#you know what i just know fedya ADORES YOU. he adores you & your ability to write such good. poetry 😭

[aureatchi]

USER MUSAMORA, you CANNOT js start the story off with "the fire of pyramus danced within its hearth" & EXPECT ME TO BE OKAY.

the dreadful need in the devotee — bungo stray dogs oneshot

content. f!reader. poetic prose, discussions of mortality and death, existentialism, suggestive themes, allusions to greek and abrahamic myth, romanticized unhealthy relationship dynamics, possible continuity errors. notes and translations at the end. not proofread. 3.8k+ words. ⟶ features fyodor dostoevsky. this work is a sequel to another oneshot! reading it's not a requirement, but is encouraged. this is also a collaboration with @yonseibananamilk! please check out her half of the collab ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

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The fire of Pyramus danced within its hearth, the crackles a plea for freedom. Wooden shelves shimmered in a spectrum of amber hues. The light married abstract shadows with the spines of ancient books, stories lost to civilizations no historian could neither name nor describe. However, the harsh rays softened as they reached the two huddled on a sofa in the corner.

The domestic flame of your shared nocturnal nook chiseled at your features. Meadowed plains melded into the hills of your cheeks before they dipped back into low valleys nestled on the cusp of your nose or at the curvature of your cupid's bow. Fresh streams fringed the waterline of your eyes, fluttering lashes portraying the underbrush that beckoned him, barely obscuring the mystery hidden beneath the murky brook. Such a delicate canvas, framed with messy hair, made his sick heart thump at such vulnerable dishevelment.

You drank every word of your book with reverence while he could hardly focus on the one he held. The careful movement of your fingers as you turned the page tainted his thoughts into fantasies where they instead traced the expanse of his skin—it was repulsive.

But he dreaded an infallible demise the moment you chose to lay against him, not a thought to the difference in your stations. That heated sensation of unfamiliar tenderness, shrouded from the world, only to be acknowledged in an unimportant room in an unimportant place, thumbed him with a sentiment he could not adhere a title to. You were powerless in the scheme of everything that enveloped you, yet held no regard for fear or fate.

Instead, you smiled.

He hid the quiver of his limbs as his finger brushed the underside of your chin. Your face craned upward, and he realized he had been parched for a taste of the features he had so painstakingly mapped to memory. Your eyes closed with leisure as you leaned into his touch and—

He cracked his eyes, unable to open them as they strained to readjust to the merciless glare of his monitors, their caustic luster a stark contrast to the imprisoned fireside of his daydreams. His muscles cried out when he stretched. The quiver in his limbs recurred in spasmodic vibrations, worsening the cramp of his hands as he flexed them. It was a relentless ache that had become all too familiar to him.

You were a distraction. He had lost whole minutes of time to fanciful delusions with you and that damning grin of yours at the center. In his preparations, he toyed with the idea of dispatching you to a remote location outside the ire of societal destruction before ridiculing himself upon further examination. If another one of his subordinates had become such an issue, he wouldn't have hesitated to snuff them out—you had to be the human incarnate of temptation, the ultimate test of his faith.

Men who had traversed the path before him did not do so without trial. He had scrutinized the warnings their stories contained—Adam, Samson, Saul—men who had strayed from their noble path only to lose their kingdom. Fleshly pleasures lured many a good man to condemnation, for how could such sweetness be considered a mortal sin?

The fallen had once been beautiful creatures of virtue, and you were but a testament to the scars left in their descent. It was temporary—you and the fragmented thoughts your presence created would pass in years' time. He only had to be patient.

A knock at the entrance to his workspace interrupted his internal toil.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Patience would be easier said than done.

"Not at all."

Because you dissipated thought and reason from his frenzied mind the moment you blessed him with even a mumble. Your voice was the otherworldly harmony that strained atop his ballad of misery. Not the corrupt inflections he had become accustomed to over centuries of time, but rather a sincere, artless tune that only he was ordained to hear and that he alone could descry. He would only admit one fact—human companionship was a merciless mistress.

For he knew you were your happiest at his side as his right hand, but he could not understand the reason—it brought harm to your so-called "doorstep," and the workload was laborious at best. But even in this isolated instance, when the crooks of your smile didn't entirely brush the banks of your eyelids, a noticeable ease settled in your bones at the sight of him hunched over a desk. An ease he returned, albeit underneath the veil of his carefully crafted mask.

"The preparations for the cannibalism event are almost complete," you continued, maintaining an unusual manner of professionalism as you handed him a set of stapled documents and receipts. "I just need to receive your approval before sending out the orders." His eyes crossed each section without too much consideration for their actual contents, affirmed in his trust of your intellectual capabilities when it came to outlining critical components of his plans with the ire of a scrutinizing eye. 

"Thank you. These will do."

This was usually the time that you would dive head-first into a heated discussion about the latest novel from his collection or scurry off with a courteous farewell to complete the enormous amount of tasks you often procrastinated, but instead, you lingered. Your brows furrowed, locked in contemplation as your eyes stalled on his screens—schematics for his future "trip" to the European detention facility, Meursault. He cleared his throat, which luckily broke you from your daze.

"It'll be weird." You ran your thumbs across your knuckles, teasing at your bottom lip as you shifted from foot to foot. "Moving to a new hideout, I mean." The palms of your hands shifted to skim the dust and grime-coated surface of his barren shelves, toying with the clumps of debris that gathered on your fingers as your mind returned to its baseline. What did your thoughts stray to in times when they left you stranded, out of his reach, as they became more challenging to discern? He could only pray, in some twisted part of his dark mind, that they were a reflection of his own—then maybe those fantasies could be justified.

Outside his internal ramblings, he hummed lowly, acknowledging the truth behind that sentiment. Neither of you shared an attachment to the four walls that surrounded you—it was no home. It held none of the warmth or affection such a term required, though the idea of a home was foreign to you both.

Under those clouded waters, your eyes held a look he both adored and disdained. That muted hesitation had returned, like a criminal stood on trial, unable to utter a word of the truth lest they condemn themself. And you knew too much and said far too little. If you would surrender to your impulses, push him or pull him close so that, in some fashion, his conscience could be alleviated and he could refocus—but it seemed you were stuck within the same cycle of indecision.

You parted your lips, faltered, and closed them again, second-guessing yourself as you fiddled with your fist. But upon further inspection of your nervous disposition, he spotted an object that had been hidden in your back pocket. A book. He raised a brow as you slowly pulled it out.

"You've offered me so much reading material in the past." You handed him the book. Its cover was weathered and cracked; a once vibrant hue faded into a dark, timework brown. The delicate, diaphanous golden letters that spindled across the spin dulled with age but continued to catch onto the fluorescent light. "So I thought I'd return the favor. It's a book I've had for as long as I can remember."

"Poetry?" He couldn't withhold the amusement in his tone. You were such an adorable little woman—his heart squeezed in indescribable fondness at the incredibly fitting genre. The book cradled in his hands was even more charming, if possible. Several translucent tabs and disorder marks stacked the contents of the book, defining a distinct difference from his own analytical annotations. Part of him wanted you to leave sooner so he could delve into the contents away from distraction and be allowed to soak up every delectable notation.

"For wherever you plan to go. I hope you might find some use out of it." Your face softened. "I know it's helped me."

He huffed but knew that he was ultimately endeared. "Thank you, моя дорогая. If you enjoyed it, I'm certain I'll find it an enticing read."

A tremor trickled down your spine at the unexpected sound of his mother tongue. His thick accent sounded like velvet to the ears, but you quickly nodded and sent him the courteous farewell he had initially expected—but he couldn't allow you to leave without answering one more question.

"Which one should I read first?"

You paused, prodding the question around in your mind. The answer you stumbled upon was bold, and you contemplated your choices as your nails methodically drummed across the doorway's threshold. It was a risky choice, but one you had to take.

"Browning's Sonnet 22." Your expression could have locked him there for eternity. "It's my favorite."

And you left. You left, and indecision haunted him once more.

An abhorrent, unsightly torpor flooded within him like the Neva itself, the warmth of the Russian summer smearing any presence of intellect or acumen from his person. His limbs lay heavy from the sweltering heat as the underbrush tickled at his perspiration-laden skin, allowing him a momentary reprieve as he observed the breeze push against the bountiful flora that edged the bank of a creek older than he was in a homeland he had no way to return to.

"Федя."

He roused from the rush that engulfed his body and replaced his idleness, his mind ravenous at the mere whisper of such an intimate, almost forbidden name. Soft hands replaced the roughened roots of creekside plants, trailing his arms until their owner came into full view, beckoning him to lean forward with the purse of your lips.

You were somehow even warmer than the summer sun, and he melted like a tempered candlestick at your sheer touch, lips chasing your own as you drew away with a smirk and a laugh. The collision of your bodies onto the hardened ground drew the breath from his lungs, but he allowed himself to find it once more in your embrace, nose buried in your neck as he resisted the urge to indulge in mortal temptations and simply allowed himself to revel in the innocent embrace.

"Федя," you cooed. Your hands roamed the expanse of his hair, outlining the edges of his nape in a rhythmic motion that started to lure him into a dreamless sleep. 

That was until the sensation started to fade, and he felt the familiar stomach-dropping sensation of falling. His eyes shot open as the idyllic naturistic scene dissipated from view to leave a void. Only you remained, but he paled as even you started to fade, reassuring him with a pitiful smile that he had become far too acquainted with.

"I'm sorry, Федя. You'll have to go one without me this time."

Your presence melded until your touch was like the chill of an algid frost—it was like the expiration of a dying star, crumbling in on itself until it rematerializes once more. From dust, you came, and to dust, you shall return. The contact was the biting notion of where and who he was, with every incapability and flaw that marred his flesh. It whipped at his skin, burned at his eyes.

He shook as you slipped through his fingers, drifting out of his grasp as he looked around for something to hold onto, anything to help either of you escape from—

"That must be a pretty good book you've got there."

The blinding aura of his circular cell was not a sight he wished to become accustomed to, the chamber he had been "forced" to occupy with the French prison. And to his utter dismay, it had been the lousy half of the Port Mafia's former Double Black that had stirred him from his waking nightmare, Osamu Dazai. The bandaged man looked like the cat that had caught the rat; his eyes narrowed as if he had finally pinpointed the Russian's weakness. An unseemly smirk drew across his pale face.

"You've been staring at the same page for the past five minutes, Fyodor," the detective crooned, splayed on on his bed with his head dangling at the side at an uncomfortable angle, almost like he wasn't locked in a high-stakes match of chess. "Your eyes haven't moved an inch. Leaves me to wonder what could possibly be so enticing about that book. You should lend it sometime!"

"I'm simply concerned for the well-being of your fellow agents," Fyodor sneered cooly, allowing his demonic mask to slip back on with his signature smirk. "I just can't help but worry for them. I'll be sure to pray for a swift, painless demise."

"Hmm, I'm sure."

But the suspicion of the detective didn't matter. Fyodor had ensured that you had no connections to one another, and your identity was completely erased once you went underground years prior. So, for the time you remained hidden, you were safe, and that terrible concoction of his mind would not come to fruition. You were in the midst of correcting course on any minor deviations from his plans if the smoothness of his operation was a testament—but in other moments between consciousness and sleep, he wondered if you shared these same thoughts. The split seconds that expanded into hours of dreams he wished never to wake from. 

He couldn't help but linger on the horrific scenario that cast an ever-present shadow over his every thought. It was a possibility, and he shuddered to think of the notion that it would someday become a reality. But this was his one opportunity, and he wouldn't waste it.

He glanced down at his book. In truth, he wasn't much impressed by the pages anymore. This was one of the many books with copies in his personal collection, but it lacked the vitality he had become attuned to. It had been your book of poems that revitalized him, yet he was unable and unwilling to bring such a valuable item into a place such as this. He would not risk the desperation of his opponent at finding his weakness, nor the capabilities of the Special Division for Unusual Powers in finding a connection to the book's owner—so it was contained somewhere safe and sound, where no one else could find it.

That book had opened a separate world that consumed him, body and soul. But that poem that you had recommended—you were quite the romantic, weren't you? His face had flushed during his first reading and the several times after it, though your annotations were even more telling. But it only made the pressure on his heart increase, and he swore it would implode. Perhaps that was an underlying medical condition of his previous host.

And for the first time in centuries, he wasn't quite sure what he would do when he saw you again.

You dislodged yourself from the rubbled remains of the airport, fortunate to have been located further from the destruction Ame-no-Gozen created. The walls around you stood firm, but the roof caved in from pressure above, leaving only a sliver of room to escape to the intact remainder of the roof. Your hands ached and blistered with every inch of your ascent, halted as you took time to cough out the debris that generously clustered at the bottom of your lungs. You looked utterly worse for wear but couldn't find the time to mind given the circumstances.

After what seemed like hours of excruciating climbing, you made it to the top—but, of course, the fabric of your pants decided to snag onto a metal panel that had stubbornly remained intact.

"Oh, come on," you groaned, sitting down to tease and tussle with the ornery piece of cloth. It had been a restless last few weeks, and you simply wanted to sleep. You huffed as the shrapnel decided to release its grasp on your pants, but as you were about to stand back up, you took notice of the shadow before you.

There he was.

You could recognize Fyodor's striking eyes anywhere, even when he was clad in the attire of a fresh body without his signature hat and cloak, but you found that you didn't care much for the finer details when he was finally in front of you. His presence had formed a vacancy in your everyday routine, and for the first time in years, you found yourself completely alone. Even when there was work to be done and plans to create, the majority of his usual subordinates were killed as collateral—not that they had even been much company. But would you be forced to fall into the same line?

The question nauseated you, but you had known the possibilities when you took his hand for the first time. If there was a time for you to part ways, whether at his accord or your own, this would be it. This was your crossroads. But you knew as you slipped your hand into his, outstretched for you to take, that he wouldn't be letting go. The grip he had held you like it was a sin to part. It seemed your fears were unfounded since when you slipped your hand into his own, outstretched for you to take, you knew he wouldn't let you go. The grip he had held you like it was a sin to part.

You stood with his help, a contemplative tilt to your brow—but you couldn't stand the silence that continued to persist. So, in the echoes of his formulaic destruction, you allowed yourself to breathe. A release of that suspension and hesitation, unfurling your burden as you lifted your aching hands to cup his face, delighted in the widening of his eyes at the unbalanced scale between you tilted to the other side.

"Федя," you spoke, the sensation of the word foreign to your lips. A spark returned to his eyes as if you whispered the secret to raise him from the dead. "Are you alright?"

The wind rushed through him, breath tumbling with the breeze as it coasted along the metal platform you stood from. Despite reason pleading with him to run from your proximity, he instead chose to intertwine his fingers with one of your hands. He pressed kisses into the curve of your palm as he lined every scar and bruise with a tenderness that soothed your aches.

"I am."

He didn't need to utter another word—your brief separation had only strengthened your unified understanding of one another, with each crying gesture serving as the final touch. No more trials. No more secrets. The look in his eyes was one of stories. Eyes that had witnessed every dismal aspect of human nature, both in the past you shared, and in the past he traversed alone. But they had become worthless stories to him; the minuscule glimpses of resolution that had served as a sign from God of the promised end turned into the delusions of a desperate man as he found the reflection of the end in front of him—you. In every step he took since your destined encounter, you had been what he was searching for. His hope. His future. His reality. That fraudulent resolution was no longer at the end of a perilous tunnel but right before him.

You understood that the intimacy of your "relationship," with whichever label others tended to tack it with, could never be shared with another soul. Those voiceless, indulgent whispers and subtle, crinkled smiles were mere productions of your shared devotion. But more so, the hummed resonation of your souls spoke the loudest. They had remained empty for such stretches of time, so neither of you knew what to make of it when you somehow poured from your empty cups into the creation of a fulfilling bond. Your only comfort was the notion that this—this was the reason you were created. For each other.

He remembered the moment he laid eyes on you, the sensation that his long-time friend had turned foe, death no longer a temptation out of his grasp but a certainty he could not shake. Your straightforward disposition beckoned him, and he then understood why he had been made with a capacity for love despite acting as the immortal incarnation of its antonym. He had never once felt a need for fruitful devotion, not to some unseen voice from the skies, untouched by the heart and mind of humans, but instead for the one person who would take his heart to the grave with them.

He was immortal, whether by chance or fate, but it was your ability to shake off the temptations of fear that immortalized you in the end. Never once had you allowed your rift in mortality to halt the blossoming kinship between you, prodding at the walls of his solid foundations until they cracked and eroded over time. Fyodor chuckled—he thought he had a capacity for patience, between you were a godsend in comparison. He was the proclaimed "Demon of the North." The man sent to spread the wrathful will of God across the nations. So it was no wonder he had been so tempted when met with a force of benevolence, one which he had rarely witnessed and never known. He could never claim to be worthy of mortal worship when a creature like you stood before him.

You shivered at the sudden touch of his hands as they traveled across the exposed skin of your waist, soft despite his habits. They traced the contours of your figure like a sculptor transfixed on the finest marble. Time had not been merciful in his centuries alone—but it stilled for this moment. For the moment your lips met, and your odyssey was finally over. The spread of his touch was revolutionary, roaming with a cardinal fervor within this wasteland of human misfortune. It sparked a revolt within your mind—your union was taboo, but nothing had ever felt as destined to be.

The muscles of your face tendered as his thumb outlined the brushwood of your lashes. Your eyes drifted shut in a manner that wordlessly pronounced your insomnolence. He kissed a smile against your forehead as you parted, cradling your face as if you were his world. This was an intimacy that could not be replicated, and his mind shattered at the notion of loss.

"Never wander somewhere I can't follow," spoke the desperate man.

You flashed him a cheeky grin. "You won't be able to leave if you want me to stay."

He leaned in, lips close enough to brush. "I won't leave. Not ever again."

And he dipped back in for another taste, addicted to the ambrosial quality of your lips as he buried himself in the shrine of your arms. 

дорогая = dear федя = fedya

TAGLIST: @ruru-kiss @miloofc @osarina @meiluvrr @suru1990 @honeymoon38 @saeandscaralover @dazaisms @v4mpash3 @coffeeofsamu @just-another-crack-artist @snowsilver2000 @chyozai @justcallmesakira @little-miss-chaoss @himikoslove @osameowdazai @deepseafragments @aureatchi @tirasamu @kelperspelt @squigglewigglewoo @lovesick-fairy @zyilas @ishqani

a fyodor fic! very original for me, i know. nana and i planned out this collaboration months ago, and were luckily able to schedule it for the chapter release. again, please go check out her side of the collaboration! speaking of chapters, that update was certainly something. i'm intrigued to see the further development of atsushi and akutagawa through the end of this story arc, since it feels like they've switched roles in regards to the desperation, if that makes sense. and, of course, it was interesting to see fyodor express such strong emotion in reaction to atsushi, and i'm excited to see it unfold in the next installment! feel free to discussion discourse below :D

© MUSAMORA 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[osachiyo]

Obsessing over the idea of painting the BSD men's nails

Painting Dazai's a teal to match his bolo tie (he'd want to paint yours too (they look bad and he hates having to wait for them to dry, they're already smudged before you finish his other hand

Doing an entire skincare routine with Chuuya, he gets a nice cunty red (has to be bribed a bit, but he'd love it after)

Atsushi with a yellow or purple to match his eyes

Painting Kenjis with cow spots

Fukuzawa doesn't get it but he sees everyone else with painted nails and wants to join in (he gets a forest green to match his clothes <3)

Tachihara with a red or olive green (Red for HD Tachi and olive green for PM to match his coat)

Convincing Oda with the kids' help and it's a huge mess, but he gets a pretty burgundy

Fyodor getting a dark purple almost black (He hates it and needs so much convincing, gags every time he bites his nails and makes you take it off after a few days)

Nikolai gets a different color on each finger because he can't choose just one (it looks horrendous but he loves it)

Sigma with a white base and purple iridescent flakes (He'd love it and paint your nails in return, and unlike Dazai's they'd look absolutely perfect)

Bram knows what nail polish is and that it's pretty but??? Why do you want to paint them??? He lets you and Aya do it and they look gorgeous

Jouno cringes and shivers every time you put a new layer on (the polish is cold) so he makes you do something simple and you just do some pretty red french tips (To match his hair)

Tetcho just vibing and doesn't mind it, black with nice pink accents that match the color of plum blossoms for his ability name

Brainrotting so hard rn

NO WAIT I LITERALLY LOVE THIS???

dazai would LOVE to let you paint his nails (only if u let him paint urs in return) !! and choosing teal to match his bolo tie is adorable ! also you're so right about him being terrible at it tho, like he'd somehow manage to get the nail polish literally everywhere BUT your nails 🤦🏽‍♀️

THE SKINCARE ROUTINE WITH CHUUYA IS SO ACCURATE — imagine putting facemasks on each other while listening to girly pop music 🤭 and the fact that he has the money for the expensive skincare stuff 🥰 oh and he'd look SO good with a cunty red shade, his hands are so pretty ugh bye.

atsushi is so cute, i wanna squeeze him to death :( i think he'd totally match yellow nails !! (with maybe little cute tiger stickers on them? :)

ALSO IMAGINE AKUTAGAWA WITH BLACK NAILS??? *plays emo boy by ayesha erotica* he’d look so good 🫣 maybe add little red streaks or some skulls on them — adorable !!

personally, i’d put nail polish on fedya just to stop him from biting his nails. i can just imagine him forgetting about the painted nails and biting them out of instinct and immediately recoiling back from disgust after tasting the chemical lmao

NIKOLAIII YOURE SO RIGHT HE’D CHOOSE THE MOST TACKIEST CLOWNISH COLOURS 😭 and u can’t even be mad bc he looks so giggly and excited to try them on :( he’s such a little shit while ur painting them for him too — like man won’t stop squirming for 5 secs and eventually u have to yell “BITCH STAY STILL” and he’s like “hehe 😜”

i’d add more but your descriptions are so accurate idk what else to add 😭😭

[missy-0-piink]

VIRGIN FEDYA MY BELOVED

YES YES YES I WAS THINKING ABOUT WRITING THIS

But ooc but oh well

Virgin fedya who seemingly ignores your advances

But the truth is: he doesn’t know what to do

He’s never had anyone interested in him, people too scared of his ability, and he never cared to be interested, his work and missions always put first

But you were different

You didn’t flinch at his touch, you actively engaged physical contact, and recently

You began to flirt with him

Every time you called him handsome “in jest” and to tease him, he malfunctioned, freezing up

His face would lightly blush, but he easily hid it, and he wouldn’t know what to do

So he pretended like he didn’t care, that he was continuing his work

But then mykola got involved.

The innocent compliments were turned into suggestive remarks, Mykola fueling them

“I think you’re quite handsome actually” you’d say, and Nikolai would then chime in “you’d probably think he’s even more handsome in bed with his di-” “Mykola” fyodor would warn, and kolya would just giggle in return

And despite himself, his mind would immediately jump to the image of you in bed, of you naked, how plush your body would be and how good you’d feel pressing up against him

No matter how hard he tried to shake the thoughts and focus on his work, they’d plague him

It made him even more flustered

He starting touching himself at the thought of you, something that he used to only do monthly now turning into multiple times a week.

And it felt so good, cumming into his fist at the thought of you wrapped around him, be it your pussy or your mouth

But he was ashamed

He couldn’t look you in the eye

The times that he would, salacious thoughts flooded his mind and he’d get hard too quickly

(Poor baby is so frustrated, and so desperate)

So one day when he excused himself to his room,

You followed, intending to talk to him about one of his plans

In his rush (Mykola had said something, again), he left the door unlocked.

You knocked, but there was no response

And you, being the nosy thing that you were, opened the door

And nothing could have prepared you to see the great fyodor Dostoyevsky, the demon of the rats and dead of angels, whimpering into his hand as the other one worked his cock furiously

He was so into it, he didn’t notice you at the door,

You thought this was the height of your surprise, but then you heard it, a quiet (and frankly adorable) moan of “(name)” coming from his mouth

Oh, oh,

you were going to ruin him.

You cleared your throat, finally alerting him to your presence, and you watched as he jumped in surprise before quickly attempting covering himself with the sheets

“(N-name)! What are you doing!? Get out!” He said, nerves making him stutter as he looked at you with wide eyes

“What am I doing? My dear fedya, what are you doing? Moaning my name as you touch yourself, I must admit I wasn’t expecting this”

The reminder of the situation he was in made his flush a furious red, and he couldn’t help the way his lips quivered as he tried to come up with a response

Usually, he’d have the entire dictionary in his head at his disposal, using sweet words to make people join in his cause and see his ways

But this time his head was alarmingly empty

it just ended up with him staring at you in silence, like a deer in the headlights

You sighed, making your way over to the bed

“Do you want me to help you?”

He might faint

He was so light headed, all his fantasies coming back at him full force

“I…”he said as you looked at him, making eye contact- which he was quick to break,

You’d never seen him this flustered before, and it was so cute

But this kind of nervousness was familiar, you noted, as your finger made brushed along his chest, making his shiver

You leaned in, your breath hot against his face as you asked “may I kiss you”

He reluctantly nodded, but it wasn’t good enough, “use your words baby”

His cock throbbed at the pet name. God he was so horny

“Yes- you may-”

You couldn’t have connected your lips faster, and he was clumsy, uncoordinated and something was lacking on his side- completely lacking- which only confirmed your suspicions

“Don’t tell me fedya… you’re a virgin?” You said incredulously, but it made sense

“What makes you say that?” He said defensively as he looked away from you, brows furrowed and face obviously embarrassed, he couldn’t bring himself to straight up lie with you studying his face so intensely

“Oh baby, it’s ok, just makes it more worth it to see your reactions”you purred into his ear

He huffed, giving up the act, “ I won’t be able to.. pleasure you the same…” he said, voice hesitant

“It’s ok, having you to myself is all the pleasure I need” you responded, quickly pulling him in for a kiss

You swiped your tongue on his bottoms lip, the sensations making fyodor open his mouth in reflex. You took this opportunity to slip your tongue inside of his mouth, surprising fyodor and making his moan

He was getting so lost in your mouth, that he didn’t notice your fingers slipping down his torso, until your fingers started palming at his hard cock

He jumped, whimpering in surprise when you circled your fingers around the crown of his dick

He was so sensitive, body shaking and hot beneath your touch

You two parted for breath, and you started slowly kissing and sucking at his jaw, then neck, making sure to leave a mark

He shivered at this, and was woefully unprepared for what you’d do next

You grabbed his hand, leading it to your pussy, and pushing his fingers against your clit

“W-what-“he was so flustered, tripping over his words as his eyes were captivated by the wetness gathered at your slit

“Like this, fedya” you said gently as you showed him how you like it, with him quickly getting the hang of it

“Now stick your finger inside, yeah, just like that” you said, moaning as his long fingers slipped in with no resistance,

He gulped at the wet heat he felt, imagining what it would feel like wrapped around his cock

He was so hard.

He never thought this would happen, or at least, so soon

Well, he wouldn’t have to imagine much longer

After you made him add another two fingers, one at a time, and you deemed yourself prepped enough, you placed yourself over his dick

“Do you want this?” You asked, looking into his eyes for any sign that he didn’t want this

You found nervousness on his face, but it was filled with lust and arousal

“Yes, yes I do-“ he was practically drooling, watching as you placed the tip at your entrance, before slowly sinking down

You moaned, he whimpered, his eyes clenched shut as he instinctively bucked his hips up

It felt good, his cock long and thick, stimulating against all your sensitive spots

“Mmngh!” He moaned, unable to hold it back

“Yeah? Feel good baby?” You rasped, looking at the way his face was screwed up in pleasure as you started moving, choosing a quick and hard pace

You chose this pace intentionally, you wanted him to be overwhelmed with the feeling, and lose himself

And that’s exactly what happened

He gripped the sheets, moaning and trembling

It was so much, so fast- he couldn’t think straight. But he kept his hands to himself, and you knew why

“It’s ok baby, you can touch, nothing will happen” he whined at your words before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and whimpering into your neck, hiding his face

It didn’t take long for him to cum, oversensitive as he was, and he tensed, hips bucking once, twice, and finally a third time before stilling, his seed spilling inside of you

He held you close as he came down from his high, light-headed and panting. You stroked his hair, which made him practically melt into you.

You let him slip out of you, laying down next to him

“What about you (name)? You didn’t get to finish?” He said, and you found it cute that he was worrying about you

“Don’t worry about it” you responded

“I cant have that, it would be improper to leave you unsatisfied,” he paused for a moment “let me use my tongue” he responded, as he slowly made his way between your thighs, “you can show me how”

“Very well then, fyodor” you chuckled petting his hair, “let’s get started”

@rosemary-onacross

I’m gonna cut it off there because I don’t know where I’m going, but yeah

Virgin fedya 🤤

[mrsdostoevsky]

“The bed is getting cold and you're not here...”

pairing: Fyodor Dostoevsky x reader;

genre: some angst with fluff I guess (??);

word count: 675;

type: short drabble;

warnings: bad writing and maybe some grammar mistakes!! (english is not my first language, hope y'all understand it).

A/N: okay okay, I know this could be better but it's my first attempt to write and post something, so be patient with my shitty writing (I'm still learning 😭💀).

Fyodor Dostoevsky was a man committed to his goals, and you've always known that. He would do absolutely anything to execute his plans without a single flaw and by this, I imply that, if necessary, he wouldn't think twice about leaving you completely alone for days just to accomplish something related to his schemes. But, even if you were already used to his skeptical and cold demeanor, you couldn't imagine how miserable you would feel every time he lefts you because of his job.

---🦋---🦋---🦋----

It was just another lonely night. Sprawled in the vastness of fancy sheets of an empty queen-sized bed, sleep was almost impossible. It had been fifteen days since he and Nikolai left, and, without him, you felt so fragile, helpless, and unprotected. Even as an ability user, you were in a constant state of alertness because, being in a relationship with Fyodor means that, if his enemies can't hit him, they'll go for the thing he treasures the most, which is you. And Fyodor knows that. You two were fully aware that he was putting your life at risk when he asked you to be his darling, and you accepted this situation not just because you loved him, but because he promised to protect you no matter what and you trusted him with your life. He's a man of words, after all, and you know that.

Wrapped in one of his coats, you sought some comfort while inhaling his scent. That soft fragrance of lavender and black tea was so addictive. Exactly like him. Oh, you felt so nostalgic, and missed his touch even more. Your hands clutched even tighter to the coat, and you could feel the hot tears starting to run down your face and onto the fabric. You couldn't stop thinking about Fyodor and about how much his absence darkened your days. Because of his mission, he wasn't able to establish any type of communication, and this lack of news just anguished you even more. It was pathetic how dependent you had become on him. Even though he was a man of questionable morals and awful acts, you adored him and treated him as someone worthy of all your love and devotion. How pathetic.

Your cries of despair, however, were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. At first, you thought it was Sigma who was concerned with your behavior and was coming in to check how are you feeling during such tough times, so you tried to clean your swollen eyes and adjust your messy hair. At the sound of the door opening, you immediately raised from your bed, but all your sadness was abruptly replaced by a sense of relief when you saw Fyodor entering the room. Running out of bed, you immediately walked over to your exhausted boyfriend and helped him out of his heavy black coat, which, unsurprisingly, had some blood on it. When you were about to open your mouth to welcome your man, Fyodor surprised you with a sudden hug.

Hugs were an unusual thing for him, but he did it with so much passion that you could feel that he'd also missed being like this with you. And for a few minutes, you just stood like that, still and silent, his hands caressing your back as you rested your head on his chest, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.

- "Fedya, I missed you so much..." - you muttered under your breath, losing yourself in his sweet embrace and feeling again the warmth of tears, but this time of pure satisfaction and joy. Hearing your mumbles, Fyodor brought his index finger to your chin and lifted it slowly so that your eyes met his violet ones, which were glancing at you with unexpected tenderness.

- "Me too, Myshka..." - he said with a sigh, followed by a tired smile and a soft loving kiss pressed on your forehead. After this, he just stood there, resting his chin on the top of your head as you keep hugging him as tight as you can, afraid that he would escape from your embrace and leave you again.

[fyodior]

🪱 and 𔘓 made some GREAT horny posts so I'm here to cleanse this space a bit by telling you some of my random fluffy hcs of fedya

- when he has time he loves playing games with you (cards, chess, tabletop games...) cause even tho he knows that he's going to win everytime, he finds it amusing to see all the ways you desperately try and fail to outsmart him, he doesn't say it but he thinks you look adorable when your face has that subtle evil smirk to it because you're absolutely positive that this time you're going to beat him, only to be huffing out in defeat a minute later

- to cheer you up after beating you for the millionth time he's going to lightly praise you by saying that the strategy you came up with was good and that he had fun thinking of a way to counterattack it (even tho it was super easy for him but he won't say it cause he's trying to make you happy)

- again he won't outright admit it but it's obvious that he loves it when you sit on his lap while he's working. If you ever go into his office to bring him tea or something he will somehow get you to sit on his lap everytime. He wants you to sit with your chest against his, your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck and your face buried in the crook of his neck. This is his fav position cause you don't block his view of the computer screen, he can rub your back when he stops to think and because now you're acting as his personal blankie to keep him warm! If you're feeling particularly needy but he can't leave his desk he'll get you to cockwarm him until he's done and then he'll take you to his bed and finish the job but these are supposed to be fluffy hcs so I'll stop here jsjsjsk

- he loves your attention and to be pampered by you. When you bring him tea and food while he's working, when you give him a kiss on the cheek before you leave and after you come back, when you make sure he isn't cold in his office, when you beg him to take a break or come to bed because it's obvious that he's tired, when you tell him again and again that you don't want him sitting in front of his computers in the dark for hours because it's bad for his eyes...he loves everything about this

- for this reason he will accept to take a bath only if you get in the tub with him. Run your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp and he's in heaven. He insists that you sit on his lap to wash his hair so he gets to look at your naked body and all the flustered expressions you make when his hands graze your skin cause this man loves to touch you. The fact that you're fully aware that he could kill you with a single touch but you still willingly let him touch you and often even beg him to touch you is enough to let him know that you trust him and he loves that

I cant think of anything else at the moment but hopefully these were good enough

- 💍

THIS IS SOOOOO SWEET I LOVE IT SO MUCH THANK U SO MUCH FOR THIS

idk if you’ve ever watched saiki k but it reminds me of that gnsjdks like he will always win no matter what but he’ll want to make you feel a lil better about it😭 but honestly he can be very blunt so i’d imagine he’d accidentally be an asshole sometimes sjdjsjdjs like “you made fewer stupid moves this time, im very proud of you darling”

i could write a million fucking fics over and over about cockwarming specifically for him like i just LOVE the concept so much and could go on about it for hoursssss but i’ll also keep this clean 💀 and yes he loves you as his own personal weighted blanket that also gives him kisses and praises

i just imagine bringing him a blanket and some hot tea and a snack when he’s been at his computer for a long time, and it makes him all mushy. or maybe you have a cat together and you just walk in dump it in his lap and leave 💀

BUT YES OH MY GOD THE VULNERABILITY OF LETTING HIM TOUCH YOU DESPITE HIS ABILITY i’ve honestly never thought about that in detail before but thats such a good point like nothing means more to him than the fact that you happily welcome and seek out his touch, something that is easily lethal, thats how much you love and trust him which is something he’s never experienced before.

and taking little baths with him UGH god thats so sweet like forcing him to let you use a bath bomb so theres just pink fizzy water surrounding you as you wash his hair, using your nails to scratch his scalp making this bitch PURR. he just closes his eyes and leans into ur touch, wrapping his arms around you just to feel your skin. he thinks you are so beautiful, and cherishes every single little curve and bump and scar or stretch mark, every little “imperfection” just makes him fall more in love with you. he honestly just wishes you were naked always.

but yes thank u for cleansing this space my blog rly needed it dkfsbfksj ❤️❤️❤️