the boy who smells like pastry

The Silent Treatment

Originally posted by j-miki

Gif credit as listed

Mark (Got7) x Reader

~by Admin Bee

Warning: There’s like one swear word, if that bothers you

Word Count: 8,300

A/N: I guess this is my debut as an admin on this blog, so hello everyone, have fun reading this angst >:) This is one of the longer fanfictions we wrote, so leave us some feedback on whether you like the drabbles or the longer fics more, we’d love to hear from you! As always, thank you for reading and don’t forget to like and reblog!

Edited: 09/03/17 

Living above a bakery was the best and worst idea you’d ever had. Pros: Your apartment, including yourself, always smelled like fresh bread and sugary concoctions from the constant baking going on downstairs. With the windows open, you didn’t need air fresheners or perfume. Cons: The constant perfume of sugar was enticing enough to go down and buy something every day. Your constant gluttony of sweets starved your bank account, but the rice buns were completely worth it.

The owners of the bakery were a sweet elderly couple; the Tuan’s. They had opened the bakery as a young couple in love back in the 60’s, and shared their love with the community until it thrived into a popular tourist spot. Anyone visiting was recommended to stop into their store and buy a donut and chat with the owners over a cup of their famous coffee. You were surprised the apartment over their shop was available for rent, and at such a low cost too. As it turns out, the Tuan’s loved to support the younger people in their community, and bought the entire space above their shop for struggling young adults, like yourself. It wasn’t much bigger than a college dorm room, but you were still in love with the space.

You started out Friday like usual: you woke up to the smell of sweet pastries, took a shower, got dressed, and started preparing breakfast. You had just put the toast into the toaster when someone knocked at the door.

When you opened it, a boy who looked to be a little older than you was standing there, a bag from the bakery in his hand.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Haikyuu boys with the biggest sweet tooth but tries to hide it?

Kamasaki: Although Kamasaki acts like he could care less about sweet, cute-looking pastries whenever he is around his teammates (especially Futakuchi), he makes sure to come back and buy something when he feels like nobody he knew would notice him. The smell of freshly baked pastries always makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside and naturally, he’d have to kill anyone who’d find out about this.

Sawamura: The older Sawamura got, the mode his urge to get up at night and eat something sweet would become. He would fool himself into thinking his partner didn’t notice his nightly shenanigans, until, right as he was shoving a spoonful of nougat creme into his mouth, the lights turned on in the kitchen, his partner leaning on the door frame, arms crossed in front of their chest.

Daishou: Even though everybody knows that Daishou loves nothing more than ice-cream, he still makes a huge deal trying to hide this. Declaring that he is going to watch an action flick on the weekend, he actually ends up with a bucket of ice-cream, trying not to cry at the happenings in the soap opera he was watching.

anonymous asked:

im just totally sending random things to your askbox since you said to send you some asks but :) do you have any more headcanons for either the a/b/o verse or the marinette thinks boys are cats one? i love both of these aus soo much and i love your writing too!!!

Thank you! And I have zero (0) problems with getting random things in my askbox, random things in my askbox are the OPPOSITE of a problem. 

I’m not actually sure which ABO you meant soooo I’m just gonna post an excerpt from the one I’m working on right now: 

“Chat,” she says, touching his face. He looks away.

“I would’ve been safe,” he says. “In my den. I have–it’s a big den. It’s nice. It’s got everything I could ever need.”

“Chat,” she says.

“I would’ve,” he insists, finally looking back to her as his hands fist tightly in on themselves between them. “I’m safe.”

“You’re alone,” Marinette says, hating herself for never realizing it before. For never noticing. How could she not have? How could she have missed something like that?

He even smells stray, for god’s sake.

She just never realized that was what she was smelling.

and, also some headcanons for the one where marinette thinks boys are cats! 

  • One time Nino comes over to work on a partnered project with Marinette and accidentally falls asleep on her bed. He wakes up to a plate of pastries and scritches and is like “Marinette wtf”. Marinette meanwhile is just like “aw Nino you’re so tsundere-cat ❤” like he’s one of those kitties who rolls over for tummy-rubs and then claws your friggin’ arms off. It continues to not occur to her that this behavior is Weird. Ninety percent of the dudes in her life encourage it, though, soooooo kinda hard to blame her there. >> 
  • Alya is determined to earn cat-status in Marinette’s life. This includes shoving in close for attention, occasionally pushing and/or sweeping things off her desk just to GET her attention, and sometimes literally just throwing herself on top of her like “MY GIRL”. So, you know, basically canon. 
  • At some point Chat Noir ends up in Ladybug’s lap and gets pets. This is just how it is; this is just an unavoidable and inevitable fact of life. 

stylishbutdefinitelyillegal  asked:

Okay for the Jacob chapter, I absolutely adore how protective he is of Newt and I squealed when Jacob made the connection between how Grindelwald saw Credence (our poor baby boy) as nothing more than a weapon and how very, very likely it was for Grindelwald to turn around do the the exact. same. thing. to. Newt and go "Oh Hell no.". I hereby nominate Jacob Kowalski as Head of the Newt Protection Squad.

Newt Protection Squad Roundup:

Jacob Kowalski who is head because he shepherds everyone else into line like a pastry-bearing mother hen, and because the back rooms of his bakery smell like hopes and dreams and have giant cushions strewn haphazardly about around a small wooden table. The table has a cheery yellow-gingham table cloth and an enamel jug full of flowers in the middle, and the flowers have tiny little snidgets sleeping among them. The table also has chairs, old pine-wood chairs with smooth edges and worn seats, but for some reason everyone congregates on the cushions on the floor. There’s a stove in the corner with a copper whistling kettle because Newt must have tea, and there’s a bookcase overflowing with scrawled recipe ideas and half-finished plans (and, tucked away in the top-right corner, a page filled with doodles of a house with a nursery and a garden strewn with toys. Jacob thinks Queenie doesn’t know it’s there, but Queenie knows and it makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.)

Queenie Goldstein who runs this shit like a motherfuckin’ amazon warrior, just one that wears pink and smiles when she talks and calls people ‘honey’ as if she couldn’t eat them alive for breakfast. She’s the one who brings the newest threat to the table, most of the time, and she’s the one that gets things done. Even if they’re not particularly legal things, like snooping through records that were confidential, Queenie, what the hell or just so happens to know a person who knows a person who can sneak them round the back to disable Grindelwald’s latest plot despite the fact that those are dark wizards Queenie you can’t go around calling them sweetie and patting them on the cheek and basically, yeah. Jacob calls the shots and Queenie makes them happen, and if it comes down to wands then Queenie listens to Jacob and she fires spells at people she can’t see and ducks curses that Jacob spots and it’s all pretty damn badass. She gets a reputation for having eyes on the back of her head and being friggin impossible to sneak up on, and Queenie just laughs when people scurry away from her in fear.

Tina Goldstein who is the oft-ignored voice of reason and, sometimes, morality. It’s not that she disagrees with Queenie’s results, but really, those records were confidential, and that’s a necromancer that Queenie just waved at, and Tina feels that at least one of them should pretend to follow the laws. On the other hand, Tina is also the practicality and the dedication, the one that knuckles down and works through and gets things like trip-wards put up so they don’t always have to hare in at the last minute. And, when it comes to it, she holds the field and she fires the spells and she tells Jacob where to tell Queenie to go and she’s basically the captain with the battleplans and she gets everyone out and alive. Including whichever improbably creature Newt’s got attached to now, because he’ll be sad otherwise.

Credence Barebone who is the loyal bodyguard, lurking in the shadows like a vengeful demon just waiting to devour people whole. Or for Newt to beckon him forwards to show him a thing, at which point Credence will materialise out of the ether like the over-dramatic little shit that he actually is underneath all that angst, and will obligingly coo over whatever acid-spitting little hellspawn Newt’s found next. It’s not exactly Credence’s fault that most of Newt’s animals are shit-terrified of him and that half of them react to that with teeth, poison barbs, eardrum-splitting shrieks or bubbling gouts of sulphuric hellfire. Newt is determined to find at least one that likes Credence, and if it makes Newt happy then Credence will doggedly keep trying.

Pickett who yodels battle cries at super-sonic pitches and knows forty eight different kinds of karate, just because. You might think he’s small and therefore not scary, but have you ever had a demented twig flying at your face? It’s a surprisingly effective deterrent. Grindelwald, for one, is traumatised.

Seraphina Picquery who sits in her office and thinks fondly of the times before Newt came to New York and random armies of giantass tortoises and crazy fish started attacking her city, but also manages to smooth things over each time so that somehow the no-majs never catch on and somehow the international magical community aren’t banging on their shores with a cease and desist.

… and Percival Graves, what, I love him and I can’t just leave him out. I can’t. I can’t even promise that there won’t be a Gramander subplot going on because one day I might not be paying attention and it might just happen oh no the horror. But seriously tho, all other parts of this fic are gen/eventual Newt/Tina and I shouldn’t really mess with that.

However in an alternate universe where everything is exactly the same except the pairings are free to mess with, Graves will break out and learn about this person who is causing Grindelwald to attack New York every month with increasingly ridiculous and convoluted plans that never work. It’ll start out as him being a bit curious and a lot annoyed - do you know exactly how much paperwork Grindelwald’s schemes generate, and why is Goldstein always mysteriously busy whenever it needs to be done this is a conspiracy - and he’ll be completely underwhelmed at first because what? this? the great and powerful wizard that Grindelwald is hellbent on defeating is currently stuck up a tree with a clabbert because “She had a nightmare, she didn’t want to go back to bed by herself and I accidentally left my wand on my nightstand, but it’s all ok because she’s happy now” and Graves will just. What. This?

But somewhere around the fourth or fifth time he rescues Newt from various trees, window ledges on twenty story buildings (there was a fwooper! I couldn’t leave him!), random giant holes in central park that weren’t there yesterday?? (rock-wyrms, Newt chirps happily, stroking the grotesque creatures under their bulbous, drool-slathered chins, Aren’t they darling?) and on one memorable occasion an over-amorous lady in a speakeasy, Graves starts expecting it. If he hasn’t rescued Newt in the last week he gets twitchy. His Newt-senses start tingling. He ends up on stake-outs outside Newt’s apartment because at some point something dire is going to happen, and Graves may as well be on hand when it does.

Then Newt starts inviting him in, and it’s still a stake out even if Graves is in Newt’s workshop, and it’s still just being time-saving if he helps Newt feed the animals, and it’s still just avoiding more paperwork if he brings Newt back to his place because Graves has better wards than Newt’s crappy apartment does, and really, there’s nothing more to it than being practical when he cooks Newt dinner or walks with him to work in the morning or slips an arm around his shoulders to keep him close when it’s dark out.

And, in this alternate universe that remember won’t happen because I was determined to write a gen fic, Graves will be completely dismissive of anyone that says they’re dating and will be totally confused when he hears people talking about Newt’s boyfriend because what the hell, who dares, why is Goldstein rolling her eyes at me, Newt, Newt what are they talking about -

And Newt’s face will be flaming red by this point and Tina will be cackling in the background and summoning a hotdog because a show this good needs food, and eventually Newt just marches across the room and grabs Graves by both ears and smashes their faces together in the most awkward, painful kiss that Graves has ever experienced.

He’s insulted on behalf of kisses.

So of course, it’s only natural that he shows Newt how it’s done.


Haus fic

Prompt from headspacedeficit: “The Haus has not always been called the Haus but it is called that now and it fits very well. The house that is now called the Haus knows the young ones protected by its walls are vulnerable and precious. Haus will hold together for their sakes.”


She used to be new and bustling and full of activity. She was full of girls shouting and laughing and she always smelled vaguely of alcohol and flowery products. She was happy as a house could be, with only a broken thermostat on the upper floor that posed any danger.

But one night, early in the semester, she was crowded. Too crowded. There was alcohol in the attic and girls flooding in the front door. Many pairs of heels clicked across her hardwood, until people were running. And falling. And then… then there was a scream.

The quiet left behind was eerie, she’d never been that still. Only two girls remained, unmoving at the bottom of the attic stairs. Large men in uniforms and heavy boots stomped around. There was no more laughter.

For years after that, she became home to a motley crew of species. A family of raccoons moved in, along with several squirrels, and a large snake. Birds made nests in her rafters. A fox crawled under the porch and had kits. But there were no more girls. No more people at all.


Until one day a group of young men forced the door open and sent spiders scurrying away across the wall. ((“This will be perfect!” “We’ll fix it up and make it habitable.” “Jonesy, you’re into DIY shit, right?” “We still have to convince the team to pay for this dump.” “I call dibs on this room!”))

Slowly she began to fill up again. But if a house could be worried, then her banisters were veritably shaking with nerves. Now it was much more than just the broken thermostat that could hurt her new inhabitants. There were unsteady beams, and wild animals, and something ugly growing behind the ceiling of the den.

But the boys took care of it. Took care of her. As much as they could. The beams were fixed, the animals chased out, and the mold removed. The thermostat they attempted to fix, but it had been broken for so long there was no helping it.

And so she became the Hockey Haus. She was full of boys now, loud and raucous, far smellier than her girls had ever been. But there was laughter again. And parties. And quiet nights where one radio would be singing from one boy’s room while they all studied. And the Haus began to feel like a house again.


It had been quite some time since she smelled of anything other than hockey bags and alcohol. It had been even longer since her oven had created something other than pot brownies and the burnt lump of a failed birthday cake. But this? With four pies over the course of a month, a single boy had brought the Haus inhabitants to a standstill. And then the little baker moved in, and the smell of fresh-baked pastries never seemed to leave.

The Haus still worries about parties. Her girls, the two who never left, do what they can but she still holds herself tighter when the number of drunken students rises. It seems every spilt solo cup of alcohol makes her porch steps creak in fear.

After they’ve all cleared out, she’s grateful for the one or two boys who rouse the others, collapsed and hungover on the floor. But it’s not until the next day, when her little baker is making his wonderful food, that she lets herself relax. She settles, wood creaking and cracking in her old age, soaking up the smell of an apple pie.

She is no longer new, but she is bustling and full of activity. Her boys are shouting and laughing, and she always smells vaguely of hockey bags and baked goods. She is as happy as a Haus can be, with only a broken thermostat on the upper floor that poses any danger. It’s these days that the Haus knows she’s a home.