#sorry if this doesn't fit into your perception of Nikolai i just like this man and want to fuck him stupid

[panchulien]

i want their first time to be messy and emotional as fuck. have nik crying while you're at it. the mans been waiting for this moment all his life. and now having john all to himself (coupled with the mans damn teasing) nikolai is either bursting into tears bc he's so overwhelmed or coming in his pants without even john touching him thank you very much

[riyuu-bsd]

If Love Was A Crime [Dostoyevsky Fyodor x Reader]

Strolling through the park with a small smile, the lady noticed that most people were there family, friends or a significant other.

"Most" meaning all but a lanky man dressed in white, a winter hat atop his head despite the pleasant weather.

"Hey sir," she smiled, walking up to the ravenette. He looked somewhat shaken for a moment, before regaining the confident composure he had maintained previously, purple eyes sliding to look at her. He gave a nod, acknowledging her presence.

"So.. How's your day?" the (h/c)ette continued, almost oblivious to the awkward tension. He gave no response.

"Uh.. Nice weather we're having?" she managed, the tension too choking not to affect her.

"Why do you insist on talking to someone who doesn't talk to you?"

His voice was somewhat smooth, accented with something she couldn't quite name,

"Because you look lonely, sir, and I wanted to talk to you," she smiled,

happy to finally hear his voice,

"Ah? I'm not lonely, just waiting for someone," he said, chuckling slightly,

"Oh," the lady whispered, looking down at the floor, "Can I wait with you?" she beamed,

"Go ahead," he sighed, still appearing unfazed.

She rambled on for what seemed like an hour, telling small jokes and talking about whatever came to her mind. It was pleasant for the man in the hat to hear her voice, her stories and whatever else she drawled on about. He almost enjoyed her company. When the time came that the city's rat did arrive, he insisted that she wait for him so they could talk. Properly. And she did. The grin that had plastered itself on her face was nothing short of glowing with happiness, something that almost got the rather astute ravenette to crack a smile.

He half listened to his informant, half observed the girl stood by the tree, smiling at him supportively.

"..Are you listening?" the smaller man asked,

"Yes," the tall ravenette replied, prying his vision back to the rather grim face of his informant.

"Looks more like you're fascinated by that girl over there, heard she's got connections to the A.D.A, name's (Y/n) I think," the small, slouched man rambled, "She works there, I think, but only as an assistant; she's too nice to solve crimes properly is what I hear."

The man stopped.

"But I'm sure you're more interested in what you asked for, right?"

"Go on about her," the taller male said, intrigued as to what such an innocent lady would have to do with such a vile, ability ridden place.

"Well, I heard her brother works there too, but I can't quite remember his name; she also has no ability, and just helps around with stuff like reports or organising, I've heard," the informant went on, "She has a good reputation, from everything I've heard."

The man in the hat nodded.

"That's all I need to know," he said, a soft smirk on his face as he looked the man in the eyes.

"Are you su-"

"I'm sure," he snapped, "Now take your leave."

The smaller man nodded, bowing his head down and leaving hastily.

"(Y/n)?" the ravenette called, smirk falling into a somewhat sincere smile, "How are you?"

Whilst she didn't recall telling him her name, she figured she must've introduced herself whilst rambling,

"I'm doing great-" she cut herself off, "What's your name?"

"Dostoyevsky," he answered honestly, knowing that even if part of the wretched agency, she would be too innocent to have heard of him,

"Dostoyevsky.." she mumbled, before smiling, "Dostoyevsky!" She repeated, "I like it!"

He nodded, letting her own name roll off of his tongue.

"(Y/n)," he said, the girl looking him in the eye as he did so,

"Mhm?" she smiled innocently. It was a small symbol of her naivety, and he couldn't help but feel elated by her sheer purity.

"Nothing, I just like the sound of your name," he cooed,

"Okay," she hummed, "Say, why are you wearing that hat if it's spring?"

He chuckled,

"I just like it," he answered plainly.

The two continued to talk for what felt like hours, time dragged on by the ravenette's deep, sultry voice and her continued "pardon"s excusing for her to hear it more. She found herself enjoying his company, often laughing or giggling at his bluntness. He would often find himself observing her, but would quickly be taken note of and giggled at. Every time she smiled he felt another part of him melt at her innocent grin, at the desire to reach out and hold her, but she was unwilling to corrupt or taint her purity.

Days passed, the two regularly meeting nearby the same park, or out to get food or ice cream (which Dostoyevsky would always end up paying for).

He put off working to spend time with her, putting aside his beliefs of the detective agency to escort her home safely. She would always smile, leaning into a quick, innocent hug that would tear at his heartstrings.

He wanted her as his own.

Only his.

Not to share.

Not to be near anyone but him.

He was the only one who was allowed to see her, the only one allowed to make her smile, the only one to hold her.

She began to change, something which didn't go unnoticed by her rather perceptive brother.

She was out a lot more, always insisting on having plans when her usual shopping trips with Yosano approached, and would apologise profusely.

The one time she went about her normal routine, she returned to their shared apartment with her sleeves rolled down, a litter of small scratches unveiled when he rolled them up.

Someone was becoming possessive of her, and he was determined to find out who.

He insisted the agency all went out for a work meal, saying he would pay as his treat to his co-workers and friends.

Of course, this was done using Kunikida's credit card.

He insisted she went, even going as far as to drag her there.

She had a good time, of course, relaxing with her friends and colleagues, but there was always an underlying look of worry on her face.

"(Y/n)-Chan?" her brother asked, eyes holding raw concern, "What's wrong? You're not talking to people as much as you usually do,"

"I'm fine, Osamu," she said, smiling fakely. It was an obvious fake, but he ignored it, deciding he would find out the cause in his own time.

Slinking around the streets, he followed his younger sibling, somewhat nervous as to what or who she was getting involved with.

He turned a certain corner, not seeing his sister like he would have expected. Instead there stood a man with blonde hair, and eyes that he couldn't decide as golden or blue, however strange the comparison was.

Osamu chuckled saying he was looking for someone, and that if the blonde saw a girl fitting the description to let him know however possible.

The blonde man agreed, snickering as though at a funny joke.

The brunette detective knew something was off, but didn't bother prying, turning the same cuts and corners he had to get there to get out.

"Ah, (Y/n)-Sama, how was your trip?" the man said with a smile, adding a teaspoon of sugar to a cup of tea, handing it to the lady, "I added extra sugar, just to be safe," he cooed,

"It was awesome! Nikolai sounds cool, and I think his ability is aweso-"

She had attempted to take a sip of tea, the taste horrific enough that she nearly spat it back out. Courteous as always, she swallowed it, the salty aftertaste seeming pungent against her tastebuds,

"Dostoyevsky, that tasted salty-"

"Why did you leave me, (Y/n)-Sama?" he asked, purple eyes seeming cold and glazed over in silent rage.

The way he called her "(Y/n)-Sama" almost had her skin crawling; before it was cute and funny of him, but the way he said it with such a grave tone frightened her.

"Why did you leave me?" he repeated, tone laced with a sharp venom as he slammed his fist on the pale blue tablecloth, violet eyes dark with fury. She flinched, the clang of cutlery and wobble of plates and bowls moving almost in sync with her. He sighed, rubbing his temples.

"I'm sorry, Dostoyevsky-San, my brother insisted that I went to dinner with him and the rest of the agency," she whispered meekly,

"Why did you go?" he asked, returning to the calm composure she had initially melted.

"Because he wanted us all to go, and he looked so upset when I told him I had plans.

"So why did you leave me, (Y/n)-Sama? Why did you leave me alone? Why weren't you there? I put aside a lot for you; work, time, money. And this is how you repay me?" he said, tone wavering slightly at the last part.

"I'm sorry, Dostoyevsky-San, it won't happen again, Dostoyevsky-San," she mumbled, "To make it up to you, you can come around my place later if you want; we can make up for lost time there, watch some movies," she offered.

The ravenette leaned forward, propping himself up on his knuckles as he looked at her, simply observing his features.

She wavered under his harsh gaze, eyes darting anywhere in the room but at him.

The oversized, glazed windows that made everything look snowy, the pale blue curtains framing them, the checkerboard style floor in a pallid, reflecting white and pale, baby blue.

Anywhere but at him.

The pale room was of his own design, a small table and chairs in the centre with a white, stained glass window that overlooked the surrounding area.

It was the room he would always let her visit, the two sitting and talking over tea (or sometimes milkshakes) and biscuits for hours, before Nikolai would transport (Y/n) home.

This time was different.

His stare was cold–criticising–his eyes filled with something she found indescribable, miscellaneous. He continued to gaze at her, grabbing her chin and making her face him before standing up and walking closer to her, her face still in his hands.

"To make up for lost time, there is but one thing you can do," he whispered, voice huskier and more gruff than usual. He forced his lips onto her own roughly, going no further but biting her lip harshly as he pulled away.

She showed no resistance, no reaction, too consumed in guilt.

She left him waiting.

She left him.

She left her closest friend.

The least she could do to apologise had been done.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, a singular tear rolling down her face.

The man melted, holding her close as he dragged his nails lightly across her arms, leaving light marks on her soft, delicate skin.

"It's okay, (Y/n)-Sama," he cooed, running a hand through her hair, "You're here now."

"You're mine, safe in my arms and vulnerable anywhere else."

Words he could never say clouded his mind, things he could never do tempting but capable of shattering the purity he loved her for.

Dostoyevsky found their next few meetings unbearable, the desire to lean in once more roaring in his mind.

But he couldn't.

Even then, he found her innocence tainted.

He had been her first kiss, there was no questioning it, but he needed to be more.

He needed to be her anything.

He needed to be her everything.

He needed to be her one and only.

He needed to be the light of her life.

He needed to be the reason she carried on when things got tough.

He needed to be her lover.

He needed to be her God.

Which is why when he walked her home most evenings, he would glare at anyone who dared to look her way, hand tightly holding onto her own as he interlaced their fingers.

Her brother, Dazai Osamu, was no exception.

"Osamu!" she grinned, running towards her brunette brother after ripping her hand from Dostoyevsky's vice-like grip, "There's someone I want you to meet," she beamed, dragging him towards her hat-adorning friend.

"Osamu, this is my best friend, Dostoyevsky, Dostoyevsky, this is Osamu, he's my older brother!" she beamed, "I hope the two of you get along well."

The bright smiles he had almost assured were exclusive to him resurfaced in front of Osamu, making Dostoyevsky's blood boil in searing hot jealousy. The two men glared at each other, the (h/c)ette left slightly confused at the obvious tension.

"Osamu, Dostoyevsky, stop glaring like that.." she mumbled shyly, holding the ravenette's hand once more and looking at her brother almost pleadingly.

"(Y/n), we best be off," he started, pulling her back away from her apartment,

"But we were just going back h-"

"I forgot to get you a treat, (Y/n), I'll make up for it with ice cream." Her face lit up,

"Oh, okay!"

The brunette detective gave his ravenette rival a final glare, similar to the one he found natural when he was a mafia executive, and walked off, easing a "see you later" to his sister.

The purple eyed man smiled to himself,

"Call me Fyodor, dear (Y/n)-Sama," he cooed, interlocking their fingers and looking deeply into (e/c) eyes he would gladly loose himself in.

"Fyodor.." she whispered, the male smirking at how his name rolled off of her tongue.

"Yes, (Y/n)-Sama?"

""I know there's something you want to ask of me."

She closed herself off, only leaving her room to visit Dostoyevsky. Osamu knew this, discouraging her at every chance he had.

But she never listened.

She would simply glide past him, walking off to meet her close friend.

"Treat me like your God," he whispered, voice low, "That's how you can help me,"

"How can I do that well enough?" she cooed,

"Never leave me, devote all of your attention to me and listen to my ever word, grant my every request," he demanded.

"Of course, Fyodor-Sama."

She had fallen into a case of saviour syndrome; convinced her innocence was enough to save Fyodor from the crimes she knew he committed.

She had heard her brother's warnings.

Heard his tales.

And she still went through with things.

She still indulged herself in the dark rabbit hole that was Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

Her usual scent of cinnamon slowly faded, a much more lavender-like scent coating her.

A lavender-like scent adorned by Dostoyevsky.

She never strayed too far from him, quitting her job at the ADA for a chance to save him.

Osamu felt more lonely without his sister, their brief reunion having brought meaning to his life.

And it was all taken away.

All taken away by that wretched demon Fyodor.

He decided he would help his sister.

Free her from his sinful shackles.

He would do just that, whether or not she thought she was the one doing the saving.

She was blind to the chains binding him to crime and murder.

Blind and feeding contently off of his sweet lies and tempting fabrications of reality.

"Dostoyevsky," his voice was cold, foreboding,

"Osamu," the god-complexed male smirked back, "I've been wondering when you would visit us."

Stood next to the man was the shell of the lady Osamu had known as his sister. A hallow excuse of a human. Her features were dull, like porcelain, the spark of light in her eyes gone dull.

"What did you-"

"I didn't do anything to her, Osamu," he smirked, "It was all her decision,"

The brunette nearly snapped.

Nearly.

He kept a somewhat cool face, watching as the ravenette stepped down from the pallid chair he used as a throne.

The echo of his footprints was ear-splitting, the only noise you could hear.

He came to a stop just in front of Dazai, pulling a small blade from his coat pocket and dragging it swiftly across the brunette's neck.

He had known it would be his own demise.

He had desired death anyway.

But why did it hurt to stare at his little sister's hallow expression,

"She would never do this to herself by choice," he croaked, "She would never do anything with someone like you,"

"Let's ask her for her thoughts on the matter," Fyodor said, smirking.

"(Y/n), will you create a world of peace? A world of perfection? A world where scum like the Armed Detective Agency doesn't exist? A world inspired by you?"

A tear rolled down Dazai's face when she said her answer.

"Of course, Fyodor-Sama."