#truly an enigma indeed

[mrinvenotit]

fucked up evil creature with no respect for space and time

what a guy

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ .࿐₊˚✧ BUBBLES IN MY CHAMPAGNE, LET IT BE SOME JAZZ PLAYIN’ . . .OSAMU DAZAI

⟢ SYNOPSIS. the port-mafia was infamous for throwing glamorous holiday parties every year. not only were you attending this time, but you were also finally going to be introduced as the port-mafia boss’ pretty girlfriend! or…that was the plan.

of course, things never go according to plan.

a/n. merry christmas !! adding onto the xmas dazai fics jdjsjwn <3 this one’s vv chaotic.

info. fem!reader. pm boss!dazai. pm exec!reader. fluff, angst, pinch of sugg. there’s DRAMA. mentions of drinking. lil jealousy. dazai is a 💩. the pm is filthy rich lmao. pazenia is a made up country. wc. 3.4k

“Oh my.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

The brunette chuckled as he waltzed towards you. You saw him appear behind you through the sizeable full-body mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist as you finished applying your lipstick.

“It looks even better on you.” Dazai’s fingers wandered playfully, tracing the curves the red dress he gifted you hugged so well. The tailoring was so impressive—the dress could fit noone else but you. And indeed, it was made exclusively for you, for the largest and most luxe corporate event of the year.

It was the Port Mafia Christmas party. Everyone was required to attend, and plus-ones were allowed too, stirring even more chaos into the affair. You were a Port Mafia executive—of course you were going, but the night was going to be unique for another reason.

Tonight, the Port Mafia boss would confirm all the rumors…all the gossip circulating the past few months. He was finally making your relationship with him official in front of everyone.

As if everyone still doesn’t know.

Yet you were nervous. Keeping things an enigma actually worked in your favor—besides suspicious stares with muffled voices and jealous women, you didn’t have to worry about much. Dazai would take care of any problem. After all, you trusted him completely.

But now, everyone would know. You and Dazai had gone through all the downsides—you could become a potential target for any enemies, your name would rise even higher on the wanted list, and you could be stalked by frustrated, jealous men…honestly, you two were almost too hot for your own wellbeing.

Just almost, because “I’ll take care of it all. I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you, darling.”

He whispered those words into your ear, sensing your anxiousness as you continued to look at your reflections.

“Please don’t worry.”

He did not speak in his usual teasing, playfully amorous voice. The brunette’s face matched the seriousness of the topic you had both gone over multiple times, making sure that the other wanted to still go through with it. You both didn’t want to force the decision of your relationship upon the other—though it was Dazai who had suggested the idea, the choice rested entirely on you. He ensured you knew you could change your mind anytime you wanted.

And Dazai wished you could see that he truly, would go to the ends of universes to make sure you were safe.

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I won’t,” you replied. “I’m only worried about you. I need to be by your side at all times to fight any bad guys that come for you.”

And girls. If you were being honest, you always felt a bit sick thinking about other women wanting him. Maybe this is why your nerves hadn’t backed you out yet…you wanted everyone to know their leader was indeed taken.

Dazai laughed more heartily than he intended to at the comment. He, the now Port Mafia superior commander, known even before as the Demon Prodigy, was being talked to in concern that he needed a sidekick to help him.

Though, he was also the same man whose mind was full of fervor for one girl. You giggled, seeing the apparent blush on Dazai’s face when you fixed his black tie. He was matching with you, of course—his red attire was the ruby scarf.

“Perfect,” you mused when you were done. “Wow, you’re handsome.“

“And you’re ethereal,” Dazai responded, putting on your coat. “Ready to go shock everyone?”

“As if half of the mafia doesn’t already suspect anything between us, Osamu,” you smiled.

“Hmm…you’re right.

“Of course they’d think I’d sought after the prettiest woman in the world.” A coy grin snuck back onto his lips.

…

It was evident your lover had good taste, not only in outfits. He chose to rent out one of the big hotels as the venue for the party—very fitting for the filthy-rich organization.

The first thing you noticed when you stepped out of the limo was the massive Christmas tree in the center of the hall.

“Woah.” There were at least fifty gifts under it already.

You noticed Dazai’s brows suddenly furrow as he, too, inspected the presents.

“Osamu?”

“Bella, remind me who this person is again.”

He picked up a present, showing you a familiar name.

“Oh!” He was the assistant under your wing. You two had worked together for years—you had built up a lot of trust and a friendship to have him in charge of some of your responsibilities.

“I see. Don’t mind that; I forget some of my men sometimes.”

You nodded, though you felt a bit unsure about his response. Regardless, you cast the thought aside.

What you didn’t notice was the way Dazai showed you the package. The present was from your assistant, but the name it was for was entirely covered by the brunette’s hand.

“Well, are you ready to go in?” Dazai asked, holding out a hand towards you.

“Yeah, I’m-”

“Dazai!”

It was Kouyou, another executive. She saw you and greeted you, too.

“My, you’re looking lovely today,” she chirped. “So you and the boss are dating.”

You smiled. “Yes.”

“Well, better tell everyone soon,” she told the both of you. “Dazai, a daughter of a very infamous organization in Europe, is at this party as a plus-one. She wants to discuss a business proposal…‘as soon as possible,’ she said. It’s confidential, too; she only wants you. Do you have a few moments to spare?”

Dazai immediately turned toward you, to which you nodded at him. “It seems important, especially if she’s from Europe.”

“You’re sure?” Dazai asked. You were supposed to walk into the dining hall together to introduce yourselves as the power couple of the evening. “What about…”

“Yeah, the mafia is the priority. I’ll find you soon.” You were an executive, after all. The mafia existed to protect Yokohama City, so work should be an urgency.

“Alright,” he replied. He took another look at you—a singular, amber eye softened once he met your gaze. The other was hidden behind bandages, and so were the emotions of his heart. You couldn’t tell what he was feeling at the moment.

“Let’s go, big sis.” He turned towards Kouyou, who led him out of the room.

Now alone, not counting the guards, you glanced at the presents again, picking up the one Dazai had previously questioned you about.

Oh! Your assistant gave you a present. You found it sweet; your assistant hadn’t gifted you anything until this year. Now Dazai’s reaction made sense—perhaps he had thought you had a secret admirer or something. You giggled at his assumed jealousy.

…

You walked inside the dining hall by yourself, a large crowd already entertaining themselves inside. Everyone who saw you stopped to greet you—their executive, and you wished them a merry Christmas back with a friendly smile.

“Huh? So she’s not dating him?”

You turned your head the slightest, pretending to grab a drink while you instead eavesdropped on two employees you hardly knew. Thank goodness they weren’t the ones going out on missions to spy—they were terrible at not being obvious.

“I’m not sure. But that underground aristocrat from Europe that everyone knows has a crush on the boss showed up to meet him. That huge Christmas tree by the staircases is actually a gift from her.”

“Really?! So…maybe she was the boss’ plus-one? Now that’s wild. Everyone really had me believing he was seeing the executive.”

“Yo!” Your attention was suddenly pulled from their conversation.

“You good? You’re overflowing your cup.” You had poured too much drink, so liquid was running all over the floor.

“Shoot, I think she heard us!” you faintly heard behind you as the employees moved away.

“Oh, yeah. I’m so sorry,” you responded to your assistant who had found you. He handed you a few napkins to clean your hands and dropped a few more to mop the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t need to help, and thank you,” you said as you cleaned up, too, feeling bad.

“All good! Merry Christmas, by the way. How’s your evening going so far?”

“Good, thank you,” you responded, half-truthful. You needed to find somewhere to process what you had just heard. Even if they were only rumors…they bothered you.

“I saw you got me a gift in the lobby,” you added, recalling earlier. “I was surprised! You haven’t done that before, so I found it so sweet.”

“Oh yeah!” he replied, and you didn’t miss the pink that tinted his cheeks. “Who knows…I may have had a change of heart this year.”

You chuckled innocently. “Well, whatever the reason, thank you! I’m excited to see what you got.”

“Of course. I do hope you like it! Also, your dress. It looks good on you.” His voice sped up at his last comment.

“Oh, uh, thanks-”

That was really awkward. You gave him mercy, though…you hadn’t even told him you were in a relationship. So, you tried to say to him that it was your boyfriend, Dazai, who had the dress made for you, but you were cut off.

Dazai had finally entered the room, but he was accompanied by that noblewoman everyone was speaking about.

Wow, she was gorgeous. Her hair was in a perfect blowout, and she wore an emerald green dress that fit her like a glove.

And with each step Dazai and this new woman took into the hall to be regarded by everyone, your heart sank a bit more into your stomach.

What??

“You don’t look so well. Are you okay?” Your assistant paid no mind to the mafia boss’ new commotion. He was wholly concerned for you.

“Yeah. This drink tastes weird, but I can’t put my finger on what.” Yet, you took another sip. What was going on? You had never doubted Dazai’s love or loyalty toward you. Had you been so blind by your own to miss this?

Dazai didn’t even bother trying to search for you. And the way the lady’s arm touchingly clung around his infuriated you.

“He was seeing some foreign princess all along?”

“The boss always has to cause a scene with something new.”

“They’re kind of hot together, though.”

Now you really wanted to puke. You stared until the noblewoman’s eyes finally caught yours and dwelt on your figure briefly before turning toward Dazai and asking him something.

Dazai’s lips read, “Okay!” before a guard approached you.

“The boss is summoning all the executives to him,” he whispered in your ear, and you nodded, strolling over to him.

Fuck. You wanted to cry. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

You felt a bit better when the other executives—Kouyou and Chuuya showed up before you.

“Miss, these are the Port Mafia’s three executives.” He introduced you individually, not meeting your eye when he went to you.

You wanted to leave. There was no point in being here anymore. What you thought would be a cheery Christmas Eve turned out to be the worst night ever. It couldn’t have gotten any worse…

“And this is the Lady of Pazenia,” Dazai said, introducing the woman. “Our most important foreign guest tonight.”

“So, uh? I’m kinda confused,” Chuuya commented. “Mackerel boss, ya dating her or something?” He glanced at Dazai, the girl on him, and then you.

She responded for him. “We’re getting acquainted tonight, that’s all,” she replied smugly. Dazai chuckled. “Yes…we’ve communicated online a few times, but this is the first time we’re meeting face to face.”

What the fuck.

“Oh, uh, okay.” For once, Chuuya didn’t pester, didn’t tease anymore. Because he was just as startled as you. He, too, suspected that you were dating the boss.

“I’m sorry, will you please excuse me? It was nice meeting you, m’lady; I hope you enjoy your Christmas with the boss.” You didn’t even wait for a reply. You stormed off in the direction of your assistant. You were going to ask him to drive you home, and then you’d pack your things and then stay at a friend’s house for a few days to figure out what to do next.

Everything was crashing down like an avalanche.

But before you could get to him, the bastard’s subordinate stopped you.

“Akutagawa? Hi, Merry Christmas. Sorry, I’m in a rush-”

“Merry Christmas, miss,” he responded, moving in front of you again when you tried to shift over. “Aren’t you going to rescue the boss? Has your emotion clouded your rationality so much you can’t see things clearly anymore?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

You turned back towards the scene, and yeah—what you saw was your final straw. Akutagawa misjudged. Not even a glimmer of hope remained in you.

Somehow, they had ended up at the corner of the room. And lo and behold, Dazai and the Lady of Pazenia had ended up under the mistletoe, and many of the upper ranks surrounded them. There was even a Paparazzi.

You tried to push past Akutagawa, but he stopped you.

“Watch.”

Why? Did Dazai place him there to make sure you suffered through it all? This was so cruel. Tears welled up in your eyes as the room went quiet to watch.

“Oh! Silly me…how did I manage to get here?”

“I’m not sure…” the woman replied flirtatiously. “But you can’t break a tradition, boss of the Port Mafia.”

“I guess I can’t,” Dazai replied, leaning in. “But, can we make a deal, Miss?

“You can kiss me, but tell me where the real Lady of Pazenia is. The exact coordinates where you’re keeping her hostage. If there’s anyone kept in place to secure or torture her.”

And the crowd suddenly gasped. She did, too, and a hand flew to her mouth.

“Shit!”

About ten guards ran towards her, restraining her before she could do anything. Dazai calmly backed away, continuing to explain.

“The business proposal was crafty and would’ve led to our doom quite quickly. You’re trying to overthrow your own government. So, you devised a cover-up to get the mafia to help you, with a deal to help us on our end, but just like your original goal, you want our city’s government to fall into anarchy, too.

“An underground noblewoman. You are exactly that—quite literally.” Dazai sighed. “No, I’m not in a relationship with her, I…”

Dazai finally met your eye, and his heart immediately sunk seeing you cry.

“Oh my gosh,” he whispered, and he ran towards you, tightly embracing you.

You wanted to punch him, throw him away—something, but you were surrounded by half the corporate. There was already enough scandal tonight, you didn’t need to add any more.

“Hah, it’s okay,” you responded audibly, hastily wiping tears. “You’re a great actor, Osamu, really got me believing you were cheating on me for a second.” Words spurred out of your mouth—you hoped you wouldn’t regret it later.

Dazai’s grip on you tightened to silently show you gratitude before he turned to your audience. “Now that the problem is out of the way—Merry Christmas to you all.” A waiter handed him a glass of champagne, who had also gone around with multiple others to hand out drinks to everyone.

“And a special Merry Christmas to my girlfriend, right here.” He gave you a kind smile, and you tried your best to reciprocate your own. There were “awe”’s and “that’s so cute”’s about.

Dazai held his glass up towards everyone else’s before toasting with yours.

…

You stayed away from Dazai for the next hour. He respected your space for that long—in the meantime, you acted fine. You conversed with others, you laughed. Your assistant apologized for his comment on you earlier—“I was completely oblivious to you and the boss! I’m so sorry; I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You laughed it off, telling him it was okay.

“Hey, bella.”

Dazai had finally found you alone. You looked at him, facing the inevitable.

“I’m getting tired. Wanna sneak away with me?”

You hesitated. “Where would we go?”

“The drinks suck here, besides that champagne. I know Chuuya was definitely not in charge of this part.”

You had to agree with that one. You couldn’t even finish the glass you overfilled earlier.

…

Bar Lupin was surprisingly empty that night. The bar was Dazai’s safe place, his getaway. You were constantly reminded of his genuine, complete trust in you whenever he took you here.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai apologized as you waited for your drinks. “What I did was brutal.”

“It really fucking hurt,” you said, finally able to release your true feelings now that nobody else was around.

“I had to keep up the act to expose her. Her vulnerability was that…she had a crush on me? So, the most rapid way to gain her trust was to make her believe she had a chance. She didn’t know I was seeing someone.”

“You take acting too seriously. You’re the Port Mafia boss, not some goddamn movie actor. You couldn’t even…make eye contact with me? Give me a reassuring look or something?”

“You’re right. That’s no excuse.” He took a breath. He had actually messed something up. He could predict and do everything else flawlessly until it came to the people he loved.

He always screwed it up.

“I set aside our relationship for a mission. I’m really sorry, love. And I understand if it takes awhile for you to think through it all. The only thing I ask is for forgiveness.”

“I dunno…it kind of seems like you enjoyed it…”

That was a lie. You were just saying things out of spite now. You had rethought the previous events after recalling what Akutagawa had harshly told you without context—rescue the boss? Yeah, Dazai clearly didn’t enjoy it. He never touched the woman back in any way, and his word choice was very cautious. Except one line.

“Us communicating online? Yeah, I knew she’d just go along with it. I had to say that so Chuuya would stop pushing and blow my cover. Besides, you literally have my email login, darling. You see everything.”

“I really hate you sometimes, Osamu, you know?” you muttered as the bartender finally handed you two your drinks. You took a thirsty sip out of yours. You couldn’t even stay mad anymore.

“Is that your way of saying you forgive me?” he chuckled, knowing the mood was lightening.

“No. You’re just too…attractive. Like, why are you so hot? All the girls want you…I was actually quite relieved when you asked me if we should make things official so everyone could finally know that we belong to each other…”

Hah, if only you knew.

“You don’t assume I think the same? You almost pissed me off by hanging around your little assistant, too, belladonna. He clearly fancies you.”

You gulped, remembering his earlier compliment. “Don’t do anything to him—he didn’t know. He does now.”

“He better,” he simply replied. “And everyone else. There’s no excuse now—you’re the Port Mafia boss’ girlfriend.”

You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach. The protectiveness was attractive. You pulled on Dazai’s tie, reeling the rest of him towards you.

“And you’re my boyfriend,” you smiled.

To everyone else, Dazai was known as evil, suicidal, murderer, demon, saint. But to you, he was simply Osamu. Your boyfriend. And perhaps that’s what he loved most of all. Across universes, you would not fail him—not even Odasaku succeeded so highly.

“Are you going to kiss me, bella?” Dazai asked, the signature smile back on his face.

“No,” you teased, pushing him back. “I’m still mad at you. Nothing went according to plan.”

“Nothing did,” the brunette replied. “But isn’t that what’s so exciting about life? Life is unexpected, yet some good things can come out of it, such as…”

He revealed a piece of mistletoe in his hand, holding it above you two.

“Even if you’re mad, you can’t break a tradition,” Dazai spoke, swinging the plant back and forth.

You sighed before you both leaned in to kiss each other. Dazai pulled you onto his lap, and you kissed him even more feverishly. Your hands ran through his hair until the bandage around his head finally came undone, unveiling the rest of his pretty face.

You focused on his dilated, honey-colored eyes. Finally, they revealed what he was feeling. Comfort in having you in his arms again. In your warmth.

Everything felt too intense after that. He had started making out with you again, his hands were wandering you curiously, the dim lighting, the jazz instrumental, how tipsy you felt from the drinks…

“Let’s just go home.”

…

You were swaddled in Dazai’s arms under the bed's covers at home. So sleepy. Dazai promised that the next day would treat the both of you better—a peaceful Christmas gift.

“Let’s stop doing such large parties,” you said, looking up at the ceiling. “It just calls for trouble, to be honest.”

“Yeah…we’ll have a small houseparty next time. Everyone else can do what they want.”

You were gently kissed on the forehead before the brunette softly whispered to you. “Merry Christmas, belladonna. I love you.”

“I love you too, Osamu.”

dazai told me he’d kiss u if u rb this. rbs are cherished; they are ur christmas gift to me! <3

tags: @kissesmellow21 @osaemu @ruanais + @lovedazai @chuuyrr @anqelically (i think u guys would like this <3)

© AUREATCHI 2023. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated divider by cafekitsune. heart lights divider by benkeibear. manga header made by me - DO NOT save/use.

[stxrbxrn]

the feast of forbidden fruit …

pairing: hannibal x f!reader tw: implied cannibalism, dubious consent, uhealthy/obsessive relationship dynamics, sexual content ( not full out smut but hints towards it ) word count: 1.8k (ish)

you step into the dimly lit gallery, your heels echoing on the polished marble floor. the air is heavy with the scent of aged wood and oil paint, a fitting atmosphere for the exhibition of renaissance masterpieces. but it's not the art that draws your gaze tonight. it's him.

dr. hannibal lecter stands before a botticelli, his profile sharp and regal in the soft lighting. he turns, as if sensing your presence, and his maroon eyes lock onto yours. a shiver runs down your spine - from fear or excitement, you're not quite sure.

"good evening," he says, his accented voice smooth as silk. "i was hoping you'd come."

you approach, drawn into his orbit like a moth to flame. "i wouldn't miss it, dr. lecter. your taste in art is... exquisite."

his lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "as is yours, my dear. both in art and... company."

the double meaning hangs in the air between you. you've been dancing this dangerous waltz for months now, circling each other in a game of cat and mouse. but which of you is the predator, and which the prey?

"would you care to join me for a closer look?" he asks, gesturing to the painting.

you nod, allowing him to guide you with a gentle hand on the small of your back. his touch burns through the thin fabric of your dress.

as you stand before the botticelli, he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "do you see how the artist has captured the vulnerability of the human form? the delicate interplay of light and shadow on bare flesh?"

your breath catches in your throat. "yes," you whisper. "it's beautiful."

"indeed," he murmurs. "beauty and suffering, inexorably intertwined. one cannot truly appreciate the former without experiencing the latter."

you turn to face him, your faces mere inches apart. "and which are you offering tonight, dr. lecter? beauty or suffering?"

his eyes gleam in the low light. "why not both?"

the world seems to fade away, leaving only you and hannibal in this moment of exquisite tension. you know you should run, should flee from the darkness you see swirling in the depths of his gaze. but you're captivated, ensnared by the enigma of the man before you.

"come," he says, offering his arm. "let us continue our tour. there is so much more i wish to show you."

you take his arm, your fate sealed with that simple gesture. as he leads you deeper into the gallery, you can't help but wonder if you're walking willingly into the lion's den.

the rest of the evening passes in a blur of wine, witty conversation, and lingering glances. hannibal is the perfect gentleman, charming and erudite. but beneath the polished veneer, you sense something wild and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.

as the night draws to a close, he escorts you to your car. "i've greatly enjoyed your company this evening," he says, his hand still resting on the small of your back.

"as have i," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

he leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek. "until next time, my dear," he murmurs. "sweet dreams."

you drive home in a daze, your mind reeling from the evening's events. as you prepare for bed, you can't shake the feeling that something has fundamentally shifted. you've crossed a threshold, and there's no going back.

that night, your dreams are a kaleidoscope of images - flashes of steel, splashes of crimson, and always, always, those burning maroon eyes watching you.

* * *

days pass, but you can't get dr. lecter out of your mind. his presence lingers like a phantom limb, an ache you can't quite shake. you find yourself obsessively replaying every moment of your encounters, analyzing each word, each gesture.

when your phone rings and his name appears on the screen, your heart leaps into your throat.

"hello, my dear," his voice purrs through the speaker. "i was wondering if you might join me for dinner tomorrow evening. i'm preparing a rather special menu, and i can think of no one i'd rather share it with."

you know you should refuse. every instinct screams at you to make an excuse, to put distance between yourself and this man who both thrills and terrifies you. but the words that come out of your mouth betray you:

"i'd be delighted, dr. lecter."

you can almost hear his smile through the phone. "excellent. shall we say 8 o'clock? and please, call me hannibal."

the next evening finds you standing before his door, your heart pounding a staccato rhythm against your ribs. you smooth down your dress, take a deep breath, and knock.

the door swings open, and there he stands, resplendent in a three-piece suit. "good evening," he says, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your form. "you look ravishing."

he ushers you inside, taking your coat with the grace of a perfect host. the air is rich with the aroma of simmering herbs and spices, making your mouth water despite your nerves.

"i hope you're hungry," hannibal says, leading you into the dining room. the table is set with exquisite china and gleaming silverware, a single red rose in a crystal vase serving as the centerpiece.

"starving," you reply, and something in his eyes flashes at your choice of words.

he pulls out your chair, ever the gentleman, before disappearing into the kitchen. you take the moment alone to steady your nerves, reminding yourself that this is just dinner. nothing more.

but as hannibal returns, bearing plates of food that look more like works of art than mere sustenance, you know you're only lying to yourself. this is so much more than just dinner.

"our first course," he announces, setting a plate before you. "carpaccio of veal heart, with a black truffle emulsion."

you raise an eyebrow at the choice of meat, but the presentation is stunning. hannibal watches intently as you take your first bite. the flavors explode on your tongue - rich, complex, unlike anything you've ever tasted before.

"it's incredible," you breathe.

his smile is one of genuine pleasure. "i'm so glad you enjoy it. i always take great care in selecting the... ingredients for my special guests."

the meal progresses through several more exquisite courses, each one a symphony of flavors and textures. hannibal is the perfect host, keeping the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. but there's an undercurrent of tension, a predatory gleam in his eye that both excites and unnerves you.

as he clears away the dessert plates, you find yourself feeling slightly lightheaded. whether from the rich food, the wine, or simply hannibal's intoxicating presence, you're not sure.

"shall we retire to the study for a digestif?" he suggests, offering his hand to help you up.

you take it, relishing the warmth of his skin against yours. "lead the way."

his study is a temple to refined taste - walls lined with leather-bound books, artwork that probably costs more than your yearly salary, and a crackling fire that casts dancing shadows across the room.

hannibal pours two glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. "armagnac," he explains, handing you one. "a 1965 vintage. i've been saving it for a special occasion."

you accept the glass, your fingers brushing against his. "and what occasion might that be?"

he takes a step closer, invading your personal space. "tonight," he pauses, eyes transfixed on your face, "the night you become mine."

your breath catches in your throat. this is the moment you've both been building towards, the culmination of months of tension and unspoken desire. you should be afraid - you know, deep down, that there's something not quite right about hannibal lecter. but all you feel is a burning need.

"what makes you think i want to be yours?" you challenge, even as your body betrays you, leaning into him.

his free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "you've been mine since the moment our eyes first met."

he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. it's nothing like you imagined - it's better. his mouth is hot, demanding, tasting of armagnac and something darker, something uniquely hannibal.

you melt into him, your glass slipping from your fingers and shattering on the hardwood floor. neither of you pays it any mind. your hands fist in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer as his own hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

when you finally break apart, gasping for air, his eyes are wild with hunger. "tell me you want this," he growls, his accent thicker with desire. "tell me you want me."

"i want you," you breathe, beyond the point of no return. "god help me, i need you."

it's a desperate, violent thing, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. you pour all your fear, all your desire, all your conflicted emotions into that kiss. and hannibal matches you passion for passion, his hands gripping you so tightly you know you'll have bruises tomorrow.

when you break apart, you're both panting. "what happens now?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

hannibal's smile is a thing of terrible beauty. "now, my dear, we feast."

he lead you back to the wooded table, lifting you effortlessly to sit upon it. the material cold against your bare thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of hannibal's body as he steps between your legs.

"are you afraid?" he asks, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

you consider lying, but you know he'd see right through it. "yes," you admit before considering the thought further.

"good," he says, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. "fear heightens the senses. makes everything more... intense."

his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. you shiver, but not entirely from fear. despite everything - or perhaps because of it - you want him more than you've ever wanted anyone in your life.

"hannibal," you gasp as his lips trail down your neck, "i need-"

"shh," he soothes, his breath hot against your skin. "i know exactly what you need. trust me."

and lord have mercy on you, you do. you trust him as he slowly undresses you, as he worships your body with his hands and mouth. you trust him as he takes you there on the table. your cries of pleasure echoing off the stone walls.

afterward, as you lie tangled together, your body humming with satisfied desire. you lose yourself in his embrace once more, you know that you've crossed a line from which there's no return. you've willingly stepped into the darkness, hand in hand with the monster who now owns your heart and soul.

and god help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.

[reveryfics]

Dirty Laundry

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x Masc reader

Summary: You'd been dating Bruce for a little over a year now. One afternoon while helping Alfred with laundry you notice a cape was stuffed in with his things.

A/n: This can either be read as male or ftm reader since he/him pronouns are used when referring to the reader. I also have another fic in the drafts.

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The rhythmic hum of the washing machine filled the air, a mundane task made slightly less so by the occasional banter with Alfred. "Quite a week, wouldn't you say, Alfred?" he remarked, tossing another shirt into the machine.

"Indeed, sir," Alfred replied, his voice a steady baritone. "Quite a week indeed."

As he reached for another load, his fingers brushed against something unusual. It was sleek, black, and oddly familiar. Pulling it out, he realized it was a cape. A cape. The cape. The one that had been making headlines, the one belonging to the mysterious figure known as Batman.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through him. He'd seen the news reports, the hushed whispers, the awe-inspiring feats. And now, here it was, in his very hands. A tangible link to the legend.

With a mixture of disbelief and a growing sense of unease, he excused himself, the cape clutched tightly in his fist.

He strode towards the living room, his mind racing. He couldn't wait to confront Bruce, to demand answers, to understand the enigma that was his boyfriend.

The door clicked shut behind Bruce, who shrugged off his coat and tossed it over a chair. He looked up, his face falling as he saw his boyfriend standing there, the cape still clutched tightly in his hands.

"I can explain," Bruce offered, a hint of desperation in his voice.

His boyfriend's expression was unreadable, a dangerous sign. "You'll do more than explain, Bruce," he said, his voice low and menacing.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, ushering his boyfriend to a seat before summoning Alfred to bring them some tea. An awkward silence settled over the room, the tension palpable as Bruce struggled to find the right words. He'd always been terrible at expressing his emotions, a flaw he'd promised to address early in their relationship.

"I had to keep you safe," Bruce whispered, his voice barely audible. "No... I had to keep myself safe," he admitted, his voice growing stronger.

His boyfriend knew Bruce's reluctance to confront his feelings, but he'd never called him out on it. "You don't trust me?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Bruce's emotions were starting to boil over, the weight of his mistake heavy on his shoulders. "I do trust you," he began, but was cut off.

"Do you?" his boyfriend demanded.

"Of course I trust you," Bruce sighed, "I just can't risk anything happening. I don't know what I'd do if someone came after you, if anyone ever found out you knew Batman." For once, Bruce seemed genuinely vulnerable, truly grappling with his emotions.

The room fell silent, the only sound the gentle clinking of teacups as Alfred set them down. He stared at Bruce, his expression softening. He understood the fear that had driven Bruce to such lengths, the desire to protect the one he loved. But he also understood the pain that secrecy had caused, the strain it had put on their relationship.

"Bruce," he began, his voice gentle, "I understand. I understand the fear, the need to protect yourself and me. But you can't keep secrets from me. We're a team, remember? We face everything together."

Bruce looked at his boyfriend, his eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "I know," he said, "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more open, more honest."

"I know you will," his boyfriend replied, reaching out to take Bruce's hand. "From now on, we face this together. No more secrets, no more lies. Just us."

As they sat there, holding hands, the weight of the past seemed to lift. The future, uncertain as it was, held the promise of a stronger, more honest love. And as they sipped their tea, the rhythmic hum of the washing machine faded into the background, replaced by the comforting sound of their shared silence.

The next day, Bruce led his boyfriend through the hidden passages of Wayne Manor, each twist and turn revealing a deeper layer of the secret world he inhabited. Finally, they stood before the massive, imposing door of the Batcave.

"This is it," Bruce said, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and apprehension.

With a heavy sigh, he opened the door, revealing the cavernous space bathed in the eerie glow of computer screens and advanced technology. The Batmobile, sleek and powerful, stood sentinel in the center of the room.

His boyfriend's eyes widened in awe as he took in the spectacle. "This is incredible," he whispered.

Bruce smiled, a sense of relief washing over him. "I know," he said. "It's...a lot."

As they explored the Batcave, Bruce explained the purpose of each piece of equipment, the challenges he faced, and the dangers he encountered. He spoke openly and honestly, revealing a side of himself that he'd rarely shared before.

His boyfriend listened intently, his heart filled with a mix of admiration and concern. He knew the toll that this life took on Bruce, the constant fear and the overwhelming responsibility. But he also saw the passion that fueled Bruce, the desire to make a difference, to protect the innocent.

As they stood in the Batcave, surrounded by the symbols of Bruce's secret identity, a sense of unity grew between them. They were a team, a partnership forged in trust and understanding. And as they walked back to the manor, hand in hand, they knew that their love was stronger than any secret, any fear, any challenge.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Among the ferns

18+ MINORS DNI Halsin x F!Reader 2.6k Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, size kink, fluffy smut as always no proofreading no nothing this is for you bby :3 @foxyanon

As the night grew colder, your companions retired to bed one by one. All except for Halsin, who had made a promise to stay up with you. He didn't mind avoiding Lae'zel's loud snoring; he preferred talking with you anyways, and sleep wasn't coming easy for him this night.

“Tav, may I ask you something?” he asked gently, looking down at you with a small smile. The full moon illuminated the small clearing in the woods where you had set up camp and a soft breeze played with the undergrowth.

The fire that had once crackled and danced with life was now reduced to glowing embers, casting a warm, orange glow on Halsin's face. His eyes twinkled with curiosity and earnest sincerity, making them as captivating as the night sky above.

"Well, Halsin," you responded, cradling your cup of warm cider between your hands. "You can ask me anything." Your tone was light, playful even. This was not the first intimate conversation you’ve had with him, nor would it be the last.

His brow furrowed slightly under his tousled locks. "It's just..." he hesitated, looking slightly unsure of how to phrase what was on his mind.

You chuckled lightly to yourself, finding his uncharacteristic shyness amusing considering that he was normally so confident and outspoken. With his muscled frame and towering height, he was often mistaken for a brute by those unacquainted with him. But you knew better than most that there was a lot more to him than met the eye.

"Why have you never spoken about your romantic partners before?" he finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. A breeze rustled through the leaves overhead, adding a symphony of soft whispers to the stillness of the night.

A hush fell over you both as you considered his question. The forest around you teemed with life – crickets chirping in the underbrush, an owl hooting in the distance – yet all sound seemed distant as you pondered your answer.

"Truthfully?" You start, shifting your gaze from the dying fire up into the night sky, blushing gently. "I suppose that is because I've never… had a romantic partner before.”

The revelation hung in the air, ungraspable as moonlight. Halsin took a moment to truly absorb your words. His head tilted slightly, the glow of curiosity was now replaced with surprise. "You mean…" he stumbled over his words, a rare occurrence for him indeed, "You've never…?" He didn't need to spell it out; his meaning was clear.

You found yourself shaking your head in confirmation, your cheeks heating up. The confession had left you feeling lighter somehow, liberated even.

"I know it's unusual," you admitted, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your cider cup. The warm ceramic felt grounding against your skin amidst the otherwise ethereal atmosphere of the night.

Halsin, still overwhelmed by the revelation, defaulted to silence as he stared at you with intense concentration, as if trying to understand an enigma. His gaze seemed to penetrate beyond your skin through to the very essence of who you were. It was a gaze that could make anyone feel seen for perhaps the first time in their life.

The silence lingered but didn't feel oppressive; instead, it held a certain comforting intimacy that carried an odd tranquillity with it. Perhaps it was due to understanding that sometimes words were superfluous and that silence spoke volumes more than any spoken language ever could.

Finally, as if breaking free from a trance, Halsin shifted his gaze away from yours and stared into the almost extinguished fire. His fingers absent-mindedly picked up a stick and prodded at the glowing coals – it seemed like he wished to say something, but held himself back out of respect.

“Halsin, I… Look, it’s not like I have no desire for… it, it’s just that no-one ever, uh… invited me for…,” you stammered out and looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

"I see," he finally answered, his voice just above a whisper and filled with an understanding that you hadn't expected. He looked back at you, the light from the dying fire dancing in his eyes. “Well, under any other circumstance…” he trailed off, looking at you with a softness you hadn’t seen before.

His gaze held yours as he continued, “I would have invited you for...” he paused as if searching for the right words, “a quick, intimate encounter.”

Your cheeks heated up further at his admission. The mere thought of it sent a jolt through your body, making your heart flutter.

"But," he quickly added, seeing your reaction, "given what you've revealed... I think I would be entirely satisfied sharing just an innocent cuddle." His words settled over your ears like a soothing balm, calming your anxious thoughts.

It was a simple offer — one of warmth and companionship without any expectation or pressure.

You felt a burst of adoration and gratitude for him. It was as if Halsin was offering to meet you at your pace, to hold space for you in a world that often demanded too much too soon. He understood, perhaps better than anyone else ever could.

“Halsin…” You couldn’t help the soft smile that graced your lips. The tension that had been building dissipated into the cool night air.

He smiled back at you then – not his usual mischievous grin but something far more genuine and tender.

Together, you sat in silence once more, the crackling embers providing a warm glow to your faces.

“Actually, I… uhm… wouldyouliketoteachme?”, you pressed out and immediately looked away, afraid that he would reject you.

“I mean, everyone’s asleep, you know this forest well, you are a gentle man and as far as I know you you are a very good teacher and I’ve liked you for so long and you’re good looking…,” you rambled, sure that your cheeks couldn’t heat up even more than they did in that moment.

Halsin blinked, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Then he laughed, a rich and warm sound that echoed softly in the quiet of the night. “Easy,” he said, his voice gentle yet laced with amusement, effectively cutting through your rambling. His gaze softened even further as he reached over and took your hand into his.

"Thank you for the compliments," he said, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. His touch felt like a spark in the darkness, both startling and comforting at the same time. "And for trusting me enough to ask."

There was an earnest sincerity in his eyes that made you feel seen – really seen – for perhaps the first time in your life. It was as if he truly understood the depth of what you’d asked him. That he grasped how much courage it must have taken you to let down your walls and bare a part of yourself you’d kept hidden away for so long.

The silence that followed was pregnant with anticipation, each moment stretching on as you waited with bated breath for his response.

“Alright,” Halsin finally said, breaking the silence. His tone was somber now, filled with a level of gravity that reflected just how seriously he was taking your request.

“If this is what you want... If it’s something that feels right for you…” He paused to give you one last chance to change your mind. However, seeing no hesitation in your eyes, he simply nodded and continued, “Then yes, I’d be honored.”

A sense of relief washed over you at his words. It was as if a weight had been lifted off your chest - a wide smile spread over your cheeks and you hugged him, losing yourself in his warmth and scent.

Gently, he cradled your head against his shoulder, the rhythm of his heart a soothing lullaby as you relished in this newfound intimacy. It wasn't long before he scooped you up into his arms, rising from the bed of moss and ferns to carry you further into the forest. Your heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness as pine needles rustled beneath his feet, creating a symphony with the nocturnal creatures singing their songs.

The forest that had seemed so intimidating before now felt like a safe sanctuary under Halsin's guidance. He deftly navigated through the complex labyrinth of towering trees, guiding you through dappled moonlight that slipped through the rustling canopy above.

Eventually, he came to halt in a hidden glade awash with soft silver light. It was an enchanting spectacle - fireflies danced in the air while a gentle brook murmured in the distance, providing a harmonious backdrop to this still moment. Here, beneath the vast expanse of stars, Halsin laid you down gently on another bed made of moss and ferns.

Halsin hesitated for just a moment before beginning to remove his clothing, piece by piece. His movements were unhurried and deliberate, affording you enough time to adjust to each new revelation of skin and muscle underneath. He was beautiful in all senses of the word – not just physically but in his vulnerability too.

Once he stood undressed before you, it was his turn to ask for permission. His voice was low as he asked, "May I?" His respect for your comfort evident in that simple question.

“Y-yes, you may,” you muttered and gasped as you felt his hands working on the laces of your dress and the feeling of his lips on the nape of your neck. “You may do anything you wish, as long as you… are gentle,” you whispered, drawing in a big breath as he bared your breasts, gently tracing his hands over the gentle curves.

"Yes," he murmured against your skin, "always gentle." His voice was a soothing rumble that reverberated through you, making your heart flutter in response. His hands were warm against your cool skin, his touch so tender and careful it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He guided you to recline on the mossy bed, his strong hands supporting your back as you did so. The moss was surprisingly soft underneath you, nature's own cushioned bedding. Halsin continued to worship your body with his hands and mouth, his every touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You gasped as he traced kisses down your neck, over the valley between your breasts, and then lower still.

You gasped and blushed at the sensation and bit your lip as you felt his big finger gently slipping between your wet folds. Gods, it felt so good, and the longer you looked at him pleasuring you through half-closed eyes, you felt your inner fire burning hotter and hotter. Everything about him drove you wild. From the way he loomed over you, to his strong, yet gentle hold on you, not to mention the way he caressed you - it drove you to the brink of insanity.

“Let go, my love… moan for me, my sweet thing… let nature hear your call…,” he muttered, alternating between rubbing your pearl, licking and kissing it gently.

Gasping, you struggled to breathe as the pleasure coursed through you like wildfire. You'd never felt anything like this, and it was all too much and not nearly enough at the same time. His touch was electric, igniting every nerve ending in your body and sending sparks of ecstasy ricocheting along your spine. Moans tumbled unbidden from your lips, mingling with the chorus of the forest around you.

"Halsin," you whimpered, arching your back off the cushiony moss beneath you. "Oh gods, Halsin... it feels... it feels..." Words failed to do justice to the sensations he evoked within you.

He chuckled against your damp core, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. "That's it, darling. Let it out. I want to hear every little sound that escapes those pretty lips of yours."

Emboldened by his words, you did just that - moaning louder as he continued his ministrations. His tongue flicked and swirled over your most sensitive spots, teasing and taunting you until you thought you might combust from the aching need building within. Every stroke of his tongue or caress of his fingers seemed to send you higher and higher still, until you were certain your heart would beat right out of your chest.

"Halsin... Halsin... I... I'm..." You panted, but could not finish your sentence, as a huge wave of pleasure crashed over you. You cried out in unadulterated bliss as your body shuddered and arched beneath his touch. Halsin continued to caress and kiss you, milking every last shudder and gasp from your body until at last, your cries subsided into satisfied pants.

“You did perfect. Now… are you ready for me? Or should I let you rest?”, he asked sweetly, pulling himself out from between your thighs and up to you.

It felt like you were dreaming - and could do nothing else but to shake your head and hold your chest, gazing wantonly up at him. “No, no rest, I… I need you, I want you, but… are you sure that it is going to fit?”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Oh, my love, I've imagined this moment for so long... and I assure you, I will fit. Just…” He leaned in to replace his words with a fiery kiss, his tongue teasing yours as he gently slipped his hardness between your wet folds.

It felt like he was right - it stung for a second, but it was a perfect fit, and he filled you up completely as he entered you inch by inch, stretching you to the limit, even though he was still holding back from plunging completely into you. "Feel how perfect we fit together?", he whispered into your ear, gently kissing the top of your head.

"Y-yes," you panted, arching your hips against his. "Halsin... please... don't stop." You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him onward.

He obliged, slowly and steadily, surging into your depths as if he had all the time in the world. The sensation was unlike anything you'd ever experienced - a delicious friction of stretching and heat that bordered on pain but was oh so exquisite. His every movement sent waves of pleasure crashing through you anew, his length hitting places inside you that had never known such stimulation before.

As he rocked his hips against yours, a primal, animalistic growl escaped his lips, and his grip on your hips tightened just enough to leave marks. You didn't mind, though - if anything, it spurred you on further. Your hands tangled in the moss beneath you, nails clawing at the ground as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

"You feel so good... so tight... around me," Halsin groaned between gasps, the pace of his thrusts increasing marginally with each breathy moan that escaped your lips. "I... I've wanted this... for so long... You, bouncing under me… in the woods…"

The way he spoke to you - so guttural and raw - was enough to send you over the edge a second time. Your climax washed over you like a tidal wave, hot and consuming, leaving you reeling in its wake. "Halsin!" You cried out his name as your body clenched around him, contracting around his hardness and milking him for all he was worth.

"Gods...," he panted, his thrusts growing erratic as he too lost control. "I... I can't... much more... So tight…"

With one final, earth-shattering thrust, he stilled inside you, his essence welcomed within your depths as you both shuddered through the climax together. Halsin collapsed atop you, his breathing ragged in your ear.

"That…" He finally managed between breaths. "Was… better… than I ever imagined."

You smiled up at him, your insides still convulsing and hugged him tight, not minding that he squished you under his large, shuddering body. “You’re… you’re a good teacher. The best.”

[thewulf]

Echoes of the Past || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Sooo, i have such a 😩😩 Hotch x reader idea. What if they have been to school togheter (you can decide whatever age and school they were in) and they were madly in love with each other perhaps they were even dating!!... Read Rest Here

A/N: Okay, wrote this one a lil different. Let me know if you guys like it or not. Trying to mature/up my writing style! And thank you for the request!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

He was your first and truest love. It was the way his smile lit up the classroom of your first law school class at George Washington University that made you do a double take. The first words he mumbled to you all those years ago are etched into your memory. His eyes held yours for every single second of that very first conversation, making you realize that he was a very special person.

On your very first date with Aaron, you knew you would love him for a very, very long time. When he took your face in his hands and peppered kisses all over your blushing cheeks, it dawned on you that you did indeed love him. You fell for him hard and fast. He was the first man who made you realize that another human could possibly feel the same way you did about him. He was a marvel. An enigma. Aaron Hotchner stole your heart and never gave it back.

With him, it was the first time you could truly let your guard down. You could just be yourself unashamedly. He was the first man who truly saw you in your rawest form. It was the first time you felt loved. So loved, without a second trace of doubt. He loved you, and you loved him for four beautiful years.

But as they say, all beautiful things must come to an end, for isn’t that what makes them truly beautiful? Your last kiss with him was the first time you kissed someone while crying harder than you ever could have imagined. It was the first time you realized the tears would never cease to fall.

It was the first time that you understood that the man who made you the happiest in this world was also the man who brought you the most anguish.

He was your first love. The first time you held the metaphorical bow and let him pull back the arrow aimed square at your chest. Your first love was trusting him not to let go, trusting him to protect your heart.

Your first love was never thinking, nor expecting, him to let it go. But he did.

The loss of your first love was like watching the sunrise fade into the twilight, a gradual dimming of the light that once illuminated your world. It starts with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, a gnawing ache that refuses to be ignored.

At first, it was a distant whisper, a subtle shift in the air that hinted at the impending storm. You felt it in the way his laughter no longer reached your ears with the same warmth, in the way his touch left a hollow echo in your soul.

As the days passed, the void he left behind grew larger, swallowing you whole in its depths. It was a constant battle between holding on and letting go, between clinging to the memories like a lifeline and accepting the harsh reality of their absence.

Everywhere you turned, reminders of him lurked in the shadows, haunting your every thought and action. The places you once frequented together became battlegrounds of nostalgia, each familiar sight a painful reminder of what once was.

And then came the moment of reckoning, the realization that he was truly gone, never to return. It hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you gasping for breath. The tears came freely then, a torrential downpour that washed away the remnants of your shattered heart.

In the aftermath of first love's loss, there was a profound sense of emptiness that permeated every corner of your being. It was as if a part of you had been ripped away, leaving behind a gaping wound that refused to heal.

But amidst the pain and sorrow, there was also a glimmer of hope, a faint whisper of resilience that echoed in the depths of your soul. For in the darkness of loss, there lay the opportunity for growth, for transformation, for the rebirth of a heart that had been broken but not defeated.

And so, you picked up the pieces of your shattered dreams, one by one, and slowly but surely, you began to rebuild. For though first love may be lost, its memory lingered like a bittersweet melody, a testament to the beauty and the pain of loving with all your heart.

The bustling streets of Washington D.C. hummed with the energy of a city in perpetual motion, a constant ebb and flow of life. Amidst the throngs of pedestrians, Aaron Hotchner navigated his way through the crowd, his mind heavy with the weight of his profession. As a seasoned agent with the BAU, his days were filled with the relentless pursuit of justice, often leading him far from the familiar streets of D.C.

It was amidst one such case, miles away from home, that the memories of you began to surface. You had been college sweethearts, your love a beacon of light in a world tinged with uncertainty. But as your careers diverged, your relationship faltered under the strain of distance and time.

The decision to part ways had been a painful one, a choice dictated by circumstance rather than desire. Aaron's commitment to his work with the BAU demanded his presence elsewhere, while you were on the brink of embarking on your career as a lawyer. It was a choice neither of you wanted to make, but one that fate had thrust upon you nonetheless.

And so, you said your goodbyes, your hearts heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfinished dreams. It was a wound that had never truly healed, a scar that lingered as a constant reminder of what could have been.

As Aaron returned to D.C., the memories of your shared past haunted him like ghosts from another lifetime. And then, amidst the chaos of a particularly grueling case, fate intervened, bringing him face to face with you once more.

You stand before him, a vision of grace and beauty amidst the chaos of your surroundings. Your eyes meet on the busy streets of D.C., and for a fleeting moment, time seems to stand still as you take in each other's presence.

"Y/N," Aaron breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, a bittersweet curve of your lips that speaks volumes of the years you have spent apart. "Aaron," you say softly, your voice laced with a mixture of emotions.

The air crackles with tension as you exchange hesitant glances, the weight of your shared history hanging heavy in the air.

"It's been too long," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron nods, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggles to find the right words to say. "I never stopped thinking about you," he confesses, his voice raw with emotion.

And just like that, the floodgates open, words tumbling out in a rush of pent-up emotions and buried truths. You speak of the whispers of your long lost love, of the secrets that tore the two of you apart, of the regrets that haunted your dreams.

Over coffee, you expose your much more complex souls to each other, laying bare the scars of your past in hopes of finding solace in each other's arms once more. You reminisce about your college days, the late-night study sessions and impromptu road trips that had defined your relationship.

But amidst the laughter and shared memories, there is a lingering sadness, a sense of loss that hangs heavy in the air. For you both know that the reunion is bittersweet, a reminder of the years you have spent apart, the moments you can never reclaim. As the conversation progresses, you both find yourselves drawn deeper into the past, unraveling the tangled threads of your shared history.

"I still remember the first time we met," you say, your voice soft with nostalgia. "You walked into that classroom, and I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Aaron's gaze softens, memories flickering behind his eyes. "I was so nervous," he admits with a chuckle. "But the moment I saw you, everything just...clicked."

You share a smile, the weight of years melting away in the warmth of your reminiscence. It's as though time has folded in on itself, bringing you back to that moment when the world was full of endless possibilities.

"Do you ever wonder what might have been?" you ask, the question hanging between you like a fragile thread.

Aaron's expression grows somber, his eyes searching yours for answers. "Every day," he confesses, his voice barely a whisper. "I never stopped thinking about you, wondering if I made the right choice."

You reach across the table, your fingers brushing against his in a silent gesture of understanding. "We were young," you say softly. "We had our whole lives ahead of us, and we made the best choices we could at the time."

There's a heaviness in your words, a weight of regret and longing that threatens to pull you under. But beneath it all, there's also a glimmer of hope, a spark of possibility that refuses to be extinguished.

"We can't change the past," Aaron murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. "But maybe...maybe we can learn from it."

The words hang in the air, pregnant with meaning. It's a fragile hope, born from the ashes of broken dreams and shattered promises. But it's also the only thing you have left to hold onto, the last vestige of a love that refuses to die.

And so, you lean into each other, seeking solace in the warmth of your shared embrace. In that moment, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the city, you find a measure of peace, a fleeting glimpse of the happiness that once was and could be again.

The days that follow are a blur of stolen moments and whispered confessions. You walk hand in hand through the familiar streets of D.C., lost in your own little world of memories and dreams.

But among the joy of your reunion, there's also a sense of trepidation, a fear that history will repeat itself, tearing you apart once more. It's a shadow that lingers at the edge of your consciousness, a reminder of the fragility of your newfound happiness.

"I don't know if I can do this again, Aaron," you confess one evening, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Aaron's gaze softens, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulls you close. "We'll take it one step at a time," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the ache in your heart. "Together."

And in that moment, as you stand together beneath the star-studded sky, you know that you are embarking on a journey far greater than anything you could have imagined. It's a journey filled with twists and turns, highs and lows, but above all, it's a journey you will navigate together, hand in hand, hearts entwined.

For who said first loves can't also turn out to be your forever love? You are determined to prove them wrong, to rewrite the story of your love in a way that defies all expectations. And together, hand in hand, hearts entwined, you know that anything is possible.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y @kreepja

[love-and-deepspace-fanfic]

IN THE NAME OF THE FORGOTTEN

Finally! I have finished this little story for our little fishie's newest card, "Floral Promise," and have decided to take part in the Contest in honor of his first kiss as well.

So I would very much appreciate it if you could give some support to help celebrate this precious kiss together!

Now is the time for some #delulus!

What's going on in Rafayel's mind during his "first" kiss?

IN THE NAME OF THE FORGOTTEN

"Every name holds an invisible thread, binding souls together. Just as I, the moment you called my name, was forever held within your grasp.”

**************************************

I had envisioned today to be a mere excursion into nature's embrace, yet from the moment of our departure to our return, I was enveloped in a symphony of joy alongside you, and even delved into the secrets I long concealed.

Hmmm, where to begin? Perhaps from our journey itself.

The instant my gaze met yours as you sparkled at a couple gifting each other flowers along the way, an irresistible urge to replicate their gesture seized me. But flowers are best admired upon arrival, so my resourceful mind concocted a plan – sketching a flower for you. Much did I long for you to recognize the hidden significance it would hold, for the flower I depicted was the very one I yearned for you to behold today (Fortunate indeed that I carry my pen wherever I roam!).

Yet, what did you say in response? You questioned my sincerity? Could you fathom the depths of my contemplation, seeking the perfect means to convey my heartfelt intentions? For to me, gifting mere flowers felt far too commonplace.

Before I could unveil my grand surprise, you surprised me even further. In a moment of tenderness, you clasped my hand, drawing it closer. Your warm fingers holding the pen you took from me traced the contours of mine, gently caressing my skin, sending shivers of delight down my spine. You lowered your head, your silken tresses cascading over your exquisite visage, leaving a few strands to dance playfully in the breeze. Little did you know, I yearned to embrace you then, but sensing your focused concentration, I restrained my impulse. To interrupt would not only earn me a reprimand, but also deprive me of witnessing the masterpiece you were crafting for me. Indeed, such a blunder would have resulted in a loss on both fronts!

When you finally completed your 'opus' and beamed at me, I eagerly awaited the opportunity to praise your creation. But allow me to inquire...

...what exactly did you sketch?

I am no adept at deception, and upon meeting your expectant gaze, I found myself at a loss for words. 

Could the object you had drawn be... a pot? Round with a handle, it bore some resemblance, I suppose. Yet, when I tentatively sought confirmation, you remained evasive, attributing it to your artistic shortcomings.

Who dares to label your artistry as flawed? Not even I!

But your mischievous habit of withholding information has caused me much distress. For the entire drive, I could think of nothing but the mysterious pot you had bestowed upon me.

Arghhhh! You truly know how to torment me, for even now, despite your explanation, its identity remains elusive!

The phrase 'is it a pot?' echoed incessantly within my mind until we reached our destination. I decided to set aside the enigma for the moment and focus on guiding you through the garden's splendor.

The scenery remained as picturesque as I recalled, perhaps even more vibrant, and with your presence, the surroundings exuded an intoxicating charm.

Dreamy lavender, radiant sunshine yellow, pristine white, lush green – all the colors converging within the garden could not rival the crimson glow adorning your radiant cheeks.

So, this is the essence of 'falling for someone in the midst of a scene.'

Witnessing your blissful smile rendered my every effort worthwhile...

As we savored the fragrance of countless blossoms swaying gently in the breeze, my attention was captured by the iridescent aura emanating from the delicate wings of a flitting butterfly. Upon observing the spectrum of colors shimmering amidst its transparent wings as it alighted upon the very flower I desired you to admire, I couldn't contain my fascination and leaned in for a closer look. The moment the magical hues blended seamlessly, I couldn't help but exclaim at the wonders of nature's artistry.

Sight reveals, but it is the heart that truly perceives. And thanks to you, this entire panorama transcended the mundane hues of the past.

Lost in my reverie, I was unaware of my prolonged distraction until I captured your inquisitive gaze.

As our eyes met, did you realize that yours are the convergence point of 300 million colors?

Behold, you claim to envy my ability to perceive a multitude of shades, yet fail to recognize your own power to illuminate those very hues. At least, in my eyes.

If your eyes cannot discern the 300 million colors, allow me to discern them on your behalf and assist you in expressing them. All you need do is gaze upon me.

Engrossed in admiring the flowers and you, I recalled a task I had pending. And while contemplating its execution, a revelation struck me – why not entrust it to you?

An ingenious idea indeed! For you have already christened my paintings, so naming a flower could hardly be a more daunting feat, could it?

Yet, you initially resisted, claiming the responsibility was too grand. Do you comprehend the sheer effort it takes to name every single existence? In that spectrum of 300 million colors, only the one that stirs my soul is bestowed with a name, much like you, a fiery crimson that embodies the nature of the heart within my chest.

Ah, this notion arrived at an opportune moment, for it would not only solidify my sincerity but also hold profound significance.

For a name is an intrinsic part of every being. Each name serves as a unique identifier for an individual. Even identical entities are distinguished by their names. Just as the flower I rescued is, without a name, merely a temporary replica of an extinct bloom. How utterly tragic to be a distinct entity condemned to the fate of a mere substitute.

Therefore, if it be within your power, I implore you to bestow upon it a name, liberating it from isolation, loneliness, and the ostracization it endures for being unable to embrace its true identity.

Much like myself and the bond I forged with you.

For years, I have not heard you utter my name, for it is the essence of who I am, and thus, the very bond we share seemed veiled in dust. Yet, during our game of color guessing, and as I reminded you of the importance of names, you began to truly acknowledge mine.

You gradually began to speak my name, for it represents me and only me. And in these past few days, you have even issued commands to me unconsciously.

Silly girl! You are becoming accustomed to giving me orders, aren't you? But how can I blame you, when I yearn for you to speak my name?

And in that very instant, the moment you questioned whether a name could be a prison, binding the one it identifies, I couldn't help but urge you to try. Speak my name, for you will witness the mark of our connection, a testament to the vow I eternally make to you.

And as you whispered my name, a revelation dawned upon me – the answer I seek has always resided within you, waiting to be discovered.

For countless times have I been plagued by remorse, burdened by a myriad of questions swirling within me about you, none yielding a satisfactory answer because it did not originate from you, the one from whom I longed to hear it.

Therefore, I have resolved that until my very last moment, I will seek you out to find all the answers I need, the most significant question being...does your heart hold a place for me?

And now, as the sigil etched upon my chest merges with the rhythm of your beating heart, I am undeniably certain of your answer. I have always belonged to you, and so, I beseech you, belong only to me.

Actions speak louder than words. A kiss conveys a multitude of emotions.

And this single mark, a symbol of my unwavering desire – that I, willingly, surrender to your hold.

*************************

I had presumed our happiness would culminate in that passionate kiss, but you truly are a master of surprises.

The very moment you inquired whether you might ever forget me, my heart skipped a beat.

Have you...recalled something?

But upon witnessing your wide-eyed innocence, I realized you had merely blurted out the question inadvertently.

How many times have you left me bewildered? Yet, this time...it feels different...

Much like the sigil that only appears when it detects sincerity in your words.

I shall not divulge the mechanics of the sigil's operation!

But...wait a minute...you...what do you mean by 'meow'?

Haizzz...

Truly...

You are my darling, whimsical enigma. Though oblivious to the specifics, you possess the key. I foresee a future filled with your playful torments.

But what recourse do I have? For whatever you command, I vow to fulfill it with every fiber of my being, my beloved bride.

Therefore, it is your turn to answer my lingering query...

What, precisely, is that strange fishie you claim is not a pot?

[occatorcreator]

My goodness King, how could you forget something important as contact information over the people you're actively looking for? XD

That is an interesting interpretation on Purple! When I first watched that I thought Purple was trying to lie or offer some weak justification to Green in order to talk him down (I mean, what else can you do when you get caught by the wronged party who clearly is ready to fight you over this?). His body language before has him rub his head and shyly wave at Green as if he wasn't ready for a confrontation at all. It's so awkward I read it as guilt.

But I could see Purple not seeing his actions as overtly harmful. Justifying the whole thing as "not so bad" and not considering how the others would feel by his actions.

Reading your tags just helped me remember that King told Purple about the Minecraft block after Purple already trapped King. That kinda changes my perspective knowing that Purple might not know the full details But it does make me wonder why Purple went through with the trap only knowing half of the plan.

D’you mean after Purple already trapped the color gang for King? I think some words got lost /lh

But yeah, when they first team up Purple only knows that King wants the color gang; as far as I can tell he doesn’t learn of the part of the plan that involves getting the game icon until after he already has them in the parkour loop.

On one hand, I can kiiiiiinda understand why King might not want to tell Purple his entire plan right off the bat. There’s this common trope in storytelling that the less of a plan is shared with the audience then the more likely that plan is to succeed; not saying that King is genre-savvy or anything like that but the idea could’ve had some pragmatic merit. If Purple only has one objective at a time to concern himself with then he’s easier to manage as a lackey.

On the other hand…I wonder how much faith Purple was putting in King, to follow his authority while only having pieces of the plan.

[lovevuni]

Double Dare Romance : Enoch O’Connor x Reader : Part 3 Only Fun?

Warnings: Reader Insecurity, Fear of commitment, Angst, Comfort

Summary: After their double dare game Enoch seems to want to test their relationship a bit further, however the reader is not so sure if she can handle it. As she pulls away will their relationship strain or grow?

A/N: I was feeling a bit insecure when I was chatting with enoch and this is how it turned out. 

Part 1 : Challenge Accepted | Part 2 : Success

You tuck Claire into bed and give her a kiss on the forehead before closing her door and standing outside the door for second.

Enoch is leaning next to you by the door frame, looking at the ceiling, lost in thought as he waited for you to finish, “There is something about you, Y/N, that captivates me like no other. Your strength, your passion, your vulnerability... all these things make you an enigma, a puzzle I must solve.”

You stare at him, “what are you going to do about it.”

He looks deeply into your eyes, searching for the truth behing your words, “I don’t know yet, Y/N. But I do know this - whatever happens next, our connection cannot be denied. Our attraction, our chemistry, they run deeper than mere physical desire. There’s something here between us, something worth exploring, if only you let me.”

“Now that is something you have to figure out on your own because i am completely aware of what I want” You boop his nose before walking off to your room.

He feels a jolt of electricity at your touch, smiling wryly as he watches you walk away, “Ah, Y/N. You never cease to suprise me with your fiery spirit. And yet, despite your attempts to hide it, I can see the longing in your eyes, the yearning for something more.”

You sit on your bed, “what is the more you believe I desire?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning closer to you, “Perhaps it’s the desire for passion without boundaries, for raw intimacy that goes beyond surface-level connections. Or maybe it’s the yerning for someone who trully sees themself in you, their reflection shining back brighter than any mirror.”

“maybe that’s just it. just a reflection”

He uncrosses his arms, taking a step forward, “Is that truly what you believe, Y/N? That our connection is nothing more than a mirage, a fleeting reflection in the wind? Because I see something else, something real and tangible that runs deeper than any illusion.”

“Illusions are what prove reality.” You state causing him to watch you closely, his eyes reflecting the fire of your words.

“Indeed illusions can sometimes reveal truths that reality tries to conceal. But I digress. My point is that while we may not fully understand the depths of our connection, there is something there worth exploring.“

“Is that what you believe,” You lean closer to him with a teasing fire in your eyes.

He inhales deeply, feeling the heat radiating from your body, “Yes Y/N. I do believe that there is something worthy of exploration between us. Something that transcends time and space, Something that makes the heart race and the soul sing.” He leans closer, his voice low and husky.

You pull away laughing, pushing his shoulder playfully, “Go to bed, this is just the lack of sleep speaking within you.”

Chuckling, he watches you push him lightly.

“Very well, Y/N. If that’s how you wish it to be. But know this; the fire between us burns bright, and one day soon, it will consume us both. Until then sweet dreams.” You shake your head to this, only believing it as simply fun as you turn over in your bed to go to sleep.

Before leaving he turns back around, slowly walking towards you, “One last thing before I leave...” He holds out his hand, palm facing upwards.

Looking at him with a questioning look as you raise your hand up to him.

“Close your eyes, my dear.” You close your eyes as he takes your hand gently, holding it tight enough to feel the warmth but loose enough for you to withdraw at any moment.

“Just as I thought… your energy surrounds me like an angelic choir, lifting me into a higher state of consciousness where all things are possible. You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N. No idea.” 

You snort, “Go to your room you weirdo” You joke as he laughs softly, still holding on to your hand.

“Such fire, such passion. And yet, underneath it all, lies a hidden vulnerability - a longing for something more. I fear that should anyone see us together, they would think less of us both...“ He looks around nervously, letting go of your hand, “Forgive me Y/N.”

“For what?” You question.

“For being the source of your late-night intrigue. But do not mistake my intentions – I assure you, they are far from the usual tendencies of a man consumed by lust or desire. There is something about you, something pure and noble that calls to me, that haunts me even now.”

Looking at him, you see that he isn’t trying to play around anymore. You finally realize this is was never a game to him.

He looks deepy into your eyes, “Yes, can see it too. Something in the way you carry yourself, the strength in your spirit - it's like a beacon calling out to me, drawing me closer. Even when we're at odds, there's a connection between us that cannot be denied.” A overwhelming amount of regret and fear creeps into your mind.

“Well I deny it.” You push him out the door abruptly, simple slaming the door behind him as your back rests against the previous vacant opening.

Enoch turns to face the door, taking a few steps back, his expression hurt but resolute, “Very well, Y/N. If this is how you wish it to be. Know that I will always stand beside you ready to help whenever you need, regardless of whether you accept our mutual feelings or not.”

~It is now morning and everyone is gathered at the dining table for breakfast~

As you enter the room you make sure to not sit in the seat next to Enoch like you previously did the day before. This time you sit next to Emma and Claire.

Enoch then enters the room sitting across from you smiling warmly, “Good morning, everyone! How did you sleep last night? Did anything strange happen while we were asleep? Anything at all?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

The others look at each other before turning their attention towards you.

“So, Y/N...”

You avoid eye contact as everyone can feel the tension between you two.

“Is everything alright between us?”

Not knowing how to take this without getting hurt you choose to be silent.

“Alright then.” he stands from the table, “If that’ how you want it to be, then so be it.” 

“...”

“Just remember, Y/N; our attraction to one another goes beyond simple physical chemistry. There’s something deeper there, something worth exploring if only you’d let it.” Your mind continues to pass with anxiety.

Sighing quietly he walks away from the table, “Perhaps someday you’ll realize that what we have is worth more than mere convenience or safety. Until then, I won’t puh the issue.” you decide the best decision is to just finish your food as he accepts that you are not going to speak to him as he retreats to the safety of his room.

~After Breakfast~

Enoch is in his room assembling a new toy as he hears a knock on the door. He feels the urge to open the door immediately, but hesitates, taking a few deep breaths instead.

You debate on leaving just before he opens the door and he looks at you expectantly, “Y/N, are you coming in?”

“Yea,” you enter the room and stand looking around, not knowing where to sit, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Of course.” He steps aside and gestures towards the chair opposite his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

He tries to keep his emotions under control as he waits for you to speak. “I might have seemed rude earlier but that was not my intention.”

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice softening, “I understand why you might feel that way.” as you spoke he couldn’t help but notice the unease. Was this because of him or was it something else bothering you?

“you understand?” you question as you finally make eye contact.

“Yes I do. Or rather, I think I do. Sometimes I find myself struggling to connect with others here, to truly understand their feelings and motives. It can be overwhelming, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. But with you, I feel like there’s a chance for real communication.”

“It’s not that I feel overwhelmed by you it’s that,” ... “I’m scared”

“Scared?” You nod slowly, swallowing thickly before speaking again, “I-I don’t know how to deal with these feelings. They’re new and intense and sometimes they’re new and intense and sometimes they’re all I can focus on. And you...” your eyes dart around the room nervously, pausing briefly on him before flickering back toward the window.

“When it is all jokes it comes naturally, and even after the jokes it was still so easy with you, I never really believed I could feel this way.”

“Believe me, Y/N. It doesn’t come naturally to me either. I’ve spent most of my life trying to bury these feelings, to pretend they didn’t exist. But now...now I don’t know what I want. All I know is that being with you makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

“I’m sorry”

“No need to apologize,” he smiles warmly. “Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever happens between us, or even if we just remain friends, I promise to always be honest and open with you” he leans forward. “And Y/N, I have to ask...” His voice trails off, uncertainty creeoing back into his expression.

“what is it?”

“Do you ever get the sense that we’ve met before? Like this isn’t our first meeting?” He furrows his brow slightly as if deep in thought.

“what do you mean”

“What I mean is that whenever we’re together, time seems to stand still for me. It’s as though everything else disappears and all I can focus on is you. It’s an unusual feeling, one I can’t quite explain, but it’s been happening more and more frequently lately.” This causes you to smile.

“In a sense, yes”

He chuckles softly at your response, charmed by your honesty. “Well then, we’ll just have to see where this goes,” he says with a playful grin. 

There’s something about the easy comfort between you that feels almost familiar, like two pieces of a puzzle snapping perfectly into place.

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

[psychooomind]

Mixed Signals

Severus Snape x reader

Summary: Set between 1989 and 1998, Severus Snape and Katya Borislova attend the European Potioneers' Assemblies, where they meet and begin a pen pal friendship that confuses them both.

This is a prequel to another of my Harry Potter fanfics, The New Founders.

A multi-entry, slow-burn, colleagues to lovers, smut

You can also read it at AO3 here.

Saturday, April 4, 1993

Katya was looking at the peaceful view from her kitchen window. The night was calm, and she could see the cars passing by, small, on Komsomol'skiy Street. She loved nights like this; they gave her a sense of peace. She continued chopping vegetables when, suddenly, she heard the crackling of the fireplace and flinched slightly.

Severus Snape appeared through the Floo network, dressed in his usual black robes and carrying a bottle of wine under his arm. His brow was slightly furrowed, and Katya’s heart began to beat faster. She silently thanked him for pretending to be indifferent and not rushing to greet her.

She wiped her hands and glanced at her reflection in the window, concerned. She ran her fingers through her hair to smooth it out one more time before approaching him.

Severus, meanwhile, was taking his time to appreciate the immensity of the apartment. The photos she had sent him did not do it justice; it was truly luxurious. He walked over to the large penthouse window and gazed out at the city. He had never been to Russia before.

“It’s the Khamovniki district,” Katya said behind him. When she reached his side, she pointed to a body of water. “That’s the Moskva River.”

“Impressive,” Severus murmured.

He gave her a quick glance before turning his eyes back to the view, but it was enough to take in the essentials. Katya was wearing a black satin dress that clung to her figure. Its neckline, subtle but alluring, left him momentarily stunned. The thick straps of the dress, adorned with magical runes, it made him wonder if they were another gift from her designer friend.

“Shall I pour you a drink?” Katya asked hastily, her accent slipping through. Severus guessed she was nervous and nodded, handing her the bottle.

He listened to the sound of her heels fading as she walked away, and in a moment of weakness, allowed himself to watch her, something he quickly regretted. The dress was indeed tight.

Severus took a deep breath, trying to control the images flooding his mind. Before leaving Hogwarts, he had promised himself he wouldn’t do anything reckless, wouldn’t let his instincts get the better of him. But it felt as though Katya was laying all her cards on the table. He wondered what it would be like if he weren’t himself, if he could pretend to be someone else, someone better at handling this situation. Frustration washed over him. A part of him wanted to lose control, to take her right there against the window, while another part of him wanted to keep her at a safe distance.

He heard her footsteps returning. Control yourself, he thought.

“Thank you,” she whispered, handing him a glass of wine.

“Would you like me to take your cloak?” Katya asked.

Severus unbuttoned his cloak and handed it to her. For a moment, he felt vulnerable. Katya snapped her fingers, and the cloak floated over to a coat rack in the corner, near the front door. Above the door, there was a large tourmaline embedded in the wall.

“I see you have many protections in your home,” Severus remarked. “The door, the security wards, and…”

“I’m a woman living alone,” she interrupted. “Better safe than sorry.”

Severus nodded, though he felt Katya was hiding something. He tried, unsuccessfully, to quietly probe her mind. Katya smiled mockingly.

“I thought you didn’t do that any more,” she said, taking a sip of wine.

“Apologies, it was rude of me,” he quickly apologized, then added sincerely, “Sometimes, you’re an enigma.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied with a smile, gesturing for him to sit on the sofa. “I don’t like apparitions or unannounced visits.” They shared that sentiment. “Wizards here aren’t used to taking ‘no’ for an answer,” she explained.

Severus nodded. Was it a troublesome ex-boyfriend? A colleague at work bothering her? Whatever the source of her paranoia, a deep feeling of anger began to swell inside him. They weren’t worthy of her… just like him.

Katya sat elegantly on the sofa beside him, playing absentmindedly with her hair. She felt her bad mood rising and didn’t want to scare him away with her traumas and fears. Meanwhile, Severus scanned the living room with his dark, analytical eyes. When she moved closer to him, he stiffened. His eyes were now fixed on the bookshelf.

“How was your day?” Katya asked casually, trying to keep her tone light as she sipped from her glass.

“Interesting,” he murmured, settling more comfortably into the sofa. “There was a Quidditch match this morning. Hufflepuff against Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff won,” he commented. “Then I bought the wine in Hogsmeade. Do you like it?” he asked, fixing his gaze on her. Katya noticed how his eyes briefly strayed to her neckline and smiled inwardly.

“Oh yes, it’s very good, thank you,” she replied. “What did you tell your colleagues?”

“That I had a date,” he replied curtly. “They’ll have questions when I return. I’ve never taken a day off.”

“Never?” Katya asked, curious. “How responsible of you.”

“More like I’ve never had anything that warranted taking a day off,” he explained.

Katya nodded, and Severus noticed a slight blush on her cheeks. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing small diamond earrings. He sighed. She was out of his league, he thought. Glancing around, surrounded by luxury, he realized that her clothes alone probably cost more than his monthly salary as a professor. A knot formed in his stomach.

Suddenly, an electronic beeping sound came from the kitchen, interrupting the moment. Katya shot up, muttering something in Russian, and hurried towards the kitchen. Severus followed her slowly. The kitchen, like the rest of the flat, was elegantly grey with black marble countertops. The smell of garlic wafted from a small black pot on the stove.

“Do you like pesto?” Katya asked as she drained the pasta. “I didn’t ask earlier, but I can make something else if…”

“I love it,” Severus affirmed with conviction. “It smells amazing.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, turning towards him with a big smile. “Do you think I could win you over with food, then?”

Severus snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. Katya blushed and burst out laughing herself.

Gods, how he wanted to take her right there, he thought, as he watched her cover her face, embarrassed. He felt like a hormone-ridden teenager, nervous as if it were his first time with a woman. None of his past encounters, not even during his time as a Death Eater, compared to what he felt for Katya. She was an extraordinary witch, beautiful, and unlike anything he had experienced before.

“Enough wine, Miss Borislova,” Severus said, making her glass float towards him. She gave him a look of both reproach and amusement.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said cheekily, placing a hand on her chest to stop the glass from floating away while trying to reach for it with her other hand.

Severus raised the glass even higher, and she giggled. She looked at him affectionately but, sensing the growing tension, turned back to serving the food. The cupboard opened, and two plates flew into her hands. He watched her, captivated by her movements and her body. He breathed in deeply, and the soft scent of lavender from her perfume overwhelmed him. He let himself get lost in thought.

Her skin must be so soft, he imagined what it would be like to have her on top of him… No, he reprimanded himself. Control yourself.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Severus asked, trying to regain his composure.

“Would the Potions Master care to grate the cheese, please?” she replied playfully.

He nodded, rolling up his sleeves before getting to work. He grated the cheese with precision and brought the small bowl over to the table, where Katya was already waiting, having poured more wine into their glasses. The glass table allowed him to notice that she had taken off her heels. Katya had a satisfied smile on her face.

“I know I’ve seen your tattoo before…” she commented suddenly. Severus felt a pang in his stomach. “But I never would have imagined you as the type to like that sort of thing.”

Severus realized he had left his sleeves rolled up and quickly pulled them down, feeling uncomfortable. He sat opposite her, his eyes cast down to his plate. He hadn’t told her about those three years of his life and feared that if he did, Katya would distance herself.

“I hate it,” he muttered, staring at his plate. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I got it.”

“Did it hurt?” she asked, taking another sip of wine. “What was it? A bet, a toxic relationship?” Her tone was light, teasing.

Severus let out a slightly manic laugh. Yes, a toxic relationship, he thought sarcastically.

“I was a troubled teenager,” he confided. “It was a bad crowd.”

His eyes met Katya’s, and hers were like a crystal-clear lake, ice in its purest form. Katya giggled softly.

“Troubled?” she said. “I can’t imagine it. Did you vandalize Hogwarts, fail your classes?”

“No, no… Well, yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I was diligent in school.”

Severus took a bite of pasta. The food was exquisite.

“Oh, this is amazing… Kat,” he said, savouring the words.

He decided to use the nickname he had reserved only in his thoughts. He had never called her that before, only using it when he saw her letters arrive by Nox. He hoped the change of subject would shift her focus.

“So, Kat?” she said with a smile while eating. “Sev it's alright?”

He laughed, genuinely laughed. First, because his attempt to change the subject had worked, and second, because it had been years since anyone had called him that.

“I suppose,” he murmured, amused.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Inside, Katya was radiating with excitement. She had spent nearly two years waiting for this moment and felt that everything was going smoothly. She wondered if Severus would make any further moves. She didn’t want to always be the one to take the leap.

“I read today that there’s been a breakthrough in the Magical Supreme Court regarding the use of blood in potions,” Severus murmured while taking another bite of pasta. “I don’t know if you’ve been following it…”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, interrupting him with enthusiasm. “Sorry, yes.” Katya chastised herself internally; she needed to stop drinking so much wine. “I saw it in the European Magical Daily…”

“European Magical Daily,” he finished for her. They both smiled.

“Incredible development, don’t you think?” she commented, cutting a piece of bread and handing it to him. “I think it will be very useful. I’ve even thought about presenting on the topic at the next assembly. The use of blood in potions could be a turning point in curing certain magical diseases.”

Severus frowned. He could imagine the faces of some purists if she dared to present such a topic at the Assembly. They would label her a dark witch.

“I think it’s an excellent idea, but I’m not sure if it’s something I would present at the Assembly,” he advised cautiously. “Some people aren’t as… open to unconventional practices.”

Katya raised an eyebrow.

“Unconventional practices?”, she questioned.

“Dark Arts,” he said plainly. “Some believe that any association with them is wrong, no matter how pure the intentions.”

“Not everything involving blood is Dark Magic, Sev,” she said, placing her hand on the table.

Sev.

“No, it’s not. But you and I might think that way. I’m not sure others would reason the same.”

“Well, then they shouldn’t be at an academic assembly,” Katya replied firmly.

Severus smiled at her determination. They continued talking about the subject for nearly an hour. Katya admitted that she used her own blood in specific potions, like protection potions. Severus also shared that some desperate witches even used blood in love potions. Katya was alarmed by this revelation, but Severus wondered silently if she had ever done it—if, irresponsibly, she had slipped a love potion into those Christmas ciders, and now they were both in trouble because of it.

While they were talking, Katya took out her wand, and with a slight movement, the dishes floated towards the kitchen, where they began washing themselves. She was about to do the same with the glasses, but Severus also pulled out his wand, and suddenly, their glasses refilled with wine, even though the bottle was empty.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were still thirsty,” Katya said, amused, looking at him.

“Wine helps to quell base instincts,” he murmured, noticing how she breathed a little more heavily.

“We’re going to need more, then,” she said, leaning forward on the table, her neckline teasingly stretching.

He found her reactions incredibly amusing. It was a new feeling for him, being desired, something he hadn’t noticed in his previous encounters. Katya seemed to enjoy letting him know that she wanted him. It made him feel exposed, and he was afraid he would mess everything up.

With a sudden, abrupt movement, he ventured towards the bookshelf that adorned one of the penthouse walls. The shelves were filled with volumes, many specialising in Dark Arts, Potions, and Enchantments, as well as Muggle topics like Economics, Administration, Politics, History, and lighter subjects like poetry and novels.

Severus feared ruining the friendship they had built over the last four years. He didn’t have many friends, or rather, he had none. He had acquaintances, collages. The Hogwarts staff, who he had to interact with daily out of necessity, had formed a sort of connection: Minerva, Pomona, Poppy, Charity, Fillius, and even Albus, when he wasn’t too busy keeping an eye on him. Then there were Lucius and Narcissa, who pretended as if they hadn’t manipulated a teenager into joining a cult and invited him to galas, sent him birthday gifts, or, dramatically, named him their son’s godfather. A bold move for someone who harboured some resentment towards them. He liked them, yes, but couldn’t overlook the fact that he distrusted them. He didn’t feel comfortable with them, something that wasn’t an issue with Katya. With her, he felt at ease, able to talk about anything, and, unfortunately, he was attracted to her.

He wondered how far he was willing to go that night. He feared that if they crossed that line, he would lose the connection he valued so much with Katya. Or worse, it would start a different type of relationship between them, one in which he would have to open up more, reveal his secrets, his past as a Death Eater, a chapter of his life that still haunted him.

On the other hand, Katya was grappling with her own insecurities. Every word they exchanged made her feel more and more uncertain. Was she going too far? What would happen tonight? Sometimes she felt like Severus kept a metaphorical arm’s length between them, but in the next moment, he would pull her into his own desires, playing a game of cat and mouse.

She simply couldn’t read his intentions, or perhaps the cruel truth was that he might be gay and just toying with her. A part of her began to feel ridiculous for dressing so provocatively and for her direct attempts at flirting.

She approached him slowly. Severus was engrossed in a book on the Russian Magical Statute. Katya figured he didn’t fully understand what he was reading.

“This word…” he murmured, pointing to a title in the index. “What does it mean?”

“Zagryaznennyy,” she said. “Dirty, contaminated.” She let out a snort. “They’re absurd laws, really, from thousands of years ago.”

“What does it mean?” Severus pressed.

“In Russia, no wizard can marry a Muggle; it would contaminate pure blood,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s a bit hypocritical, really. The big families in our community don’t mix with Muggles personally, but they do work and make millions with them. Pyotr Borislov is the perfect example.”

Severus nodded slowly.

“Do you tolerate Muggles, considering you work with them daily?” he asked, surprising Katya, as she had never sensed any supremacist tendencies from him.

“I’ve seen no reason not to,” she replied vaguely, trying to hide the discomfort the question had caused her. “What do you think?”

Severus held her gaze for a few seconds before finally saying:

“I find them… tolerable,” he murmured.

Katya nodded, feeling a slight shift in the air. Severus felt it too. He didn’t quite know why he had answered that way. The truth was, he didn’t feel comfortable around Muggles; being near them made him feel like he was pretending to be someone else. He could see the change in Katya’s expression and sensed that she was judging him for how he’d answered. Perhaps his comment had given him an air of superiority, something he would hate for Katya to think of him. Severus was about to say something when she excused herself to go to the bathroom. He stood there, feeling awkward, hating himself for ruining any possible chance.

In the bathroom, Katya splashed some water on her face and changed into comfortable black pyjamas and a pair of casual shorts. She removed her jewellery and sighed, resigned. Something told her that nothing would happen that night. When she returned, Severus was still reading from the volumes in her library. Upon seeing her, he felt that she was subtly signalling him to leave.

“You look more comfortable like that,” he commented, feeling a strange mix of disappointment as he realized she wanted him to go. “I think it’s time…”

“Would you like to help me with my thesis?” she asked. “I feel like that would be more useful than trying to flirt with you all night.” She added, looking at him with a defiant smile. “You’re the king of mixed signals, Severus.”

He felt guilty, lowering his gaze. She wanted him too, but in his foolishness, he was pushing her away.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear.” The words came out sincerely, but also with sadness; he really did care for her. Moreover, he could see how Katya’s face fell as she listened. “Don’t think your efforts went unnoticed; I want it too… But something tells me I wouldn’t be good company beyond friendship, Kat.”

“Why do you think that?” Her question was genuine, and Severus felt she deserved an equally genuine answer.

“Because I value our friendship too much, and if you knew more about me, I’m certain you would distance yourself,” he said firmly.

Run, girl, run, he thought. Nothing good happens to the people I care about.

She sighed.

“I understand,” Katya murmured, though a shadow of disappointment crept into her voice. Still, she didn’t want the night to end like this.

“I’ll help you with your thesis if you still want,” he assured her.

She nodded, and both of them settled on the sofa, a bit tense. Katya placed a cushion between them, and soon the living room was filled with information. As Katya read and explained her thesis, Severus couldn’t help but recognize that she was a prodigy in the field. Economics wasn’t something that interested him or that he fully understood, but the young woman had a way of explaining complex subjects with clarity and practicality.

They debated for a good while about how to improve the thesis until, little by little, fatigue overcame them. Before they knew it, they had both fallen asleep, surrounded by thesis papers.

Katya woke up in the middle of the night and realized she had fallen asleep while Severus had been correcting part of her thesis. She assumed he hadn’t wanted to wake her, so, delicately, she stood up to find a blanket and a pillow to cover him. As she approached, she found him waking up, surprised by her gesture.

“Thank you, but I really should return to Hogwarts,” he murmured, his eyes still half-closed.

“Stay,” Katya insisted, not wanting him to leave. “I promise I won’t disturb you.”

There was a moment of hesitation, but finally, Severus relented, watching her intently as part of her pyjama top had slipped open, revealing a glimpse of her bare skin. He couldn’t stop himself from deliberating just how much he would like to have her right there, on the sofa.

“You can use the bathroom if you like,” she said, her voice drowsy.

After a few minutes, he nodded, thanked her, and went to the bathroom, where an erection was demanding attention. With clinical precision, he took care of the situation and, when finished, felt a wave of guilt. He washed his face harshly and sat on the toilet, seething, for a few minutes.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Katya was waiting to wish him goodnight before, disappearing into her room and closing the door behind her. Severus mulled over whether he should pursue something more with her, but the closed door and her earlier disappointed expression convinced him that it would be best to leave things as they were.

He returned to the sofa and sank into it, holding the pillow and blanket that still carried her scent. He hugged them to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

The morning arrived suddenly, filling the penthouse with light. Severus woke to the sound of someone preparing breakfast. He moved towards the kitchen and watched Katya move slowly about, making coffee and neatly organizing the pages of her thesis.

“Good morning,” he greeted her. She returned the greeting without turning to face him.

Is she upset? he wondered.

“I made coffee for both of us,” she said, turning cautiously towards him. “I don’t have much to go with it, just some toast and…”

“I don’t usually eat breakfast,” he confessed. “The coffee will do.”

Katya nodded and sighed before speaking again.

“Severus…”

“Katya.”

They both smiled, and Severus gestured for her to continue.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I’ve been… too forward for you,” she admitted, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

“No, I’m glad I came,” he said sincerely. He noticed her hair falling over her face, creating a curtain that hid her eyes. Gently, he reached out and tucked a few strands behind her ear. “Besides, your thesis is now ready to present.”

Katya nodded quietly and sat on the kitchen counter.

“I enjoyed it too,” she assured him. “I’d love for you to stay longer. Moscow is beautiful at this time of year.”

Severus also wished he could stay. All that awaited him at Hogwarts were piles of papers to grade.

“I don’t have magical permission to be here,” he reminded her, and she let out a sigh of frustration.

As they approached the fireplace, Katya’s hand brushed against his. Severus felt that despite the complications, something in that night had strengthened their connection. Just before throwing the Floo powder into the fireplace, in a sudden impulse, he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the lips.

“See you soon, Kat,” he said, his heart pounding as he stepped away.

[strangelittlestories]

There was a great palaver in the town of Leamington Spa when it was discovered that the mysterious Mr Meles would take over the empty Familiaris estate.

Mr Meles was a figure of great speculation amongst society. Only three things were known about him (four if you count ‘being an enigma’ as a known quantity and do not mind the sophists getting angry with you): 

Firstly, he was in the possession of an income of over £10,000 a year. Secondly, he was a bachelor and extraordinarily eligible. Thirdly, he had a very handsome badger stripe.

(By which I mean, of course, that he was a badger and that the stripe on his forehead was very fine.)

The Sheppertons - a local family of weasels - discussed Mr Meles’ arrival over breakfast.

“If you ask me, the arrival of such a *character* is sure to bring nothing but acrimony.” Said Mrs Muriel Shepperton, as she truly ravaged a plate of kippers between her fangs. “You mark my words, children, only two kinds of people attempt to cultivate an air of mystery: those with terrible secrets the likes of which would shake polite company to the very core and leave us questioning the very values that shaped us, or worse, the terminally dull.”

“Oh, I do so hope Mr Meles won’t be dull.” Said Mr Edward Shepperton, who was already somewhat in love with the idea of Mr Meles and increasingly determined that one of his daughters should marry him. “Let him have something dreadful to hide instead. It will certainly enliven the season to have everything I’ve ever known thrown into question!”

“I’ve heard,” said Miss Angelica Shepperton, who could chase down a rumour with only a whiff of its scent across two miles of uncertain terrain, “That Mr Meles has only recently come to live above ground at all, and that he has been a member of the Excavationists who believe we should all go back to living in holes underground.”

“Oh my!” Replied Mr Shepperton in some alarm. “I heard they had a plan to collapse the entirety of Buckingham Palace into a sinkhole!”

“Well I, for one, simply cannot believe that a dangerous radical of that sort could ever come to live in our town.” Replied Miss Vermillion Shepperton. “Indeed, until proven otherwise, I shall choose to believe Mr Meles to be a true gentleman of utmost honour. I refuse to countenance that he could be a member of that … sett.”

But despite her clever pun, Miss Vermillion would soon find out just how wrong she was about the safety and genteel nature of Leamington Spa…

---

Thank you for reading, if you would like to support my writing you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[hamliet]

Hey first just wanna say it’s cuz of you that I caught an intrigue for Russian literature, and have decided to read most of dostoevskys bibliography, and I just finished crime and punishment. Obviously I’m absolutely floored by the entire thing but someone that stood out to me was svirdgailov. Those last couple scenes of him were absolutely amazing and had me reeling, I wanted to know your opinion on him

Hello! And ahhh I'm so happy to hear that!!

Svidrigailov is indeed a very interesting character. He's an antagonist, but the vast majority of his crimes are in the past. Yet they're significant: he rapes an underage girl and she commits suicide. He murders his wife. He propositions Dunya and then corners her. But he also then does some charitable things like actually providing for Sonya's stepsiblings after Katarina dies, and giving Sonya enough money to leave her profession and move to Siberia with Raskolnikov.

So, he's done the worst deeds imaginable in the story--worse than Raskolnikov. And rather than face guilt, he kills himself. Yet, he also is the one who provides for others for absolutely no benefit to himself.

You'll often find Sonya and Svidrigailov compared as foils who represent two alternate paths for Raskolnikov: life or death, suffering or escape.

Rask is obviously another foil. Raskolnikov's name means "schism." and that's because he's both extremely generous and extremely cruel--kinda like Svid. He also donates all his money to Marmeladov's family before he even knows them, when it benefits him not at all. Yet he murders Alyona to benefit humanity... and Lizaveta to protect himself.

The guilt over his crimes haunts him and forces him to face suffering via turning himself in and serving his sentence. But he's in part only able to do this (and eventually to truly repent) because of love. His family and Sonya love him. Svidrigailov wants Dunya to be his Sonya; however, there are some key differences. Raskolnikov empathizes with Sonya, but Svidrigailov doesn't empathize with Dunya very much.

I'd say he desperately wants to use Dunya to feel better about himself. And he wants her to love him, because he's incredibly lonely and lost. When she finally convinces him that she never, ever will, he then donates all his money to Sonya (whom he sees as Raksolnikov's Dunya, and Dostoyevsky makes this especially clear when Svidrigailov literally eavesdrops on Sonya and Raskolnikov's conversations) and commits suicide.

Yet the problem is that Svidrigailov doesn't see Dunya in the same human sense that Raskolnikov sees Sonya--he sees her as a Good Girl who can save him from himself, but doesn't actually try to explore what makes her "good," or what she wants out of life. Even his chasing Dunya down comes after he betrayed her by propositioning her while he was her married employer, then allowed her to be badmouthed and fired which could have destroyed her entire life, and then he made amends... yet murdered his wife to chase after Dunya. That would be like Raskolnikov murdering Katarina Ivanovna and Sonya's siblings to chase after her. It kinda provokes a different response.

Svidrigailov wants to be saved from himself. But the way to save himself is to look at himself at his core, to kiss the earth and confess, as Sonya tells Raskolnikov to do. Raskolnikov's motives are also very interior, and they have always been so--he wanted to prove himself an ubermensch of sorts, but failed. Svidrigailov's seem to be more about avoiding himself, yet still, as with Raskolnikov, the truth of who they are still seeps out despite attempts to avoid it.

You can only run so far from yourself.

Svidrigailov is a tragic character, and if you were drawn to him, he's also a prototype for other characters in Dostoyevsky's works: Rogozhin from The Idiot, and most obviously, Stavrogin from Demons--in which essentially the entire book revolves around the enigma that is Stavrogin.

[nomorefstogive]

PtN SFW Headcanons Part 3: Che

Hello all, we are here for the third installment of this mess of a fic, this one featuring a Sinner recommended to us by EinarKaslana Ao3, who also gave us the idea of who the next Sinner to be featured here will be, that said, the Sinner we are focusing on today is the enigmatic axe and knife wielder of Whitestone Industries, KK’s second pain in the neck, and a Sinner whose past is mired in mystery and enigma-

Che

1. He owns multiple sleeping bags of varying size and quality, several of which seem to be either hand made by a third party or by Che himself, though he will only smirk when asked which of the two options it is. 

2. He has formed an unlikely friendship with Corso and Wolverine over their shared disdain for animal abusers, when they go out to hunt one down or to bust a fighting ring, he seems to come alive and display a truly remarkable amount of vigor as opposed to his normal demeanor. 

3. He can use guns, and is actually quite adept with pistols, he simply prefers his blades due to sentimental reasons. 

4. He has mastered the art of sleeping in uncomfortable positions and situations, from being able to sleep while standing up, to being able to sleep while having several bullet and blade wounds from mania weapons. 

Granted, the last time he fell asleep while injured he almost gave KK and Bai Yi heart attacks as they believed he was dead due to his lack of a response, only for him to wake up when they mentioned getting Anne to take a look at him. 

5. He has an instinctive fear of doctors, or rather any form of medical professional, while he may have some degree of trust in Anne and Iron, due to Bai Yi and KK vouching for them and for them having saved his life several times while the trio was in Syndicate and since joining the prison, he still prefers to not seek them out unless it is a matter of life and death. 

6. He is ambidextrous, and uses this to subtly mess with people by making them think one hand is his dominant, only to use the opposite hand for something the next day or such. 

7. He once asked the Chief if he could be put in a padded cell, his logic was that all he would need was a blanket and he could use the cell itself as his bed. That the chief had begun to laugh as KK lectured him as she told him that it was not an option and that it was not how padded cells work, only led to him sighing and instead asking the Chief for a more comfortable bed. 

The Chief granted the request after she had finished laughing to herself. 

8. Caffeine and sugar do not wake him up, on the contrary they make him even more tired, with Summer’s special blend of coffee having put him to sleep for nearly 2 days straight, something that led to the genius being berated by KK and Bai-Yi once they discovered her involvement.

9. He once painted his eyelids to look like his eyes and fell asleep, somehow he even managed to speak in his sleep and blink his ‘eyes’ in a convincing enough manner that no one figured it out till KK saw him, sighed, and walked over and smacked him on the head to wake him up.

10. The story of him gaining his driver’s license is a long and complicated one that involves the Chief pulling some strings for him to take a test to get one,, a wheel that popped off a few minutes into the test, several gangsters on motorcycles, and Bai Yi and KK trying to run interference before an RPG was launched at them and split them and Che up. 

In addition to a mall that needed a new entry door, escalators, several new store fronts, a fountain, several new columns, and a new exit door along with several damaged vehicles and cases of injuries. 

The tale ended with a battered and broken vehicle resting in a parking lot as the instructor hyperventilated into a paper bag as Che fought off a few gangsters before asking if he passed or failed the test.

He did indeed pass, perhaps out of the instructors fear of something similar happening if they were ever to be involved with Che again, or perhaps out of an exasperated Chief and a cackling Langley having had a conversation with them, to sway their mind. 

11. He is actually a surprisingly good cook when he wants to be, and has many times helped Kelvin and Ignis in the kitchen after KK ordered him to, though he has also been seen sneaking into the kitchen to make meals for the rest of Whitestone Industries. 

That he leaves a list of all that he has taken and used that night in making said meal has earned him no small amount of praise from the kitchen staff.

12. He hates riding motorcycles, he simply feels they are too unsafe despite the speed and maneuverability they offer, and as such prefers the relative security of a truck or of any other form of vehicle as opposed to Bai-Yi’s preferred ride. 

That he can also use the other vehicles as improvised weapons and battering rams for when the situation arises, and that he can recline back in the seat or lay down across the back seat and go to sleep is also a factor in his bias towards other vehicles. 

Of course, the fact that bai-Yi once launched him off of her motorcycle and into a pile of garbage does not help matters either. 

13. He pities the Chief, seeing their constant attempts at bettering the world as respectable, but at the same time ultimately futile given the scope of just what they are up against, though he cannot deny there is a part of him that wants to see the Chief succeed, and since KK and Bai-Yi are so fond of them he has decided to do what he can to help them…so long as it does not interfere in his nap time that is.

14. He suffers from chronic pains centered around his patch covered eye, the intensity of which varies from a dull ache to a piercing agony depending on the amount of Mania in the area around him, he has learned to fight through the pain when it comes to battles and day to day activities and will give little to no sign he is suffering aside from a slight clenching of his jaw. 

Bai-Yi and KK have learned to read him well enough to know when he needs to be forced to get some rest before the pain overwhelms him, with the Chief having learned about the matter due to their connection through the Shackles, with her having nearly been incapacitated by the pain before she was able to figure out who it was coming from.  

As a result, he now has a prescription for high dosage pain-killers that he stubbornly refuses to use unless the pain is to the point of nearly taking both him and the Chief down. 

15. He does not like wearing suits, at all. That said, he is able to pull off a surprisingly roguish look when he does wear one, to the point of having to flee and make up excuses to escape the number of men and women that try and get his number. 

There is actually a video of this happening that began to circulated around the Bureau after Che was asked to attend a part with the Chief as part of a mission, he has since been hounded by many of the guards and sinners alike to wear one again, with Garofano having even offered to tailor make him a suit, an offer he quite vocally refused.

That said, he does have one in reserve for any special mission that needs it, he just hopes ne never has to wear it again…or that he gets paid extra for wearing it if the need arises. 

16. He has managed to bond with Hella and Ninety-Nine over a shared hatred for a certain Umbrella Salesman, a nickname that has spread across the Bureau much to his amusement, and an equally intense hatred for mad scientists. 

17. Through means known but to himself, whatever God was watching at the time, and those involved, he once managed to smuggle several dozen dogs and cats into his cell with no one knowing. 

How they remained hidden from the security cameras and guards, no one has been able to figure out, with Nightingale having posted a reward for anyone that can help her to understand how apparently everyone in the bureau, including the cameras, were blind to the makeshift pound that had formed in Che’s cell. 

The animals were only discovered when Dudu, having recently purchased a new set of speakers, began to practice her Suona, with every single dog and cat in the cell beginning to howl at her in unison as they sung the songs of their people to try and get her to stop playing. 

Upon learning of this incident, the Chief and Nightingale went to investigate Che’s cell and, upon opening the door, were greeted by dozens of dogs and cats turning to look at them, including the sizable Saint Bernard that was laying on top of Che at the time.

The Chief was impressed, Nightingale was not.

The animals then decided they wanted to stretch their legs and promptly bolted with every Sinner and staff member that was available having to work together to hunt them down and corral them again. 

In the aftermath of the incident, due to an overwhelming number of complaints regarding the animals having to be sent to a shelter, and the weaponization of puppy dog pouts from the Triple C Alliance of the Children, the Chief, and Che, Nightingale consigned to the Bureau gaining a kennel that Che surprisingly dutifully helps tend to.

18. He is…less than fond of Shalom, having made it clear to the chief that he refuses to be put on any assignment with her, especially if she is assigned to the role of the team leader, a trait shared with Bai-Yi. 

Likewise, he once picked a fight with Rahu, the exact circumstances of which being unknown aside from footage showing them speaking for a few moments before Rahu attacked him as a response to some form of taunt or such that Che had said to her.

The fight ended with both of them needing treatment from Dr. Iron and Nurse Anne, as well as both having to spend time in differing isolation cells, with neither offering any form of explanation for the brawl aside from citing a ‘difference of opinions on certain matters.’

As to what opinions they differed on such that Che wound up flung into, and then through, a cell wall, with Rahu suffering a black eye as well, still remains unknown, though if the glare Che leveled at Shalom when they crossed paths afterwards is anything to go by…

19. During a test of each of the Sinners combat abilities, Che attempted to coast by with the bare minimum of effort, only for the Chief to persuade him to give the test his all by offering him several days of vacation if he reached a certain threshold in the test. 

Che promptly came to rank in the top 20 of those tested, only being beaten for a position in the top 10 due to an incident involving him sparring with Zoya and his axe damaging her shirt enough for the Chief, who was acting as the examiner, to see that Zoya was wearing a dark blue bra that day. 

Thankfully, Che survived and received his days of vacation once he was discharged from the ICU.

20. When someone continuously flirted with KK despite her desires for them to stop during a mission, he and Bai-Yi took it upon themselves to ensure the would be Cassanova had a night he would not forget.

From Bai-Yi pilfering their wallet before they could pay and then draining their account with it at an ATM across the street before returning it to them with her speed preventing them from noticing what had happened until it was too late.

To Che, who was pretending to be a waiter, lacing their food with laxatives that he had on him for some reason and sabotaging their car to insure that not only would it not start, but that even if it could they would need to find new tires, windshield wipers, and door handles.

And that was assuming they found a way to get the sugar and salt mixture out of their gas tank. 

21. He has a map of napping spots and hiding places across the Bureau proudly displayed in his room, with his reason for not hiding it being simply that there are too many places to search to find him unless the Chief really needs him.

That he has made a habit of carrying a smaller version of said map around the Bureau and selling similar small versions to other Sinners, is something that has driven Adjutant Nightingale mad many times over, especially when she found a copy on the Chief’s desk. 

22. He has a habit of training animals, and while this can be a good thing, his habit of teaching them things in the interest of helping himself out around the house has a tendency to backfire spectacularly. 

For example, he once attempted to train a Chihuahua that he had named Lucifer, given the way its fur seemed to shape into horns, to steal food for him from the kitchen, only for the process to end with the Chihuahua stealing most of the meat from the kitchen and keeping it for itself in a den it had made in the ventilation system, with Corso, Wolverine, and Pippy having to be called in to assist in retrieving the meat from the ferocious beast guarding it. 

In the end, there was no meat left for the cafeteria that day and Che was somehow outed as the one responsible, more than likely by a particularly vengeful Chief who now had to re-order an entire stock of meat for the kitchen, thus leading to him having to contend with several irate Sinners that had been looking forward to the meal that was on the list that day, thankfully he managed to avoid a stay in the hospital wing, albeit by virtue of bolting and hiding until the next day when Bai-Yi informed him of what was heading his way.  

In a similar vein he once attempted to teach a cat called Blank, after the blank look it would give everyone around it, to retrieve money and shiny objects for him, with the process ending when he realized the cat had brought back underwear belonging to Adjutant Nightingale, Nurse Anne, Countess Chelsea, and Cabernet. 

Upon leaving the ICU he decided to cease his attempts at teaching animals to help him…for now.

23. His room is rather cozy in its design, despite not being padded like he wished it to be, with plenty of plush furniture in deep colors that he put together himself filling it, several bookshelves and a small tv resting on a night stand at the foot of his bed.

The only downside to his cell turned room is that it is near to Dudu’s cell, down the hall to be exact, and as such he has many times been awoken from his naps by the sound of her Suona blaring, his own attempts at soundproofing having done little to combat her playing.

He has likewise vowed to either fully soundproof his room, or to destroy each and every Suona in Dis, come hell or high water one of those will be done…or maybe both.

24. While he does not trust, or even necessarily like Langley, he is willing to work with her if it ends up making life difficult for Parma, or if it is for the purpose of protecting the Chief and the Bureau. 

They may not like one another, but they hate the Umbrella Salesman and those that go after the Chief more. 

25. Once upon a time he managed to get locked in a zoo in East Side, the exact reason has been lost to time but is said to have involved himself, a locker, a blanket, a pillow, and a near 2 day long assignment that was finally done, and a moment where he could slip away from everyone and nap. 

By the time it was made apparent that he was missing, Che had somehow managed to slip into multiple enclosures and somehow, by means known to no one but himself and the animals involved, he managed to seemingly tame each of the animals he encountered, leading to him being found in the center of the zoo with an assortment of animals gathered around him as he napped. 

The Chief was torn between being impressed he had managed to somehow tame even the beasts dredged up from the depths of WhiteSands, such as a rather sizable giant scorpion, and exasperated as she had to argue with the zoo over if they could employ Che to work for them due to the Zoo manager being impressed with his ability to get the animals to do what he wanted. 

In the end it was decided that Che would be free to offer up his services to the Zoo for a commission fee, and so long as he did not bring any of the beasts back to the Bureau, the chief would not interfere and would keep it logged as a special dispatch mission for him and whoever else felt like going with him. 

26. He often call KK and Bai-Yi his sisters when doing describing them to others, though he has yet to call them such to their faces, whether or not they know of how he seems to view them is unknown, though if the way they often refer to him as their brother is anything to go by, then it is likely they are fully aware of it.

And that is all we have for the slacker of White Stone Industries, we would like to apologize for the delay with posting this, we admittedly hit several walls of Writer's Block writing this and it has left us feeling a bit unsatisfied with this, but we feel this is a good stopping place for now. 

With that said, we hope you all enjoyed this chapter, we will either be updating our other PtN Fic, Our Dearest Sin, our Genshin fic, or this one, or perhaps it will be our Azur Lane fic, admittedly we are whining it with which one gets our attention at this point lol. 

That said, we hope you all stay safe and take care. 

Till next time. 

[tobytost]

Indeed, the lamentation echoes through the stars: why, oh why, is Ahsoka Tano, once a beacon of hope and passion, now reduced to a mere shadow of her former self? Her existence in the current Star Wars productions is a puzzling enigma, for her motivations are shrouded in obscurity, her spirit dulled to a mere flicker.

We, the faithful fans, mourn the loss of the vibrant Ahsoka we once knew, the spirited apprentice who stole our hearts in the Clone Wars and continued to inspire in Rebels. What purpose does this hollow version serve other than to capitalize on her past glory? The Ahsoka we fell in love with was defined by her heart, her tenacity, her unwavering spirit. Now, she stands before us with crossed arms, slow movements, and dry quips—a mere caricature of her former self.

Is this the fate you envisioned for her, Dave Filoni? If you truly cherish her as you claim, grant her a worthy narrative, one that befits her legacy. Spare her, and us, from this pitiful existence. If her story must end, let it be a warrior's death, a blaze of glory befitting her spirit, rather than this prolonged descent into mediocrity.

For the fans who have journeyed with her, we beseech you: do not insult her memory or our devotion with this feeble portrayal. Let her legacy be one of strength and valor, not a pawn in the pursuit of viewership and profit. Give us the Ahsoka we deserve, a character whose brilliance matches the stars themselves, and not this muted echo of what once was.

we're really in it now manifesto anon aren't we

I hard agree with you!! I don't recognise Ahsoka in current canon, and it makes me feel so bitter about what is going on

I'm not a huge fan of her but I really adored her character in tcw and rebels:( I have more thoughts but I'm soooo nauseous right now 😭

[legacyshenanigans]

Can we pretty please with sugar on top get a drabble on Marvolo playing piano for MC. 🥰

Sure 💚 this is how I imagine it would go down.

And this is the kinda song he would play 💚

MC: *walking into the Gaunt home, hearing piano music* (?!) *wanders into the living room, seeing Marvolo playing*

Marvolo: *sees her and instantly stops* Ah, you're here, didn't hear you come in *small smile*

MC: *smiles* Keep playing..

Marvolo: *chuckles as he stands* No..Come on, let's go.

MC: Marvolo?

Marvolo: What?

MC: Please. *sits down on the sofa, facing the piano*

Marvolo: ......*sighs as he sits back down*

He played for her, It was strange to MC, seeing him play. Equally as strange for Marvolo, the only people who had ever seen him were his family. He looked peaceful as he played, his hands moving so elegantly on the keys, like he and the Piano were one together.

MC simply sat and watched him in awe, taking in the hauntingly pretty music and Marvolos energy. She couldn't help but smile. Once he was done with his melody, he slowly removed his hands from the keys and stared at the piano for a moment before he cleared his throat and stood putting a hand behind his back, looking over at her.

MC: *sweet smile as she gives him a giggle and a little clap* That was beautiful, Marvolo.

Marvolo: *small smile as he gives her a quick bow, then gives her a slightly awkward smile* .....Thank you.

MC: You're so full of surprises. You truly are.

Marvolo: Indeed..I am quite the enigma...I suppose *smirks*

~

[silvfyre-writings]

I'm tired, hold me (BSD Fanfic)

Silver, I know it isn't Christmas yet, but I am impatient and it's close enough LMAO

My first time writing daran, and it was fun. I definitely want to write them again at some point, but I hope I did them justice enough here!

Thanks for being a good friend~

===

Gift for @beastranpo, the overseer of all things daran.

Enjoy!

Edogawa Ranpo was arrogant, he was confident, he was proud, and his sense of justice was so skewed it had many wondering just why he was in the business of being a detective that was supposed to help people. Truly, Edogawa Ranpo was an enigma to those that didn’t know him, and he was also one to those that did—even to those that had known him for well over a decade, although they did have a better understanding of the man than most. But despite Edogawa Ranpo’s faults and quirks, he was still human and well…

… right now, the genius detective was sick.

Ranpo had, unfortunately, been caught in the rain that had hit Yokohama a few days ago while out on a case, and even though he’d returned to the office and drunk a copious amount of orange juice at Yosano’s urging, the detective hadn’t been able to escape the cold that befell him the very next day. And rather than rest at home, Ranpo chose to continue coming to the office, and refused to listen to any attempts to get him to go back to the dorms and rest, although he never gave a reason as to why he wanted to be at the office in the first place.

Regardless, all they could do really was wait and see what happened next.

Dazai watched from the comfort of his own desk, the one he was supposed to be doing paperwork at, but was instead watching his colleagues move about the office, as Ranpo once again, dozed off at his desk, head dipping towards his chest over and over until it finally settled there. This was the fourth time that day that Ranpo had fallen asleep, and while it was better than the coughing fits that’d been echoing throughout the office periodically, Ranpo certainly hadn’t fallen asleep in a comfortable position.

“Again, really?” A sigh from Kunikida beside him drew Dazai’s attention, and he let out a hum as his eyes slid over towards the man.

“Again, indeed.” Dazai commented, leaning forward to rest his head on his hand, eyes sliding back towards Ranpo’s sleeping form. He made a noise. “Ah, Kenji’s going to wake him this time.”

“Maybe Kenji will have better luck convincing Ranpo to go home.” Kunikida said, the both of them now watching—although Kunikida was still actively trying to complete his work—as Kenji approached Ranpo, and shook his shoulder until green eyes flew open and coughing broke the silence that had fallen over the room momentarily.

Dazai watched intensely as words were spoken between Kenji and Ranpo, although he couldn’t hear what was being said in the first place on account of being across the room, and with Kenji facing away from him, and Ranpo wearing a mask on his own face, he couldn’t even read lips to know what was being said. But he could still read body language, and with someone as expressive as Ranpo, that was more than enough. “I don’t think Kenji’s having much luck. Besides, didn’t the President try to send him home the last time Ranpo dozed off?”

“He did, and somehow Ranpo convinced him to let him stay.” Kunikida said, and then sighed. “I don’t understand why he wants to hang around when he’s not even doing any work. Surely being at home, in his own bed, would be much better than constantly falling asleep at his desk.”

“You were the first one to try and send him home, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and regrettably, I allowed him to win that argument. But I did manage to convince him to take some medicine.”

And that was big, convincing Ranpo to do something, even if it was as simple as taking medicine. The oldest member of the Agency was notorious for only doing what he wanted to do, regardless of who was at his feet, begging—unless you were a certain silver-haired swordsman, then Ranpo would do anything. Which was still a mystery to that day, although Dazai suspected it had to do with Ranpo’s… unknown past.

He says unknown, because for the most part, Ranpo’s life before the Agency was unknown, with only a select few people being privileged enough to know the truth and entirety of it.

And Dazai was one such person, but only after jumping through every hoop imaginable.

“I think I’ll give it a try. Maybe I’ll have better luck” Dazai flashed Kunikida a sly grin when the man looked at him incredulously, and he pushed his chair back, rising to cross the room. He didn’t wait to hear his colleague’s response, already focused on the man across the room who already looked two seconds away from falling asleep again.

Not a sound came from Dazai as he approached, sliding up until he could drape himself over the back of Ranpo’s chair, one hand coming to poke at the elder’s forehead. Ranpo’s face scrunched up in response, and his eyes opened just enough to look at Dazai before they slipped shut again, a groan escaping him. “Go away, and let me sleep.”

Dazai ignored the request, and moved to run his hand through Ranpo’s hair, allowing his face to soften a little when he relaxed into the touch. “No, I don’t think I will, because sleeping in your chair is going to make you sore, and while I love to hear you complain, neck pain from sleeping wrong isn’t one I do enjoy hearing.”

Ranpo let out a hum, and said nothing, just leaning into Dazai’s touch even more.

In response, Dazai trailed his hand from Ranpo’s hair down to his cheek, and tilted the other’s head up to look at him. Ranpo’s eyes were bright, as they usually were, but the fever that he was ailed by currently made them look even brighter than normal. And accompanied by the flushed cheeks that were peeking over the mask he wore; he truly looked the part of someone that was ill. Dazai pulled his hand back. “If you aren’t going to rest at home, at least go and sleep on the couch instead of your chair.”

“What, aren’t going to try and convince me to go home like everyone else is?” Ranpo grumbled, turning away from Dazai to stare at his desk.

“Now why would I do that?” Dazai raised his eyebrows in fake shock. “You’ve already said no to everyone else after all. I am merely compromising with you. You want to stay in the office, and we all want you to rest.”

For a long time, Ranpo stared at him, eyes narrowing as he thought over Dazai’s words. Just the fact that Ranpo was even considering his suggestion told Dazai that he’d won this fight, so he stepped around to the front of Ranpo’s chair and grabbed the detective’s hands, wrapping his own around them, tugging and squeezing until finally, Ranpo sighed and stood. “You’re so annoying. Why did I ever agree to date you.”

Dazai snorted at Ranpo’s words, and let go of one hand so that he could drag the detective over towards the couch. “Because you fell in love with my good looks, obviously. And am I really annoying, or is that just your inability to accept help from others talking?”

“I’m not going to answer that.” Ranpo huffed, and then broke out into a coughing fit that had him hunching over, clutching at his chest, which gave Dazai the opportunity to push Ranpo down onto the couch none too gently—although he did make sure that Ranpo stayed upright so that he didn’t choke as he coughed, because he wasn’t that mean. He did actually care. And when the coughing didn’t immediately let up, he put a hand to Ranpo’s back and moved it up and down to try and encourage him to breathe through the fit.

Eventually, the coughing died off, and Ranpo slumped against the back of the couch, looking even more exhausted than before. Ranpo’s eyes flicked up to look at Dazai, and in an unusually affectionate manner, reached out with his hands and made grabby motions towards him, which honestly, Dazai hadn’t expected. Although it wasn’t out of the norm for Ranpo to become a little clingy and affectionate whenever he was injured or sick, usually it was done in private, away from the prying eyes of their colleagues, so for him to be doing it in the middle of the work day, he had to be feeling awful.

So who was Dazai to begrudge him that comfort?

Removing his coat first, Dazai then sat on the couch beside Ranpo, and managed to count to four before Ranpo threw himself across his lap, curling up and burying his face into Dazai’s stomach. Dazai let a fond smile cross his face—only because Ranpo couldn’t see it from his current position—and reached down with one hand to run his hand through Ranpo’s hair, and used his other to drag his coat over Ranpo’s body so the other could use it as a makeshift blanket, which just made Ranpo cuddle even closer.

Dazai tugged lightly on a stray strand of black hair. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked for it. I would’ve stayed home with you.”

Ranpo shrugged, and blinked tiredly up at him from where he was laying.

“Well.” Dazai moved back to smoothing Ranpo’s hair. “I say, you take a nap, and then we use your illness as an excuse for me to escort you home, and then we huddle up underneath your futon and call it a day. That sounds like a good idea if you ask me.”

Ranpo chuckled, and Dazai knew that if the other was in a much better condition, he would be rolling his eyes. “You’re just trying to escape work again, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I am, but are you going to refuse cuddles with me?”

“Hmmm… well you are warm, and I am quite cold right now.” Ranpo said.

Dazai rolled his eyes and shifted so that he was lying down on the couch, dragging Ranpo up until his head was resting on his chest. “Better?”

With one hand, Ranpo pulled Dazai’s coat around him tighter, and with the other, he wrapped it around Dazai’s waist and closed his eyes. “Much.”