#fydor x reader

[night-dazai]

Hi there. I just read "Beautifully Destroyed" and it was so good! I really like your writing style..

I'm interested in requesting a Fyodor x reader fic, with some religious themes, where they're having their first time together and he's starts out soft and vanilla but slowly gets rougher and more aggressive as he keeps going.

Please feel free to ignore if this makes you uncomfortable. Sorry if there are any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language

and thank you for your time.🍓✨️

Falling for you

Hey, it was such a lovely request while writing this I just realized that I really love writing and reading stuff where the reader is a virgin. And plus thank you so much, I am honoured that you enjoyed my previous work. Thank you любовь💕💕💕

Tags: reader virgin, rough sex, mentions of little blood, female reader, manipulation but sweet aftercare.

Also thanks to @inconspisheadreams for helping me proofread this, but if there are still any mistakes found do let me know. ❤️

When you first explain to your friends what your type is, add all the details on appearance and personality. little did you know that you were just subconsciously attracted to Russian men. More especially religious Russian men, meeting Fydor was a complete accident no it was a destined meeting, something you humans could not control. 

Little did you know that it was all planned from the first time the Russian saw you at the club, sitting in the corner with a tissue covering your drink? Innocence is seen in your bright eyes and clumsy behaviour, running to your friends when a guy hits on you “Please I said I am not interested, “ you would mumble holding your friend's dress as they told the dude to back off. 

The moment he saw you he knew he would protect you, and also make sure to create a world where you won't be bothered by such things and your innocence can be safe, slowly making accidents for you two meet in cafes and book shops you frequent. The way your eyes widened at his appearance, you were not very short but the little height difference was something Fydor found very cute. 

After a whole year of careful manipulation, he had you become his girlfriend “Fyda …” you started out fidgeting with your top “ что за проблемная принцесса? “ (what's the prob princess ?” ) his voice so gentle rough big hands holding yours. “I…..I always wanted to lose my virginity after marriage “, you said blushing just at the word. 

He was not surprised but kind of, he did expect you to be inexperienced with the way you reacted to his advances but still, the fact that no man has ever touched you made his blood rise “You have not even kissed хомяк ?” (hamster).

His hands traced gently on your bottom lip which quivered under the rough skin contact “ Y...yeah “ you said nodding your head. The black Russian made a note “Marriage, first night “, and from that day on your extremely peaceful life started. 

College got over you got the job at the place you always wanted, Fydor was busy working and you never bothered to ask what it was “ Fyoo!” you exclaimed running into your shared house and thinking about the message you got from him “What-” you words stopped short. Fydor was in the most beautiful white suit you have seen his long hair loose eyes sparkling, on one knee he opened the box “Will you, хомяк ?” (hamster ). You could not control the tears “Yeah!” you nodded and leaped into his arms.

The wedding was short with close friends and people you guys wanted, with Sigma and Nikolai right next to your husband, who was a bit too eager to get his hands on your pure body. 

“What will he think? will he like me? He told me it's fine so it must be right ?” you thought pacing in the bathroom and looking at your reflection. Dressed in a full white gown you stood, the neck was a bit deep and the soft silk showed your curves very lustrously.

Glamping down the lump in your neck you walked out to your bed sat in the corner and waited for your husband. 

Fydor walked into the room, and his proper eyes caught you sitting on the edge of the bed playing with your dress.“Love”,  he said walking towards you. Raising your head you see him all angelic in white “According to the rules of a married couple we must make sure we are married .” his hands roamed your exposed neck as he took a seat next to you “And do you know what that means right ? I will be touching you in very intimate place “ his voice had the same gentle tone but something in it made you shiver. All you could do was nod your head, his lips crashed on yours, soft plump. The kiss was a bit rough is what you felt, it was not the same way he kissed you in front of everyone. 

His rough hands roamed your body and his weight pressed down on you, in all the years of your dating you guys never did anything and even if you slept in the same bed the max was his hands on your waist but now it held a firm grip, unlike his fragile appearance. 

Your head hit the white pillows “I am removing the clothes “, he said sitting back on his heels to remove his shirt, all you could do was sit back and admire the view in front of you “So hungry хомяк “ he teased not removing his pants “ your turn “ he said and moved the dress up your head dropping the only piece of clothing you had. 

Your hands instinctively went to cover your chest “Don't hide dear “, he said moving your hands to admire the view, “ only I can see and feel this “ he thought and gently massaged your breasts. 

It felt weird, you were not sure if that was the feeling of lust but your legs rubbed instinctively “It's soft love “ he mumbled face nuzzling against your neck leaving hot wet kisses down your inner jaw from your neck to your chest while gently holding and twisting your nipples.

Weird noises left your mouth no matter how hard you tried to hold them in it did not work, Fydor’s leg between yours made you feel even weirder you felt scared “Fyda…” you mumbled trying to hold his shoulders “ Fyda..” you said a bit louder making his stop his actions. 

“It feels weird “ you said with wet eyes lashes wet, face red you covered your chest again. 

He wanted to go slow, yes he did, slow and make sure you enjoyed it, he did not want to force you so much that after the first year, he stopped all his tricks thus, the mastermind criminal fell in love. But how can he stop when you lay under him all naked crying just from a few kisses? like not even his fingers but a few kisses, he could not stop and he would not. 

Kissing your forehead he leaned in “Love, it's alright you will soon learn that this is pleasure “ he said moving your hands again but this time his place fingers slithered down to your wet core. 

That feeling you felt when his hands touched your slit, you realized that whatever this person was going to do to you would surely be nothing but pleasurable. You opened your legs a little bit earning a chuckle from your husband “Good хомяк “ he said moving his head down and licking the little hard bud. 

Shots of current and pleasure moved through your body “Fyda…” you moved his name like a chant holding the sheets like it was your lifeline you let the Russian lick and suck all he wanted and for heaven's sake, it felt soo good, it felt heavenly. 

Suddenly you felt a knot in your stomach “ mov..move” you said trying to push his head, it felt like you were going to pee you struggled to move his head but it was too late. Fydor just sat next to your cunt as your squirted for the time in your life, your body shook and trembled in the effect “No..” you sobbed thinking the bad. 

But Fydor was quick to come up to your face and kiss your eyes “It is not what you think, this means I did a good job, you felt good right ?” he asked making you peek at him from your fingers which hid your face ” Yeah “. 

“ The next things will feel even better “ he said slithering to your hole and slipping in, and you could have never wished for anything better. After making sure you had cum twice on his fingers alone he decided that you were ready. 

Removing his pants he let him free, your eyes widened seeing a dick for the first time in real life “It's fine nothing to be scared of it will soon feel good “ he said and pressed the tip at your opening. 

As he entered slowly the pain shot right up your abdomen to your spin and felt like your neck was full your body was getting split into half, hot tears fell on the white already stained pillow, you held on to his arms digging your nails in them. 

The blood was visible on his dick mixed with your juices and cum, it was a dizzy feeling “Was I supposed to go soft? She can take it right ?” he thought pulling his dick out and in with every slow movement seeing the bloody shaft vanish and reappearance. The promise of going slow and not wanting to hurt your innocence all left his mind “I will be one and teach you everything “ his mind went a bit too blank for your good. 

With a sudden thrust, he pushed his full length in making you whimper and hold his arms tighter feeling the burning pain, his thrusts did not stop Pace rough hands holding your hands down making sure you were not squirming or moving as he moved in and out of your bloody cunt. 

“Slo..slow down “ you moaned pain slowly fading and something new settling in, it was weird but felt weirdly nice and …full. Fydor threw his head back and kept moving at his own pace as your words and please fell on deaf ears, he was busy chasing his high in your tight cunt which was almost suffocating him. 

It was not long before you held his hands tighter shouting you were cumming soon he followed. “phew …” Fydor moved his hair back opening his purple eyes to look at your fucked out face, it was not that he did not hear, he did not want to hear. Your pleading voice was music for him, your little grip was like a peck on his hands, and your tears turned him only more. Pulling out he let his cum mixed with your flow out of your cunt as you lay there twitching. 

The white bed stained with drool, tears, sweat and cum look beautiful with the tiny drops of your blood which were mixed with your cum “ хомяк ?” he asked. Getting his rational mind back Fydor realised his actions “You could not even handle a simple pinch and would yelp shit !” he thought and moved your hair from your face “You alright ? I am sorry love “ he said soothing and kissing your checks. 

“Yeah… it hurt but…later felt nice..” you yawned sleep and tiredness taking over your exhausted body you pulled him with the only strength you and he let you “It's fine …sleep,” you said closing your eyes and holding his neck. 

Never in all his life did a man like him expect to meet someone like you and have you to himself “Sleep хомяк you did so good for me “ he said. Not sleeping you moaned answering him “I…я тебя люблю “(I love you ) you mumbled and went into slumber your body relaxing against his chest as his eyes widened in surprise. 

Did you learn Russian for him? A genuine smile formed on his thin lips “Good night and я тебя люблю “ he said getting up cleaning you hugging your naked body and drifting into the best slumber he had in his entire life. 

[rain-soaked-sun]

So I'm Looking for this one fydor fic where he's an author and we are a editor . He lives in a cottage and we are new to the writting scene when someone named Hannah I think tell us about him having ti write a romance novel to get himself money. It starts of rocky but when we think he's opening up we decide to critique his weittingw which makes him lash out and we almost lose our job. They apologize with tea, when we get there to give it to him it start raining so he invites us inside , by the end of the chapter the fm of his book is introduced in like chapter 4. Hope this makes sense , it's a series and I can't find it😭😭😭😭

[bring-forth-your-justice]

Bungou Stray Dogs Boys x Reader Requests Open!

frfr, season 4 is here and I thought it was about time- As usual, please read the rules before requesting, I am super excited to start writing for it.

I will most likely be working on non-requests as I go along but I'll be working on any and all requests received first.

There just isn't enough fluff going around for the fandom online 💀

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 1 : “Unveiled” [cyberstalking] for Kinktober.

♡stalker! fyodor d. x afab! reader.

♡Synopsis: your secret life as a streamer takes a wild turn when feyda becomes dangerously obsessed with you, well uh.. obsessed enough to break in, not just to watch, but to finally fuck you.

♡Warnings: ņsfw, mdni, smųt with plot, cyberstalking, cybersex, obsessed! fedya, bdsm themes, non-con recording, dark themes, bondage, oral, cum mentioned, unprotected sex..etc.

♡Word count & a/n: 4k, i'm so sorry. i know i'm horrendously late. i may or may not morph into some sort of poetic lunatic by the end of this fic ppft. also, shoutout to fedya’s art by the brilliant " @isabeau333 " on x.

[SEE: Kink Coin & Winners Scoreboard]

it’s 1:46 a.m. again. you’re sitting on your bed, eyes wide open, staring at the glow of your phone screen. tonight feels different, but you can’t wrap your finger on why. there's a stillness in your own bedroom that makes your skin prickle with unease. you should be asleep by now—work’s in a few hours—but your body hums with a strange kind of thrill. a thrill you haven’t felt since him.

you unlock your phone and scroll through your messages—nothing. the usual fans, the usual comments. until you see it, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as you catch the latest one:

unknown: “don’t bother, my dear. i’m already inside.”

unconsciously, your breath catches in your throat. inside? inside where? your fingers freeze as you stare at the screen. is someone actually stalking you? you can't help but think what if it’s just a prank, someone trying to mess with you, make you think that you're crazy or something.

but deep down, you know better.

because nothing exciting ever really happens to you. not in your real life, anyway. you’ve got your 9-to-5 job, well, the same routine every day as it was before him. you come home, make lunch, and watch a show to unwind from the long, exhausting day at work. mundane. predictable.

but after midnight, everything changes.

it’s the part of your life no one knows about. not even your closest friends. as soon as the clock hits 12, you shift into someone else entirely. that secret side of you comes alive, and for a few hours every night, you stream games to a hidden audience, identity shielded by the anonymity of your kitsune mask.

you’re known online as "kitsunekitten," a name that’s grown more popular than you ever expected. thousands of fans tune in religiously to watch you play everything from dishonoured to lies of p, dead cells, or resident evil. and with every stream, your fanbase grows. the praise, the attention—it feels good.

your phone buzzes again.

unknown: “look behind you.”

you freeze, breath hitching with fear as you feel the slight shiver spread across your body. your gaze darts to the corner of the room, where your webcam sits innocently atop your monitor. you’ve always felt secure with the mask on—no one could ever see your face, not really. but now? the idea that someone might be looking through the lens, watching your every move, makes your skin crawl.

for a long moment, you don’t move. you don’t dare to. but the urge to check if it's him is eating you alive. slowly, your head turns, heart pounding as your eyes scan the obscured room behind you.

there's nothing.

the room is exactly how you left it—empty, quiet.

your shoulders sag in relief, though your nerves still remain frayed, buzzing with adrenaline. you stand from your desk, pacing, trying everything just anything to shake the unease that's wrecking your system. you glance at the clock: 1:49 a.m. it’s too late to still be awake, but you’re wired. there’s no way you’re getting any sleep tonight, not after those messages.

your phone buzzes again, and against your better judgment, you grab it.

unknown: “you’re so cute when you’re scared.”

your blood runs cold, a shiver racing down your spine. there’s no way they can actually be inside… right? you check the door, locked. the windows, closed. you even peek through the curtains, scanning the street below. everything is as it should be, yet the feeling of being watched is suffocating.

how do they know?

another message:

unknown: “why don’t you check the stream again?”

your heart nearly stops. you rush back to your desk, hands trembling as you click open your streaming software. the screen flickers showing your room through the webcam—but something’s off.

the feed is lagging, slow, as if struggling to keep up. then, for a split second, you see it—a shadow in the corner of the room. you blink, leaning closer, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

panic sets in, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to do. but before you can type anything, another message appears, this time in the stream chat. their username, the same one that’s been following you for a few days now: raskolnikov.

“i like your mask, but it’s time we get rid of it, don’t you think?”

your pulse races trying your best to shut the stream down, but your cursor freezes. the mouse won’t respond. every click is to no avail. the screen blurs for a moment before the video feed cuts to black.

what the hell is going on?

then, just as you're about to reach for your phone to call 911, your screen lights up again, showing a video file playing. it’s footage of you—a vivid footage from inside your apartment. to be more exact from your bedroom. you recognize the view, the angle—it’s from your own webcam showing you, sleeping, unaware of the camera watching your every move you make.

your stomach churns. this isn’t real, no... this can’t be real.

then you hear it. this time, a voice comes from right behind you. it filters through your ears, clear with a chilling calmness to it.

“did you miss me, myskha?”

your body locks up, thrill tightening your throat. god! you're so stupid, of course it's him, you should've known it's him, that smooth, taunting tone you’d recognise anywhere.

it’s fyodor dostoevsky.

a few months ago, things were simple. your streams were gaining traction, and the messages were nothing out of the ordinary. until him.

it started small—just a user in your chat, “@demonfyodor,” who seemed more attentive than others. you didn’t think much of it at first. his comments were polite, sometimes even helpful. but then, they became more specific. he knew details about your personal life, things you had never shared on stream—what books you were reading, the colour of the shirt you wore to work that day.

you ignored it at first, brushing it off as a coincidence. but the coincidences kept piling up. he knew too much.

and then, the gifts started arriving. packages with no return address. items you’d mentioned offhandedly during a stream—a game you were interested in, a book you had your eye on, even a necklace you admired. they all came, perfectly wrapped, as if sent by someone who was always listening, aways watching.

by then, the messages grew more intense, sliding into your dms with a casual ease that sent shivers down your spine. easy to say that he wanted more than just to watch. he craved interaction, intimacy, a connection that transcended beyond the screen. and the thrill of having someone so alluringly close was insanely intoxicating, especially when you wore your mask, the anonymity allowing you to explore sides of yourself you’d long kept hidden.

at first, it was thrilling to engage in these flirty exchanges with him. fyodor had a specific way of using words that wrapped around you like silk, enticing you into a world of pleasure you had almost forgotten. he’d ask if you liked the gifts he sent—those perfect little treasures that you've always secretly craved. new packages started arriving, each one with a rush of excitement, revealing items that teased at your wildest fantasies—handcuffs, whips, and other bdsm delights that you had secretly wanted to try but never had the courage to explore.

you’d spent so long alone, single for what felt like an eternity, that you never expected to be so drawn to these fantasies again.

you found yourself lost in hours of texting, often escalating to calls and even facetiming late at night. there was this specific magnetic pull between you, a connection that was both so thrilling yet unbelievably terrifying. and the unforgettable nights you shared became an addiction—worse than nicotine, you realised.

safe to say that fyodor was different. well, he was smart, intuitive, and oh, that half-lidded gaze of his, those captivating amethyst eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul, made it nearly impossible to resist. the way he smirked when he facetimed you, so confident and smooth, drew you in like a cat to catnip.

fyodor had a unique talent for making you cum over and over again without even being in the same room. his silk smooth voice filling your senses with his soft moans and luscious whispers. you could almost feel him there with you, as if he knew every secret spot that would send you twirling into ecstasy.

“just for me, darling,” he would murmur in the dead of night, calling you while you lay there, helplessly aroused, stroking his deliciously lengthy pale cock while whispering sweet nothings that seemed to tangible your desire. it was intoxicating.

and oh the thrill of being sprawled out in front of him through the lens, just for his viewing pleasure, became a nightly ritual. you’d slowly slide the lavender dildo he gifted between your slick-coated folds, moaning softly as you fucked yourself just for him, eagerly awaiting his reaction. every squirm, every gasp was a performance, and the way he admired your every inch of you, the way his gaze burned into you through the screen, made it all the more exhilarating. you loved how pretty he made you feel, how desired, and how alive.

and then came the darker undertones—the realisation that the line between thrill and danger was razor-thin, especially when your connection to him spiraled deeper into obsession.

you were obsessed—completely consumed by him, and you could swear he felt the same. fyodor was always there, filling the void with his words and voice. until one day… he just disappeared.

no warning, no goodbye. nothing, just… gone.

he deleted all of his accounts, his number, everything. every trace of him, wiped clean, deactivated as if he had never existed in the first place. you thought it was some kind of sick game at first. a punishment, maybe? but for what ? you didn’t know. all you knew was the desperate, gnawing need for answers.

you spent days—weeks, really—searching for any trace of him, some clue, something that would explain why he’d vanish so suddenly. but there was nothing. it was as if he had planned this all along, like a predator keeping his prey hooked, dangling just out of reach before vanishing into the void, leaving you stranded in the wake of your obsession.

you’d find yourself obsessively refreshing your streams, hoping his username would pop up in the chat as it used to, scouring your dms, wondering if maybe he was still watching you, lurking among the anonymous fans. you caught yourself imagining him behind every new follower, every message, wondering if he was there, pulling the strings once again.

three months of silence. three agonizing months of waiting, hoping, wondering. were you in love with him? or was it just a pure obsession? you couldn’t tell anymore. all you knew was that he had burrowed into your life, into your mind, so deeply that it felt like you were drowning without him.

your late-night streams had become hollow rituals, devoid of the thrill they once held. the gifts he’d sent were still there, tucked away, untouched since his disappearance. you couldn’t bring yourself to use them anymore, not without him. Not without his voice in your ear, telling you how perfect you were, how beautiful you looked writhing on camera just for him.

"you're shaking my dear are you okay"

his smooth, silky voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. okay? you're anything but okay. is he even kidding right now? you almost had a heart attack, convinced someone was about to kill you.

your hands tremble, mind racing with dozens of thoughts, questions colliding together in your head. but against all logic, despite the overwhelming fear, you can’t help but feel the familiar rush of dopamine hit your brain receptors.

you missed him. and you know exactly what that means.

he’s right there, sitting on your bed—flesh and bone, not just pixels on a screen. it’s almost too much to process. you hate to admit it, but he’s even more handsome in person. those amethyst eyes are sharper, more intriguing, and his smirk… makes your stomach twist with longing.

then, his voice again hypnotic, like velvet draping over your hearing senses:

“i’m sorry, myshka. i didn’t mean to disappear like that... i had some things to take care of.” he pauses, eyes searching your face for any sign that might let him push further. but all he finds is panic, disbelief, and hurt.

“i—i don’t understand,” you stammer, desperately searching for a way to make sense of it all.

his hand reaches out, brushing your cheek lightly. the touch makes you flinch, but it’s not out of fear. it's the way your body responds—a pink hue spreading underneath your cheeks colouring them so adorably.

“you’re trembling, my dear” he whispers, thumb trailing down to your lips. “but not just from fear, is it? no… there's something else, isn’t there, darling?”

you should push him away. you should scream. but instead, you stay frozen, heart pounding in your chest as his thumb presses lightly against your lower lip, and you can see the striking plum violet and mauve lines in his amaranthine irises.

“you’re so beautiful without the mask,” he continues, leaning slightly forward. “i’ve missed this. missed you.”

oh shit! the mask—how did you forget it? the realisation hits you like a truck, leaving you feeling achingly exposed, like a delicate flower stripped of its petals. is this okay? will he hurt you?

his other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around your side delicately, drawing you closer to him.

“i’ve been watching you, myshka,” he smiles, that damn smile that you've always wondered when you'll see again. “every night, waiting for the right moment to return.”

“did you think about me?” he asks, eyes narrowing playfully, as if he already knows the answer. you swallow hard, not sure if you should be honest with him or not.

“y-yes,” you finally admit, of course, you thought about him—every single day and night. his essence always lingered in your mind like an addiction, one you couldn’t quite shake off. every moment of your life was coloured by the hope of his return.

“tell me what you want, myshka,” his eyes roam over your nightgown, captivated by how your lavender bra hugs your breasts so perfectly from underneath. tracing the cascade of your hair down your shoulders, with a few wisps caught teasingly between the soft curves of your cleavage. “i can give you everything and more.”

oh lord—the way he says it makes your vision blurs with lust, you want to tell him, you want to confess all of your darkest desires, the fantasies you’ve spun in the solitude of your room. but words fail you. instead, your body leans instinctively toward him, humming in delight, craving the contact you’ve denied yourself for so long.

“the little toys i sent you are gathering dust, aren’t they? i think it’s time we put them to use.”

your breath catches in your throat. how did he know? you hesitate for a second before rushing to your closet, fingers trembling slightly as you open the drawer and pull out the baby blue handcuffs and the magenta vibrator he gifted you months ago his smirk widens as he watches you, an amsuing glint speading into his eyes.

“good choice,” he murmurs, stepping closer to take the items from your hands, smirking viciously as he holds the cuffs like a trophy. “let’s see how well you can follow my orders tonight.”

slowly, he begins to undress you, hands exploring every inch of your soft skin as if you're a forbidden fruit in eve's garden. he traces his fingers along your arms, down your hips, then to your neck down your spin and the cloudy pillows of your ass. each touch makes your skin pebble, radiating flames under his tender touches. you’re not just his toy, you’re his masterpiece.

once he’s stripped you down to nothing, he leads you to the bed and gently handcuffs your wrists to the headboard, securing you in place. you're quite aware that there's a thin line between excitement and anxiety but right now? all you can think about is what he is planning.

as he finishes, he swoops down, lips brushing yours so teasingly, before pressing his cold ones against yours in a gentle chaste kiss growing handsier by each second, causing you to let out a muffled hum of surprise.

he pulls back watching your heaving chest as you catch him holding your kitsune mask, a vicious smile curling on his lips. “you know I can’t have my favorite little fox completely unmasked,” he teases, lifting it toward your face, placing the mask over your features to obscure your identity as he holds a camera in his other hand aiming it at you, its lens capturing the erotic moment. “i want to remember every exquisite detail,” he grouses erotically—placing the camera on your night stand before slowly taking off his clothes.

your breath hitches as you take in his details through the mask. yes, you've seen him naked multiple times before, but it was always behind the camera lenses, never this close. his body is pale and perfectly structured, and oh god, his waist—how is he that beautiful?

your gaze drifts lower, eyes widening as they lock onto his hard cock, the tip glistening and teasingly brushing against your slick folds. it’s a sight that sends a jolt of desire pooling low in your stomach. you want him—need him—right now.

he spreads your folds with two digits, looking eagerly with darkened amethyst orbs as your delicious juices drool from your empty hole.

“oh... myshka, your pussy is so much softer than i imagined.” he purrs as he watches your glossy lips part slightly letting out muffled mewls, the mask frames your features, leaving your mouth exposed for him. he tilts his hips ever so slightly letting the tip of his cock glide against your buzzing clit.

“mnff...fedya,” here comes your needy whimpers that he adores.

he lowers himself, so that his mouth is just a few inches from your cunt, warm breath faning against your wet puffy folds making your cunt gush more and more of its sweet juices.

he begins with teasing licks, the hot muscle swirling around your sensitive clit in circular motion, each flick makes your back arch and hips instinctively buck up yearning for more. a muffled 'mmff' vibrates against your hot sex, as he tastes the sweet honey seeping from between your folds like you’re the sweetest nectar.

“mmff myshka, can you stop moving so much?” he murmurs against your heat core, the vibrations adding to the delicious torment. his fingers dive deeper, curling inside you as he continues to work your clit with his mouth, the combination making you moan loudly, while struggling against your restrained hands, you desperately try to break free, yearning to let your fingers tug on his luscious black silk hair.

“please… more,” you gasp, unable to contain the desperation in your voice as he responds with a low, pleased growl, redoubling his efforts to bring you close enough to your sweet release.

but just as you’re about to cum, he suddenly pulls away. a desperate whimper escapes your lips, the pleasure abruptly cut off as you watch him with wide eyes, feeling the emptiness where he was just a moment ago.

“not yet, myshka,” he chuckles, licking his lips to taste the ghost of you.

without warning, he rams inside you, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. a sharp gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you, the sudden intrusion makes your vision blurry, stars flashing behind your eyes making every nerve in your body tingle with pleasure. as you feel yourself close to your release again, your walls clenching around him instinctively.

“черт! тебе так хорошо.” (fuck! you feel so good.) he groans as he begins to thrust deep, each swing of his hips sending ripples of ecstasy radiating from your core. “this tight little pussy of yours..ngh..is going to become my new obsession..mff”

you mull over his words as they feed at all parts of your hollow heart, making you feel butterflies in your stomach mingling with the coil tightening in your lower abdomen.

lost in a haze of blissful moans and blurred vision, you barely notice fyodor's hand gliding over to the vibrator. the moment he presses it against your swollen clit, a scream escapes your lips, a sound of pure ecstasy that mingles with his deep, satisfied moan. the buzzing sensation resonates deep within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire body. as his heavy shaft with veins straining against the skin, finds new pleasure points inside you that he commits to memory eager for the next time you make love.

heat coils between you as his furrowed brows speak of pure, concentrated desire. each deep stroke reshapes your walls, molding them to the weight and curve of his delicious lengthy cock, making sure no one else could ever fill you up the way he does. when your eyes meet, it’s like gazing into a galaxy of forbidden stars—his eyes telling you of a dark beauty of pleasure that pulls you higher and higher and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass blends with your moans, each collision driving you closer to the intoxicating edge of bliss.

you’re absolutely lost in the art of it, the way his body claims yours, painting pleasure across every nerve until the world outside dissolves and all that remains is just the two of you.

his breath comes in ragged, desperate gasps, tension in his muscles like the pull of a bowstring, ready to spill inside you at any given moment. he swells, every stroke only adding more fuel to the release building between you. the world narrows to this moment, the brush of his sweaty skin against your heaving chest, the pulse of pleasure echoing through your body with the buzzy rhythm of the vibrator pressed on your clit drives you straight away to your own release.

it's like stars colliding in the vastness of a violet sky, you shatter together. his name spills from your lips in a cry, body arching as pleasure crashes over you, flooding your senses. his hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he drives deeper, groaning low in his chest. and then you feel the heat of his release blooms inside you, filling you in waves as your walls pulse around him, pulling him in even tighter.

your bodies tremble in the afterglow, the world spinning and slowing until only the soft hum of breath and the fading echoes of pleasure remain. you glance at his irresistible eyes, seeing the remnants of that celestial fire, a shared intimacy that lingers even as the stars dim and the night settles into quiet.

he reaches over with a steady hand, grabbing the camera set just beyond the edge of the bed, with a smirk curling his lips, he flicks it off, the soft click signaling the end of the recording before he leans closer, fingers brushing against your cheekbone as he slowly pulls the mask off your face and gently frees your aching wrists from the restraints.

“beautiful,” he murmurs with a thick russian accent, his breath mingles with yours for a heartbeat before he closes the gap, capturing your lips in another deep, passionate kiss, mouth moving erotically against yours with the same fervor that had driven him moments before, as if he’s still chasing the aftershocks of pleasure through the taste of your glossy now-swollen lips.

“moya lyubov, you're designed just for me.”

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguru @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr

[luvfy0dor]

“I Can't Help But Pamper You ♡⁠˖” BSD x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Osamu Dazai, Chuuya Nakahara, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol

warnings; kisses, sassy Fyodor,

description; pampering BSD boys at home? I dunno how else to describe it jdskskkek

A/n; Happy birthday to Dazai and happy Juneteenth!!! I've been swamped with state testing and finals and studying for them, I got three more to go, 3/6 completed. I'm kinda excited for summer but I'll feel like I have nothin' to do. idea cred to @yaeeko and Nikolai scenario inspiration from @ilovechuuy4

Dazai Osamu ★

Dazai is almost never the first one up. Every morning, you take on the responsibilities of an alarm clock by shaking your boyfriend awake from his fifth 'just five more minutes' every morning. You were blessed with weekends off, though, and one Saturday morning when you inevitably woke up before Osamu, you decided to embrace your inner chef. Maybe you're not the best cook, but anyone is better than Dazai, so you did most of the food preparation. You never really made breakfast, though. Dazai usually just took an apple or two and you never had time to power up the stove and make pancake batter or anything of the sort, so this morning, you figured you would. You whipped out a couple pans, and some boxed pancake mix and eggs and got to work. You made sure Dazais eggs were cooked just right before playing them, a long with the less-than-perfect pancakes. Sure they were a little crispy, but Dazai wouldn't mind too much. All that was left to do was grab a fork and syrup and bring the meal back to him in your room. Pushing the door open with your foot, you walked in and set the plate on the nightstand, gently shaking him awake. His brows furrow and his nose scrunched up. "'Samu, wake up, I brought you breakfast." You say, running your fingers through his messy brown hair. He stretches his limbs before peeking open his eyes and smiling. "Did you now? How romantic of you!" He sits up and lets you hand him the plate. "This is so thoughtful of you! Come sit down." He pats the empty spot next to him. You crawl over him to get there and lean onto his shoulder once your fully situated. His nimble fingers grip the fork loosely as he cuts off a sliver of the pancake and holds it up to your lips. "Go on, try it." He encourages and you bite it off of the fork, humming at the taste. "Wow, I did pretty good, huh." You say, satisfied. He nods with a grin, continuing to munch on his breakfast. "Better than that time you burnt gravy." You roll your eyes but nod, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

Chuuya Nakahara ★

The second you offered a hot shower with Chuuya to unwind one evening, he was happily accepting. He wasted no time heading to the closet to grab a towel, slinging one over his shoulder for you along with his. He let you pull him in by his waist for a kiss while you leaned against the sink, and even though the shower wasn't turned on yet, the mirrors were already fogging up. Your hand creeps up to cup his face, running your thumb over his pronounced cheekbones as he sighs into your kisses. He pulls away, his face flustered and red. "C'mon, let's get into the shower before we end up distracted." He says playfully. He starts to undo his vest and meets you halfway in the middle without having realized that your fingers were fumbling with the buttons too. He chuckles quietly and lets you help him finish undressing before the both of you step into the steamy shower. He hums in contentment at the feeling of the hot water against his overworked muscles, his body immediately relaxing. Your instinct tells you to hug him from behind while the water cascades over the two of you, but you reason that it would be uncomfortably hot, so you opt to wash his body for him instead. He'd let a quiet but pleased sound out at the favor, mumbling thanks and closing his eyes, letting the relaxing water nearly consume him. Chuuya had never loved showers more than he did when he took one with you.

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

Every night before you went to bed, you had a really quick skincare routine. All it really was was washing your face, putting on moisturizer, and using a lip scrub, but you enjoyed it and felt that it did what it was supposed to. Occasionally, Fyodor would stand by and watch, his interest piqued. Sometimes he'd ask questions or make comments on your routine, such as "that must be why your lips are so soft." Or "What exactly does it do for your face? I don't think it can really fix it." I'm a firm believer that Fyodor is actually kinda playful and teases his partner from time to time. "Its not supposed to 'fix it', dumdum. It makes the skin softer 'nd stuff." You'd reply with an eye roll. He'd fall silent for a second, watching as you apply the scrub to your lips. "Can I try it?" You put you finger on your chin and hummed pensively, turning to him and nodding. "I guess." You rummaged through the drawer in the sink for your recently discarded headband with floppy, worn out bunny ears on the top. He leaned against the sink and let you put it on him, pulling it over his head and then pushing it up again to keep his long bangs out of his face. He looked over his shoulder at himself in the mirror while you grabbed your moisturizer and scrub and grimaced. "I look much better with my bangs. This certainly isn't ideal." He'd tell you, turning back to face you, only to be spinned around once again.

"Just splash some water on your face." You say, turning the sink on for him. "Is that really necessary? My shirt is going to get all soaked-" "You can always change, go on, Fedya.' You say, your hand on his lower back as he reluctantly leans over the sink and gently uses his cupped hands to bring the water to his face a couple times. When he stood back up again, water dripped down his skin and from his eyelashes and his cheeks were very slightly flushed. "What now? I'm all cold and wet." He murmurs, standing stiffly as the droplets continue to roll down his face. You grab a small towel and pat his face dry for him, getting to his lips and stealing a quick peck. You then pump some of the moisturizer onto your hand and start rubbing it into his pale skin. The cream leaves a glossy effect afterwards and he runs his fingers over his cheek to feel the smooth texture. He watches you take out the lip scrub and gather some on your finger. "Open up." You say. He raises an eyebrow but parts his lips, slightly grimacing as you aggressively apply the product. "Okay, now rub your lips together." He does as directed and can't help but lick his lower one. "It tastes good, like artificial blueberry." He says and you nod in agreement. "My lips do feel softer, though." He says, continuously feeling them and taking in the softer texture. "Let me feel." You say, gently guiding his hand away from his mouth in order to lean in and kiss him, intertwining your fingers with his as you do so. "Yeah, I think it definetly worked." You mumble as you pull away. Maybe you should rope him into your routine more often.

Nikolai Gogol ★

"Dove, you ever see those people who put on face masks and then they do the whole 'cucumber over the eyes' thing? We should try that!" Your boyfriend calls out to you from the kitchen, searching for the cucumber you bought last week. He finally found it in one of the drawers and quickly grabbed a cutting board and knife. "Where'd that come from?" You ask with a raised eyebrow as you walk into the kitchen, standing at the counter next to him. "I dunno, it just came to mind. Seems fun though, doesnt it?" He chopped six slices off of the cucumber and wrapped it back up to be put back in the fridge. "Yeah, sure." You grab one of the slices and take a bite. "Let me go grab the face masks real quick. Do you want your robe? To enhance the experience?" He grins as he heads down the hallway to the bathroom. "Kolya it's like, a million degrees in here, it's summer and we have no ac, I'm surprised you're not already walking around naked and you wanna wear a robe? You're out your mind." You say, following the white haired man to find him in the bathroom closet, grabbing two charcoal masks. "I'll do as I please, and if that's wearing a fuzzy robe in the summer, then so be it. The cucumbers will cool me down."

You roll your eyes and pull the hair tie you keep on your wrist off to bunch up and hold Nikolais bangs out of his face. "Mm, much better! Let's go, I want to lay down." He says with an excited smile, dragging out along back to the couch. He plops down and sprawls out, half of one leg hanging off the edge. You follow suit but remain sitting up and rip the mask open by the tear strip. "Oops, we forgot the cucumbers in the kitchen." He says, opening his portal and sticking his arm through, pulling it out a couple seconds later with the cucumbers in hand. "Thank you." You say appreciatively. "Now close your eyes." You say, placing two of them on his eyes. "I feel much cooler already." He says, making you roll your eyes with a smile. You squeeze out the mask and spread it onto his face with your pointer finger until it covered most of the surface area except for his lips. "This is so relaxing! I'll have to do yours for you after I'm done with mine." He says, clearly having a great time. You gently massage his scalp while you let him marinate and can't help but be surprised that he hasn't eaten the cucumbers yet. Just as you the thought floats through your head, he reaches over and grabs one of the extra cucumbers on the plate, bringing it to his mouth and practically swallowing it whole. You laugh at him quietly. "I thought those were for me?" He hums to indicate that they weren't as he chews. "Not anymore." You smiled and lean down to peck his lips quickly, feeling your heart flutter with affection for him, just like it did the day you first met. "Alright, Kolya, whatever you say."

Sigma ★

Sigma was very fond of done-up nails, always admiring his customers when they had them painted with colors and sparkles, glossy or matte. One evening, he turned in from his manager job for the night and called out your name, just to find you sitting in bed, cross-legged, painting your nails. His eyes literally up and he walked closer, sitting down next to you. "That's a pretty color. Can you do mine too?" You looked up at him and smiled, shaking your hand to get the polish to dry faster. "Yeah, just give me a second.." you say, blowing your nails and continuously shaking them. It didn't take long for them to dry and you held out your hand for Sigmas. "Alright, let me see." He quickly put his hand in yours. You unscrewed the cap and scraped off the excess nail polish and started painting his left nails. His gaze was fixated on the brush as his nails went from a pale white to a glossy red. You made it to his ring finger before stopping. "Do you want an accent nail?" You ask him. His brows slightly furrowed before a look of realization appeared on his face. "That's when one of them is different, right?" You nod. "Yeah, what other colors are there?"

You reach over to a small, plastic bag on the nightstand and pull out three other polishes, one a shade of purple, a white one, and a black one. "Can I have purple?" You smiled and nodded, unscrewing the cap. "It almost matches your hair." You say, painting his ring finger and then alternating to the red one again for the pinky. "Wave your hand so it dries faster." He does as told. "I'm so happy, I see all these people with nails like this and I've wanted to do mine for a while. Did you know?" You shrugged with a smile, starting on his right hand. "Well, I always see you admire other people's nails, so I figured I'd do mine so you'd give me that attention too, but no, I didn't." You finish up his left hand and instruct him to wave it. "Ohhh...well that's even better because now we can match." He says. His cheeks are a little pinker than before and he takes your hand in his, examining your near perfect nails. "They're so pretty." He mumbles, looking back up at you with his big eyes. "Thank you." You appreciatively say, leaning in to peck his lips. He kisses you back happily and squeezes your hand. He felt so much joy every time he looked at his colored nails, and even more when he saw yours and his together.

A/n; I wasn't gonna put a 2nd a/n but it feels weird not being here, but I don't got nothing to say 🤷

[kitasgloves]

stop I'm having so many thoughts about Fyodor who enjoys intimate moments with you naked. It's not anything sexual but rather a display of vulnerability, purity, and honesty. When you lay or sit next to him naked he perceives this as you feeling safe around him showing your bare body. He likes to imprint any mole, scar, stretch mark, or unique birth mark on you in his memory. Eventually, when he gets comfortable, he'll also lay naked with you and cuddle or reading a book or talk because he wants you to think he's being real with you

[kiatheinsomniac]

⋆ :₊ 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒚 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☾‧⁺

*  * 　　　 ⊹  ˚  . 　　. 𓏲𝄢 ⊹  ˚  . 𝒌𝒊𝒂'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆-𝒌 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ⋆ :₊  ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

𓏲𝄢 ˚ : · 23.10.2024: thank you all so much for 3k! I've been busy with work as I'm taking a year out of university for my mental health but I now feel ready to celebrate this new milestone for the blog! I'll be taking a certain amount of requests from particular fandoms to celebrate! again, thank you all so much to followers old and new for all the support you've given me ♡ 𓏲𝄢 ˚ : · if you have any questions about requesting, don't be shy to ask :) I've set a limit on requests as to not burn myself out 𓏲𝄢 ˚ : · before entering, please be sure to read my blog rules linked here

 ˚₊‧꒰𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔‧₊ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𓏲𝄢 ˚ : · not sure what to request?

acts of love | "I'm weak for you" | rivals to lovers | spicy romance | angry confession | injuries | friends to lovers

 ˚₊‧꒰𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔‧₊ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

✧ 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃 ⊹₊ headcanons: 2 fics: 0

✧ ��𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ⊹₊ headcanons: 0 fics: 2

✧ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓 ⊹₊ headcanons: 5 fics: 5

✧ 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋 ⊹₊ headcanons: 5 fics: 5

✧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 ⊹₊ headcanons: 3 fics: 2

𓏲𝄢 ˚ : · beg

✧ 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑 ⊹₊ headcanons: 0 fics: 3

✧ 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐍 ⊹₊ headcanons: 2 fics: 2

✧ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐀 ⊹₊ headcanons: 2 fics: 2

✧ 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋'𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄 ⊹₊ headcanons: 0 fics: 1

✧ 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 ⊹₊ headcanons: 1 fics: 1

✧ 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐑 ⊹₊ headcanons: 3 fics: 1

𓏲𝄢 ˚ : · eternity over coffee

✧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒  ⊹₊ headcanons: 3 fics: 3

✧ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓 ⊹₊ headcanons: 0 fics: 1

✧ 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒: ⊹₊ headcanons: 2 fics: 2

⋆ :₊ 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☾‧⁺

[thedamselzelda]

Two Hearts Torn

Featuring: Fyodor Dostoevsky & Dazai Osamu

Summary: Broken, beaten, battered, and bruised. What keeps a heart from beating as one? For two, it's torn between losses and consequences of years past. However, in this twisted game, only calculated moves will stitch these hearts back together.

word count: 7.7k+, fem!reader, HOTD!reader, nsfw (oral sex m! receiving, unprotected sex, quick moment of domestic abuse [possessive Fyodor, very unhealthy relationship]), reader referred to with other names (no use of y/n), Russian words used (general meanings at the end), reader dissociates.

Author Chat: After an overwhelming poll, I have written another part of this story (tbh, I was a little too happy for it to win)! This part isn't as dark as I originally wrote it, as I couldn't bring myself to slander Fyodor too much. What can I say, the man is my #3 (behind my b-day buddy Chuya and my #1 Dazai ofc).

I also feel the need to mention before this part that this is an installment apart of the Beast AU. Yes, reader is married to Fyodor, however, the story is primarily a Dazai x reader story.

Hope you guys enjoy!

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

You stared at your reflection in the ornate vanity mirror, the face looking back at you feeling strangely unfamiliar. With delicate movements, you began to remove the bobby pins from your hair, allowing each strand to cascade onto your shoulders. Your eyes, a striking violet, searched your own gaze in the mirror, desperately grasping for clarity amidst the whirlwind of memories from the night. A weary sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes and rested your head in your hands, succumbing to the flood of memories about him. The lingering effect he had on you was both frustrating and thrilling, a contradiction that left you feeling dizzy.

There was no doubt in your mind about the reason for his visit - he came solely to see you. The realization sent a shiver down your spine. Yet, his unexpected question about what it would take for you to leave the House of the Dead, to abandon your husband, had caught you completely off guard, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

You extended your arm forward, observing the glistening ring on your finger. The alexandrite stone caught the dim light of your boudoir, its colors shifting mesmerizingly from a deep emerald to a rich purple as you turned your hand. Regret washed over you like a cold wave, seeping into your bones as you contemplated your choice of gem. The stone, his birthstone, now felt like a silent betrayal, a constant reminder of the man you couldn't forget, couldn't refrain from loving despite everything. Disgust rose in your throat, bitter and biting, as you berated yourself for not choosing a simple, neutral diamond instead. The realization that your heart had once again acted without your conscious consent left you feeling raw and exposed.

Your mind drifted to the circumstances of your marriage to Fyodor. The decision felt rushed, almost impulsive in hindsight. It served no real purpose for either of you beyond Fyodor's antiquated notion of propriety. His timid words echoed in your memory, tinged with an air of pious restraint:

"I could not lay with you unless we were wed..."

You rolled your eyes at the thought, irritation prickling beneath your skin like tiny needles. Initially, aligning yourself with Fyodor had been a calculated move, a way to strike back at Dazai and the unfair hand of cards you had been dealt in life. But over time, it had evolved into something more complex, a relationship built on stolen moments - chaste kisses on hands and lips, always restrained by his devout adherence to religious principles. His unwavering commitment to God frustrated you; for what cruel deity would curse you with such an ability?

The irony of your situation wasn't lost on you. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined yourself married, not even to Dazai. Life within the Mafia, and now in the House of the Dead, seemed incompatible with such conventional milestones. You had been content in your life with Dazai, before his gradual descent into whatever labyrinthine plans now consumed him.

Now, you found yourself in a precarious position. Isolated, you focused your efforts on seizing The Book from Dazai, the key to Fyodor's grand plan of overwriting this hellish reality. The weight of this mission hung heavy on your shoulders, a constant reminder of the complex web of loyalties, desires, and regrets that now defined your existence.

A soft click of your bedroom door stole you from your thoughts, your eyes shifting in the mirror to the figure entering your room. Fyodor's reflection appeared behind you, his rich purple eyes tired, as if he had paused his work to come and deal with you.

"Oh, moya lyubov', I wasn't expecting you." The lie slipped easily from your lips, even as you knew he would see through it. You had expected him, especially after how easily Nikolai had caught on to the change in your demeanor. Damn Nikolai...

"Moya zhena, I hear you've had quite the exciting day." His voice was smooth, yet laced with an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite place.

You made no indication of moving from your position as you looked up at Fyodor in the mirror. His weary smile was laced with fondness, yet you could detect icy undertones beneath the surface. He drifted over to you, his movements graceful despite his apparent exhaustion. His hands, cool and slender, came to rest upon your shoulders as he leaned down to place a kiss upon your undone hair.

His warm breath caressed your scalp, his lips parting as if on the verge of speech. Before he could utter a word, you smoothly began recounting your evening, carefully omitting any mention of Dazai's appearance.

"It was so tedious," you sighed, reaching for your makeup remover. "And now I'll have to get the carpet replaced." You dabbed at your face, the cool liquid erasing the traces of the night. Fyodor merely hummed in response, his intense gaze following your every movement.

"I suppose I'll have to search for a new group to take on the Port Mafia," you continued, your tone deliberately casual. "Maybe I should seek help from that Detective Agency. Perhaps they would work for the right price."

"No," Fyodor interjected sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. You turned; shock evident on your features. He had never disagreed with your suggestions before, always supporting your efforts to obtain The Book.

His knuckles grazed your cheek, sending an involuntary chill down your spine. His lips curled into a malicious smile, violet eyes glittering dangerously in the dim light.

"Moy dorogoy, you've never been a terrible liar," he purred, his voice silky smooth yet laced with venom. "However, the secrets you keep have always been so apparent."

Your eyes narrowed as you searched the storm brewing before you. Suddenly, his hand wrapped around your throat, swift and firm, forcing you to your feet. The pressure increased, making each breath a struggle.

His face hovered mere millimeters from yours, his breath fanning over your lips. "You forget yourself, moya zhena. You belong to me. I know every move you make here, malen'kaya mysh'."

A desperate squeak escaped you as you gasped for air, your fingers clawing at his hand. "I know, please," you managed to choke out.

"He was here tonight," Fyodor hissed, his eyes blazing. "And I hear you two did more than just talk."

He released you abruptly, causing you to stumble back. You massaged your throat, gulping in fresh air. After regaining your composure, a smirk played on your lips. "All this because I danced with him?"

In a fluid motion, the back of his hand struck across your face, swinging back up to grasp the back of your head firmly. His voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "He is still in love with you. From how you feign the mere mention of him, I would suspect that you, moya lyubyashchaya zhena, also still love him."

A pain sparked upon your lips as you smirked, a breathy laugh escaping as you slipped into Russian, "Budto. It's as you suggested; I have initiated another plan by indulging him in a dance is all."

His eyes softened slightly, his grip on your scalp loosening. "Speak."

"He wants me to come back, to rejoin the Mafia," you explained, the words flowing effortlessly. "We can use that. Let me slip back into his good graces. He's bound to eventually have me up in his office. There, I can do what none of those assassins could, and take The Book for ourselves."

His anger was quickly replaced at your obedience, a soft smile reappearing. "Chudesnyy, moya lyubov'. I believe that is a great plan."

His eyes darted to your lips, urging you to quickly grasp the collar of his white buttoned shirt and pulled him into a kiss. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you lightly. You could feel him reveling in your compliance. His hand drifted from the nape of your neck, down to your waist, pulling you flush to him. His lips danced among yours, fervently melting.

Your fingers deftly toyed with the hem of his pants, coaxing a chuckle from your lover’s lips. He hummed as your body pressed against his, your hands slipping past the cloth to grasp his hardened cock. You smile at his breathy moan by your mere touch, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"What you do to me, ty lisitsa." His eyes trailed you as you dipped down to your knees. His fingers combed into your hair, pulling every last strand from your face. Your eyes panned to his as you pulled his pants down slightly to free his hardened, leaky member. One hand rested upon his hip, the other supporting him as your tongue slips out, barely brushing against his tip, tasting the salty cream from his slit. He hissed, rocking himself forward slightly to you. You hum, releasing his gaze, closing your eyes as you opened your mouth to fully take him in.

"Ugn, so beautiful, moya lyubov'." His praises reach your ears; his lips uttering your name, like a thankful prayer to his God above.

His tip reaches the back of your throat, and your eyes squeeze together to feign from gagging. You draw back slightly, barely parting your lips to allow your tongue to trail behind. Your hand pumping in your lips wake, applying gentle pressure. 

He gathered your hair into one hand, using the freedom to brush a dripping tear from your cheek. "Takaya khoroshaya devochka."

Your lips close around his cock once more, dipping yourself to push your nose flush with his hips. You suppress a gag once more as your throat spasms against his length. 

"I must have you, moya lyubov'," his voice shaky, nearly causing you to laugh at his submissive behavior. You don’t release him just yet, however, gently sucking as you bob upon him. His knees slightly buckle at your defiance, earning a tug of your hair, pulling you from him.

He pulls you to stand by your hair, a slight burn forming from the aggressive pull. He releases you, grasping at the vanity seat to shove it out of the way. You were next on his brief redecorating of your room. Grasping you firmly by your hips, eagerly pulling at the skirt of your formfitting dress and forcing it up to your waist. His hands roughly grip onto you before pushing you into the vanity. 

You’re lifted by Fyodor to sit upon the cold surface, legs slotting open as he aggressively grasps your face to kiss you once more, as if it was his last dying breath. His member plays at your clothed cunt, slightly dripping from your arousal. His hand leaves your face, his fingers tugging at the cloth to pull it aside, aligning himself. He pulls at your waist once more, fixing the angle to allow himself to slide between your plush walls.

“Fuck!” You sharply exhale, your eyes slotting closed. Instinctively, you lurched forward to grasp onto him, and to rest your chin upon his shoulder. Your hands rested upon his nape and back, holding onto him as his hands gripped yours in a way that would leave bruises behind. His lips grazed your neck, leaving behind a trail of kisses and soft bites. 

Your eyes slowly opened as his thrusts grew sloppier, evident of his impending release within you. Across from you, you saw your reflection in the closet mirror, allowing you to observe the explicit moment before you. However, your mind saw and heard different; the black hair entangled within your hands was brown and curly, the muffled, breathy moans against your neck were replaced with lowly grunts and words of praise, and the suit of the man before you became stained black. 

You wanted to utter his name as you felt your release, like a call out to him to stay far away from the danger you would inflict upon him. Yet, you stifled the moan by biting your lip as you felt a warmth fill you to your core.

Fyodor sighed contently, releasing you from his harsh grip. He pulled his softening cock from your cunt, his seed dripping from you. He stepped to the side, observing his appearance within the mirror as he begins to fix himself before leaving you.    

“I will get started on that plan tomorrow, moy dorogoy.” You utter as you slide from the vanity.

“Ochen' khorosho,” were his parting words to you as he began to leave for the door. You slip your dress back down, not worrying about the state of it. You notice as you look up that he is awaiting your attention before amending his last words. “See you in my next life, moy angel smerti.”

You give out a plain breathy laugh, “Till true death do us part, moya lyubov'.”

The pulsing energy of weekend nights had faded, replaced by the more subdued atmosphere of a weekday evening at The Midnight's Caress. Yet, even on these quieter nights, the club maintained a steady flow of patrons - a mix of devoted regulars and wide-eyed tourists drawn to its allure. Tonight, however, held special significance. A special visitor had arrived, someone who held a place in your heart from the days before Dazai's induction into the Port Mafia.

You made your entrance with practiced grace, descending from the second-floor terrace. Your presence commanded attention, drawing admiring glances from across the dimly lit space. Ignoring the adoration, your gaze remained fixed on your destination - the sleek bar opposite the sunken dance floor and stage.

A solitary figure occupied one of the barstools. Even from a distance, you recognized the familiar shock of unkempt auburn hair and the well-worn light brown overcoat. As you approached, you watched him raise an ornate crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid to his lips.

"And here I thought," you began, your voice carrying a hint of amusement as rich chocolate eyes met yours, “that you avoided lurking around Mafia territory at all costs, mister detective”

A warm smile spread across the man's face as he spoke your name, his tone tinged with fondness. “Well, if it's to see an old friend, I'm willing to take my chances.”

You feigned offense, placing your hands on your hips in mock indignation. “Sakunosuke Oda, did you just call me old?”

His head fell into a gentle shake, accompanied by a soft laugh that seemed to momentarily erase the tension from his features. You joined in his laughter, sliding onto the barstool next to him. While maintaining a careful distance, you positioned yourself to face outward, keeping a vigilant eye on the space between you and the stage.

Glancing sideways, you studied Oda's familiar profile, your gaze lingering on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. A mischievous glint sparked in your eye as you asked, your voice a playful whisper, "Did you pay for that?"

Oda's eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of amusement passing through them before he looked back down at the tumbler. His voice was steady, tinged with a hint of pride. "Of course."

You sighed, rolling your eyes in exaggerated exasperation. Leaning across the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you beckoned the blonde bartender with a subtle, elegant gesture. "Reimburse him," you commanded, your tone leaving no room for argument, the words crisp and authoritative in the dimly lit space.

"No, you don't have to do that," Oda protested, a faint blush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

Your response was swift and sharp, cutting through the ambient noise of the club. "He does if he would like to keep his job." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play in this world you both inhabited, albeit from different sides. You softened your tone slightly, adding, "My friends do not need to worry about such things here."

A teasing glint returned to Oda's eyes as he accepted his reimbursement. "Oh, you have friends now?" he quipped, his voice warm with familiarity."Oda!" You laughed, the sound genuine and unguarded. "I almost do want to make you pay now."

"That was the goal," he replied, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. He stuffed the money into his pants pocket before grasping his glass once more.

The bartender materialized behind you, placing an identical tumbler filled with amber liquid onto the bar. You gave the glass a cursory glance before turning your attention back to the club.

Oda's voice drew you back from your reverie, curiosity evident in his warm tone. "So, how is it, being a club owner?"

"Boring," you replied dryly, a hint of amusement in your eyes. "How is it, being a detective?"

"Anything but boring. I'm always doing something, it feels like," Oda responded, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

You nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. Memories of your shared past flickered through your mind, a reminder of the complex relationship that bound you both.

Oda's voice softened as he continued, "We just recently recruited this boy."A breathy chuckle escaped your lips. "So, you've taken in another orphan. I swear, are you raising an army over there?"

Oda's rich laughter echoed within the glass at his lips, the sound warm and comforting. "It does seem like that, doesn't it?" He paused, his expression growing more serious. "I worry about this boy. I picked him up on the riverbank, and he attempted to attack me."

You listened intently, grateful for the chance to lend an ear to your friend's concerns. The ambient noise of the club faded into the background as you focused on Oda's words.

"I don't know what it is about this boy," Oda continued, his brow furrowing slightly. "He's in search of his sister... harbors the unruliest plans for this man that he describes as 'the man in black.'"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you turned to meet Oda's intrigued gaze. "This boy," you began cautiously, "does he have black hair? Two little tufts of white on the ends?"

Oda gave a hesitant nod, his hand now outstretched to offer you your glass. You accepted it carefully, the cool crystal a stark contrast to the warmth of realization spreading through you.

"Be careful of that boy. I remember his name clearly. Akutagawa Ryūnosuke." Your voice lowered, heavy with the weight of memory. You looked down at your glass, tapping your fingers along its surface rhythmically. "I was there when the Port Mafia found him, shortly before I left for Italy. There were plans to recruit him. However, it was determined... that he was unfit to join us."

Your eyes rose to meet Oda's, his face a careful mask hiding his thoughts. "There is a beast inside of that boy, Oda. I pray that you teach and guide him, to learn to tame it."

You paused, bringing the crystal glass to your lips for a sip. As the whiskey touched your tongue, your eyes widened in surprise. You pulled the glass back, glancing towards the shelves behind the bar. Your gaze settled on a familiar bottle, its amber contents glowing softly in the low light. You eyed it with a mixture of suspicion and resigned amusement. That snake, you thought, recognizing Dazai's handiwork in the choice of spirits.

Shaking your head slightly, you made a mental note to address that matter later. Your voice grew heavy with warning as you continued, "Or that beast will one day consume him. I've seen it near happen to the boy they did take in."

Oda's brow furrowed in concern. "I can agree; I share those thoughts exactly. Do you, by chance, know what happened to his sister?"

You gave a curt shake of your head, the movement causing the dim lights to dance across your features. "I know that the Port Mafia took her, however, I don't know what became of her."

Oda finished off the rest of the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking softly as he set it before the bartender for a refill. "I see," he murmured, his voice tinged with disappointment.

A moment of contemplative silence fell between you, the ambient noise of the club fading into the background. You could feel Oda's gaze studying your face as you surveyed the array of guests for the evening, your eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease.

"So, what happened with that?" Oda's question broke the silence, his hand gesturing towards his own lip and the side of his face.

"Oh," you replied, feigning ignorance about your appearance. You had attempted to cover the cut on your lip and the small bruise that had formed across your cheekbone from the night before. "Just an unruly guest. Unfortunate, and obviously for him, he didn't make it."

Oda hummed, a note of skepticism in his tone. It was clear he didn't fully believe the story you had fabricated. You huffed as you finished the rest of your glass, the warm liquid burning a path down your throat. Turning to him, you shifted the conversation once more. "What about your book? When will I be able to read the first draft?"

A soft smile graced Oda's features as he looked back down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid absently. "I've been having horrible writer's block. I know what I want to say, it's just getting it to paper that's the problem."

"Well," you gave a breathy chuckle, rising from your seat with fluid grace. His eyes met yours, a shared understanding passing between you. You both knew these encounters were rare and precious, a stark contrast to your shared youth. "You know where I'll be, ready to receive and critique. But to love it all the same."

"For the long wait, how about I dedicate it to you?" Oda offered, a hint of warmth in his voice.

You gave a warm smile, placing your hands upon your chest in dramatic adoration. The gesture was playful, but the emotion behind it was genuine. "Awe, Oda. You do care!"

Oda's head dipped down once more, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. You took a deep breath, the familiar ache of longing settling in your chest. More than anything, you wished you could embrace him, to feel the comfort of his brotherly affection that had been so freely given in your childhood. You knew deep down that he wished the same; on several occasions, he had forgotten the limitations of your ability, only to be reminded by Flawless.

"I have business I have to attend to, but you may stay as long as you like," you said, your voice softening with regret at having to cut the reunion short. You tapped the polished bar top twice, a silent signal to your bartender. He understood immediately, preparing your glass as well as a secondary pour of the whiskey you had been drinking.

Grasping the two crystal tumblers, the amber liquid catching the low light, you gave a final look to your dear friend. Your eyes lingered on his face, committing every detail to memory. "See you around, Odasaku," you said, the nickname slipping out unexpectedly.

Oda's eyebrows raised slightly, a quizzical look crossing his features at the unfamiliar moniker. You found yourself equally surprised, giving him a small shrug in response. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into a warm smile, and he raised his glass in a silent toast as you began to walk away.

Your heels clicked softly on the polished floor as you made your way back toward the staircase leading to your office. The weight of the glasses in your hands was a tangible reminder of the responsibilities waiting for you, pulling you away from this brief moment of connection. As you ascended the stairs, you could feel Oda's gaze following you, a bittersweet mixture of fondness and longing that mirrored your own emotions.

Dazai's keen eyes followed your figure as you made your way back up to your office. His gaze then darted to Oda, who was nodding to the bartender, offering thanks and sliding money across the polished bar top. A wry smile found its way onto Dazai's face as he admired Oda's persistence in compensating the man. He felt a familiar twinge of jealousy watching you two interact from afar, reminded of the bond you and Oda shared which transcended any version of yourselves.

Turning away from the window, Dazai met your gaze as you entered the office. The soft click of the door closing behind you seemed to punctuate the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"Thank you, Dimitri," you called out, your eyes never leaving Dazai's. He could tell by the set of your jaw that he was in trouble, especially noting the two crystal tumblers in your hands. You raised an eyebrow questioningly, holding up the glasses. "We've only reconnected for one night, and you decided to take it upon yourself to amend my liquor choices?"

Dazai suppressed a small laugh, gratefully accepting the offered glass. The crystal was cool against his fingers. "I only had Chūya go up to the bar and request a drink. When the bartender replied that you don't supply this brand, I had it ordered and shipped to you immediately."

He watched you roll your eyes, unamused but continuing to listen before objecting. The light from the desk lamp cast dramatic shadows across your face, emphasizing the slight furrow of your brow.

"What can I say? Something just told me I'd be back here sooner than expected, so I made a few liberties—"

"Liberties?" You scoffed, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone. You glided past him, the subtle scent of your perfume lingering in the air. Settling back into your chair, you continued, "You quite literally had my bartender stock something without my knowledge, most likely due to knowing it was the Port Mafia Boss's favorite."

Dazai savored the rich, smoky flavor of the whiskey as he took a long sip, a contented sigh escaping his lips. He gracefully lowered himself into one of the chairs facing your desk, his keen eyes noting how they seemed slightly out of place in the otherwise meticulously arranged office. During your absence, he had seized the opportunity to explore the room, his observant gaze catching details that others might overlook.

A rug, he deduced, had once adorned the space before your desk. Now, a faint square of fresh wood flooring, spanning no more than six feet, stood in stark contrast to the worn, darker planks surrounding it. At the center of this cleaned area, Dazai's sharp eyes detected a slightly darker outline. His mind, ever quick to analyze, immediately recognized the telltale signs of a bloodstain that had been hastily, if not entirely successfully, concealed. The discovery sent a small thrill through him.

"You enjoy the drink, too, don't lie. I saw you down there drinking it with Odasaku," Dazai said, his voice carrying a hint of familiarity he hadn't intended.

You gave Dazai a puzzled look, your brow furrowing slightly as you processed his words. He realized his slip immediately, watching as a flicker of confusion passed across your features. The usually composed demeanor he wore like armor had cracked, revealing an experience he hadn't been granted in this life.

"My apologies," he quickly corrected himself, his voice regaining its usual smooth rhythm. The words flowed like silk, masking his momentary lapse. "I had only heard you call him that a few times before you left. You always spoke fondly of the man who defected."

He observed intently as you silently began to question yourself, your hand reaching back to scratch your head in recollection of more than four years ago. The gesture was subtle, but to Dazai's keen eye, it spoke volumes about your inner turmoil. However, much to his relief, you quickly moved past the topic without dwelling on it further.

You set your drink down upon the polished surface of your desk, the crystal making a soft 'clink' against the wood. Clearing your throat, a confident smirk coated your peach-stained lips, the color a striking contrast against your skin in the warm light of the office.

"Besides the topic of my apparently new inventory," you said, emphasizing the word with a hint of playful accusation, "did you want to continue your losing game?"

Dazai chuckled, the sound low and rich. He leaned forward, the leather of the chair creaking slightly under his shifting weight. "I think you've forgotten, but I was winning."

A light laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with a momentary lightness. "I had your queen for the taking. Without it, what even is the game?"

Dazai hummed thoughtfully, his mind racing through possibilities far beyond the chessboard. In his mind's eye, he saw not just chess pieces, but the intricate dance of allegiances and betrayals that defined their world. Indeed, his queen was cornered - both in the game and in life - but Dazai was nothing if not a master strategist. Just as you had been hasty to claim victory, he knew exactly how to turn the tides. His plan wasn't just to save a piece on a board, but to reclaim the Queen before him that he had lost to Fyodor's trickery.

His lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. This game was far from over, and Dazai intended to win back what was rightfully his, piece by carefully manipulated piece. The anticipation built within him, not just for his next move in chess, but for the grand strategy that would bring you back to his side, away from Fyodor's influence.

Dazai's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Ah, but you've overlooked something crucial," he said, his voice smooth and confident. “It's my turn, remember? And with just one move, I'll not only save my queen but put you in a rather precarious position."

He set his glass down and leaned forward, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the desk as if recreating the chessboard. "My knight to F6. It simultaneously blocks your attack on my queen and threatens your bishop. Now, you're faced with a dilemma – do you capture my knight and leave your bishop vulnerable, or do you retreat and lose your advantage?"

A sly smile played on his lips as he continued, "In chess, as in life, it's not just about the pieces you have, but how you use them. Sometimes, a seeming disadvantage can be turned into a powerful opportunity with the right strategy."

His eyes met yours, the intensity in them suggesting he might be talking about more than just the game. "So, shall we continue? I'm quite curious to see how you'll respond to this... unexpected development."

You leaned back in your chair, a mixture of amusement and respect flickering across your features. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you shook your head slightly, your eyes meeting Dazai's intense gaze.

"Well played, Dazai," you conceded, your voice carrying a note of admiration. "I should have known better than to underestimate you. Your knight to F6 is indeed a clever move."

You paused, your fingers drumming thoughtfully on the armrest as you visualized the board in your mind. After a moment, a sly smile crept onto your face. "However, you're not the only one with tricks up their sleeve. I'll move my rook to E4. It puts pressure on your knight and maintains the threat to your queen. Plus, it opens up a potential attack on your king's flank."

Leaning forward, you picked up your glass, and place it against your plump bottom lip. "In chess, as in our line of work, it's all about adapting to the unexpected, isn't it? One must always be prepared to shift strategies at a moment's notice."

You took a sip of the whiskey, savoring its rich flavor before continuing, "So, Dazai, what’s your move?"

Dazai's eyes narrowed slightly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he considered your move. "Interesting," he murmured, taking a thoughtful sip. “In that case, I'll move my bishop to D3, threatening your rook while maintaining defense of my queen.”

The game continued, each of you calling out moves, the imaginary board shifting in your minds with every declaration. The office fell into a rhythm of quiet contemplation broken by decisive statements, the clink of ice in glasses punctuating each turn.

"Knight to C6," you said, your voice steady.

"Pawn to A4," Dazai responded smoothly.

As the imaginary pieces dwindled, the tension in the room grew. Finally, after what felt like hours compressed into minutes, you both fell silent, a mutual realization dawning.

"Well," you said, a mix of frustration and admiration in your voice, "it seems we've reached an impasse."

Dazai nodded, his expression mirroring yours. "Indeed. By my count, we each have a king, a rook, and two pawns left. Neither of us can make a legal move without putting our king in check."

"Stalemate," you both said in unison, then shared a quiet laugh at the synchronicity. As your laughter died down, Dazai couldn’t help but admire you. While it seemed much had changed about you within the last four or so years, you were still sharp, quick on your feet, and though your encounter before last with one another within the confines of his penthouse was heated, it was as though it never happened.

Dazai raised his glass in a toast. "To a game well played. It's not often I encounter an opponent who can match me move for move. I’ve missed doing this with you."

You clinked your glass against his. "Likewise, Dazai. This was fun."

Dazai's intense gaze bore into your violet eyes, searching once again for a shred of the girl that once loved him. He knew you had to still harbor something, given your willingness to allow him into your office just one night after reconnecting, although you had resisted at first. A heavy sigh escaped your lips amid the charged silence, your eyes darting down to his lips. He mirrored the action, his tongue unconsciously brushing across his top lip.

In the days of your shared youth, the victor of these mental chess matches would be granted one request, no limits ever set. Trust and honesty were once pivotal, sacred even. But after touching The Book, everything changed.

Dazai watched intently as you shifted in your plush leather chair, leaning forward to examine the documents he had laid before you earlier. Your slender fingers opened the tan folder, eyes scanning its contents. Nervous anticipation built within him as he awaited your reaction.

A scoff broke the silence. It was somewhat expected.

"You want to buy The Midnight's Caress?" You looked up, an exaggerated eye roll accompanying your words.

"You're already paying us to leave you and your business be. I thought it would make more sense to annex your club since you already serve many mafiosos," Dazai explained, his voice smooth and persuasive.

Your eyes returned to the proposition. Dazai had been uncharacteristically considerate; you would remain owner, permitted to run the club as you saw fit, retaining eighty percent ownership.

"Ninety," you countered, your gaze drifting up from the paper. With practiced ease, you opened a drawer within your ornate desk, fingers grasping for a sleek box of cigarettes. The soft scrape of the box opening filled the quiet room as you extracted a single cigarette. The flick of your lighter cast a brief, warm glow across your features as you lit it. You inhaled deeply, the ember glowing bright orange in the dim office. Exhaling a plume of smoke, you placed the cigarette delicately between your index and middle fingers before uttering your next argument. "Giving you twenty percent would be grossly over what I already give you, which I've already been quite generous with."

Dazai raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Given the club's popularity and the financial records he'd meticulously reviewed, he'd calculated that twenty percent ownership would be a small sacrifice. Yet, he'd anticipated some resistance from you.

You held the box out to him, one cigarette poking out invitingly. He leaned forward, long fingers grasping the rolled tobacco. Rising smoothly, he placed the cigarette between his lips. Leaning over your desk, he pressed his unlit cigarette to yours. His eyes, intense and searching, locked with yours as he contemplated his counter.

"Giving twenty percent would include more than just protection, Bella," Dazai remarked, his voice low and smooth as he relaxed back into the chair.

You laced your fingers together, resting your elbows on the polished desk. Your eyes fluttered, the lit cigarette dangling slightly between your lips. "How much are you assuming I'm already giving for this protection?"

“I calculated that it was around twenty percent now.”

A laugh escaped your occupied lips, followed by a click of your tongue. "Twenty? Oh, moye temnoye zhelaniye, I give you way less than that."

Dazai jerked his head back in surprise, questions flooding his mind. How much did you actually give of your earnings? The only logical explanation was the records he had did not contain unreported earnings. Additionally, when did you learn to speak Russian? He had no idea what the phrase meant, but curiosity burned within him.

He watched, transfixed, as you rose from your seat with fluid grace. The soft rustle of your clothing seemed amplified in the hushed office; his senses hyper-aware of your every movement. He tracked your progress as you rounded the desk, his heart rate quickening with each step you took towards him.

When you perched upon the edge of the desk directly in front of him, Dazai felt a rush of heat betray him, crawling up his cheeks in a flush he couldn't quite control. He found himself looking up at you through his eyelashes, acutely aware of the power dynamic shift. The dim light of the office played across your features, casting shadows that accentuated the curves and angles of your face. Dazai's breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sight of you, commanding and alluring in equal measure.

He watched, mesmerized, as you took another leisurely puff from your cigarette. The ember glowed bright for a moment, illuminating your face in a warm, fleeting light that seared itself into his memory. With practiced ease, you blew the smoke out above you, creating a swirling haze that danced in the air between you. The sharp scent of tobacco mingled with your personal fragrance, an intoxicating mixture that seemed to cloud his senses.

As Dazai gazed up at you, he found himself making a silent vow. He would let you have anything you wanted - any percentage, any terms. All that mattered was that you allowed him to remain in your presence, to bask in the captivating aura you exuded.

"I give ten percent of my yearly earnings to you now, Dazai. You're basically asking I near triple that in my eyes, as it's not only money; it's ownership." Your voice carried a hint of steel beneath its smoothness, a reminder of the strength that had always drawn Dazai to you.

Dazai stood to meet your gaze, his movement fluid and deliberate. Your eyes darted from his visible eye down to his lips again as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Seventeen then.” The words hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension.

"You're good at a lot of things, Osamu, negotiating is apparently not one of them." You leaned further in, your breath warm against his skin.

He took a moment, relishing the closeness that you'd allowed once again. However, his keen eye caught sight of a cut upon your bottom lip and faint evidence of a bruise upon your cheekbone, which you had evidently tried to cover, which wasn't there the night before. He saw your eyes widen slightly, likely realizing he'd noticed the wounds marring your features. Before he could question you, you spoke again.

"I own the entire property as of right now. I even live upstairs." You took the cigarette from your mouth, gesturing with your fingers toward the area outside the office. Osamu recalled the elevator he'd noticed across from your office doors. That explained its presence. "You might as well buy the whole building, since it seems you're trying to buy me back into the mafia."

Osamu passively heard you, however, he couldn’t bring himself to reply to you just yet. His mind wouldn’t move past the subtle signs of abuse on your face. The cut on your lip, the faint bruise on your cheekbone - they weren't there last night. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, a mixture of worry and rage threatening to overwhelm him.

He reached out instinctively, his hand hovering near your face but not quite touching. He remembered how you used to flinch in worry of touching others, but you remained still, even slightly leaning toward his touch.

Finally, his voice whispered your name out, softer than he intended, "This isn't about buying you back into anything. Do you really think I'd try to manipulate you into a life you chose to leave?"

He watched your eyes, those stormy violet orbs that had once looked at him with such trust and affection. Now they seemed guarded, wary. It pained him more than he cared to admit.

"I respect your decisions," he continued, "even if I don't always agree with them. But those marks on your face, cara mia… they weren't there last night."

Osamu felt his hand clench at his side, anger surging through him at the thought of Fyodor laying a hand on you. He fought to keep his voice steady. "This isn't about ownership or percentages. It's about keeping you safe from a man who clearly doesn't value you the way he should. The way you deserve."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. He needed you to understand, to see beyond the business proposition to the genuine concern that drove his actions. Fyodor, in this life and every other, was not a man to be trusted, let alone be married to.

"I won’t ask you again to come back to the mafia. All I'm asking, is for you to let me protect you. Because right now, your independence is coming at a cost that's far too high."

Osamu’s unbandaged eye searched yours, silently pleading. He saw a flicker of something - vulnerability, perhaps - behind your carefully constructed walls. It gave him hope.

"Let me help you," he said softly. "Please."

In that moment, looking into your eyes, Osamu realized just how much he still cared for you; it was overwhelming. The thought of you in pain, of Fyodor hurting you, was unbearable. He knew he'd do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if it meant putting himself, his plans, in danger. Because despite everything that had happened, you were still one of the most important people in his world.

Osamu watched as your eyes widened slightly at his words, a mix of emotions flickering across your face. For a moment, your carefully constructed facade seemed to waver, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability he once knew so well.

His breath caught as you reached up, your fingers gently brushing against his hand that hovered near your face. The touch was electric, sending a shiver through him. Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper when you spoke.

"Osamu... it's not that simple."

He held his breath, hoping for more, but you seemed to steel yourself before continuing. "I appreciate your concern, truly. But my life, my choices... they're complicated. More than you know."

Osamu felt a pang in his chest as you slid off the desk, putting a small distance between you. The internal struggle playing out in your eyes was painfully clear to him.

"Ten percent, if you buy the entire building," you said suddenly, your voice regaining its businesslike tone. "That's my final offer. And I maintain full operational control."

The abrupt shift back to business threw him for a moment, but he quickly recovered. He recognized your deflection for what it was - a shield, a way to avoid the deeper conversation you both knew you needed to have.

"Agreed," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "But this conversation isn't over. I won't stand by and watch you get hurt, no matter how complicated things are."

You nodded, a small, sad smile playing on your lips. "I know you won't. That's what makes you... you."

As you moved to return to your seat, Osamu caught the briefest flash of something in your eyes. Was it longing? Regret? Or perhaps something more calculating? He couldn't be sure, and it frustrated him. There was a time when he could read you like an open book, but now... now parts of you were a mystery to him.

Watching you settle back into your chair, Osamu began to feel a sharp pang of guilt. He knew he was being selfish, pursuing you when his time in this world was limited. The weight of his secrets - the truth about the Book and his inevitable fate - pressed heavily upon him. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to tell you, it would cost too much. Instead, he made a silent vow to protect you from Fyodor and his plans, and, if possible, win back your trust and affection, even if it was only for a brief moment in time. 

As he gazed at you across the desk, Osamu felt a familiar warmth in his chest, accompanied by a sharp ache. Despite everything, despite the years and the pain and the complications, you were still one of the most important people in his world. And he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if it meant putting himself, his plans, in danger.

"With that matter settled," you said, a smile reappearing on your face as you extinguished your cigarette. "Would you like to try another game of chess? I'd understand if you say no, as assuredly going to win this time."

A rich laugh escaped through Osamu’s lips. "I'd like to see you try," he responded, his eyes gleaming with challenge and amusement.

The game was on, and Osamu intended to win.

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Author Chat: This part took a lot out of me. Again, I had intended it to be much darker, as I see so many write Fyodor as this sweet, quiet man who's tenderly loving his s/o, but I was like "but what if...?" So, that's partly where the inspiration came from, because let's be honest, that man is dark and twisted (you know the looks like a cinnamon roll, will actually kill you).

If you liked, feel free to like and reblog <3 ~DamzelZelda

Song Inspos: Rule #34- Fish in a Birdcage Watch- billie eilish

Russian Word "Dictionary" (Curtesy of [unreliable] Google translate):

moya lyubov': "my love"

moya zhena: "my wife"

moy dorogoy: "my dear"

malen'kaya mysh': "little mouse"

lyubyashchaya: "loving"

budto: "as if"

chudesnyy: "marvelous"

ty lisitsa: "you vixen"

Takaya khoroshaya devochka: "such a good girl"

Ochen' khorosho: "very well"

moy angel smerti: "my angel of death"

moye temnoye zhelaniye: "my dark desire"

[cruel-seduction]

Bungou Stray Dogs

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Heyy! I hope this isn't a bother, but I'm absolutely craving some Fyodor x Reader! Sooo, imagine this—Fyodor was your husband in a past life, and now he finds you again in Yokohama, working for either the ADA or PM. Obviously, he can't just let his *wife* be with someone else, right? I’d love to see more of that whole 'immortal x mortal' vibe, ahh! And to keep it true to his character, he calls Reader 'Anna' even though they have a new name now. Hope you have a great day/night! 😊

(headcanon, fic, lines, wtv u prefer! I'm just craving for Fyodor ‼️🙏🏻)

Sorry, it took long. But I had test this whole month and I still have to give a test saturday. But I wrote what came in my mind.

The Ghost of His Heart

Content Warnings:

Summary:

In a world where fate binds souls across lifetimes, Fyodor Dostoevsky finds the one he’s been waiting for—his wife from a past life, reborn and unaware of their shared history. Consumed by an eternal love, he is determined to remind her of the connection they once had, while she struggles to reconcile her current reality with the strange pull she feels toward him. As their paths intertwine, emotions run high, and the lines between devotion and destiny blur.

Themes of obsession and possessiveness

Past life/reincarnation dynamics

Emotional intensity and angst

Mild cursing

Subtle manipulation (non-toxic but deeply intense interactions)

GLIMPSE - “Are you crazy?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

His gaze softened further, and for the first time, there was no trace of his usual composure. He looked at you with a vulnerability so raw it made your chest ache.

“For you? Yes,” he said simply. “A thousand times yes.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The air in Yokohama was heavy with a tension that couldn’t quite be named. It wasn’t the usual weight of humidity, nor the pulse of city traffic. No, this was something different—something darker that seemed to thicken the very air the moment you stepped into the room.

Anna.

The name, like a whisper in his mind, cut through the veil of time with the precision of a blade. Even in this new life, with all its contradictions and chaotic intricacies, Fyodor Dostoevsky couldn’t forget you. His wife, his beloved Anna, whom he had lost so many lifetimes ago—yet here you were, returned.

Not as you once were, but as you now were. You didn’t remember him. You didn’t even know him.

He watched you, hidden in the shadows of the ADA headquarters, his obsidian eyes following your every movement. You were here now, part of the Agency, fighting against the very forces he was using to manipulate this world. To control it. You didn’t recognize the mark of your shared past, but he could feel the connection. It burned like a flame beneath his chest, an ache he could never escape.

Anna, though—you didn’t even acknowledge him.

You walked past him without a second glance, busy with your tasks. Your eyes were clear and focused, the same spark of determination he remembered, yet they weren’t directed at him. They were for others, for missions, for this life you were creating, one without him.

It was an ironic, cruel fate: to love someone so deeply and to be utterly forgotten.

He knew why you couldn’t remember. The human mind, fragile as it was, could not withstand the weight of eternity. You had moved on. You had lived without him for however many years it had been since your last meeting in another life. And he had been patient, waiting. It was a sickness in his heart, a poison that burned through his veins every day he was away from you.

But now, with a single glance, you had returned to him. He had only to reach out, to remind you of everything you once were. But that was where the dilemma lay.

If he reminded you, you would resist. Your heart would rebel against the truth he would show you. But that was not the most painful part. No, the most painful part was this: you didn’t want him. You weren’t looking for him. Your heart beat for the tasks before you, for your duty to the Agency, to the people you fought beside. And worse—there were others who saw you, others who thought you belonged to them.

He couldn’t allow that.

You brushed past him once more, and this time, your shoulder brushed against his.

A fleeting, soft contact. He didn’t even need to touch you to feel the surge of energy between you. The electric charge that snapped through his body, a violent, desperate pulse of recognition. His heart tightened painfully in his chest.

And yet, you didn’t pause. You didn’t stop. You didn’t even look up from the stack of papers in your hands, the files you were carrying.

Fyodor inhaled deeply, his expression cold, unreadable. His mind worked furiously, plotting his next move. His next step.

His hand clenched into a fist.

Later that evening, he appeared in the shadows outside your apartment. He was not supposed to be there, not in this life, not in this world where he had to hide his true self beneath layers of deception. But tonight, the need to be close to you was overpowering.

You were in your apartment, oblivious to his presence. You had closed the blinds, preparing for an evening of rest after the chaotic day at the Agency.

But he couldn’t allow you to rest. He couldn’t let you forget.

A soft tap at the door. Just enough to catch your attention, yet gentle enough to be mistaken for the wind. He knew you would come. You always did, no matter how much you resisted, no matter how much you ignored him.

The door creaked open, and there you stood—wearing the soft, loose-fitting clothes you often wore when you thought no one was watching. Your hair was slightly disheveled from the long day. You looked tired. Tired, yet still as breathtaking as ever. The kind of beauty that made him ache.

Your eyes were wary when they met his, cautious. “Can I help you?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm. The same tone you used with the others at the Agency.

His breath caught in his throat. His gaze locked onto yours, and he allowed the silence to stretch between you. He could see the flicker of recognition behind your eyes—only a moment, but it was enough.

“Anna,” he said, his voice low, coated in that familiar, almost musical cadence.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your gaze narrowing. “I don’t know you. You must be mistaken. I am not Anna. So, why don’t you let it go, sir?” You laughed at your own poor joke. 

Fyodor’s lips curled into a thin smile. The mask of calm, collected indifference he wore was in place. But beneath it, something darker simmered. His eyes darkened with a possessive fire.

“I am not mistaken, Anna,” he replied softly. “You may not remember me, but I remember you. I always have.”

His words hung in the air like a noose, tightening slowly around you. You didn’t know what to make of him, this man who claimed to know you so intimately, yet his presence unnerved you. There was something too intense about the way he looked at you, as though he could see through your very soul.

He took a step forward, his gaze unwavering. “You are my Anna,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an almost unbearable weight. “And I am your Fyodor.”

Your breath hitched at his words, a strange shiver running down your spine. It wasn’t fear—not exactly—but something dark and intense. You took a step back instinctively, not understanding why his presence made your pulse quicken in such an unfamiliar way.

“I don’t know who you think I am,” you said, your voice slightly shaking. “But I’m not... whoever you’re looking for. N O A N N A, sir. My name is Y/N.”

Fyodor tilted his head, his expression one of eerie patience. “No, you are. You are Anna. And no one can take you from me.”

And with that, he stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking as he closed the door behind him, trapping you in the silence of the room. There was nowhere to run now. He knew that—he wanted you to know there was nowhere to go.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you backed away, your eyes widening as you searched his face for any sign of a lie, any hint of his true intentions.

But there was none. Only the cold, implacable certainty of a man who had lived far too long, who had waited far too long, to let you slip away again.

The door clicked softly as it shut behind him, sealing you in the room with a man whose presence seemed to fill every corner, every breath of air. Your pulse quickened, and though you kept your composure, you could feel your resolve wavering under the weight of his gaze.

He stood perfectly still, his tall frame casting an elongated shadow in the dim light of your apartment. The faintest smile played on his lips—not smug, not cruel, but knowing.

“Do not be afraid,” he said softly, his voice like a lullaby laced with moonlight. “I would never harm you.”

“I’m not afraid,” you replied, lifting your chin in defiance, crossing your arms over your chest. “But you need to leave. I don’t know you.”

Fyodor’s eyes flickered with something indescribable, a storm that passed too quickly to be named. He exhaled slowly, his head tilting as if considering your words carefully, as though you’d just told him something patently untrue.

“You may not know me now,” he said, taking a deliberate step forward, “but your soul does.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you refused to let it show. The strange pull you felt toward him, the way his words resonated in a place you didn’t understand, unsettled you. But you weren’t about to let yourself fall prey to whatever delusion he seemed to believe.

“My name is not Anna,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not her. And what the fuck. Like, what do you mean, ‘my soul knows you?’ No, it doesn’t, and neither does it want to know you, creep.”

For the briefest moment, his eyes darkened, a hint of anger flickering in his violet gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the calm confidence that seemed to radiate from him like an aura.

“You are right,” he murmured. “Anna is not your name now. But names are fleeting, aren’t they? A mortal convention. What matters is what lies beneath—the essence of who you are. That… has not changed. And your soul does know me, baby.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat as he stepped closer. He was close enough now that you could see the fine details of his face—the sharp lines, the pale smoothness of his skin, the way his dark hair framed his intense, hauntingly beautiful eyes.

“Stop,” you said, taking a step back, your voice wavering despite your best efforts. “You can’t just show up and decide who I am to you. I have my own life, my own choices.”

“You do,” he agreed, his tone maddeningly calm. “And yet, every choice you’ve made has led you back to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, judging him harshly, every fiber of your being screaming skepticism.

“You don’t remember,” he continued, his voice softening. “But I do. Every moment, every word, every promise we made to each other… it has stayed with me, even as lifetimes have passed. And now, you are here. Do you think that is a coincidence?”

You clenched your fists, willing yourself to punch him in his nose if he uttered one more word. But logic warned you against it; if he was dangerous, that could provoke him. So instead, you tried to reason with him.

“I don’t believe in fate,” you said quietly, though even as you spoke, the words felt hollow.

Fyodor smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of his lips. “You don’t have to. I believe enough for the both of us.”

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the city outside. You could feel the weight of his presence pressing against you—not in a threatening way, but in a way that made your chest tighten with an emotion you couldn’t name.

“Are you crazy?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

His gaze softened further, and for the first time, there was no trace of his usual composure. He looked at you with a vulnerability so raw it made your chest ache.

“For you? Yes,” he said simply. “A thousand times yes.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity, and you found yourself unable to meet his gaze. You turned away, crossing your arms over your chest as if to shield yourself from the intensity of his confession.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know you, and I can’t be her.”

Fyodor took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were approaching something fragile.

“I don’t expect you to remember,” he said. “And I will not force you to. But that does not change what is true. You are mine, and I am yours. Whether you know it or not, whether you accept it or not, that is the reality of our existence.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. There was no malice in his tone, no threat—only an unshakable certainty that terrified and intrigued you in equal measure.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you said firmly, turning back to face him.

He smiled again, a small, almost wistful smile. “No,” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are not a possession. You belong only to yourself. But your heart… your soul… they have always been tied to mine.”

The room felt unbearably still. You could hear your own heartbeat, loud and erratic in the silence. Fyodor stood before you, his presence overwhelming yet strangely comforting, like a dark cloud that promised rain but not a storm.

“I will not hurt you,” he said softly, taking another step forward. “I will never hurt you. But I cannot—will not—allow anyone else to take what is mine. You are my light, my salvation, my reason for enduring this endless cycle of time. And now that I’ve found you again, I will not let you slip away.”

His voice cracked slightly at the last word, and the sound tugged at something deep within you. Against your better judgment, you found yourself wanting to believe him, wanting to understand this strange, otherworldly bond he seemed so certain of.

But you couldn’t. You weren’t some helpless girl who let herself be drawn into something she didn’t understand, especially not by a man who seemed carved from shadow.

“Leave,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “Please.”

Fyodor’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted. Slowly, he stepped back, his hands falling to his sides in a gesture of reluctant surrender.

“As you wish,” he said, his voice soft and steady. “For now.”

With one last lingering glance, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence of your apartment.

But even as the door clicked shut, you could still feel his presence, like a ghost lingering at the edges of your mind.

And for the first time, you wondered if he might be right.

[night-dazai]

Hi there! How are you? Can I please request a romantic Fyodor x male! Angel! Reader fic? So reader is an angel... but the kicker? He's the most un-angelic angel ever.

Like, he has powers capable of eradicating the human race, but he'd rather use them to mess with people. Reader is an intelligent being with the curiosity of a scientist, finding joy in disrupting the controlled equilibrium that others (cough, Fyodor) strive to maintain. His energy is infectious, turning any environment into a playground for his whims and fancies. He also does not know anything about human culture or human intricacies. Like, (for example), reader will accidentally tickle Fyodor and be enthralled by the results because reader has never seen the phenomenon of being ticklish. Like, what do you mean if I poke you, you’ll laugh? Black magic, I say! Basically, he's an innocent smart dumbass that tries his best and is probably Nikolai's BFF. Fyodor loves him either way. I can also see Fyodor not having the guts to manipulate a literal angel considering that he is canonically very religious.

Fydor x Angel Reader (gender neutral )

Nothing but thoughts and normal funny day-to-day stuff. This request was such a good idea but the more I think about it I feel like I might want to write a freaking research paper on how power dynamics, control equilibrium and all work so I kept this kinda short .

“Please be quiet the two of you “ he said his voice laced with anger tiredness and sleep (which he would never accept ) . “Come on Fyda !” you whined as Nikolai joined you and it was not long before you 2 were kicked out of his office for disturbing him. 

It was not that your thoughts were wrong or they were not inhuman well you were but the mere fact that your thoughts were disturbing his whole life mission was the problem and you being a dumb angel was no help to the religious freak anaemic patient. 

Fyodor and Nikolai found you lifeless in one of the corner streets white feathers all around you and a book which vanished the moment Fydor tried to touch it . 

After carrying you home they were first “ i am dreaming ?” Fydor mumbled, “Maybe we did not sleep for 3 days right ?” Nikolai suggested for the first sound saying something that makes sense. 

They could not believe the fact that you were an angel well …” Angel but not angel ?” you said shly rubbing your neck “ i kinda am in my punishment for playing around with humans “ you said making your wings disappear while the 2 just kept listening and observing the sight before them. 

“Ok you an angel and you are in your punishment phase but why ?” Fydor asked after hours of you convincing and showing proof by telling them when people die . 

“Well you see , i don't like some ideas of humans, “ you said sitting up straight and sounding eager “What are they ?” “ well control, power over something. Like why ?” you said getting up and walking as you explained on how just stupid it was and if they wanted something from someone why not just manipulate them on spot get the job done and leave why hold on to it . 

You laos explained on how you tried to destroy that kind of dynamics and accidentally told all the incidents which Fydor had planned very carefully “ no wonder they failed, it was the ADA or PM it was him “ Nikolai burst out laughing pointing a finger at you . 

Looking confused you trun to Fydor and ask what his friend means when he explain all the time you had interacted in earth you were disturbing his plans “ ohh right well then why would you want to have that man under your control when you can kill his daughter and make him work for you for that day alone? “ you asked 

Soon small talk and self-introductions turned into a lengthy intellectual conversation where you and Fydor shared your opposing view . After hours you both came to a end where you would hang out with him and learn about earth while in return “ …” Fydor paused “ well what do you want ?” you asked turning your head slightly to the side “ i will ask later “ he stated.

But the fact of having strings on an angel , an actual real life (angles don't breath that's why you were found” lifeless”) angel was being stopped by his religious manner he would not want to “sin “ anymore would he ? no and so thus . 

You stay with them learning about the human world “ what without consuming these things you guys die ?” you asked starting at the table of food “ is this black magic ? os has the devil cursed you ?” you would ask.

“What's wrong “ you asked worried when you accidentally poked Nikolai in his tickle spot “ okay wait ! you guys laugh when i press certain places “ you said eyes sparkling with new information. 

“You guys do too much work , what is money anyway? earth gives you food and water why pay for it ? god made it for you right ?” all your silly questions were answered but the utmost patience by Fydor cause not all can see Angels only he could .

Being powerful was already to his head and the mere fact he was in contact with a out of human world made his ego rise higger than heaven if possible. Well you still learnt a lot of “ new” things about the world while you shared your opposing views of Fydor's ideas. 

This only leads the man to get both parties' perspectives and plans more accurately and in turn be more dangerous.

The only reason he has not made you "sin " or manipulate you was cause you were an angel " you should be happy you met me this way " he would say confusing your poor angel brain.

[elvestoneanzelote1]

𝘈:𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘖𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘻𝘢𝘪 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘍𝘺𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯.

𝘌𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘐𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘻𝘢𝘪 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘍𝘺𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘳.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥!

One word shall he describe you.

Opposite.

He was the demon prodigy who was heartless... Yet you were kind and sympathetic.

Unfit to be here with him.

He... Avoids you after he became the executive.

Perhaps you were weaker.

Unfit.

No use to be in Port Mafia.

A faulty replica of your twin.

Never meant to be.

But you cling onto Dazai.

But... He too betray you.

He too said the most hurtful words you bare not want to listen.

you were the older twin.

More mature than he was when he and you was 15.

...

Perhaps that's the reason why he realise it later.

When you left.

Without another word.

Left in dust.

He find out how wrong he was.

To think he never need you.

You are his twin... By blood you share.

By blood you both are.

Even if he is tainted by sin.

You were a saint unlike him... How were you both related.

Despite all it.

He...

Failed to be a brother for you.

.

.

.

.

..

His realization hit when... Oda died in his arms.

He realize he lost the comfort.

Of love...

He was selfish he knows as he dialed a number.

The number he find out and kept to himself.

He called it and it was pick up.

"Hello?"

"Y/n..." He mutter out a whisper as his lips tremble... His heart was at grieve... And he knows he is relying on you to bring a comfort.

"...Osamu?"

"..."

"..."

"Can... I go home y/n?" He asked as you on the other hand tremble with tears fall from your eyes as you nod while muttering a yes.

You wanted to hear this... You want your twin back.

And the fact it is a reality now you were more then happier.

"The home... was always open Osamu"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Two years in underground as he came out and was met by you who warmly welcome him.

The agencies faces was hilarious to find you both were related.

Yes you both seem different...

But... Somehow you both share the same smile..

"See y/n! Kunikida is been bad to your loving brother"

"Because you don't do your work, Dazai!" Said Kunikida as you let out a sigh.

"What can say... We share the same blood"

.

.

.

.

He tries to be the brother he never became earlier of his days.

He want to mend it.

But his attention revert when you start sneaking out at nights around.

'Who is this man that make my twin lose her sleep?' Thought Osamu as protective he was.

He wasn't ready to see you with his nemesis.

Fyodor Dostoevsky.

What kind of drug did he put on you to make you kiss him.

Instead... Why him

Out of all people.

He was taken aback.

He will rather accept Chuuya to be your husband but this man?! Never!

He argue to you but was futile.

You were too in love with the rat.

So he made two plans.

To make you fall for someone so deeply.

Which can cause like a... Obsession but it doesn't matter as long as you are in love... But not for the rat.

But if the first plan fail.

He will kill the rat one way or another.

And make sure... You will not be of in any harm.

He would rather be a murderer a criminal... Again then to see your broken heart.

To see your sadness dull eyes....

Tear stained face.

Heck he will die if he see you death...

On the floor.

He would... Make sure that you won't be broken.

He care for you alot

Your happiness is his.

And... If someone dare to kill or harm you physically or mentally.

He won't make their end easy.

After all he is your brother.

He oath to protect you more then ever.

He would not lose someone he care again.

.

.

.

.

.

.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭! 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦- 𝘢:𝘯

[d3sserts0ul]

about your fyodor aftercare thing…

let’s get a little more writing on that shall we? also lets include sigma and Nikolai aftercare too because I think they deserve better💔

𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙙!

( also New layout????? 🤍 )

“ 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. ”

𝘋𝘰𝘈 [ 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘴．] 𝘟 𝘎𝘕！𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙, 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴．

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ; 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙠𝙬 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙁𝙮𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙧 is his 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜...

— 𝙎𝙞𝙜𝙢𝙖

Sigma’s lips lock with yours as he pulls out of you, trying to match your breath with his to calm down. Despite this slight awkwardness at the end of the heated moment, a sense of a warm and calming aura start to replace the tension in the air. He slowly pulls away, opening his eyes to look at yours. He looked almost dazed and a bit tiredly, though that isn’t surprising.

“ Are you okay? ” He asks, caressing your cheek. Sigma didn’t move until he heard that you were alright, it didn’t matter if he felt sticky from the sweat, or from something else, your needs were always put first.

“ Yeah, I’m okay. ” You finally respond back, a sigh of relief emitted from Sigma’s mouth.

“ You were a bit too rough though, did something happen today? ” You sighed.

He knew he could be rough on some days due stress or irritation from the casino or from Nikolai and Fyodor, and this was one of those days. It’s when he pushes you to the wall and aggressively kiss you deeply right then and there, or when he grabs you by your ankles and pull you closer to him. It can be concerning but your trust in him lowers that feeling to where you find it hot or something.

“ Work was just… harsh today, some drunk customers came in and wrecked havoc in the casino. ” He mumbled as his eyes meet with yours again. “ Could you forgive me for that? ” You couldn’t say no to such a look coming from his face, it made you want to suck him dry all over again.

“ Fine. ” You respond.

After another quick peck on the nose, Sigma finally gets off of you and grabs a nearby hand towel to wipe you and him off. He gently rubs off any fluids on your body, and your face just to be sure with the cloth, looking very concentrated on such a simple act. Once again, not surprising.

Even though Sigma looks so calm, he’s actually about to lose it. What does he say to you? Would it be weird if he just asks if you enjoyed yourself? Is he doing this right?

“ You look pretty with a ponytail, I think you should keep it like that more often. ”

Your voice broke into his head and he returned back to earth. Sigma smiles, a bit of pink dusting his cheeks. “ Really? If you like it so much, I’ll wear it for you more. ” He leans back down to plant more kisses on you as if he hasn’t already.

Sigma puts away the towel, getting a water bottle from the mini fridge near the bed. “ I’ll run us a bath, drink this for now. ” Sigma glanced over to you as he puts on his robe, ready to get up, but once you pull him back down. “ Stay. I want you, please? ” You whined.

Sigma couldn’t deny such a request like that, he can’t help but feel a little more wanted someone, someone he loved back. “ Alright, whatever you want. ” He said, laying back down to cuddle you.

“ You can have me, I’m all yours. ”

－ 𝙁𝙮𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙧

You shift a bit out of discomfort, the water rippling your every movement.

“ Ah ah, stay still. Or would you prefer another round. ” Fyodor’s voice echo in the bathroom, and the abrupt words sent shivers down your spine. “ Sorry. ” You apologize. He didn’t answer back but you knew he accepted your apology either way.

The steam coming from the water smelled of vanilla and lavender, and the water had a bit of a foggy color due to some small oils Fyodor added to it. Your back was to his chest and you had no choice but to bask in the comfortable silence.

This was getting too silent for you, even if you liked it. After picking up some left confidence and courage that he didn’t pound out of you, you sit up and turn to face your body to him. Fyodor’s eyes open and he sneaks his hands to your thighs, to keep you from getting up any further.

“ Can I please play with your hair? ” You ask, attempting to give some sort of convincing face in order for him to give in to your desire.

He didn’t budge, there goes your courage and confidence once again, instead replacing it with embarrassment and guilt. “ You’re rather needy, aren’t you? ” He smirked. Seeing you slowly losing yourself to his words amused him greatly, and since he was in a good mood today, a reward like that seems acceptable for someone like you. ( as if having sex with him isn’t already enough. )

“ Very well, be gentle. ” He gives in finally. Your fingers desperately run through his damp hair, braiding a few strands together, taking them out, then braiding them back together again.

[briefpeachdinosaur]

Mushitarō Oguri

WHAT HAPPEND TO HIM? please I need an answer.

After he went out of Annes room with ango where did he go????

Also does he show up in season 5 or in the latest chapter of the manga again ?

He and ango seemed familiar with each other i don't know but they talked like they knew each other

Like how does he know ango or anything he is talking about

WE NEED HIM IN SEASON 6

Also his character is acually a little sad and I want him to be happy like everybody in BSD

Please tell me what happend like? Is he in jail again ?

[yurichii]

Lol I forgot I had tumbler

I'm finally done with this

[animeprincessforever]

Brother Dazai X Reader X Chuuya

Why Him?

YOUR POV:

I’ve been in the port mafia since I was 12 I’m a nurse but I have an ability. You see my ability was creation my ability gives me the power to create any non-living material/object from my exposed skin by transforming the molecular structure of my body fat cells and turning it into something. It comes in handy I guess. But I’ve always found it useless. So I love being a nurse for the Port Mafia. However Mr.Mori appreciates it cause I can create replacements of certain valuables and usually by the time people find out it’s a fake it’s too late. I’ve hated my ability cause it always makes me hungry. I eat up to 10 meals a day when I use my ability. Today was one of those days. I had used it to make new communication devices. When me and my brother were summoned to the boss Dazai carried me into the room as I was exhausted. Mori said “Ah, Dazai,  (Y/n)  there’s someone I want you to meet. Chuuya Nakahara. He is the leader of the sheep.” Dazai said “you’re the punk kid from earlier! Very short!” Chuuya said “I’m still growing! And I’m not the leader of the sheep I just have a good card up my sleeve.” As they bickered I asked “Mr.Mori, with all do respect I don’t understand why I’m here. I’m useless. So why am I here.” Ougai replied “you are very useful. Now Dazai and Chuuya you too are going to go on a little mission. (Y/n) please step out your job is separate.” I bowed “yes master.”

Time Skip

When I was summoned by Mr Mori I passed my brother and gave him a hug “be safe and careful brother. I love you.” Dazai smiled and patted my head “you should know by now that no one stands against me.” I smiled “I know” I turned to Chuuya “thank you please look out for each other. Chuuya thank you for your service even if you didn’t have a choice.” I bowed and walked in. Mori said “I would like you to be close by with your tools. Just in case. I have a feeling once the sheep find out they might attack Chuuya. So then he’d join the port.” I nodded “as you wish boss.” He smiled “very well you may be excused.” I then made my way out and waited for my brother’s safe return.

Time Skip

As I went to the spot I was told to meet my brother I watch Chuuya was stabbed and I saw him hiding on the ledge near water. I was with my brother now and Chuuya said “don’t kill the children.” Dazai smirked “as we discussed the children will remained unharmed.” Chuuya huffed as he mumbled “bastard planned it” as my brother and the men left I went over to Chuuya. “What do you want?” He barked and I said “let me help you please.” He mumbled “fine.” So I got to work I brought out my medical box and put gloves on. I removed his jacket and shirt then I removed the knife slowly and put it in a bag. I pulled out some needles and said “these may hurt a bit but it’s going to remove the poison.” As I gave him the shot I bandaged him up. “Here I hope this helps.” I then grabbed a blanket and draped it around him. “To keep you covered I’ll clean your clothes. Now please follow me.” As I got into the limo with him he said “are you really related to that suicidal maniac?” I giggled “oh you mean my brother Dazai. Ya… I know he is a handful but I appreciate you looking out for him!” I said with a smile. Since that day we formed a relationship.

Time Skip

A year later we became boyfriend and girlfriend. However, my brother wasn’t to pleased when I told him he said “why?!?! Oh why?! (Y/n)! Why did you pick Chuuya?! Why him?!” I giggled “love works in mysterious ways” I said with a smile. Dazai said “you know there are taller and more better looking guys out there right?” As he said that Chuuya overheard and like usual they argued

Chuuya-at least I’m not a suicidal manic!

Dazai-at least I’m tall!

Chuuya-I’m still growing!

Dazai-really how much? Half a centimeter?

Chuuya-why you!

Dazai smirked and said “nuh uh uh! Your my dog Chuuya you must respect me after all you lost!” I sighed and shook my head. ‘I wish they could get along.’

Time Skip (in armed detective agency)

I was sound asleep when I heard my brother “we got to go.” Was all he said. I asked “but Chuuya!” Dazai said “we are leaving forget about him you deserve better.” That was YEARS AGO. I miss Chuuya but I know brother did what was best. But now we were in a crazy scenario and it all evolved around a man named Fydor. People where turning into vampires and dying it was scary. However, I was forced to watch from sidelines. When I saw Chuuya tears filled my eyes. He is a vampire! I was shocked I went to the roof as I watched Dazai get the antidote to get the poison out of his body he then said “I had a card up my sleeve. You can come out now!” I looked and saw Chuuya he took off the contacts and said “so what now?” I was frozen the man I love was in front of me. As I blocked out everything just staring at Chuuya I heard him say “damn! These fangs won’t come out!” I giggled and went over to him. “Let me help.” I mumbled as I grabbed something to help them slip out. “There!” I said with a smile. Then Dazai and Nikolai talked with Chuuya I stayed quiet. ‘Just like the old days back in the port.my brother and boyfriend kicking butt while I’m a nurse on scene. I missed it.’ I thought.

Time Skip

Things seemed at peace and I felt happy but I had some sadness ‘I should’ve tried to talk to him more’ then I heard a voice “so you’re still alive.” I saw Chuuya and I said “ya why?” Chuuya said “that’s what Dazai told me during the battle of the guild. But I knew you wouldn’t have died so easily.” He walked closer to me and pinned me against the wall. “Now you owe me for all the time I spent looking for you.” He said as he gave me a kiss I sunk in then I heard my brother. “NO!!!! (Y/n)!!!! Why?!?! I tried to get you to go with Kunikida! I should’ve tried harder! Why Chuuya?!” I smiled and looked at Chuuya then grabbed his hand “Dazai dear brother. You can try to set me up with someone else but it won’t work. I love Chuuya and only him.”

The End SORRY CRINGE Tysm For Reading

[angelgoeslewd]

White Lies. [Prologue.]

🔮 summary: becoming Fyodor’s house-spouse is a trial.

⚠️ warnings: unhealthy relarionship dynamics. this excerpt is SFT, there will be more in this series that will not be. please read accordingly with attention to the warnings.

📝 a/n: this got away from me … these were supposed to be headcanons 😰 yes i have more planned. this is only the beginning.

The relationship between you and Fyodor began as a mutually beneficial agreement. Fitting, for one as conniving as him and as cornered as you, but odd, considering his... allure.

It was easy to consider him "out of your league." His status outweighed yours by a fair amount and this didn't even weigh in his looks or platinum tongue, his bank account alone probably tipped the scales in your favor. But your... situation was rare, one that worked in his own interests.

As the eldest of a well-to-do family, you knew, knew from an early age you would be expected to marry. Expected to give up any life and passions you had to seek the hand of someone who elevated your family's status. And as the days passed by, your days filled with schooling and artistic pursuits, the arraignment of your betrothal was a closer and closer possibility. Every leaf that fell on the cold stone pathway of your college campus seemed like just another reminder of the time that was slipping through your fingers.

That was why you saw him as an opportunity. When your friend offhandedly gushed that The Fyodor Dostoevsky was seeking, "a fair person of good standing and kind graces to accompany him in his quest for comfortability and tranquility," (which sounded like something straight out of a Jane Austen novel, for God's sake) at your coffee date and how exciting the possibility was, your desperation got the better of you. You tried not to hope, tried not to let your wretched attempt, your last-ditch effort of securing your own freedom seep into your voice as you asked her for more details, wondering if she heard it, wondering if she saw your hand shake as you lifted your cup to your mouth and she peered at you, questioningly. Thankfully, she asked nothing and simply divulged in full.

You found yourself at the meeting hall in question 5 minutes late, on the date of the supposed event. Her information was true, as you quickly found out, entering the hall to be met with a crowd of every type of people from every corner of your school. All ages were there, young, older, older, to meet Mr. Dostoyevsky. People who had colored hair, people who were draped in jewels, people who had neither of either and looked like simple office workers. They gave you a number when you checked in at the booth, a simple white ticket with nothing but black ink printed on it in a large font. You tucked it into your bag and finding nowhere to sit, you subtly made your way outside to wait.

Sitting on a small brick wall, separating you from a small flower bed, you were near enough to hear any instruction, but far enough from the crowd to not be bothered. You took out your latest novel, began to read, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It only took about half an hour for you to notice people streaming out of the building; some with red faces, others in open tears. Concerned, you shifted on your seat, wondering if this was really worth it. But you made no move to comfort the people, nor did you move to leave. You knew, subconsciously, you had no other choice.

Eventually, your number was called, and you grabbed your things hastily, walking into the building and suddenly hitting the nicely warmed air. You didn't even realize how cold it was outside, your mind was lost in the book you held. Your fingers were thankful, still red from the cold, but it felt almost uneasy inside, with only a couple people left and nothing but the company of the sound of your shoes hitting the floor as you made your way to the man who beckoned you. The people left -- a woman with beautifully coiffed hair, lined with jewels and fur; a man in a dark blue, wrinkle-free suit and slicked-back hair; a person with shortly cut hair and a long, cotton skirt, colored with natural dyes, all smiled at your sympathetically.

The pit in your stomach dropped further. But you continued without skipping a beat of your thumping heart.

The room you entered was barren. There was nothing but a dimly lit table, even the lights were turned down, somehow, something that didn't seem possible at your meager campus. The table legs were dark wood, cut off halfway by a simple, white, linen tablecloth. Nothing was on the table. But there he sat. The dark, imposing figure of Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

He eyed you quietly as you sat down in the chair across from him and thanked the man leading you to what felt like your social downfall. The simple act felt much sinister than it was. You leaned down to place your bag next to the side of your chair, then sat up straight and faced the man who held your future in his cards.

“It is nice to meet you, Лисичка.” Russian. You didn’t know Russian. His accent was thick and heavy, but his voice was soft and gentle, reminiscent of new footprints on soft, powdered snow.

“The honor is mine, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” You reached your hand out, across the table, to greet him, and a gloved hand appeared from below to grab yours. His other one then followed, covering your own, something much more intimate than needed in such a place, and something that would be scolded by your father. You introduced yourself, then pulled your hand back as quickly as social niceties would allow.

“Tell me, Лисичка, what brings a person as lovely as yourself here today?”

You took a deep breath. At that simple request, your mouth dried. Your honesty was preferable, but the rules in this scenario didn’t allow for such dark and bleak hardships to be shared to someone you had barely just met. That wasn’t proper. Nor would you expect him to care. You wouldn’t want him to either. This was your burden to carry, not his. You didn’t want his pity or his sympathy for your plight. It left a bad taste in your mouth to even think such thoughts. It might bring a bad look to your family if you shared such feelings openly, which, neither you nor they, needed to deal with at this time. But you also had a feeling that he would know if you lied to him, and besides, that wasn’t a look you wanted for yourself, either. With being dealt such a bad hand, you decided to take a bigger risk than you ever had in your life.

“Mr. Dostoyevsky.”

“Please, Родна́я, call me Fyodor. We are equals at this table.”

You didn’t mean it to, but a small laugh escaped your lips. His lips flickered down for a small, almost indeterminable moment, and his eyebrows raised at your presumptuousness. “With all due respect. We will never be equals. Even if I sit at this table permanently. Even if you choose me. There will never be a time you and I will be equals. And I accept that.”

He tilted his head in what seemed like approval, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs, and gesturing lithely for you to continue. You, on the other hand, leaned forward, placing your hands on the cold linen, careful not to shift the cloth, but enough to make this obvious that the next piece of conversation was for you and him only. “Mr. Dostoyevsky. You can fool all those people out there if you want, but you can’t fool me. You need something — not someone, something. To gain, to escape — I honestly could not care what it is.” His face did not shift, staying the same as when you started. “I need something too. Right now, what I need, if you even care, the protection of your attention. Nothing else. Not your money, not your feelings, just the fact that you are with me. I don’t want to know what you gain from this, but I do know that you need me too. This situation would benefit both of us.”

He was quiet for a while after your spiel, letting the weight of your words sink and settle into the corners of the room as he gazed at you. You swear you saw his jaw set as he sat there, and you tried your best not to lick your lips nervously. Then his hand, which had been clasped in his lap, inched onto the table. A small bell which had escaped your notice was rung. The man from before slinked into the room. You felt ill. Did you read the situation wrong? Was it just like the bell, some innocuous thing that slipped your attention?

“Anton.” He called firmly. It was an order. If it wasn’t so cold, you would be sweating. “Tell the others to leave. I have found my company.”

The relief you felt was almost orgasmic. A breath you didn’t know you were holding was released, and your lungs sang. As the man left, Fyodor leaned forward to meet you. “I normally don’t appreciate such direct accusations,” he said, softly. “But I can appreciate a keen eye and a person who knows how to dance between truth and dishonesty. That is what I am seeking.”

He, himself, seemed to be teetering on the brink of honesty with you. But you felt like you had already pushed your luck for the day and said nothing. He could tell you felt something, but waved it off. “Think no more on it. I will only require you to do that with warning.” It was phrased like a joke, but again, that feeling of somehow being lied to and being told the honest truth sat with you. You tried to push it off and do as you were told. “The movers will fetch your things. You must be reinvented if you are to be seen with me.”

With that, Fyodor Dostoyevsky got up and left you sitting there. Alone, in a dimly lit room, with nothing but yourself. A situation you would find yourself in time and time again before everything changed.