10k Words Of Your Beautiful Writing And Unhinged Brothers, Except For Leon? Would Love To Read Be It

10k words of your beautiful writing and unhinged brothers, except for Leon? Would love to read😌💞 Be it less or more words, I just know that if a story is written by you, it will work out perfectly😌

You are far too kind, Nadia 💞 But I honestly believe I would lose my reputation for fun & wholesome family fic writer if that fic is released as it currently is 😂 It's still a family fic... technically... but a tragic one.

The best way I can describe it is I was rereading The Hunger Games series when I thought it up. I still like the story, but I can't guarantee others will feel the same, you know? But I'll keep it in my back pocket in case I feel like rewriting it soon 👍

Thank you very much for the tag Atelier🥺💖 I'm looking at your last line and I'm interested👀👀

Here is mine!

Tagging(no pressure tag!): @queen-dahlia , @chaosangel767 and anyone who sees this and wants to participate! Feel free to tag me👀♡

last line tag game

i haven’t written much this week, winter blues are coming on strong and i feel a hiatus in my midst with changing life circumstances but here we go. thanks for the tag @gretagerwigsmuse @jupitercomet @bobfloydsbabe @joaquinwhorres

RULES: Share the last line you wrote for your WIP and tag as many people as there are words.

Tonight? Bradley Bradshaw was going to claim you.

Tagging @a-reader-and-a-writer @callsign-madusa @roleycoleyreccenter @t-nd-rfoot @pisupsala @butaneandthebeast @lostinwildflowers @thedroneranger

the number of reblogs is the number of times yves has to meow

Congrats once again Violet!! ❤️❤️ I hope you get lots of requests to your liking and have fun!! Thank you for all your hard work and the amazing fics you give us 🙇🏻‍♀️ Can I please have...Napoleon + laughing while kissing? 🥺💕 Gahh im excited!! Have a great day!!

A/N: Here you are @kissmetwicekissmedeadly 💜

Napoleon x reader

WC: 1174

You blame it on the fact that you still haven’t quite gotten the hang of operating an oven from the nineteenth century. You’ve watched Sebastian use it and Napoleon, of course. They make it seem effortless. And yet somehow….your efforts have resulted in your Hato Sabure, traditional Japanese dove-shaped butter cookies, looking less like doves and more like blackened crows. A frustrated sigh shuffles past your lips as you look over your personal baking disaster. All you wanted was to make Napoleon a treat, to thank him for the time he has spent with you. All the walks through town, where he points out little things around the city most people would not glance twice at, introducing you to his students, the ones who stare at him with starry-eyed admiration, and especially for coming to your aid the other night, when you were out too late in a town that is too dark for a lone woman hurrying home by dim streetlight. A shudder runs through you at the memory of that circle of men with their hungry eyes and yellow smiles. And Napoleon, appearing like an avenging angel out of the shadows, scattering them back into the dirty corners of the city from whence they came.

The kitchen clock chimes, shaking you out of your reverie, sending a jolt through you. Napoleon will be back soon! You barely have time to make a fresh batch. Your lips press together in a stark line of determination. You have to try.

And you really, really have to hurry.

The Hato Sabure are a beautiful gold, edged in crispy brown and still warm from the oven when you knock on the door of Napoleon’s room. Your heart surges forward when it swings open and he is there, his jacket hanging over the wooden chair by his desk, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the neck.

“Nunuche,” he says with a smile that reaches the beautiful jade of his eyes, warming them like the waters of the South Pacific. “What’s this?” 

You step inside, holding the plate of cookies, willing yourself to steady your breathing in the hopes that your heart will follow suit and settle down. 

“I wanted to thank you for the other night. Therefore…..cookies.”

His smile grows and your heart is beating so wildly at its beauty that your lungs are starting to follow your heart's lead, ignoring your brain's commands to breathe evenly. 

“Cookies are always welcome,” he says in that voice of his, that deep, sonorous voice that melts you like chocolate powder in warm milk. He takes the plate from your outstretched hands, his fingers lightly brushing yours. Your skin tingles at the point of contact, his touch sending tiny fireworks of excitement cartwheeling through you. He sets the plate on his nightstand and sits down on the edge of his bed, reaching for a cookie and eagerly takes a large, enthusiastic bite. 

You watch his expression carefully, your lower lip caught between your teeth. They may just be cookies but they are also a piece of you, your homeland, your history, as well as a token of your affection for him. 

Your admiration. 

Your yearning.

He blinks those beautiful nebulous eyes, his chewing suddenly slowing.

He stifles a polite cough behind one large hand, swallowing the mouthful down. This time his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“They are….unlike anything I have ever tried before.” He takes another bite but you notice the way he tenses while chewing.

Oh no….he doesn’t like them.

Despair floods you, too warm and too quick. It leaves you dizzy as you step forward, taking a cookie from the plate and quickly taking a bite. You have to know what's wrong……or they bad...or is it you?

And just as quickly as you bit it, you spit it out with a gasp.

It definitely isn't you.

“They….they’re so salty!” You stare down at the cookie, feeling betrayed and then despair gives way to horror. You were in such a rush to make a new batch….and the salt was in an identical crystal bowl as the sugar…..

“Napoleon, don’t eat anymore! I mixed up salt and sugar!”

“Dieu merci”, he mutters, setting down the half-eaten monstrosity and then at the look on your face, his eyes widen. “Nunuche?”

You can’t help it. You've started laughing. “You….were eating that horrible thing. My god. I am so sorry….I…” Your words are being swallowed by your relieved giggles. The cookies were truly awful. It really wasn’t you. 

Your laughter sparks his own and he reaches out, taking your hands in his and pulls you down onto the edge of the bed next to him. The sound is warm and welcoming and when mingled with yours, it's music to your ears. 

“Y-you were going to keep eating that…that…salt lick, weren’t you?” The idea of him choking down those terrible accidents fills you with equal parts amusement, affection and admiration of his kindness. 

He squeezes your hands, nodding even as he laughs, his gaze downcast as he takes in the sight of your hands in his, a perfect fit. When he looks up, you’re still laughing, softly, eyes bright as you meet his gaze. And then like magnets, you’re both leaning in at the same time, unable to resist each other’s pull, hands gripping each other tightly as the laughter trickles away at the press of his lips to yours. 

Your heart explodes with sunlight, warmth spilling forth from its chambers and filling you with a glow that only he can ignite. A small, final, breathless laugh escapes you and you feel the curve of his smile against your mouth before he begins moving his lips in earnest, his kiss blossoming from something small and contained into something bigger, something new and beautiful and utterly delicious.

When he pulls away, your lips parted in silent protest. He inhales, then gifts you a smile that would brighten even the darkest of midnights. He lifts your hands to his lips, placing a kiss on the top of one, then the other. You allow yourself to be so bold as to run a hand over his soft hair like you’ve been aching to do ever since you laid eyes on him.

“I believe," he murmurs, turning his face to where your raised arm is stroking his hair and placing a kiss on the inside of your forearm, “that this may be the key to removing the taste of your well-intentioned but dreadful treat.”

Again laughter bubbles up from within, from this new-found well of happiness that Napoleon has formed in your heart.

“Is that so?” Your voice is soft with tenderness, effervescent with joy, warm with desire.

He nods, reaching out and winding an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Oui. I am sure of it.” His gaze is bright. Playful. Sultry. 

He leans in, capturing your mouth again like the conqueror he is. 

Et tu te rends joyeusement.

And you surrender happily.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @bubblexly