watching and falling in love. It was easier he realised while his mind wrote down with a quill in his head that Loving was easier, that falling in love was easier, falling out was hard and it's not because nobody tells you how to but because we all fear abandonment, and in love there isn't abandonment. He hates thinking about the night he had to leave Draco because it was easier to just not think about it and even if he hated the easy way, he never complied thinking the hard way because perhaps for once he wanted things to be easy.. Maybe that's why he didn't return, among many other reasons he doesn't know. Among many other reasons he wishes he knew.

He woke up the next morning and being done with morning routine, he realised he had nothing to do. He could visit Arthur but the ward remained close today as he heard clearly yesterday by the nurses. He thought he might go shopping but he always hated the idea of shopping alone. He could maybe take a walk but he couldn't remain on the streets all day and he didn't wanted to disturb the Weasley's anymore, he had already been enough of a trouble to them, in the past and now.

" you could come to the office with me and Ron, they'd love you down there obviously but you can just explore the visitor section"

" ministry is possibly the most boring place to be Hermione " harry rolled his eyes as he shut the last page of the daily prophet and slided the newspaper across the counter.

" it's not all bad alright. Maybe you could even try and patch things up with Ron " Hermione suggested

" I'd much rather not be murdered in his office Hermione " harry replied lazily.

" you can't Just sulk in here harry" she sighed and then just as randomly it hit her " you know what you have to do nothing..but you can help me right ?"

" help you with what ?" He asked strangely curious.

" we have got these old cold cases files that's already been done but nobody is ready to tally them to check which one's closed, which one's are still being worked on and which ones need to be worked on. You can help check them " Hermione suggested.

"I'd rather choke to death mione. I left ministry for a reason " harry rolled his eyes.

" come on-"

" fine" he dragged on " I'll come but I'll be in the visitor's section. I'd wander about and if nothing interests me I'll come back "

Hermione thought for a moment but then nodded and very much regrettably harry left with her soon enough.

Harry was absolutely right about ministry being a very boring place. Hermione was as busy as ever and Ron Definitely didn't wanted to see him, everyone's gawked at him like an old extinct species present in a museum and the visitors section was filled with mostly bunch of kids who came on a trip. Harry was more than ready to just go back home and was walking to Hermione's office when he collided with someone just before her door.

" I'm so sorry- I didn't- Draco?" Harry frowned.

" what are you doing here ?" He asked immediately.

" well- you know I like to walk around here with files and running in circles " Draco joked, harry almost did smile " I work here obviously . I didn't know you were coming "

" oh, Arthur fell sick. I had to visit " harry replied.

" oh " draco replied as though realisation stroke him just then " I heard about that. How is he doing now ?"

" fine " harry nodded.

They remained there awkwardly looking at each other when someone crashed by Harry and his eyes fell onto Hermione's office door.

" listen I - I'm sorry- I gotta go actually. I need to- well talk to Hermione, but meet me soon I guess ?" Harry Suggested.

" oh- no- sure, yeah. Meet you soon then "; harry nodded and walked past Draco, almost about to knock her door when he heard him call out.

" what ?" Harry responded.

" I'm - almost done with work. Wanna go somewhere ?" Draco asked. Harry thought about it for a moment, his mind screaming of how weird it was, how awkward it would be and how incredibly wrong it was to see your ex boyfriend just as a friend.

" sure " instead harry replied.

" wanna come in my office then. I just need to-"

" sure " harry smiled cutting him off before Draco could've even explained but then it didn't matter and they walked into Draco's office.

" potioneer then " harry nodded as he entered his office.

" yeah, I got the opportunity last year and I thought why not. Hermione suggested me. Thanks to her" Draco dismissively replied stashing his files into his bag and locking.

" so why didn't you call when you came ?" Draco asked as he wore his coat, checking his pockets one last time.

" I just came actually, a day before yesterday and things had been busy with making up- meeting everyone and- just things " harry replied pocketing his hands.

Draco understandingly nodded and walked them out of the door.

They made a few small talks as they walked out of the ministry and strolled across a few more streets.

" so- you sold the apartment ?" Harry asked curiously.

Draco looked at harry for a moment before he realised what he meant and shook his head " it's already hard enough to find apartments here, I couldn't afford losing another and I mean it's not that apartment was the reason for everything, right "

Harry understandingly nodded but somewhere they both were welcomed with the fact of how strange it was to be like this, they were pretending maybe but it wasn't easy to just forget everything and yet both were playing their parts to the best.

They walked silently a few more streets both thinking of the same thing yet none dared to bring it up again, after all they had decided that they won't be the ex's who can't be friends.

" you wanna come over to my place, for dinner, maybe ?" Draco offered.

Harry wanted to say no, even almost said no but somewhere in the back of his mind knocked the images of Ron and Hermione and their pity looks or their hesitation in being able to talk. Considering the history it should have been harder with Draco but surprisingly enough, it wasn't as hard and so he responded " sure. Not like I have any other places to be "

Draco nodded and took the turn for his apartment and in not less than 5 minutes they were there as though he had planned to take harry home. They walked up the stairs in deafening silence and didn't utter a single word even when they entered the apartment, it was a doorbell that startle them and defiantly made them talk.

" mrs. Kentucky, how are you doing ?" Draco greeted his neighbour with a huge grin.

" lovely Darling. Wanted to return the sugar I borrowed and - is that Harry ?" She peered a little more through the door to get a better view but as Draco turned around to check on Harry, he vigorously shook his head.

" no, no that's just a colleague. Not a very friendly one at that " Draco Whispered and she nodded.

" not friendly eh, so not gonna date him huh" she mischievously smiled. Draco reddened at her words and immediately took the sashe of sugar and practically Shoved her out continuously thanking her and with a loud thud closed the door.

" she just-"

" I know " harry nodded smiling knowing exactly the kind of gossip lady Mrs. Kentucky was.

" ju- just for the record- I- I didn't bring anyone so there's nothing to-"

" Draco " harry stopped him " it's fine. We're- history " he added.

Draco seemed as though he wanted to say something but didn't and followed into the living room after nodding at harry.

" this place hasn't changed at all" harry said after having glanced the place.

" I- I didn't really feel like the need to " Draco replied.

" you mind if I- change ?"

" no, no of course not " harry shook his head vigorously and turned around to head towards the couch. Draco took it as a cue to get changed fast and join him again in the living room.

Harry despite having initially planned on sitting over the couch, stepped into the balcony and let himself gawk at the view. It's been so long he last saw the beautiful view it offered. The balcony had always been a very peaceful, calm escape especially when things seemed to overweight him; he can remember endless nights he had stood on the balcony because he felt as if something is someone was choking him, like the coil around his neck only tightened and he surged for air and this place had been where he came for a breath. He never was able to understand why everything was the way it was as and when he looked for answers, he couldn't, at least from not where he was. As he stood there watching over the city of London he was hit with strong realisation of how much he actually missed being here, missed the smell of the pizza place down the road and the sound of loud TV from the apartment next door and the lights that flickered on the road by the passing cars and the sight of clock tower, he missed being able to see over such a long latitude and wonder how farther the end is and it wasn't as if he didn't like paris, but paris wasn't London. Paris didn't had that flickering lights going by down the streets or the kids running down the streets on a skateboard or the loud neighbour next door with obnoxious loud TV nor it had the clock nor Paris had that calming grey look in the sky because of the always unprecedented rain about to happen any moment. Paris just wasn't what he thought it was.

" missed this ?" He heard. Harry didn't need to turn around, he just nodded.

" paris doesn't give you this ?" He asked as he stood by next to harry.

" there's a lot of things paris doesn't have " harry mumbled wishing he could explain Draco everything but he couldn't. He waited for Draco to ask why did he leave but he never asked and this is why perhaps tonight Harry was here and not there. Perhaps this is why Harry found it easier to be with Draco because he didn't ask too many questions, because he never asked unless he knew harry wanted to asked, because he understood when Harry didn't feel like talking, because he understood harry like no one else and even when draco should be the last person to understand harry and give him another chance, he did and maybe that's why he was here tonight, in the heart of the City with the one man who's heart was just broken as Harry because he knew harry, when no one else seemed to.

" London is home-"

" and Paris isn't ?"

Harry just shook his head. Paris was everything but home.

Because in paris, there wasn't you. Because there wasn't you in your blue blowy shirt and washed jeans with open arms, there wasn't you..

Part 7

I don't know why the short chapter!!!

300 followers appreciation dialogue Prompt requests open

Angst prompts request open

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remedialpotions · 3 years

Text

Off The Train

Thanks to @mertronus for tagging me in the HPRomione Discord Popcorn game thingy! The prompt she gave me was: "I can finally see you."

I'm tagging @acnelli with the prompt: "You can't just keep pretending things are fine!"

***

”I can’t wait until you get off that train,” says Ron, his voice low and lazy with fatigue, “and I can finally see you.”

Hermione shifts in her bed so she’s lying on her side, mirror held out before her. This way, she can pretend - if she squints a bit, and ignores the crimson hangings of her four-poster bed - that he’s lying next to her, and not hundreds of miles away in London.

“What do you mean, ‘finally’?” Hermione, too, keeps her voice quiet. It won’t do, in her final days as Head Girl, to be waking her dormmates. “You’re looking at me right now.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same. I can see you, but I can’t touch you, or...” The corner of Ron’s mouth twitches up into a crooked smile. “Or do anything else for that matter.”

“Right. Well,” she says, trying to infuse positivity into her voice, despite the weeks since the Easter holidays dragging into what felt like months and years, despite missing him so much that it’s like a heavy fog surrounding her. “It’s only a couple more days, right?”

“Can’t it be now?” Ron looks like he’s reclined in bed too now, his fiery hair stark against the deep navy of his sheets. “Just get to Hogsmeade, then you can Apparate-“

“You know full well that I cannot,” she replies briskly, even though it’s tempting, really tempting. “It’s-“

“-behavior unbecoming of a Head Girl,” Ron finishes her sentence. “I know. I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too.”

“I love you,” he adds after a moment’s silence, before his eyes widen with inspiration. “Oh, I’ve got it. What if I Apparate to Hogsmeade, and then walk to the castle - I bet Hagrid would let me through the gates-“

“It’s only two days, Ron.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

“And I love you too.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

•••

Pigwidgeon is the last owl to fly into the Great Hall, his little wings beating wildly to keep him aloft. With a scrap of parchment clutched in his tiny talons, he struggles over to the Gryffindor table before somersaulting down into Hermione’s lap.

Hermione’s heart sinks, and not just at the sight of the exhausted little bird currently burrowing into the crook of her elbow. Their two-way mirrors mean they don’t usually have to resort to writing letters. Not unless...

Hermione, the parchment reads when she unfolds it. Got called on an emergency mission. I’m not allowed to tell you where or why or even how long but I’m hoping it won’t take too long. I’m still going to be there at King’s Cross, because I’m dying to see you and I can’t wait until all this is over and we can just be together. Anyway, I love you and try not to worry too much. I promise to do my best not to die.

Ron

“Oh, good,” comes Ginny’s voice from beside her, and Hermione turns to see her peering intently at the parchment. “He’s promised not to die, that’s a relief-“

“He’ll be there,” interrupts Hermione, tucking the note in the pocket of her robes before Ginny can further infringe upon her privacy. “If he thinks it’ll only take a day, then I believe him.”

Ginny blinks. “I never said he wouldn’t be.” Plucking Pigwidgeon from Hermione’s lap, she offers him water from her goblet. “I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about.”

“It’s probably just a quick day trip,” Hermione rationalizes, eyes focused hard on Pigwidgeon as he drinks so she doesn’t have to see the sympathy she knows is etched on Ginny’s face, “and he just wanted me to know in case - well-”

“In case he dies?”

Ginny’s attempt at a joke falls flat.

“Well, just in case, you know, something were to - to happen,” Hermione stammers, “and anyway, it’s just good for me to know - I like to know what he’s up to - not in a controlling way or anything, just-”

“Of course,” Ginny interjects bracingly. “I’m sure he just wanted you to know, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll be there.”

Hermione picks up her mug of tea and holds it close to her face so the steam washes over her. She knows what they’re both thinking but are unwilling to say: that in the year Ron and Harry have been Aurors, neither has had a mission run shorter than a week.

•••

And so Hermione sits with Ginny and Luna on the train, watching the Scottish Highlands slowly transform into the low, tidy hills of the English countryside outside her window and hoping against hope that Ron will be there on Platform 9 and ¾. But she hasn’t heard from him since that first letter, and his mirror has gone dark. This doesn’t worry her - not for his safety, anyway - but it does make it difficult to share in Ginny’s gleeful anticipation as the train pulls into King’s Cross.

She busies herself with tending to Crookshanks, who is furious about his prolonged confinement in his basket, as Harry and Ginny embrace on the platform. It’s not that she’s upset, not really. Ron is doing what he needs to do, and she would never want him shirking his responsibilities just so he can kiss her on a train platform for the first time since April. She just wishes things could be different.

After Harry and Ginny depart for Grimmauld Place, she flags down a taxi and rides alone to her parents’ home. The family car is parked in front, which is unusual for a weekday, but when she goes inside, she finds her parents have been eagerly awaiting her arrival and can hardly let her set down her trunk before whisking her away to an upscale restaurant in South Kensington.

“So, tell us about school,” says Mum with an eager smile once they’re seated at their candlelit table. “How were your exams? I want to hear everything.”

“I will later,” Hermione replies, raising her brows and tipping her head pointedly in the direction of the waiter currently pouring red wine into their glasses.

“Oh, right, right, of course. Well, anyway, dear,” she begins as the waiter sets down menus and strides away, “your father and I have a little surprise for you.”

It’s foolish, she knows, but her mind leaps instantly to Ron. Maybe all of this business with his mission has been a ruse, and he’s here in London after all, and she’ll be able to come up with an excuse to spend the night at Grimmauld Place…

Until she notices that her parents are still talking, and there’s no tall, lanky, red-haired wizard to be seen in this high-end French restaurant, but there are three Eurostar boarding passes laid out across the tablecloth.

“Sorry,” says Hermione, shaking her head to clear away the daydream, “what’s going on?”

“We’re going to Paris!” announces Mum with delight. “We thought it would be so lovely to spend time together since you’ve been away for so long, and you’re about to start your new job - and I know you’ve always wanted to go there. We’ve got ten whole days, and everything’s booked, so all you’ve got to do is pack.”

“That - that’s - that’s brilliant,” Hermione musters, forcing her lips into some semblance of a smile. Her parents beam so brightly back that it’s almost difficult to look at them. “Erm, so when are we leaving?”

She crosses her fingers under the table, praying they’ll say August, or her birthday in September, or Christmas, anything but-

“This weekend!”

Of course.

•••

Paris is beautiful. It exceeds every single one of Hermione’s expectations. She and her parents consume copious amounts of bread, cheese and wine, they visit museums and cafes and old bookstores, they ascend to the top of the Eiffel Tower and take in the view. She thinks of Ron constantly as she walks the cobbled streets, as she crosses the Pont des Artes and sees the countless locks affixed to its railing. Before she left, she sent Harry an owl to tell him that she was leaving, so Ron would know where she was if he returned home before she did. As they can’t communicate when she’s staying in a Muggle hotel, she truly has no idea where he is, but she tells herself that he’s still on his mission. It feels better that way, imagining that even if she stayed in London, there would still be obstacles keeping them apart.

On their last day, she nearly empties out a patisserie buying eclairs and macarons for Ron, and then they board the Eurostar back to England. Nervous anticipation grips her stomach as the train barrels through the tunnel (idly, she wonders if Ron’s dad is aware of this train that travels underwater, and makes a mental note to tell him), because she has no idea what awaits her back in London. What if Ron’s still away? Or worse - what if something’s happened to him, and she’s been off enjoying a holiday while he’s been suffering?

The train can’t move quickly enough. Hermione can focus on nothing - not the paperback romance novel her mother has loaned her to read, not the Muggle newspaper that her father is engrossed in, not even the argument of the couple seated across the aisle from them. It’s only a two-hour trip, so why does it feel like it’s taking days?

She checks her mirror, but it’s still dark.

“You go ahead, sweetheart,” says Dad when the train finally rolls to a stop in St. Pancras station. “We’ll get the cases.”

Hermione looks up at the luggage rack over their heads, then at her parents. “Are you sure? I’ll bring mine-”

“We can manage. Go on ahead, get some fresh air.”

She doesn’t bother reminding them that train station air is hardly fresh, and instead heads down the aisle with just her purse and the box of pastries in tow. Truly, she’s not sure why her parents have sent her off the train without them; with the station as busy as it is, they’ll surely lose track of each other.

But then she sees him. Standing a head above the crowd, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his bright blue eyes scan the throngs of travelers. At first, she doesn’t believe her eyes. Surely, she’s just become so desperate to see him that she’s actually begun hallucinating.

But as she draws closer, he doesn’t ripple into nothingness, he doesn’t fade away. He’s really, truly there, his red hair curling behind his ears, one knee jiggling with pent-up energy the way it always does when he’s particularly impatient. As he turns his head, still surveying the crowd, their eyes lock and the rest of the station recedes into the background. Finally, they’re within sight of each other after months of hushed mirror conversations and stolen moments borrowing Professor McGonagall’s Floo. Hermione picks up speed, nearly skipping across the concrete in her haste, and flings herself into his waiting arms.

She fits against him perfectly. The fabric of his faded t-shirt is soft against her cheek as she breathes him in, and for the first time in recent memory, words fail her completely.

The box of pastries thuds to the ground.

“Hi,” he mutters, lips brushing her skin and sending chills up her spine.

“How - how did you-”

“Harry told me where you’d gone.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, and then, at long last, their lips connect. “It’s not that hard to look up train schedules.”

As reluctant as she is to pull away from him, she leans back just enough to look up at him. Behind the freckles scattered across his face, his cheeks have gone pink. “You’re amazing,” she tells him, rising on tiptoe for another kiss, unconcerned with the passersby and the blast of nearby train whistles.

Ron lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug when they break apart. “Had to meet you on a train platform somehow.”

#hpromione discord #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione fanfic #ahhh I missed writing about these two dorks #also message me if you want to join the discord!

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parkers-gal · 3 years

Note

Reader meet Tom during a Meet and greet for the first time. She’s European (like Belgian perhaps. You can choose that) and she catches his attention. They start as close friends and whenever she gets to London, they meet up. After a while they start a relationship (can be long distance) and they just adore eachother a lot.

a good story

wc | 3k (SORRY i rly went off)

i chose france because i heard they have a bit more diversity...? i hope that makes it a bit more universal :) plsss i didn't proofread — hope u like it ! <3

—

You try to wipe the sweat off your hand for the fifth time in the last two minutes. Your pulse picks up while the line moves up again. You’ve been waiting for about an hour and a half, but you really don’t mind. Not when that mop of curls and pile of muscles is so close. Besides, you get to fangirl with the rest of the fans in line around you.

You’d been in deep conversation with a girl and her girlfriend for a good while until one of them went off to get coffee and the other asked to use the bathroom. The security guard assured them that they’d return to their exact position in line, ensuring they wouldn’t have to wait all over again. You missed them, though, because they weren’t back within seven minutes so you preoccupied yourself with the lanyard around your neck with your VIP Access pass attached to the end.

You play with the strings of the Spider-man hoodie; it’s the midtown hoodie that Peter Parker wears in the first movie. You wore it to be cute — and it is, especially with these jeans — but now you’re afraid you might die of heat exhaustion. As the security guards usher yet another fan through the curtains, your feet move forward a couple of feet until the movement stops and you’re stuck waiting again.

The girl and her girlfriend return not a minute later, one of them offering you a bite of their croissants from Starbucks. You ponder the offer before politely declining; you don’t want your breath to smell, or something to get stuck in your teeth. You know you’re overthinking this entire situation, but you can’t help but be nervous when you’re about to meet the one person you’ve spent so much of your time gawking over — and through a screen, at that. It’s pathetic, you admit, but you can’t help it. There’s just something about him.

Another fan goes through the curtains and suddenly you’re less than five turns away from meeting the beloved Brit. You can’t help but feel a little more connected to him, knowing that you’d flown all the way from Paris, France for this London Meet-and-Greet. It’s a wonder how you got your schedule to work so well.

You move forward another spot, tapping your index and middle fingers on your hip while tracing the lines of the tiled floor. You try to distract yourself — counting every prime number you can think of, naming all the superheroes in the Marvel Franchise — until you’re one spot away from going through the black curtains.

“You’ll be in in less than three minutes,” the girl smiles while informing you of the estimated time frame. You thank her, taking note of the tag attached to her uniform.

You take a deep breath, shaking away all nerves and last jitters before wiping your hands one last fateful time. And then all at once, the curtain opens and allows you to step through and into the room where a young actor awaits your arrival. It’s so surreal that you have to watch your feet to ensure they don’t trip and cause you to stumble.

“Hello, love. How’re you?”

Your breath hitches and when he finally takes a good look at you, his breath does too. Your eyes lock for a beat, the two of you lost in a trance before you finally spit out a response.

“I’m… really good. How’re you?”

He smiles, eyes crinkling and face lifting up. “I’m great, thank you.”

You nod, the tip of your tongue playing with your front tooth. You shake out of it, though, setting your bag and your lanyard down on the provided table before stepping a little closer to him.

“Ah, the Midtown hoodie,” He points out, holding your wrists out so he can examine the sweatshirt himself.

“Yeah,” you smile bashfully. “It’s… stylish.”

He laughs wholeheartedly, something that eats away at your shell and causes you to join his chuckling.

“What’s your name, darling?”

You bite your lip, inhaling sharply at the term of endearment. “Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tom,” he offers a hand, something that makes your face scrunch up with a laugh.

“Can we hug instead?”

“Please?” He insists, realizing how embarrassing his last move was. The two of you embrace strongly, and you inhale the scent of Tom Holland while you can.

When you separate, you grow a little more courage, and pick up the conversation. “I loved you in The Impossibly. Obviously in the Spider-man movies, too, but your other movies are really good, too.”

“Thank you, love. That means a lot,” he scratches his neck with a sheepish smile, a blush rising from his neck and onto his cheeks. He smiles, an action you mirror. “Is this your first Meet-and-Greet?”

You nod, “Yeah, I’m a bit nervous.”

He nods in understanding. “Are you from England?”

You shake your head, “I’m currently living in Paris.”

“Ah, the country of romance,” He looks as if he’s thinking of what to say next — as if he shouldn’t say it. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” You smile again, and the glint in Tom’s eye changes just a shade, as if he’s just unlocked a new level. He looks excited for a different reason now.

“How long are you staying in England?”

“Till the end of the week,” You can’t help but feel giddy because it’s only Monday, which means you have until Saturday night to explore the great country of Britain, home to Tom Holland and Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch and basically every celebrity you’ve ever been a fan of. You can’t anticipate what Tom’s to say next, because you don’t want to turn your experience into a Wattpad story, but you hope he’s about to offer something in relation to sightseeing.

“Would you want to… could I show you around? Show you all the best places?” He looks shyer than you, almost, and you swallow your heart so you can answer calmly.

“You’d do that?’

“Of course,” He smiles softly. “You look like a lot of fun.”

You’re taken aback at the compliment, and you stumble out a reply as best you can. The two of you are reminded to take the picture so the line can move forward again, and you will yourself not to frown at the coming end of your encounter with the famous Brit.

“Could we do this?” You show him a picture from your phone and he nods excitedly.

The two of you link hands, standing close together while you smile into the camera. Your encounter comes to an end, and though you’re disappointed, Tom asks for your number, giving you his phone for the occasion. You’re giddy as you wave goodbye, leaving the tent with your picture and his lingering energy.

A day passes, giving you time to recover from your celebrity-interaction and time to get settled into your comforting hotel room on the seventh floor. You’re a bit wary that Tom won’t ever text you, and seeing as you don’t have his number, you realize you have to wait it out. You don’t want to risk waiting for the entirety of your stay here, though, so you grow worried. But alas, Tom texts late on Tuesday night, apologizing for the radio silence that came when he had to finish up the Meet-and-Greet event. You’re relieved, to say the least.

He exchanges details, telling you to meet him at a corner cafe at ten in the morning tomorrow. You comply, promising to get a good night’s rest before saying your goodnights and sleeping the hours away. You’re promptly awoke but your eight-thirty alarm. With a groan, you get up to shower, and the cold water wakes you right up.

An hour later and you’re ready for some quality, top-notch sightseeing. You grab what you need, locking your hotel room door before going down the elevator with a sweet elderly couple. You follow the map on your phone until you arrive at a small shop on the corner, just as Tom had said. You pull the door open, the smell of coffee beans entering your airways. You exhale the familiarity of it all, smiling to yourself before searching the shop. You spot Tom in a corner booth, and as you make your way over, he sets his phone face-down on the table with a smile, waving at you. You take a seat across from him.

“This place is cute.”

“Right? Best tea in London.”

Your stomach grumbles, loud enough for the both of you to hear and then share a laugh about. “I suppose I should eat breakfast.”

“I suppose I should join you,” he replies in the same tone, the two of you sharing tender smiles before someone comes over to take your order.

The conversation picks up and all tension and awkwardness wafts away in the air, leaving you in Tom’s comfortable aura. You talk until the check is paid, and as you step out on the crisp air of the city’s streets, you turn to Tom for the agenda.

The day goes on like that. The two of you go all around the city, visiting The British Museum, the Tower Bridge, Big Ben the clock tower, the Buckingham Palace, the Portobello Road Market, the National Gallery, and even the London eye. Tom knows everything like the back of his hand, and the ancient city makes you feel so significant. Your last stop is Cambridge University, something you’ve always wanted to see in person.

Tom’s been taking your picture all day. On polaroids, your iPhones, and even some of the tourist-profiting workers who beg for sales. He claims it’s so you can start scrapbooking, a conversation the two of you had covered during your many word exchanges.

The two of you have been all over the city since the end of breakfast at almost eleven o’clock. Now, it’s almost eight o’clock and you’re hungry as fuck. After some debate, the two of you decide to take a big red bus back to your hotel for some room service or hotel-restaurant food.

Tom sits in the seat beside you on the bus, the two of you up top and enjoying the city. You get lost in conversation again, the two of you going through today’s latest pictures and video-memories. You end up goofing off, so much so that you almost miss your stop.

The two of you stumble to the entrance of your hotel. Tom smiles, grabbing the door for you. You reply with a sheepish “thank you,” before waving hello to the front desk women.

“Do you want room service or do you want to dine in the restaurant?”

“Would you mind if I joined you for room service?”

You shake your head with a gentle smile, the two of you racing to the elevators. After hitting your floor number, the elevator goes up and the two of you talk again and again. Tom excuses himself to the bathroom when you get into your room; it gives you the opportunity to change out of your clothes and into a pair of sweats and a loose tank. Tom comes out ready for room service but is grown flustered at the sight of a different outfit on you.

“Getting comfortable?”

“Duh,” you lean back on the queen sized bed, back hitting the headboard. “Stay for a movie?”

He smiles, “Hand me the menu.”

He ends up staying until ten o’clock. You promise to go clubbing with him, for a full London experience, and the two of you schedule to do just that on Friday night. You book the entirety of Thursday to finish your sightseeing with him, and before you know it, you’re spending every day in London with Tom.

On your last day, Saturday, you eat breakfast with him at that first fateful cafe. He tells you he can’t take you to the airport — he’d probably get mobbed by fans — and you understand, promising to call him once you land. He promises to come with you to France one day, so the roles can reverse.

You finish your final cup of coffee just as Tom finishes his tea. He smiles sadly, one you mirror.

“I’ll see you soon, you know. And you can still drop me off at the airport.”

“I know,” he smiles sheepishly, hand reaching across the table for yours. “But I’ll miss sightseeing with you. I forget how amazing my own country is, sometimes.”

“Well,” you smile, “I’ll be back, so don’t worry too much, Tom. It’s not like I’m going across the world.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles, “And besides, I can come see you sometime.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s just so weird to have friends in France and shit,” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Like you live there and I can just go and visit you whenever.”

“I’m still a call away.”

“And thank god for that.”

You exhale after a beat of silence. “This is so fucking crazy.”

“What?”

“This. You, us hanging out. Just four days ago I was paying to see you, and now I’m having breakfast with you for the third time?”

“I promise, I’ll refund that Meet-and-Greet money.”

“Why?” You look at him quizzically and he bites his bottom lip.

“Well we’re friends, so you don’t really need to waste that money and I can get it back so-”

“Don’t,” you look up at him. “It makes for a good story.”

He nods, and after the two of you pay the check, you’re standing from the booth of the quaint little shop one final time, making your way to your door and settling in the passenger seat of Tom’s car. With your luggage in the backseat, he drives all the way to the airport, the loud sound of plane engines filling your ears. He drops you off at the terminal with a hug and a watery smile.

“See you soon!” He waves until you’re out of sight and the security guard is threatening to give him a ticket.

Half a year goes by, with quick three-day weekend trips back and forth, to London and to France even. You’ve seen Tom a total of seven times in the past six months, and you’ve grown closer than ever.

About a month goes by after your last trip, until your boss is telling you that you’re getting a week off for the upcoming paid break. You’ve already confirmed your flight and hotel plans to London, wanting to surprise Tom.

You decide to do it the night before you’re due on the airplane to the country of Brits.

You can’t help but grin at your phone, eventually laying down to sleep while you can before your early morning flight. Tom’s on your mind, in your future, and in your dreams. The last month of FaceTimes and text messages have been amazing, but unbearable because you miss his presence. The extreme amounts of flirting, however, have definitely picked up over text. Your week long trip to London marks the eighth time you’ve seen Tom since that first fateful Meet-and-Greet. You can’t help but feel like the dynamic is changing a bit, though. The two of you have upped the levels a bit, and now you’re more cuddly, more flirty, and definitely more interested.

When you land, you text Tom but frown when the usual immediate response doesn’t come. Moving past a crowd of waiting people, you head to baggage claim to get your luggage. After excruciatingly lifting it off of the conveyor belt, it lands with a thud on the ground and you start wheeling it towards the exit.

The building is extremely less crowded thanks to your early flight booking. When you look up, you see that familiar head of precious brown locks, and you squeal. Tom never leaves the car when picking you up or dropping you off at the airport, for fear of paparazzi and fans catching him. But this time, he’s out and in the building to come get you.

Abandoning your luggage, you drop your carry-on on the floor as you run over to him as fast as you can. He can sense you’re about to jump into his embrace, so he prepares for the bone-crushing hug.

Your arms go around his neck while his hands settle on your waist. He smiles, chin settled in the crook of your neck while he inhales the scent of you.

“Tommy, oh my god. I missed you so much.”

When you pull apart, you’re each a jumbled mess of excitement and tears, so much so that when Tom’s hands grip your face to pull you in to a passionate kiss, you’re immediately calmed. Though you’ve never kissed before, it feels so right.

Your lips chase after his, deepening it as your hands go to his hair and his to the small of your back. When you separate, your foreheads lean against each other while you pant.

“That’s new.”

“Sorry, I should’ve asked.”

You chuckle, “I would’ve said yes.”

He interlocks your fingers, smiling. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

Suddenly, he’s reminded of the fact that the two of you are in public, and when he looks up, he sees a group of girls holding their phones up and capturing the moment he’s just shared with you. Quickly, he pulls you into his chest protectively, hiding your face in your neck.

“We need to hide or else they’re gonna know it’s m-”

“Don’t,” you settle him. “It makes for a good story.”

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

Note

You just had to bring the symbol of Victory into this didn't you?!???? Is this some sort of euphemism I should look forward to or!??!?!?????

Yes!! Let me “paint you a picture” (groan)... Also, I sat down to draft my response and it's somehow *gestures at this whole mess* 2300+ words!?? And confession time! I’ve never even SEEN "The Mentalist"! Everything I know about Marcus Pike has come from cute GIFs and the Internet and fanfics… so… I don’t even know what’s going on with me today. But thank you! :D

(This is leaking over from this post if anyone needs to play catch-up)

Paris

Word count: 2300+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Marcus Pike x “You” in Paris, reader is an Art History Professor (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow burn; cute Marcus Pike; coffee and pastries; kissing and stuff; public-ish sex in the Louvre after hours; spontaneous P/V sex (probably unprotected, idek) we're all adults here, wrap it before YOU tap it!

It’s like, you and sweet Marcus have definitely hit it off and you’re really into each other after that field trip meet-cute and your date, but you haven’t slept together yet. He gets called away for a case, so you wish him good luck and hope that you can see each other again soon.

A few days later it’s spring break and you have a trip to Paris planned to complete some research for your next publication. You email Marcus while you're waiting to board. You let him know that you’re going to be out of town for a few days, but that you hope his case is going well, and maybe when he's back you two can pick up where you left off?

You land in Paris and check your messages, and you see that Marcus has replied to your email. He says he can't share the details of his case, but that he hopes he'll be wrapped up by the end of the week, and that he definitely wants to see you again. He asks about your research trip, so you shoot a quick email back to fill him in on the details.

You get to your hotel and sink into a hot bath with your phone. You open your emails, and your brain tells you that you're just checking to confirm the details of your appointment with your research contact in the morning... but the little uptick in your heart rate tells you that you're actually looking for another reply from Marcus. And it's there. He says that he loves Paris and that your research sounds exciting. He asks where you’re staying? You give him the name of your hotel, and tell him that you haven't stayed there before, but it's cute.

Before the water even gets cold you have another reply, sending the butterflies behind your navel into a tizzy. He says that he's stayed there once or twice and that the café in the lobby has excellent pastries. You smile and let yourself imagine a vacation with Marcus, here in Paris, sharing pain au chocolat over a little table in the café. You refill the tub with hot water and sit daydreaming for so long that your fingers prune up.

You get out of the bath and wrap yourself in a plush robe, and sit on the edge of the bed. You email Marcus back, wishing him a good night and telling him that it's late where you are, but that you promise to try one of the pastries in the morning with your breakfast coffee. By the time you're in your nightgown and ready to sleep he's responded, wishing you sweet dreams and hoping that your research goes well. You smile and reply, "Thanks," and then drift down into pleasant dreams.

The next morning you take yourself to the little lobby café and treat yourself to a café crème and an almond croissant. Marcus was right, and you nearly moan aloud as you wrap your mouth around the flaky pastry. You open your email and send him a picture of your croissant with one bite missing, and you joke that you blame him for ruining you for any other boulangeries you might visit during your trip. By the time you're done with breakfast he's responded with a wink emoji and a quick "Sorry I ruined you," and you desperately want to email him back and boldly ask him to ruin you in other ways. You stop yourself, and your brain can't think of anything appropriate, so you just don't respond and you leave to go to your research appointment.

The day is long, and the dusty archives and a few misfiled papers cause small irritations. But you find a few of the things that you needed, so you call it productive enough. You break at 3 p.m. and decide to start again fresh in the morning. Maybe an early dinner and another scalding hot bubble bath will set you right. You decide that the weather is nice, and that your hotel is close enough that you can stroll back and people watch, disconnect your brain from your work and transition into relaxation mode along the way.

You arrive back at your hotel and go to your room to change. There is a card slipped under your door, the front desk letting you know that you have a delivery of some kind to pick up. You try to remember if any of your colleagues or your boss mentioned that they would send you anything? Is it paperwork? Some kind of file for your research? You decide to shower and change into a nice dress to lift your mood, and then head back out for dinner.

You take the card to the lobby desk and hand it to the desk clerk and he disappears into the back office. When he returns you're surprised to see that he's holding a floral arrangement, not huge or ostentatious, but lovely and cheerful and somehow your favorite color exactly. The clerk sets the vase on the desk. You reach for the card and open it.

"Good luck on your research. -Marcus"

You break into a wide grin and you practically float back to your room. You set the flowers on the room table and open your email to thank him. You send him a photo and an effusive "Thank you!" and a winky kiss emoji. Is that too much? No - if one little emoji scares him off then he's not the guy you thought he was.

He responds within minutes, a quick "You're welcome. Glad they arrived in one piece." and his own winky kiss emoji. Your heart flutters and you reply immediately, "They're really lovely. Thank you for thinking of me."

A moment later his next email pops up: "Can I take you to dinner and pick up where we left off?"

You reply: "Absolutely! I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in town!"

He responds: "No, I meant tonight."

You hesitate, does he want to call you and chat on the phone while you eat dinner? Some kind of video call, like a virtual date? Before you can type your reply, a new message pops up: "I'm actually in Paris. My case is here and I arrived a few days before you did. I didn't want to scare you off or come to your hotel unannounced, but I'm free tonight and I'd love to see you."

You throw your head back and laugh. This is definitely way more fun than eating alone and people-watching. You message back an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'm ready when you are!" and he emails you and says he'll see you in 30 minutes in the lobby. When you get downstairs he's waiting by the front desk, all soft scruff and loosened tie and warm brown eyes, just as you remembered. You smile and hug him, and in that moment you feel like a fairy-tale princess meeting her prince, being swept off your feet in the most romantic city in the world.

You have dinner at a cozy bistro around the corner, Marcus making you bubble with laughter as you talk. He listens to you moan about the missing pieces of your research, your pressing need to track down a letter from one artist to another that was mentioned in an old diary but which hasn't yet surfaced. You're sure it's around the archives somewhere, just waiting for you to piece it together with the rest of your project. Marcus tells you that his case is almost wrapping up, and if you want he can arrange to catch the same flight home as you. You smile and tell him that would be nice.

You finish dinner and he asks if you want to go to the Louvre, and you check the time and say that they're almost closing. Marcus smiles at you and says, "Don't worry about it," and he looks a little mischievous. You tell him you're up for an adventure, and he takes your hand and ushers you into a taxi.

When you arrive he asks the desk staff for someone he knows, and you make a quick run to the restroom. When you return, Marcus has two laminated badges, special access for professionals and visiting staff that allows you to stay for a few hours past closing. You can't believe your luck, being allowed to spend extra time in one of the most special places in the world, not to mention that your escort is the most handsome and charismatic man you've ever met.

You start in the Denon wing and wander through the museum, talking and laughing quietly, enjoying the opportunity to see things that you would normally have to fight hordes of tourists to see. And maybe "enjoy" isn't the right word, because if someone asked you how you were feeling right now, you would say you were "on cloud nine" or "elated" or "floating." It feels like a dream, and you're not sure if you're going to remember all of it later, but you desperately want to, and you're trying so hard to file every sight away into your brain.

When you reach the Mona Lisa, an odd hush falls over you, and you realize it's the first time you've ever seen it without a crowd twenty deep in front of it. Marcus seems to know what you're feeling, because he takes your hand, almost shyly. And he keeps holding it, warming your fingers as the two of you walk on. You stop in front of Delacroix, "Liberty Leading the People," and you tell Marcus that it's the first painting you ever fell in love with, a million years ago in high school during your very first art history class. You look at the painting and he looks at you, and when you finally turn toward him he captures your mouth in a warm, urgent, soft kiss. You can feel your eyes sparkling at him when he pulls away, and you don't say a word, you just smile and hold his hand as you walk through doorways and up and down stairs.

You come around a corner and there it is, probably the most famous statue in the world: the Venus de Milo. She takes your breath away, and then Marcus does, too, stealing a kiss when you least expect it. And you're torn completely in half, unsure if you would rather keep kissing him or just stare at the curves and planes of her body. So you try to do both; you kiss him and keep one eye on the Venus and you start to feel dizzy, like you've overloaded on sugar, but it's just the impossible circumstances that you've found yourself in.

And you break apart from him, and take his hand again, leading him into a corner that's a little more private. You back yourself against a wall and pull him to you by his tie, and you kiss him the way he deserves, with your full attention and precision. Minutes pass slowly, and you only come up for air because you're afraid you're going to faint. Your thigh is blazing hot where Marcus's hand has raked up under your skirt, and the only reason you don't fuck him right there is because of a security camera keeping watch on the alcove.

You tell him that you both should finish your tour and go back to your hotel, and he agrees. You try to keep your mind on the art, and you tell Marcus about how awestruck you were as a student when you learned about the way that sculptors could depict every curve and dimple of a woman's body through the wet drapery technique; the sensuality of the human form made only slightly more modest when viewed through a veil of fabric; the sheer awesome impossibility of marble carved to look like gauze.

You both get lost in the conversation, and you wander up a staircase and around a corner, and there it is: your absolute favorite piece of art, the piece that you have studied and memorized and dreamed about. And you've seen it before: you've been to the Louvre a handful of times, but this time there are no noisy footsteps echoing off the marble, no tourists trying to capture the glory of it with their tiny and unworthy cameras and phones when there are perfectly good books and postcards available in the gift shop... the Nike to end all Nikes, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. You are, quite simply, blown away.

And if it had been a normal weekend walking tour of the sacred Louvre, if you had been there with anyone else... you wouldn't have ended up wedged against the wall of the archway to her left, skirt hiked up as Marcus pounded into you, one of your bare legs hooked over his hip and your arms wrapped around his neck. If it had been any other day or any other time, you would have stopped him before he unzipped his fly and pulled his erection out; you would have had some remaining shred of propriety, of decency. But it wasn't a normal day and he wasn't a normal man, and you really weren't yourself.

You had gotten carried away by the late hour and the thrill of being allowed to wander the empty museum, and if you were being honest, you really wouldn't have wanted to stop it. You wanted to give in to the romance of the city and the priceless treasures on display and the heady conversations with Marcus. You wanted to be exactly where you were, with exactly who he was, doing exactly what you were doing and feeling exactly how you felt as he thrust into you and grunted your name like a chant while you traced the lines of the Nike with your lust-blown eyes.

You didn't make it to the Richlieu wing until a year later, on a sunny Saturday morning with your new husband Marcus.

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Roll call: please message me if you don't want to be on my "all fics" tag list!

@221bshrlocked @danniburgh @starlightmornings @honestly-shite @spacedilf @anaaaispunk @silverwolf319 @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @the-queen-of-fools @driedgreentomatoes @juletheghoul @dihra-vesa @anxiousandboujee

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x female art history professor #idek dude #i just started writing and it all just went blaaaaah #i ain't even sorry

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coccinelle-et-chaton · 3 years

Text

in which adrien is a science teacher and has to pay his karma by babysitting a teenager that has his exact same humor when he was 15.

Chapter 2 of Chat Noir Is My Science Teacher is up, friends :D

Ch. 2. Mr. Deep

In which Matt is baby and Adrien begins to pay his karma for being a lil shit when he was younger, with interest.

When Matthieu braced himself for the day, the last thing he expected to happen was learning that Mr. Dupain-Cheng, his science teacher, was none other than his idol, Chat Noir.

Yes, Mr. Dupain-Cheng, the dorky teacher who laughed at his own bad science puns and had a themed t-shirt for every day of the week. Mr. Dupain-Cheng, the man who thought grading with “You Tried” stars and cat stickers was funny. Mr. Dupain-Cheng, who was so gullible he didn’t notice when students wanted to distract him from giving a lesson by asking him about his wife because they knew he could rant about her for hours. Mr. Dupain-Cheng, the only teacher that replied with an ‘ok :)’, a meme, and the signature, ‘Sent from my cat-phone,’ when replying to a well-thought email. That Mr. Dupain-Cheng.

How could this be possible? He was so... so uncool .

Read below the cut or on AO3 by clicking the link above.

When Matthieu braced himself for the day, the last thing he expected to happen was learning that Mr. Dupain-Cheng, his science teacher, was none other than his idol, Chat Noir.

How could this be possible? He was so... so uncool .

When Matt thought about who Chat Noir might be under his mask he always pictured someone bold and dashing, maybe one of those cool guys that worked in those crazy science startups. Someone brave, fearless... not a father of two who, Matt was pretty sure, screeched one time a flying cockroach somehow crawled from one of the sinks in the lab. He pictured someone like Barbara Keynes or Peter Parker.

They were witty and mysterious. Mr. Dupain-Cheng was too nice to be a superhero.

“Matt!” Timo tackled him into a hug as Matthieu and Mr. Dupain-Cheng joined the rest of the class. Ladybug had finished handing out autographs to his classmates and had already left. “Are you okay? Did you see the Akuma? It was so sick!”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Matthieu muttered, as Mr. Dupain-Cheng pointedly put as much distance between himself and Matt. He called the class’ attention to continue their museum visit.

“You’re in danger, kid.” His teacher’s words still resounded in Matthieu’s head. “For your own safety, lay low until I decide what to do with this, okay?”

He didn’t give Matt a chance to ask any questions, to say anything. He basically wanted him to ignore this, to act as if he had just found him practicing some obscure hobby outside school.

As they walked, Matt trained his eyes on the back of his teacher’s head, the blond, messy mop of hair towering over the group of teens.

“Hey, Timo?”

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Deep is, like, a nerd, right?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool,” Timo said, his attention more invested in his portable video game console than in the conversation. “He knows, like, all the animes.”

“That’s not cool,” said Matt.

“Of course it is,” Timo said, finally peeling his eyes off the screen. “We like that stuff.”

Timo had a point, Matthieu had to admit.

“And remember the time he helped me solder that motherboard we used for the robot competition? That was pretty cool.”

“I... suppose.”

Timo shrugged, blissfully unaware of Matt’s current crisis. “I keep telling you, man,” he said, returning to his videogame. “Mr. Deep is the coolest teacher at school.”

After the field trip, Matt went home stuck in a contemplative trance, wanting to decide what the revelation was that truly bothered him: the fact that Chat Noir’s civilian persona was absolutely nothing like what he had pictured, or that Timo was right and the reason why he disliked Mr. Dupain-Cheng was actually because he looked up to him, and that he embodied the complete opposite of everything Matt was taught to be.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, to be honest. As any self-respecting fan, Matthieu knew Chat Noir’s career by heart. He had seen those old clips of him as a teenager, cracking witty jokes and one-liners in the middle of battle. It kind of made sense that he’d grow up to be the kind of man that was unapologetically chaotic. Besides, those memes and punny cat stickers he liked to grade with? Suddenly it seemed all so obvious. It was almost as if Mr. Dupain-Cheng was flaunting the truth in front of everyone, knowing no one would peg him as the kind of man who was a superhero. It was all in the same way no one seemed to understand how on earth such a whacky dude would end up with one of the most successful designers in Paris.

Matt suddenly shot up from the comfort of his bed as he contemplated his thoughts.

Ladybug. Weren’t Ladybug and Chat Noir a couple?

Oh my god, is Mr. Dupain-Cheng cheating on his wife with Ladybug? Or backwards? Wait... Isn’t that famous designer his wife? What’s her name, MDC? No, that’s the brand. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Wait.

Does his wife even know? Oh, no... Poor woman! Wait... what if...

Matt gasped. “She’s Ladybug. She has to be.”

He paced around his room, his thoughts going a thousand miles an hour. “I can never let Hawkmoth akumatize me ever again,” he screeched, grabbing handfuls of his hair. “Oh my god!” he shrieked. “Okay, Matt, breathe. Breathe. Just... Think. Okay. This can be good, right? This can be good.”

He kept pacing around.

“Okay, Matt. Okay. You just figured out that Mr. Deep is Chat Noir and his wife is Ladybug... Cool, it’s all cool,” he said to himself in a pitch heightened by the sheer panic that coursed through him. “It’s okay, it’s—.”

He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks as inspiration struck. He gasped excitedly and immediately got on his knees to reach under his bed.

“Of course!” he exclaimed, pulling out a small corkboard he kept hidden under the bed. The board was an indulgent little project if he did say so himself. It wasn’t related to any of his school activities, which is why he had to keep it hidden. Goodness knows what his parents would do if they found out he had been wasting time investigating who Hawkmoth might be.

This wasn’t bad, this was great!

I can help him! Matt thought excitedly. I can help him and Ladybug track Hawkmoth down!

He took a few shots of it with his phone to then ferociously kick it out of view, back under the bed again, when his mother entered his room.

“What are you doing on the floor, Matthieu?” Mrs. Magan, a middle-aged woman with stern eyes, said to him.

“I... lost a coin.”

Mrs. Magan frowned, not making much of the excuse. “Dinner is ready.”

Matthieu let out a silent sigh of relief as his mother turned around, then quickly followed after her, knowing better than to have her remind him a second time.

I can help him, he thought again excitedly. I can be his sidekick!

—-

Matthieu was not one to be late for school, but the day after discovering Mr. Deep’s identity he decided to be extra early, just to make sure he’d be able to talk to him in private. There was always the risk that he’d be late of course, but now that Matthieu knew the reason, he could hardly hold it against him.

Matt was lucky enough to spot him in the Chemistry lab when he arrived. He peeked through the small window on the door. it seemed he was grading papers.

He grinned and immediately went in, hardly being able to contain his excitement.

“Good morning, Mr. Dupain-Cheng!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, causing Adrien to jolt and knock some of the paper sheets to the ground. Matt rushed to pick them up before Adrien had the chance to do so. “So listen, I have thoughts ,” he said as he put the papers back on the desk and fumbled with his backpack to produce his phone. “I was up all night updating my Hawkmoth board, and I was thinking—I was thinking that maybe, you know this philanthropist, Lila Rossi—”

Adrien could only stare dumbfounded at how fast Matt rambled before he even caught the drift of what he was saying. Once he registered it though, he jolted once again.

“Shh!” Adrien hushed at the teen, frantically looking around himself to see if anyone was in the vicinity—even though the door was closed.

“Matthieu, what are you talking about?” he hissed.

“I wanna help you track Hawkmoth!” Matthieu piped with a bright smile, reaching into his backpack again to produce his phone. “Last night, I was thinking, ‘Hey, maybe this happened for a reason.’ I’m pretty good at this whole deduction thing, you know? I’m at the top of the class in almost all subjects and I have like, all the badges possible on the Ladyblog. Also, look, I have this board that I made about all the possible suspects because if you look at the akumatizations there’s a real pattern, and I’m thinking that whoever Hawkmoth might be, has some stuff to work through, because oh my god. Oh, like, this person he—”

“Matthieu, keep your voice down!” Adrien interrupted him. “No! I can’t let you do that. What happened yesterday was an accident, kid. Okay? It’s best if you just... If you just try to pretend like you don’t know anything while Ladybug and I decide what to do. This isn’t a game, Matt. You are in danger. If Hawkmoth ever lays hands on you, there’s no telling what might happen. Stay. Away. From. This.”

Undeterred by the ominous delivery of Mr. Dupain-Cheng’s warning, Matthieu beamed at him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Deep! I’m good at keeping secrets! I—”

“No. It is out of the question, Matthieu. This is dangerous and I—wait, what did you just call me?” Adrien said, suddenly catching the nickname.

Matthieu grew red in the face and smiled sheepishly at his teacher. “Mr. Deep... You know, ‘cause you’re always, like, going off these crazy deep tangents about the physics of akumas and stuff and—Oh my god, that makes so much sense now! Do you study them in your free time? Oh, wow! Do you and Miss Ladybug have a secret layer? Like Majestia and Knight Owl? Wait, actually, don’t answer that. Sensitive information, am I right? Oh! Also, I think Mr. Deep really fits you because you always give us this weirdly specific and deep life advice? And I don’t know how you do it but it’s always on point? Also, your name starts with a D...”

Adrien looked at the boy, shocked, and frankly a little scared that a kid could talk so much, so fast. There’s only one other person he had ever known whose mouth ran like a broken faucet if she was given the chance.

Wait , Adrien thought. Did... did he just pun with my name?

A part of him was flattered, another was surprised, a third one was slightly insulted.

The kid punned with my name. I’m his teacher !

“Matt!” he exclaimed, interrupting Matthieu’s spoken stream of consciousness. “No. This is final. Stay away from this. I don’t want to have to repeat myself. It is final.”

Again, unfazed by Adrien’s effort to act seriously, Matthieu beamed at him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Deep. I’ll prove you can trust me! I would not trust me, too, if I were you. But I’ll prove it! You’ll see.”

The bell rang, and with it came a thankful end to the conversation. At least on Adrien’s side.

“And don’t call me Mr. Deep.”

“Okay, Mr. Deep!” Matthieu said, beaming at him as he made his way out of the classroom. “Oops! I mean, Mr. DC.”

Adrien sighed, glaring at the boy and feeling some sort of karmic entity laughing at him. He knew exactly what Matt’s energetic yet jesterly energy reminded him of: a sixteen-year-old version of himself whose favorite pastime was seeing how much foolery he could get away with before Ladybug decided to murder him in cold blood.

“It’s your karma,” Plagg muttered quietly before his students began pouring into the classroom. “Kid’s your spitting image. Though I gotta say, he blabbers as much as Spots.”

“Oh, shush it!”

“You know you have to tell her soon, right?” Plagg muttered from inside Adrien’s overshirt. “The more you delay, the deeper your grave.”

“I said shush.”

The little god snickered. “Someone’s in trouble.”

Plagg was right, though. Adrien had to tell Marinette about this. It was already bad that he didn’t tell her the moment it happened. She hated it when he did that. But in his defense, he knew she had a tough day at the label and he didn’t want to freak her out. He hoped that excuse would be enough. Plagg had laughed at him when he asked for his opinion about it.

Yeah, he was in trouble.

There was no way but through, he knew this. That didn’t mean his legs could tell the difference between an honest conversation with his life partner and the visceral fear for his survival that was elicited at the image of said conversation. He felt them buckle as he casually leaned against the kitchen island, trying his best to act natural.

The kids had been put to bed and there was thankfully no Akuma in sight. At least not yet.

Marinette sighed with relief as she swiftly undid her hair and reached into the fridge for a bottle of wine. If Adrien hadn’t been so terrified by what he was about to do, he’d allow himself to swoon at her.

Witnessing Marinette shed the tiredness of the day as she swapped into comfortable clothes—usually loose shirts and yoga pants— and poured her drink of choice was one of his favorite things to watch. It didn’t matter that they had been living together for a little over seven years now, he’d never get tired of watching her exist.

“You want some?” Marinette said as she stood on her tiptoes to reach the shelf where they kept the wine glassware.

“Yeah, sure,” Adrien said, then continued speaking after thanking his wife for the wine. “You’ll never guess what happened today.”

“What?” she said, clinking her glass against his before taking the first sip.

“A kid punned with my name.”

Marinette chuckled. “Really? What did he call you?”

“Mr. Deep.”

Marinette snorted as she took another sip from the glass.

“He said it’s because I like to go on deep tangents and because my name starts with a D. Kid can’t pun to save his life.”

Marinette smirked at him. “You’re one to talk.”

He dropped his jaw. “I can’t believe you just asked me for a divorce, m’lady.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and smiled, walking past him on the way to the couch. She placed her wine glass on a small side table and pulled out a sketchbook from one of its drawers. She busied herself reviewing her work while Adrien gathered the courage to nudge the conversation in the direction it needed to go.

“M’lady?” he said from behind her.

“What did you do,” Marinette replied immediately, as she flipped through the pages of the sketchbook.

”I— why do you always assume I did something?”

Marinette turned around and mocked him, then gave him a knowing smirk. “It’s in your tone, Chaton. You can’t lie.”

“I am an excellent liar, I’ll have you know.” He stopped himself from bragging further, seeing as Marinette frowned.

“What is it, Adrien? What happened?”

Adrien’s palms were sweating with anxiety. He gulped. “First of all, I love you and you know that, right?”

“Adrien,” Marinette said, her voice hitching up her tone.

“It’s nothing bad . I mean, it’s a ‘could be worse’ sort of situation.”

“ Adrien !”

“Hypothetically speaking, imagine... what if, er... one of the wielders accidentally revealed himself to someone who, uh, someone who absolutely shouldn’t know? Hypothetically speaking.”

“Adrien, what did you DO ?” Marinette screeched.

#chat noir is my science teacher #ml fanfic #science teacher adrien au #ml oc #ml oc matthieu magan #adrien agreste #gen fic #miraculous next gen #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #ladybug

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emsylcatac · 4 years

Note

Oh man, really appreciating the extra French cultural insight on ML, so thank you for all of your elucidating! Have you made any posts covering common school events/milestones, and/or how teens tend to celebrate holidays in Paris? I know exams are different and that proms aren't really a thing, and the show has given us some insight into field trips (not too different), but do you know of anything else fandom tends to miss?

Heya!! :D

Thanks for your feedback & you’re very welcome!!

I haven’t done any post regarding school events or holidays yet, so let’s do that now!

School events/milestones:

First just a quick explanation of the French scholar system:

Maternelle (= Kindergarten): 3 years, from 3-4yo to 5-6yo – Petite section · Moyenne section · Grande section

Primaire (= Primary school): 5 years, from 6-7yo to 10-11yo – CP · CE1 · CE2 · CM1 · CM2

Collège (= Secondary school | Junior high school): 4 years, from 11-12yo to 14-15yo – 6ème (said sixième) · 5ème (cinquième) · 4ème (quatrième) · 3ème (troisième) – school start around 8:30am and ends around 4:30pm, with 1h lunch-break and 15min break in the morning & afternoon. – except on Wednesday ends around 11:30 or 12:30.

Lycée (= High school): 3 years, from 15-16yo to 17-18yo – 2nd (said seconde) · 1ère (première) · Tale (terminale) – Same about breaks & lunch breaks & start of school, but usually ends around 5:30pm. – except on Wednesday ends around 11:30 or 12:30 (or if you’re unlucky like I was the school organises exams on Wednesday afternoon from 2 to 4h straight but most schools have free Wednesdays afternoon)

Currently, Marinette & Adrien are in their finale year of ‘collège’ so in ‘3ème’ (called ‘troisème’).

So about major end-of the year exams:

End of 3ème (around the end of June usually): ‘Brevet’ – it’s a national exam and every student in the whole France have the same examination questions. They have to revise courses they had during the whole year and can be pretty much interrogated on anything they’ve learned. One exam per subject. Writing exam subjects are: French, Mathematics (main ones), History/Geography, Sciences (with Physics/Chemistry and/or Earth&Life Sciences and/or Technology). Added to that, they have an oral exam. It’s about Art History or a project they’ve conducted throughout the year (alone or in groups, however they get an individual score) Side note: this one is pretty ‘easy’ to have and you really need to want to fail to actually fail. It also takes into account the general score you have during the year and allows you to have a few points in advance. For instance, I was a good student and my general score was high enough for me to have enough points to already have the ‘brevet’ before even taking up the exam. It’s usually the case if your general score is equal or above 16/20 I think)

End of Terminale (around mid-June): ‘Baccalauréat’ – it’s again a national exam but much more important. You can’t pursue your studies if you haven’t passed it and will need to repeat the Terminale year. Subjects vary depending the course students chose when they entered their “1ère” year (it’s kind of a lot to explain everything there especially because the system have completely changed this year and teachers & parents are complaining about it, so I’m going to quickly talk about the ‘old’ system where basically you chose between scientific course, economic & social course or arts course; there’s others but those were the main ones). Again, you need to revise everything you’ve learned throughout the year and can be interrogated on anything. There’s writing exams as well as oral exams and practical exams (for sciences).Side note: Contrary to the ‘brevet’ this one is harder to get. I’m not saying it’s super hard, but students with school difficulties can fail even if they worked for it. Only the score you get at this exam is taken into account, not the general score you got during the year so you can’t “have” your Baccalauréat before taking up the exam.

End of 1ère: some exams of the “Baccalauréat” occur in the 1ère year but not a lot as well as a group project.

Proms, holidays & others undercut to avoid long post:

Regarding school proms, we indeed don’t have them as much as people in Canada or the US. It mostly depends of your school: some will organise them at the end of 3ème or Terminale because it’s the end of a ‘cycle’ sort of, but they’re mostly just events with food brought by everyone and music. You rarely have to find a partner to go to a prom with you, except maybe if the school you’re in has decided on that. Some schools don’t organise any.

Other special event that can be organised in your school (and again it depends how strict the director is and all) is carnival. We all come with disguises for the day. My ‘lycée’ was pretty strict about it but we managed to allow it during my finale year and organise a concert during lunch-time. We had to be recognisable though so no full-mask or full-makeup. But the previous years it was forbidden. We didn’t have any carnivals during collège. It again also depends on your school’s policy.

________________

Holidays

We have 4 in-between holidays and one summer holidays:

“Vacances de la Toussaint” (vacances meaning holidays): 2 weeks around end of October & Beginning of November, including the 1st of November. Usually, people tend to stay at home or visit family members that are living far from their home. Some might travel a bit as well but it’s not often. So some teens will visit their friend, maybe celebrate Halloween but Halloween isn’t that big of a thing here and it’s disappearing more and more.

“Vacances de Noël” (= Christmas holidays): 2 weeks including Christmas day and New Year. Mostly spent in family, some might go skiing but it’s rare and there’s less chance to have enough snow for that in the mountains.

“Vacances de Février” (February holidays): 2 weeks in February, sometimes a bit in March; dates change every year because all of the French regions don’t have the same dates for these holidays so teenagers will be in holidays 1st, 2nd or 3rd depending the year & region. Lots of people who can afford it will go skiing in the mountains one week; it’s pretty expensive so not everyone do that but still a lot.

“Vacances de Pâques / vacances de printemps” (Easter holidays / Spring holidays): Again 2 weeks, with dates changing like in February. Mostly around April, sometimes end of March. People tend to stay home or go a bit in the South of France if they can afford it or have enough time where the weather is warmer, some will visit family members, etc.

“Grandes vacances” (= big holidays or as you would say, Summer holidays): Lasts 2 months in July & August. School ends either end of June or beginning of July depending the grade you’re in and the end of the year exams you have, and will start again at the beginning of September. Some teens would go on family holidays somewhere (mostly to the sea or the mountains or abroad), some in summer camps, some would stay at home, some all of those.

Anyway, in all those holidays teens can meet-up and hang-out with their friends, do sleepovers, etc.

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School trips

School trips always have a cultural & educational purpose and will depend on the subject they’re being made for. You can visit museums, special cultural or historical places, etc. Most of the time you leave for the day by bus.

In some cases you can do a 3 to 5 days (or more depending your school) trip to another European country like England or Spain or Germany, maybe Italy. Those are opportunities to learn more about the other country’s culture (I know that when we did those trips we stayed in hosting families) learn and speak a bit the language, and learn history of the country depending on the outings of the day.

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Anything else fandom tends to miss?

Ok so it could take a lot of time and everything isn’t coming to my mind but one of the main thing I tend to see in fics is “Americanisation” of the French school system if that makes sense. Which is logical because it’s kind of hard to understand how everything works in another country without living in it.

For instance lots of people in fics write things like “they share maths classes together but not French, so Adrien takes Marinette to her class before going to his” and not really: you stay the whole year with the same classmates and share all your courses with them. Only exceptions are if you took some particular options (like someone took Latin and the other took ancient Greek or nothing), or depending the 2nd language you chose to learn (German or Spanish usually but some schools offer more choices). Or if you’re in a practical course, then you class might be split in half but with Marinette & Adrien’s class, they’re already not numerous so I’d say the whole class would share them together.

There’s a lot of other things but they’re not coming to my mind right now or are too long to detail there (for instance what I said above about scientific/economic&social/arts courses), but I’ll make sure to share them if I think about it :)

Thanks for the ask, I hope I answered what you were looking for!! ♥

#ask #mirthalia #ml french culture

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kaeyas-beloved · 4 years

Text

Right To Her Side {Theo x MC/Reader} [Fluff Day]

Summary: Even after years of separation, a good boy named King recognized the smell of Theo’s other Hondje.

Warning(s): None! (Well, technically there’s a tad bit of angst... but it gets fluffy at the end I promise)

Note: This idea slapped me across the face so hard and unexpectedly that I dropped everything just to write the overall idea (because I’m forbidding myself to lose this).

Also, for the sake of this one-shot, King has an extended life too.

Note a few days after initial idea: Might as well turn this into a piece for the Theo Countdown Party. If anything, it aligns nicely with a day that I don’t have a work for a different writing challenge I’m doing (that would be day 5 of Creatober 2020)

~~~

The constant tug of King’s leash kept Theo on his toes, the golden retriever much more hyper on his walk today compared to any other. Leaves of many colours crunched beneath them as they strolled through the streets of 21st century Paris, the sights and sounds both different and similar to the old, 19th century version they were so use to.

As of right now he has everything he could ever wish for, his older brother, Vincent, his not-friend friend Arthur and his job as an art dealer. To most, it was a win-win all around the table when you have family, friends and a job.

Except it wasn’t, far from it actually. Theo didn’t have her - the dumb knabbeltje that stole his heart forever ago and yet still decided to part from his side.

In retrospect, he had no one to blame but himself. If he wanted her to stay he should’ve admitted the feelings that had blossomed during that singular month with her, it would’ve given her a reason not go through that damn time traveling door.

So why the hell didn’t he? Was he actually afraid of rejection?

Another yank from the dog at his hip, his tail wagging happily as he tried to run through a nearby park. Deep sea blue eyes trailed the path his dog wanted to go.

Discovering that it was the usual path that his pup always took when they walked on this road, Theo idly followed King. Without fail the golden retriever always brought him to the entrance of a famous museum - Le Louvre. He never did understand why King came to this particular spot, sniffed and then whined, apparently not finding what he was looking for.

In all honestly Theo would love to browse fine art with his lovable companion, yet unfortunately the museum denied entry to pets.

Sighing deeply the Dutch man crouches to the ground, scratching behind King’s floppy ear.

“Sorry boy, you can’t go in there” the dog tilted it’s head, tongue lolling out before unexpectedly making a beeline for the entrance, knocking Theo to the ground and allowing the leash to slip from his grasp.

Scrambling to his knees, the vampire was just able to witness King rush into the building before disappearing.

“Ah shit...”

Inside, the atmosphere was quiet and calm, like it always is. Many leisurely walked around, stopping whenever a particular art piece caught their eye.

For her though, the painting she gazed at wasn’t because of what it looked like but rather who painted it. Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci.

The Italian man’s name alone opened a whole casket of memories from a few years prior. The time she spent with some of histories greatest figures, where a bond quickly turned from nothing to gold.

Especially with him.

Theodorus van Gogh. He had a larger part of her heart occupied, something more than any of the others would ever get a glimpse of. The rare kindness he showed his friends, the unexpected sweet tooth he possessed (which honestly could border on unhealthy sometimes), the roundabout way he complimented those around him.

And his smile. Oh his smile could melt the coldest of hearts and was even rarer than his kindness. Not his usual, devilish smirk, no, a genuine smile. Something only she got to see the night before she left.

“I’m gonna miss you Hondje”

All these qualities of his left her heart thundering loudly.

“I miss you Theo, every bit of you...” she muttered, intending to hold onto every precious moment she'd shared with him for the rest of her life.

The watch she wore read 5:45PM and she turned to leave the museum, ready to go home for the evening. No doubt will she visit this place tomorrow, the sentiment behind the location strong enough to come back again.

Just as she made it out of the museum the sound of rushing steps bounding towards her caught her attention, a furry friend jumping up and down and barking loudly at her feet in the next second, the owner not far behind.

“Down boy!” he commanded, grabbing hold of the dog’s collar, pulling him down. Swallowing some much needed air, Theo looked up with the intent to apologize for the sudden attack on them when every word died in his throat.

Her name uttered from his lips breathlessly, and her eyes widened, realizing who it was.

“Is it really you Hondje?” he asked, hand coming up to cup her cheek, his touch the most gentle it has ever been. Was he truly able to see her again after centuries of waiting?

“Yeah... yeah it’s me...” she smiled, placing a hand on his chest and another over his larger one.

For the next few heart racing moments the two simply stared into each other’s eyes, it being the only thing they could bring themselves to do, too stunned at the reality right in front of them.

Neither knew who started to inch closer first, perhaps it was a mutual move. Still, the fact stood that after so long their feelings for each other were finally being shown through a slow, passion filled kiss.

Let this be real... please... It was their desperate plea to any god that would listen.

When the need for air grew hard to resist, the pair parted, panting slightly. Bringing his free arm around her waist, Theo tugged the woman of his dreams closer, leaning his forehead against her’s.

“Never leave my side again, got it Hondje?” Despite the underlying harshness in his tone, his eyes portrayed a whole different, stronger, emotion. Love.

“I promise Theo”

Two simple words with the sound of his name and that soft smile he revealed to her before appeared again.

And it certainly wasn’t going to be for the last time as long as he stayed with her, something he planned to do until the day he died.

I hope you enjoyed this! First time writing Theo and I don’t think I did too bad!

#theo countdown party #theo x reader #ikemen vampire #ikevam x reader #ikevamp #ikevam fanfic #ikevam theo #ikemen vampire theo #ikevamp theo #ikemen vamp theo x reader #theo route countdown party

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