#waltz shut up and draw cats

[ncis-nerd]

The Case Of The Purring Kitten

grey novemeber au

older!nat x reader

Liho purred in your arms. Nuzzling her head against your ankle. The sweet little kitty of Natasha's had made her way into your room. Of course you were shocked when the cat just strolled in like this was a casual occurrence.

You didn't complain though, you loved that kitty. She smelled like Natasha and meant a lot that even her cat wanted to be around you. You stroked the cat as you continued to draw in your sketchbook. A purr escaped from Liho.

When you were close to finishing, you swapped your 2b pencil for a heavier pencil, Liho jumped out of your lap. Appear she was making her rounds because she just waltzed out of your room. That silly cat.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

Later that day, there was a knock in your door. You had been locked up in your room all day. There was no meeting planned for today so who could it be? "Come in" you mumbled, wrapping up in your latest art project. Natasha made her way into your room. You jumped, not expecting it to be the the red-head, you immediately shut your notebook. Not wanting to ruin your surprise.

Natasha looked at you, furrowing her eyebrows. "Hiding something, hun?' She glared at you. You shook your head and looked at her with your doe eyes, knowing that would distract her. And it definitely did.

She loved seeing you so wide-eyed. So innocent. Nothing but love and pure thoughts behind those eyes. She cooed at you and caressed your back. "hi honey, you still here with me?" she gave you a gentle smile.

You nodded, "m' here natty. want you though" you mumbled, fidgeting with her hoodie drawstring. Her eyes widened at your statement. "What do you mean hun?" She looked at you, her cheeks turning red. Obviously not expecting your boldness. "wanna lay down in your lap, want you to hold me" you mumble.

She smiled at your innocent request. Of course that's what you meant, she mentally facepalmed herself. She gladly took up your offer, taking you into her lap. Your head laid in her lap, she stroked your hair as your eyes began to flutter. "go to sleep, angel." she whispered softly.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

It was later that day, Natasha had retreated to her room, allowing you to get back to business. The so called business was the drawing you were working on earlier. You had finally finished and made your way to Natasha's room. Natasha is gonna love it!

You knocked her door and slipped the folded up drawing under her door before retreating to your room.

Natasha opened the door, she saw no one so she closed it. Huh that was odd, she thought. She felt something beneath her foot. It was a paper, she picked it up. As she unfolded it, a beautifully drawn picture of Liho appeared. Y/n. Of course, this was so kind. Her heart melted your generosity.

She wanted to make it up to you.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

Your favorite activity with the russian is to drink hot chocolate and watch a movie wrapped up into her. She grabbed your favorite fluffy blanket of hers, a bunch of pillows, some a big bowl of popcorn and rich hot chocolate.

She opened up the TV to the streaming platform, leaving it for you to choose the movie. all that was left was to grab you. The older woman made her way to her room where you had been reading a novel you bought recently.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

You were humming the tune of that new song by Taylor Swift when you heard a knock at your door. Who could that be? You assumed it would be the russian, especially after giving her your drawing earlier and fleeing. your stomach turned in knots, nervously you stood up to open the door.

You were greeted with the green-eyed spy giving you a warm smile. "Hey honey, I love the gift you gave me! As a thank you, I have a little surprise in the living room. Please join me?" She spoke softly, waiting for a response. You blushed, this was so kind of her. You didn't expect something in return. Just wanted to show how much you love her little fluff ball. "Natasha you didn't have too.. but I'm glad you like the drawing!" You said, shyly.

Natasha took your hand and led you to the living room where she had a pile of blankets- the kind you like, hot chocolate- your favorite, popcorn- you NEED popcorn whenever watching a movie. Your eyes started to tear up. "Natasha, wow... This is.. Amazing" you gasp.

The russian admired your reaction. You were adorable, her hand found it's place on your back and motioned for you to take a seat. "Wanted to show you how special you are to me, dove." She hummed, handing you the remote to pick out a movie.

----☆-------☆-----☆----☆-----☆-------☆----

taglist: @ssa-shaylam @madamevirgo

[lalunanymph]

Ooh what about guilty as sin with hanma?!

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍 [*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dawn.🕹️ ttpd]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ what happens when you throw everything away for a man you could never love?

The lights swinging overhead of this grimy diner in the middle of the night is the only witness to the tears carving down your leeched cheeks.

Clutching your wedding ring in hand, you play with the cool band, ruminating on what you had done just a few hours ago—how you had completely up and destroyed your own marriage.

Before you can formulate a coherent thought, the bell rings, drawing your attention to the 6’5 frame of your secret lover waltzing into the diner.

He siddles up to you, bleached blonde locks falling into his sharp eyes like a sly cat, smelling of nicotine and bad decisions. 

Hanma crowds you against this greasy booth’s wall, uncaring of the scandal he would cause when he places the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I heard what you had done. Are you sure?” 

He traces the river of mascara snaking down the valley of your sweet face, his low voice a resonating timber which makes a shiver run down your spine.

You lean into his touch, unable to fight back the rational voice yelling in the back of your mind; drowning her out in favour of feeling the hard calluses of his palm on your softer skin. 

Those tattoos stamped on the back of his hands feel like they could bleed into your thighs, marking you as his when Shuji drags you into his lap, clutching you tightly to his chest.

“They’re gonna kill you, doll.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I know.” Bravely, your voice doesn’t shake. This choice you had made—it might be the last you had ever taken in your short life.

“He’ll kill you.”

The wedding ring clasped in your palm feels like the last stone that would drag you under the river’s current; the water rushing up to your neck.

And yet, you don’t falter or break. 

“I know.”

You’re drenched in his piney, spicy fragrance; the muskiness of old tobacco.

“I won’t let him kill you.”

The clock on the wall ticks, filling the space with the sounds of an impending time bomb about to blow. A waitress clears her throat. Someone sets a cup down on the counter. You feel their eyes on you, your back an open target for anyone to sink their bullets into.

But, you know the man holding you would push you behind his body; shield you with his undying love.

“I know.”

The light refracts off his dark eyebags, his air of fatigue driving a sliver of guilt straight into your soul. 

You pry your face from his neck, staring into his gorgeous golden eyes with a fiery determination that took him aback. 

“Let’s run away. Tonight. Now. They can’t find me when I’m with you—his men can’t touch me.”

It was a throwaway plan; a desperate woman’s last prayer before the guillotine swung down. You held your breath. 

Shuji’s impassive face betrayed not a hint of his true feelings. You feel your confidence waning, the band around your chest constricting hard enough for you to choke out a soft sob.

Instantly, his hands cup your cheeks, tracing your cheekbones, your trembling lips.

“Are you sure?” His usual deep voice was fraught with tension and insecurity. “Is this what you want?”

You’re nodding before he’s done speaking. “They were always saying how I was unworthy and I will never amount to anything. But, with you, I’m something, Shuji. I’m more than his wife. I’m more than his scapegoat. I want to be yours.”

Baring your heart to such an equally dangerous man was a gamble you would take. All your longing smeared across your palette, your teeth, like indelible stains coming to light under an ultraviolet flash.

You’re almost losing hope. Almost submitting yourself to your horrible fate once your husband finally sinks his claws in you. You calculate the hours you have left before the gun of justice will trail upon the dome of your skull—even if you hadn’t given into the impulsive thoughts. Hadn’t fucked your lover while still with your husband.

Was there such a retribution for a cheater who had yet cheated?

How could you be guilty of a crime you had yet to commit? 

Shuji stops your train of thought, tightening his grip on your cheeks till your lips pucker and your eyes widen.

“Let’s do it,” he says solemnly, then grins like a maniac. “I’m with you doll—forever. Let’s dip tonight. You and I.”

Your heart explodes and your voice catches. You grip his hands holding your face, fighting back your frenzied smile.

“I’m with you, Shuji,” you pledge, and it’s a promise you would uphold as holier than your old wedding vows. 

“Forever.”

©️ lalunanymph

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Yes yes, Morgan was on duty doing very important Captain things. However, Celci would be bemused to turn around and discover they had been yanked away somewhere along the corridor between the Bridge and Cryo. In Life Support, Yancy had gotten his hands on some glass jars to turn into little lanterns, and had placed a towel behind the control panel. He grinned like the cat that got the cream as he encouraged them to sit down at what was likely the best recreation of a picnic that he could manage. There was even a paper plate of familiar desserts that one of the kitchen staff had lamented to Morgan earlier had vanished. "When we gets to that new planet, we're fucking off for a whole weekend on vacation, and we're having a picnic." That was a promise he was adamant on keeping, sealed with a quick kiss. "And even if it ain't on this exact date, it'll still be our Valentine's Day getaway because, fuck's sake, we never got a chance to do nothing for ourselves, what with everyone poking their heads in and telling us -"

The door whizzed open so reveal an irate Celci. Oops. (theauthorlives :D )

Their job had been relegated to, for lack of a better term, Floor Manager. They still had to be present, of course. Oversee the progress down on the planet, make biweekly reports back to Houston regarding their colonization status, prevent Mack from overstepping; etcetera etcetera. They were in the middle of such discussion with Celci, discussing waking up a select number of colonists who had construction experience prior to volunteering for the mission. At least they had been, until Yancy waltzed on by, snagging Morgan's elbow with his, as casual as a Sunday jaunt. The question was answered as soon as Yancy opened to door to Life Support with all the flourish he could muster, grinning ear to ear as he proudly presented the humble, heartfelt picnic he had somehow managed to put together under their nose. The madlad had even managed to sneak desserts away from The Chef (a man who looked and sounded eerily familiar to the one back at Happy Trails. And their date with Mark. And the Diner... huh...). The pieces clicked together, and Morgan smacked their forehead once Yancy had pulled away. Valentine's Day. It had completely slipped their mind, which was extra embarrassing, because Morgan was 90% sure they had lamented that they wouldn't be able to enjoy all the marked down Valentine's Day candy the day after.

Spending a weekend down on the planet with Yancy was the least Morgan could do after so completely forgetting to get him anything. They already gave him a bracelet; it would be tacky to make him another. And they couldn't write poetry, or draw, and any attempts at baking would probably poison him. But he'd eat every single bite anyway because he was amazing like that-

Celci audibly cleared her throat from behind the doorway, arms crossed and hip popped out. Morgan reluctantly stepped away from Yancy to address the head of Cryo

"We can put a pin in this," They signed, gesturing to Celci's tablet. "I promise I'll consider your proposal, but for now-" Morgan tapped a few commands into their own PDA

"Acknowledged: Captain's Birthday Bash Protocol Enabled. Please refer to Head Engineer for further instructions and/or questions." The shipboard AI announced loudly. Celci's mouth popped open as confetti and balloons drifted down from somewhere above them, a jaunty electro tune playing over the PA. For her part, she looked more flabbergasted that Mark had been put in charge, rather than the spontaneous downpour of party favors from above. Morgan bobbed their head to the rhythm an shut the door, spinning on their heel to look at Yancy with a grin and two thumbs up. Crises (and duty) successfully averted.

[pagetreader]

"Make you?" he echoed, drawing back from her as though she’d suggested something entirely unspeakable. "Madam, so long as you come into my quarters at the behest of my authority, that means you are under my command. Or do you think you are at liberty to waltz into this camp whenever it fancies you?"

“And how do you handle those that undermine your authority?” she contested, stepping forward with rising need, her steps like a prowling cat, “What do you do in the face of blatant insubordination?” 

Before Nina could blink, she was once again seized and found herself crashing onto the war table, the map and once carefully placed markers ruined by their thrashing verve as their lips collided. The familiar taste of him was dulling her sensibility as she reached up to grasp at his face, spilled ink staining her hand and marking his cheek. 

Without warning, Major Tallmadge breached her defenses and invaded her heat, forcing his fingers as deep as he could manage and causing her to gasp in ecstasy. 

Against her ear, he huskily whispered, "It seems like I didn't have to make you."

She shivered, aching for him as she tugged him forward by the lapel of his coat. 

Eagerly rolling into his palm, Nina bit down harshly along his pulse, dizzied from the sensation of his toying – at least until he switched tactics and withdrew altogether. 

Clever arsehole. 

"What's wrong?" he panted, eyes wild from the spontaneity of their promiscuous behavior, "If you want me to continue, I suppose you should make me."

Though she was irritated by his withdrawal and his bloody tricks, Nina smirked, just a little bit impressed that he would think to taunt her in such a manner. With a breathy chuckle and fire in her eyes, she shoved him back onto the table, its foundation creaking as she crawled atop him, stealing hungry kisses as she ardently grinded against his erection. 

“Do you ever shut up?” she asked, a hand snagging through his hair and tugging roughly before claiming his mouth again.

“If they’re reserved for men, then why are you among them?” Nina challenged. 

Benjamin mirrored her sneer, his upper lip curling into the beginnings of a snarl. "If you found my manhood so reprehensible, then perhaps you shouldn't have been so eager to serve up your mutton."

He instantly regretted the words as they left his mouth, though he did not retreat -- no, he needed to see this through, because Nina was the type to attack, to decimate, and devour until she got to the soft underbelly.

Even with his hand on her chin and her hot, hitching breath catching between their lips, Benjamin did not feel in control. Somehow, this woman caught him off-guard, made him weak, and trying to mask the tremble that kept shuddering up his spine, he attempted sternness as they locked eyes.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Finally, Nina's brow quirked challengingly as she looked him over, the devil-may-care smirk he'd grown to loathe lighting up her entire face as she dared him, “Make me.”

Benjamin drew back, astounded.

"Make you?" he echoed, his teeth gritting. "Madam, so long as you come into my quarters at the behest of my authority, that means you are under my command. Or do you think you are at liberty to waltz into this camp whenever it fancies you?"

The faux innocence in Nina's sneer made Benjamin's blood boil, and God help him, the throbbing ache in his breeches worsened. Without warning, he seized a fistful of her hair and crashed his mouth into hers, the intensity of their kiss almost painful as they staggered back and fell upon the table. Amidst their frantic collision, map markers toppled from the force, and a shock of ink spilled from a nearby inkwell, dotting one of the maps as Benjamin pushed, pulled, devoured beneath his harshly pressing mouth.

With shaky limbs, he started gathering up Nina's filthy skirts, much like how one would raise a mast, and after curling his hand between her legs, he pointedly rubbed along her sodden entrance, delving two fingers deep into her heat as he smeared his lips toward her ear. "It seems like I didn't have to make you," he huskily said, flexing and curling his fingers between her walls.

And then it all shifted.

Although it took considerable effort, Benjamin abruptly staggered back and slipped his hand from her skirts, his breathing hard and eyes wild with yearning as a soft, pleased little smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "What's wrong?" he mocked. "If you want me to continue, I suppose you should make me."

[bubble-masquerade]

HFHFJFHF AHHHH

I am so proud to present, Rowan!!! This is a complete reboot from their old design! You can find the very first draft sketch here that I did a while back, the second drawing of them here and also some sketches He has changed so much! Pls let me ramble but first click for better quality! And I do apologize, I'm very bad at glow effects and stuff. I love being dramatic with hair tho.

Rowan in their teen years! Yep! This isn't even the final draft :D I will be working on his adult design very, very soon!! But he is what started it all! I was gonna add purple hyacinth to the drawing but it looked awkward :/ And no, I didn't enter him in the oc comp haha. But anyway, his mutation.

He first got mutated while he was in highschool, very unfortunate. The last thing he touched was a cat in an occult shop lmao. Yeah, that's what I'm going with 😂. He ended up leaving school completely and also lost his friends besides one or two. So he was almost completely a shut in type person but luckily his parents offered all the support they could for him even though they both were at a loss as to what to do.

Years later though he left town for a bit with his two friends to go on a camping trip... And then they got news that new York was under attack by the Krang. His parents ended up dying and it basically broke him. He blames himself some, thinking that if he was home he could've been there to save them. That he'd be able to do something. After the Krang got sent back he had nowhere else to go. Their home was destroyed and they couldn't exactly go waltzing about NY looking... Well like that. So they lived hidden in the streets. And then they managed to find a portal to the hidden city and also found witch town where he made his own living. And then found the kids! I don't want to give too much away, but if you have questions it's okay to ask!

[waltzdrawswarriors]

Can I just take a minute to talk about TigerDove and why it’s fundamentally good? Because I have some feelings. I know the ship got a lot of hate during OotS and I think a lot of that came from the fact that it was fun to hate on Dovewing and because of all the drama that kinda surrounded it, but really it wasn’t any worse than any other forbidden romance.But honestly? I want to make the case that this was a forbidden romance done (in my opinion) properly.

Because when we really think about it, Dovewing really set a precedent for forbidden romances that has never really been done, per se? Sure, Oakheart suggested doing something similar in Bluestar’s prophecy, but since then, most forbidden romances have just pined aimlessly for each other, or straight up just decided that this relationship they were risking everything for wasn’t worth it in the end. But Dovewing ultimately deciding that she’d just straight up join ShadowClan? That was iconic.

Honestly what I think I respect the most is that she doesn’t agonize over it when she makes the decision to return to the Clans but keep her family together. I mean she wasn’t really receiving the best treatment in ThunderClan anyway, I mean we’re really gonna sit here and act like Ivypool wasn’t being icy and vindictive towards her just because Tigerheart had come into the picture? She was already under suspicion from her Clanmates for that relationship, and honestly, the treatment her children would have received in ThunderClan was super apparent by how frosty the Clan was towards the kits when she returned, and this was even before they knew she was there to say goodbye.

She has no ambitions for leadership to keep her in ThunderClan, and her strongest tie (Ivypool) has already been severed, and ShadowClan’s population is practically 10 cats max, while ThunderClan is sitting pretty at 50+; ShadowClan needs her and her kits more than ThunderClan does. So she leaves with Tigerheartstar. Totally fair, and it makes perfect sense. And on top of that? She DEVOTES herself to her new Clan and Clanmates, and becomes a respected cat in ShadowClan which puts her in a way better position than she was in prior, as ThunderClan liked to conveniently forget that she legitimately helped save all the Clans in the Great Battle just a few seasons before.

And can we talk about how sweet they are with each other? Look after seeing the disrespect that the Erins did to Bramblesquirrel in Bramblestar’s Storm and Squirrelflight’s Hope, it is so nice to see just a loving, functional relationship. Tigerheartstar takes her thoughts and feelings into consideration in most everything he does, and she advises him on clan matters arguably more that Cloverfoot, his deputy, does. She genuinely cares for and loves her new Clanmates and doesn’t feel conflicted or divided by her old allegiance in ThunderClan, like she legitimately is a ShadowClan cat now, and I LOVE that. I mean honestly? We could have had that with Graystripe, and we got a taste of it with Finleap, although he did significantly more complaining about it. But Dovewing straight up switching Clans and just truly settling in and supporting her new Clan? Iconic.

And don’t even get me started on how they parent. They are so active and involved, they with how much they care about their children and what loving, supportive parents they are. They would move StarClan and earth for their kits, and it shows. Their kits come to them for advice, they comfort their children when they are sick or hurt, they were distraught when Shadowsight went missing, and would not accept that he had died, and even when their faith wavered and it was suggested he was murdered, they still supported each other through a really traumatic time. What other set of parents had been shown to do that on screen?? Firestar and Sandstorm? Maybe? But really no one else. Contrast that with Ivypool and Fernsong who’ve really just left their kits to fend for themselves. Bristlefrost is hated by her Clan on the basis they think she’s doing the wrong thing? Not a peep from her parents. Not even from Ivypool. IVYPOOL, who was manipulated by Hawkfrost, who knows what it’s like to act as a spy, not even a peep, she couldn’t care less. It’s obviously a product of bad writing, but still. And then Flipclaw is decreed medicin cat against his wishes, and they kind of stand by. Even Lionblaze meant to protect Spotfur when she got in trouble, and yet, Ivypool and Fernsong do nothing. At all. But I digress.

You can say what you’d like about Tigerheartstar and Dovewing, but the fact remains is that they’re one of the few explicitly and consistently healthy relationships in the series, a prime example of how forbidden relationships can work, and they are darn good parents.

[martyrmurdock]

frank “mattress boyfriend” castle

♡ note: mayhaps i will write a drabble about matt “weighted blanket bf” murdock

♡ pairing: frank castle x gn reader

♡ word count: .6k

♡ tags: fluff, frank calls reader “sweetheart”

“You’re s’comfy,” you slur, words steeped in sleepiness as you rub your cheek against Frank’s bare chest, not dissimilar to a cat. “Warm too.”

A gravelly sound forms in Frank’s throat, gently rumbling through you. The corner of his lips quirks up into a small smile, terribly soft around the edges, when you lift your head and glare at him. It’s hard to find you intimidating or to take you very seriously when your glare melts into a more pouty expression.

“Are you laughing at me?”

Your brows draw together, a crease forming between them as your pout deepens, your lower lip jutting out even further.

A low, throaty chuckle bursts free from Frank’s lips, finding too much amusement in the situation. His chest vibrates before his laughter tapers off, leaving behind a smile on his face that’s overflowing with fondness, incredibly uncharacteristic of the man known as the big bad Punisher. That is, unless he’s with you.

Frank lifts a hand off your back and gently smoothens out the crease between your brows with his thumb before leaning forward slightly and pressing a kiss to that small space. His hand trails down the side of your face, caressing your cheek briefly- his fingertips dancing across your skin in the sweetest waltz- before he affectionately rubs your earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. Your previous ire is quickly forgotten as you melt like snow in the light of the morning sun under his ministrations, making a noise in the back of your throat that sounds awfully like a purr.

“Yeah,” Frank admits, unwilling to lie to you. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t sound terribly apologetic (not at all actually), but you don’t mind too much. You were never really mad in the first place, not truly, so forgiving Frank comes to you easily.

“Mm,” you hum, pretending to contemplate whether or not Frank is deserving of your forgiveness. Your head lolls to the side, further into Frank’s touch as a soft sleepy grin spreads across your cheeks, a clue as to what your answer is. “I suppose-” A long yawn interrupts you in the midst of speaking, making your eyes flutter shut. Your eyes are half-lidded when you crack them open again after you’re done yawning. You slowly blink at Frank, affection so painfully apparent in your gaze. It swims in the depths of your hues, swirling in a way that Frank finds damn near hypnotizing. “I s’ppose I accept your apology.”

His hand slides to cup the side of your face, thumb sweeping over the swell of your cheek. His touch is feather-soft. His movements are careful and calculated, everything done with precise intention. Frank doesn’t touch you in a way that suggests you’re fragile like he’s afraid you may shatter in his grasp, but in a way that implies that you’re something to be adored, admired like a great work of art should be.

“How kind of you,” he drawls, low and quiet. His eyes, dark as midnight itself, trace over your facial features as he rubs his thumb back and forth, following the curve of your cheekbone. “You should go to sleep, sweetheart,” he soon says afterward, obviously taking notice of your inability to keep your eyes open for any longer than a few seconds at a time.

“Okay,” you give in with no resistance, feeling the pull of sleep tugging at the corners of your mind. Frank’s hand falls away from your face as you lie your head on his chest once more, making a sound of contentment as you nuzzle into him. “G’night, Frankie,” you sleepily mumble, tenderly brushing your lips against his skin, “I love you.”

The last thing you process before you fade from consciousness and succumb to the sweet siren call of sleep is the soft rumble of “Love you too, sweetheart,” accompanied by a kiss to the top of your head. 

[giulolosblackmail]

[ID: Two full colored official digital drawings of Peerless Beauty Theater Event partners from the Chinese mobile game Helix Waltz.

In the first image Juven Sakan stands with a book in hand. There is a large, brown and black long-haired cat with pointed ears curled around his shoulders. Both Juven and the cat have bright green eyes and are winking. Juven’s long golden hair is tied into a braid that goes down to his waist, while the dark red robe he wears goes down to his ankles. There is gold embroidery and beading on his robe and it is tied shut with a golden tasseled cord. He is wearing a pink, silk collared shirt with a deep V, dress pants, and matching black dress shoes.

The second image is of Magda Ellenstein dressed as Mata Hari. She is dancing, her full red and orange skirt flaring out as she moves, gold beads and chains and stitching catching the light. She spins shimmering silks, also covered in gold beading, through the air as she dances. She wears a revealing bralette made of gold chains and beads to match those jangling on her waist, skirts, arms, fingers, and neck. There is a feathered headpiece held in place in her short close curled hair by a golden circlet.

/End ID]

A little bit about the partners this time around. The set matching Juven is based on Margaretha Geertruida Zelle, stage name Mata Hari, an exotic dancer living in France during WWI. While traveling outside of France, she accepted 20,000 francs from a German diplomat to spy for Germany. She never sent any information back to Germany after leaving, and claimed she only accepted the money to make up for the expensive luggage that was lost due to harassment from German border guards. This unnamed German diplomat was rumored to have been one of her previous lovers and, while never named, has been given the name Mühlbach for the event and made into a German spymaster.

Though the "true" ending for this quest claims that Mata Hari was guilty in some way of spying, either for the French or the Germans, it is much more likely that she was set up by both German telegraphs and the French government as a punishment for taking money and then refusing them both, as well as being a public figure that traveled across borders during the war, and having many lovers inside and outside of Paris. She was convicted by a French kangaroo court that could present no evidence against her and summarily executed, after which the French government used her as a scapegoat for the deaths of over 50,000 french soldiers - all of which were due to corruption and incompetence within the government itself - creating the much more well known story of the legendary femme fatale; Mata Hari.

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: This is canon-adjacent in that I just decided to pick and choose who I wanted to write for and what parts of canon I wanted to use. Best not to think too hard about where it falls on the timeline because the canon is a mess and we all kind of hate it anyway.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter One

You’ve been tracking him for days, not that it was hard. His patrol schedule is always the same, as is his after-hours routine: drinks at the Irish pub on Reade Street with the other boys in blue. It’s a cop bar but you waltz right in, looking lost even though you know the name, rank, and various misdeeds of every guy in the place. He looks at you, because of course he does—his wife assured you that he has a wandering eye, among his other sins.

You take a seat at the bar. “Double vodka rocks, please.”

The bartender pours you your drink and you take a deep pull, savoring the burn of it. Then you wait, but it doesn’t take long—it never does. Sergeant Thompson sidles up to the barstool next to you.

“Hey darlin,” he says, his breath reeking of cheap beer. “You lost?”

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “Evening, officer.”

“It’s Sergeant,” he says, tapping his badge, “but I won’t hold that against you. So, what’s a pretty young thing doing in a dive bar with a bunch of old men?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner but she bailed on me. Figured I’d grab a drink before I head home.”

“And where is home?” he asks, not that it’s any of his business, but cops think they deserve answers to any questions they feel like asking.

“Williamsburg,” you lie.

“You’re pretty far from home, then,” he replies, even though you both know that you aren’t. He takes a sip of his beer and the foam leaves a trace like a mustache before he licks it clean. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me drive you? Wouldn’t want you on the subway this time of night.”

“It’s only 8:30,” you say. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, I really shouldn’t be telling you this—open investigation and all that—but we’ve been on the lookout for a guy in the area, serial rapist, real nasty piece of work.”

That’s one thing the two of you have in common at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you home, darlin.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you admit. “Can’t get much safer than the NYPD, right?”

He laughs and so do you, knowing that nothing is farther from the truth—especially when it comes to this guy.

Sergeant Thompson speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge with his flashers on, headed toward the address you gave him. Of course, that’s not actually your address—you don’t have a home anymore—it’s just one of many rundown warehouses in the neighborhood, variously used for impromptu raves and as drug dens and, in your case, a private place in which you can take care of business without fear of being interrupted.

“This is me,” you say, waiting for him to let you out of the back of the cruiser where he insisted you ride—caged in like a helpless animal, or so he thinks.

“This place?” he asks. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do to these places on the inside—gentrification and what have you. My rent is astronomical.”

“Still,” he says, “I’d like to walk you up. Looks a bit unsavory.”

“If you insist, Sergeant.”

The second you get up the stairs to the top floor, you inject him with the etorphine, straight into the jugular, and down he goes. It never gets old—how easy it is, when they think that they are the predator and you are the prey. You drag him into the loft where you’re already set up for a long night’s work.

When he comes to, he’s fixed to the chair with (among other things) his own handcuffs, mouth taped shut and a rag shoved in for good measure. You don’t want to hear him talk; it’s time for him to listen. His day of reckoning has come. He starts to squirm but between the cuffs and the duct tape and the sedative still coursing through his veins, he’s not going anywhere. Even if he did get free, you could take him down easy. It’s what you were trained for. It’s what you were born for.

“Welcome back, Sergeant,” you say, and he screams something unintelligible through the rag which, if you had to guess, would be some combination of “cunt” or “bitch” or any of the other choice words he likes to use on his women.

The tarps are laid meticulously around the room, placed strategically to catch any and all evidence of what you’re about to do. When he notices them, he goes still, because he knows. Part of him knows.

“So,” you say, pulling out the Thompson file, “this is quite the impressive resume you’ve got here, Sarge. Lots of civilian brutality complaints, including a few choice allegations from female prisoners. Oh, and then there’s the domestic violence and marital rape. You’re a real charmer, huh?”

There’s more muffled screaming but you ignore it—the last gasps of a dying man.

“Here’s the thing, Sarge. I know you think that you’re above the law, because you are the law, but you aren’t. Your wife is real tired of your shit, and me? Well, let’s just say that my motto is protect and serve.” You lean in close enough to smell the salty sweat on his brow. “And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

You pull your favorite knife from your thigh holster and slit him from ear to ear. “See you in hell, Sergeant.”

You sit on the edge of the table, swinging your legs and watching him bleed out. It doesn’t take long. The actual disposal is the real work. You set about chopping him into manageable pieces and you find yourself missing the days when you didn’t have to cover your tracks alone, when there was a clean-up team to take care of it for you.

But you’re freelance now. You’re not a Widow anymore. She made sure of that.

Sometimes—like right now, when you’re dripping sweat and every muscle in your body is screaming its exertion as you saw through bone after bone—you hate Natasha Romanoff. You know why she did what she did; you understand that, objectively, it was the right thing to do. But did she ever stop to consider the repercussions of her actions? She got out early and found a new family and became one of the Good Guys. But you? You entered the Red Room with nothing and you left with nothing.

They always said you were born to be a killer. It’s all you’ve ever known. So what exactly did she expect you to do? You may be free of the mind control, but you never had the chance to develop a mind of your own. Killing is all you know. At least now you get to pick your own targets.

Once you’ve got Sergeant Thompson all squared away, you pack him up in the trunk of his cruiser and drive upstate, listening to the 80s station you like. It occurs to you that most people have heard these songs a thousand times—so many times that they know the lyrics instinctively, can sing them without even having to think about it. It’s all new to you, though. You can’t decide whether it makes you sad to think about all you’ve missed or whether you’re lucky that you get to experience for the first time what everyone else is already tired of.

When you get to the farm, you dump Thompson in the holes you’ve already backhoed, then you hop on the Cat and fill them all in. You shoot a text to Mrs. Thompson from your burner—just a thumbs-up emoji—and she replies with a smiley face. It was only so long before he would have killed her; she knows it as well as you do. The only people that will grieve the dearly departed Sergeant Thompson are a bunch of assholes who are one false move from ending up in your web.

You didn’t charge Mrs. Thompson your usual rate—just what she could afford without drawing the attention and ire of the Mister. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, you even work pro bono. After all, you only kill people for money who you would happily kill for free. You consider it a service, something for the greater good of society. You’ll take money, sure—you need it to live and to continue your work—but not from people who can’t easily spare it.

You have standards. You have a code. That’s the difference between the you that served as a mindless weapon wielded by others and the you that decides for yourself how to use the gifts you’ve been given. No women. No children. No collateral damage. Only Very Bad Men who’ve done Very Bad Things. You don’t see the harm in it, not really, and as you settle into bed you come back to the thought you often have before a fitful night of sleep: who’s the real avenger, Natasha?

*****

Natasha wipes her brow and throws the rag down on the mat, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging half of it before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bucky has barely broken a sweat from their morning sparring session, and he doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s in an especially grumpy mood.

“This is a bad idea, Natasha.”

“To some people, maybe,” she says, “but I want to bring her in anyway. I don’t understand how you of all people are against me on this, Bucky.”

“Uh, for starters, she’s a serial killer.”

“That’s a bit of a harsh assessment, considering the circumstances. And do I really need to remind you that the same could be said about the two of us? That a lot of people still say that about us?”

Bucky sighs, because he knows she’s right, but this is different—you are different. “It’s not the same,” he grumbles, but he’s not entirely sure it isn’t, and that’s what’s really bothering him.

“Look,” Nat says, taking a step toward Bucky, “I need to try, ok? I know what she’s going through because I went through it, except she’s completely alone out there with nothing and no one. You and I… we had people behind us, helping us.”

“And what if she says no?” Bucky asks. “Are you just gonna let her go on doing what she’s doing? She’s killed… how many is it now?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath and Bucky looks at her expectantly. “What was that, Tasha?”

“25 people in the last 6 months,” she states, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Exactly,” he says.

“I would like to point out that they were all very bad people. So...”

“Tasha,” he says, and he puts his hand up to silence her. “I can’t help you on this. I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “You know what, Barnes? You’re real high and mighty for a guy who–”

Natasha stops herself when she sees the ice-cold look in Bucky’s eyes. “Go on. For a guy who what?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ll go on my own.”

“Well, good luck to you. Hope you don’t get your throat slit.”

Bucky stomps off and Natasha is left wondering if she’s about to make a huge mistake. She knows you’re volatile, that a part of you must resent her, but she needs to make it right. At the very least, she needs to try.

Natasha grabs her tablet and scrolls through the latest intel on your whereabouts. She’s just missed you in New York, but she thinks she’s got a jump on your next target: some coke dealer down in Miami with a predilection for underage girls. Just a brief glance at this guy’s file is enough to make Natasha’s blood run cold. She knows why you do what you do. If she’s honest, it doesn’t bother her one bit that you’re doing it. It’s the thought of you out there on your own, filled with hate and anger and thirsty for bloody vengeance, that frightens her. Because maybe one day—left to your own devices, lost in the chaos of your troubled mind—getting the Bad Guys won’t be enough for you. Maybe you’ll decide that some of the Good Guys aren’t so good after all. Maybe you’ll even be right.

She contemplates being honest with Steve and telling him where she’s headed but decides against it. Steve isn’t on board with her plan. Natasha doesn’t fault him for it—he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t. Bucky, though... that’s a disappointment, and it surprises her. If anyone knows what it feels like to spend your life as someone else’s weapon, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Natasha waits until nightfall to “borrow” the Quinjet, and she finds Bucky waiting for her when she gets to the hangar.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, “but only as back-up. She’s dangerous, Natasha.”

“Maybe so,” Natasha replies, “but only because she’s afraid.”

*****

You knew that she’d be coming for you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Your little stilt cabin on the outskirts of the Everglades isn’t quite set up for company but at least it’s tucked away and difficult to access. You’re surprised she brought him, though—that was a mistake. You and she could have a nice long conversation, but you have nothing to say to the Soldat.

You climb up the tree to your lookout platform and hoist your sniper rifle onto your shoulder, following their slow but steady progress through the knee-deep swamp water, trying to line up a decent shot as they weave in between the bald cypress trees. When you see your chance, you take it, and you put one about an inch from where the Soldat’s metal arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. It ricochets off, as intended, and he jumps forward to shield Natasha. You hear her laugh through your earpiece.

“Relax, Barnes. It was a warning shot. If she wanted to hit you, she would have.”

“She did hit me,” he snaps.

You smile as you descend from the tree to meet them.

“Well well well,” you say. “If it isn’t the Murder Twins. To what do I owe this unwanted visit?”

“You know why I’m here,” Natasha says.

“Yes,” you reply, “but why is he here?”

The man she calls Barnes looks at you with disdain and you give it right back to him. You can tell that shot in the arm really pissed him off and it pleases you to no end.

“He’s just watching my back,” she says. “That’s what happens when you’re on a team.”

“Right, The Avengers. How adorable.”

“Listen,” Natasha begins, but you stop her.

“Let me save you the trouble of whatever little speech you have prepared. I’m not coming with you. I’m not going to Widow rehab and joining your ragtag group of misfits. And I’m not going to stop doing my work just because you come here and bat your eyes and smile pretty at me.”

“Your work?” spits the Soldat. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Let him talk, Romanoff,” you say. “He obviously has some… opinions. Now that he’s got the mask off, he can finally speak for himself.” You take a step towards him, your rifle in hand but not pointed at him. “So speak, Soldat.”

He looks flustered and not a little bit angry. You can tell he doesn’t like to be called by that name. “Killing people isn’t work,” he says.

You huff out a laugh. “And what is it that the two of you do, exactly? Run a coffee shop?”

“We are not the same,” he says, and you smile because you know that he doesn’t actually believe that—how could he after everything he’s done?

“I think we are exactly the same, Soldat, with one huge exception: you’re still letting other people tell you what to do, and I’m done with all that.”

“This is pointless,” he says.

“Now that is something you and I actually agree on.” You turn to Natasha. “You should go while you still can. I have work to do.”

But Natasha just won’t let it go. “I should never have left you alone,” she says. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” you snap, and you raise your rifle and point it directly at her head. “Leave, Natasha. And take your little pet with you.”

The Soldat grabs her arm gently. “Let’s go, Tasha. She’s hopeless.”

You feel a pang of something then—some indescribable form of melancholy. You try to keep it off your face but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees it. A minute tremble of your lip, the quick double blink—it gives you away, and now you’re really pissed off.

“Leave. Now,” you yell, and it pierces through the sweltering darkness. “I’ll make you sorry if you don’t.”

You watch Natasha and the bionic man make their way out of the swamp. You don’t turn your back on them, not that you think they’ll try to take you by force. That would be unwise and Natasha knows it. Once you’re satisfied that they’re gone, you return to the cabin. The bloodied man in the linen suit lays strapped to the bed where you left him, squirming and shouting around the gag in his mouth.

You have to stop yourself from making this a messy affair, but the anger you feel—at her, at him, at everything—is making it difficult to temper your darker urges. You’re not one for torture, even though this man absolutely deserves it for the horrible things he’s done. You almost give in, but you remind yourself that this is a job—it is work, despite what the Soldat may think—and you have to remain professional.

You grab the man’s file off the desk and pull a chair up next to the bed. “So, Mr. Garcia, where were we?”

CHAPTER TWO >>>

[duskholland]

What about a Soft!Mob!Tom where the reader is suuper pregnant and tom gets anything she needs (like cravings or something), and even cuddles her.

Love u

grrr this is so cute. so so so so so cute. thanks for requesting! cw: food. 

– it’s mob monday !! –

“How’s that, darling? Is that better?”

Tom’s looking at you, concern written across his face. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his shirt crumpled. For the last two minutes, he’s been fussing around you, trying to fluff up the pillow behind your back so you’ll be comfortable. It doesn’t matter how much you move and try to reposition—there’s been a sharp pain jabbing into your lower back for the last hour, and it’s been incredibly irritating.

You hum, shifting around slightly as you test the waters with this new position. A broad smile finds your mouth.

“Better!” You announce. You sigh as you lay back, your hand drifting to rest on the curve of your baby bump. You’re eight months pregnant, and though you’re enjoying your pregnancy for the most part, it’s grown tiresome. Your hormones are all over the place, your feet hurt all the time, and the cravings have been incredibly intense. 

“Can I get you anything else?” Tom asks. He reaches down to rest his palm on your belly, his pinky finger wrapping around yours. His eyes are tired but still so full of love, and you feel your heart do a backflip as you meet them.

“No, I’m okay.” You link your hand with his and squeeze him softly. “You should go back to your meeting. I’ll be fine here.”

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching together. “If you need anything—anything—you call me. Okay?”

You bite back the smile that threatens to seize hold of your features, and nod. Tom’s been incredibly protective for the entire duration of your pregnancy, looking after you more than you’d ever expected him to. He’s always taken care of you, but it’s been upped—he’s uneasy whenever he doesn’t have an eye on you and doesn’t like being away from you for too long. He’s incredibly doting, and giving, and patient, and you love him so much it makes your heart hurt.

“Go,” you urge, knowing he’d happily blow off another meeting for you. “I just need to rest. Go do your job, mister.”

He kisses the back of your hand before begrudgingly stepping away.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

For a while, you flick through the programmes on the large tv attached to the wall of your bedroom, only paying partial attention as you’re between sleep and consciousness. However, when a cooking show comes on screen, you find yourself waking up. You look at the screen, your eyes widening as they fall upon the delicious spread of food. Suddenly, you feel an incredibly strong, inconvenient craving come on.

You groan as you reach out, looking for your phone. You’re distracted by the tv as you write out some simple messages to Tom.

You: hey can someone get me one of those waffles from that market in camden pls You: a really big one with the strawberries and the syrup on You: please xxxx You: oh and cinnamon. thanks

Tom: give me ten minutes

You smile as you put your phone back on the mattress, stretching your arms out above your head as you sigh happily. Tom’s got men on the ground all across the city, so you don’t feel as bad as you did when you’d begged him to go out at 3am to bring you KFC. He’d done it, because he loves you, but you’d still felt guilty. It eases your heart to know he’ll probably just relay the message to someone else and then continue with his meeting, unbothered.

Instead, you find the bedroom door opening nine minutes later, and in strolls Tom, waffle in hand, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Here you go, my darling,” he announces. He passes you the plate and kisses your forehead before waltzing off to the side, his fingers going to his tie.

“Fuck,” you moan, taking the first bite of your food and feeling your tastebuds delight. “Thank you.” You look to Tom and frown as you see he’s stripping off. “Wait, what about your meeting?”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “You need me,” he says, stating it as a fact.

You nod along, deciding not to tell him that you needed the waffle, not him, because now he’s walking towards you, shirtless and in a pair of grey sweats, and you realise...yeah. You’d quite like a cuddle.

“Definitely,” you agree. You finish eating and Tom takes the plate, putting it on the side. He offers you a glass of water, then waits for you to finish that too before approaching the bed. “Ah, fuck. I need to pee.”

Tom briefly rolls his eyes, well used to this by now. “You always need to pee,” he teases. He pulls back the duvet and offers you both hands, which you gratefully accept.

“Yeah, well, try carrying around a baby, and maybe then you’d understand.”

Tom kisses your temple before you walk away. You’re quick through the bathroom, and you find yourself yawning as you dry your hands on one of the soft cotton towels. When you walk back into the bedroom, you discover it considerably tidier than you’d left it. Tom’s apparently passed over it like some sort of cleaning fairy, and he’s moved away all the scattered clothes and dress pillows. He’s sitting in bed waiting for you, the big light switched off, and he’s apparently just as prepared as you to have a nap despite it only being late afternoon.

“You’re very cute,” you say as you get back into bed. You snuggle down and Tom curls into your side, throwing one of his legs over yours as he presses his face into your neck. His hand goes to your bump as he kisses up your neck, very softly.

“What d’you mean?” He mumbles, voice quiet and soft. His fingers draw light circles over your belly, and you hum contentedly. Already, you’re feeling sleepier, just from the darkness in the room and the warmth coming off Tom’s figure.

“So attentive,” you say. “So sweet. So...soft.”

Tom grumbles into your neck. “‘M not soft.”

“Yes, you are.” You snuggle further into the duvet and smile into the darkness. “Ditching your meetings for me, bringing me whatever I want, cuddling me all the time… You’re a big softie, Tom. It’s cute.”

“Hmph.” Tom rubs your stomach gently. “I just want to make sure that you’re okay. Happy mum, happy baby.” You roll your eyes as he repeats the buzz phrase which has characterised your pregnancy. Happy mum, happy baby has been his mantra. You aren’t complaining. It’s worked out quite well for you.

“Yeah, but when the baby’s here, you’ll be ditching me for her.”

“Never, darling, never.” Tom chuckles as he kisses your jaw. “You’ll just need to share the spotlight. Can you do that?”

You bring a hand up to play with his hair. “I think I’ll be able to figure something out,” you reply. You’re quiet for a few moments, your eyelids falling shut as you let yourself relax. You’re very content, with Tom’s soft curls against your neck and his soft breathing fanning out across your skin. You feel full of love. “‘M sleepy.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers. Tom turns his head to kiss your shoulder. “I’m here.”

“Okay,” you mumble, yawning. One of your hands goes to rest on your stomach, and Tom repositions his palm so it’s resting on top of yours.

“Sweet dreams,” he coos. “Sleep well.”

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Blurb #9

Pairing- Spencer Reid x Female Reader

CW- none

Author’s Note- this comes from this ask by @leahblackk thanks so much for this love!! it was so much fun to write 💛 also sorry if it looks a little wonky I’m on mobile!!

Word Count— 2K (not really a blurb)

-

Studies show that the music we listen to at 14 years old is the most influential on our personality and development. Naturally, there’s some exceptions to this. Spencer, for one, tended to listen to classical music or the Beach Boys records his mother had around the house as a teenager. He still can’t listen to jazz without the bittersweet memories of Ethan coming back to haunt him. His music taste, in his opinion, didn’t really develop until Derek made him listen to his CDs on rides during their commute.

It wasn’t until he met his neighbor, Y/N that he learned just how impactful music can be on someone’s life. Spencer, despite Derek and Penelope’s efforts, doesn’t really enjoy modern music. There’s one expectation to that though: Y/N. Everytime she drags him over for late night dinners and movie nights, she always ends up putting a Taylor Swift album on her vintage record player. It’s like a ritual that either comforts her, hypes her up, or softens her heartbreak. Through the months that they’ve been friends, Spencer’s come to enjoy the music nights. There’s something about the way that she sings about love and life that is so familiar to Spencer. The day he realized, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Y/N makes all those magical, heartwarming, Taylor Swift songs make sense.

So everytime he goes over to her apartment, before he knocks he’ll listen for the music. It’s hard to not let his profiling instincts kick when he does this. Thanks to his eidetic memory, Spencer can recognize any of the songs with only a couple seconds of the lyrics.

On a sunny Monday, Spencer listens closely for the record player. He can hear the upbeat, dance tunes of New Romantics. Okay, he thinks. If Y/N is listening to that song, she’s probably happy. So he knocks on the door, a big smile on his face ready to listen to the happiest Taylor Swift songs with the girl he’s pining for and try not to reveal just how much he wants her to love him back.

“Spence! Come on, we’re dancing” Y/N shouts loudly above the music. Spencer doesn’t want to burst her bubble by telling her he doesn’t dance, so he takes her hand and dances his heart away.

In between the jumpy and laughter the song shifts. Y/N must be playing it from her Alexa because the next song is from a different album, Paper Rings comes on next. A song dedicated to the kind of love that probably makes the most sense to Spencer. He’d marry Y/N without any kind of ring- and that’s a terrifying thought.

“I love this song!” Y/N says, closing her eyes and dancing wildly, “You like this one too, right Spence?” she says above the loud music.

Spencer, unable to fully articulate how much he loves this song, decides to grab Y/N by the hand and twirl her around and around. She’s laughing and smiling, happy as she could be. Spencer’s thoughts shift from how beautiful she looks, to how easy this is. How simple loving her could be, but how hard telling her is.

The music slows, turning to Lover, a song that Spencer has dreamt of dancing with Y/N to on a white veiled occasion several times. This must be her happy playlist, Spencer thinks as she pull him close. They’re slow dancing and if Spencer closes his eyes and quiets his mind, he can trick himself into thinking she loves him back. Afterall she holds him like she does.

“I like this one the best,” Spencer whispers, his eyes still closed as he and Y/N sway to the beat of the song, “It’s comforting,” he explains.

“It’s a good wedding song,” Y/N says, resting her head against his shoulder, “like a first dance song,”

“It is,” Spencer says, “It’s actually in the proper beats per second to be a waltz, which is a common dance for a traditional first dance at a wedding,”

“Yeah,” Y/N says, pulling herself in closer to Spencer as she pets small circles into his soft cardigan. The spot where she touches leaves her mark; his heart has belonged to her for awhile now, but Spencer’s ready to give her whatever else she wants, “but dancing like this is also very nice,”

“Hmm,” Spencer says, not trusting himself to say anything else. The music switches again, and Spencer knows the song, probably before even Y/N. Dress comes on and Spencer really isn’t sure how he’ll get through listening to the sultry song that croons about pining after your best friend. Part of him seriously thinks he’s being stalked, because those songs perfectly encapsulate his love and his admiration for the girl next door.

“Oh, I got asked out on a date,” Y/N says, seemingly shocking Spencer out of his daydream, “at the coffee shop. His name is John, he seems nice,” she tells him, sounding a little nervous.

“That’s great, Y/N,” Spencer says, trying to put on a smile for his best friend, but fails to do so, “I’m happy for you,”

“Well it’s, you know. I think I just need to put myself out there and stop waiting around for my wild dreams to come true. Because after all your wildest dreams are just that, dreams,” she says, a little sadly.

“Call me after, Y/N, just to make sure you get home safe,” Spencer requests, he squeezes her hand, in what he hopes can be seen as a friendly gesture, despite him not wanting to let go.

“Of course, Mr. FBI,” Y/N teases, “Alexa, shut up! Hey, Spence, you want to order pizza. It’s been like a week since I watch Long Pond and I’ve got that itch that only listening to This Is Me Trying while stuffing my face with pizza and white wine can fix,”

“Sure, Y/N,” Spencer says, smiling through his heartbreak. He tries to not let Y/N see the tears that prickle in the corners of his eyes when the 1 comes on. It would have been fun, if he could have been Y/N’s “1”. Even in heartbreak, Taylor Swift can capture exactly what Spencer feels.

--

He almost didn’t bother checking by her apartment because he knew it’s her date with Jake or John, or whatever his name was. Spencer’s not a man to get jealous, he knows that Y/N doesn’t owe him her love just because he loves her. He knows that, but that doesn’t lessen the hurt of her falling for someone other than him.

As he walks by, Spencer’s ears catch the music coming from her apartment. He hears the unrecognizable twangy strum of the guitar and knows it’s going to be back news. Without thinking, Spencer rumages into his pocket, looking for his spare key to Y/N’s apartment. He unlocks the door and is greeted by Y/N’s cat, August, meowing at the door.

“Where’s our girl?” Spencer says, picking up the cat as he slips off his shoes, “hey, Y/N. It’s Spencer. I heard the music and I just thought I’d check in. I thought you were going out on your date?” he asks, finding Y/N curled up on the couch, with piles of tissues littered around her.

“Please, Spence. I’m a mess. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, especially you,” Y/N tells him, mopping her eyes up and petting her lap for August to jump up.

“Hey, hey, honey. You don’t have to worry about being a mess in front of me, I already think you’re amazing,” Spencer says, softly. He tries to gracefully avoid the spoiled tissues, he might be in love with Y/N, but he’s not in love with her used tissues.

“He-he stood me up,” Y/N stutters as a new wave of tears floods her face. Spencer leans over, shutting Alexa off. The sorrow, regretful tunes of Dear John turn off, leaving Spencer with the thought that it probably was an appropriate song to choose.

“I don’t even know why I try any more, Spence” she says, leaning into his body as he puts a comforting and protective arm around her upper half, “it’s useless. I’m doomed to be alone,”

“That’s not true, Y/N,” Spencer says, mumbling into her hair, “not at all. You’re amazing. You’re kind and so smart. You’re beautiful and you have great taste in music. Anybody would be lucky to date you,” he finishes, forgetting himself for a second as he kisses her hair. She smells like green apples and ivory soap.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend,” Y/N says. The emphasis on ‘friend’ giving Spencer a little hope at what she is subtly implying.

“What-what if I wasn’t? What if I wasn’t saying this as just a friend?” Spencer asks, daring to be bold and brave for once in his life. He couldn’t be bold and brave for Y/N, then who is he?

She must be thinking, because Y/N doesn’t say anything. Spencer’s mind instantly switches into full gear, thinking of how he’d get out of here all while sparing his feelings.

“Please don’t say those things, Spencer. Don’t say those things unless you mean it,” Y/N tells him, her voice sounding cold and far off, like she’s trying to put some distance between themselves to protect herself. Spencer’s mind ventures to take it as a good thing, when she doesn’t physically distance herself. She decides to stay with Spencer’s arms wrapped around her upper half and his hands drawing shapes on her back.

“I mean it, Y/N. I really do mean it,” Spencer says, sounding terrified, but feeling braver than ever. “I’d never lie to you about how you make me feel. Not anymore at least,” he explains, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“Can I show you something?” Y/N ask, her voicing sounding an awfully lot like Spencer’s with the mix of fear and tension and love fighting for dominance.

“Of course,” Spencer says, nodding into her hair and letting her go.

He watches and waits as she grabs her phone from the coffee table. Y/N launches her music app, but covers her phone so Spencer can’t see which playlist she’s choosing. Y/N has very curated Taylor Swift playlists kko that help her to either middle through her dark days or celebrate her happy ones.

The music starts and just within the first few notes Spencer can tell which song is playing. “Gold Rush,” he asks, of course getting it correct and making Y/N smile.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Y/N says, scooting in closer to Spencer so his chin rests over her head. “I don’t think you’ve heard this playlist yet,” she says, handing him her phone.

Spencer looks at the phone, reading the playlist title Songs That Remind Me of Spencer, but ends up having to do a double take.

“This song always reminded me of you, Spence. I think it just captures how beautiful you are and how scared I am that you’ll find someone that will make you feel that way. Someone that’s more beautiful and better for you—“

Spencer can’t hear it anymore so he does something that was only a figment of his imagination: he kisses Y/N. He holds her head in his hands, brushing gently on her temples. It’s wonderful and magical, and Spencer thinks that he could kiss her for his whole life. He wants to know what makes her whimper and whine or make her flush. He wants to know everything about her because he is her 1, just as she is his.

“You made a playlist for me?” Spencer says, breaking away from Y/N’s lips to kiss her face. All over her forehead, her cheeks and eyes. He kisses her like he can’t get enough and is only encouraged by Y/N giggles for approval.

“Of course I did, Spence. You’re just everything to me and I couldn’t quite say it myself. So I left it up to the best songwriter I know,”

“I’ll make you one, today. Tomorrow, everyday,” Spencer says, kissing Y/N’s hands and wrists, “I just want to make you happy and know how loved you are. Because I love you, Y/N” Spencer says

“Spence,” Y/N says, not quite able to articulate how much she loves him, kisses his forehead, “I love you. God. I love you so much. And I may or may not have re-written Hey Stephen as Hey Spencer,”

[witchypuffball]

Wednesday Answering the bingo all once under the cut!

It’s really cute! In my own little silly “headcanon” story of how the events of the games/universe go, I actually do consider the idea of Fluff crushing on Kirby considerably during their time together, and still does. my interpretation of Fluff is very... soft, to say, he’s innocent (unaware) and would act romantically in a prince-ly kind of way, idealistic, like a fairy tale. He invited Kirby to his family’s ballroom ((((*Thinks really hard about Utena ost*)))) Still, I’m not really multishipper, so It will always be one sided. He despises Marx for this but also for more and more things. Literally counterparts. Fish in the pool. The waltz of light blue~ 

FUNNIEST shit I’ve ever seen, makes me consider MK even for a little, I bet Dark Meta Knigh is the kind of man that flirts during a duel just to get his partner on their nerves, and with Meta knight he simply never shuts the fuck up nor is only when they are fighting “you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid”. Dameta once drew him unconsciously, much to think about I think that, if Mk wasn’t my least favourite character, i would like them (I dont hate him or anything, he’s cool and has a great design, but thats all for me) Ah, way too cheesy... Tangled up (remix)

Awawawa I’ve already talked about them! Maybe I miss the wave 3 gang, I haven’t done much about... And MaoRanza is also cute- I’d say Honeymoon Un Deux Trois (DongDang version) but it’s way too... perfect, I like their imperfections, so let’s say Wednesday by Tori Amos (mostly the melody, suprisingly hard to find a good song for them)

Btw, I still have to draw Taranza as a cat-maid with Susie in a handsome suit.

Daroach and Magolor?  Daroach is flirty by nature, but classy, Magolor’s a whore; Daro wouldn’t really respect him and Mago’s annoying so funnys ensues Despite that, I like that they both are quite similar while completely different, Magolor is full of himself and Daroach may love the riches but loves even more his people, so, combining the clash of ideals with similar objetives gives space to a more serious dive idk id draw something edgy Red and Blue mmh? Sorry, no song for them!

no bingo I consider this haha she was totally attracted to Francisca during SA events, i think she’d like femenity as a whole 🤔 probably kissed a girl coworker back then ...Susie and a female Haltworker huh... ---

That is all! Thank you, ill stop here :}

[labelleofbelfastcity]

hold my hand, it’s a long way down

1.5k, high fantasy royalty au, most of the details of which were provided by @capybart

read on ao3 here

Kalina smirks as she glides into the room, black furs gleaming around her shoulders and long train hissing across the floor. Riz, reflexively, takes a step back, as his eyes clock the false crown atop her head, the feline smile curving her mouth, and the knife in her hand, flickering in the candlelight.

“I trust you’re doing well,” she says, and keeps approaching until she’s standing right before him, staring him down.

Riz’s heart jumps a beat and his eyes dart around, trying to see where he can go, what he can grab, if it is even likely to move at all before that knife is sliding into his neck and tearing an ugly gash in his throat. “Not with any thanks to you.”

Kalina huffs, mouth quirking to the side, before she slumps down to sit on his bed, shoulders falling and head tilting to look at him. The black gem in the center of her diadem seems to dance like cold fire, drawing Riz’s eyes to it even as he tries to focus on a million and one other things. Unnatural, Riz thinks, with a sickening shock directly to his heart. And then he remembers the things people have always whispered about Kalina, words like witch and sorceress and Shadow Cat. Remembers those words and sees the way her eyes flash yellow in the candle’s flame.

“I’m disappointed in you, kiddo. I thought you’d figure out by now that this is all for you.”

“Where’s my mom?” Riz spits out, as he has done every time Kalina visits him in these much too fancy rooms, this much too fancy prison.

Kalina rolls her eyes, leans back on one arm, flips the dagger in her other hand, “Thought we got past that already.”

“I know you did something to her.”

“I didn’t do anything. Besides, she’s safe. She’s comfortable. What more could you ask of me?”

“I want you to give her back.”

“And I thought it was you, kiddo, who told me not too long ago that people weren’t toys. That they couldn’t be given and taken. Hm. Must be wrong about that.” Kalina flicks the tip of the dagger at him, holding it just a few inches away from Riz’s ribs, where she could slide it straight up and into his heart. “That’s not what I came here for, though. How’s the prince doing?”

“Aren’t you at court with him?” Riz spits out, and refuses to yield yet another step.

“Yes, yes. And he’s doing so well today, too. I’ve never seen a more attentive courter, practically glued to the Lady Aelwyn’s side. Which is funny, seeing as how we had to drag him from his rooms less than a week ago.”

“Fabian’s not planning anything,” Riz says, leaving out the because I am.

Kalina huffs, and taps the dagger against her own cheek, “I don’t know when you’ll learn. Everything you know, I know. I’m in your head, kiddo.”

Riz’s spine snaps straight as a scream he knows doesn’t exist sounds from his left, and then his right, screams that sounds like Fig and Fabian. Screams he only knows because of that day, weeks ago, when the Abernants and their holy warriors in gleaming sun-forged metal took the castle and forced the prince, Riz’s friend, the person Riz was supposed to protect above all else, to stab his father in the heart. Fig had screamed then, in rage, and tried to take the nearest knight out with a swing of her lute, and Fabian had screamed later, when the three of them were back in these rooms, in that soft, silent way of tears and grief and heartache and complete and total betrayal.

“See? That’s what you don’t understand,” Kalina says, standing once again. “That’s what I’m saving you from. I’m protecting your little friends because you’re useful to me. You don’t want to stop being useful to me, do you?”

Riz remains where he is, fighting back the nausea as the screams grow. Now, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, rooted to the spot by a clawed hand holding tightly onto his mind.

“Do you?” Kalina asks again, and this time she brings the knife up to Riz’s jaw, just under his ear. The cold pricks against his skin and Riz is so afraid.

“No,” he rasps out, and she smiles again, eyes crinkling. The screams immediately stop.

“Good.” The heavy handle of the knife drops into Riz’s hand, and his fingers close over it reflexively. It’s dangerous, to give your enemy a weapon. Dangerous, still, to give them a weapon they have no hope to use in any way that counts. “You can’t get away from me, bud. Just remember that.”

Riz snarls at her, “We’re going to stop you.”

Kalina clucks her tongue and begins to walk away, “The only way you’ll escape is if I want you to.”

The door swings shut behind her right as her hold over Riz’s body drops, and he sags a little, before startling upright again. She must know, there’s no way she doesn’t. Her knowing had not been a factor of the plan, despite everything pointing towards its likelihood. Really, how could Riz have been so stupid? He’ll need a few minutes to change things, modify them so that they can actually escape, can actually get out of here.

Fabian is trapped in this castle. Fig is trapped. Their new ally, the oracle Adaine Abernant, their friend, is trapped as well. He can’t risk their freedom for himself, can’t risk Fabian and Fig’s sacrifices and the dangerous line between family and safety Adaine is flirting with. He just… he’ll figure out another way. He just needs time.

The heavy sound of a wooden lute being swung against a head thunks from outside Riz’s door, and then it’s opening to reveal his friends standing on the threshold. No, no, no, this is happening too fast. He hasn’t had time to plan.

Fig lowers her lute from where it’s raised in the air, hovering around where the now unconscious guard’s head probably was less than a second ago.

“Shit, Riz, we need to go,” Adaine says, hoisting her skirts and sprinting for his window, the same window Riz had been preparing before Kalina waltzed in.

Fabian twirls his red, embroidered, very much not stealthy court cloak from his shoulders, slinging on the black one he’d stashed on Riz’s chair earlier. The cloak that Kalina had most certainly seen because Riz hadn’t bothered to hide it. “We have five minutes.”

Adaine throws the window open and immediately heaves one of her legs out of it, hair whipping slightly in the breeze. She reaches behind her and grabs Fig’s hand, pulling her up and onto the windowsill beside her.

They’ve discussed this plan ad nauseum for weeks. So it’s almost too easy for Adaine and Fig to leap from the window with nothing but a nod, not even noticing how Riz has yet to move from his spot.

“Alright, we’re next, The Ball,” Fabian says, and hoists himself up onto the windowsill, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders in preparation for the leap.

Riz moves, then, takes a step back, hands outstretched in a pleading way that doesn’t connect with the usual brave, cunning parts of himself, the parts that plan a castle escape and wind up as companion to the prince. “You can’t take me with you. Kalina, she’s— She’s in my head. She knows, Fabian. I can’t risk it.”

Fabian’s mouth tugs and he leans back into the room, grabbing one of Riz’s outstretched hands and tugging him forward, to the open window, to their one chance at escape. “I didn’t leave you behind before, I’m not about to start now.”

And Riz remembers, remembers the way he and Fig had fought tooth and nail during those first moments of the coup, before the King had fallen at his son’s hand. They’d bought Fabian a second of time, a moment to run, but he’d frozen, frozen as the knights grappled Fig and Riz, frozen with his sword hanging in the air, the wound on his face a bleeding mess.

“Go, Fabian,” Riz had screamed, Fig shouting as well.

Fabian’s sword clattered out of his hand, and he allowed himself to be grabbed by the knight who cut out his eye, to be dragged alongside Riz and Fig to that throne room, to where Kalina and the Abernants waited with King Bill Seacaster slowly bleeding out on his own steps.

“I couldn’t leave you, The Ball. I couldn’t lose you.” Fabian had said that night, once the tears were dry and Fig snored beside them.

“You won’t. We’re going to get through this together,” Riz had said and curled up tightly into Fabian’s side.

The memory flashes in Riz’s head, and then it’s gone, and Riz is back in his night dark room, wind from the open window brushing against his cheeks, and Fabian’s warm hand wrapped around his, pleading, in his own way, for him to follow.

Riz holds tight to the dagger Kalina had given him, the dagger he plans to hurl straight into her heart someday, and allows himself to be pulled out of the window.

[simp-for-mha-men]

𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟 (𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕒 𝕒𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

Request by @hermionie-is-my-queen​: Hey! Not necessarily a request, and kind of a scenario proposal: but imagine aizawa and reader adopted a cat a while back together, and the cat gets sick, or has to be put down, and it’s just some comforting fluff? Idk if this falls into the category of no angst so if it does instead maybe visiting a shelter to adopt a new kitty? Tysm anyway! Soft aizawa and soft kitties are my fav

A/N: Yes, yes, and yes! I am so in love with this whole idea. I took a little bit of inspiration from the English voice actor’s Tik Tok and from where I live for this one. School just started back up, too, so I’ll now be taking a bit longer to reply to requests. Sorry! Anyways, I really hope you enjoy it!

Genre: fluffy times with a rescue cat and your boyfriend, angst in the first half due to animal death 🌧️💜

Word count: 2.7k

♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥*♥

It had only been a month. One month ago, you lost your precious siamese cat, Willow. Your boyfriend, Shouta Aizawa, had given her to you once you moved into your first apartment together. She was a gift that kept on giving, whether it was hairballs or purrs. She kept you company through the day while your boyfriend was teaching his students, and you both would welcome him home with kisses and cuddles every day.

Aizawa loved Willow just as much as you did. You were both the lights in his life, and without you, he would feel incomplete. After the worst days at U.A., he could come home and feel at peace due to the loves of his life. It tore him up inside that Willow was gone, but he knew the loss broke you apart even worse than it did him.

He adopted Willow when she was 11. The shelter he went to, usually just to browse, was going to put her down just because of her age. Aizawa formed a bond when he looked into her ocean blue eyes. He knew that she would be perfect not only for him but for you as well. In a matter of minutes, the adoption papers were signed and finalized. A beautiful forest green bow was placed around her neck, and she was on her way to meet the better half of her new owner. The three of you were inseparable when home. Midnight cuddles and afternoon snacks were always a favorite among your little family. Despite you and Aizawa never talking about kids in your future, you felt like Willow was your daughter. It was true perfection and bliss. Sadly, it couldn’t last forever.

When Willow turned 13, she started acting strange. She began hiding around the house more, throwing up whenever she ate, and losing an excessive amount of weight. You decided a check-up was in order, and Aizawa whole-heartedly agreed. Praying for a fluke incident was what you did, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t going to be the case no matter how much you wished it to be. Her vet told you both that she had cancer and wouldn’t live much longer. This caused your world to come spiraling down.

How someone handles the five stages of grief depends on the person. For you, Willow was absolutely fine. You were in absolute denial. Over the two years you and Aizawa raised her, she was always healthy. There was absolutely no way that she could have cancer. Healthy cats don’t get cancer, right? You went about your life with Willow as if everything was normal. Aizawa tried to knock some sense into you, but you blocked it out. A week later, a certain piece of information triggered the second stage of grief.

Aizawa told you that he would be staying home to take care of Willow with you, since she was living her final weeks. Saying you were furious would be an understatement. You took your boyfriend onto the balcony and yelled at him for 15 minutes about how Willow was completely normal. You told him that everything was fine and that she would live longer than what the vet said. Seeing you were too stubborn to change, Aizawa refused talking to you about the matter but still took those extra days off. It lasted like this another week before another trip to the vet.

Once you got home that night, you found yourself on your knees next to the bed. You were praying to whatever deity was in the sky or under the ground to save Willow. You didn’t know if bargaining with the immortal was a sane idea, but you had entered the third stage. Aizawa watched you do this every hour of the day, it seemed. He heard you muttering to yourself in your sleep, begging for Willow’s safety. None of this worked, though. Two weeks after the visit, Willow was back at the vet to be put down for good.

The last month had gone by agonizingly slow. Your boyfriend was back at work, leaving you alone to your own devices. The depression had been the longest stage. You wondered to yourself if you would ever get to the acceptance part of the five stages. Nothing you did to try and clear your mind worked. You tried to write, draw, sing, and dance, but nothing seemed successful. Most days, you were confined to your side of your shared bed, sobbing your eyes out until they looked unusually red and puffy.

Losing an animal shouldn’t hurt this much. You had a cat when you were younger, and when she was put down, you were only upset for a week before understanding it was time to move on. Why did losing Willow hurt so much. The question plagued you day and night. You racked your brain trying to figure out why this pain wouldn’t subside. Why did it sting so badly? Why did the tears keep falling?

When you were starting dinner one evening, your boyfriend came home. He seemed to be in a good mood, which was strange for someone like him. He came around, gave you a quick peck on the cheek, and leaned against the counter next to the stove.

“How was your day, babe?” you asked, mustering up as much fake happiness as possible.

You flashed your lover a quick smile, hoping it hid the pain better than you thought it did. However, you had been dating this man for 3 years. He knew you all too well. Willow’s death had affected you so much, which caused him to mull over it for longer than expected. An animal’s death was, of course, sad, but people usually got over it quickly. Why was it taking you longer?

“Are you alright?” your boyfriend questioned, placing a hand on your upper arm.

Sighing, you answered, “Of course I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

You both began a waltz to avoid each other. You stood on the opposite side of the island, setting the places on the table for the both of you to eat. Right as Aizawa met you, you sauntered off back to the stove to turn off the burner. It went on like this for much longer while your words went at each other.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“(y/n)...you’re not.”

“Just shut up, ok?”

“Listen to me...”

“SHUT UP!”

Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning struck outside. The deafening boom from the sky sounded next. In a matter of seconds, a downpour began outside and inside the apartment. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears. Aizawa froze, giving you time to finally realize why Willow’s death meant so much to you. It was right in front of you the whole time, but your ignorance caused blindness. Just as your boyfriend began to approach you, the tears and truth spilled over.

“She was like our baby,” you began. “Once I moved in with you, I was so scared that you would break up with me. Willow brought us together. No matter what had happened on a bad day, she would fix us back up. It’s like I lost a part of our relationship, Shouta.”

Aizawa was shocked to say the least. In actuality, Aizawa was completely caught off by your statement. He never knew you felt this way about Willow. He knew you had developed a close bond with the feline, but he should’ve noticed sooner the parental role you took for her. He felt like a terrible boyfriend. He felt like he should’ve found a way to keep Willow alive longer. He felt like her death was his fault.

“(y/n), I’m sorry I should’ve--”

“Meow.”

Both of you came to your senses. Did you really just hear a meow? Had Willow come out of her grave to come back to you both? Aizawa looked at you, causing your tears to stop for a moment. Another flash of lightning struck, followed by the familiar thunder. Then, you heard it again.

“Meeeeow.”

Your brain was going crazy. You were already running on endorphins due to the sudden outburst you had at your lover. Now, you felt your fight or flight responses kick in. There’s no way there was a cat at your apartment. Sure, you lived in an area where an animal could get lost, but a stray cat would never be near your complex.

“Meow.”

Taking a deep breath in, you tried to calm your nerves. Silently cursing your boyfriend’s senses, you heard him shuffling over to you. He placed his hands on your hips and kissed your forehead. Aizawa felt guilty. He knew that a cat wouldn’t be outside in this weather, especially if it was a stray. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. His guilty conscience was in full force, or maybe it wasn’t?

“Meeeeow.”

“Ok,” you said, slowly tilting your head up to meet your boyfriend’s gaze. “Please tell me you’re hearing the meowing, too.”

“It’s real?” Aizawa asked, gazing at you with confused eyes.

Shaking your head, you slithered out of his arms. Despite your mind telling you this was a bad idea, you decided to stick with your sudden plan. You were going to check outside. You didn’t know what you would find, but it was worth the risk. Wherever this cat was, you had to find it. You weren’t doing this for you, however, but for Willow.

Placing your hand on the front door knob, you unlocked it and slowly opened it just a little bit. That’s when you saw it. A beautiful tabby cat sat on your front mat, meowing to its heart’s content. It was drenched, laying against the door in search of some warmth. The poor little angel was shivering, but it looked up upon sensing your presence.

“Well, hello there,” you greeted, opening the door wider.

“Meeeeow.”

You bent down and sat on your knees, cooing the little creature forward. Taking your invitation, it sauntered over to you. Once your hand made contact with its back, the cat began rubbing its wet body all over your leg. Laughing slightly, you turned to look at Aizawa.

He was staring at you with true adoration in his eyes. He knew from the moment he met you that you were the one, but this tender moment between you and a stray cat solidified that even more. It was perfect. You were perfect. Despite the past month, he realized what this new stray would mean to you immediately. Willow sent him or her as a gift from heaven. That much had to be true. It was her way of saying that everything would be alright.

“I’ll get some food and water for the little one,” Aizawa said, walking over to first close the door.

“Make sure to get a towel first,” you replied. “I don’t want this poor baby getting sick from being to cold. Right, sweetie?”

The cat gazed at you with thankfulness in its eyes. You felt much different than you had just a few minutes ago. You were no longer sad about Willow. Instead, you were happy her pain had ended when it did, even if it wasn’t in the best way. Somehow, this little stray just happened to choose your doorstep. Your heart was starting to feel whole again. That’s how you came to a simple conclusion: this was fate. The stage of acceptance was finally in your sight.

You and Aizawa resumed your waltz around the kitchen, but this time, things were much different. It felt like the day Aizawa first brought Willow home. You immediately took on the role of the parent, watching your new friend’s every move to make sure it didn’t hurt itself. Once Aizawa brought you a towel, you sat on the couch and began drying off the cat. You discovered during this that you had found an adorable little boy, proud and frisky from his recent adventure.

Aizawa set the food and water out, luring the tabby out of your lap and to the kitchen. He lapped everything greedily, only further confirming that this was indeed a stray. Walking over to your boyfriend, you stopped once you reached his side.

“I’m sorry,” you began, lacing your fingers with his.

“Oh, don’t be,” he replied, smoothly changing the position you both were in so he could snuggle your neck. “I should’ve taken off time from work and been there for you. It was wrong of me to think our lives would go back to normal.”

“But, still..”

“(y/n)...just let me hold you.”

You did what he asked. You let him wrap his arms around you as you both watched your new boy. Unspoken between the two of you was what was going to happen with your newfound cat: you were going to keep him. Of course, he would need to pay for his shots, a proper bath, and new amenities, but that was a thing for the future. Aizawa knew you would bring it up tomorrow morning, worrying about it profusely, and you knew Aizawa would tell you to stop worrying so much, peppering your face in kisses as a distraction.

Once the cat was finished eating, he walked over and began rubbing himself against Aizawa’s leg. Realizing he needed to be warmed up, you reached down and picked him up. He clearly enjoyed being showered in attention and didn’t pull away when you both began talking to him.

“What do you think?” Aizawa questioned.

You knew what he was talking about: his name. Despite only finding this cat outside of your doorstep 20 minutes ago, you both knew this was his new forever home. The name was an important part of claiming a pet, which you made sure to educate Aizawa about before naming Willow. This, however, wasn’t a tough decision like Willow’s name.

“I was thinking Thunder,” you replied softly, gazing into your lover’s eyes.

He hummed in response, alerting you that he liked that name. You purposely chose that name due to the circumstances you found him in, but you also had an ulterior motive. You eventually wanted to get another cat and name it Lightning. Why? Easy answer: why not?

Suddenly, your boyfriend let go of your waist. Turning around, you noticed he began walking off to the bedroom. It was only 7:30, but, of course, your lover was already exhausted. That was one of the qualities you loved about him, though. He could always fall asleep easily.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” you called after him.

“I know,” he replied in a low voice, “but wouldn’t you rather fall asleep with the man you love?”

His words made you blush, but he wasn’t wrong. With Thunder in your arms and dinner long forgotten, you made your way over to your bedroom. Upon entering, you saw your boyfriend was already laying down and waiting for you to join him. You placed Thunder on the bed and went to lay down next to your lover. He placed his arms around you, making you fell safe and secure before someone interrupted you both.

Thunder began slowly crawling up to lie in between you. Chuckling, Aizawa left a little bit of room between your bodies for your new baby to curl up between you both. It felt natural. It felt like home again. It was just you, your boyfriend, and your cat. Willow, you could tell, was smiling down from heaven. You knew she could be fully at peace now knowing you were happy.

“I love you so much,” you mumbled to your boyfriend, allowing your eyes to close.

“I love you, too, kitten,” Aizawa replied, drifting off to sleep and allowing your breaths to match one another.

This was home. This was family. This was perfection for the both of you. Now, Aizawa went to bed with a single question on his mind. It was quite simple but also heavy. When was he going to place that wonderful ring on your finger?

[waltzdrawswarriors]

Hey guys. I know this blog has been inactive for a while, and I apologize for that. I promise that is is still very much alive and I hope to get it up and running again soon. The ask box will remain open as always, but I will be taking some more time before I start responding to asks or posting designs right away. Miss you guys.

More updates/details under the cut, but warning for illness and death mentions.

A couple years back, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. I actually started this blog around that time as a sort of creative outlet, and posting designs and interacting with everyone really, truly helped in getting me through the early stages of coping with the news and the changes. I never expected the amount of support and kindness that this community had to offer and I am and will always be extremely grateful for that. When I became my mom’s fulltime caregiver, however, I wasn’t able to post as much and the blog fell into a bit of inactivity, which always saddened me because I genuinely love this blog, the books, and the community around both of them.

My mom passed away recently, and I have been trying to take the time to process and heal before I officially come back and get this blog active again, especially because of how rooted in this process the blog has been. I really do love this blog and everyone who interacts with it, and I really truly can’t wait to get back in the swing of things once I am able.

I hope to be back soon. In the meantime, take care.

<3 Waltz

(For anyone interested, the doodle on this post is of Honeyshine, who is this blog’s mascot, and a warrior that my mother asked me to design for her back when I started this blog. After a ton of explaining on how warrior names worked, we eventually decided on the name Doveheart for her. So it felt fitting to draw Honeykit and their mother Doveheart for this post)

[timextoxhajima]

Member: PWARK SEONGHWAbs

Category: playlist feels one shot

Genre: fluff and smut (idk how this is gonna turn out lol i just couldn’t get the visual of boss/ceo? seonghwa out my head and you’re his secretary and i just--)

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: if you haven’t noticed by now, most of my one shots/work don’t really have cliche plots? there are certain tropes/cliches that i don’t really like or i’m just not tuned into being comfortable writing them like eg. boss and employee is pretty nasty, that’s why the chaebol juyeon series turned out like that (i’m not gonna spoil it but if you know, you know that y/n wasn’t just an employee.) so in here, i guess it’s not going to be an exception? i don’t know when the day will come that i will write one that is EXTREMELY cliche and be able to be satisfied/happy with it. 

this is the first smut i’m writing for seonghwa; i’ve only been writing it for san and a tiny bit for mingi and the rest’s literally for juyeon ;_; so i hope i don’t butcher it. 

see you on the other side :D

“니 맘 전부 알고 있어”

“I know your heart”

“oh god--” you shove the food on your spoon into your mouth, nearly throwing it on the table just as the music starts ringing in the room, and he was already resting his chopsticks on the bowl. “please don’t--”

“seonghw-- ugh.”

too late.

“forget it, do whatever you want at your own dinner table. i can’t believe you invited me over just so i have to watch you have your own concert,” the food calls you again, and seonghwa acts like he’s in a drama or a music video. 

“have you finished compiling the contracts from the previous year and making sure everything tallied?” he raises a candid brow at you, his hands reaching out to you as the lyrics ran its course. a frown draws into your forehead, and you swat his hand away, reaching for a piece of fried egg instead of watching him act his heart out. 

“i’m still working on it, but i’ll have it in by the end of tomorrow,” the egg finds its way between your teeth and you push some rice in along with it, fingers finding your phone when it lit up.

“wooyoung’s asking if we’re going to hang out anytime soon.”

you look up through your damp hair and glare at seonghwa, hands still flailing around and his torso following along with the movements. 

it really was a wonder you’ve been friends with him since you were teenagers, and somewhere, somehow, some deity really thought making you the secretary of one of your best friends was a good idea.

initially, you were relieved that your boss was someone you knew as well as you did the back of your hand, but within the first six months of being seonghwa’s secretary, you literally couldn’t help yourself from hurling a file at him once in awhile. 

it wasn’t difficult to catch you screaming at him in the office because he passed out from overworking himself, telling him to go home. not because he was taking a nap, but because you found him sprawled across his desk after working through the night.

that was the day everybody in office found out you were friends from the same circle. 

so whenever anybody had the slightest issue or complaint about their boss, they’d come to you in hopes that you would smack -- or yell -- some sense into him. 

seonghwa had his shitty days and it didn’t stop him from being a terrible boss; you could empathise. but otherwise, he’d be strutting around office and annoying the hell out of both you and your colleagues by giving them sweets, to the extent that someone would wonder just how he was the one everybody needed to address as ‘boss’.

“wooyoung? but hongjoong’s overseas and mingi practically vanished off the face of earth. if he wants to have a meal together, he needs to hunt mingi down first,” the fishcake in the soup suddenly contained enough power to make seonghwa stop rolling his chest and send it into his mouth. 

“i’ll tell him no then,” the message sends and you put the phone back down onto the table. “anyway, the security told me when i left the office that the camera in your office is down and they’ll have someone sent over to fix it over the weekend, so they just told me to relay the message to you.”

“why wouldn’t they just email me?”

your tongue digs into the gap between your gum and your upper lip sa you reach for the glass of coke. “i’m pretty sure they’ve given up emailing you, especially since you don’t use that email address often.”

“hey, i have one for office operations and one for business, is that so wrong?” his defensive tone causes his voice to crack and go off tune, striking a funny bone in you despite already hearing it a billion times over. 

“i didn’t say there’s anything wrong, it’s just annoying when you give someone your email but you don’t even check your inbox,” you finish your last spoonful of rice and chicken, downing the soup to wash down the food. “but anyway, point is, don’t do anything dumb in your office.”

he scoffs, finally returning dedicated focus to his food. the food that he bothered to prepare for you before even telling you he was cooking dinner. it made you obligated to show up, else you’d get an earful from him for being ungrateful. 

“name me one dumb thing i could do in my office,” his cat eyes widen and the whites around his pupils glare at you under the lighting. 

“how would i know?” sucking the grains of rice from the hidden spots in your mouth, letting the water droplets on the side of the coke glass run over your nails and drip off the base. “like have a heart attack and pass out tomorrow, if you choose to stay over time?”

seonghwa stretches his legs under the table, and his sock-covered feet jab you in your ankles. a sharp ‘tsk’ slides out from gritted teeth, and he laughs at your reaction. 

“it’s not peak period for companies to be contacting me now, so that probably won’t happen.”

“well, don’t leave your office door unlocked or something, someone could waltz right in and find your shit and that’ll just might be the end of you.”

“honestly, i thought it  would’ve been funnier if you encouraged me to do more dumb things in the office, since there wouldn’t be any footage of it.”

wincing in disgust, your hands wipe the water off the surface of the coke glass and you flick it at him. a loud snicker blocks out the music for a moment when he ducks and uses his arm as a shield. 

“god forsake i recorded that and told the office you said that,” the coke glass empties itself down your throat, and you help yourself out of the seat to help him clear the dishes. 

“it’s a good thing you’re worth trusting then,” you hear him say loud enough for you to hear while you rest the plates in the sink. 

a chair drags across the floor and the soft clinking of the porcelain plates from the dining table mixes with the water gushing out of the tap. 

if you had to describe your friendship with seonghwa, it’d be an open book. 

one of the best things about being friends with him was that he was always mature enough to look past little arguments or conflicts that shouldn’t have an impact on your friendship.

sometimes he was whiny and pouty and it nauseated you, but he was always one to have your back whenever you needed it. his shoulder was always there for you to cry on, not the mention the hugs he gave. 

so why ‘open book’? 

“i’m only worth trusting because you kept my secret and prevented anybody else from blowing shit out of proportion.”

a gentle chuckle rings by your ear, and seonghwa refuses to fill the sink with more dishes while you were still standing there. there wasn’t a time when he’s hosted a dinner and let his guests do the dishes for him. 

the water runs the dishwasher soap off your skin and you step away for him to take over. 

“it didn’t blow out of proportion only because i didn’t tell anybody else,” he turns and flashes his smile at you, and it reminds you of the first time you fell for it. 

you guessed it. 

park seonghwa was the love of your life at some point of time, and he knew. 

in fact, nobody else knew besides the two of you. 

you had made it so painfully obvious that if anybody was observant enough, they’d be able to pick it up. luckily for you, hongjoong was too busy making sure mingi wasn’t sticking a pen down his throat just to prove a point, and seonghwa was the only one who noticed you staring at him. 

so ‘open book’ in some sense... for the both of you. not so much anybody else outside your exclusive friendship.

the fear in your chest and entire body was so overstimulating in that moment he caught you staring at him, with eyes you assumed he would’ve found creepy, that you could’ve cried in that instant. 

it wasn’t likely that he’d stop being friends with you just because you had feelings for him, but it was likely that he’d start distancing himself from you just so he wouldn’t hurt you. 

~~~~~~~~~  FLASHBACK ~~~~~~~~~~~

“don’t fuckin’ let him swallow the pen!” he yells at hongjoong, who was struggling to use his relatively shorter limbs to hold mingi’s long limbs down. your stressed vision was darting back and forth between the little wrestling match and confusion and fear start to swallow you like waves on a stormy day when seonghwa gets out of his seat and walks towards you. 

“come on,” he shows you a hand. everybody was seated in his living room, pizza boxes empty and coke bottles neatly thrown into a trashbag in the corner with the flashes of light from the television brightening the room every few seconds. “let’s go out and grab some fresh air while these two idiots settle themselves.”

seonghwa literally pulls you to your feet, and he must’ve guessed how much shit you thought you were in, for you to require someone else to tear you away from the ground. 

the sliding doors rustle open, and the cool autumn air outside greets you as if to mock you. the street lamps outside his house prevent you from seeing any stars, but you remember why you were out here in the first place.

your fingers find each other, your nails automatically starting to pick and peel at the skin on the other hand as seonghwa pulls the doors shut, muffling the whining and the screeching mingi was polluting his surroundings with. 

your forearms were rested on the surface of the wooden barriers, and your eyes looked dead straight in attempt to avoid his. the wooden barrier creaks, and you catch a glimpse of his hands gripping the rough surface, his torso leaning over it at an angle so he could meet your eyes without needing to shift you.

the thumping and racing in your chest was so rapid and aggressive, you wish you were dead instead. your lips parted, already prepared to say sorry and get the hell out of his life before he breaks your heart first.

“seonghwa, i--”

“no, it’s okay,” his voice was gentle in the almost-quiet atmosphere. “i was already suspecting it, and you only confirmed it.”

the blood rushes from your feet into your face, and your knuckles whiten from the amount of effort you channeled into holding the wooden barriers to support yourself. the last thing you wanted to do was to pass out infront of him. 

“i know you don’t feel the same, but i don’t want this to ruin our friendship,” mustering enough courage, you turn to him and lock pleading eyes with his. 

“well, neither do i. i wish i could ignore it, and if you were just any other girl, i wouldn’t have bothered having this conversation with you,” he turns and leans his lower back against the wooden boards. “but it’s you and you’re one of the few things i can’t risk losing.” 

silence. 

“this friendship is more important than whether or not you reciprocate. so even if you did, i’d be terrified to even start one with you... in fear that we’d break up and everything prior wouldn’t mean anything,” the words roll of your tongue with such fluidity, it surprised you even more than it did for seonghwa. 

“if that’s the case, then i’m relieved,” he pushes himself off the wooden planks and digs his fingers into the top of your head, ruffling your hair. “i don’t want our friendship to finish so pathetically either, so i take it that you want this conversation to be just between us?”

the nerves in your body tell you to nod, and you carry it out before the thoughts even get processed.

a weak smile curls his lips upwards, and he removes his hand from your head. “okay. you have my word.”

~~~~~~~~ NOW ~~~~~~~~~

so just like that. 

you and seonghwa made a silent deal never to tell anybody, and you made an effort to shove your feelings for him so far down your heart, you think you might’ve shat it out into a random toilet bowl in the last six years or so. 

“anyway,” you recall how you even got to this part of the conversation. “so don’t do anything remotely dumb in the office. if anybody encourages you to do it, i’ll murder them myself.”

his teeth glimmer in the light and the water starts running its way through the bubbles and foam on his hand and the plates in the sink. 

you stay long enough to remind seonghwa not to do anything stupid in his office the next day and to lock the door whenever he wasn’t in, at least five times over. seonghwa forces you to eat some strange concoction of ginseng and peach juice before you had to run out the door and straight home. 

the next day at work passed strangely quicker, and much quieter than you thought. 

seonghwa didn’t spend much time outside you office, and your colleagues handling external liaisons were busy too. it wasn’t difficult to figure out that despite seonghwa saying that companies wouldn’t be approaching him for new partnerships, one big one must’ve come by to keep him in his little box in the corner of the floor. 

but more often than not, being seonghwa’s secretary made you feel obligated to stay until he actually chased you home. and even if he did, you’d try to peel him away from his workspace too, well aware that he’d probably spend the night in his office if you didn’t.

today wasn’t an exception. 

the last external liaison officer left the office and waved goodbye to you, leaving you at your desk in the cubicle nearest to seonghwa’s office. 

you gather the contract summaries and place them into a clear file, throwing your phone into your suitcase and pulling your blazer over your shoulders. after you hand him the contract administration file, you’re going to make sure he went home today, even if it meant shoving him off his seat. 

you stretch out your arms to straighten the sleeves of the blazer, one hand clutching onto your suitcase and the other holding the file. turning off the light at your desk left seonghwa’s office light as the last remaining source of illumination of the area. 

“seonghwa,” you call out, trapping the file between your elbow and your rib as you knocked on the door.

“door’s open,” his voice sounded so tired and strained, you wish you could scold him for being so hardworking, but that was just the way he is.

“i thought i told you to lock the door,” seonghwa’s eyes were plastered to the computer screen, sheets of paper strewn about on the desk. usually you’d be surprised, given how neat and organised seonghwa had to be. but since this must’ve been one hell of a contract, you could understand that he lost some of his bearings. 

“i’m in the office, there’s no reason for me to lock it,” his eyes tear away from the screen and look down at the papers. 

the office smelled like febreeze, which you already were used to. seonghwa sighs a loud sigh and he gets out of his seat, stretching his limbs while you walk around to his desk, placing the file down and picking up some of the sheets he was just looking at. 

you drop your suitcase to your feet and your eyes naturally begin to skim through the brand new contract he spent the entire day obsessing over. seonghwa shifts and you hear his shoes pace up and down the space behind you, probably trying to get the blood circulation going from the hours of sitting down. 

the lamp sitting on his desk illuminates the papers in your hands into a bright white, and the printed black words become so much shinier under it. 

“oh? samsung?” your eyes widen slightly at the name printed on the sheet. “no wonder you’ve been in here the whole day.”

he hums, and you start to feel his torso looming over you from behind. 

“what else do you have to do though?” you flip through the sheets, and he pushes your hair aside, his fingers lightly brushing against the skin under your ear. 

“not funny, seonghwa,” the frown deepens into your forehead when you notice all the sheets had already been filled up. “are you clearing emails? if you’ve filled up the contract sheets then there’s no reason for you to be her--”

the pressure on your lower back combined with the soft breathing on your neck cuts off the oxygen from your nose to your lungs. the air hitting your skin causes goosebumps to erupt all over your skin, and you start to cringe from the ticklish sensation. you flinch and your shoulder shrugs up to your ear as you turn around, taken aback to realise he was standing right behind you, barely giving you any space to turn. 

“uh...” the air was eerily still, and there was a strange look in his eyes that you don’t find familiar. your rear rests against the edge of the desk, and you pass the sheets to your left hand, right hand reaching up to wave it infront of seonghwa’s face. “are you okay?” 

“i’m more than fine,” gently wrapping his fingers around your palm, you raise a brow in confusion. 

you sigh and return the sheets back to the middle of the desk, hand still in his. “you look like you’re going to pass out, is there anything wrong?” 

naturally, your other hand finds his, and you pat the back of his hands like you were petting a dog.

“i need to ask something, and you gotta promise to answer me honestly,” there was a hint of fear and anxiety in his voice, and you didn’t like it. 

nonetheless, he was one of your best friends and he wouldn’t ever hurt you, no matter what he said.

he was probably going to ask something you would find offensive.

“alright,” you release his hands and cross your arms over your chest. “hit me.”

seonghwa shoves both his hands into his pocket and straightens his back, the change in posture making him look taller than what you were used to seeing. 

“do you still feel the same?”

the muscles in your neck snap your head backwards, and both eye brows lift themselves further away from your eyes. a small snort escapes your nose, and you start to nibble on your thumb. 

“‘still feel the same’? about what? about what happened seven years ago in your living room?” 

the smile doesn’t disappear from your lips, and it only gets wider when seonghwa nods. 

“park seonghwa,” you chortle, lifting your hand up to his forehead and pressing so hard into his skull that his head tilts backwards. “are you sure you’re okay? because i’m pretty sure that’s your juiced-out brain talking.”

one foot was already turned to walk out from between him and the desk, but he slams his left hand onto the surface of the expensive wood, and the loud slap of skin against wood startles you. 

your head whips to the left to look at him, and it dawns on you that he wasn’t messing with you. not a single feature on his face twitched, and you could see his soul crawling out of his eyes and threatening to squeeze into yours. 

“an honest answer.”

the most vital organ in your body starts to race, and the sensation yanks you back seven years to when seonghwa figured it out for himself. 

you haven’t felt the same kind of panic and worry since then. 

“i’d like to believe i’ve gotten over you, why?” the neurons in your brain struggled a little to piece that sentence together. 

“so it’s not a definite ‘no’?”

straightening yourself, you pat down your blazer and jab a finger into his shoulder. “did you not hear a word i just said?” 

“y/n,” this time he grabs your wrist, and you could feel the groves and bones of his fingers. “it was a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.”

a pause, and you start hearing your heart in your ears. 

“do you still feel the same?”

everything inside you screams ‘no’, but you were well aware that if you had to even convince yourself that that was the case, then it was obvious the answer is ‘yes’. you start screeching at yourself in your own head, knowing that if you kept quiet any longer, seonghwa’s sharp eyes and extreme situational awareness was going to help him crack the code. 

“i--”

“so it’s a ‘yes’.”

fuck me.

“seonghwa, let me explain, okay? it’s not that i didn’t try, i’m just letting those... stupid feelings wear away on its own,” you writhe yourself out his hold and he releases you, but you couldn’t prepare yourself for what he said or did next. 

“there’s nothing to explain, just let your heart tell you what’s good for you.”

there wasn’t a single cell inside you that could tell you why you were so scared, so when seonghwa cups your cheeks with his hands and presses his lips against yours, the realisation pulls your eyes wide open. 

red and white sirens go off violently in your head like declarations of war, and your palms press flat against his chest to push him back.

“what are you-- seonghwa, if you think this is funny, then you need to know that it’s not. at all.”

“no, please, i didn’t mean to make you think i’m messing with you,” his eyes soften, and you were relieved to realise that the seonghwa standing in front of you right now was the one you recognised.

“really? because if we weren’t friends for like ten years, i’d think you’re just another playboy.”

seonghwa offers a weak chuckle, and he rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. you take a few deep breaths to steady your heart, the mind-boggling situation not exactly resting in a comfortable spot in your head. 

“is that how you really see me? a playboy?” he raises a brow with mischief, and the slowly diminishing gap between the two of you alarms your senses all over again. 

“i’m well aware of how the girls in school used to look at you,” his breath starts to hit your upper lip again, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

“okay, but that was seven years ago,” you watch with the slightest pinch of horror when his hands run up your arms and rest on your shoulders. “but now we’re both adults and i’m sure you’re mature enough to understand your own feelings, regardless of what i was treated as in school.”

“could you hurry up and get to the point?” you frown when he leans in again, your head slowly inching backwards. “all this beating around the bush is going to piss me off and i’m going to leave you here alone and go home.”

the sound of his laughter landed in your ears like music, and you let it run through you that it was one of the many things that led you to fall for him. 

“okay, well...” he licks his lips ever so subtly, and he tilts his head so you didn’t need to. “if you still have feelings for me then i want you to know that i have feelings for you too.”

the confession rests on your skin like a layer of silk, and your eyes somehow become comfortable closing this time round. 

he tasted exactly the way you’d expect him to: strawberries.

your hands were still awkwardly gripping the edges of the table, so when he finds them and pulls them around his own neck, that was when you lost all sense of reality. 

you couldn’t decide between kissing him because you still had feelings for him or because you’ve spent so much time being comfortable around him, some part of you felt so at home.

the line was so thin that you physically felt it disappear. 

the thought of it was kind of messed up, but it was seonghwa, the one who stayed your friend despite knowing you had feelings for him, the one who stayed and protected you by not telling anybody else. 

not wooyoung, not hongjoong, not mingi. 

the feeling of your entire existence, and the last seven years, melt into that kiss was so heartfelt, and it may have been your feelings for seonghwa talking, but his lips against yours felt like heaven-born puzzle pieces meant for each other. 

seonghwa picks you up and places you on the desk, the kisses soft and gentle, and his fingers on your cheek made you feel like heaven all on its own.

if hongjoong were here, you just know he was going to yell at the two of you for choosing intimacy over your friendship, but for two people who had mutual feelings for each other, there wasn’t much anybody could do about it. 

seonghwa breaks the kiss and he gives you a gorgeous smile, the sight shoving a hundred butterflies into your stomach while the strawberry taste lingers on your lips. 

“tell me if you’re uncomfortable--”

“we’re in the office--”

“camera’s not working.”

a small scoff runs off your tongue, and he dips his nose into your neck. kisses the weight of feathers land on your skin, and your heart starts running through your chest like it was in a competition. his hands push your legs open, the sudden jerk shooting little bolts of shock up your spine.

whines start to drip over your lips upon the kisses on your neck, and seonghwa drags his palms up your thighs, the pressure slightly but never overwhelming.

he wraps his arms around your waist when he returns his attention to your lips, pulling you so close to him that your chest was pressed against his, and your nose starts to pick up on his scent. 

your weight begins to shift backwards as his hands messily push all the things on his table to the side, laying you on your back but never once breaking the kiss. 

“this is so not okay,” you huff embarrassedly, arm finding your forehead when he pulls away. you heard him gulp, and it reminds you that he must be as anxious as you were, if not even more.

“are you really okay with letting me do this?” he presses a kiss into your cheek, fingers caressing your knees that he held on either sides of his hips. “you can say no, and we’ll be fine. we let it go once, we can let it go again.”

the look in his eyes were so dangerously comforting, you felt your mind glitch a little trying to process them. seonghwa was so genuine and sincere about your feelings that it made you nauseous. the pricetag the both of you were putting on tonight was your friendship. 

one wrong move and it could all go down the drain.

“i’m okay as long as i know that you’ll still be here, even if anything goes wrong.”

seonghwa looks at you with slightly sorrowful eyes, before he kisses you again, and the amount of comfort and promise that you absorbed from it was enough to make you tear up. 

“i’ll never leave you, even if we aren’t a couple and if we’re just friends... even if we stop talking fifty years down the road, i’ll still want you to be by my side in the afterlife.”

your nose sours at his little speech, and your heart shatters without warning. pulling him back to your lips, you kiss him like life was going to tear him away from you. 

seonghwa drinks your love and need for affection with ease, fingers trailing down your stomach and under your skirt to play with the rims of your underwear. 

fingers slide under the material and he smiles into the kiss when he realises your body needed him more than you’d like to admit. you would’ve slapped him across the face if he pulled away just to tease you, but he doesn’t.

he swallows a loud groan from you when he slips a finger in, and your grip around his shoulders tighten upon the blissful sensation. 

your fingers start to fumble with the dress shirt he was wearing under his blazer, and bit by bit, the whiteness of his skin start to remind you of milk. 

seonghwa removes his finger and sucks it like a lollipop, his eyes flying up to the dress shirt around your chest and he does the same for you. 

you couldn’t contain the mewls that slipped through your teeth when he undoes enough buttons to expose your cleavage, and the kisses on the curves of your breast felt like you were already one foot into the afterlife. 

the last button on his dress shirt comes undone, and you marvel at his torso. for a split second, you felt so proud you fell for him not because of his face or body, but because of his personality. yet, now with the knowledge that he looked like that under the layers of clothes, it was too difficult a task to hide the lust that overcame you almost instantaneously.

“hold your horses, kitten,” he pulls away from your chest, at the same time removing your underwear from under your skirt. your eyes involuntarily lock with his, and again, you couldn’t recognise them.

“who are you and what have you done to park seonghwa?” you mock him in attempt to calm your own bundle of nerves. a smirk pulls his lips up in the corner, and he yanks you to the edge of the table where his groin was dangerously near your exposed core. 

“i’m yours and he’ll come back once i’m done with you.”

you throw your head back into the table when he kneels down, and his tongue finds your sensitive nub. your fingers run through your own hair when he starts flicking against you, occasionally lapping your dripping neediness up. he doesn’t push into you, which was both frustrating and pleasuring at the same time. 

you start to lose your grip on reality, and just as you were about to protest against him being such a tease, he removes his face from your south and begins undoing his belt. 

your lids were droopy with lust, and watching him undo the button and zipper of his pants made it so much more worth it. 

“i wish i knew this day was coming,” you whisper to him as he leans over you again, one arm holding his torso above you and the other, you assume, pulling his underwear low enough to release himself from the material. 

“so you can tell the girls that you’re having sex with me in the office?”

the line sounded so lewd, blood began rushing both down to your south and up to your cheeks.

“what, you’re shy now?” the brow he raises was so smug, you would’ve bitten down on his bottom lip if you didn’t suddenly gasp when he plunged into you without warning. 

your chin tilts so sharply towards the ceiling, he had to pull it back down for him to shove his tongue into your mouth, and a pinch of pain seeps through your entrance into your thighs. 

the harsh, rougher kisses were pulling inappropriate noises out from your throat, and he starts thrusting into you when he assumes you’ve gotten used to him. his right hand was supporting his weight by the side of your head, and his left palm was gripping onto your thigh with such immense strength, you were sure he was going to leave marks by the time you were done. 

seonghwa finally pulls away, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his pants becoming more apparent. your arms grip onto the edge of the desk above your head, and tears start to form in your eyes when the pain completely dissolves into pleasure and bliss. 

“my pretty, pretty, secretary,” he huffs into your ear and licks the edge of your skin, the contact sending you over an edge and the friction in your abdomen drilling dirty thoughts into your head. 

“seonghwa--” the thrusts get deliberately harder and rougher, the sudden bucking of his hips enough to jerk the entire table. “oh-- shit--”

the tip of him starts to ram into a magical spot inside you, and your eyes roll into the back of your head when he doesn’t stop.

“be a good girl and come for me.”

every word literally gets hammered into you, and it sends you into an abyss of bright light while your legs shiver in ecstasy, and seonghwa pulls out shortly after, his speed allowing him to grab some napkin from the corner of his table so that he wouldn’t release anywhere on his desk. 

you struggle to catch your breath, and seonghwa reaches over to clean you off the table. 

“oh, no,” you cover your mouth and give a painful chuckle. 

“what is it?” his voice was soft and smooth again, and the gears in your head stop to process that this was the same person who just called you a good girl a few moments ago.

he pulls your hand away and gives you a light kiss on your lips, eyes scanning your face with worry and concern. 

“i told you not to do anything dumb, but i ended up doing it with you.”

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

A/N: WHOO ok that was kinda long for a one shot. anyway, it’s super mellow compared to what i did for pilot juyeon so i hope you (smut)readers don’t mind heh. i’m still working on HOSTIS chapter 2, so look out for it! it should be up any time in the next few days. 

thank you for reading, and stay safe!!

- love, dana