Fyodor X Reader - Blog Posts

Hello, Hello!!

You said your requests are open, yes? Well, im here to submit one if it's not a burden <33

Can I request Fyodor Dostoevsky x Male reader who is a religious cult leader? (You can choose it's it's yandere, platonic, romantic, etc)

For example, the reader is a priest but is super nice, a little too nice-- Fyodor happens to run across him during in what the start of season four would be(when the ADA didn't listen to Ranpo's starting point) and deemed m/n as just: "a feeble priest" who invited him to church, however, when Fyodor decides to go to the church out of curiosity he finds out m/n is insane for whatever god he worships, instead of his soft and caring personality he had when he first met Fyodor; he now has a more crazed and insane one, "reaching the holy words" and screaming obscenities to the rest of the church members in the pews?

And possibly for an interesting touch(only for the drama because im quite obsessed with dramatic stories where characters get surprised when m/n does something), the reader usually keeps their eyes closed, eventually leading people into thinking that he is blind, only for him to open his eyes when he's doing cultist meetings?

I know this is such a strange ask 😭😭 and if it makes you uncomfortable I understand 100%, this is actually a storyline for one of my ocs, and I thought it would be neat to see this sort of storyline in your style and as a fanfic!!

(P.S I HAVE READ SOME OF YOUR WRITING AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH 😭❤️❤️ I don't request often either so I wanted you to know this is how much I appreciate your writing style)

thanks for requesting!

☆ the wolf in sheep's clothing

fyodor dostoevsky x male reader [he / him]

sypnosis: above!

the lowercase is intentional !

you were going about your day, on your way to your work as a priest before bumping into a man. this man was no ordinary man, it was fyodor dostoevsky, a member of the decay of angels. but you didn't know that yet, and neither did he know about your secret profession.

"i'm so, so sorry!" you stutter out with a bow, keeping a nice, caring persona on to lure fyodor in. your eyes are closed, so you can't make out what the man infront of you looks like, but you take a quick peak at him before closing your eyes again. "it's alright," he smirked. "don't worry about it." his accent was thick and heavy. you were now more curious about him. you were definitely going to try and lure him into your cult.

"my name's [name]. i am truly sorry for bumping into you.." your eyes are closed and fyodor can now understand why you bumped into him. you were probably blind, so he felt a little sympathetic towards your case, which was a surprise from him. "it's okay, don't worry about it truly. i'm fyodor." he smiled, even though you wouldn't be able to see.

you bowed at him again, still muttering a string of apologies before he takes your shoulder in his hand. "please stop apologising, i've already forgiven you." the contact made you shiver, but in a good way. you looked up at him again. "okay, okay. sorry. would you like to come over to come over to my church? i was just on the way now before bumping into you. it'll be my way of showing gratitude and forgiveness." you smile, but there's a hint of evil about your smile that fyodor doesn't seem to catch on to.

"oh, well i don't see why not." fyodor smiled in response. "if you're insisting, i'll come along. i guess it is really the only way you could repay me." the black haired man continued smiling. fyodor was geniunely curious about your church. what god did you worship? etc, etc. those questions were running through his mind. he also liked how sweet you were, it was like he could take advantage of you if he'd like to later. but he was wrong, of course. you didn't show him how you truly were. a cruel, evil cult leader. you simply acted all sweet to lure more people into your trap.

the two of you then arrived at the church. it was lively as people were waiting for the next session to take place and they were waiting for [name] to lead it. you had a smirk on your face as you faced fyodor again. "you just sit where you like and have a little listen to my ceremony, okay?" you smile sweetly at him, but your intentions are far from sweet.

the atmosphere of the church was also quite sinister.. but fyodor couldn't tell what was off about the whole place just yet. he decided to go along with whatever you had planned. he sat down in a seat near the back and waited for you to start.

you walk to the altar and get your things ready to prepare your next speech for your followers. you enjoy the feeling that you have a new guest today - fyodor. maybe you'd convince him to join your 'true' religion in the end and get him to praise your 'true' god.

"greetings, guests!" you call out, finally opening your eyes to scan the eyes of the audience. fyodor was a little startled at first. he didn't think you could see.. but maybe that was just a slight misjudgment on his behalf, so he tried to brush it off and not seem ignorant.

everyone was already shouting praises at you, even though you had only said two words. everyone sitting in the rows at the church were all familiar faces that you knew. you took your time usually to greet each individual once you entered the church, but today was different. you were running late due to fyodor, so you'd leave all the friendliness with your followers to later.

"i assume everyone knows why we're gathered here today?" you ask and people in the crowd yell back a string of 'yes'es or just screams. "oh but of course, there is someone new here today!" an evil grin grows on your face as you turn to look at fyodor. "I hope everyone will be nice to our hopefully new follower!" your grin then turns into a sweet smile, hints of evil still around it. your voice was sickeningly sweet as well, starting to creep fyodor of all people out a little bit too.

"today we are gathered yet again to praise the true god!" you yell out, your voice starting to grow more and more menacing as you praised this false god. "not the ones those so called real worshipers follow.. our god!" everyone started cheering your name, they seemed to be just as brainwashed, or even worse than you.

fyodor was starting to get a little creeped out. he wanted to leave, and fast. he didn't intend on meeting a cult leader in the first place. he just thought he had bumped into a sweet, innocent and blind man. but oh how he was so wrong.

your words started to linger in fyodor's mind. everything you said about this god stuck out to him. some of his curiosity was peaked, maybe it was because of you - not the person you decided to worship. something about you seemed so interesting, fyodor forgot his intentions on leaving now. he wanted to stay and listen to your voice forever.

maybe it was your voice, the way you spoke about this idol you worshipped. or maybe it was how captivating you were, the way you faked your sweet charm just to lure him in. whatever it was, fyodor was definitely interested. he was definitely going to be coming back for more talks.. mostly because he wanted to be by your side though.

once the 'prayer' meeting was over and you had said goodbye to each of your guests, you decide to go back to fyodor and have a chat with him. he had a surprised look on his face the entire time you spoke and you were certainly amused by that. "well hello, fyodor." you spoke, a smirk on your face. it the exact one you had playing on your face when fyodor first came into the church. "i see you enjoyed your time here, yes?" you asked, leaning close to him. he immediately nodded, captivated by your alluring voice.

"yes, i did enjoy it. for more reasons than you may think, however." fyodor laughed lightly, looking at you. "it is safe to say, i will be returning.. only if i am not busy with my own plans you see." he smiled at you, slightly returning the smirk you had on your lips. "of course, of course! you are welcome to join us anytime. i will be delighted." you chuckled back, pleased to hear that the ravenette will be returning.

fyodor had practically forgotten who you were - a cult leader that just spewed obscenities to his followers. he had completely zoned out.. but he wasn't that innocent of a man either, so he couldn't blame you. fyodor was truly fascinated about your act, maybe he could learn a thing or two from the wolf in sheep's clothing...

☆ requests ▪︎ masterlist

☆ author's note: i don't know shit about religion or anything about church / priests, so i hope this was good... but seriously thanks for requesting and saying you love my work! i try my best. keep requests coming!! they may be a little slow due to school but i'll try get them out asap.

Hiii! I have a BSD request! Its a bot dark but its related to something that Ive been working through lately. Can you do as many bsd characters as you can reacting to their S/O getting emotional on their birtgday because they "didn't think they would make it this far"? Like they struggled with severe depression and suicidal thoughts/SH in their childhood and honestly didn't expect to make it to the age they are now? Its almost my birthday and I've been struggling with the same thing so i wanted some fluff with my favorite characters to help me through it! :) thank you so much!

Request?: yes Summery: Characters reacting on you getting emotional during your birthday Characters?: Dazai, Atsushi, Kunikida, Yosano, Chuuya, akutugawa, Fyodor and Nikolai. Genre: Angst, but mostly fluff.

A/n: Hey hey! I hope I did this on time before your birthday where ever you are- Happy birthday! I hope your doing well and got/ are getting the help you need. If anything my dms are open just for a nice talk if you ever feel lonely, and I'm proud of you of how far you've come. My dm's are open for you and anyone else in need! Anyways I hope you enjoy this fanfic

Dazai Osamu:

Obviously this man, would want you to have the best birthday of your whole entire life.

I mean, he probs didn't have any good birthdays considering his years of the mafia and how Mori had treated him over the years.

So when he knew that your birthday was coming up, he was planning it all carefully.

He got the perfect gifts, the cake, everything was done by the day it arrived.

So when you were alone with him, as he smiled at you, saying "Happy birthday belladonna!" with such a loving tone while carrying the cake (No he didn't bake it himself please don't let him in the kitchen-) You just started to cry.

He slightly panicked, cause we all know he isn't the best when it comes to human emotions.

He carefully set down the cake on the table as he hugged you, kissing on top of your head once in a while letting you cry in his chest

He carefully asks what's wrong, as you explains about your past and what you've been struggling with.

He frowned at the thought of his lover struggling so badly in life, relating to it himself. He cupped your face, and kissed your nose gently.

"I'm glad you're here, cause my birthday girl makes me the happiest man on earth."

Cue the water works again-

Atsushi Nakajima:

Sweet baby Jesus this poor baby-

He has absolutely no idea just him waking you up with breakfast on bed would automatically result into you crying badly in bed

"I-I'M SORRY! DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG-?"

He panicking please make sure to make sure he knows its not his fault.

as you explain to him what exactly happened, with you talking about your past, he can't help but get sad himself.

He loves you dearly and he doesn't want you to feel this way ever again.

He makes sure you will have the best day of your life

"let's go out! My treat!" He smiles brightly, that stupid dorky smile you absolutely adore.

Let's just say you feel extremely loved that day

Kunikida doppo:

Watch this man have your birthdays for the upcoming 10 years planned out completely-

He is a planning maniac after all😭

That's his love language though, act of service and for his partner he would gladly do so-

So he woke you up at 7 am in the morning cause of all the activities he had planned for you

"Y/n, wake up we have to leave in 15 minutes for your birthday activities."

"doppo its like 7 in the morning please-"

But after progressing the work he all did for you, going to your favourite restaurant, having everything you ever wanted ready for you, you couldn't help but cry silently with a smile while looking at him

This dude got caught of guard by your tears

You quickly had to explain that it was because of whatever was playing in the past

He looked at you with a sad look when you were done explaining

"Those times are over now dear, You've made it this far, You did it and I'm proud of you

Yosano akiko:

This absolute queen prepared everything besides her busy schedule, bless her heart-

She took you to the cafe beneath the agency, smiling gently as she let someone from the cafe bring out the cake with a small candle on it.

"Happy birthday my love" She chirped, as she had settled the gifts for you besides her.

Cue the water work from your end-

Being a doctor and all, she also took a hobby on studying people on the daily, so seeing how you reacted, she smiled gently and pulled you in a hug, letting you cry on top of her.

You told her about your past, as she listened carefully.

"Your safe and sound now Y/n, I love you"

Chuuya Nakahara:

Money money money-

he ain't scared to spoil you rotten with love on your birthday.

He cares a lot about the people he cares about and would do everything to protect them, especially the love of his life.

he took you on top of a rooftop somewhere in the city, watching the stars as he gifted you tons of gifts

Your bright smile couldn't distract him from the tears rolling down your cheeks

He cupped your face in worry, as you explained the reason why you were crying.

His face was slightly angry, not at you, but at the people who possibly could've cost this mind set.

"don't worry princess, I'll protect you with my life, now come on lets open another present."

Akutugawa ryunosuke:

He's interesting alright-

he never really had the best life, but he really wants to make you feel loved, even if he finds it hard to express it.

You don't really mind how he is, and you know how hard he tries.

So when he was done with work, and came at your doorstep with flowers in his hands, your favourite flowers, and your favourite snacks in a basket for your birthday, You began crying of happiness.

He immediately thought he did something wrong

please tell him its not him-

You explained your past and why you began crying, and he couldn't really help but feel bad for you

He set the gifts down on the table, and kissed your forehead gently

"You're fine and alive now, and thats what matters to me, You being happy and alive.

Fyodor dostoyevsky:

This man, with dazai, confuse me and interest me all at the same time-

He would not be the best with you crying, as he hardly really shows any sorts of sadness, guilt, rage, etc etc.

he does try his best though!

His reaction to you crying cause of your birthday is just to stand there, not knowing what to do-

eventually he just lets you cry and pats your head gently as you slowly start explaining why you are crying right now

He does feel bad for you, but he just pulled you closer to him as he let you rest on top of him.

"No need to worry about those days anymore Y/n, you got through them."

Nikolai Gogol:

This man was more excited than you were over your birthday-

legit jumping next to your bed to wake you up and open his gifts

and goddamn did he get a lot for you

he had prepared anything you could dream off, as he looked at you like a puppy waiting for his reward.

what he didn't expect was you to full on cry.

he quickly turned into a Serious Nikolai and pulled you in a hug.

You explained while crying about your past and reasons and he just held you even closer.

"I'll be here for you, always and forever, till death does us part."

"ALL I WANNA DO IS GET HIGH BY THE BEACH!"

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚— HUMAN FYODOR X SIREN FEM READER

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩SUMMARY: A man with a haunting past and a dead lover has already lost hope in all of humanity. He originally wanted to save humanity, not until the only person he loved the most perished because of it. Avenging of what he can, he does heinous crimes and carry a hatred towards humanity due to the loss of his lover.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ — ANGST + HORROR + ROMANCE + PSYCHOLOGY

A/N: Im gonna make this fanfic quite short since I've been busy and drained.. Please enjoy the read<3!

( ၴႅၴ+WARNINGS! : DRUG USAGE, MURDER, DEATH (+ nickname usage, - Lyubov' (love) & Ангел (angel)

Being somebody who is considered 'immortal' wasn't easy, you see the people you love die easily.

Originally, fyodor wanted to save humanity, he believed that everyone needed saving except the people who abused the abilities that was bestowed onto them by the heavens.

He only loved ONE person, a woman who has gained his interest and his affection. The love he had was unconditional and affectionate, a raging storm that was shined upon with the everlasting moonlight. And that was all YOU.

But one day, you needed to visit a certain island due to your studies, being the lover fyodor was, he was quite skeptical and paranoid that something may happen to you, but he didn't wanna cut off your freedom as he does love you dearly.. So he let you off.

With a kiss on the hand and a cheek, you leave the house with a suitcase, on your way to the ship that you were going on, it was a ship controlled by a wealthy and powerful dictator, who the DOSTOEVSKY wasn't fond of.

The ship set sailed in ease..

A few days later, fyodor received a message that the ship went missing. Including you. And the only person who survived it was no other than the dictator himself.

Fyodor clutched his fists as he read through the letter, it wasn't often he was enranged like this, but the melancholic feeling of his lover missing consumed him, how could he let this happen? He should've never let you on in the ship.

Eventually thats when he became a ruthless man, he was already making ability users perish but the only thing he admired and adored the most has been taken away from him, he had a plan. A plan to kill the dictator.

He was used to hiding, but he didn't want to anymore. He'd do anything to avenge your death. Your body wasn't even found.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

Years passed by, population went down due to his sprees, this void in him was eating him alive.

Every neck he slashed and every shot he has taken was all for you.

He walked through the jagged rocks of the beach, trying to get away from his past. He wanted to forget about it, but he didn't wanna forget you. He walked groggily, he recently took some Lysergic acid diethylamide, he wanted to lay off of life for a second and forget his surroundings. He wasn't normally this disheveled and unhinged, but your death really took a toll on him.

The wind howled through the decaying coastal town, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, mournful cries of the sea. Fyodors face gaunt and hollow-eyed, stumbled along the cobblestone streets, the weight of the past dragging at his every step. He had come to this place seeking something anything that could fill the void left by the death of his wife. But in his search for solace, he had found only darkness.

He took another blotter paper with LSD, he walked till the end of the coast line, nobody was around as the numbing feeling of the substance took over his chest, that dulled tha pain he endured. His legs were cut and he was pale and skinny, you were always the one who was taking care of him that he forgot what to eat, drink and how to sleep.

He looked at the moon with half lidded eyes and soft breathing before hearing a familiar voice. The singing was melodic and smooth to hear, a voice that had the same pitch, tone, and key to yours. This can't be real right?

He immediately walks over to the sound, trying to find it. The sky was oddly colorful today. It was a deep blue. He walked over and he hears it getting louder, he breathes heavily. Running towards the sound, he didn't wanna speak yet. He had to find out himself, were you still alive? After all these years?

With unsteady steps, he descended the rocky path to the shore, the waves crashing violently against the rocks. There, in the shallow waters, stood a figure, bathed in the ghostly light of the moon. Her hair tangled and damp, her skin beautiful and glistening with the spray of the sea. But it was her eyes. those familiar, haunting eyes—.. that stopped fyodor in his tracks.

"Lyubov'.." he muttered with wide eyes and disbelief, his sadness washing away from his chest.

His breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be. Yet, as he looked at her, he was certain that this was his wife, that returned to him from beyond the grave. His heart swelled with a mix of joy and sorrow, his mind reeling with the impossibility of it all.

“fedya.. ” you whispered with a teasing grin, your voice a soft, melodic echo of the song that had called him. breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be. Yet, as he looked at her, he was certain—this was his wife.. His beloved lover, That returned to him from beyond the grave. His heart swelled with a mix of joy and sorrow, his mind reeling with the impossibility of it all.

“You came back Ангел..!” he choked out, walking toward you with an admiring grin. “I knew you would come back."

The siren, his wife, smiled, a sad, distant expression that seemed almost… wrong.

“I never left, fedya. I've been here all along. Awaiting for your arrival, my dear." you whispered softly in his ear.

He fell to his knees in the icy cold water, reaching out to touch her. His hand trembled as it brushed against your cheek, you leaned into his touch, your skin cold, damp, and scaley..yet familiar.

He grinned gently, wrapping his hands on your waist, admiring your beautiful face. This is what dreams are made of right? Everything felt completely right. His eyes were filled with adoration and solace. The gaping void in his chest was filled once again, he was finally with you. His wife.

"I've done alot of things in the past, im afraid. But i did it all for you." he caressed your skin, but it felt.. Hard and cold. He ignored that, he just wanted to be with you, to touch you, to love you all over again. "I want you to understand, lyubov'. If you come back amd see the way things are now, don't be afraid."

His eyes were locked onto yours, tucking a piece of your hair behind your finned ears. He looked down, seeing your scaley tail. He didn't care of you weren't human anymore.

You lean onto him, "I'm back now.. Come with me instead, into the depths of the ocean." he nods, his gaze locked onto yours, "let go, and be with me.. Forever. In the sea. We'll love again,"— he nodded, his thumb caressing your cheek as he held your waist securely. "we'll laugh again, and we'll be together. Forever."

His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had yearned for this moment, to be reunited with you, to finally find peace and have you in his arms. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, cold and salty like the sea.. But how beautiful you were..

But as he kissed you, he felt nothing but bones. He felt something hard, it wasn't the soft lips that he would kiss every night.

No.

It wasn't.

The substances effect slowly faded away, he looked back at you.. his eyes wide with horror. The figure before him was no longer his wife, no longer the ethereal beauty who had called to him from the sea. She was something else!- something twisted and grotesque. Your bones were pale, bloated, mottled with decay, and your eyes.. those eyes.. were empty, hollow sockets.

This was not a reincarnation of you as a siren. It was your remains. Your rotting missing cadaver that had washed up on shore. Your boned were waterlogged and broken, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The crashing waves of the oceans was evident that it crushed your body. The waves and smell of the sea surrounded him as he held your decaying bones.

He looked at your ring finger. It still had the ring he proposed to you with, a patch of grey rotting skin was under the ring. Your skin, that he worshipped and adored the most. His breath was jagged and he held your hand, a single tear dropping down his eye.

The corpse stared back at him with empty eyes, her mouth twisted into a mockery of the smile he loved. He looks down and he held your decaying body close, leaning his head onto your shoulder.

"I.. I will then. If you want it, I'll do it."

It was all a hallucination. But he didn't want to believe that. He believed it was still you. He carried your rotting bones in bridal style, like he did during your wedding day.

He took another dose of his substances and he walked deeper into the ocean.

Deeper.

And deeper..

And deeper.

A/N: the color of the theme is blue and white, completely different from my theme which is red and black..but i wanted to change it up abit. Thanks for reading. This actually made me sad abit..

© All works by @Verlaineszz. Do not copy, redistribute, or repost on other platforms.

Okay can someone pls help me find that one Fyodor x reader fic series in which apparently we both are immortal? I remember the first chapter was "Angel, he calls me" or something like that but I neither remember the writer nor the rest and I can't find it anymore-

¡FYODOR MASTERLIST !

infinity aria ; prologue

fyodor dostoevsky x gn! reader. synopsis: two souls inexplicably intertwined, only for one to kiss death again and again, and for the other to stand witness. throughout the lifetimes, he watches you seek him out, curiously watching you seal your fate. read on ao3

warning : canon typical violence, mentions of death

author's note: holy SHIT i'm doing a series for once. this fic is set in the past, but eventually will become canon compliant. this is a reincarnated! reader fic. the chapters will be considerably longer (i'm aiming 2.5-3k words everytime, but this one will be short because it's a prologue. 

Unnerving.

  That was the first word you could think of to describe the feeling that seemed to crawl like a spider up the webbings of your veins when you entered the hall; this giant, grotesquely adorned opera hall with ceilings high enough to make one feel infinitely small, the arches too high to properly glean at the painted reliefs on them. The marble floor of the hall remains empty save for a few groups of guests. The linen note you received yesterday crumples in your tight grip. It states clearly in cursive, inked with clarity— that this was, or rather, should be the correct time and place for you to be here. With your best attempt, you try not to look lost, not keeping the eye or conversation of anyone for long enough to be able to feel the full weight of their gaze. Unremarkable people in their own right, yet the stateliness that their haughty gazes carried made their gaze a weight that rested heavily on your shoulders. Somehow, their superimposed, silent pride had made it a lot harder to freely move, every action carefully noted and judged, as if they were the sole authority worth doing so. Tonight only, they were all birds of a feather.

  You usher yourself into an adjacent room, pushing a heavy door on the far right side of the hall. Pinching at the hem of your opera gloves, your velveteen fingers lock the door behind you. When you turn around, you see the sender of the note in your palm, with his hands clasped in front of him. A pale young man, gracile and willowy in build, with unreadable yet deep eyes and pale pink lips curled in a sardonic, yet cordial smile. He was dressed in the fashion of the times; a violet cravat neatly tucked into his shirt, matching to the dim shade reflected in his eyes, a small brooch in the shape of an angel’s wings. Owing to the harsh weather, a winter overcoat was draped over the fineries, lined with fur— understated and respectable, yet not standing out. A glint of silver shines under his sleeve, hardly noticeable; not that of a watch or a bracelet, but the tip of a dagger.

  You have no reason to believe that the reveal is not intentional. 

  In your life, you have only ever met Fyodor Dostoevsky four times in person; your correspondence has been limited to perfumed letters that are burned soon after they are read. The first time was in a chapel, his form sitting in a pew with unmoving tranquility, like that only ever found in placid, glacial lakes—counting the beads of his rosary although his mouth had not once moved in prayer. You do not recall why you spent so much time watching him, yet he seemed to command your attention with not so much as a word. He could keenly feel your observation, but for some reason you could not tell, he only glanced at you with a knowing smile, whispered a morning greeting, and left.

  The second time, it was in midst of the crowd that followed a public execution, though you remember not what misdeed had led that young man to the scaffold, barely of age. A short drop; you saw the deadly tie placed around that man’s neck, the force not immediately snapping his neck, but rather slowly cutting off his breath, leaving him hanging limp off the rope. You did not wait long enough to see him pass away, but you heard the man next to you mumble something about how 'there's no hope for them, there's no hope for any of them…’ Rather than sadness or contemplation, there was a tone of cruel, self aware irony in his intonation.

  Fyodor had stayed behind, observing the condemned man a few minutes more. 

  The third time, it was through an associate of yours. While you could not fathom why a seemingly devout man would associate with criminals, especially those that specialized in the matter of political assassinations, you did not question your new patron much. So long as he provided his support, it would be unwise to question generosity out loud. It would not be the first time people wore religion like a disguise for their actions, a pretty accessory that could be discarded at will. It wasn't until the past three months that he started becoming more actively involved in these…projects of sorts, and while you could not help but wonder how he seemed to convince your usually suspicious and steadfast superiors so quickly, he had still not given you a reason to question him. That first night you had worked with him is only a fuzzy memory now. By the time you had even reached the location, he was already leaving. When he closed the door behind him, he only expressed formal concern about the late hour and your return home, suggesting that he shall fetch a coach for the both of you. 

  While his back was turned, your fingers reached tentatively for the doorknob, silently opening it. In the dim candlelight, the glimmer of still warm blood shone on the floors, the limp bodies of around five men with their eyes blown wide lay scattered around the study. You were no stranger to bloody sights, however, the reason your mouth had become dry and your head felt heavy was not the slaughtered bodies of those targets, but rather the one in the centre. 

  Fyodor Dostoevsky, laying decidedly dead, with a bullet lodged in the middle of his eyes. 

  You closed the door the moment you caught a glimpse of that sight. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. It had to be, for the man you know to be Fyodor was currently not too far ahead of you, standing on the edge of the road and talking to a coach. You wondered why he hadn't locked the door after the deed was done. If he had intended for you to see what you had. The ride home had passed in silence, and you bid him a quiet farewell, head swirling from the events of the night.

  Tonight is the fourth time you have laid your eyes upon this strange man. One who has strangely made himself a recurring thought in your mind, an unwitting parasite. Usually, you had no choice but to curb your curiosity regarding certain people, given that asking too many questions could at best result in a stern rebuke or at worst, pointed violence. In that way, the new patron’s serene demeanor was disarming, yet could not entirely dispel the suspicion you kept close like an old friend. Before you could lose yourself in your silent perusal of his character any longer, the sound of his voice brings you back from your musings. 

  “Punctual, good. I trust you know what we're here for, so let us begin. Have you brought the vial?”

  The glass sits cool near your skin, and with a quick reach from your pockets, you produce the item. The liquid inside was clear, smelling like nothing in particular; the vial itself was shaped like those typically used to store smelling salts; slightly darker in color. A blend of arsenic and atropa belladonna distillates, or so you have been told. The vial he had given you looked worn, your thumb could feel the scratches on the glass and an weathered old apothecary label that read an year and initials. For F.D, 1606.

  These details remain in your memory, but they are like some sort of eccentric joke; disjointed and without meaning. Fyodor takes the vial, inspecting it for a moment, before giving it back. “It’s not full…but it will be enough for our task. Our guest will be in the box owned by his family, number five if my memory serves me. It will be high enough for no one to see you. The poison will take about an hour to act, and by that time the after party would have begun. Escort him down to keep up appearances, then lead him to one of the greenrooms. They will be empty at this hour. Wait till the body drops, and then meet me in the gardens with the corpse.” 

  You nod, movements a little exaggerated to combat the stiffness in your limbs. The stubborn feeling that accompanied the onset of missions like these; an ache in your head that felt as though someone was tightening an imaginary cord round your head. The feeling of bile in your throat that won't yet rise; no, that was reserved for after the body is buried. The danger makes you nauseous with anxiety, always has. Yet even as you hear the details of the disposal of the body, repeated by the man in front of you in a clinical tone, you hold yourself well. Back straight, looking at him directly, words uttered only with deliberation and no syllable empty when you discussed the details with him further; this is what you were made for.

  Your composure is admirable, he thinks, if only you knew who exactly you were attempting to fool. 

  “Are you nervous?” He asks, without pity or mockery.

“No. Does something make you think so?” 

“You are to kill a man in front of half the city, I would expect you to be nervous.”

You shake your head. “It’s what must be done.”

“I wonder if you say so with duty, or with compulsion?”

  You run the words you are about to say carefully in your head, numerous times. Conversations were not a means of amusement to you, but rather a delicate game. The most convincing lies are poisoned by truth. 

  “They're one and the same.”

Fyodor's expression shifts, the slight mocking lift of the corners of his lips disappearing. There is sympathy where the lights meet the cold violet in his eyes. Not the kind of sympathy that results from care, but sort of a cynical disappointment that communicates that he was expecting something different; you recognize it, for you have seen it in several places. In your friends, in the eyes of confessional priests through the wood mesh, in the man you work for. “I must say, it is regrettable that you think so. But for a person in your situation, it was unsurprising. For the time being, this will suffice; now, head to the box hallway, the overture should begin soon. One last thing…”

  “Yes?” You pocket the vial, ready for your cue to leave.

  “... Your hands are trembling. It is unsightly, see to it before anyone else notices.” 

  The tremble of your velvet fingers stops once you begin to think about it consciously. Slightly embarrassed, you place your hands behind your back, clutching one with the other. It’s a strange feeling, for it's not the trembling that bothers you, but the fact that he could notice that small detail when his eyes seemed to be trained on your face the whole time.

  “Understood. Goodbye, then, I’ll see you once I’ve administered the poison.”

“I hope you'll be flawless in your execution this time as well. Good evening.”

  He gives a solemn nod, walking to the exit with light, fluid steps; movements as subtle and quiet as that of a ghost. As his back turns to you, your fingers itch to reach for the dagger on your thigh and thrust it into his neck, then twist and twist until you no longer feel seen in such an uncomfortably raw way. Till the discomfort of the moment fades and you no longer feel eyes in the back of your head even as he has walked out that door. When it shuts once more, you are left to quell the sudden rage that simmers under your skin, remembering what you are here for. 

    Unfortunately for you, Fyodor’s presence seeps into the mind like poison and sticks on it like honey.

infinity aria ; prologue

fyodor dostoevsky x gn! reader. synopsis: two souls inexplicably intertwined, only for one to kiss death again and again, and for the other to stand witness. throughout the lifetimes, he watches you seek him out, curiously watching you seal your fate. read on ao3

warning : canon typical violence, mentions of death

author's note: holy SHIT i'm doing a series for once. this fic is set in the past, but eventually will become canon compliant. this is a reincarnated! reader fic. the chapters will be considerably longer (i'm aiming 2.5-3k words everytime, but this one will be short because it's a prologue. 

Unnerving.

  That was the first word you could think of to describe the feeling that seemed to crawl like a spider up the webbings of your veins when you entered the hall; this giant, grotesquely adorned opera hall with ceilings high enough to make one feel infinitely small, the arches too high to properly glean at the painted reliefs on them. The marble floor of the hall remains empty save for a few groups of guests. The linen note you received yesterday crumples in your tight grip. It states clearly in cursive, inked with clarity— that this was, or rather, should be the correct time and place for you to be here. With your best attempt, you try not to look lost, not keeping the eye or conversation of anyone for long enough to be able to feel the full weight of their gaze. Unremarkable people in their own right, yet the stateliness that their haughty gazes carried made their gaze a weight that rested heavily on your shoulders. Somehow, their superimposed, silent pride had made it a lot harder to freely move, every action carefully noted and judged, as if they were the sole authority worth doing so. Tonight only, they were all birds of a feather.

  You usher yourself into an adjacent room, pushing a heavy door on the far right side of the hall. Pinching at the hem of your opera gloves, your velveteen fingers lock the door behind you. When you turn around, you see the sender of the note in your palm, with his hands clasped in front of him. A pale young man, gracile and willowy in build, with unreadable yet deep eyes and pale pink lips curled in a sardonic, yet cordial smile. He was dressed in the fashion of the times; a violet cravat neatly tucked into his shirt, matching to the dim shade reflected in his eyes, a small brooch in the shape of an angel’s wings. Owing to the harsh weather, a winter overcoat was draped over the fineries, lined with fur— understated and respectable, yet not standing out. A glint of silver shines under his sleeve, hardly noticeable; not that of a watch or a bracelet, but the tip of a dagger.

  You have no reason to believe that the reveal is not intentional. 

  In your life, you have only ever met Fyodor Dostoevsky four times in person; your correspondence has been limited to perfumed letters that are burned soon after they are read. The first time was in a chapel, his form sitting in a pew with unmoving tranquility, like that only ever found in placid, glacial lakes—counting the beads of his rosary although his mouth had not once moved in prayer. You do not recall why you spent so much time watching him, yet he seemed to command your attention with not so much as a word. He could keenly feel your observation, but for some reason you could not tell, he only glanced at you with a knowing smile, whispered a morning greeting, and left.

  The second time, it was in midst of the crowd that followed a public execution, though you remember not what misdeed had led that young man to the scaffold, barely of age. A short drop; you saw the deadly tie placed around that man’s neck, the force not immediately snapping his neck, but rather slowly cutting off his breath, leaving him hanging limp off the rope. You did not wait long enough to see him pass away, but you heard the man next to you mumble something about how 'there's no hope for them, there's no hope for any of them…’ Rather than sadness or contemplation, there was a tone of cruel, self aware irony in his intonation.

  Fyodor had stayed behind, observing the condemned man a few minutes more. 

  The third time, it was through an associate of yours. While you could not fathom why a seemingly devout man would associate with criminals, especially those that specialized in the matter of political assassinations, you did not question your new patron much. So long as he provided his support, it would be unwise to question generosity out loud. It would not be the first time people wore religion like a disguise for their actions, a pretty accessory that could be discarded at will. It wasn't until the past three months that he started becoming more actively involved in these…projects of sorts, and while you could not help but wonder how he seemed to convince your usually suspicious and steadfast superiors so quickly, he had still not given you a reason to question him. That first night you had worked with him is only a fuzzy memory now. By the time you had even reached the location, he was already leaving. When he closed the door behind him, he only expressed formal concern about the late hour and your return home, suggesting that he shall fetch a coach for the both of you. 

  While his back was turned, your fingers reached tentatively for the doorknob, silently opening it. In the dim candlelight, the glimmer of still warm blood shone on the floors, the limp bodies of around five men with their eyes blown wide lay scattered around the study. You were no stranger to bloody sights, however, the reason your mouth had become dry and your head felt heavy was not the slaughtered bodies of those targets, but rather the one in the centre. 

  Fyodor Dostoevsky, laying decidedly dead, with a bullet lodged in the middle of his eyes. 

  You closed the door the moment you caught a glimpse of that sight. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. It had to be, for the man you know to be Fyodor was currently not too far ahead of you, standing on the edge of the road and talking to a coach. You wondered why he hadn't locked the door after the deed was done. If he had intended for you to see what you had. The ride home had passed in silence, and you bid him a quiet farewell, head swirling from the events of the night.

  Tonight is the fourth time you have laid your eyes upon this strange man. One who has strangely made himself a recurring thought in your mind, an unwitting parasite. Usually, you had no choice but to curb your curiosity regarding certain people, given that asking too many questions could at best result in a stern rebuke or at worst, pointed violence. In that way, the new patron’s serene demeanor was disarming, yet could not entirely dispel the suspicion you kept close like an old friend. Before you could lose yourself in your silent perusal of his character any longer, the sound of his voice brings you back from your musings. 

  “Punctual, good. I trust you know what we're here for, so let us begin. Have you brought the vial?”

  The glass sits cool near your skin, and with a quick reach from your pockets, you produce the item. The liquid inside was clear, smelling like nothing in particular; the vial itself was shaped like those typically used to store smelling salts; slightly darker in color. A blend of arsenic and atropa belladonna distillates, or so you have been told. The vial he had given you looked worn, your thumb could feel the scratches on the glass and an weathered old apothecary label that read an year and initials. For F.D, 1606.

  These details remain in your memory, but they are like some sort of eccentric joke; disjointed and without meaning. Fyodor takes the vial, inspecting it for a moment, before giving it back. “It’s not full…but it will be enough for our task. Our guest will be in the box owned by his family, number five if my memory serves me. It will be high enough for no one to see you. The poison will take about an hour to act, and by that time the after party would have begun. Escort him down to keep up appearances, then lead him to one of the greenrooms. They will be empty at this hour. Wait till the body drops, and then meet me in the gardens with the corpse.” 

  You nod, movements a little exaggerated to combat the stiffness in your limbs. The stubborn feeling that accompanied the onset of missions like these; an ache in your head that felt as though someone was tightening an imaginary cord round your head. The feeling of bile in your throat that won't yet rise; no, that was reserved for after the body is buried. The danger makes you nauseous with anxiety, always has. Yet even as you hear the details of the disposal of the body, repeated by the man in front of you in a clinical tone, you hold yourself well. Back straight, looking at him directly, words uttered only with deliberation and no syllable empty when you discussed the details with him further; this is what you were made for.

  Your composure is admirable, he thinks, if only you knew who exactly you were attempting to fool. 

  “Are you nervous?” He asks, without pity or mockery.

“No. Does something make you think so?” 

“You are to kill a man in front of half the city, I would expect you to be nervous.”

You shake your head. “It’s what must be done.”

“I wonder if you say so with duty, or with compulsion?”

  You run the words you are about to say carefully in your head, numerous times. Conversations were not a means of amusement to you, but rather a delicate game. The most convincing lies are poisoned by truth. 

  “They're one and the same.”

Fyodor's expression shifts, the slight mocking lift of the corners of his lips disappearing. There is sympathy where the lights meet the cold violet in his eyes. Not the kind of sympathy that results from care, but sort of a cynical disappointment that communicates that he was expecting something different; you recognize it, for you have seen it in several places. In your friends, in the eyes of confessional priests through the wood mesh, in the men you work for. Where expectations die. “I must say, it is regrettable that you think so. But for a person in your situation, it was unsurprising. For the time being, this will suffice; now, head to the box hallway, the overture should begin soon. One last thing…”

  “Yes?” You pocket the vial, ready for your cue to leave.

  “... Your hands are trembling. It is unsightly, see to it before anyone else notices.” 

  The tremble of your velvet fingers stops once you begin to think about it consciously. Slightly embarrassed, you place your hands behind your back, clutching one with the other. It’s a strange feeling, for it's not the trembling that bothers you, but the fact that he could notice that small detail when his eyes seemed to be trained on your face the whole time.

  “Understood. Goodbye, then, I’ll see you once I’ve administered the poison.”

“I hope you'll be flawless in your execution this time as well. Good evening.”

  He gives a solemn nod, walking to the exit with light, fluid steps; movements as subtle and quiet as that of a ghost. As his back turns to you, your fingers itch to reach for the dagger on your thigh and thrust it into his neck, then twist and twist until you no longer feel seen in such an uncomfortably raw way. Till the discomfort of the moment fades and you no longer feel eyes in the back of your head even as he has walked out that door. When it shuts once more, you are left to quell the sudden rage that simmers under your skin, remembering what you are here for. 

    Unfortunately for you, Fyodor’s presence seeps into the mind like poison and sticks on it like honey.

Relationship Headcanons

Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs

TW: none? I think? 

DAZAI 

I said it in my Soukoku fic, Dazai wouldn’t know affection if it slapped him in the face ten times 

Like he might realize when someone is showing interest in a sexual kind 

And he would probably notice if someone is crushing on him 

But like, if he likes them back? 

No 

Man is blind 

He’s too busy panicking over read denying his own thoughts and feelings over you to analyze your actions 

He’s busy trying to think of anything but how pretty you are when he sees you -thank you very much 

No joke though, this can be applied to pretty much anyone he cares about 

I mean he practically had a heart attack when Atsushi gave him flowers 

Anyways if he finally admits to himself that he likes you then I could see him trying to push you away if I’m being brutally honest 

He doesn’t want to lose you and he believes that anything he wants that he obtains, will be striped from him sooner or later 

But…, in a perfect world he would eventually work up the courage to ask you out 

He would probably avoid directly asking you but this is Dazai so he could defiantly figure out some round-about way to ask 

As for the relationship? 

He would still be his teasing self 

But he would tone it down 

Not because he doesn’t want to annoy you but more so because he actually lets some of his masks down when alone with you 

He defiantly is very clingy to you 

Man has been touch starved for a long time and he fears attachment too much to be touchy with the ADA members 

But now he has you, who not only tolerates him but has decided to stay with him? 

Of course he’s not going to let this chance slip from his grasp before all this inevitably ends (he’s still in denial) 

He never cared much for holidays like Christmas or Valentines 

But now he wants to experience them, with you 

He’s always thinking, plans and outcomes racing through his mind, what ifs and regrets  

But like, if you ruffle his hair, his brain just stops. 

Like no thoughts, he short circuits 

When his brain returned to him the first time it happened he panicked 

Like, who gave you that amount of control? 

After that first time he continued to try and get you to do it without asking 

He needed his brain to shut up every now and then, and now he has a reliable source 

Anyways, he likes to be a spoiled princess 

No one can change my mind 

For all his predictions he will never be able to predict your love and kindness for him 

CHUUYA 

Someone give this poor man a hug 

Ugh, my heart 

I can‘t imagine him wanting to date a normal citizen, too much of a risk 

So you’d probably have to work in the Mafia 

Even then, dating you would still be placing a huge target on you 

He would actually take you out on dates before asking you out 

Dates with him would be romantic 

Like dinner by candle light vibes 

He’d be strategic on where you guys sit 

No need to be precarious on what you order, it’s all on him 

When he does ask you out he would be slightly flustered but it just makes him adorable 

Say yes, he doesn’t deserve to be hurt any more 

He would spoil you to no end 

If you want it, you can have it 

You’re the only one allowed to call him short 

He might get flustered from PDA in the start but will gradually warm up to it 

Nothing clingy, just hand holding, a hand around your waist, a quick kiss here or there 

But if he sees some guy hitting on you? 

Down right possessive, arm snug around your waist, shoulder to shoulder 

And if he’s drunk? Even worse 

Like he’s pulling you onto his lap just to make sure that asshole knows your taken 

If you do work in the mafia with him, he likes going on easier missions with you 

And while he knows that you can handle yourself just fine, he can’t help but imagine something bad happening to you when he isn’t there to save you 

He’s lost too many people in his life, please, don’t leave him as well 

He loves when you rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat 

And while you do that he’ll run his fingers through your hair 

Chuuya loves to spoil you rotten as I stated, it’s his love language 

So sometimes he’ll just hand you his black card and let you go shopping with friends or something 

In fact, he encourages you to buy what you want 

FYODOR 

Honestly? Where do I start with him? 

Like congratulations if you meet him and make it out alive 

I don’t know if I should congratulate him taking an interest in you though 

I feel like he believe that the interest he had in you was purely innocent curiosity 

But I also don’t think he would try to delude himself for as long as Dazai does 

Eventually he would notice that something was different about his interest for you than usual 

And while he would hesitate to put a name to it so quickly he would eventually give in after realizing there was no stoping this feeling from festering in him 

After coming to terms with his romantic? Feelings and interest in you he would definitely begin to manipulate you into feeling the same way for him 

If you don’t already that is 

If you don’t confess then he’ll definitely do the same thing Dazai did 

And when you agree, he of course knew you would, he makes you move in with him 

He can’t let his dearest other slip from his finger now can he? 

I feel like before ever getting into a relationship, you would have been made aware of his ‘work’  

Please, make sure the man eats 

And takes his iron pill 

Nikolai is getting a little tired of that daily routine despite how much he loves to be around Fyodor 

Anyways, dates aren’t a very common thing in fact, very, very rare 

I mean… what did you expect? 

Man’s a literal terrorist 

That being said, from time to time he’ll leave his ‘lair’ to spend time with you 

If you ask, he’ll gladly play the cello for you 

If he snaps at you for ‘bothering him with pointless things’ when you bring him his iron pill or food just listen 

Don’t bother him with such things 

And then same thing the next day 

And after some 4 or 5 days he’ll stumble from his room 

Staggering as he tries not to collapse or faint from both his lack of energy and his iron deficiency 

And when he walks into the kitchen trying to get the iron pill bottle open? 

Let him stumble his way over to you and ask for help before you finally do as such 

And he realizes just how dependent on you he’s become 

It’ll happen again eventually 

But as of that moment, it’ll at least be awhile before the cycle repeats 

(That last part of Fyodor’s was based upon some fanfic I read for him. I'm not sure who it was by, but I’ll tag it if and when I do find it.) 

A/N: anyways, believe it or not, I love Chuuya just as much as I do Fyodor and Dazai 

I’m just not as confident in his character. Since I’m a lot like Dazai, he comes easy to me and by substitute, Fyodor does as well 

But Chuuya? Despite him being one of my 5 favorites along with Dazai and Fyodor, I just don’t resonate personally enough with him to write him really well