#nikolai 001

[echospast]

@cordoliae as nikolai l.antsov : for the first time since i can remember, i don’t feel alone. because of you. [ feat. simeon sommerfeld ]

SIMEON’S SHARP TONGUE IS PERHAPS HIS DEFTEST FEATURE — CERTAINLY THE MOST SURPRISING TO THOSE WHO UNDERESTIMATE HIS INTELLECT. his bold wit can very rarely be silenced, a fact of which nikolai is certainly aware, for all the time they’ve spent together since sim found himself aboard the volkvolny. and yet he finds himself silenced now, momentarily upended by the other man’s words — or perhaps more accurately, by the sincerity behind them. sim’s mouth opens briefly as if to speak, before he closes it again quickly, turning his face toward the sitting room’s crackling hearth as if that might hide the warm flush he feels gathering in his cheeks. almost belatedly, he reminds himself to steady his breath in the wake of his momentary surprise, lest he run the risk of setting the entire room aflame. would the tutors at the little palace really be able to offer him better control? the only way to know for sure was to ride alongside the prince until they reached os alta and its little palace - as if that were his only motivation. and then what? a taunting little voice croons in the back of his wicked mind. silly boy, do you really think things can stay the same?

even after learning nikolai’s true identity, it had become easy on the sea for simeon to forget that he truly was a prince of ravka. as sturmhond, he'd earned sim’s trust, respect, and loyalty. yet that loyalty has never come blindly, a fact of which nikolai has been aware since he accepted the inferni upon his decks. simeon has never in his life hesitated to make his voice known, when he wills it. beside his effortless charm, which draws people like moths to flame, another fire burns within the kerch man, one of passionate rage that emerges far less frequently – yet when it does, it cannot hope to be controlled. miracle enough that he never managed to set the volkvolny properly aflame before the tidemakers could douse his inferni fire, but either way, nikolai was by now no stranger to sim's fury, which recognizes neither king nor captain.

the beginnings of it boil within him now, drowning the knife of premature grief he’d begun to feel slide into his lungs the moment nikolai entered the room. a low simmer of anger replaces it, a warning of sorts that does not always precede the explosion. despite his efforts, the uncertainty within him seems to stymie it, pressing it down beneath an undefined layer of embarrassment that dampens it like a sheet of ravkan topsoil that hasn't quite thawed for spring. he huffs, half a scoff that emerges sharp as a blade, which most would find out of place from the inferni. but nikolai knows better. he knows sim better, and the knowing is mutual enough to carve an ache into the singer's chest. he has always been a prince, but only now does it finally feel that way, a sensation which somehow, too, shares all the benchmarks with impending doom.

" you should know by now that your charm doesn't work on me. maybe I made you feel less alone, but we're both about to be again. I'm not obligated to be happy about it. " sim's attempt at a snarl falls flat from the first word, as unconvincing as a cheap komedie brute costume purchased from a stall in the staves and cut ever further for effectiveness by the way his kerch accent thickens in his frustration, unflatteringly twisting his otherwise impressive ravkan. his arms cross stubbornly over his chest, despite the fact he knows perfectly well that nikolai's profession is genuine. the shared understanding between them is the wound that cuts deepest, now that they both know it's all about to change.

but for all his stubbornness, sim has always known this was inevitable, and yet even in this moment, he refuses to examine why he reacts so strongly anyway.

no matter what face he wears – his own or sturmhond's – the weight of his gaze remains the same, recognizable even if they stood in the dark. it presses in upon sim now and he knows what it says as easily as if nikolai spoke in his mind. look at me. stubbornly, simeon refuses. every rational instinct knows it isn't the prince's fault that he is, after all, a prince, but in his anger, he must find somebody to blame for the irrevocable way in which things are about to change. the cruel hand of fate has decided that there will be no more nights of song and poetry aboard those familiar decks. no more laughing captain. no more quiet conversations in the early hours during precious first watches, when the inky black sea still reflects the patchwork of stars on its mirrored surface and truths seem to flow that much more easily from their lips. no more easy friendly affection, no more privately shared jests, no more witty fast-paced exchanges for the world to see. no more, no more, no more, no more.

reason tells him that he is foolish to think this friendship slips further through his fingers the closer they ride to the ravkan capitol, but he has never been a man ruled by reason anyway.

" besides, I'm already along, aren't I? no use continuing to try to convince me. " a bitterness twists the edges of his tone as the muscles in his shoulders visibly tighten beneath a new shirt, one far finer than what he'd worn aboard the ship. any other day, perhaps he'd feel grateful for the comfort, but in this moment, he resents it enough to twist the pit of his stomach. the sweet aroma of methane rises to meet him, and on instinct, he takes two steps back from the hearth as the flames leap harmlessly just once, a warning that seems to mock him. " anyway, your point is what, nikolai? that I should never fear because I'll always have a friend in os alta? that I will never be alone? think reasonably. even I am not so idealistic. "

it is then that he finally deigns to turn his head and regard the other man out of the corner of his eye, the bright blue of his gaze flashing in the firelight like a wild thing, something far less civilized and tame than the face simeon usually likes to show to the world. the soft flicker of flame against nikolai's princely jaw and impressive cheekbones makes him want to tear that finely pressed first army uniform right off the royal's shoulders and throw it into the crackling hearth. though he manages to restrain himself, the sarcasm in his voice when he speaks next is nonetheless nearly acidic enough to burn, despite his otherwise weak performance. " now, if there's nothing else, your esteemed highness, I must continue practicing my curtsy. can't afford to make a fool of myself in front of a prince, can I. "

[crwnalpha]

nikolai was struggling with keeping his feelings put together. he didn't think that this would still be a thing even at his age, but every time the two of them were in the same room, it was a struggle. sylas was his big brother, always looking up to him, always feeling like he could count on the other. he knew that, especially after their parents died and it was just the two of them. he sighed. " you're not busy tonight? " niko said, the moment he saw his big brother walk in.

[sommersong]

@cordoliae as n.ikolai l.antsov : [ hug ]  –  for the sender’s muse to drag the receiver’s muse into a tight hug by the back of the neck, and play with their hair at the base of their neck in order to comfort them.

SO MANY OF THE SCARS OF THIS WAR WILL NEVER HEAL, SIMEON HAS REALIZED BY NOW. not least of these are the scars left upon all of their hearts, the deep ache of loss that both alienates and unites them all. for a time, he thought he had even lost nikolai, and while he still does not know how, he'd pushed on to fight, hollow but present, affecting a brutality and viciousness against the enemy that nobody previously thought him capable. to watch the prince fall from the sky during their final stand had been both horror and miracle. the shock of it seems still to ring in his ears even now, the same simple refrain repeating again and again in his addled mind. alive, alive, alive. so quickly had nikolai been thrust into uniform and delivered to the ranks of the first army that sim hadn't had the chance to say even one word to him, to clutch his hand to make sure he was real, to embrace him – as if he had the courage for such things.

the healers had been clear about the need for bedrest, but simeon rarely cares to listen to good advice and he refuses to waste more time waiting. it matters little that every inch of him still aches, that some of his wounds set so deep that it would take the healers multiple sessions to address them. he would scar in places, and while the thought may have distressed him half a decade ago, the thought fills him now with at least some amount of pride. not that any of it mattered in this moment ; no longer would he be kept from the prince, from his friend, even if he had to light the whole damn place on fire to have his way. he can still feel the terror seize his chest as he watched nikolai's midair transformation and the cry of distress tearing roughly through his throat as he tried to clear far too vast a space between them in a sprint. he hadn't even made it halfway before the commander had cushioned his fall, before the prince was whisked off to conceal the scandal of whatever just happened.

but simeon would seek to find him even if he'd stayed a creature of shadow. as long as he was alive.

a rush of fond affection warms him to the core when he reaches what he knows to be the prince's tent and toyla, standing loyal guard, nods him through immediately with softened eyes. sim pauses a moment – the only moment he can even dream of sparing – to set a hand on the other man's enormous forearm and squeeze gratefully. no matter his fight, his stubbornness, nikolai had always been correct that he'd made a sort of second family here. that love for them buoys him now, as he nods back to tolya with a soft smile and slips through the tent's flap to find the prince.

he doesn't know why it surprises him so, to see nikolai on his feet, palms flat on a desk as he leans over some document or another. sim feels his heart begin to race in his throat, his lip tremble slightly, and realizes he's briefly frozen to the spot, unable to move his feet. though he tries to say nikolai's name, all that escapes is a gasp, some note of relief, but it's enough to catch the prince's attention. he turns and they lock eyes, and for a few moments, it seems as though they wordlessly say nothing and everything all at once, some cacophony of emotion shared between them, somehow both indecipherable and crystal clear. simeon feels his throat tighten that much more and his knees go briefly weak beneath him before he catches himself, stepping toward nikolai the moment the other man moves toward him in return.

they meet in the middle of the tent, a mere foot apart, sim's chin tilted upward to look the golden prince in the face, his gaze roving apprehensively as if to verify what his eyes can see – that nikolai is alive and well. there has perhaps been another time they've fallen so quiet around each other, but sim cannot recall it now. all he knows is that he must bite back a sob when he feels the other man's hand cup against the back of his neck, pulling him into an embrace that instantly makes the inferni melt against him. suddenly, his arms – almost independently of his own conscious mind – lift to clutch around the prince, half desperate, fingers clutching at his back, his shoulders without truly thinking of the bruises and wounds he must have sustained. he can only think of being closer, of breathing him in, of burying his face in nikolai's shoulder.

somehow, simeon manages not to weep until he feels the prince's fingers running back and forth in the too-long hair at the base of his neck, but the gentleness of it pulls a painful sob from the depths of him that makes his shoulders shudder, and suddenly it's as though the floodgates have opened and his tears soak nikolai's fine shirt as he cries his sorrow and fear and relief and love directly into the other man's shoulder.

[destinedgray]

Time: for impromptu family reunions  Location: The Pyramid  Characters: @nikolaigray​​ & @destinedgray​​

Andreas had been avoiding most of the acolytes, which just wouldn’t do anymore. There was even talk that there were a few newly come to The Pyramid who weren’t Octavian’s brand new acolytes. As someone that needed to be in The Pyramid hours at a time when Nettelia was not, Aren figured that the least he could do is check up on the roster that had grown since their tremendous loss by Theneras. Each one of them was hurt, each one of the druids was grieving after the events of Knossos. Aren approached who he could, even though now most of the time he still wanted to sit in grim silence and solitude. It was his sister’s presense which swayed him not to get lost in his own misery. He was getting used to his mind now. However, still too much weighed on the Archdruid’s shoulders. Still, he ignored Andreas’ thoughts. 

But he could not ignore his duty. To protect this place, to protect it’s druids. As he ventured down to the training grounds to see them, he caught only a glimpse of the side of a man’s face as he quickly passed Aren. But it was that bare fraction of a second that was enough to trigger some buried memory within the Archdruid. There was something familiar there, something important. “You,” Aren called out to the man’s back. “Hold one moment...”

[crawlinq]

HAND HOLDS OUT A RUBIX CUBE,

and crawling smiles at the stranger . his usual smile — absent of teeth, splitting across face & hair strewn. inklings of it , dipping into thin lips and maw , coiling about his body and mopped in piles on the floor.

" show you trick , " he procures a cloth , scratchy and old. " me know from friend. "

he settles the cloth atop the cube, doing some strange hand movements atop of it. "vanish !" he says. it's as if he's goading nikolai to repeat after him. " vanish ! "

with a swivel of the hand . . .

the rubix cube does not disappear.

crawling pauses, and tilts his head to the side. a little too far, actually, more than what the constraints of ones body would typically allow .

"like ? dislike ?" regardless, he seems satisfied with it, even if the cube remains as it is in his hand. hyena-esque laugh erupts from non-existent lungs, and the spirit seems to have taken great humor in the whole ordeal. "your turn !"

@ovcrcoat

[sommersong]

" AM I THE NIGHTINGALE? OH, DO SAY YES! BUT ANYWAY, BIRDS MAKE EXCELLENT CONVERSATION, OBVIOUSLY. SURPRISED YOU DON'T KNOW THAT, CAPTAIN! " simeon doesn't bother concealing the mischievous smirk that pulls at the corners of his mouth, doubtlessly complimented by the glow of sim's inferni flames in a nearby lantern. he sees no reason to appear anything other than as delighted as he is, warmed by both kvas and company alike, gladly sinking into the comfort of nikolai's steady presence. " the gulls are especially chatty, though I fear I'm under strict instructions from my avian friends not to share their many secrets. what kind of confidante would I be if I spilled them all? "

this sort of easy, rambling conversation is exactly what makes it easy to forget their stations. for all sim manages to – somehow – defer to the authority of captain sturmhond on a daily basis, despite his distaste for authority, and for all he's aware of @disvelocitys's true identity now, in these moments, they feel simply like friends, like equals. and simeon knows that's how nikolai feels, truly, even if it may be wishful thinking for a man with much weight on his shoulders, and sim cannot deny it endears him. nikolai is certainly clever enough to know it's wishful thinking, but neither of them are strangers, he knows, to feeling apart from everyone else, even if they haven't said it directly. he can sense it, feel it at his fingertips even now, as he drapes his bent arm against nik's shoulder, his hand resting against the fabric of his companion's shirt. he's never known how to truly belong, and he somehow knows, deep in the pit of his gut, that this man has always felt on the outside looking in, too.

what a pair they make, indeed.

" true enough, " sim sighs, intentionally dramatic, leaning the slightest bit more weight against his companion's shoulder as he does. only briefly do his eyes wander to the distracted crew, no doubt half in the wind after consuming their own drinks. the question of whether nik would mind the crew seeing them this friendly with one another flickers through his mind – but he banishes it quickly, reminding himself of the uselessness of such a thought anyway, not when there's nothing to speculate. laughable, to think he'd have anything either a prince or captain would want. " they don't exactly mince words. I do feel badly for our poor tolya, and I mean it, I enjoy his recitations! he so enjoys them, after all, and isn't passion a lovely look on anyone? "

he takes another swig and his expression softens as he turns his gaze to study the other man's profile. with either face, there's a loveliness to him which, sim supposes, cannot come from mere simple beauty alone, novel a thing as it is. there is a life in him which fascinates the inferni, one he can't quite identify, no matter how he tries, despite being typically so excellent at reading others. and a fascination can be dangerous, he knows, but they are friends, aren't they? what harm should come from a fascination with the smile of a friend, from a laugh that warms him more effectively than the liquor?

" doesn't like to boast? " a rather abrupt laugh escapes simeon, too, at such a claim. " I beg to differ, captain, find a beautiful girl in the first tavern at the next port and boasting's all you'll hear from her the rest of the night. trust me, I've already had to sit through it. worst part is, I think it works. " he chuckles to himself again, swaying slightly on the railing – though certainly not from drink and not nearly enough to lose his balance. on the contrary, he knows perfectly well where his center of gravity is and remains there firmly, a man rather intimately acquainted with his limits, despite appearances. " she keeps threatening to teach me a thing or two, as if I don't have my own perfectly effective strategies. I mean, look at me, her tough guy swagger would hardly work. I told her to stick to tutoring me with the blade. " his grin widens as he meets nikolai's eyes, nudging his shoulder right back, not bothering to hide the mischief around which he tiptoes. " she hasn't managed to punch me in the mouth. between that and my so-called improved form, do you think I could beat you in a spar yet? or would you wipe the floor with me? be honest. "

the crew in good spirits is worth as much as a gentle sea, if not more. nikolai knows that the latter is up to chances of nature while the former is mostly up to him. he remains at the helm of this, the person they all revolve around either for his authority or solely for his means of employing them, and remaining at the helm also means to take the crew's temperature every day and gauge where to go with them, what to consider next, and how to engage them all in missions or just simple upkeep of the volkvolny. the crown of ravka does not like to make a big deal of their most fearsome threat out at sea, but nikolai is just as aware of how much their work paying off translates to os alta's good graces towards him and the crew, especially in the way that a rumour mill talking about their victorious pursuits lends itself far better for more of those pursuits than one only talking about violent and ruthless horror stories. a lot of it is exaggerated either way, but nikolai prefers it when that pertains their glory rather than the times he needs to take drastic measures into his own hands and spill blood into salt, turn transparency crimson as a means to get them across shallow waters. it's the only thing he doesn't like about his time out here - as sturmhond he has little control over the gossip on land, at its mercy as much as he is fuel for it. that's why he tries to be deliberate with his actions, but also with his words around the crew, especially when there are strangers around.

" i am glad to know your work is more relaxing than it may seem. what are the birds telling you? are they chatty? i never had much fondness for them, besides the occasional nightingale, i suppose. " words meant for the sake of conversation and little else, nikolai knew that simeon had his answers at the ready like a bullet let loose from a pistol; always sharp and to the point, often times more amusing than one may think from him considering that many people underestimated his intellect or valued it inferior to his appearance or the sole appeal of his voice. there is a reason he is on this ship - sturmhond doesn't keep people around for decorative purposes, no one here is ornamental or not trusted enough to not play their part and play it well ( as is preferred when the captain himself is half a disguise ) and simeon is no different. even if he may not be thrown into every battle, he keeps the ship alive and his skills as an inferni are still needed for enough things on nikolai's agenda to warrant his place here. " songbirds are plenty on land but rare this far out at sea. no cormorant is waking us up with a little tune, but most of birds we find here are good for reading the weather. more useful - and we can all appreciate to be of use, can't we? "

there are no songbirds around, but the one that used to be one and has grown himself some fur and a sharp mind instead or the sole voice gifted with musicality among them, and that is for the better as well. nikolai prefers to be focused, as much as he enjoys seeing his crew let loose and how much it frees him to be here, he can't lose sight of the reason they are back on sea to begin with. every time he gets on his ship, it means that this rotten country he can't stop calling home needs something that only he knows how to give it, that only he can bully out of whatever place that lies past this ocean they are crossing. sturmhond is still a figure of ravkan mythology, living one at that, and a matter of the country's stabilisation efforts that nikolai is not ready to hand anyone else. maybe that makes him arrogant, but he never fed on his own ego as much as he fed on well-crafted victory. for him to hold the reins in his hand, the crew can be at ease, at least everyone but tamar.

" no, i think they didn't just appease you because your father paid them well. you have more than talent, definitely more naturally gifted than our dear tolya. this crew would be the first to tell you if it weren't so, you know how they are. " everyone here is honest to a fault, besides the lies they all keep close to their chests for safe-keeping, and nikolai means it too. smiling at simeon, his shoulder nudging against the other's hip where simeon sits on the railing, nikolai keeps his arm there to keep him from falling into the waves below. death is so unbecoming to such a nice evening affair - wouldn't he know? " ah, that may stay between you and me, and tamar. she does not like to boast but i think it's a funny story; she also might be the only one to get away with that kind of thing because i know she'd never do so outright, though tolya apologised for it more than she did. " pausing then, nikolai can't help but shake his head as a spill of laughter lets loose from his chest. " and i could see you train after i finished navigating our route. not hard to miss when tamar is folding half the crew over her shoulder. it makes for great entertainment. you were far from being the worst. i think one of our poor healers actually got a kick to her ribs she had to heal afterwards. your form is improving, that's good. "

[osachiyo]

✦ BAD TIMING? ✦

⟣ ──┈ · · · + including : dazai, chuuya, fukuzawa, fyodor x fem!reader

⟣ ──┈ · · · + c/w : nsfw content (mdni), teasing, petnames, degradation, rough sex, prone bone, cowgirl, mating press, nipple play, cursing, cockwarming, mentions of nikolai + non consensual vouyer in fyodor's & more

⟣ ──┈ · · · + a/n : i wrote this with my pussy.

synopsis. . . you're getting your guts rearranged when− 'riiing!' the annoying sound of his phone ringing caught you both off guard, snapping you out of your dazed state as you both paused your nightly rendezvous. what's even more surprising to you is when he reaches over to grab the tiny device, answering the call− ugh, seriously?

.001 — Dazai

You whined at feeling Dazai's hips slow down, now completely flush against your ass, as he picks up the phone. "What could kunikida-kun possibly need from me, at this hour?" He muttered to himself, voice breathy and warm against the shell of your ear. Fuck, it was kunikida?

"Hello~ ku-ni-ki-da-kuunnnnn?" Your co-worker said in an annoyingly sing-songy voice, making the man in the other end of the line grumble in frustration. They began talking about some..mission? Anyway, it had been around 20 minutes since they've started talking? You couldn't exactly tell− or cared, honestly. The only thing in your fucked out mind was for dazai to close the damn phone and just fuck you already!

You showed your frustrations by huffing and angrily kicking your legs− turning your head to look back at dazai with a glare. He only smirked in response, shrugging before turning his attention back to the call.

You had no idea that dazai was aching to move right now, the feeling of your warm cunt pulsating around him was almost too much to bear. The way sweat gathered at the dip of your back, the way you arched for him− shit.

It had been a few more moments, you were so close to whine out complaints when dazai's hips started moving again, cock easily brushing against your sweet spot. You could still hear his voice from behind you.. he− he wasn't done with the call?!

You were about to ask him what the hell he was planning now− when long, slim fingers entangled themselves in your already messy hair− shoving your head down against the mattress to shut you up as he kept his pace, voice straining a little while he contuined his "very important" conversation with your other co-worker.

Lewd "pap! pap! pap!" noises of dazai's balls hitting your ass filled the enclosed room as you tried your best not to let any moans slip out− god, if he found out− "oi dazai, what're the weird noises coming from your side?"

Fuck.

"Oh uh− nothing, nothing at all, kunikida-kun," he breathed, free hand now coiling around your waist to rub at your neglected clit− making your back arch even more as you gasped out loudly.

"What the− are you sure? You better not be scheming anything bad right now, idiot."

"Of course not! mmh− so tight−!" he whispered the last bit, large hand now cluntching the flip phone in a vice grip as he watched his cock disappear inside of your slick folds− a creamy ring forming around the base of his cock.

"Huh? what's so tight? Dazai−"

That was the last thing you heard from kunikida before dazai's poor phone was thrown somewhere on the bed, the hand coiled in your hair now dragging you up− arching your back even more for him as he muttered soft curses into your ear.

You let out a pained mewl at your hair being pulled, desperate hands scrambling to claw and tug at the sheets as your back was flush against dazai's chest. "Ah− shiit−!" your eyes rolled back as the thumb circling your tiny clit sped up, the bed creaking loudly with each thrust of dazai's narrow hips against your ass.

"Yeah? you gonna cum, 'donna?" Dazai mocked, breath hot against your neck as he moaned lewdly at the way your pussy gushed around him− spraying the sheets with clear fluid. Dazai only groaned in response, "oh shit, fuuuck!− g'nna cum inside you, yeah? y' wan' that?" He slurred, you didn't get to answer before blunt nails meanly dug into your hips as he stilled− balls tightening as spurts of white filled your cunt before he fell on top of you.

You two laid there for a few moments, his cock slowly softening inside you− chest heaving as he finally got off, hissing from the loss of warmth. Dazai pressed a gentle kiss on your temple before walking off, most likely to grab a wet rag to clean you up. You got up with a sigh, running a hand through your messy hair when your eyes land on dazai's phone− it wasn't too far away from you.

You crawled closer to it, taking it in your hands when it lit up− "call ended now."

.002 — Chuuya

You were happily bouncing on your boyfriend's dick when the annoying ringtone of his phone went off. He sighed, lifting his head from the sofa as he reached over to grab the device, brows furrowing at the contact name.

You were sitting idly on his lap now, still impaled on his cock. "Who is it?" You panted, out of breath as you tried not to clench around the ginger's fat dick.

"It's.. boss. be quiet f'me, okay doll?" His voice was soft, but you know he meant it as a command.

You nodded innocently, urging him to answer the phone call. and he did, the way he immediately put on a professional voice sort of baffled you but hey, he was a mafia executive.

But the moment he put the phone next to his ear, you clenched around him tight— making him almost double over with a gasp as he gripped your hip for stability.

"Argh!— I mean- y-yes, boss!" He stuttered, face flushing as he grit his teeth, glaring at you as his fingertips dug into your plush hip, veins appearing at his temple as he mouthed to you to "behave."

Like hell you'd listen and torture yourself by cockwarming him. You only grinned mischievously before lifting your hips up and slamming down on his cock, his eyes shutting tightly as he tried his best not to moan out— he couldn't. Especially not with Mori on the line.

You kept pleasuring yourself on his cock without a care, even going as far as putting a show for him— your hands reaching to play with your tits as you softly moaned out his name, reaching to grab his hand but he only smacked it away, cock dripping with need as he tried his best to keep things professional.

"Chuuya-kun, everything alright on your side? I keep hearing these..noises."

The man in question knew he was fucked— he knew Mori already figured everything out, "uh— y-yeah, boss. I'm fine— fuck—!" Panting out the last part, Chuuya gripped his phone so tight that you worried it would shatter.

"Uh-huh.. Anyway, you had better call me back once you're finished with your.... current predicament. Have fun."

And with that, the Port Mafia boss ended the call, making Chuuya groan in annoyance before chucking the small device somewhere— "what the hell was that?" He growled, hand coming up to wrap around your throat as he forced you to stop your movements, cock nestled deep inside of you once again as your hips stilled. You whined from the loss of friction, the sound only making your lover's right eye twitch in annoyance— "such a poor, needy slut, ain't ya?" He held you down firmly before thrusting up, fat cock nudging against your sweet spot as you threw your head back.

"Ooh, f-fuck— my slutty fuckin' girl can't even stand a few minutes without cock, huh?" He stuttered, other hand reaching up to land a gentle but firm slap on your face. It didn't sting much, but was enough to move your head to the other side. You only whimpered in response, clenching around him even more as his thrusts sped up— growls and groans of pleasure escaping his own lips as he suddenly parted your lips with his thumb before shoving two gloved fingers down your throat— your eyes stinging with tears as the digits hit the back of your throat, tits bouncing up and down as he practically manhandled you like a ragdoll— settling you on your hands and knees without even pulling out fully.

"Argh- fuck—!" He moaned, burying his face into the dip of your shoulder, landing soft kisses on the smooth skin. "Ch-chuuya— s'good, feels s'good—" you slurred, eyes rolling back as one hand found your breasts— the soft flesh jiggling with each brutal thrust of his hips as he basically slapped them around, harshly pinching your nipple as his other hand found your clit— rubbing quick and fast circles on the delicate bud— making you clamp around his cock once more before gushing all over his cock and the expensive leather couch. Your juices ran down his balls to his thighs— the force of your orgasm making you limp against him. You'd probably fall face first onto the couch if not for Chuuya's vice grip on you. Whimpers and borderline pornographic moans left his swollen lips— before biting down hard on your shoulder, spurts of cum flooding your insides as you laid flaccid in his hold— a drooling, shivering mess.

Chuuya fell on top of you, the both of you laying in each other's warmth when—

"Riiiing!"

.003 — Fukuzawa

A pout graced your pretty lips when your husband reached for his phone— picking the tiny device up as he drew soothing circles on your hip, motioning for you to be quiet.

You tried your best to be quiet as he took the phone call, you really did! But the way his cock was nestled so deep inside you and the way you could practically feel him throb inside of your gooey walls— you really didn't wanna bother him or interrupt his phone call but... you couldn't help but whine softly, reaching a hand down to rub at your clit, clenching down on the older man's impossibly hard cock. Fukuzawa's eyes widened when his eyes finally focused on you, underneath him— little pants and huffs of his name rolling off your tongue as you played with yourself. Your other hand was playing with your nipples, softly tugging on them as you bit your bottom lip— which was already swollen. Your eyes were glossed over, hips dying to move on their own.

His jaw was clenched— free hand coming down to lift your legs and put them on his shoulder before he started thrusting inside of you with more vigour than before. It was like he was in a trance— the way your pussy fluttered around his pulsating cock, and the way his tip kissed your cervix with each thrust had you both panting. Your head spun with pleasure as he reaches down to press at your tummy— feeling his bulge. Fuck, he was huge.

The phonecall still went on, of course— but you know all Fukuzawa could think about was you, and the way your pretty cunt swallowed his cock. The noises leaving his mouth told you exactly what you needed to know— the slight stutter in his voice, usually gentle tone now gruff and slightly higher in pitch as he tried his best not to blow his load right then and there.

Not like you were any better either— hair disheveled, sweat dripping off your body as tears stinged at your eyes from the sheer size of this man— it didn't take long for you to cream and gush all over his cock— some of it even spraying on his abdomen. He saw the way your glossy eyes rolled back, your jaw slacked open as your high hit you like a truck.

To hell with the phonecall — he thought.

He cut off whoever was on the other line with a quick but curt, "I'm a little busy— I'll call you later", not even letting the other person respond before ending the call and placing the phone away— all his attention back was on you.

"Putting on a show f'me, sweet girl?" He grunted, dragging his hips back before slamming them against yours— "mmh! K-Knew it'd work— fuck!" You moaned, now feeling both of his hands pushing your legs back, knees almost touching your ears as he forced you into a mean mating press. You felt your high coming closer again— balls slapping against your ass, cock bullying that spongey spot inside of your gummy walls as he groaned sweet nothings into your neck— gruff voice drowned out by his own growls.

You could only babble nonsense and his name as you came hard for the second time that night— pussy clenching around his length and he could feel something snap inside of him— hips speeding up to an inhuman pace, losing their rhythm as he bottomed out fully. Balls pressed against your ass while he spurted out so much cum— some of it ran down your ass and on to the sheets as he slowly got up, pulling out of your cunt with a hiss and watching his cum gushing out of your cunt in spurts.

.004 — Fyodor

You were finally bouncing on Fyodor's cock after hours of teasing and cockwarming— your hips and thighs burned but it didn't matter to you at the moment, because you can finally reach that release that Fyodor has been dangling in front of you— or at least you thought.

Your heart dropped to your stomach once the ringing of his phone echoed through the room— an annoyed sigh leaving Fyodor's lips as he gently slapped your thigh, a silent order for you to stop and stay still.

"A noise and you're getting punished," Fyodor's voice was smooth, but the threat made you gulp, "o-okay," you nodded, accidentally clenching down on him from nervousness and he hissed— blunt fingernails digging into your soft hips. He let out a shaky breath before picking up the phone, it was sort of unsettling how his voice switched from breathy to normal in a second.

You didn't know the phonecall would last so damn long.

It had been almost 30 whole minutes since he had picked up the goddamned phone— and this was pure torture to you. The occasional twitch of his cock inside you made your head spin, oh and the way he'd glare at you when you clenched down particularly hard— it did nothing else but make you even wetter. He, on the otherhand, was completely fine— not a hair out of place as he spoke so casually about.. something. The only time he'd react is when your pussy contracted around him— which would only get a hiss, or hitched breath from the man. It pissed you off.

It was too much for you— your juices running down his cock and onto the leather chair, god - you were leaking so much.

Fortunately for you, he was done with the call soon enough— quickly placing the phone on the desk before whispering into your shoulder as he placed gentle kisses on your skin, "go ahead, myshka - move." His voice was soft, as if he was proud of you for obeying his order and being a good girl— fingers that were previously digging into your flesh now reached between your bodies to rub and flick at your clit, while you happily bounced on his dick. He may have been quiet as a mouse during the phonecall— but he couldn't help but let out soft grunts and pants as you expertly milked his cock, dry lips even letting out one or two whines as you kissed his neck, down to his collarbones— pale skin now adorning a heavy flush as your thighs smacked against his own.

Lewd squelches and noises of skin smacking against skin filled the dark room of his office— Fyodor's jaw clenching as he feels your walls - so soft and warm, squeezing his cock as if you were trying to milk him. He was going to cum soon— but he couldn't possibly finish before his darling, could he? Lithe and slim fingers sped up their movements on your clit as he bit on your shoulder— free hand pinching and pulling at your hardened nipples as you gasped, your own pace turning sloppy and uncoordinated as you clenched your eyes shut— cumming all over his cock as he held your hips down firmly, shooting ribbons of white inside of your walls, some of it dribbling down his balls to the leather of his seat.

You both were left panting, shivering as Fyodor drew random shapes into your shoulder— trying to come down from his own high. He pulled you closer after you both calmed down, your head resting on his chest as he placed soft kisses on the crown of your head, whispering how good you've been for him.

If only you knew the man also coming down from his high on the other end of the video call— white hair disheveled as he came all over his screen.

©sachiyoh — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

note. ik i said i'd add jouno but I lost motivation for this thing :( jouno will be added to another work, so sorry jouno lovers </3

tags ・ @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @seiiushi @lynxxyyy @kentopedia

@sorahatsumi @himebwrries @nopethenope @neviex @fyodorisbbg @stygianoir @saharei @x-lunawrites-x @munnaitorei @emyyy007 @dearhoney-31 @the-foreigner @angoisfine @hannzai @honeycombflowers-blog @yuiiasathesilly @kaithegremlin @poisonedslop @sukiischaotic @squigglewigglewoo @boba-is-good @cupidszvlvr @ashthemadwriter @4xxxv @bloobewy @mrs-bakugou @hauntedsol @ask-me-or-not @hanakotateyama @qqingque @lunaeheroine18 @kissesmellow21 @dazaichuuya69 @xxsilverjackalxx @gettinshiggywithit @leftrunawaybanana @deaths-presence @sugaredpersimmon @rjssierjrie @iheartpieck @angelof-darkness @otakudul @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @hellokitty-4-lele @scinclaitnoir @aly-insanity @kemis-world @bisexuawolfsalt @thateldribitch @chuuya-brainrot

[sommersong]

@cordoliae as n.ikolai l.antsov : how would i know, if you never told me?

THE INFERNI’S HEAD FEELS SO STUFFED FULL OF COTTON THAT THE ONLY THING HE KNOWS FOR SURE IS HOW LITTLE HE WANTS TO HAVE THIS CONVERSATION. his temples throb and his stomach roils uncomfortably even as he sits moodily in a plump armchair before @cordoliae, the second born prince, in chambers far more elaborate than fitting for the current state of simeon sommerfeld. although he's at least somewhat confident he won't be sick here, all he really wants is to tuck himself in bed with some biscuits and a spiked tea and sleep it all off. at least until the next time he feels the itch to make a mess of himself again. he hasn't bothered to try to cover the aroma of kvas that undoubtedly lingers around him, partially because he's confident it would be impossible and partially because the smell of liquor certainly conceals evidence of even less savory activities. not that he cares what nikolai notices. simeon is far too small a player in this world to matter anyway, and he can take care of himself.

not that it had felt like that when tolya dragged him practically by the scruff of his neck from the room he'd rented in a little inn just within the bounds of the inner city, while tamar bargained ( questionable ) promises of payment with the owner even for the privilege of allowing sim to leave at all. somehow, despite the state of him, he'd managed to flash a charming wink to the companion in his sheets who would undoubtedly expect a note from sim that would never come. simeon has no doubt the innkeeper would have tolerated and even welcomed his rowdy behavior – not least because he draws customers with his particular skill of becoming life of the party – if it weren't for the rather enormous unpaid bill he's racked up throughout his time in the city.

he could say he wasn't used to not having the funds, that in ketterdam his family's accounts were easily accessible and already had lines of credit extended to his frequented locations, that he'd been on a ship most of the time since and hadn't been prepared. but the truth is, he's not at all unaware of the hole he's been digging for himself since reaching the city. he likes the bitterness of its taste, the way it makes him feel untouchable one moment and chipped away the next. for all his posturing, he feels he deserves this moment, as well. he deserves nikolai's disapproval as much as he deserves this wretched hangover. in a way, he welcomes it like a foul-tasting tonic to combat sickness. in another, he remains steadfastly stubborn, his jaw squared, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest as he stares stonily at a spot on the gilded wall. never mind the sallow and pale state of his skin, never mind the fact that his hands would shake if he uncrossed his arms.

" because maybe you don't have to know everything, moi tsarevich. " some rational part of him tries not to make the title sound like a curse, but fails rather miserably. it emerges in half a hiss, lip twitching into a bit of a curl even though he still refuses to look at the prince. yell at me, go on, shake your head, tell me how disappointing I am, scold me, admonish me, tell me I embarrass you and your crown, cast me out and send me away now that you've seen me for what I really am. to some degree, he's grateful for the hangover, if only because it mutes his ability to summon ; his anger – at himself, at nikolai, at whoever he can be mad at – doesn't leak natural gas, doesn't threaten to light the palace on fire this morning. " because I didn't want to tell you. is that what you wanted to hear? happy now? "

his eyes wander from his chosen spot on the wall to a bottle of brandy sitting temptingly on a cart not far away. it reminds him of the flask in his pocket, which suddenly seems so much heavier, so much more distracting. his jaw flexes again and he pulls his mug of tea closer to him on the tray beside him, pausing a moment before snatching the flask from its place and pouring a thumb of brandy into his delicate porcelain cup as though it's nothing. his gaze finally finds nikolai's, blue eyes hardening icily as if daring him to challenge his decision to remedy his state with more liquor. his stomach threatened to heave when he caught a whiff as he raised the teacup to his lips, but he forced it back, and once he managed to take a sip, his stomach seemed to calm almost immediately.

" it's not your concern, nikolai. I'm not important enough to be able to soil your reputation, nor will my habits affect your coffers. I've written to my mother, I'll have funds incoming shortly. " he doesn't mention anything about having already burned through far more than his cut of the spoils from his time on the volkvolny, but at this point, it seems rather pointless to discuss at all. nor does he see any point in mentioning that he's typically not so poor with his money ; such revelations will likely only lead to more questions he has no desire to answer. " I can take care of myself, I assure you. you're free to focus on your princely duties. courting the sun summoner. whatever it is you're up to these days. not that I see enough of you lately to know. " cutting, yes, but also not nearly as true as it should be for him to even bother bringing it up. even though it's likely she can't hear all the way outside the doors to nikolai's chambers, he can almost feel tamar's judgment. " if you'd prefer me back in ketterdam, just say the word and send me back across the fold. it's not as though I can refuse the command of the prince. "

[nwrsie]

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

⋆˙⟡♡ NiKOLAi GOGOL RENTRY GRAPHiCS 〰️

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

♡ — 001 : f2u with credit !

♡ — 002 : requested by @astroellez !

♡ — 003 : requests open ! click here for requesting info !

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[trueseeking]

contrary to his words, she highly doubts there would be anything remotely pleasurable about it, just more logistics to contrive. but it's not that that draws a laugh from her, finally. ❛ and on just which foreign prince are you planning to place the blame for my abduction? ❜ elia can't be bothered to point out the many ways in which it's as far-fetched a story as he could possibly conjure. ❛ I doubt any would appreciate the slander. ❜

she reins in her humor, stifles her laughter, and more somberly continues, ❛ but, no, while anyone who knows me might die of shock to know I said this, I think maybe I've had enough of unlikely stories. for now, at least. ❜ elia does possess enough self awareness to reflect, even as she says the words, that she's likely to recant them as soon as she's had a proper night's sleep — if not merely a nap. thus ends her solemnity. ❛ and, frankly, your meddling hasn't been great for my career so far. ❜

there was not one aspect of her life that went undisturbed by their misadventure, it seemed.

❛⠀ i can assist you with that. i have contacts in every port, and we can have a story about you being spirited away by a foreign prince for a private performance before word of your cancellation arrives. ❜ is it not so far from the truth, but elia does not need to know that. for her sake, he'll adopt every measure, take every action to erase the time she spent aboard this ship from her mind; it will become a passing memory, a nightmare without a name or a shore for it to take root in her mind. ❛⠀ it will be my pleasure to ensure it. ❜

there is no shortage of people who owe the privateer favors, and no shortage of courtiers who will hear soon that the prince of ravka has taken an interest in music. they'll flock to her shows, whisper they saw the elusive prince, and she'll have nothing to worry about. he can do that. he will do that. he has to do that.

[quiiettreason]

𖤓 𝓓awn & 𝓓evastation

━━━  part 001. exile

summary — Nikolai Lantsov is saved from drowning and saves his savior from a hungry kelpie.

word count: 1.8k words

warnings — fem!oc ( i know, i’m sorry), death and descriptions of how people died, discussion of su*cide, some (soft) horror elements, blood/gore, book-canon typical violence, mentions of cruelty toward women and faeries, discussion and descriptions of war, trauma so much trauma, and the stages of grief. some pre-canon (book and show), but ends in season two.

good shit — kinda enemies to lovers and fae lore (and lore about Ravka that I made up).

anna’s annotations — there is a prequel to this fic. it's on wattpad, but i'm kinda getting sick of it there. it is linked in the masterlist.

Eulalie wondered if this was how her mother felt when she fled Ravka after the assassinations. Freedom. Anger. Depression. Guilt. 

Eulalie earned her first scars from ripping herself from the enslaved sirens in the fairy caves. Their too-sharp nails had dug into her skin and tore at her unblemished skin. She’d swam for her life through tight tunnels leading out to the sea between the Wandering Isle and Novyi Zem where frigid cold waters met pleasant warm ones. After days of kicking to shore, using a piece of driftwood to help her head above water, Eulalie crawled onto the sandy beach of a Zemini port town called Weddle. 

Exhausted, Eulalie had flopped her arm over her eyes, trying to catch her breath. Well, until a Zemini man started shouting at her in his native language of which Eulalie didn’t know any of. This was definitely how her mother felt. Alone in a foreign country where she didn’t know the language, the customs, or the laws. The only difference was Eulalie was surrounded by humans—some who could be Grisha, or zowa, as the Zemini called them. Blessed. 

The blessed people were the reason faeries fled Ravka to neighboring countries or even crossed oceans to avoid dying terrible deaths. Eulalie’s mother had warned them about venturing outside the Isle, and now Eulalie was paying the price. Maybe, just maybe, her mother had been right. 

But now, there was no going back. 

Eulalie tried not to think about Cecily. It hurt too much to relive her younger sister’s screams as she was pulled down to the bottom of the caves.

The Zemini man neared her, so Eulalie did the only thing she could think of—run. She didn’t know how far away from Weddle when she finally stopped. Eulalie was breathless, hungry, thirsty, and tired. She dragged herself into another port town miles away from Weddle, away from the Wandering Isle. Maybe whatever uncomfortable bed Eulalie crawled into caused the nightmares, but it didn’t seem to matter. She couldn’t escape it. He haunted her hellish dreamscape like a phantom. Not Killian. If only he did. 

Kaz Brekker. 

Even though it was her fault, Eulalie hoped that he could hear her sisters’ screams. Kaz was probably incapable of feeling guilty for what he did, but Eulalie still wanted it to hurt him as much as it did to her. Maybe he did. Eulalie couldn’t shake away the fleeting feeling of relief when she’d seen Kaz during the fire. He would have helped her rescue Pollyanna and killed Dara for her, wouldn’t he?

Was it all a lie?

Kaz had let her run back into her burning home to get Polly, and Eulalie had been the one to kill Dara. Eulalie had heard whisperings that there wasn’t a sin Kaz Brekker wouldn’t commit if the price was right. She supposed the price was her reputation and the sin was false hope that not all humans were vile creatures. Eulalie couldn’t even be angry at him—she had been the one to bring him to Hiraeth, and conning was Kaz’s specialty. Still, she wanted to scream at him and beat him until he was nothing more than a mural of blues, blacks, and purples. 

Instead, Eulalie spent the remainder of the winter and entire spring working in a library where she spent her days shelving books, organizing maps, and lying low. The two ladies she worked with befriended her—now, since Rhiannon died, Eulalie had someone to share her love for poetry with. What’s more, they didn’t seem to care that she was fae. But it all felt too good to be true, so she took on her sister’s name. 

“Just Maeve,” she’d tell people who asked. 

Summer thunderstorms were relentless in Novyi Zem. Eulalie's soaked hair clung to the skin on her face and dripped down her back as she hurried through the port town's harbor. Shriftport was bustling with varieties of people, but if they had one thing in common among their differences, everyone was human. It seemed that Eulalie kept learning the most roughly in the last eight months that no one could be trusted, especially not in a town scattered with Ravkan refugees. Thunder cracked above the rooftops, followed by a bright flash of lightning. Eulalie flinched from the sound, nearly dropping the crate of ruined parchment. She needed to find somewhere dry to put the crate and get out of the storm that chilled her to the bone. Eulalie looked out over the harbor. Swells of seawater were barreling toward two ships just off the shore. Pirates. It was one thing to raid another ship so close to shore; it was another so close to a well-established harbor. Eulalie fidgeted with her gilded anchor necklace she’d stolen from Rhiannon’s jewelry box before she disappeared forever. It was the only thing she had from home. An emblem that was probably cursed or haunted, but then again, Eulalie was already both of those things. At some point, Eulalie must have put down the crate because suddenly, she was empty-handed and heading towards the piers and the angry ocean that dangerously bobbed the docked dinghies and ships. She wasn’t alone. Others amassed on the boardwalk to watch the raid. Free entertainment, but Eulalie was genuinely concerned, and for good reason. Eulalie watched one of the ships tip to one side, and a person either fell into the watery depths or maybe was thrown. She heard some gasps from behind her, and she sprung off the creaking pier, diving head-first into the turbulent sea. Eulalie ducked under the swells, trying not to drink in the briny water. Her eyes and nostrils stung as she finally approached the ships. Eulalie gasped and searched the depths around where she’d sworn someone had fallen. She ducked under the water and found him unconscious under the surface. Eulalie dove down to the man, hooked her arms under his, and kicked for both their lives to the surface. 

It was a struggle to keep both their heads above the uneven surges that crashed into them and tried to pull Eulalie under. She took in mouthfuls of ocean water, burning her throat worse than the Kaelish whiskey at the Mumming Ball. Eulalie adjusted her grip on the man, his tacky clothes weighing them both down as the push of an undercurrent led them away from Shriftport to a rocky shore. She tried to listen for a sign of life. He wasn’t breathing, but his pulse was trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen. Eulalie hoisted herself higher and tilted his head back enough for her to open his airway. She’d learned from Mr. Lynch how to recusitate someone in the water after Saoirse almost drowned the summer after Maeve went missing.

Eulalie was grateful they were nearing the rocky beach—performing mouth-to-mouth was much easier on solid ground. She took a breath and crashed her mouth against the man’s, forcing air into his lungs. Then, she pulled back, catching her breath before repeating the action until they reached shore. Eulalie used all her strength to drag the man onto the beach but only halfway, saving the rest of her energy for reviving this bastard. She knelt beside him and hovered her hands over his chest, chewing the inside of her lip as she thought of how this would work. 

Just imagine the water flowing out of his body, her mother’s voice rang in her head. 

It sounded easier than it was. Carefully, Eulalie felt the water gurgling in the man’s lungs and moved the flow out through his throat. Then, urgently, she rolled the man onto his side so he wouldn’t choke on the fluids she was trying to expel from his lungs. The man sputtered and vomited the seawater onto the sand beside him. Relieved and a little satisfied with her work, Eulalie sat back on her heels, taking in the moment of peace. 

Which, like all things good, was fleeting. 

Something in the water stirred, and Eulalie felt the air chill, sending prickles over her damp skin. She didn’t want to look as if she already knew, but it couldn’t be. Right? Still, Eulalie dared to rake her gaze over to the creature standing in the shallow waves. A gray horse with sunken black eyes covered in dark green kelp stared Eulalie down like it knew what she was. But it seemed more interested in the human boy she had rescued. 

Kelpie.

Rumored to only inhabit lakes and rivers. Eulalie had been told that she was safe from them as they never came near saltwater or other fae, much less higher fae. She knew she could not just stay frozen on the sand like a coward. No, Eulalie could beat the kelpie. She was sure of it. 

Slowly, Eulalie rose to her feet, but the man on the sand stirred awake. He grumbled something in what she presumed was Ravkan. Eulalie’s heart thumped louder now. She dug her wet boot into the handsome man’s chest. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t feed you to that kelpie, Ravka,” Eulalie said to the man in modern Kaelish, hoping he understood. 

He did and wheezed. “Kelpie?”

The kelpie stamped its hooves into the water, splashing Eulalie and the Ravkan man. It neared them and snorted as if challenging Eulalie to choose an enemy. Whose side are you on?

She looked down at the man—he was a boy, really. He couldn’t have been older than early twenties, and probably not older than Eulalie. She reluctantly took her foot off the boy’s chest and faced the kelpie. 

“Saints, that really is a kelpie,” the boy rasped weakly as he tried to prop himself on his elbows. 

In an instant, the kelpie lunged at Eulalie, and she did the only thing she could think of, which was use the ocean to defend her and the Ravkan boy. Once he realized what was happening, he scrambled further onto the shore. It was at that moment that Eulalie felt like a total idiot, trying to fight off a particularly hungry kelpie by herself. Her spine cracked into a large black rock covered in barnacles. Eulalie’s eyes widened, and her arm came up to cover her face. 

The kelpie’s jaws unhinged, revealing a set of sharp, jagged teeth that sunk into her skin. Crimson beads oozed from the punctures and rolled down her arm. Eulalie tore her arm away, but that only made it worse. Instead of a regular bite mark, there were deep lacerations. 

The kelpie lunged again, grabbing hold of the same arm and dragging Eulalie into the watery deep. Her head plunged under the surface. This was it. The brutal death Eulalie always knew she would have. The kelpie bit into her stomach, then her legs. She couldn’t tell what the kelpie’s strategy was. Maybe it was to make her bleed out. Eulalie thrashed in the water, the salt stinging her already excruciating wounds. The pain was clouding her mind and couldn’t stop her from gulping down more seawater until she passed out from blood loss.

part 002!

[kachuuyaa]

𝐁𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 / bsd smau

a nikolai x reader smau !

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; romance was never your forte. naturally, you're afraid of commitment and more so the hurt your heart will potentially experience while being in a relationship. so once you were greeted with an opportunity for one, your first instinct is to run away. however, it seems the gods blessed you with friends whose motive is to keep you grounded in this experience for the first time.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 ; smau. no abilities au. fluff. angst. crack. gn!reader strangers to lovers. romance. uni au. slice of life. (kinda slowslow) slow burn.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; reader is a big big overthinker, slight miscommunication, unhealthy coping mechanisms (avoidance, isolation, etc.), everyone but a selected few are stupid, confusion, burnt out reader, mentally challenged characters, kys/kms jokes, mentions of sensitive topics! (mental illness and such), feelings get in the way sometimes, chuuya and dazai’s petty banter, mentions of consuming alcohol n cigs slight crossover (genshin)

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ; sporadic uploading

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ; kunikida is the only rational person here i fear (he doesnt even have twitter) timestamps do not matter unless i say so! everyone is 18+, sideships included (but not explicitly implemented)

written portions are indicated using ❖

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ; zesty bitches ℘ whorehouse asylum

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ;

𝐀𝐂𝐓 1 ; foreign idiosyncrasies

001. calm down

002. second yr

003. 4real

004. when i

005. kitty kitty!

006. who even r u

𝐌𝐀𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ; HEYYYYY its been a year im so fucking sorry but i promsie i’ll do this. ill actually commit to this there was actually somrthing i had in the works but i had to abandon it fkr a year cuz of school…. there has been a lot going on and im graudating this year so UM… yea theres that… how is tje bsd anime btw… love all of u soso much <3 take care of urselves mwamwa (also dont ask mw about the event reqs theyre there id otn think ill continue it) also when i mean slight genshin crossover ull see ull see :3

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; @iruc @celestair

2023 © kachuuyaa. do not steal or claim my work as your own.

[simp2537]

Requests are open

My request box is open! I write for a bunch of fandoms and characters that I’ll list below.

Percy Jackson

Character: Percy, Annabeth, Grover and I do the Greek gods and stuff. I might add more characters from the series/show so ask if you’re not sure.

Grishaverse

Character: Aleksander, Alina, Nikolai, Zoya, Genya, Kaz, Jesper, Nina, Inej, Matthias, (I haven’t read the series all the way through but I have seen the show and read the demon in the wood)

Harry Potter

Characters: Golden trio era, Marauders era, and Fantastic Beasts

Narnia

Characters: Caspian, Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Susan

Disney

Characters: Just general Disney, like the Princess, Princes, Disney channel and stuff

Avatar

Characters: Jake, Neytiri, Tsu'tey, Lo'ak, Tsireya, Tonowari, Ronal, Neteyam and Spider

My Hero Academia

Characters: Deku, Dabi, Shoto, Kiri, Mina, Bakugo, Shōta, others

Hunger Games/ TBOSAS

Characters: Katniss, Peeta, Gale, Coriolanus, Lucy, and Finnick

John Wick/ John Constantine

Stranger Things

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, 001/Henry Creel, Billy Hargrove, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley

Tales of Arcadia

Characters: Jim Lake, Claire Núñez, Toby Domzalski, Douxie Casperan, Krel Tarron, Aja Tarron

Dead Boy Detectives

Characters: Monty the Crow, Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland, Crystal Palace, Niko Sasaki

The 100

Characters: Bellamy Blake, Octavia Black, Clarke Griffin, Finn Collins, Jasper Jordan, Raven Reyes, Marcus Kane, Monty Green,

Twilight

Characters: Bella swan, Edward Cullen, Alice Cullen, Jasper Hale, Rosalie Hale, Esme Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, Jacob Black, Seth Clearwater, Leah Clearwater

And so many others I just can’t think of them right now. If there’s a fandom you’re wondering about just ask and I’ll see what I can do. I do platonic, romantic, Female, Male, neutral, working on yandere stuff, angst, head-cannons, au’s, working on smut. I don’t write Character x Character stuff. Have a lovely day 🥰🥰

[skycas1noregular]

So... I did something. Recently I watched Squid game and the desire for a crossover got to me, especially the need to make Nikolai be salesman/recruiter.

So, I wrote a little something. It was meant to be Sigma who would be broke but I switched it to Dazai because... because he would be 456, alright? We all know that. I don't like Dazai and I know that (even if Atsushi should, considering he's the real main character, but then Fyozai tension wouldn't be a thing in season 2, since Fyodor would be frontman... anyway).

Later, I thought about this a bit more and figured that Nikolai could be dressed up like he was as secretary so that he could be 001 in season 1, but I don't have enough energy to fix it, so here you go; Dazai and Nikolai as 456 and recruiter:

°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°

Dazai decided to leave a year ago.

From then on, the debt was just piling up. He was so low on money for such a long time that sleeping on the shitty mattress in the shipping container didn’t seem as bad, considering that he was hungry most of the time. When a man sleeps, he doesn’t feel the need to eat, he would tell himself, therefore slept as much as he could.

That wasn’t easy either. Memories kept him awake. Memories of how he willingly gave away the life he once knew for the sake of being a better person. Was that a good decision, he couldn’t tell himself but believed he did the right thing when he listened to his best friend a year ago.

When looking at his life, one could question why Dazai didn’t already put an end to it and ended it for his own good, since it was clear he wanted to yet never took drastic measures to ensure his death. Dazai would never let anyone dig deeper into his brain or his way of thinking, therefore no one would ever know that his wish for dying wasn’t as strong as his wish to play with his life, for the sake of the thrill.

He deserves to live. He, who has killed in cold blood, a man who hates living and wants to end it all, deserves to live; should be deemed to live. It was the punishment he gave to himself. A long-lasting punishment that served as a reminder of what he had done.

He has to be honest, even just to himself, that the decision to leave the money behind was a stupid one that got him into this situation. Of course, the original plan was to live in the dumpster, underground, so that he would be able to rise as a new person and start a new life, but the fact that he could have had something to eat if he just brought that money and decided to keep it was killing him from the inside.

Every day was the same; he would sleep, steal from the fishermen something to eat once in a while, just to keep himself alive, and lay in a container, lying on his back and wondering just what the fuck he had done with his life. He was responsible for all this shit himself, from the bloody murders to the lack of money that he left behind.

There were also nights when he would sneak out and stare at the stars, imagining how good it would feel to start as a new person with new morals and new goals, to help people properly instead of helping them out of their misery when they’re half dead and barely breathing.

Tonight was one of those nights. He was lying on his back, supporting his head with his arm, and staring up, unable to sleep. He tried, he really did, but the moon was full tonight, reminding him of the night when the moon shone so bright that it felt as if it revealed his crimes, told him he was responsible for the death of his best friend.

Though tonight, it wasn’t the light of the moon that blinded him, but the light coming from the flashlight. It startled him, got him blinking in a desperate attempt to get used to it. All he knew for a year was darkness and a light from the candle. This, however, had such brightness he couldn’t comprehend what the fuck was happening.

“Hi there!” he heard a voice say, raised his arm over his eyes to cover the light, and squinted, trying to figure out who the hell was holding the flashlight towards him, “Have I woken you up from your good night’s sleep? Oh, excuse me.” A man told cheerfully, faking an apologetic tone, and directed the light towards the ground.

Now that Dazai had a clearer view, he could tell that the man wasn’t one of the police officers as he originally thought since the pants weren’t blue, but had black and white vertical stripes. What- who in the world would be here at this hour? He hadn’t seen a single soul for such a long time, hadn’t talked to anyone in a year, was only mumbling some nonsense to himself here and there.

And hasn’t let his voice be heard for such a long time. He cleared his throat, supported his body with his arm, and sat up, eyed the man as much as he could in the dark, from head to toe, then asked, “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question; what does a man such as yourself do in this hour, lying on the ground and staring at the sky?” another asked, dangling the flashlight from side to side, perhaps showing off his weirdly looking shoes.

“You didn’t answer; who are you?” Dazai repeated, in the next moment got blinded for a second as the man flipped the flashlight and directed it directly under his face, as if he was ready to tell some scary story. And that face was… well, if Dazai had to describe it, he would say the face of someone crazy; with that smile that should look innocent but doesn’t even in the slightest.

“I am a man who would like to offer you a game to play,” a man said, not giving his name or saying anything about his identity. Which was… suspicious. And- what game? What is he talking about? If he wants to rob him, he might as well could try. But damn, would he be disappointed once he realizes Dazai doesn’t have anything to be taken away from him.

“A game?”

“Yes, a game,” another answered positively and dropped something on the ground which landed with a loud sound. Dazai noticed it was a suitcase. Whether he overlooked it earlier or this man made sure he didn’t see it until now, he didn’t know, but however it might be, it didn’t matter anyway. Nothing really matters.

He once again toyed with a flashlight, squinted down, and pointed it at the suitcase, only to open it with a click, revealing stacks of money inside, and two papers, one red, and one blue, folded for the game of Ddakji, “Play Ddakji with me. Each time you win, I will give you 10000 yen.”

“So… let me get this straight,” Dazai said as he sat up completely, “I just gotta flip the paper, and the money is mine?” No, that can’t be, there must be something more to this. He isn’t this naïve. “What’s the catch?”

“Oh, and here I thought people wanted money more than anything,” a man chuckled, “The catch is a fair game; if I win, you must give me 10000 yen.”

Now, that <i>is</i> fair… This amount could help him at the moment, get him something to eat properly and buy something from the random fisherman’s shop instead of stealing. All he has to do is win against this weird man to gain some money. That wouldn’t be hard, right? He never played this game before, therefore concluded it wouldn't be hard. With that in mind, he stood up, and decided he would take the offer, “I’m choosing blue.”

“Very well,” a man smiled, creepily if you ask Dazai. So, he took the two papers and handed him a blue one, “I will let you go first.”

So, Dazai went first, confidently at that. He positioned himself, forced his hand to rise, and used the little strength he had to aim for the red paper on the ground and flip it around. But… as a man does when he didn’t eat properly for such a long time and didn’t sleep for the day, he did not manage to.

“Fuck, man,” Dazai sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and stared at the man before him, or rather the dark all until he once again positioned the flashlight from it being directed to the papers to his face, once again making that creepy face and putting on a smile.

“My turn!” the man said way too cheerfully, took the red paper, and threw it without hesitation, flipping it as if it was nothing.

He extended his hand, simply stating, “I am waiting.”

“Look man, I don’t have anything, okay? I just wanted to play and gain some,” Dazai said, a bit stressed now, considering that the man before him was way too creepy for his liking and could be one of those that lurk for people in the dark, play with them for their enjoyment and kill them later, for their enjoyment, of course. He has seen some psychos and knew some too. It wouldn’t be surprising.

“How about you pay with your body instead?” a man questioned.

The next thing Dazai knew was that he was being slapped on the cheek. Slapped so hard that he even stumbled back and stared. Stared in shock.

“You may pay for each of my wins this way,” a man smiled, “We may continue.

He can pay just by being slapped? Say less. He’s in.

After several rounds and with his face practically beaten up, Dazai contemplated on whether he should have accepted the offer and figured he wasn’t as good as he thought he would be. Because, damn, this man was a professional at this; never failed and always slapped just as hard as he was throwing his paper. But to stop now would mean that all these slaps were for nothing. To stop now would mean that the money won’t come his way even after going through all this pain. So, Dazai gritted teeth, fought the lightheadedness, kissed the paper that he held in hand, and threw it with such force that even he didn’t know he had in himself.

The moment the paper flipped, a strange man started clapping, “Oh, how good of a win.”

“Fuck that, come here,” Dazai smirked, raised his hand, and was ready to slap the face of a man that slapped him hundreds of times now. He wants revenge, wants to slap the face that made him question himself and his own skills.

“Ah, ah,” another stopped him, simply stepped back, and avoided the slap with ease, “I think you forgot what you decided to play for.” With that, he reached into his pocket of that strange overcoat he had and presented Dazai the money he was promised he would get by winning.

The moment Dazai took it, a man giggled and enthusiastically spun, then flashed him that sinister smile and cheered, “Time for a quiz! Rate the experience from 1 to 10.”

Dazai was slightly taken back off guard. Huh? Why was this necessary? Of course he wouldn’t play this game if he wasn’t desperate for money. Of course he wouldn’t want to be slapped. But, he must admit, the slaps were worth it. Playing this game was worth it. “7?” Dazai answered, unsure.

“How splendid!” the man exclaimed, “Now imagine playing games like this for much more money than just 10000 yen. How does that sound to ya'?”

Well… if slaps would be all he would get, sure, he would. Before he could answer, a small card with a triangle, circle, and rectangle was in his hand, “If you wish to do so, do call the number on the back. Before I leave, I am sure you are already aware, but; money can get you a new start, for which you do not have to wait a year.”

Dazai blinked, and the man before his eyes disappeared into thin air. The dark overpowered once again, leaving him with the strange card in his hand which he could not see in this state.

Not wasting time, wanting to explore this possibility of simply playing games, Dazai decided to find the closest phone booth and call the number with the money that he got.

[fyodcrs]

My turn! Fyozai for the ask game 👀

001 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when I started shipping it if I did:

From the first time I watched Dead Apple, lmao.

"Every city has its rats."

"Meow."

And in that moment, I knew. 😂

my thoughts:

This post is a little outdated now but still pretty well sums up my thoughts about them. I love how they parallel each other, how they're two sides of the same coin. How they're so evenly matched. How they don't complement each other but cancel each other out, essentially - how they constantly find themselves at a stalemate.

I used to think that it was particularly interesting because neither of them are your traditional "hero" and "villain" characters. The way Dazai was the amoral one who didn't believe in justice (not in the sense someone like Kunikida does, anyway) and Fyodor was, actually, the one driven by morals and a sense of justice. Now Fyodor is being written more like a typical villain and Dazai's character has lost some of the complex layers that made him interesting in the first place, so that's kind of out the window, but I still enjoy the way they mirror each other, how they're the same but opposite in so many ways. It's made for a really interesting dynamic. Unfortunately, I don't think the story is going to explore that dynamic much more from here on out, but hey, I can always hope.

What makes me happy about them:

I WILL NEVER BE OVER THEM PLAYING MENTAL CHESS TOGETHER. And the fact they have their own secret language??? And the fact that Fyodor said neither of them has ever been able to have real conversations with other people except each other, because of their intellects?? Bruv.

What makes me sad about them:

The way the writing for both their characters has gone down the toilet in this arc 😞

things done in fanfic that annoys me:

Everybody makes Fyodor top. Where is my bottom Fyodor??? I know Dazai accused Fyodor of being a control freak but as if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black sdfggfghj

Tbh, so many of the fics under the fyozai tag are just SKK fics that dump on Fyodor, and it really annoys me. And a lot of the actual fyozai fics either portray Fyodor or Dazai in a way I don't like or don't vibe with or use religious imagery in a way I find...er...uncomfortable, lol. I haven't looked for fyozai fics in ages because of it.

things I look for in fanfic:

Like I said, I haven't looked for fanfics of them in a long time, but I like some good smutty content and some witty banter. I do like a bit of character study when I agree with it, lol.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: 

Oh man, I have lots of ships for the both of them, haha. For Fyodor, number one is Sigma. Fyosig has such a special place in my heart. 💖💖 But there's also Fukuchi, Nikolai, Yosano...

For Dazai, mainly Atsushi. Dazatsu has such a special place in my heart, too. 💖

My happily ever after for them:

They make a deal to end the battle between them and move in together, becoming the undefeatable team they should be.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

Dazai is big spoon, Fyodor is little spoon 🥰

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

Chess, obviously. But chess is also inherently sexual for them ASDFGDFG

Thank you, Rosa!! (´꒳`)♡

[fedy4]

📎 WIP #001 — FYOZAI ;; 06/12/24

📎 oh you know, just two senators meeting in a high-society night club / secretly prostitution ring. nothing could go wrong, surely !

📎 tagging list is open for when i post the fic just shoot me a ask / dm uwu.

— not nsfw yet but will lead to that once i finish it, wil be posting more snippets 👍

“What’s this? Mr. Senator, what brings you here, business once again, and of course, private business?” Asks Nikolai, catching Fyodor’s coat with his cane and transferring it, on one of the racks.

“Business, indefinitely,” Fyodor adjusts the collar of his polo with a finger, “Any signs of bad luck dawning upon you yet? The apocalypse?”

Nikolai raises a brow at this, amused at the distaste veiling the Senator’s face very, very obviously. Well, you see the distaste is a constant, Fyodor’s colleagues—impotent, colleagues as he has sweetly described them to Nikolai—did inspire disgust and irritation, even in him however…Fyodor has been excellent at concealing it in the past. And there’s only one type of person he can hate more and better than inferior people. An equal.

“You sound fond of whoever is meeting you today, Sir. Quite expressive about it too, but from that description alone, I’m sure I wouldn’t miss it if I saw them.”

“You’d be glad and fortunate to miss it, Gogol—”

The double-door of the lobby swings open, revealing an equally formal-attired man, around Fyodor’s age, beaming and almost skipping in his walk towards the two men in conversation and, immediately, upon Fyodor’s vicinity slinging his arm around the pale man with a force that pushes him into a mild stumble.

“If it isn’t our country’s most beloved senator with the best intentions for our nation’s welfare, it’s good to see you so cheerful and well in anticipation of my arrival, it warms my heart,” the man inhales deeply, a mimic of sincerity in his tone, “It does, trust me.”

“I’d rather not, thanks,” Fyodor mutters, politely (he tries) prying off Dazai’s arm.

“Now that is a face I haven’t seen, not one of your typical…acquaintances—name sir?” Nikolai bows like a butler, curiosity swimming in his eyes, “I’ve heard words about you from our dear regular, Mr. Dostoyevsky, good words of course.”

Dazai waves a hand at this with a slight exhale, as if shy, and faithful that Fyodor did talk of him highly and kindly and not in a way you’d talk about a colleague you want withering at the bottom of the sea.

“Name? Oh you know—insufferable, incorrigible, mayhaps,” Dazai slithers off his coat and hands it to Nikolai, glancing at Fyodor with a smile, “as the poets say.”

Fyodor is not known for his physical prowess or outward violence. However, there’s an accumulating itch in his knuckles that can only be relieved by scratching it quite forcefully against this person’s jaw.

He manages a decent expression, “And I thought you'd never make it.”

“Thought? I say you envisioned it, daydreamed it even. but I’m glad to have occupied a piece of your mind and time,” Dazai languidly places a hand on his chest, maintaining his sickening smile, “I know you hate them wasted, good thing I was the center of it all, dear Fedya—”

Nikolai claps his hands twice, stepping in between, “That’s quite the warm welcome, I can tell you’re good friends. We are forgetting, though, gentlemen, that this is the lobby and your meeting requires a certain level of privacy than exposure—shall we, to your tables, hm?”

Dazai hums, mildly grinding his sole on the tip of Fyodor’s oxfords on his first step forward and glances back at the man, a very not pleased man, then back at Nikolai, whispering through a grin, “We shall.”