st4rd0lly

[st4rd0lly]

TRASH SUGAR MAGIC

➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 14: ꜱʜᴀᴀɴᴛɪ

➛ nikolai gogol x fem!reader

➛ cw: general content in main menu, fluff, angst, depictions of violence | words: 9.9k

➛ ao3 | spotify (note: listen to i only have eyes for you by the flamingos!) | main menu

“It doesn’t fit…”

“It will. I’ll make it fit. Just stay still.”

“Ugh…”

Nikolai taps your cheek lightly as soon as he sees your pout but it only makes you scowl deeper. It is not his fault that you wanted to try one of his old jackets and happened to be interested in a navy windbreaker that he bought about twenty-one years ago. It certainly does not fit him anymore, just like the old red cardigan you wore last few weeks. But this windbreaker is older than the cardigan, so it is smaller.

“Sweetheart, I only have five days left in this town. I don’t think I wanna play dress up right now.” He sighs. He is supposed to separate his old clothes and the ones he still wants and wearable. And you have been clinging to him, ‘helping’ him to pack up but it is clear that you just want to be involved and stay close. He does not shoo you away though. You are like a duckling following him around and asking him stuff about his massive collection of overcoats.

“It can’t even be zipped. It’s like— Is the metal getting rusty or something? Why is it— Ah.” You freeze when the slider breaks off from the zipper. Nikolai stares at your hand and your eyes wander up to his face innocently before you give him the slider. “Sorry.”

Nikolai huffs, leaning his face closer as he glares at you with disappointment. “You ruined my jacket.”

“I said sorry!” You whine. “The zipper was stuck!”

“Just spit on it, the classic way.”

You cringe, shuddering hard as you wiggle your shoulders. “Ew, that’s gross.”

He snickers and waves his hand dismissively at you. “Well, I don’t want that jacket anyway. You can do whatever you want with it.” He says before he continues taking a coat from the pile of clothes on the couch. They are all washed, including the ones he had forgotten in his secret dimension. He hears you squeal in happiness quietly as you hug yourself—seems like you really wanted that forgotten windbreaker.

Knock! Knock!

“I’ll get the door,” You say as you quickly get up and walk to greet the guests. You open the door and smile broadly when you see Viktor and Nastasya waiting at the front.

“Hello, peasant~! Not you, girl.” Viktor cheerfully invites himself in, followed by Nastasya. You grin sweetly at her and she just silently smiles back. Nikolai has told you that Viktor will come today so he can help with Nikolai’s old stuff. The man may not condone furniture smuggling but if there are old things he can sell for extra cash, he is so up for it.

Viktor approaches the living room and sits on the floor. Nastasya sits on the couch, just beside Viktor’s spot. His eyes are gawking at the pile of overcoats in Nikolai’s possession. “I did not expect that you would have this many! Are you going to sell them all?” He asks.

“All? Even the thought of selling one is making me sad.” Nikolai mumbles. In his hands, there is a vintage jacket. It is already torn in multiple spots, seeming to be made with fake leather with a lot of polyester.

“Yeah, you should have given me some,” Viktor replies before he lights up a cigarette between his lips. Nikolai scrunches his nose and before Viktor can even take a short inhale of the nicotine, a floating hand suddenly appears in front of him, yanking the cigarette from his lips.

“Hey!”

“You’re gonna make all my jackets smell smoky,” Nikolai complains.

“Alright, alright, my bad, baby.” Viktor huffs before he takes the cigarette from the floating hand and presses it into the ashtray hidden beside the big couch. Nastasya just sighs, shaking her head at her boyfriend’s bad manners.

“Urm…”

They look at you. Your face is full of confusion as you stare bewilderedly at the weird stuff happening in front of you. “Is that a hand?” 

“Yes, dummy.” Nikolai slips his hand out of the inside of the vintage jacket that is on his lap. At the same time he does that, the floating hand also disappears. “It’s a hand. My hand.” You coo, nodding with amazement as you look at his hand.

“I think your… uniqueness is very cool. It’s like magic!” You say, leaning closer to him.

“He is—well, was—a magician!” Viktor says, pointing at his friend excitedly. “Ask him to make a card trick.”

“Can you make a card trick?” You obediently ask, still beaming. Nikolai looks at you and then Viktor. He is just grinning mischievously at the seed he planted. Nikolai wonders if this annoyance he is feeling is the same annoyance people around him felt before. Was this how Sigma felt when I was shitting around? No wonder he’s pissed like someone has a hold of his ass 24/7…

Nikolai sighs softly and holds your chin to turn your adorable, eager face away. “No card tricks, sweetheart. Not now.”

Viktor only giggles naughtily, clearly enjoying his teasing and he is relentless. “Aww, come on!” He says. “You used to do it all the time to pick up ladies. And let me tell ya, it’s not only the ladies that got picked up.” He wiggles his eyebrow before he whines dramatically. “Ah, if only I had such talents to impress my beloved!” He smooches the air in Nastasya’s direction.

“You’re already impressive in many ways…” Nastasya mutters slowly, smiling softly as she caresses his hair. Viktor pouts at her, resting his chin on her knee. His eyes glimmer submissively, glazing with pure adoration for his one love. 

“Mm-hm, you’re more impressive.”

“For God’s sake, if you two want to fuck each other instead of helping me, please do it outside,” Nikolai grumbles.

“Haa! You’re just jealous of us.” Viktor grins before his menace appears even clearer. “I know you’ve been single for a while but dude, maybe you gotta release that tension a bit. Everyone needs some actions in their lives. Let me suggest… uh, I don’t know. Have you considered kissing someone?”

Nikolai’s face reddens and his heart is pounding faster when he hears you choking on your saliva. He knows Viktor purposefully said that. What is worse is that you do not even know that both Viktor and Nastasya are fully aware of what happened between the two of you that night. He takes a deep breath and harshly rubs his face with his palm, just to ease his fluster.

“I don’t… need… to kiss someone…” He says awkwardly.

“Ohh?! Why not? Because you have kissed someone?!”

“Pyzda.”

If it was not for Nastasya’s proximity and ability to throw hands without a second thought, Nikolai would personally smack the shit out of Viktor. He does not even want to look at you because he can definitely feel you getting restless every second beside him. He knows you are also thinking the same thing as him—especially for the past several nights, you have been successfully getting him to sleep on the bed with you. You do not even have to say anything. You just tug at his hand, slightly pull him and he sleeps beside you. And he makes sure to be awake first, just to avoid awkward morning conversations and longing looks.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Viktor laughs.

“Well, if you’re kidding, why don’t you get your ass up and take my garbage with you?” Nikolai grumbles. Viktor salutes him, eyes sharp and serious. Nastasya lets out a small chuckle, enjoying the way her lover acts, totally does not care about the torment Viktor just put on the homeowner himself.

“Nastya, do you wanna bring home some of Kolya’s stuff? I mean, some of these old coats are high quality, aren’t they?” Viktor asks.

“Take from that pile. Those are the ones I don’t want anymore.” Nikolai points at a pile on the table. There are two piles of overcoats, one on the couch and the other on the table. He has been separating the ones he does not want to keep on the pile on the table. But the ratio of those piles is incredibly uneven.

Viktor jerks his eyebrow. “Dude, are you even throwing stuff? This is like 80-20. Oh, hey, this one’s pretty cute though.”

Nikolai pouts. “I still want some of them… Some of mine already got lost when I was arrested.” He could not really help himself. He is pretty attached to a lot of his clothes—the overcoats that have been his backbone for his trickery over the past several decades.  

“Yeah, I understand. It’s still surprising that you have this much even after your stuff was totally gone seven years ago. And now you’re discarding them again. I mean, someone surely wants to keep them. Ain’t that right, girl?” Viktor suddenly calls you out. You seem surprised at the sudden attention and shyly nod. Your hands fiddle with the navy windbreaker you are currently wearing. It cannot be closed because of the broken slider—and it cannot even be zipped in the first place because it is too small to fully close—but you have found your comfort in it.

“I mean, I’ve been sharing his clothes for a while. And a lot of them are comfy…” You say.

“Mm-hm. That windbreaker suits you but are you sure you want that? His ex-girlfriend used to wear that a lot, haha! Who was it? Ehh, Jovanna, right?”

“… Kolya, I don’t want it anymore.”

Nikolai groans loudly. The teasing will not stop as long as you are near. This is unacceptable. He does expect Viktor to be a piece of shit but he does not expect that it will get out of hand. With a deep breath and an eerie sweet smile, he holds your shoulder. 

“Can you escort Nastasya to the kitchen and serve her some of your famous hot chocolate?”

“Oh, shit,” Nastasya mutters. 

“Sure! Can I take this jacket off though?” Nikolai glares at you and you swallow nervously before fixing the position of the windbreaker that does not even have to be fixed. “N-Nevermind. The jacket is… uh, pretty. Err, come, Nastasya!” You say, taking Nastasya’s hand and practically dragging her away to the kitchen. Nastasya reluctantly follows you—she does not have it in her heart to shove you away and refuse your gesture. Knowing that her boyfriend has pushed Nikolai’s buttons a lot, she can only mouth ‘Sorry’ towards Viktor. 

“Wait! Don’t leave me here with this madman. W-Wait, girls— Ow!”

— ♡

“You know, this house isn’t bad,” Nastasya says as she sips the hot chocolate you made for her. “Except for the… ugly walls and ceilings, I think it’s a nice place to stay if you’re alone.”

“You live together with Viktor, right? What’s your house look like?” You ask. Nastasya shrugs. 

“A little bigger. We have two rooms. One is our bedroom. And another room, Viktor renovated it to be his office. It’s very messy. Lots of papers and computers and screens. I don’t even understand.” Nastasya says. “I want to understand his work sometimes but I know it’s better for me to not know everything since he tends to get involved with dangerous people.”

“I thought he only works with Nikolai…” You mumble. 

“Nope. He works with many different people actually. It’s just Nikolai’s the closest one because they are friends. He is mainly an information broker and informant, so he knows many things about many weird organisations. By weird, I mean real weird. There was one time when he was commissioned by this weird narcissistic gambler who said he’s a mafia executive.” Nastasya says before she dips a wheat cracker into the hot chocolate. 

“You don’t mind him keeping you in the dark about things?” 

She raises her eyebrow. “No…? It’s dangerous for me to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. Besides, I trust Vitya. He won’t let anything bad happen to me—he never does. If he doesn’t want me to know about certain things, then I believe it’s for my own safety.”

“That… makes sense, I guess.”

“Huh?” She grunts. “Did you imply that what Viktor is doing doesn’t make sense?”

“W-What, no, no! Not at all. I mean, he looks like he would worship even your footsteps, so I thought he would let you know everything possible about him.” You stutter, shaking your palms fast. “I-Isn’t that how relationships work? You both get to know each other…?”

“You really have never been in a relationship, do you?” Nastasya sighs, pinching her nose bridge. Her eyes trail up, glancing hard at you and leering up and down. She frowns slightly before she crosses her arms. “I still find it hard to believe. Seriously? No one wants you? I mean, didn’t you move a lot to new places? You ought to meet someone at least.”

“Mm… no. Well, I had friends… but short-term kind of friends…” You mumble awkwardly. It is kind of embarrassing to publicly admit how much of a loner you are but it is not like that fact is well-hidden. You are aware that some of your behaviour with a certain someone does give some kind of vibes to those who observe—which, probably, most of the people you have met so far. 

“Huh…” Nastasya taps her dark red lips, pouting slightly. “But you’re an escort, weren’t you? Don’t you find some people cute sometimes? I mean, we were both sex workers—except you’re on another different spectrum. Sometimes I do find some people cute and attractive, but not to the point I wanted to have a serious relationship with them. Things like that weren’t meant for me. Until Viktor, of course… Well, I found him to be a cringe weirdo at first, but that’s not the point.” She murmurs. “Point is—have you gotten that spark of wanting to date someone, at least? And don’t fucking mention that clown’s name.”

“Err…” You bite your lips, eyes wandering up in the air as you try to remember a single instance where you were indeed interested in becoming someone special, but somehow those many instances happened when you were no longer working in the club and kidnapped by a ‘clown’. You shake your head. “I don’t think so. I mean, there were probably times when I would love to date someone but not really for a serious relationship.”

“Yeah? For what, then?”

“… Money…?”

A short laugh erupts from her throat. “Oh yeah, you’re actually so right. I don’t blame you. I’d do the same if Viktor didn’t come visit me once every two nights. There’s just so many others who are richer than him.” She giggles and you sheepishly chuckle too. You think Nastasya’s little laughs are somewhat adorable—a contrast to her usual bold appearance, always black and red. 

“Ooh~ what are you girls gossiping about?” Viktor suddenly appears from the kitchen entrance. He happily makes his way to Nastasya, hugs the woman from behind and kisses her head with a loud, shameless smooch. Nastasya smiles warmly, tilting her face up towards Viktor before her smile drops almost instantly. Her hands quickly cup his face, puckering his lips.

“What happened to your lips?”

You look at Viktor’s face a little more carefully, finally realising a faint reddish bruise on the corner of Viktor’s lips. There seems to be a tiny cut of dried blood on them too. But the man is just calm and nonchalant about it.

“Oh! Don’t get angry, Nastyushka, but Kolya just smacked the brat out of me.” He winks as if it is the most casual thing that happened to him. Nastasya almost jumps out of her seat before Viktor holds her by her shoulders. “Woah, woah, it’s okay! It doesn’t hurt!”

“I wish it freaking does.” Nikolai steps into the kitchen. 

“Grumpy. Consider kissing a very very cute baby blue girl— Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Viktor jerks back defensively and hugs Nastasya tightly. He whines at her, “Poor me, poor me,” he says. 

“You’re such an ass…” Nikolai shakes his head before he takes a seat on the empty chair beside you. His sharpened, angry eyes soften when you shake his arm, trying to get his attention. It works almost instantly as a small smile flashes on his face when he turns to you. “Yeah?” He asks, softly. 

“Kolya, I gotta go to Olga’s diner in an hour. She told me yesterday to come help out today.” You say. “There’s a football match tonight.”

“Ah, right. Hm, that means you’re gonna finish your shift late, right?” Nikolai asks. You nod before you lean closer—he does not pull away from your closeness—and your eyes are shining with expectation. 

“Will you wait for me until I finish my shift?”

Nikolai scoffs. “Are you dumb? No, I won't spend my time in her restaurant. And I have some things to do with my car and apartment anyway.”

“I thought there’s nothing left to do with the apartment.” You mutter. 

“Yeah, but apparently I owed the landlord about forty thousand rubles.” He says, his tone sounds like he is also confused by the amount of debt on his name. “He must be fucking with me…” He murmurs, pouting as he sulkily takes a piece of wheat cracker from the plate on the table.

“What? How can there be so much?” You ask. 

“See, I don’t understand it either. I made my calculations when I rented this apartment and I should not have that much debt. I think the landlord is messing with me because he knows I’m leaving.” Nikolai says. He eyes your hot chocolate and deliberately takes the mug. And you can only watch dejectedly as he drinks half of your hot chocolate. 

“Marking up prices, what’s new?” Viktor replies. “I’m sure he’s going to bring up the fact that you have your unregistered girlfriend residing together.”

You gulp and look away shyly. “I’m n-not his girlfriend…” Your body shrinks as you are engulfed with embarrassment. “Not…” your voice falters, “… yet.”

“Pull yourself together,” Nastasya says sharply.

Swallowing nervously, Nikolai tries hard to pretend he does not hear your personal whisper despite the shit-eating grin on Viktor’s face. He coughs awkwardly, “Ahem— He, uh, he probably would try to blackmail me about the fact that there’s another unregistered resident over here. But it’s fine. I’ll see him later in his unit after I send her to Olga’s. We’re gonna have some chit-chat.” He looks at Viktor, wiggling his index finger at him. “And you’re gonna guard the door, alright?”

Viktor’s grin falls. “… Dude, please don’t kill people today. I’m not cleaning your mess.”

“Are you guys really leaving me alone?” Nastasya grumbles, glaring at Nikolai and you. “You’re going to work—” She points at you and then turns to Nikolai. “—and you two are going to kill people. Am I really going to be here alone?”

“Nobody’s getting killed. Not even the landlord,” Viktor rolls his eyes.

You lean forward slightly, smiling at Nastasya. “Or~ you can come with me to Olga—”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Fine.” You huff but your little attitude does not last long when you hear a breathy chuckle from the man beside you. When you look at him, his chuckle halts immediately and his eyes immediately wander away from you.

He feigns another awkward cough as he fiddles with your hot chocolate that somehow has become his. “I think you should get ready to leave now. Olga’s probably waiting for you already.”

“Oh! Alright.” You nod and excuse yourself from the dining table. Nikolai only watches your figure disappear into the bedroom. His hand is holding the mug and he drinks the rest of it—he does not care if this is yours to begin with. It was his money that bought the chocolate powder in the first place. 

“Hey, Nikolai,” Viktor says and Nikolai’s heart is already uneasy with whatever stunt Viktor wants to pull. His friend giggles. “Hee hee hee, your lips were on the spot where her lips were.”

— ♡

“Alright, here we are.”

The car stops by the street and across the road is Olga’s diner. There is no parking directly in front of the restaurant, so Nikolai has to park by the street. It is not like it will take long as he just wanted to send you off. You look out of the window, seeing the hazy weather above. The snowfall is light today. Sun peeks between the clouds occasionally, just enough to shine its existence for a minute or two. 

“You’ll finish late, right?” Nikolai asks, making sure. You turn to him and nod. “Hm, in that case, tell Olga to call me when you’re done. I’ll come to pick you up.”

“Will your business today take that long to be done? Can’t you just come at like… ten or eleven?” You lean closer to him, beaming. He scoffs, tugging a strand of your hair. And you let out a tiny whine as you swat his bullying hand like flies. He laughs shortly before he retracts his hand and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, no. I think even my business will finish later than usual because I also have a small… job to do. Just some extra cash.” He winks and you do not dare to pry more because whatever job he is about to do is probably something bloody and dangerous. You know he commits crimes—a shitload of it. And somehow you find it amusing to see a former inmate be so brave to break the law again and again. You wonder if the justice system is that flawed and damned—is money truly the god of it all? 

“Okay… Be careful.” You say. Nikolai scoffs, finding your words to be ridiculous. 

“I think that’s not what you should say to an ex-terrorist, love.”

“Still, I don’t want you to get hurt or anything.” You reply, your tone is firm as you poke his chest. “You don’t want to get into prison again, right?”

Nikolai laughs, lifting both his hands in a surrendering manner. “You got me there.” He then holds your wrist, pulling it away slightly. “You don’t have to worry about me so much, you know? Worry about yourself.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, and it makes him nervous. Sometimes your staring would take away the sparkles in your eyes and he is left with deep questioning on what kind of thoughts are spiralling inside your head. When you look away, your attention is fixated on your lap instead. 

“I love you, Nikolai. That’s why I care and worry about you…” 

“… I know.”

God damn it—Nikolai curses to himself when you look at him with those eyes, akin to a lost puppy. He turns his head away, refusing to return your gaze, for he knows that his self-control is already struggling. He already begins to feel the cold mask that he puts on thawing—perhaps it already melted and the shield he puts up is no longer. His heart flutters when he feels a tiny tug on his arm—a habit he is no stranger to. It is as if you are constantly begging him to pay attention to you—look at me, listen to me, love me, love me, love me. 

He despises it. He knows many strings of his have attached themselves to you—tightened their knots the longer you stay with him. He needs to sever the ties—he does not need more people to be concerned about. He only has himself and his focus should be on his former friend who truly understood him—that is all there is. Relationships, human connections, emotions are all controls—and he is damned with them.

He left prison for one reason only—to kill Dostoyevsky and do what he was supposed to do back in Meursault. 

He does not want to care too much. One wrong move and he will drown again in the cage he fights so hard to stay out of. One wrong move and the care will turn to love—that will not do, that shall not happen. He must keep it withered, watch it perish slowly. 

He needs you to learn to unlove him. He already did so much to get rid of you in the nicest way possible—got you a nice working place, a nice house to live in, nice people to befriend with. It is just your dependency that is the main problem. 

“Nikolai…”

God damn you. 

“Listen,” Nikolai hesitantly looks at you. “I don’t hate you, alright? But I can’t just let go of… what I’m trying to pursue. I don’t hate you, I really don’t.”

“I know you don’t hate me. But do you like me?”

He holds himself back from lashing out mean words at you—not because he is angry, but really, he just does not want the knots to tighten. He sighs internally and shrugs. “Of course I do.” He murmurs and as much as he wants to deny it again, the little shine of hope in your face does soften his heart enough for him to not hurt your feelings. 

“I like you too. I like you a lot.” You smile at him—adorable little flowers planting their seeds in his heart. He feels his chest tightens before he smirks faintly. Loving him is extreme and he is content enough if you just like him—as long as you are not hating him. He knows it is better if you hate him, but he does not want to be the one who is pushed away. Let it be him who pushes you away, out of his sight, out of his life. 

Selfish, yes. But perhaps it hurts less. 

Nikolai swallows nervously before he nudges his chin towards Olga’s diner across the road. “I think you should go already.” He says. You turn your head to look at the building before you sigh to yourself softly. Truthfully, you feel reluctant to even leave Nikolai’s side—especially knowing that you only have five days left with him. You want to make every second count but even the man himself is getting busier each day approaching. 

Well, at least he does sleep on the same bed as you every night. Except you wonder if he leaves right after you totally black out because every time you wake up the next morning, he is already gone.

With half enthusiasm in your heart, you take off the seatbelt and gather your belongings—it is just only your purse, really. You take out your lip gloss and hastily apply it to your lips. Smacking your lips lightly a couple times, you tidy up your hair and clothes. Then you turn your head towards Nikolai to bid farewell, but you find him to be staring at you. 

And upon realising that he has been caught, his eyes divert away little by little until he fully looks straight ahead. 

“You stare a lot—”

“Get out of my car already, geez.” He cuts you off. Without even looking at you, he pushes your shoulder a few times, as if to urge you to leave.

“Okay, okay! I’m leaving! Hmph, I can’t even be cute.” You protest and open the car door before you take a step out. Nikolai presses the button at the console on the side of his door and the window to your door rolls down. You close the door but it is a weak push that does not shut the door perfectly. 

“Close the door again.” He says right before you take a step to cross the road. You huff and pull the door again, only to slam it as hard as you can—perhaps it is too hard as Nikolai even flinches at the banging noise. 

“Heyyy, be gentle! Broken car won’t sell nice.”

“I did be gentle.” You retort, unsatisfied with his complaints. Nikolai huffs, waving his hand to shoo you off. You stick out your tongue and turn around to leave. 

“Look both ways.” He says—his words are just a casual, breezing advice but from the corner of his eyes, he sees you turn your head left and right at the very empty road. You look at him one last time and wave your hand. 

“I’ll see you later tonight. Bye-bye. Love you.”

The giggles that follow you when you jog away to the restaurant only make the butterflies in his stomach wilder. Those two words are just as casual as his breezing advice and yet the knots tighten. Nikolai taps his own chest, face blushing when he realises how fast his heart is beating. 

He watches you until you are safely inside the restaurant.

“… Love… you…. too…”

He whispers. It sounds foreign, strange—should not be uttered, should be buried, concealed, confined. 

But it feels right. His heart delights.

— ♡

“Are the stars out tonight?”

“I don't know if it's cloudy or bright,”

“I only have eyes for you, dear.”

“Olga, can we change the radio already?” Vasily complains as he arranges the washed dishes. You two have been taking turns washing the dishes and it is your turn to soak both of your forearms in the sink.

Your shift supposedly ends at eleven but you decide to stick around to help for closing. The football match went horrible, you think. Some people left the restaurant even before the game ended. Apparently, the team the majority were rooting for was on the losing side and there was little to no hope left to get back in the game. 

At the end, when the match ended, people were rushing to make payments to leave. You remember Vasily’s panicked face because he had to take over the cashier at the moment. He did call you over to take over the machine as he needed to leave for a moment. 

Despite Olga’s advice to not work too upfront with the customers, you had to do it because the diner was lacking the necessary staff. The kitchen staff were busy with dirty dishes. The bartender only cared about the cups and glasses returned to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some old song, Vasya?” A kitchen staff member who is still around replies. You do not know his name. He is a little taller than Vasily. He has dirty blonde hair and a light moustache and goatee. He seems to be only working on the evening shift.

“I’m not scared but might as well put up some songs other than old jazz in the middle of late night.” Vasily rolls his eyes. Olga cackles before she intentionally twists the volume knob on the old radio to increase it. Although the jazz is quite creepy, it pleases you to learn that Olga likes jazz—old classic ones. Does Nikolai like jazz too? Or perhaps he prefers some opera since you have seen him watching a recording of a play before?

“Yeah, you definitely are not scared, although your legs are trembling. And that’s not jazz, that’s… R&B or something.” The kitchen staff says.

“I’m not trembling!” Vasily bickers back. “Jazz, R&B, country, they’re all jazz if they’re released before the 1960s, alright?” He adds. The man lets out a mocking laugh before he pats Vasily’s back.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever Vasya.” He says. “Hey, Olya! Thanks for the dinner. I’m sooo gonna enjoy it.” The man waves to Olga before he takes his backpack from the counter. Olga nods and waves back with a warm smile on her face.

“Be careful on the road.” She says.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, ‘mum’.” He replies jokingly before he walks past you who are standing at the sink. But he stops behind you and seeing his shadow looming over you,  you slowly turn around with a plate in your hands.

“H-Hi…?” You say with a small voice.

“You’ve been here for a while and I still don’t know your name,” He says before he offers his hand. “Name’s Cherevyk. I’m the chef.”

You hastily wipe your right hand on the apron you are wearing before taking his hand. His grip is rigid and you frown slightly when he seems to still insist on holding your hand despite a little pull from you to break the handshake. Knowing it is not wise to tell him your full name, you just give him your shortest nickname.

“You kinda look familiar, not gonna lie.” Cherevyk grins. “Seems like we’re going to work together for a long time, eh?”

“I-I suppose so.” You glance at your linked hands and finally manage to pry away your hand from him.

“Hey, since you’re working more in the kitchen, you wanna exchange numbers? I’m not trying to brag but I’m pretty darn good at my job, you know? Maybe someday you can upgrade yourself to a chef like me too instead of sticking around with Vasya here and there.” He smirks before taking out his phone. You want to refuse the idea since your phone is still dead. But before you can politely decline, Vasily quickly appears right beside Cherevyk, with his hand behind the chef’s back.

“She has a man, dude,” Vasily says. Cherevyk’s eyebrow buck up as he looks at Vasily confused.

“You? That’s a quick move-on from your last heartbreak. I remember seeing you sit under the rain—” 

“Fuck you.” Vasily cusses him out. “Not me, asshat.” He sighs before he gently pulls Cherevyk away from your personal space. You finally let out a long exhale before you watch the two of them, blinking bemusedly at what Vasily is going to do to defend you. You can definitely speak for yourself but you do enjoy the feeling of having someone get you covered.

“Yeah, as if I’ll believe that.” Cherevyk scoffs before he turns to you. “I’ll trust the cutie pie herself. You have a boyfriend?”

“Err…”

Vasily sighs loudly before he uses his whole body to steer Cherevyk away from you even further. Cherevyk is protesting, cursing at Vasily to move and let him have his chance on you. You purse your lips and turn to Olga, trying to ask her for help but she is just packing up some leftover food for you and Vasily while humming over the same song she has put on a loop—or maybe it is just the way the old radio works. 

“You are here and so am I,

“Maybe millions of people go by,

“But they all disappear from view,

“And I only have eyes for you.”

She serenades to herself.

“Cherevyk, you gotta trust me, you won’t have a chance at all with her. I’m telling you, her man is not someone you’d mess with.” You look at Vasily and Cherevyk—they are speaking to each other in hushed voices but it does not seem like they even bother to be secretive because you can still hear their conversation. And they are not that far anyway.

“Huh? What kind of man is he? A freaking police or something?” Cherevyk sneers, snorting scornfully.

“It’s Nikolai,” Vasily grumbles.

“Who’s that?”

Your friend’s sigh turns louder. “You know the guy with the white hair? The one whose hair is often braided with a red fluffy thing?”

“… Gogol?” Cherevyk asks, his voice is loud and surprised. His head quickly snaps towards you as his face is ashen. Trying to ease the tension growing between them, your lips curve into a sweet smile and Cherevyk turns away. “Oh, fuck…”

“Yeah, you’re fucked. Deep fucked. In the ass too and it’s not pleasant. What if he knows, huh? He tried to box me up and throw me in the trash the other day for no reason too.” Vasily says. He clearly purposefully tries to make his tone spookier, instilling fear in Cherevyk.

“Nikolai was just kidding. He wasn’t trying to harm you.” You chime in, not liking how they speak of him negatively. He might be a little scary but he is a sweet person… sometimes.

“See?” Vasily gestures to you. “So you better give up, dude. Really, for your own good. Now go home and find another girl, okay?” He pats Cherevyk’s back and leads him to the pantry at the back, where the back door is also located nearby. Before Cherevyk leaves, he glances at you one last time, a little regret in his eyes for flirting with you.

“Hmph,” You pout before you arrange your final cleaned plates on the rack before approaching Olga. As you walk closer, you hear the jazz louder. As you take a look at the old radio, you see the jazz CD spinning on its port.

“First time seeing an old radio?” Olga suddenly says. You grin, shaking your head.

“I have seen my fair share of antique stuff.” You reply. “But this radio is certainly working nicely for this kind of model…” You murmur, hand curiously inspecting the radio. “Don’t you think it would be romantic to listen to a song with your lover like this?”

Olga chuckles to herself. “What I’m hearing is, ‘Can I borrow this radio so I can show it and play it to Kolya?’. Do I get that right, sweetie?”

“N-No, I don’t mean that!” You deny quickly, ironically with your hands in front of you as if you are guilty. She laughs before she pushes one of the packed food towards you.

“A way to a man’s heart is by food. Give one to Kolya, will you?”

“O-Of course!” You say before you take two packed food—one for you, one for Nikolai. “Uhm, do I go home now? It doesn’t look like you’re going to close just yet…”

“Ah right, you did tell me to call Kolya to pick you up, didn’t you?” She murmurs. “You can go home, dear. Vasily and I are staying a bit. I have some food supplies to retrieve and stock up.”

“I can stick around and help.” You say. “I thought Cherevyk would stay around but he’s been more than eager to leave.”

“Of course he would when Vasya does not stop fear-mongering him. What’s sooo scary about Kolya anyway? He’s just… quirky, sometimes.”

Bam! “I know, right?” Your palm slams the counter, accidentally hard, and it makes Olga jump at the sudden wham at the impact. “I mean, he can get nerve-wracking but he is not scary. Mm-hm, I’m glad we think the same, Olga.” Your lips jut outward as you rest your head on Olga’s head. “Nikolai is not scary…”

“Yeah, he’s not 'scary'. That bastard is madly terrifying.”

— ♡

“My love must be a kind of blind love… I can't see anyone but you…Sha bop, sha bop… Hm, maybe this is why I don’t go to karaoke…” You mumble self-consciously at your attempt to voice out the melody that has stuck itself vigorously in your mind. You have no one but Olga to blame for this. She has been tuning in old songs in the diner to fill in the silence instead of turning on the TV. You sigh before that sigh turns into a yawn.

It is already eleven forty-three. 

It was an exhausting day. But it does not end yet as Olga told you to wait for Vasily at the back to move some new food supplies for the restaurant. So, at 11:43 PM, basking in the winterly night, you are waiting for your friend by yourself. You do not blame Olga for this though because you did agree to help and she has been nothing but a kind person for you all this time.

However, it is weird that some food supplies are arriving at this hour. Is the supplier really that busy to not be able to send the items when the sun is still out? Why now, when the moon is barely reflecting its glamour? You wish Nikolai was here to accompany you or something. You did tell Olga to call him to come pick you up later on. 

Five minutes later, you are already shivering in the cold. Your exhale of breaths is emitting faint tiny clouds. You are about to get inside again, to complain about Vasily’s lateness to Olga, but that idea is halted when you see a car approaching the back of the building.

Your hand on the doorknob, you watch in suspicion as the car stops in front of you. Then it parks before Vasily gets out from the driver’s side. The wariness in you dissipates as you sigh in relief. But not so long when you berate him immediately after. 

“You’re so late!” You say. Vasily scratches his head, looking fairly guilty. 

“I got lost…”

“You lived here longer than me.” You cross your arms, pouting. 

Vasily rolls his eyes. “Girl, you cannot even afford a driving licence. You don’t have the right to get mad at me.” He says and you could only smack his shoulder lightly as a response—because he is right… in a way.

“Here, come help me. Jesus, I don’t even know why Olga has to receive these supplies right at this hour as if tomorrow won’t be.” He grumbles as he opens the trunk. There are four polystyrene foam boxes. Out of curiosity, you lift each lid of the boxes one by one. There are some frozen seafood, frozen vegetables and suspicious packages containing white powder. 

“Urm, Vasya…? I don’t think these are… food supplies.”

Vasily takes a peek at one of the boxes. He swallows nervously before he gently pushes your hand to close the box back. As if to reassure you, he pats your hand. “Well, that is… something. I don’t even know about that.”

“Are these… what I think they are?” You ask, your voice hushed. Vasily nods awkwardly. 

“Yes…? I hope not but… yes, it is.” He rubs his face. “Damn, I’m an accidental smuggler. This won’t look good in my records.”

“Are we going to erm… smuggle… these? That’s a crime.” You shake his arm, hesitant to even think about carrying the box into the restaurant and place it somewhere hidden. You know once you carry it into the restaurant, you are complicit. Vasily’s eyebrow jerks up when he looks at you. 

“You’re a kidnapped victim… who refused the police… and stayed… with a man who kills for money… I think you should put that worry somewhere else.” Vasily shakes his head. You frown, pinching his side in protest. He yelps and slaps your hand away. 

“Nikolai does those things for a reason.”

“For money.”

“… Two reasons.”

Vasily scoffs before he pulls the boxes containing frozen seafood and frozen vegetables closer. “Whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s scary. He looks like he will lock you up if you push a certain button.” You glare at him. Maybe he is a pussy after all. You say nothing other than a tiny huff of disagreement. 

“Anyway, let’s get this done so both of us can go home.” He says. “We’re going to carry the food first. Okay?”

“Okay!” You salute him and take the box with frozen seafood. But finding it to be heavier, you switch to the vegetable one. You grin cheekily at Vasily as you watch him slightly struggling to carry the seafood box. That is not to say yours is not heavy but the weight is something you can manage. 

You follow Vasily to the door. He presses the foot pedal at the bottom of the door and uses his whole body to open it. He lets you step inside first before moving aside to let the door close by itself. 

“Where do we put these?” You ask. You are in an empty space where empty boxes are placed. Two metres ahead, there is a doorway to the pantry, and the door frame is only covered with some plastic curtain strips. 

“Freezer room,” Vasily says. “Come on, follow me.” He walks ahead first.

You are about to follow Vasily before he abruptly stops. “Wait.” He says. He looks around, eyes sharp. Then, with a whispering voice, he asks you, “Did you turn on the TV again?”

“No? I don’t even know where the remote is.” You say. “It was off when I left to wait outside.” 

“… Where’s Olga?” Vasily asks again. 

“She was cleaning the stoves,” You reply before you scoot closer, finding Vasily’s apprehension to be concerning. He looks scared and nervous. And you are easily influenced by his manner right now. “Why, what’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you hear that loud ass TV? The radio was already loud and you could barely hear it. Olga would not turn the TV back on. She isn’t one to watch late-night stuff…” He says. Clicking his tongue, Vasily turns his body and places the box in his arms on the floor.

“Hey, Vasya… You’re making me scared.” You murmur shakily. “M-Maybe Olga just wanted to watch the midnight news  or something.”

Vasily glances at you. “Maybe.” He agrees. “But let me just check first, okay? I mean, nobody in this town wants shit to do with Olga. And I’m directly acquainted with her. But not you. You stay here.”

You shake your head, gripping his shirt. “Wait, let me just come with you.” You insist. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Well, if something happens to you, your boyfriend is going to kill me and Olga and nobody in this town will be pleased by that.”

“Don’t speak of Nikolai like that… He’s not reckless…”

Vasily groans, slightly irritated by your never-ending defence towards Nikolai. You are a fun person to befriend with and he really does want to keep in touch with you, considering that you two are going to be housemates. But your behaviour can be very confusing. He wonders what really goes on in your mind to stay with someone like that, even loving them a little too much. Vasily knows Olga adores Nikolai because they are long-time acquaintances. She has known him for years. But you? You are just a girl who had to be kidnapped and objectified as a bargaining chip—which apparently failed very horribly. And even so, fight does not come through your mind at all, as if your sense of danger is thrown out of the way when it comes to Nikolai. 

He sighs. “Ergh, you know what? Whatever. Point is, you are better off staying here. I’ll just check if Olga is around. She’s probably having a deal with some shady men again because we are literally going to smuggle some cocaine and if that’s the case, you can’t be seen, alright?” He says before he pats your shoulder. 

Your frown grows deeper but you know he is right anyway. You do not even know the extent of Olga’s shady business and if there is anyone who can be your middle man, it is Vasily. And from the look of it, it seems like he will insist you stay there regardless. You relent, half-heartedly. 

“Okay… I’ll wait.”

Vasily smiles before he leaves you alone. Already feeling cramped in your arms, you place the frozen vegetable box in your hands on top of Vasily’s box. You sigh in relief as you stretch your arms, easing up your tense muscles.

You crouch right beside the foam boxes, taking a rest after standing for so long. You did not even sit when you were waiting outside earlier. Gladly the shoes you are wearing still feel comfortable—you remember you asked Nikolai to buy you a pair of shoes that are suitable for working in a restaurant. He was reluctant at first, making up horrible excuses. 

“What? Why should I buy it? Use your money!”

“I don’t get paid yet…”

“Are you in a slavery contract or something? Ask Olga to buy the shoes. I’m not responsible for that.”

“Please, Nikolai, please? Pretty please~?”

And as you expected, Nikolai came back home with a box of a new pair of shoes. You do not even know how he got your size somewhat right. Hopefully he referred to the current boots you always wear. 

You know you have been leeching off him a lot these days. You try to think about things you could return his (questionable) kindness with. You do cook for him—with the groceries he paid for. You do his laundry—with the coin tokens he paid for. You do clean the house—with the detergents he paid for. 

You could not really think of other possible ways. However, you do subconsciously treat him like the customers in the club sometimes—they will pay for your drinks and buy you pretty stuff, and all you have to do is look cute and desirable. 

But living with Nikolai makes you lazier. Sometimes you do not even bother to look pretty. He has seen your sleeping faces. That is another level of vulnerability if you say so yourself. You rest your face in your hands, humming the melody that is still gnawing your mind.

“The moon may be high… But I can't see a thing in the sky…”

Bang! 

You flinch and you immediately stand on your feet once you hear a very short yet loud banging. It sounds like something bumped into a hard surface. You look at the doorway but you cannot really get any view of the other side because it is just too obscured with the curtain strips. 

“V-Vasya?” You try to ask but your voice comes out slow. “V-Vasily?” You try again, this time louder. 

No answer. Your gut is churning as it is telling you that something is horribly wrong. Your feet are fidgeting, not knowing whether to step into the pantry or leave through the back door. Your purse is still in the staff locker and the restaurant’s phone is at the register. 

You do not even know Nikolai’s number… 

You do not think that it is wise to even move. But you have to do something. You need to find Olga or Vasily or just anyone nearby. Screw your supposedly-hidden identity. You need Nikolai to be here right now. 

You turn around to leave through the back door. However, once you try to twist the knob, the door feels too heavy than usual for you to push. It is as if something is blocking it from the outside. You hear the clanking noise of metals as you shove your weight against the heavy door. 

“Oh no,” You suck your breath in sharp as sweat starts to form on your palms. You look behind you. It is the only path to exit now—the doorway to the pantry and then to the kitchen and then to the bar and then to the entrance and home, home, home. 

You try to find something that you can use to defend yourself. There is a toolbox and you immediately open it. Not a lot of tools in there except for various sizes of wrenches and screwdrivers. You take the biggest screwdriver and clutch it tightly in your shaky hand. With slow and steady steps, you embark into the pantry. 

There is only the faint noise from the television that accompanies you. You look around, whispering “Vasily” and “Olga”, gripping to the feeble hope that they are still around. The pantry is empty so you walk slowly to the kitchen connected to it. 

You take a peek at the kitchen and your eyes widen when you see someone lying on the floor. You cannot see who exactly it is as your whole view is blocked by the kitchen counter. You see the person is wearing white pants and black shoes—which could be anyone who worked tonight. 

You take a deep breath—and it is hard, as you have been shaking so terribly that you find it a miracle that you are still standing. You make your way quickly to the kitchen to help the lying person—wake them up, hide with them, help them, get them to call Nikolai and everything will be fine. 

Everything will be fine. 

Everything

will 

be 

I only have eyes for you

“… O-Olga?”

Your voice comes out hoarse. Your eyes are stinging as you let out a terrified scream. “Olga! Olga, Olga, no, no, no!” You shriek, pulling your hair in frustration as your feet unhelpingly rush towards her.

Olga’s eyes are bulging wide, her skin is unnaturally pale, cold and still. You are already wailing and crying, trying to pull her to lay her head on your lap. “It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll help, I’ll find someone, you’re gonna be safe,” You reassure her, despite your wavering voice. You just want her to hear you, so she would not be scared and believe help will come, help will arrive. Your hands are shaking that it hurts when you try to even hold her shoulder, to drag her close to you as you try to pacify her directly in her ears—despite there being so much blood beneath her, so much, too much, red red red. 

Breath hitching, you stare at your bloody palms and between the searing tears, you finally catch the big gash directly on her head—her grey hair is smeared with crimson. 

“O-Olga, wake up, please… I’m scared…” You whimper, shaking her body hopelessly. Your chest is heaving fast and your shortness of breath is just getting more rapid each second passes, as Olga’s blood seeps deep into your skin. 

“Vasily! Vasily, please help! Anyone—”

“There you are.”

You gasp and look behind you. Your vision is blurry because of the tears streaming down your face and yet his face is familiar enough for you to panickedly get up and try to run. 

“… you have to tell me.” 

“… if you ever see him, tell me.” 

“… still come to the diner?”

“Don’t be scared, little dove.”

“You are going to be fine.”

“People here love you lots, you know?”

“A-Ah!” You yelp when Elvir’s hand manages to reach your shirt. He grips it hard and you scream, hand clutching on the metallic edge of the kitchen counter as your whole body is yanked back. “Get off! Get off get off get off!” You plead. Panic, fear and terror are boiling inside you. You can hear your fucking heartbeat as your body trembles horribly. 

With little to no thoughts, you grab anything your hands reach, throwing them behind you. Plates crashing, pans clattering, cutlery rattling. Even the radio does not escape your desperation, tossed as it sings, “You are here and so am I. Maybe millions of people go by,”

“Fuck! You bitch—”

Elvir grunts as he takes a wide step to catch up to you. You are trying to run out of the kitchen but you are forced to make a round at the counter because Olga’s body is blocking the shortest path. 

“Get back here, stupid bitch!” He barks and a loud bang shoots right at the wall beside you. You let out a pitchy scream—so close to death you are. The shot surprised you enough for you to halt your steps and with both your arms covering your ears, you try to run. 

Legs shaking, your vision breaking apart. You are soaked in sweat and tears. Your mouth can only cry out broken words of help that will not come. A farrago of names are uttered out in desperation—Vasily, Vasya, Cherevyk, Viktor, Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai, 

mom

“Ahh!” You wail when Elvir grabs your arm. You flail helplessly, struggling against his larger figure. He hisses, grunts and snarls at you, and the horror intensifies within you when his shadow mimics your doomed past. You shriek, tears and saliva—you do not know what covers your face anymore.

He pulls you towards him, shouting at you to shut up, shut up, shut your mouth, I don’t want to ruin your face, you have plenty more to cry over.

You harden your footings as you try to elbow his stomach—adrenaline is rushing all over and you just want to leave and get the hell out. You part your mouth open beneath his palm, trying to bite his hand—fight, anything. 

“Stop it, bitch!” Elvir groans and the hold he has on your arm loosens slightly. With a high rush, you pull yourself away from him. He curses—his face is red with anger and fury and his words begin to fumble in your mind. You do not process anything as you just try to move away from his grabbing hands. Your own hands are gripping anything they reach, holding and grasping to support yourself—if you stop, you are going to fall. If you stop running, you are going to die. 

Elvir is raging and he shoots his bullets to the floor, to Olga’s cold body—anything to scare you to slow you down. And your cries are only getting louder and more desperate as you are ducking over nothing—just fear that you are going to be shot. He yells at you in his mother tongue, something you can barely understand. He strides towards you angrily, huffing and fuming. 

“Get, back, here!” He reaches your head, grabbing a handful of your hair. You whimper, your hand thrashing on the counter by your side. You feel something like a handle within your grasp and without a second thought, you thrust your arm back, hoping it hits him. 

“A-Ack—”

You peek behind you, eyes widen when you realise you just shoved a pair of kitchen scissors directly on his collarbone. Elvir groans in pain, palming the bleeding gash on his skin. He glares hard at you, grumbling curses and oaths to make your life hell. Despite his injury, he lunges at you, grabbing both of your arms. You both fall on the floor and you whimper when your body is slammed hard against the surface. 

In complete desperation, only driven with adrenaline, you thrash wildly beneath him. Your grip on the scissors tightens hard, unyielding. You shut your eyes, swinging your arms against him as your legs try to kick him from below. Your thighs are sore, as well as your arms. Your body hurts all over and the more you move, the more painful everything is. Even your head is spinning and it feels like your insides are actually compressing as you even find it painful to breathe. 

Elvir’s words are muffled, but you do not care to decipher his pain. All you do is just shove the scissors at him, whatever it jabs into, you do not care—even if his warm life is dripping down your arms, you do not care. 

“F-Fuck—”

When his strength is fading, you finally open your eyes, panting frantically as you try to suck in the air. Your mouth parts, but no scream is leaving your lips other than a pathetic whimper when you realise how bloody your hands are. Elvir’s neck is covered with blood—when he tries to speak, blood spurts out from his throat. His eyes are bloodshot red, gawking wide at you. 

You cry, shaking. Your legs are weak and you can only scoot yourself backwards when Elvir tries to crawl towards you while his blood-soaked hand is holding the rips in his skin.

“Go… away…! Go away go away go away!” You beg—your throat is hot as if your voice has to rake through and claw itself to your flesh to emerge. It hurts to even speak, it hurts to scream and breathe and beg and yell—

Bang! 

You scream, terrified by the sudden gunshot. Instinctively you curl yourself, covering your head and ears. You are sick of the sound of gunshots—it rings the bells of death over and over and the echo will not stop. You scream louder, begging everything to stop shouting at you. Gunshots, the television, your screams, your cries, the song, they are all cluttered and they mangle into your brain—crushing.

But they all disappear from view

A hard thump gives you the tiniest courage to lift your irises. The first pair of eyes you see is Elvir’s bulging ones—he only had eyes for you.

And through your sorrowful weep, you see him.

©cherikolya 2025 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[st4rd0lly]

TRASH SUGAR MAGIC

➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13: ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴡ/ ʏᴏᴜ

➛ nikolai gogol x fem!reader

➛ fluff, suggestive, angst, possessive and disturbing behaviours, heavy dillemmas | words: 8.7k

➛ ao3 | spotify (note: slow love by tender is vibesss | main menu

You are still not in the right headspace.

As soon as you woke up this morning, Nikolai told you to get ready to go out. By ten in the morning, he already shoved you into his car. Right now, you are still sleepy and confused as to where he is taking you. It is not even the road to Olga’s diner or Nastasya’s studio. You remember Olga did not ask you to come to the diner and take a shift the last time you were there.

“Still sleepy?” Nikolai asks when the car stops at the red light. You hum and nod slowly. “You drink coffee?” He asks again.

“Not really. I prefer tea… and hot chocolate.” You say before you tilt your head to the side, looking outside the window. The world is dull and pale. The snow is falling today, but it is not so cold that you cannot handle it. Though, you have a tendency to snatch one of Nikolai’s many overcoats and wrap yourself in it. They always smell so nice, with a hint of tobacco and alcohol. 

“Here,” Nikolai slips his hand into his pocket and takes out a can of peach tea from it. Your eyes widen slightly as you accept his little gift. You still do not understand how his ability works—hell, you do not even understand that there are the existences of unique people with unique abilities. Your whole life was spent moving from one place to another and Nikolai was the first instance of such people.

You subtly slip your hand into the red cardigan you wear—it belongs to him—and sure enough, your hand ends up in an empty pocket. Huffing to yourself, you open the can of peach tea and drink it. It is quite sweet.

You glance at Nikolai, noticing that he is grumbling curses in Ukrainian as he flicks off a car that drives past him. “Where are we going?” You finally ask the question that has been swirling in your mind. He seems to snap out of his minor road rage when he hears your soft voice.

“Olga’s house. To see your new place.” He says.

“Oh…”

Being constantly reminded of how you are going to leave Nikolai—or more accurately, he leaves you—does dissipate your delight. Your face turns sour as you drink more of your peach tea. It is not that you despise the possibility of living with someone new in a better house. Olga’s place probably has a better bed, better bathroom and a kitchen fully equipped with food. Vasily could be a very fun housemate too.

But your heart tugs elsewhere, towards someone else—someone who repeatedly has said that he is going to leave this town.

You suddenly remember bits of your conversation with him long ago—when he first opened up about himself. He told you about him joining a terrorist organisation, his attempt to kill himself, his anger and frustration and his desire for freedom. You remember feeling sympathetic towards him—which in better logic, you should not. He is not a good man, in a lawful sense. 

But at least he is not as bad as his friend, Fyodor. That name has been nothing but a ghost until recently. The closer you are to his departure date, the clearer that name is in your mind. Fyodor, Fyodor…—what is he? How amazing of a man is he for someone like Nikolai to do a lot of this preparation and sacrifice just to kill him? Why does Nikolai want to kill him? What kind of illogical yet profound reason could justify that?

“Killing him will prove myself to be truly free. I just want to set it right. I am setting it right. It is not revenge I seek. I’m freeing myself.”

Would such scenarios be applicable to you? Would you kill your father to be free? Perhaps—if you have the guts to actually hurt someone. But then again, your freedom from your father would only be in a physical and literal sense. However, despite his absence from the world now, you are still not free. Dangerous people are after you.

Nikolai’s goal to kill that friend does not really look like a path to literal freedom. Killing him will prove myself to be truly free—he wants to free himself in a spiritual sense, you think. It is a weird sentiment, you would admit. What kind of person Fyodor Dostoyevsky is if his death could prove something as abstract and complex as the free will itself? If free will can be proven, would that also deny the presence of destiny itself?

Somehow you feel slightly envious—if he has made that much impact on Nikolai’s life, he must be very important. To be such a significance in someone’s life—oh, you could only dream about it. Not even your father wants to save you and certainly not your kind mother who gives up life. 

“Alrighty, we’re here,” Nikolai says as he parks his car at a box near a brown apartment building. The apartment certainly looks better than a lot of other blocks in this suburban town. It looks cleaner too. Sometimes you just want to cry to Nikolai because of how bad the staircase at his apartment smells. It is a privilege to have a couple janitors having a cleaning duty every Saturday. 

You leave the car and look around the area. Pretty empty, save for a convenience store, a closed food truck and a leather boutique—it looks vintage and apparently the boutique also has repair services for leather goods. 

“This place is boring,” You murmur. Nikolai snorts. 

“I know right. That’s why I’m gonna leave.” He says as he walks towards the building. You follow him closely from behind. 

“Must you always bring that up?”

“What? Me leaving?”

You nod, crossing your arms as you size him up. Nikolai returns your dissatisfied stare before he taps your cheek lightly. “You gotta get used to it. I know you like living with me, but there comes a point where you have to let go of something, you know?” He says before his fingers wrap nicely on your jaw, bringing your cheeks together. “And Olga would be a much better person to take care of you. She has connections and you’ll be safe, I assure you. You’ll like living with her.”

With pouty lips, you say, “I hope so. I hope Vasily is a good housemate too.”

His eyes darken. A frown forms on his face. Before he could say anything back, the lift dings open and he quickly retracts his hand from you. Then that very hand slithers down your figure, grabbing your wrist instead as he pulls you into the lift. He presses the ‘4’ button. 

“Hey, girl! W-Wait!” You both turn to the outside of the lift, seeing a middle-aged man trying his best to rush towards the lift. You are about to press the ‘Open’ button but Nikolai slaps your hand away and presses the ‘Close’ one. 

He waves at the man as the door closes. 

— ✿

“Hello, you two! Come in, come in.” Olga greets you at the door, opening it wide enough for you and Nikolai to enter her house. You are gaping at the way her house looks. Humble but extremely cosy. Much better than Nikolai’s apartment indeed. The living room is quite spacious, with just one couch, a coffee table, a shelf of antique fine china plates and an old yet functioning television. There are some board games in the cabinet under the television too. 

The kitchen is just a little messier, probably because she was cooking before you two came. There is a small dining table placed against the wall, enough for four people to sit in. A vase of multi-coloured carnations is in the middle of the table. It does look like fake flowers though. 

Olga leads you two to a vacant room, just beside Vasily’s room. The vacant room is quite messy—a complete contrast to the rest of the house. There is an old bed, complete with a blanket and pillow. The bed is covered with old-fashioned floral sheets. The room is also filled with boxes and old items.

“I kinda make this room as a storage room,” Olga chuckles sheepishly. “Lots of unused and used things.” She adds. Nikolai snorts. 

“So you’re a hoarder.”

Olga huffs, crossing her arms. “Oh, come on. If I had an overcoat like you do, this room would be clean! And don’t tell me that there isn’t some random stuff in there either.” She says. Nikolai pouts, sticking out his tongue at her childishly when he has no counter for that. 

“Olga, I couldn’t find more mops— Ah!”

You turn your head, seeing Vasily is holding a mop. He looks shocked when he notices Nikolai. You do not understand why he fears Nikolai that much and why Nikolai just cannot be friendly to Vasily specifically. If Nikolai does not want to be friendly with Vasily, that is fine. Not in your case though. You are more than happy to make friends with him. 

“Hi, Vasily!” You wave at him. Vasily nods at you, his shoulders relax slightly as his lips twitch into a smile at you. His voice does not come out confident when he says hi back. 

“No more mops from downstairs, Vasya?” Olga asks. Vasily shakes his head. She turns to Nikolai, eyes leering at the coat he wears. “No mops in you?”

“What, like in my ass?” 

“Hey, language!”

Nikolai hums half-heartedly and shakes his head. You wonder what limit he can store stuff inside his coat—you know he can store a long rope in there. Can he store a whole bed in there? Or a car? Can a human fit in his overcoat? His ability is one of the mysteries you want to unravel about him—it is fascinating, you think.

“That’s fine. Mopping can wait. What’s more important is to move all these things…” Olga wiggles her index finger at the items on the floor. “… and clean all the dust off the floor, windows and walls.” She grins before she nudges Nikolai deeper into the room. “So, uhm, get to work, men. Vasya will help. He knows what stuff to throw away and what not.”

“Whaaat, why should I do it?” Nikolai tries to protest.

“Because I’ll be in the kitchen with her and Vasya needs a trusted adult,” Olga grumbles, patting Nikolai’s back. You beam. You do not really mind working in the kitchen with Olga. Cleaning this whole room sounds like hard work. 

“Biblically inaccurate trusted adult.” Vasily murmurs. “Can’t she stay with us?” He points at you. “This will be her room anyway. She needs to stay with us. She has to. Please stay with us, please.”

He sounds like he is begging for you. 

Olga only laughs before nodding. “Alright, alright.” She looks at you. “You help them. I’ll be fine alone in the kitchen. Play nice, you three. Oh, and don’t steal anything. I know you still have those naughty hands.” She ruffles Nikolai’s hair before walking to the door. She stops by you, also giving your head soft pats. “If they give you hard times, tell me okay? I’ll handle them.” She grins, flexing her arm. You nod, grinning as well before she leaves. 

It is an awkward five seconds of looking at each other after Olga leaves. You cough and look at Vasily. “Where do we start, Vasily?” You ask before you put away your baby blue pouch on the bed and take a broom for yourself. Vasily stops you. 

“Oh, we don’t need to sweep the place just yet. Olga wants most of these things to be thrown away. Unusable things… old things… broken things.” He says before he takes an empty box. “We put those in this box so we can throw it away later.”

“Here I have one.” 

Vasily freezes when Nikolai gently rakes his fingers through his hair. The younger man’s eyes are frantic, seeking you for help. You sigh loudly, pulling Nikolai’s arm to move him away from tormenting the poor guy. Nikolai pouts at you—he looks almost like a boy who thinks he does nothing wrong. You look around and reach one of the white cloths used for wiping dust. You shove it into Nikolai’s hand. 

“You clean the window. Vasily and I will gather the things.” You say, poking his chest. Nikolai looks at the dusty window and his pout just gets longer. 

“I have allergies.” He says. 

“No you don’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“You always smoke by that dusty window in our house.”

Nikolai nods. “Fair enough, my love. Fair… enough.” He grumbles before he walks to the window and starts wiping the glass half-heartedly. You turn your attention to Vasily and smile. 

“Okay, let’s begin. Shall we start with this pile of boxes?” You ask, walking to an opened box, filled with vintage and antique house decorations. Vasily follows you and crouches beside you just as you crouch by the box. 

Time passes by swiftly as you two work together. You sort box by box, setting the items according to their rightful place—not really, some items you think should be thrown away but Vasily insists that it is valuable. You start to notice how there are some out-of-place things among the antiques—a deflated basketball, various coloured caps, broken board games, chess pieces, some Game Boys and a couple of old game controllers. 

“Do these things belong to yours?” You ask Vasily as you examine a Game Boy. It is blue in colour and there is barely any button anymore. 

“Nope, not mine. Nothing in this room belongs to me. And that looks very old. I wasn’t living here until two years ago.” Vasily replies. “Probably belonged to her son.”

“Olga has a son?”

“Had.”

“… What happened to him?”

Vasily glances at you slightly and shrugs. “I don’t know. I just got here. I just know she had a son.”

You chuckle. “Well, she looks like she would have a son. She kinda treats you and your friend like one.” You say as you examine an old, torn board game before tossing it into a box that is meant to be thrown away. 

“My… friend?”

“Yeah. What’s his name again? Err… A-Aleksy?”

Vasily suddenly huffs and curses under his breath. “Nah, not my friend anymore.” He mumbles angrily. Your eyebrow jerks up before you pause your sorting duty, looking at him intently. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I thought he was a fine guy but he started being weird after he hung out with this group of guys. I don’t know, he just made me uncomfortable now. We’re not friends anymore.” He says. His face grimaces, as if he is remembering hard times that happened probably not long ago. Feeling bad about his gloom, you place your hand on his shoulder, giving a light squeeze as a tiny solace. 

“I’m sorry for you. I’m sure you have other friends who care for you.” You say softly. Vasily gives you a thin smile, nodding to himself. 

“Yeah, I do. My friends are cool and they end up hating Alyosha for that too.” He laughs briefly. “They’re fun people. Smart too. Some of them tutor other students in their free time.”

You coo, nodding in amazement. Tutoring other students? Must be a next-level kind of intelligence. If the opportunity to continue your study presents itself, surely you will take it. You are not sure where your qualifications can have you end up in but if it is a road to see more of the world, you would take it. 

Maybe if you are lucky, you can pursue your education somewhere else—a better place, a better life. Like Vasily does right now.

“Maybe someday I can introduce you to them,” Vasily says as he closes one box with tape. You look at him, sheepish. You chuckle lightly. 

“Uhm, I don’t know. I’m not a student like you guys.”

“Why does that matter? You’re perfect as you are. Very friendly, very kind, naive… Too naive sometimes. You gotta make friends with people within your age range… for similar experience purposes or someshit. Although… none of us got kidnapped and insisted on staying with a suspicious guy.” Vasily smiles sweetly at you. You find his dimples to be adorable, a remarkable trait indeed. It compliments his slightly tanned skin. “If Olga likes you, everyone likes you. That’s the rule of thumb.”

You scoff before you smile smugly at him. “Oh, really? Olga likes Nikolai. You don’t seem to like him.”

Vasily sulks immediately. He grabs the box properly and hoists himself up. He adjusts his stance as he carries the big box. For a brief second, he looks at you. “I would like him if he actually helps us instead of napping in the bed… and not being so scary.”

You turn around, finally seeing the figure of your kidnapper on the bed. Nikolai is lying on his stomach, facing the wall instead of your direction. He is watching a video on his phone—it looks like a theatre play or something. Vasily grumbles again under his breath but you cannot really catch it before he leaves the room with the box in his arms. 

Being alone with Nikolai gives you that familiarity again. Sure, Vasily is a good company. It is comforting to talk to the guy but Nikolai’s presence alone is complete enough for you. You look at Nikolai. He seems to be so engrossed in the theatre play. You smile to yourself, finding a little joy at the fact that you find something new about him. You wonder if he was involved in some kind of play like that, considering he used to work in a shady circus. 

What was his role in the circus? What was his favourite magic trick? What made the circus so shady? You want to know, you need to ask, but pestering him would probably end up with you being pushed away and your questions being diverted to many roads. Although, there are also some instances where he gave up to your curiosity. 

You keep working alone, with Vasily occasionally coming in to take another box to move out. By the time you start to sweep the dusty floor, you are already overcome with boredom and exhaustion. Your laziness takes over as you tread slowly to the bed, and plop yourself down on the surprisingly soft mattress—although the bed frame does creak very loudly. 

Nikolai rolls himself, lying on his back and his eyes meet you. He smiles. “Tired already?” He asks. You nod. “You’re such a hardworking girl, even when you don’t have to be.”

“Or maybe you’re just too lazy.” You murmur, slightly displeased that Nikolai abandoned his duty so quickly. You bet the windows are still dusty. Nikolai only snickers, seemingly proud of his unproductiveness. You look at the door, hearing the faint voices of Olga and Vasily from the nearby kitchen. You are about to get up, wanting to join in and help. You are in Olga’s house and it would be so rude if you just lounge around and do nothing. 

However, just before you can raise yourself, your wrist is grabbed and held tightly. 

You look at Nikolai. His eyes are set on you. “Just stay and take a rest, my love. That boy is helping Olga anyway.” He says. You hesitate, eyes wavering towards the door and then him. He tugs on your wrist slightly. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

As if his little tug has a stronger force to it, your body feels heavy as you descend slowly onto the bed, exactly beside him. Your head on his firm arm, his hand shakily holds you. Heart beats fast and yet you find it hard to properly breathe as you lean into his heat. 

“Is this okay?” You ask. 

He does not answer, only staring at the video on his phone. His eyes are unfocused and his body tenses up. For a brief second, his hand tries to pull you away from his proximity, but his fingers itching to tuck you close. And those very fingers press harder onto your shoulder when you place an arm on his waist, with half of your leg straddling his. 

Was it nice?

“Fuck.” He breathes out.

The two of you stay like that for a moment. You are staring at nothing, just enjoying the closeness shared between you two. His breathing is heavy at first but it gradually calms down, though you can feel him getting tense once a few seconds. 

“Kolya?”

“Yes, dove.”

You tilt your head up to face him. “Can I ask you something? About Petersburg?” You say. Nikolai blinks profusely at your question before he puts away his phone and faces you. His mismatched eyes are as mesmerising as ever, his lips are slightly dry and his cheeks are slightly reddish. Wavy white hair, begging to be ruffled and messed with. As you stare deeper, you notice more features on him—a mole on his neck, a little bump on his nose, dark circles under his eyes. 

Beautiful, beautiful man. 

“Hey,” He suddenly pinches your cheek, tugging it. “If you want to ask, just ask. No need to scrutinise my face like a customs officer.” You giggle at his touch before lifting your upper body just a bit to look at him clearly. 

“Is your plan… uhm… going well? What’ll you do after this?” You ask. 

“It’s going fine… I just need to pack my things and return the apartment key to the landlord.”

“Huh? You don’t have like excessive documents you need to do?”

“Eh, the landlord is all for money anyway. She lets anyone rent with her, as long as they pay. Just ask for the key, really.” Nikolai says. “You can count on one hand how many lawful citizens there are in this city, sweetheart.” He pinches your cheek again, lightly and teasingly. 

Nikolai sighs softly before he turns away and gapes at the ceiling for a couple minutes. With a slow voice, he asks you, “Does Elvir still come to the diner?”

You rake your brain to remember who Elvir is and it is not easy to forget that middle-aged suspicious-looking man. He sat in the restaurant for hours and you forced yourself to sweep the same tile on the floor just to avoid him—although, his leering gaze rarely left you. Knowing his true connection with the loan sharks and your father sent chills and a trickle of paranoia in you that for the past five days, you have been working in the kitchen instead. 

You did tell Vasily about Elvir since he works mostly outside the kitchen and Vasily has not seen anything peculiar. So you shake your head at Nikolai’s question. “Haven’t seen him in the diner…”

“I think you need a gun, for your safety.” Your eyes widen at his words, confused too. Nikolai is unbothered by your reaction as he takes out a gun from the inside of his coat, handing it to you. He even wiggles it, encouraging you to touch the dangerous metal. You shake your head fast, keeping both of your hands to yourself. The retraction of your arm from his waist makes his eyes twitch, but he says nothing. 

“What? It’s not gonna shoot if you don’t press it.” He says before he wraps his fingers around the handle. He sways the gun left and right. “It’s a very quick thing to kill someone.”

You gasp when he suddenly presses the muzzle right on your head. Complete silence and intense stares. Your body tenses and freezes as your eyes quiver terribly towards him and the gun. His name is stuck in your throat as your voice refuses to vocalise itself. His staring is deep and he bites his lips as if his mind is swirling with thoughts he forces himself to swallow. 

“I’m kidding. I won’t hurt you.” He says before he retracts his hand, resting the gun on his chest instead. 

“… You won’t?”

“Mm-hm.”

“P-Promise?”

“Yes, little dove. Pinky promise, sealed with a kiss.” He smiles and just like that, you finally find the courage to gesture the same. You glance at the gun on his chest and nudge your chin. 

“Can you put that away?”

“What, you’re scared?” Nikolai smirks. You timidly nod and he cackles briefly. He moves his gun away, putting it beside the pillow he lays on. “Ha, you’re lucky you look cute when you’re sca—”

Nikolai’s throat dries up all of a sudden. His eyes shake terribly as they travel down to you—as soon as he puts away the gun, you lay your head on his chest, once again placing your arm around his waist. You make yourself comfortable and Nikolai— well… he would not say he is uncomfortable. He feels something, surely. 

You are laying on his chest, so close, so so close. Worse, his arm that you laid your head on before instinctively goes to wrap itself around you—as if that is the most natural thing to do. As if it is the right thing. You could probably hear his heartbeat by how close he holds you. And your eyes certainly could see some signs of his delight. Nikolai groans, bracing himself for any embarrassment he might get today. 

“W-What’s with this?” He shakily asks. 

“Hm?” You move your head upward, looking at him. The way your eyes twinkle makes his stomach aflutter. It burns—warmth seeps into his chest, whelming his ribs.

“You are being sooo clingy,” Nikolai grumbles, making his voice as annoyed as possible. But he wants to shriek when he notices how whiny he sounds. It feels like his cold mask has slowly melted, thawing his old glee and jest. Did the warmth manage to travel up to his face too, just like how it travels so easily to his groin? 

“Is that not okay with you?”

“Nah,” Too quick, Nikolai. Too quick. “I’m good.” 

You squeal tinily before you turn your head to its comfortable position. Your finger is fiddling with the decorative rope on his jacket. He just watches you silently, while praying to someone to grant him the power to control his heartbeat. 

It is just silence between you two—you are just silently playing with whatever you can reach of him and he is just watching. 

“Nikolai…” You finally say something after about five minutes of tying and untying a knot from the rope of his jacket. “Are you really going to be okay when you reach Petersburg?”

“Why would I not be? I’m over thirty years old. I can live alone. Been doing that since forever. Everything’s almost settled. Car, house, transportation to go there…” He murmurs as his hand mindlessly plays with the threads peeking out of your (well, his) red cardigan. 

“It’s not that I’m worried about…” You say. You sound a little frustrated, but Nikolai is not so sure. It is just a tint so faint it can barely be seen. 

“Then, what?”

“You,” You look at him again. “I’m worried about you.” You purse your lips and glance away. “I’m worried that the friend you wanted to kill—Fyodor—will do terrible things to you. Again. W-What if he made you go to prison again? I…”

I’m not ready to lose you. I’m never ready. 

Nikolai’s eyes widen at the mention of his old friend. A mixed quandary bubbles and boils among the delightful warmth—slowly it bleeds into conflict. Suddenly he is repulsed. Suddenly he is angry. Suddenly he is irritated. Suddenly he is pissed. Suddenly he wants to shove you away, scream at you, grab the gun, pull the trigger, scream and scream—go away, go away! Why must you torment me like him?

With a hand on the side of your face, he stares hard at you.

He does not say anything, just glaring. But his mismatched eyes are not as dull—they are alive, blazing like fire igniting chaos and havoc. You, however, are slightly shaken—a light touch on a stagnant swan lake. 

“Do you remember what I told you about him? About me?”

You nod slowly. “You two were… terrorists… and you were supposed to d-die.”

“He was supposed to die too.”

You frown but only for a quick second—in fear Nikolai might think you are displeased. You reach to touch the hand on your cheek. “Will you allow me to know about it?”

He is silent but his gaze is wandering madly all over your face—your eyes, nose and lips. He squeezes your face slightly before he throws his head back and groans loudly. And in quick precision, he pulls you by your waist to lay directly on top of him, with the rest of your body resting between his legs. You mewl in surprise and you want to ask him but he wraps his arm around your head and tugs you close to his chest. He is hugging you like a teddy bear—except you can barely move. You cannot even move your head except your eyes. 

“I don’t want to see your face right now.”

“W-What?” Your voice sounds muffled, thanks to his arm. 

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just can’t.” He murmurs and his tone is hushed and desperate, as if to urge you to comply. You do not nod—you cannot even do anything, really. You can only hum and stare at the wall—as that is the only thing your eyes can freely gawk at. 

Nikolai takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent. He is wagering his choice. He just cannot spend another millisecond gazing back at your glimmers. He will lose it. He will lose himself to delight and delirium. 

But at the same time, he needs to pour his chaos elsewhere. A little whisper in him convinces him to allow you to know—after all, whether he likes it or not (he likes it), you are entangled with him in one way or another. 

You are not protected like Olga or Nastasya. You are not entirely an unimportant outsider like Vasily. You are definitely not as well-knowledged as Viktor. You were just an outsider, a stray dove who flew wrongly at the wrong place and the wrong time. His message to Viktor—“Yea, yea. I accept. I’ll call you when I got her.”—was just a small piece of domino that had fallen. 

The pieces fall one by one until the little dove decides his arms would be her cage. 

What good would it be for you if you were left in the dark? Even a prison has a light from the sun or a lonely lightbulb. 

“Fyodor was supposed to die…” Nikolai says slowly, still hugging you tight. “He was in a special jail, along with his… beloved chess partner, I guess… I arranged a scheme to break him out of jail and ensure his death.”

“Y-You broke him out…? Why?” You ask. 

“… I don’t know. At that time I wanted to help him and release him from jail. And at the same time too, I wanted to kill him. I guess it would be a mere instinct, much like animals, to only kill him. Listen, you listen.” His voice deepens. “I was torn between saving him and killing him. Saving him would mean that my emotions are still intact and tangled in me. That’s why I did both. It was to prove that it was not a mere animal instinct.”

He takes a deep breath and continues, “He got out of the prison first and got into the helicopter that was prepared to aid the winner in his escape. He got in… and well… minus some details, he was stabbed when commanding the pilot. The helicopter crashed, exploded, burnt to debris. All that's left of him was his arm. It’s probably somewhere in my coat.”

You flinch. 

“Was it spooky?” You nod quickly with all your strength. Despite his voice being soft and alluring, it is very uncanny. Probably because he does not seem bothered about keeping a mutated limb in his possession. He chuckles, but just a short, feeble one. “Sorry,” He says while he caresses your hair. 

“I-It sounds like he was very important to you…” You attempt to reply. 

“Mm, I guess you can think of it like that… We barely talked to each other but he understood me when nobody else did. He understood me, my essence, my goal, my ideal. That’s why I agreed to join the terrorism. Partly because it was a pure evil plan, separating morality and amorality. But also it was because I could die freely. Because I could choose happiness or freedom of my soul. I, obviously, chose the latter but it wasn’t… as… satisfying and liberating as I thought, especially when I was caught up with my emotions towards him. I caught up with that and changed my fate. And I thought I would feel liberated when I saw him die but… it felt the same. Maybe I did feel the freedom, but it wasn’t as pleasing as I thought it would be.”

You try to take a glance at him but when you make the slightest move, he firmly holds you, insisting you to stay in your position and keep your face hidden. You obey, not wishing to push his button too much, especially when he is being too vulnerable and unstable right now. 

“After that… what happened?” You ask. 

“I returned here. I met up with Viktor again. I truly believed Fedya was dead. Anything that happens on the other side of the world is none of my business. I don’t care what happens to the rest of the group, nor what happens to the world when some kind of beasts are unleashed. I just feel… lost… and empty.” He sighs. “One day, when I was in St. Petersburg, I saw him. I saw fucking Fyodor Dostoyevsky in the street, alive and well and… as if nothing ever happened. I don’t know what’s his goddamn superpower—it is probably something to do with death. At that time…” He sucks in his breath, sharp. His fingers grip your hair harder. “I felt everything. I felt angry, I felt sad, I felt nostalgic, I felt infatuated, I felt understood and… disappointed.”

“I felt disappointed,” He mutters. “And I don’t know at whom I’m disappointed with.”

“I told you. You tried to kill me. I am simply returning the favour. I am not too late, aren’t I?”

“What?” An awkward laugh, a tiny crumbling mask. “You’re going to kill me now? Huh, I guess there really is no use trying to outsmart someone like you.” He stares at the ground. “What are you waiting for then? Are you going to touch and bleed me? Or is it something you actually never do? What does the great one have in mind?”

“No. Not here. Not now. Nothing so ordinary.”

“Ooh~ I’m excited!” He grins, but his fingertips are cold. His smile falters when the man turns around, seeming to leave. Cold, frosty fingers twitching intensely, eager to wrap all of them around his neck, squeezing the life out of him.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere concerning you. But you should go back. Walk home, Gogol. Walk. By then, you’ll find yourself hungry for your key.”

He leaves. He walks away. He does not turn back. 

“Nikolai?”

Nikolai glances at you and you let out a tiny whimper. “You’re pulling my hair…” His eyes bolt towards his hand, now realising he unconsciously gripped you a little too hard, as if his anger is accumulated and seeking something to descend on. He loosens his grip, both arms pry away and drop on each of his sides. You slowly lift your body, just enough for you to see his face. You are basically lying on your stomach with your legs up—except you are also still straddling his body. 

“The way you’re describing this man is like he can do anything even avoiding death, apparently. Do you really want to face him again?” You frown, your voice is careful. “Because… well, if I may speak freely, I think chasing and living your hurtful past wouldn’t be a good idea. Besides, he’s a terrible, big guy, isn’t he?”

“He’s not a big guy.”

“Well, we’re not talking about sizes. His influence on you was rather big, no?” 

Nikolai hums passively, slightly rolling his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I will admit that. He certainly had a grip on my head, once. That’s why I must kill him. I must. Killing him would get rid of it. If I kill him, I’ll kill the very thing that controls the entirety of me. If I sever it—I sever myself from this brainwashing. Do you understand me now, my love?”

It is now your that is beating fast. Not because of the closeness between you two, but the shakiness in his voice—fragile, just like his lucidity. A push, a nudge, a poke—it feels like anything can make him fall into madness. It is only a matter of time—a matter of who. 

“Kolya… this kinda sounds like— it’s— it’s like… you’re saying…”

You purse your lips, wondering if it is even a correct assumption. You are uncertain whether you should even say it, so you decide to put away that thought. However, it is hard to just pretend you forget it—as its implication alone is already disturbing. 

He does not push you to tell him, but one of his hands creeps slowly onto your lower back. Maybe you do understand Vasily now. 

“Am I scaring you?” Nikolai suddenly asks as both of his hands touch your face again, tilting your head left and right like a mannequin. “Are you scared of me?” His thumbs press and fondle your skin, hard, causing you to squeak pitifully at his roughness. 

“S-Sometimes. But you’re more confusing than scary.” You say truthfully and immediately hold his wrists to stop him from kneading your face like dough. “I prefer that over my father’s though.”

Nikolai hums, nodding to himself. He thinks of something and decides to test his theory once more by pulling your hair a couple times. You only fight it with pouty pleas for him to stop. But you do not look too displeased. You certainly do not look so repulsed by his touches. 

He decides it—yeah, that’s definitely a kink or someshit. But that thought is only kept in a special corner of his mind. 

“Hey~! Lunch is ready— Oh my God!”

You shriek in surprise and hastily get up from his body. Your face is hot and you feel extremely abashed when you see Olga standing right by the door, eyes wide, a hand on her waist. Her amused gaze is on you before she turns to Nikolai. 

Nikolai has already surrendered. He does not even move from his position and the embarrassment he is supposed to feel has become dormant. He gives up, really. His friends would target him more than you for their teasing and perhaps it is truly the time for him to accept the fact already. 

But he is thankful that you are still seated in the space between his legs though. His embarrassment could have awakened again because Olga would see the rush that tightens his pants—fuck, it hurts.

“Food, anybody? Food? Or did you two eat each other already?” Olga laughs at her joke, bringing a fluster onto your face. 

“We didn’t do anything…” You mumble. 

Olga’s eyebrow jerks up before she scoffs. She crosses her arms and smiles smugly. “Yeah… sure, sure. I’m not going to ask more, it’d be disgusting to know.” She makes the motion of ‘Come here’ with her hand. You quickly get up and Nikolai follows after. He even stretches himself, making whiny noises as if he has been working the whole day. 

“Vasya told me you’re being lazy,” Olga grumbles, hitting Nikolai’s shoulder. “Not even helping a thing. Hey, you’re still taking care of her. You should ease her work.” She says. Nikolai pouts and fakes a big yawn in front of the lady. 

“Nikolai’s been tired lately,” You suddenly come to his defence. “He’s… uhh… been very stressed.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Olga. Come on…” Nikolai groans and pushes you and Olga to walk in front of him. Olga wants to protest but you wrap your arm around hers, immediately distracting her from teasing Nikolai some more. 

It works smoothly. You are certainly very good at your former job. 

“What kind of food did you cook that took you so long?” You ask, sounding excited. Olga’s frown at Nikolai dissipates in a blink when she grins broadly. Her face is adorned with wrinkles and they become more prevalent when she smiles. 

Just a happy woman. 

“Ah, it took a while because I was making meat pies by hand. Frozen food isn’t really my favourite.” Olga says. She turns her head to Nikolai. “I also made deruny for you, Kolya! Your favourite, yeah?”

“My favourite is pyrizhky.”

Olga looks perplexed for a moment before she cackles. “Oops, I must have mistaken yours with Vitya’s.”

“Viktor eats everything.” 

Olga leads the two of you to the dining area, where Vasily is cleaning the table. The smell of food coming from the kitchen taps your nose—definitely delicious and you are already feeling hungrier. You do not want to discredit Nikolai’s effort in cooking but you definitely miss the taste of complete, homemade meals instead of instant food. It feels like it has been forever since you touched food made with motherly love—you have forgotten it and you can only grieve it.

Your father was not exactly the best provider when it comes to food. He either gave you small meals that could not keep you sated or threw a couple cash notes for you to find yourself something to eat. It was lucky that at the very least, the club you used to work for did provide you dinner. But what kind of healthy, nutritious food that a night shady club can provide? The menu mostly consisted of appetisers and snacks. 

“Vasily, let me help you.” You say to him, smiling sweetly. 

“Huh? You’re a guest. Just have yourself seated.” Vasily looks slightly appalled by your sudden kindness but it does not really come as a surprise to him. You look at Olga as if to ask permission. She shrugs her shoulders. 

“I would love some youngsters to help serve the food, yes.” She says, side-eyeing Nikolai in particular. 

You grin. “Of course! You already cooked the food by yourself. It’s only fair that we do the rest.” You say as you walk towards Vasily, hold his arm and drag him to the kitchen. “Show me the way, Vasily.” You say happily. 

“You’re already leading the way…” Vasily murmurs. “Are you sure you wanna help?”

“Hm? Yeah, why not? I help you, you help me. We have been helping each other since this morning.”

Vasily nods slowly before whispering, mostly to himself. “Right… Lord Jesus, please protect me from the Devil today…” 

Both of you disappear into the kitchen, leaving Olga and Nikolai at the dining table. Olga coos, clasping her hands together. “Aww, isn’t she very nice? What a lovely sweetheart. I like her.” She says, nudging Nikolai’s arm with her elbow. She then giggles mischievously. “Just what were you two doing in that room, huh? She was on top of you and you were very excited. Very! I was suspecting that you two were having sex because I heard suspicious noises.”

“We weren’t doing anything other than conversing.” Nikolai sighs. “Seriously, what do you think I am? A rabbit in heat? I have great control over myself, m’kay?” He says as he continues watching you and Vasily through the door frame connecting the kitchen and the dining area. You are holding a big ceramic plate with one hand and tongs with the other. You are struggling, it seems, due to the tongs barely working right. You accidentally dropped a piece of meat pie into a pot of soup. 

“Oh shit, girl.”

“Quickly, take it out, take it out. Shh, shh, shh.” 

You and Vasily are holding back laughter when you stuff half of the soup-soaked meat pie into your mouth to get rid of the evidence. The other half is shared with Vasily. 

“Kolya, control your face,” Olga says, firmly.

Nikolai’s long pout, dark gaze and scrunched nose disappear one by one. They are replaced with eyes flashing with malice and an uncanny wide grin. “Please keep the boy in his line or the babies in the orphanage across the street will burn.”

Olga blinks confusedly before she laughs out loud, slapping his shoulder. “Ahaha! You’re a funny fella when you’re jelly!”

Nikolai does not say anything. He just watches Olga until her laughter slowly vanishes. “You’re joking right?”

He says nothing. 

— ✿

The day must have been exhausting for you. 

You two left Olga’s house at around 6PM. But on the way back, Nikolai made a quick stop at Viktor’s house to grab something. You wanted to come along but he told you to stay in the car. It really was just a brief business because it took him less than ten minutes to go and return. 

“What did you take from Viktor?”

“Some documents.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure, if you can take it out of my coat.”

You gave up immediately after that. Nikolai noticed that you lost most of your energy since you were not as talkative as usual during the car ride. He expected it though. You had been helping Vasily and Olga regarding your future living place. He barely did anything aside from moving boxes, but even then, he ordered Vasily around most of the time. 

And when you two were home, you took a shower to get rid of the sweat and dirt from your hard work for the day and plopped onto the bed as soon as you got in your pyjamas.

It is two in the morning and Nikolai is still not asleep. He is lounging in the living room, with a black bag open on the couch. There are a couple clothes in the bag. He is starting to pack his stuff for his journey to St. Petersburg. Nikolai plans to just pack his travel essentials and some long overcoats so he will just have to carry one bag. He is extremely grateful that his ability allows him to throw everything inside it. He can even put the whole couch he is sitting on right now if he wishes. But he could not do that because all the furniture in the house did not belong to him. It comes with the apartment. 

Though, the idea is not entirely opposed. Except he has already gotten an earful from Viktor to not smuggle furniture out of the apartment because the landlord will come to seek Viktor for an answer instead. What a pussy. It’s just a small crime—Nikolai thinks. 

Nikolai has been gathering his coats that are scattered and hung around the house. There were two on the chairs at the dining table, one on the couch where he sleeps and about four on the racks near the entrance doors. He piles them up on the living room floor—he plans to wash them all before throwing them into his favourite big white cloak. 

He makes another round around the house to check for any remaining clothes he might have forgotten. When he is about to move on, he remembers he has not checked the bathroom yet. He does not step into it after you use it. Nikolai enters the bathroom and finds the red cardigan you wore today hanging on the hook behind the door. 

His cardigan. 

He takes it and inspects the cardigan. It is actually quite an old one. It does not fit him perfectly anymore—a little smaller for his figure. He remembers this cardigan was bought when he was like nineteen…? Twenty? He does not remember the exact year but definitely when his body is not as beautifully shaped as now. 

No wonder it suited you. It looked like you were indeed wearing your age-appropriate boyfriend’s clothes. 

Nikolai holds the cardigan tightly. It would not fit him nicely anyway. Might as well give it to you. 

He leaves the bathroom and tosses the cardigan onto the pile. All of those clothes will be washed tomorrow. He is pretty sure he should at least wash the coats he never and rarely wears that are kept in the closet. They must have smelled like old wood by now. 

Nikolai makes his way to the bedroom, finally. He slowly opens the door, and immediately his eyes fixate on you. You are snuggled under the blanket, curled up. He enters the room, making silent steps so he will not accidentally wake you up. He just needs to get to the closet and take his old never-worn coats. 

But he halts when he is by the bed, so so close to you. He hovers slightly and his hand reaches out to you, fingers twitching over your body. But he does nothing more, leaving his longing hand suspended above you.

Nikolai sighs softly. He turns away, about to continue with his late-night task, until—

“Nikolai?”

Your slurry, slow, sleepy voice just had to call out to him. Nikolai turns his head, seeing your eyes are barely open and you seem to be not even half-awake. “You’re not sleeping yet?” You murmur. You look adorable—almost like a kitten that is barely aware of its existence. He snickers at the thought before he sits on the bed. 

“Yeah… I gotta pack my things.” He says before he smiles tenderly at you and gives some pats on your head. “Go back to dreaming, little dove.”

He retracts his hand but you reach out to touch him. Your fingers are barely linked with his own, and still, it is enough for him to stop moving. He looks at you and your hands. You try so hard to open your eyes, blinking profusely to clear your vision a little bit more. 

“You should… sleep too. You worked a lot…”

Nikolai scoffs lightly, chuckling. “Are you sure you’re not mistaking me with that Vasily boy? I might get angry.”

“No… No, you should get some rest… You deserve it… Because you always look… exhausted…”

“I will get my good sleep, I promise.”

“On the couch?”

“Where else?”

And your fingers dance their way to slither further, grasping his pinky and ring finger. It is just a weak pull but his body heavies down onto the bed until his head lays on the empty pillow right beside yours. 

As if you are just awake for one and one objective only, you are back to snuggling the blanket and your eyes close fully. Nikolai can very well get up and leave, but he stays, watching as you are slowly descending back to the Dreamland. He does not move away, instead, his hand grabs some of the blanket you dominated and lazily drapes it over his body. 

“Nikolai,”

You are clearly struggling to stay conscious. Whatever do you need to talk about that you cannot wait for tomorrow to pass a bit more? 

“When you told all that story… it sounds like… you will kill anyone you love.”

Nikolai does not like where this is going. 

“… You won’t kill me, right?”

“Have I ever said that I love you?”

Your eyelids flutter and your forehead creases slightly. Your lips part open but Nikolai quickly cuts your sloth-like momentum by pushing you by your waist to turn you away from him. Once your back is facing him, he pulls you and scoots himself closer. His arm rests around your body. 

“I wasn’t serious about that.”

“… Which one?”

He does not reply. And perhaps you have given up because you also say nothing afterwards. Your breathing slows down as you relax in his embrace. His eyes are still not shut asleep even after ten minutes—he just waits for you to fall asleep again. When you do, he hopes that you will forget this conversation tonight. 

Nikolai leans down a bit, placing a soft kiss on your nape. 

He hopes you will forget that too. 

©cherikolya 2025 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[st4rd0lly]

[st4rd0lly]

Here me out!

Single Zaddy Nikolai at beach 👀

I can picture him splashing along with the Gogolings and playing with them! Oh and not to mention him building sandcastles with them!

How cute ~\(≧▽≦)/~

𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙙!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝

notes ✥ planned this to be cute but it went y/n had a "what eye is his colour" moment lmao this is unproofread/unedited!

contents ✥ mild fluff, suggestive, oc kids aka the gogolings (yuri, mari, karol), fem!reader, age differences what's new

You’re just chilling under your umbrella, sipping the strawberry lemonade you ordered from the bar. It’s a one in a million chance for you to have a solo vacation like this—nice resort, nice beach, nice spa. 

You fix your sunglasses and your bikini as your eyes wander around the beach. There are not so many people today—many surfers though. From under this umbrella, you can watch almost everyone. You see a kid building a sand castle near the beach. You see a father teaching his son how to float in the sea—couldn’t he pick a better place, atleast? Like a pool?

But it is not his unorthodox teaching method that picks your interest. That man is incredibly fine. You have been stealing glances at him for a while now. He has three kids along with him. Probably his own. When he first entered your view, his white braided hair was the first thing that caught your eyes. And then the second thing was how his back muscles look like when he carried his daughter with one arm. The third thing you noticed was how playful he gets when it comes to his children. He built some sandcastles together with his daughter and son—the short one, he has two sons.

He is also tall. His shoulders are broad and his body is finely shaped. Sometimes you find yourself leering your eyes downwards… to where your mind wanders elsewhere but you immediately distract yourself. It is inappropriate to check out a gorgeous man like that—what if he's married?

He probably is married. A father with three sons? Yeah, most likely. 

“Hey, lady.”

You turn to your side, seeing a boy standing beside your chair. Eyes widen as you notice that the boy is actually one of the man’s sons. This boy was the sandcastle builder before he roamed somewhere on his own. 

“Hi, little guy.” You greet him back. The boy looks at you and points at your lemonade. 

“I want a taste.” He says casually as his arm reaches out to your glass. You quickly pull back, putting the glass on the armrest. 

“No, no. This is… uh, not suitable for you.” You say. The boy pouts. 

“Whaaa, why not?” He whines.

“It’s alcoholic.”

“Hmph! You and daddy say the same thing! Kolic kolic!” The boy grumbles cutely. You are usually annoyed at any kids who disturb you but this boy certainly has a charm to him—he is still a little annoying though. 

“Maybe you ask your daddy if you want to have some drinks.”

God, the way you refer to that man as ‘daddy’ certainly gives you an itch—that feels quite fluttering. 

“Can you ask daddy for me, pleasheee?” The boy pouts and shakes your arm. “My daddy is… uh… nice! And handchum.”

“Handsome, huh? I can see that.” You smile. “But he’d be more likely to listen to you than a random woman like me, no?”

“Mmm, I dunno. Daddy is confusing sometimes…”

You chuckle, holding yourself back from ruffling the little guy’s hair. He does look similar to his dad, like a mini-version of him. The boy shakes your hand again. “Lady, lady, do you wanna build a sandcastle with me?”

“H-Huh?”

You think that little guy has some kind of mind control power. Before you realize it, you are halfway building a sandcastle with him and his sister. You learned that his name is Karol—he said ‘Kawol’ but his sister corrected it—and she is Mari. You do not dare to ask about their mother, but there is certainly something about how Mari is excitedly clinging to you. 

“I don’t have girls in the house,” Mari says as she decorates her sandcastle with random seashells from the beach. “Daddy always plays with me, but he is daddy and not mummy.” 

“But daddy does his best, isn't he?” You reply carefully, not wanting to step into some deeply personal stuff. Mari hums and nods. 

“My daddy is the best!” She giggles. “Right, daddy?”

Just then, a shadow looms over you and you almost shriek as you look over your shoulder. It’s him. The man. Your eyes are trying hard to roam everywhere but fixate at him. God, he looks much bigger up close—thighs—he is so tall than I expected—chest—his eyes are pretty. 

Your mind is jumbled as you try to form a word. How strange it is for him to see a random woman playing with his two kids. You don't want him to think of you as a potential kidnapper, god damn it! You quickly get on your feet, standing by his side—and only then your eyes are on the same level of his (kissable) collarbone.

“Hi, there. Were my kids entertaining you so much?” He starts first. His tone is playful and teasing, but friendly. He grins. “I’m Nikolai. You?”

You nervously say your name, smiling sheepishly. “Uh… your son, Karol, asked me to play together… so, I, uh…”

He cackles—his voice is heavenly, thundering butterflies in your stomach. “Is that so? He is a friendly little dude. Since you came with him, I take it he wasn’t being annoying?”

“Not at all, sir.”

Nikolai waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, sweetheart. No need for formality. You’re making me feel old!” He pouts—and he is probably in his mid to late 30s to be looking so adorable. He bends, just enough to reach Mari and ruffle her hair. Just then, you realise another one of his kids is sitting beside Mari, eyes scrutinising you. You awkwardly smile at him. Mari is rambling to his brother, and you heard Mari call him ‘Yurochka’. Maybe he is a quiet one. 

Nikolai chuckles as he pats her head. “Were you having fun, little dove?” He asks. Mari nods happily and gives him a big seashell from her collection. Nikolai takes it and shows it to you with a boyish grin on his face. But that grin turns into a tiny smirk when his eyes leer over your body. 

The heaviness tugs again in your stomach and you feel like your thighs are quivering. 

This won’t do. This man is definitely much older than you—he has three kids who are all beyond toddler age! 

“Uhm, I-I think I should go… It’s been fun spending some time with the kids, N-Nikolai.” You say. Nikolai blinks confusedly at first before he smiles. 

“I should be thanking you, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure they had fun—”

“Incominggg!” 

“Woah!” You yelp when Karol suddenly barges between Nikolai’s and your legs. He is small but his energy is high and enough for you to stumble on your footings. In that tiny window of milliseconds, you are about to accept the embarrassment of falling like a fool in front of a handsome guy but suddenly, you feel your body being grasped tightly from behind. 

You open your eyes wide and your heart cannot be much faster. His strong arm is wrapped around your waist and you are already gripping his arm like your life depended on it. You feel your back is against his firm chest and your bum is brushing closely against his waist. 

Maybe falling face down onto the sand is better. 

“You okay, love?”

You tilt your head upward—and maybe that is a bad decision—and see Nikolai’s face close to your proximity. His eyebrow is jerked upward but then he chuckles deeply before he smirks. He says nothing but you feel a squeeze on the side of your tummy, exactly where his hand is placed. 

“Haa—!” Your breath hitches and you step away. You want to say sorry but what is there to apologise for when it feels good? 

Flustered and embarrassed, you stammer, “I-I must go! Have fun with the kids, sir!” You turn around and quickly walk off, needing some time alone to calm your heart. But you catch his last words at you. 

“Bye, bye! See you around, sweetheart.”

It sounds like a promise and you wish it is. 

©doukeshi-kun 2025 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[st4rd0lly]

ＴＯＮＧＵＥＳ ＆ ＴＥＥＴＨ —

CONTENT WARNING : this fic series will contain DARK content , smut , age gap (reader is mid-late 20s while Nikolai is in his 30s) , probably inaccurate detective work descriptions , and religious themes. this does not follow canon and it is a non ability AU

chapter warnings : suggestive themes (angry sex gets mentioned once) ; firearm

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ?

A detective.

That’s what you are.

Or well, that’s what you were. You had left that life behind you, swore on it. You weren’t a terrible detective by any means, quite the opposite. You were notably the smartest detective in your city. Sharp and witty, reliable and smart. That’s what you prided yourself on. But with making bigger shoes, you made yourself nearly look like a clown when you stepped out of them. All it took was one case, one case to make you step down.

And like that, you were out of the game.

With no interest to push yourself forward in your career, you sidelined yourself much to everyone’s dismay. You had people relying on you, people who needed you. But a normal life is what you desired after what felt like an action film that lasted forever. It’s what you deserved.

You didn’t lose all that much like you expected though. People still respected you for what you did, your ex-coworkers still treated you like their own, they still come to you for advice and you gave them your best. You became a mentor for younger detectives, a rowdy but loveable group who wanted to follow your footsteps.

You were content with the life you led. All trauma considered, you’d say you’re doing pretty solid for what you’ve been through going through cases.

You were happy for once, you were content with this domestic life you’ve made for yourself. 

"Someone tells me you’re sick of old games. Let’s play a new one. =)"

You repeated the note left on your window to your ex-work partner, Mikhail, on the phone. Staring at it with furrowed brows, you cursed to yourself. "I quit this shit for a fucking reason." With a groan, you slam yourself back down on the couch. 

"Did you check security cameras?" Mikhail questioned, groaning along with you. He’s been by your side since your guys’ first day together, two peas in a pod. You still remember the days where you were just young rookies together. You guys weren’t Sherlock Holmes and Watson by any means, but some might argue that your dynamic duo could come close.

Your face fell into a deadpanned expression, "You really think I wouldn’t?"

"Hey, I’m just trying to make sure we covered all bases. But knowing you, you probably already did that so I guess it was a stupid question— which is besides the point though." You could tell that he was just at a lost as you are.

"Misha, I wanted to leave this stuff behind me." You said, a little more solemnly than you’d liked to admit. "I thought after I faded out in the system for a bit, things would be okay for me. Sure, we’ve made our enemies—"

"You especially."

"Yes, me especially. But I know that most of them are in prison and the others are respectable enough to do this stuff to my face instead of… whatever the fuck that is. I wanted out."

"And you will be out. One day, I promise you." Mikhail reassures, his usual lighthearted tone softening. "Do you think it could be the same guy from our last case together?" He asks.

And you wished you had an answer. The last case you ever took on as an official detective left you in pieces that you’re still trying to pick up to this day. There were too many missing factors but so many were coming to a horrific realization. There were no hints one moment and then the next, there were. Each step closer you thought you took, set you 10 paces back with little time to catch up. That case had flipped your life upside down and around. Like some sick cycle. 

If it was the same bastard behind that case, you were sure that the old you would’ve jumped at the chance.

But you aren’t the person you were in the past, and you haven’t been for a long time.

Maybe this was exactly what the guy wanted, what they came here for. To wait for things to get calm till they could hit hard again. Or maybe, there was a chance that this note could’ve come from a new, completely different person. Someone who wanted to take out an old big shot to make themselves look even bigger. There was just too many open spaces with a huge gap of no information. It could be anything from anyone.

"I don’t know Misha, with the little to no info right now… it literally could be anyone." You admitted, not trying to even hide the defeat in your voice. Your brain searching, scanning, and recalling for anyone that stood out to you in your life. Someone who would mess with you like this, taunting from afar. It hits you like cold water in the morning. "Oh my god. What if it’s my ex?"

"You think you got yourself caught up in like a weird crazy ex revenge situation? What was the guy’s name again?" Mikhail questioned.

"Nikolai. Nikolai Gogol." You responded, rubbing at your temple. Fuck, if it really was Nikolai…

But that was so long ago, way before your last case. And that relationship was never going to last, the both of you knew that. You wanted different things, you two were different…it wouldn’t have worked out. Maybe he wanted Bonnie and Clyde, turn you away from the so called righteousness and justice that is detective work. Live out a life of crime. You never were aware of what he did for work, you were able to tell it was dangerous. And maybe in another life, he was able make you his Bonnie. 

You made sure that this wasn’t that life.

Thinking back to all the times you’ve spent with him makes your heart has plunge into your stomach. You were aware that he wasn’t the greatest person to date. You said through heated kisses and angry sex that it was just the rush, the thrill of it all in the relationship you had with him that kept you around. Each time he could only laugh in your face. All his talk about freedom definitely added a new perspective to your life, but it was so extreme. 

And oddly enough when you wanted to end it, he was very much less than pleased even though that’s all he’s ever wanted. To be free. He’s a walking contradiction though and he left your life without a trace. You refused to look back.

It wouldn’t make sense to mess up your life now.

….

When did he ever make sense?

"I’ll check in with the database, see what I can scoop up on him." Mikhail attempts to reassure you, though it does little to soothe your thoughts. He never knew about the complexity of your relationship with Nikolai. Just that it was strange. He didn’t know how dangerous he was.

But you weren’t about to tell him right now, not while it felt like someone was watching you. "Okay…"

"Did you ask your neighbors if they saw anything? What about that one neighbor across from you?" Mikhail suggested. "Take a picture of the note and I’ll drop by with some of the team by your place so we can investigate more. Better to not tamper with evidence so just use the picture to show your neighbors."

"Okay, yeah I’ll do that." You agreed, it wasn’t a bad idea. "Thank you Misha."

"I’ll be there in about fifteen. Go chat with your neighbors. Don’t die."

"Trying not to." You chuckled, hanging up the phone. You stood back up from the couch, looking at the window with disdain. The note was still there, staring back at you. Though you knew nothing was confirmed, you tried to find any hints of Nikolai’s presence. The only thing sticking out to you was the smiley, and that wouldn’t be viable evidence of anything. You shook your head, opening the camera app on your phone and snapping a picture. 

Now  that was done and over with. Time to talk to your neighbor.

Your neighbor was a relatively tall and attractive man you would say. You’ve never talked to him before, only seeing him for a brief moment when you walk to your car or when he goes out. Your window allows you a somewhat good view outside. Though you could also say that his appearance did make him stand out too. 

Tossing on a jacket, you hoped your neighbor wouldn’t judge too hard if you were in your pajamas. It was still early in the morning when you woke up to that note. 

You bite your tongue, you shouldn’t leave the house unarmed. Taking a quick trip back to your room, you put on your belt that you wear to do your mentor work. The one that’s meant to hold your firearm. You grab your gun in your drawer to put in your holster.

You opened the door, shivering a bit as the cool air hits your skin and hugged yourself tighter. Whoever put that note there must be really motivated to mess with you because who on earth would put a stupid note on a window when it’s this cold?

Taking a couple of steps towards his door, you placed a firm knock. You really hoped he was here. It would be an even shittier day if he wasn’t and you were waiting out in the cold longer than you needed to be. But thankfully, the door opens.

"May I help you?" The rich Russian accent caught you off guard, making you blink in surprise. You weren’t sure what to expect when he did speak but it wasn’t that. 

You gave the man an apologetic smile, "Hi I’m so sorry to bother you early this morning but I was wondering if you had heard anything strange late at night or earlier in the morning? Or if you had seen anything weird?"

The man looks down at you for a moment and you could tell he was studying you. His eyes were probably the most vibrant shade of a deep purple hue that you had ever seen before. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he had a good poker face you had to admit. He only tilts his head to the side, looking concerned. "I had not heard anything out of the ordinary. I usually am not here all that often because of work, but when I am here, I like to stay in my bedroom and rest."

He sounded genuine, and he definitely looked genuine. But those years you’ve spent as a detective grew your skills, and you’ve kept them sharp. You wouldn’t have been earnestly praised highly as a detective if you weren’t good at catching onto the small things. A blessing and a curse. There was something off about this neighbor of yours that you couldn’t place your finger on.

You couldn’t let him know that though, so you only shook your head again and waved your hand. "Ah, I’m so sorry again then. There was just a note left on my window and I was just wondering if anyone saw anything. It’s okay, thank you for your time."

"That sounds terrible, forgive me if I’m overstepping but are you certain it wasn’t your roommate playing some sort of prank?"

……

You could feel the gears in your head pause abruptly. You blink at him in confusion.

Roommate? 

"I don’t have a roommate?" You clarified, raising a brow at his comment. But he only reciprocates your confused expression.

"Is that so? I was sure you did. There was this man I’ve seen at your place before quite often whenever I’m here." He tells you, and your mind goes into a frenzy. What the fuck was he talking about? Was he talking about Mikhail? 

"I’m sorry, could you explain more?" You kept your tone polite, and it was obvious you weren’t expecting this. You were too distracted by the thoughts swirling in your head that you didn’t realize that you were shaking a bit from the weather.

"Here, you should come inside. I have some tea prepared for myself but there’s enough to share. I’ll tell you what I know. Part of it is that it’s bad manners to keep a guest outside in the cold." He opens the door more, stepping out of the way. 

Jesus, you really did want to stop being dragged into these games.

[st4rd0lly]

idk if you guys are into alien stage but i am and wiege destroyed me on valentine’s but now i can’t stop thinking about hyuluka’s relationship and how fun it would be to write a similar dynamic with nikolai and the reader

[st4rd0lly]

Angel of small death

Tags demon Chuuya x fem reader, religious symbolism, cruel Chuuya, loss of virginity, drinking and smoking, no protection, light bondage, is this considered monsterfucking, rough sex, degradation, breeding kink, mirror sex, religious guilt yummm, MDNI

Summary Being a virgin at your age isn’t cute anymore, it’s depressing. You decide to go out and do something about it, but there’s something just a little bit off about the man you met.

A/N hehehe for Valentine's Day I wanted to do something a little bit darker. Chuuya being an angel or demon is always on my mind.

Enough is enough. You have to get this over and done with. No more naively waiting for love, it's time. At this point it was getting embarrassing— being a virgin at 20. Since it didn't happen naturally, you have to take matters into your own hands.

It's agonizing listening to your friends talk about all the things they do and experience. The random hookups, the fruitful relationships, the crazy nights spent just having fun. They actually live life. Why can't you have that? Envy and resentment fills your entire body when they treat it as if it's not a big deal. Your head feels like it's about to explode from bottled up dissatisfaction. There's only one solution.

Growing up evangelical, there was still a sense of dread at the thought of going to a bar. It's a place filled with drinking and sex— filled with sin. Even after leaving the faith, lingering guilt dictates your entire life. Having never been to a bar, you don't know what to expect. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you debate whether you should really wear this. Is it too much?

White lace stockings adorn your thighs. Silk fabric hugs your waist— draping elegantly and accentuating all your best assets. You spent hours agonizing over your hair. It leaves your arms shaking, aching from tedious styling. Glitter is dabbed onto the thin skin of your eyelids, lined with dark charcoal and mascara layered over your eyelashes. This is the best you've ever looked, but self doubt is creeping in. Stalking the dark recesses of your mind. Hunting and butchering any confidence you may have.

Pushing down all your apprehension, you grab your jacket and call a cab. Unfortunately, none of your friends are joining you tonight. If they were, maybe it'd be easier to ignore the giant pit of anxiety forming in the bottom of your stomach. Are you really going to do this? There's still time to stop.

You prepared early. The bottle of tequila in your freezer had been left untouched until this moment. Taking it out, you unsteadily pour yourself a shot. Hopefully this helps your panicking heart— beating away rapidly in your ribcage. Alcohol isn't something you have often. As you throw the drink back, your throat constricts and burns despite it being chilled for several hours, heat pooling in your belly. It tastes bitter and disgusting. Your tummy clenches, attempting to send the drink back up— rejecting it completely.

The taxi is waiting outside when you're done. It takes a few minutes before the tequila affects your cognition, so you get in easily, relaxing into the backseat. It's weird. Being alone, all dressed up. Just to go to a sleazy bar. Tugging at the edges of your clothes— discomfort sinks into your bones. Even your own skin feels foreign. Wrong. And the quietude within the car makes your brain whirl.

The cab arrives quickly. There's a thick cloud of smoke fogging your vision, and plaguing your lungs once you walk inside. It's filled with middle aged, unkempt men. Hardly any women are in sight, and the few that are, have a scowl permanently etched onto their foreheads. You take a seat at the bar, away from any people. It's hard to start up a conversation with anyone.

Nervously, you order yourself a martini. You need something strong. It's salty and horribly bitter, but the drink you had previously— and this one— work together to relax the muscles that were so terribly tense before. Sighing, you look around. Everyone is caught up in their own little world. The determination you had before suddenly vanishes and your only wish is to go home. Despite the warmth blazing through your figure, a cold sweat breaks out over your skin. Shivers seem to attack you, leaving you a pile of terrified bones. You shouldn't have come here. Maybe you were just meant to die a virgin. It's fine, you could live with that. Probably.

“You scared?”

A gruff voice speaks up behind you. You whip your head around. The man is ginger with clearly expensive clothing and an intimidating aura. Something about him makes a shiver run down your spine. Your lips pop open dumbly— forming an ‘O’ shape.

The ginger man's gloved hand comes up to grab your chin, dragging you closer and leaning in— quietly observing every little detail of your face. Although the man is not necessarily large, he’s muscular. Well built. It feels as if he’s towering over you. Like goliath standing over you, squashing any chance of escape or survival.

“Relax, I won't bite… unless you like that.”

Ignoring your instincts screaming at you to run, to run back home and never look back, you feel drawn to the strange man. Something keeps you planted in your stool. His cool minty breath wafts into your face— suffocating you. You take a deep breath, but it does nothing to ease the nerves pulsing beneath your sinew and tissue. He smiles at the sight of your unease.

“I'll get you a drink.”

It's not a question. He wraps an arm around your waist and the intoxicating scent of his cologne smothers you and drowns all your senses. You can't move. The man is strangely cold, and from the corner of your eye you swear you can see a shadow that looks like wings. Maybe it's just your imagination. You shake your head, clearing your mind, and suddenly they're gone.

A disorienting ring echoes through your ears while he orders for you. The rest of the encounter is a blur. Drink after drink appears in front of you, and you down them without a second thought. Your initial apprehension is forgotten as the charming man pulls you closer and closer, until you're almost straddling his lap. You don't seem to notice— or mind— how his hands roam down your waist and teasingly play with the hem of your stockings.

“It’s getting kind of crowded… Why don't we go somewhere more private?”

Veins throbbing with a disgusting mix of alcohol and blood rushing through them, you nod without hesitation. A hollow feeling spreads over your chest and ribcage. Sudden guilt weighs heavy on your shoulders. Are you really doing this?

“To yours?”

It's a question of safety. You may be about to sleep with a man you barely know, but under no circumstances should he know where you live. A wide grin spreads over his features. His teeth are blinding and sharp, like fangs.

“Not exactly.”

He wraps his thin fingers around your wrist, helping you up into your feet. The sudden movement has your head spinning and your stomach churning. God, it feels like you're going to throw up. A silent prayer plays in your mind. Part of you regrets ever even thinking of coming here. This goes against everything you've ever believed in. Against every oath you've ever taken.

The devil themselves must be laughing at you now. Wrapping their slender snake-like tail around your throat and squeezing as hard as they can. You can't protest even if you wanted to. Silently, with shaking legs, you let Chuuya— whose name is the only thing you can truly remember from your conversation— lead you out of the bar and into the cold night air.

“Where are we going?”

He doesn't answer. Did he not hear you? The burnt rubber and tar scent of the street follows you everywhere. Your eyes dart around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. In the shadows, you can faintly make out the silhouette of smiling figures— laughing and mocking you. Alcohol has rendered your legs practically useless as they quiver with every step, the only thing holding your weaker body up is Chuuya’s strong arms.

Your blurred vision watches his handsome stoic appearance. Is it really possible a man like this is interested in you? Streetlights illuminate his face. He almost looks like an angel. Like something to be worshipped. You can finally see his eyes clearly, without the dark veil his hat leaves in the way.

Wheezing, the small amount of air left in your lungs evaporates. They're stunning. Bright, breathtaking blue. Like nothing you had ever seen before.

Your heart almost stops at the sight.

The dark pupil in the middle of his iris is insanely dark. Oddly shaped. Almost elongated. Is that normal? Nothing about him seems real.

Broken, fluorescent neon lights flicker at you— calling out to you, ridiculing you. Every object surrounding you seems to know who you are and what you're up to. You've never done this, and they know. Everyone does. They can tell from the look on your face. You're not meant to be here.

Barely any cars are parked at the motel’s lot. It's completely empty except for a few shady people hanging around and the bored front desk employee. If something were to happen, no one would hear you scream. Maybe that's why he chose this place.

The flight up the stairs to the room feels like a death march. The man's grip does nothing to relieve the nervous, cold thrill that seems to freeze your blood over. If anything he's making it worse. His skin— even through the layers of clothing— feels like ice. Your hairs are standing on end, prickling you painfully.

“Here we are.”

He takes a small key card out of his pocket, quickly unlocking the door and pulling you inside the room.

It's dirty. The walls are covered in what you can only assume is solidified cigarette smoke. It smells faintly of urine and gasoline. Only scarlet sheets and flat pillows are on the bed— no comforter. Mirrors cover the ceiling above the bed and there's red ambient lighting instead of regular bulbs.

Chuuya does not bother locking the room. He opts to lightly urge you deeper into the room, sitting on the bed, helping you onto his lap with your legs on either side of his. Fear grips your heart. It pounds away in your sternum laboriously, struggling to break free of the restraints this man — no— this thing has it in.

“Wait I.. I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?”

Freezing cold gloved hands caress your legs. Goosebumps rise up your thighs and arms. Your hands apprehensively clutch the lapels of his jacket. The blue in his iris has darkened to nearly pitch black— swallowing any radiance into its depths. He's too close. It's oppressive. You're not sure this is something you'll survive. At least, not with your sanity.

“I've never done anything like this…”

“Oh honey…”

Voice dripping with arrogance, a cheap snicker finds its way onto his smug face. He toys with the lace band of your stockings, pulling and then letting the garter strap snap back against your thigh.

“I know. Anyone with eyes can tell.”

Scorching hot shame burns across your face. Your back seems to absorb it all, spreading it through your entire system and dampening your skin with sweat. Chuuya presses your front completely against his, taking off his gloves and revealing his pale, scarred hands. When he grabs your waist again, you tense up. Sharp claws press against your skin, threatening to rip your flesh apart.

What…?

A dumbfounded gasp rips itself from your lungs. Your mind screams at you to run, but your body won't listen. This is payback. Retribution straight from the lord himself for daring to stray from his teachings. You deserve the hell this devil will put you through.

Chuuya can tell you're afraid, but he won't let go so easily. His sharpened talons dig into the fat surrounding your hips.

“No no no… this is what you wanted. You can't leave that soon.”

His rough lips press against the tender skin of your neck, hot tongue dragging over the veins and arteries beneath your skin— flames engulf you as searing, fervent lust takes over your alcohol infused brain. Your mouth goes dry and your fingertips tingle, going numb.

You never realized how much you need this.

Scratches and bite marks will surely cover your entire body by tomorrow, but you don't really pay it much mind. He’s like a ravenous animal, getting a small taste of food for the first time in a millenia. His huge claws shred through the snowy white silk fabric adorning your figure.

“I can't wait. When I see a sweet thing like you, I can't resist.”

Chuuya bites into the supple flesh of your throat harshly with his pointed, needle-like fangs. Your hands rest on his chest, bracing yourself for the sharp pain that washes over your neck. The soft thump of a heart isn't there, just uneasy stillness.

Your bottom lip trembles, futilely trying to hold back the terror and desperate cries of pain asphyxiating you. A low growl rumbles through his chest. He pushes you down onto your back, eyes wide and staring up at him. Chuuya wastes no time in starting to undress. Nimbly, his flexible, clawed fingers undo the tie loosely knotted around his neck. Jagged nails dig into your wrists, holding them above your head and fastening them down with his tie. If you even tried to get out— which you wouldn't dream of doing— he'd overpower you easily. A lowly sinner is reduced to a devotee in the face of temptation.

With your hands out of the way, the thing can finally have his way with you. He pushes the tattered fabric off your frame. A rush of cold air sweeps over your newly exposed skin. It feels weird. Like being put on display to be assessed and lambasted. Your eyes dart around, desperate for any way to fix the predicament you've gotten yourself in, but there's no way out.

Wrists aching and nagging for freedom, your body tenses as Chuuyas talons trace the lump over your esophagus. Threatening to rip your throat out.

“Cute… Are you scared?”

Smirking, he gets a vicious glint in his eyes— It's a bizarre change from his previously lifeless gaze. A snake wraps itself around your neck, trapping any words that threaten to bubble up. He hovers over you and rids himself of all the layers keeping you two apart.

Chuuya’s skin glistens under the cheap motel lights. It looks plastic-y, unnaturally shiny. Your eyes follow the angelic lines of his strong, muscled chest. It left you breathless— lungs wrung dry. Tears well up in your eyes, obscuring your view, but somehow your corneas can make out vague shadows sticking out of his back, right by his shoulder blades.

“Are those-?”

Rough lips cut you off. Your mind is filled in a hazy cloud of exhilaration and thirst. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes— a disgusting combination that you can't help being lured by. You let out a surprised squeak as a forked tongue glides over your bottom lip. Chuuya takes that as an opportunity, taking advantage of your bewilderment, to slip his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. It's like he's trying to devour you whole. As if he wants to possess you.

Without thinking, your hands attempt to reach out for the shadows only to be pulled back over your head by the fabric ensnared around your wrists. He lazily drags his lips away from yours. A shameful, loud smack resonates across the otherwise quiet room. Your eyelids flutter open, immediately noticing the inky black feathers behind him— shiny and strong.

A knot of panic expands in your chest. Little glimpses of memories you thought you'd buried down deep bob back up to the surface. Dreading the eventual Armageddon. Fearing not only for yourself, but your family and friends who could be sent to the deepest circle in hell for the simplest of transgressions. There's a reason for those seemingly arbitrary rules in your congregation. You knew what was at stake, but somehow you managed to convince yourself none of it was real. That it wasn't a big deal if you indulged for once.

“You're staring.”

“A demon...?”

You're speechless. Staring at the spread out wings in front of you, Chuuya sits back up straight, leaning away from you and letting you breathe. They're massive. Large enough to cover you entirely, shielding you from the prying eyes of God. A heavy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach and a wave of nausea flushes over you.

“Oh, look at that.”

Chuuya’s voice is lower. Dark and rough— he's enjoying this. His thumb runs over your puffy bottom lip, toying with it. Toying with you. His other hand travels down over your throat, then down to your chest, pinching your nipple meanly, twisting. He relishes in your choked up whine.

“Don't tell me you don't enjoy that, I know it's a lie.”

“I can’t- You're a demon!”

Cackling, he lets go.

“I know, kind of obvious isn't it? Besides… by the way you’re reacting, you clearly like it.”

“But-”

“Shhh. Be quiet.”

Your mouth snaps shut, teeth clanking together bitterly. Leaning down, his lips close around the little nub, fangs attaching themselves onto it and scraping cruelly. A euphoric sensation courses through you, his name tumbling from your lips uncontrollably as your hands clench, arching up into his touch.

“Fuck… C-Chuuya..!”

Tugging harshly, his teeth scrape over your nipple— making your cunt throb. You should not feel this way at the hands of a monster like him. It's wrong.

But it feels so right.

Goosebumps rise up across your skin. Your eyebrows knit together meanwhile his large hands grip onto your waist, claws stinging. Chuuya’s lips pop as he finally lets up, and you finally resign yourself to your fate. Looking up at the ceiling, your body jolts at the sight of his wings reflected on the mirror. They look heavy— held up by his strong back muscles.

His wings sway gently and glitter under the soft red lights, trapping your bodies underneath. Then, Chuuya flips you over onto your tummy— his coarse lips trailing little kisses down your spine. Every time his skin makes contact with yours, little sparks of arousal bounce over your ribs and out to your limbs. His rapid breath tickled you and it was hard to stay still.

Your hands were stretched far above your head, with your elbows and head resting on the cheap, lumpy pillow. He forces your hips up, with your knees planted firmly on the bed and your face embedded in the abrasive cushion below you. Freezing air conditioning chills you to the bone. You're a lab experiment, a scrap of prey— spread open and ready to be dissected.

“Don't move, angel.”

He pushes your back down, forcing it into a painful arch.

“There you go, stay just like that.”

Pointed talons wander past your vertebrae and down to the supple flesh of your ass, leaving dark red scratches etched onto your skin. Your insides are roaring, begging you to fight back. To leave while you can. But your heart wants otherwise. He's so handsome. His smell surrounds you— it's hypnotizing. And although his touch burns, you can't help craving more. He's like a drug you can't get enough of.

Your body easily obeys, trying its hardest to maintain the unpleasant bend in your spine. A strangled cry forces itself past your lips as your legs shake with the effort to hold their own weight up.

“Are you seriously struggling with something so simple?”

Hefty, cold hands land between your shoulder blades, grinding you into the scratchy sheets. A shiver works itself through you. You arduously unclench all your muscles, sucking in lungfuls of sleazy motel air and Chuuya’s heady scent.

“I–I’m trying…”

“It's not enough. Try harder.”

You hear some shuffling behind you, the bed creaks and the heat from Chuuya’s figure is temporarily gone before you feel him looming over you— his thighs pressed against the backs of yours. He leans down, crushing your body underneath his wings encircling you. Nosing at your throat, he presses his hips against your backside, letting you feel how hard he is.

A calloused hand ruthlessly tangles itself in your hair, pulling. His other hand snakes underneath you, leaving behind flashes of heat. You feel feverish as his hand unexpectedly pinches your inner thigh— delighting in the sound you make— before his fingers part your soaked, messy folds. Your form tenses when a finger easily slips in, embarrassing squelching sounds fill the air as he pumps it into you.

The intrusion feels foreign, not good or bad, just different. You let out a sigh of relief, glad that it's not as painful as you feared. Chuuya's thumb gets to work on your clit, rubbing it in tight little circles. Your body moves as if it's been electrocuted, letting out a garbled moan.

“Chuuya…”

“Feels good huh?”

Another finger joins the first, curling against your sweet spot. It doesn't take long for you to be reduced to a puddle of tears and snot— fat globs of salty teardrops soaking the pillow beneath you. Your lower belly aches, an empty craving spreading and shrouding you. An angelic plea falls from your lips, with his name distorted and muffled.

Your weeping only encourages him more— his pace getting faster and rougher. His claws, despite being sharp enough to cut your ribcage open, don't hurt. Your mind is solely focused on the sensation of his flexible fingers inside your dripping cunt. It's not surprising that a demon would be so well versed in matters of depravity.

Just as the pool of heat in your tummy seems like it's going to erupt, when it feels like your figure is floating— ascending to a new heaven, Chuuya’s movements halt. The blood rushes within your ear canal loudly and your tissue is shuddering underneath your skin. It takes everything in you to hold back your sobs. His surprisingly gentle hand cards through your hair, shushing you sweetly.

“Shhh dont cry, angel. I didn't even hurt you, you should've known I wouldn't let you cum that fast. It's, honestly, all on you.”

He stays like that— with his entire mass weighing you down. Carefully, his fingers withdraw and your body fights to keep him in place, squeezing around nothing. You feel too empty. Now that you've had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you can't fathom a world without it.

There's a pulsing lump in your throat from the built up frustration, drawing a shaky sigh from your belly. Your ears barely manage to pick up the noise of his thick, feathery wings flapping and the low growl that vibrates in his chest. Thankfully the stinging in your eyes has finally stopped at this point, but it's not enough for Chuuya. He needs more.

He doesn't make you wait much longer, pushing into the sloppy mess of your pussy. The air is shoved out of your lungs. Your body tightens, denying him entry, floundering. Every cell of your being stings.

“Fuck.. w-wait..”

Chuuyas hips still. One hand comes up to rest on your thigh, leaving a trail of your arousal cooling on the surface of your skin. His thumb traces gentle circles onto the soft flesh of your hips. The hand in your hair tugs at the locks sternly, turning your entire head to face the side wall.

“Watch.”

The back of your neck strains to angle itself the way he wants— it feels like your head is about to snap off. Your eyes drift over to the mirror veiling the wall. You can see everything from here— the flexing of his muscles, how his wings hang low and heavy, the way his stronger body easily molds and manipulates your own. His figure glows under the cheap lighting, the red hair surrounding his face looks like a crimson halo— the former golden glow now tainted by the depravity he surrounds himself with regularly.

“Chuuya please!”

He doesn't wait for you to relax before completely sheathing himself inside of you, groaning when his pelvis crashes with your backside, forcing your walls to make way for him. It's too sudden. Too big. Is he a fucking monster?? The curve of your spine, your knees, and your wrists all sting— pushed to their limits and more. There's no way you can handle more, but Chuuya does not exactly grant you the freedom of choice.

Your scalp tingles as his grip in your hair tightens. His hips start rocking up into you, forcing you to adjust. You choke on your own spit as he savagely pounds against your sweet spot, spearing you open and holding you down.

“Oh God…”

“Don't call him, he's not here, I am.”

The mirrored image is hard to make out through the wave of tears building in your waterline, but you can faintly make out the image of his flushing skin and aggressive movements. You don't even want to look at yourself. The image of you bent to a demon's will is far too humiliating to take.

“Even your God can't help you now.”

Beads of moisture slide between your bodies, sticking your hair to your overheated forehead. Pitchy wails get trapped in the hollow of your chest. Chuuyas defined muscles overextend themselves as they pick up the pace, slamming his cock into your sensitive cunt without faltering. Every nerve ending in your body is lit on fire, frayed and hyper-sensitive. Through the reflection, you swear you see his eyes go fully dark— like black holes, sucking in any life that they can.

“Agh… f-fuck…”

Unconsciously, your hips roll back against him. There's something so delicious about being split open like this. It hurts like hell. Every single muscle, tendon, ligament, and bone in your figure is going to be screaming at you tomorrow. But through the intense torture youre being put through, your neurons can still find bliss in the afterglow.

There is no pleasure without pain. No light without darkness.

“Fucking slut.”

You let out a mortified, wounded cry wail beneath him, squirming. Eyebrows and nose scrunching, your protests come out in distorted groans. Your hands clench, digging your nails into the palm of your hand as your elbows struggle to stabilize themselves. Every time you attempt to get back up, Chuuya speeds up— brutally whacking his hips into the plush tissue of your ass, fucking you dumb.

The choir of salacious noises between the two of you sound inhuman. Your throat feels like it's being torn open with a knife. Your eyes shut tight, toes curling, as your entire body tenses and shudders. Lava seems to form in your lower tummy, boiling you from the inside out.

“This is all you’re good for, isn't it? Say it”

“Nghh N-no!”

Your brain is spinning, obliged to accept the overloading sensations and transgressions Chuuya is committing against you. Every movement in your body is dulled and slowed— it's like your nervous system would rather focus on the vicious slam of his hips into your cunt, than to help you have any form of mobility.

“Fucking say it.”

Your mouth forms the words before you have a chance to deny them.

“That's all I’m g-good for…”

A puddle forms on the dirty motel sheets made of your arousal, sweat, and your melting figure. Chuuyas arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, wings encapsulating both your bodies and hiding the mirror from view. It's almost romantic how sweetly he holds you.

Almost.

“ ‘m gonna fucking breed you. You're mine.”

The puddle of lava in your tummy gets more and more restless— bubbling angrily and threatening to erupt. With one last ruthless thrust into the spongy little spot inside you, the lava surges out, burning everything around it. Your orgasm seems to go on forever, scorching you but also dunking you in arctic waters. Chuuyas hips still against you, releasing hot spurts of cum into you. You can't really think about what that could mean for you in the future.

The apocalypse feels like it has finally come for you. Destroying everything in its way and leaving the earth a blazing wasteland. Only this time, you aren't worthy of salvation. You will be left alone to the mercy of the devil before you. Revolting bile is pushed against your teeth and you're forced to swallow it back.

Remorseful, your body trembles with effort as you attempt to sit up— to get Chuuya out of you and away from you as soon as possible. Only, it's impossible to move. Chuuya’s chuckle is devious and low, sending a chill through your bones.

“Oh no… I'm not done with you yet, angel.”

[st4rd0lly]

Will u be continuing tongues and teeth?

hi lovely !!! yes i will be, i’ve just been really busy with work but i will be continuing the series <3

[st4rd0lly]

✒ BURNING SLOW, THRUSTING HARD

▸ FEATURING | Dazai Osamu [BSD]

▸ WARNINGS | shotgunning, smut, oral (giving), fingering (receiving), dazai has a spit kink, should be gender neutral (tell me if I slipped into fem, I want yall to be able to enjoy this), lots of dirty talk, praising and degrading, cursing (the usual), nicknames, masturbating mentioned, freak dazai at his finest, no beta we die like oda, MDNI (I love my kids, but I will block your ass, go read fluff)

▸ SUMMARY | you were so done with collage if you were being honest to yourself. you just wanted to relax for 10 minutes, was that really too much to ask? returning to your apartment you shared with dazai out of all people, you settled down and hoped you'd be able to enjoy yourself for a bit. seems like your roommate wants to help you wind down a little...

▸ WORD COUNT | 4.4k

▸ AUTHOR'S NOTES | this has been in my draft for so long, tbh I didn't know if I should post it but after receiving tons of asks I just did. I'll try to post soon again but for now I need to focus on my exams, science, math, and german exams are coming up and are chasing me in the back of my mind, so does my homework (teach srsly gave me 20 problems to solve till next week- and i got 10 to 11 hours school daily-). since I'm so down for shotgunning I was like, hey why not pair that with dazai, and here we are. anyways, ignore any typos and enjoy <3

Living with Dazai was never boring. Between his unpredictable antics, sharp wit, and occasional bouts of quiet introspection, he was the perfect mix of chaos and charm.

Tonight, though, the vibe in your shared apartment was slower, lazier—a soft haze of smoke curling around the living room as the two of you passed the joint back and forth.

Dazai leaned back on the couch, his legs spread in that annoyingly cocky way, his long fingers cradling the joint like it was a precious artifact. His half-lidded gaze drifted to you as you leaned forward to take it from him, your fingertips brushing his for just a moment.

“You look good like this,” he said, his voice low and lazy. “All relaxed. It’s a rare sight.” You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed.

“Shut up, Dazai. Pass me the lighter.” He didn’t move, just grinned at you with that knowing look that always made your stomach flip.

“Say please,” he teased, holding the lighter just out of reach.

“Fine,” you huffed, leaning closer, the smoke from his exhale ghosting over your face. “Please, Dazai.”

He didn’t hand it over. Instead, he brought the joint to his lips, took a long drag, and leaned forward until he was inches from your face. His voice dropped an octave as he said,

“Come and get it.”

Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t back down. Leaning closer, you pressed your lips to his and inhaled the smoke he exhaled, the intimate exchange leaving your head spinning in more ways than one.

“Good job,” he murmured against your lips, his tone laced with mischief as he leaned back and let you process the hit.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, coughing lightly as the smoke burned your lungs.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he quipped, his hand reaching out to toy with the hem of your hoodie, his fingers brushing your thigh. “Admit it roomie—you like me.”

You didn’t answer, but the way your body leaned into his touch spoke volumes.

Dazai leaned back, his grin growing wider as he patted his lap. “Alright, here’s the deal,” he said, holding the joint just out of reach again. “If you want another hit, you’re going to have to come here.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. His tone was playful, but the heat in his gaze made it impossible to tell if he was joking or not. “Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he replied, taking another slow drag before exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling. “No lap, no weed.”

He said it so nonchalantly, like it was the most reasonable demand in the world. With a dramatic sigh, you got up from your spot on the couch and walked over to him.

Dazai didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction as he spread his legs slightly to make room for you.

Curse his sweatpants.

The fabric hangs low on his hips, just loose enough to hint at the definition of his body but tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. The slight V of his hip bones peeks out from beneath his shirt whenever he stretches or leans back lazily, drawing your eyes down whether you want to or not.

It’s maddening, the way his toned abdomen transitions seamlessly into that sharp cut of muscle leading lower—almost like an arrow, guiding your gaze. His sweatpants rest teasingly low, the waistband threatening to slip further down, exposing just a glimpse of the dark hair trailing beneath it. When you perched on his lap, he let his hands settle casually on your hips, his touch light but firm.

“There we go,” he said, his voice softer now as he brought the joint to his lips again. After a moment, he leaned forward, his face inches from yours. “Open up.”

You obeyed, your lips parting as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, his dark eyes locked on yours. The closeness sent a shiver down your spine, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance.

“That' it,” he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist. The air between you felt electric, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.

Dazai took another hit, this time pressing his lips to yours directly to share it. His kiss was slow and deliberate, the taste of smoke and him mingling in a way that left you dizzy.

Before you could fully process what was happening, he set the joint aside and pulled you closer, his hands slipping under your hoodie to rest on your bare skin.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline. “I think I’ve been way too patient with you.”

“Dazai…” you started, but the words died in your throat when he tilted your head to capture your lips again.

“You want this,” he said against your mouth, his tone a mix of teasing and certainty. “Don’t try to deny it.”

And he was right. As fucked up as it was to want a man like him, you did.

He shifted, guiding you onto your back on the couch as he hovered over you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thighs. His touch was maddeningly slow, like he was savoring every second, every reaction.

“You’re so pretty when you’re high, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with affection and mischief. Your body arched into his touch as his hands roamed higher, his lips trailing down your neck. He paused for a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“Tell me you want me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I want you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” he said, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband to tease you. “Because I’m going to make you feel so good you won’t want to get off this couch.”

Dazai sat back on the couch, legs spread wide, his head tilted as he watched you with an amused smirk. The haze of smoke hung between you, wrapping everything in a slow, intoxicating warmth. You were already flushed, eyes half-lidded and glassy as you reached for the joint in his hand.

“Ah-ah,” he teased, holding it out of reach. “You want it, sweetheart? Then come show me how much.” You knew exactly what he meant.

Shifting onto your knees, you crawled closer, settling between his thighs. His smirk grew as he brought the joint to his lips, taking a slow drag before leaning down. “Open up,” he murmured, exhaling the smoke directly into your mouth.

You inhaled, the familiar burn hitting your chest as you gazed up at him through your lashes. His free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your lips as he pulled back to admire the way your lips parted.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. “All fucked up on a little smoke.” He leaned back again, his other hand stroking himself lazily as he watched you.

“Now, be good and show me what that mouth can do.”

You didn’t hesitate, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock as you sank down slowly. The saltiness of his precum mixed with the lingering taste of smoke on your tongue, and the combination made your head spin. His groan above you was low and sinful, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you deeper.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take me just like that.” The joint burned idly in his other hand as you worked him, your tongue swirling around the thick length of him.

You felt his hips buck slightly, a sign of his growing impatience, but you couldn’t resist teasing him a little. Pulling back just enough to lick along the underside, you glanced up at him, your lips glossy and swollen.

“Tease,” he growled, his grip on your hair tightening as he pushed you back down. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as his cock hit the back of your throat, making him groan again. “Fuck, you’re too good at this.”

He brought the joint back to his lips, taking another long drag before pulling you off his cock with a wet pop. You blinked up at him as he leaned down to press his mouth to yours. Smoke and the taste of him mingled as he kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting his own cum from your lips, before he pulled back slightly.

“Spit,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm.

Slut, you thought.

You obeyed anyways, the motion making your cheeks burn as he grinned wickedly. You watched as Dazai groaned once your spit reached his tongue, hazy brown eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“So fucking good for me,” he murmured, then spat back into your mouth. The heat in his eyes as he watched you swallow sent a shiver through you, and he kissed you again, biting at your lips before pulling away.

“Now,” he said, his hand sliding between your legs, “let’s see how high you really are.” His fingers slipped beneath your waistband, teasing your clit before sliding inside.

Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. “You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “So wet and needy. You're just as fucked up as I am—you like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand.

“Of course you do,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “You’re my little mess.” He didn’t stop until you were trembling, your body writhing as he pushed you closer to the edge.

When you finally came, your vision blurred, your head spinning so hard you almost blacked out. Dazai chuckled, pulling his hand away and licking his fingers clean.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. You barely had time to catch your breath before he leaned down, his voice soft but insistent in your ear.

The joint laid forgotten in the ashtray as Dazai pressed you into the couch, his chest flush against your back, his lips trailing hot kisses along the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, carrying the faint scent of smoke and the sweet tang of lust.

His fingers slid beneath your shirt, pulling it over your head to expose more of you to his wandering touch. His cock, hard and insistent, pressed against the curve of your ass, making you squirm beneath him. Dazai chuckled, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you everything you want.”

He undid his belt with practiced ease, the sound of leather sliding through metal making your heart race. You felt him push your legs apart, his hand slipping between your thighs to tease your already slick entrance.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “All this for me?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as he slid a finger inside, followed quickly by another. His pace was slow, deliberate, driving you to the brink before he pulled away, leaving you aching and desperate for more.

“Tell me you want it,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I want it,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Louder,” he demanded, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I want it, 'samu,” you said, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

“Very well,” he murmured, positioning himself at your entrance. The stretch as he pushed inside was almost overwhelming, his cock thick and unrelenting as he filled you completely. You cried out, your hands gripping the back of the couch for support as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his forehead resting against the back of your neck. His thrusts started slow, each one deliberate and deep, his cock hitting spots that made you see stars. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his movements.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with praise. “Taking me so well. Like you were made for this. Fuck I should've done this way sooner–agh‐, this is so much better than I imagined....so much better than fucking my fist whilst tasting your pretty panties, baby- fuck.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into the couch as his pace quickened, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His chest was pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered filthy things.

“Guess you know now why your panties keep getting 'lost'- agh~ damn-, this is so much better than humping against your pillows, sweetheart- goddamn- ngh~ better than I ever imagined-” he whimpers out, feeling like he's about to bust any second.

“You fucking freak, agh~, that was all you-?” you spat, feeling so disgusted deep inside but also so turned on even though you know you shouldn't be.

“The wet pillows, the stolen underwear, the messy wardrobe, the white stains on the couch, my wet sweatpants I need you to wash every 2 days because I get so fucking wet whenever I see you, that was all me,” he whines, hands not leaving your body for once.

He remembers it all so clearly. Not like the latest sinful action of his was too long ago.

It started with a harmless visit to your room while you’re out, his excuse being to "borrow" something or check on a nonexistent issue. But the moment he stepped inside, the sight of your bed—perfectly made, your pillow fluffed and untouched—sparks something in him. He walked over, fingers grazing the soft fabric of your pillowcase, and the faint scent of you clings to it.

It’s maddening.

He brought it closer to his face, inhaling deeply as a low groan rumbles in his chest. His body reacted immediately, his cock twitching in his sweatpants as filthy thoughts of you flood his mind.

Before he knews it, he was climbing onto your bed, your pillow clutched tightly in his hands as he presseed his hips into it. The friction is perfect—enough to make him groan softly, his breath hitching as he grinds against the plush surface.

“God, you’d look so good under me,” he muttered, his voice low and breathy, imagining your body sprawled out beneath his, your moans echoing in his ears.

His movements become more desperate, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants as he rocks harder into your pillow. He didn't even try to hold back. His breathing grows heavier, his moans spilling out as he loses himself in the fantasy. The thought of you finding out—of you catching him in the act—only spurs him on, making his hips buck wildly.

“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face into the pillow as his body tenses. His cock twitches, and he came with a shuddering gasp, hot ropes of cum spilling out and soaking into the soft fabric. The mess is unmistakable, staining the once-pristine pillowcase as he rides out the waves of his release.

For a moment, he stays there, his breath ragged, his body still pressed against your pillow as a sly smirk spreads across his lips. He pulls back, examining the evidence of his actions, and chuckles to himself.

“Oops,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with fake innocence. He knows he should clean it up, but the idea of leaving his mark there, of you unknowingly resting your head on it later, is far too tempting to resist. With a final, satisfied glance, he fixes your bed just enough to hide any immediate suspicion, leaving behind a part of himself that only he—and maybe one day you—will ever know about.

The thought of you lying down later, none the wiser, only makes it that much sweeter.

Or that other time.

Maybe he’s putting away laundry for you, or maybe he just happened to see the lace peeking out of the basket. But once his fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your panties, all pretense flies out the window.

He held them up, his sharp eyes glinting with curiosity and something darker as he ran the fabric between his fingers. The faintest scent of you clings to the lace, delicate and intoxicating, and before he even realized it, he has brought them closer, pressing them to his nose.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse, the scent sent a jolt straight to his cock. The reaction was immediate, his length hardening beneath the confines of his sweatpants, and he knew there’s no way he’s stopping now.

Slumping onto the edge of his bed, he palmed himself through the fabric, groaning softly as he imagined you wearing the very panties he was holding. His mind ran wild, picturing the way they’d hug your hips, the way the delicate lace would press against your skin.

With a smirk, he tugged down his sweatpants, his cock springing free, flushed and aching. He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking himself slowly as he held your panties to his nose again, inhaling deeply. His movements quickened, his grip tightening as he pictures your face, the way you’d look if you ever caught him like this—flushed, wide-eyed, horrified.

“Bet you’d love it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement and lust. He dragged the fabric across his lips, his tongue darting out to taste it, to imagine it’s your skin instead. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and his hips jerked up into his fist.

The room was filled with the lewd sounds of his stroking, his breathing growing heavier as he lost himself in the fantasy. His mind races with images of you, of your body, of the way you’d sound moaning his name.

“God, you have no idea,” he groaned, his pace becoming frantic, the scent and taste of your panties pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His head tilted back, his mouth falling open as a deep moan escaped him.

When he finally came, it’s with a shuddering gasp, thick ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach. He chuckled breathlessly, glancing down at the mess he had made and the panties still clutched tightly in his hand.

“Guess I’ll have to wash these for you,” he said to himself, his tone dripping with fake innocence.

Or yesterday.

It was no different then as he had stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his skin, masking the heat already pooling in his body. He had pressed his forehead against the cool tiles, letting out a shaky breath, his thoughts spiraling back to you—your voice, your smile, the way you had absentmindedly bitten your lip earlier.

"Fuck," he had groaned, the sound barely audible over the rush of water. He couldn’t get you out of his head, couldn’t shake the image of the way your shirt had hugged your curves or the teasing glint in your eyes when you had laughed at one of his jokes.

His hand had trailed down his chest, his fingers ghosting over the defined lines of his stomach before wrapping around his cock. He had already been hard, the mere thought of you enough to stir him to full arousal. He had given himself a tentative stroke, his hips jerking forward at the relief, a quiet whimper slipping past his lips.

"Shit," he had muttered, his head tipping back as he had stroked himself again, his grip tightening. He could picture it so clearly—your lips wrapped around him, your hands braced against his thighs as you had looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes. The fantasy had made his knees weak, and he had braced himself against the wall, his breathing growing ragged.

"Need you s'bad," he had mumbled to himself, his voice thick with lust. His hand had moved faster, his thumb swiping over the sensitive tip, and he had let out a choked moan, his hips thrusting into his fist. The thought of you beneath him, squirming and whimpering, had made his stomach tighten, the tension building with every stroke. He hadn’t been able to stop the broken sounds escaping him, little gasps and whimpers that he would’ve been embarrassed by if anyone else could hear.

But there, alone with his thoughts of you, he hadn’t cared. He had chased his release desperately, his strokes becoming erratic as he had imagined your voice—soft and needy, calling his name as he had pushed you to your limit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he had chanted, his body tensing as the pressure had finally snapped. His climax had hit him like a wave, his hips stuttering as he had spilled over his hand, his cum mixing with the water streaming down his body.

He had slumped against the wall, his chest heaving as he had come down from the high, his mind still spinning with thoughts of you. As the water had washed away the evidence of his release, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head.

"God, what the hell are you doing to me?" he had whispered, his lips curling into a smirk. He had known he was screwed, completely and utterly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

That's when it hit you.

The moans coming from the bathroom, the undeniably lip biting whenever you scold him about not doing his part of the chores, the motion of his thighs squeezing together whenever you talk about your day- he's such a slut.

“Fuck 'samu, you're such a whore- agh~, a fucking dirty slut-”

“I am, I am, I am-” he repeats over and over again as his hips snap into yours faster, fucking into you like a man possessed.

The pleasure built quickly, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. When you came, it hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Dazai wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing as he filled you with his release.

He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath before pulling out slowly. You thought he was done, but then he knelt behind you, spreading your legs gently as he leaned in.

“Can’t let any of this go to waste,” he said, his voice soft but full of intent. His tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds, collecting the mix of your arousal and his release. The sensation made you shudder, your body still sensitive from your climax.

“Sweet,” he murmured, his tongue diving deeper, swirling and teasing as he cleaned every drop from your aching pussy. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked, the intimacy of the act making your heart race. When he finally pulled back—just for a second—his lips were slick and glistening, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

You felt his lips move against your thighs as he licked you clean, his tongue pressing deeper to lap up every drop of your shared mess. The wet, lewd sounds filled the room, and when you turned your head to glance back at him, you couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh.

“You’re such a fucking freak, Dazai,” you said, your voice a mix of teasing and disbelief. His eyes met yours, dark and glassy with arousal, his mouth still hovering against your slick skin.

He grinned, the corners of his lips curling up sinfully as he licked his lips, savoring the taste like he couldn’t get enough.

“And you love it,” he shot back, his voice low and hoarse, before dipping his head again.

You gasped as his tongue found you once more, his moans vibrating against your oversensitive flesh. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he buried his face between your legs.

The sight of him—so utterly lost in the act, his own release smeared across his lips—was enough to make your head spin. “Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this.”

He didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he let out a muffled groan, his tongue plunging into you deeper as he squeezes his thighs together, as if to prove your point.

When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving, his lips glossy and swollen as he looked up at you with that wicked, unrelenting grin.

“Can you blame me?” he asked, his voice dripping with lust. “You’re irresistible like this. A mess I made, and now I get to taste it. Why wouldn’t I enjoy it?”

You shook your head, a mix of laughter and disbelief spilling from your lips, but you couldn’t deny the heat pooling in your stomach at the sight of him.

As if sensing your resolve cracking, Dazai leaned forward, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, “Let me do it again.”

You blinked down at him, still trying to catch your breath. “Again?”

“Again,” he repeated, his hands sliding up your thighs. His fingers dug into your flesh just enough to make you shiver as he added, “And again. I’ll keep going until you can’t even think straight.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance. His tongue was on you again, his moans muffled against your body as he devoured you like a man starved. You writhed beneath him, your body oversensitive but unable to resist the way he made you feel.

“Fuck, 'samu,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pushed you closer to the edge once more. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re delicious,” he muttered between kisses, his lips brushing against your inner thigh. “Now be a good little thing and let me finish what I started.”

By the time he was done, your body was trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure and disbelief. Dazai leaned back, his face flushed and his chest heaving as he grinned up at you.

“See?” he said, his voice smug and self-satisfied. “Told you I was good at this.“

You could only laugh breathlessly, shaking your head as he pulled you into his lap, his lips finding yours in a messy, heated kiss.

“Now,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. “How about we keep this going? I’ve got all night, and you’re not leaving this couch until I’m satisfied.”

And knowing Dazai, that could take a while.

[st4rd0lly]

ＴＯＮＧＵＥＳ ＆ ＴＥＥＴＨ —

CONTENT WARNING : this fic series will contain DARK content , smut , age gap (reader is mid-late 20s while Nikolai is in his 30s) , probably inaccurate detective work descriptions , and religious themes. this does not follow canon and it is a non ability AU

chapter warnings : suggestive themes (angry sex gets mentioned once) ; firearm

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ?

A detective.

That’s what you are.

Or well, that’s what you were. You had left that life behind you, swore on it. You weren’t a terrible detective by any means, quite the opposite. You were notably the smartest detective in your city. Sharp and witty, reliable and smart. That’s what you prided yourself on. But with making bigger shoes, you made yourself nearly look like a clown when you stepped out of them. All it took was one case, one case to make you step down.

And like that, you were out of the game.

With no interest to push yourself forward in your career, you sidelined yourself much to everyone’s dismay. You had people relying on you, people who needed you. But a normal life is what you desired after what felt like an action film that lasted forever. It’s what you deserved.

You didn’t lose all that much like you expected though. People still respected you for what you did, your ex-coworkers still treated you like their own, they still come to you for advice and you gave them your best. You became a mentor for younger detectives, a rowdy but loveable group who wanted to follow your footsteps.

You were content with the life you led. All trauma considered, you’d say you’re doing pretty solid for what you’ve been through going through cases.

You were happy for once, you were content with this domestic life you’ve made for yourself. 

"Someone tells me you’re sick of old games. Let’s play a new one. =)"

You repeated the note left on your window to your ex-work partner, Mikhail, on the phone. Staring at it with furrowed brows, you cursed to yourself. "I quit this shit for a fucking reason." With a groan, you slam yourself back down on the couch. 

"Did you check security cameras?" Mikhail questioned, groaning along with you. He’s been by your side since your guys’ first day together, two peas in a pod. You still remember the days where you were just young rookies together. You guys weren’t Sherlock Holmes and Watson by any means, but some might argue that your dynamic duo could come close.

Your face fell into a deadpanned expression, "You really think I wouldn’t?"

"Hey, I’m just trying to make sure we covered all bases. But knowing you, you probably already did that so I guess it was a stupid question— which is besides the point though." You could tell that he was just at a lost as you are.

"Misha, I wanted to leave this stuff behind me." You said, a little more solemnly than you’d liked to admit. "I thought after I faded out in the system for a bit, things would be okay for me. Sure, we’ve made our enemies—"

"You especially."

"Yes, me especially. But I know that most of them are in prison and the others are respectable enough to do this stuff to my face instead of… whatever the fuck that is. I wanted out."

"And you will be out. One day, I promise you." Mikhail reassures, his usual lighthearted tone softening. "Do you think it could be the same guy from our last case together?" He asks.

And you wished you had an answer. The last case you ever took on as an official detective left you in pieces that you’re still trying to pick up to this day. There were too many missing factors but so many were coming to a horrific realization. There were no hints one moment and then the next, there were. Each step closer you thought you took, set you 10 paces back with little time to catch up. That case had flipped your life upside down and around. Like some sick cycle. 

If it was the same bastard behind that case, you were sure that the old you would’ve jumped at the chance.

But you aren’t the person you were in the past, and you haven’t been for a long time.

Maybe this was exactly what the guy wanted, what they came here for. To wait for things to get calm till they could hit hard again. Or maybe, there was a chance that this note could’ve come from a new, completely different person. Someone who wanted to take out an old big shot to make themselves look even bigger. There was just too many open spaces with a huge gap of no information. It could be anything from anyone.

"I don’t know Misha, with the little to no info right now… it literally could be anyone." You admitted, not trying to even hide the defeat in your voice. Your brain searching, scanning, and recalling for anyone that stood out to you in your life. Someone who would mess with you like this, taunting from afar. It hits you like cold water in the morning. "Oh my god. What if it’s my ex?"

"You think you got yourself caught up in like a weird crazy ex revenge situation? What was the guy’s name again?" Mikhail questioned.

"Nikolai. Nikolai Gogol." You responded, rubbing at your temple. Fuck, if it really was Nikolai…

But that was so long ago, way before your last case. And that relationship was never going to last, the both of you knew that. You wanted different things, you two were different…it wouldn’t have worked out. Maybe he wanted Bonnie and Clyde, turn you away from the so called righteousness and justice that is detective work. Live out a life of crime. You never were aware of what he did for work, you were able to tell it was dangerous. And maybe in another life, he was able make you his Bonnie. 

You made sure that this wasn’t that life.

Thinking back to all the times you’ve spent with him makes your heart has plunge into your stomach. You were aware that he wasn’t the greatest person to date. You said through heated kisses and angry sex that it was just the rush, the thrill of it all in the relationship you had with him that kept you around. Each time he could only laugh in your face. All his talk about freedom definitely added a new perspective to your life, but it was so extreme. 

And oddly enough when you wanted to end it, he was very much less than pleased even though that’s all he’s ever wanted. To be free. He’s a walking contradiction though and he left your life without a trace. You refused to look back.

It wouldn’t make sense to mess up your life now.

….

When did he ever make sense?

"I’ll check in with the database, see what I can scoop up on him." Mikhail attempts to reassure you, though it does little to soothe your thoughts. He never knew about the complexity of your relationship with Nikolai. Just that it was strange. He didn’t know how dangerous he was.

But you weren’t about to tell him right now, not while it felt like someone was watching you. "Okay…"

"Did you ask your neighbors if they saw anything? What about that one neighbor across from you?" Mikhail suggested. "Take a picture of the note and I’ll drop by with some of the team by your place so we can investigate more. Better to not tamper with evidence so just use the picture to show your neighbors."

"Okay, yeah I’ll do that." You agreed, it wasn’t a bad idea. "Thank you Misha."

"I’ll be there in about fifteen. Go chat with your neighbors. Don’t die."

"Trying not to." You chuckled, hanging up the phone. You stood back up from the couch, looking at the window with disdain. The note was still there, staring back at you. Though you knew nothing was confirmed, you tried to find any hints of Nikolai’s presence. The only thing sticking out to you was the smiley, and that wouldn’t be viable evidence of anything. You shook your head, opening the camera app on your phone and snapping a picture. 

Now  that was done and over with. Time to talk to your neighbor.

Your neighbor was a relatively tall and attractive man you would say. You’ve never talked to him before, only seeing him for a brief moment when you walk to your car or when he goes out. Your window allows you a somewhat good view outside. Though you could also say that his appearance did make him stand out too. 

Tossing on a jacket, you hoped your neighbor wouldn’t judge too hard if you were in your pajamas. It was still early in the morning when you woke up to that note. 

You bite your tongue, you shouldn’t leave the house unarmed. Taking a quick trip back to your room, you put on your belt that you wear to do your mentor work. The one that’s meant to hold your firearm. You grab your gun in your drawer to put in your holster.

You opened the door, shivering a bit as the cool air hits your skin and hugged yourself tighter. Whoever put that note there must be really motivated to mess with you because who on earth would put a stupid note on a window when it’s this cold?

Taking a couple of steps towards his door, you placed a firm knock. You really hoped he was here. It would be an even shittier day if he wasn’t and you were waiting out in the cold longer than you needed to be. But thankfully, the door opens.

"May I help you?" The rich Russian accent caught you off guard, making you blink in surprise. You weren’t sure what to expect when he did speak but it wasn’t that. 

You gave the man an apologetic smile, "Hi I’m so sorry to bother you early this morning but I was wondering if you had heard anything strange late at night or earlier in the morning? Or if you had seen anything weird?"

The man looks down at you for a moment and you could tell he was studying you. His eyes were probably the most vibrant shade of a deep purple hue that you had ever seen before. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he had a good poker face you had to admit. He only tilts his head to the side, looking concerned. "I had not heard anything out of the ordinary. I usually am not here all that often because of work, but when I am here, I like to stay in my bedroom and rest."

He sounded genuine, and he definitely looked genuine. But those years you’ve spent as a detective grew your skills, and you’ve kept them sharp. You wouldn’t have been earnestly praised highly as a detective if you weren’t good at catching onto the small things. A blessing and a curse. There was something off about this neighbor of yours that you couldn’t place your finger on.

You couldn’t let him know that though, so you only shook your head again and waved your hand. "Ah, I’m so sorry again then. There was just a note left on my window and I was just wondering if anyone saw anything. It’s okay, thank you for your time."

"That sounds terrible, forgive me if I’m overstepping but are you certain it wasn’t your roommate playing some sort of prank?"

……

You could feel the gears in your head pause abruptly. You blink at him in confusion.

Roommate? 

"I don’t have a roommate?" You clarified, raising a brow at his comment. But he only reciprocates your confused expression.

"Is that so? I was sure you did. There was this man I’ve seen at your place before quite often whenever I’m here." He tells you, and your mind goes into a frenzy. What the fuck was he talking about? Was he talking about Mikhail? 

"I’m sorry, could you explain more?" You kept your tone polite, and it was obvious you weren’t expecting this. You were too distracted by the thoughts swirling in your head that you didn’t realize that you were shaking a bit from the weather.

"Here, you should come inside. I have some tea prepared for myself but there’s enough to share. I’ll tell you what I know. Part of it is that it’s bad manners to keep a guest outside in the cold." He opens the door more, stepping out of the way. 

Jesus, you really did want to stop being dragged into these games.

[st4rd0lly]

ＴＯＮＧＵＥＳ ＆ ＴＥＥＴＨ —

CONTENT WARNING : this fic series will contain DARK content , smut , age gap (reader is mid-late 20s while Nikolai is in his 30s) , probably inaccurate detective work descriptions , and religious themes. this does not follow canon and it is a non ability AU

chapter warnings : suggestive themes (angry sex gets mentioned once) ; firearm

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ?

A detective.

That’s what you are.

Or well, that’s what you were. You had left that life behind you, swore on it. You weren’t a terrible detective by any means, quite the opposite. You were notably the smartest detective in your city. Sharp and witty, reliable and smart. That’s what you prided yourself on. But with making bigger shoes, you made yourself nearly look like a clown when you stepped out of them. All it took was one case, one case to make you step down.

And like that, you were out of the game.

With no interest to push yourself forward in your career, you sidelined yourself much to everyone’s dismay. You had people relying on you, people who needed you. But a normal life is what you desired after what felt like an action film that lasted forever. It’s what you deserved.

You didn’t lose all that much like you expected though. People still respected you for what you did, your ex-coworkers still treated you like their own, they still come to you for advice and you gave them your best. You became a mentor for younger detectives, a rowdy but loveable group who wanted to follow your footsteps.

You were content with the life you led. All trauma considered, you’d say you’re doing pretty solid for what you’ve been through going through cases.

You were happy for once, you were content with this domestic life you’ve made for yourself. 

"Someone tells me you’re sick of old games. Let’s play a new one. =)"

You repeated the note left on your window to your ex-work partner, Mikhail, on the phone. Staring at it with furrowed brows, you cursed to yourself. "I quit this shit for a fucking reason." With a groan, you slam yourself back down on the couch. 

"Did you check security cameras?" Mikhail questioned, groaning along with you. He’s been by your side since your guys’ first day together, two peas in a pod. You still remember the days where you were just young rookies together. You guys weren’t Sherlock Holmes and Watson by any means, but some might argue that your dynamic duo could come close.

Your face fell into a deadpanned expression, "You really think I wouldn’t?"

"Hey, I’m just trying to make sure we covered all bases. But knowing you, you probably already did that so I guess it was a stupid question— which is besides the point though." You could tell that he was just at a lost as you are.

"Misha, I wanted to leave this stuff behind me." You said, a little more solemnly than you’d liked to admit. "I thought after I faded out in the system for a bit, things would be okay for me. Sure, we’ve made our enemies—"

"You especially."

"Yes, me especially. But I know that most of them are in prison and the others are respectable enough to do this stuff to my face instead of… whatever the fuck that is. I wanted out."

"And you will be out. One day, I promise you." Mikhail reassures, his usual lighthearted tone softening. "Do you think it could be the same guy from our last case together?" He asks.

And you wished you had an answer. The last case you ever took on as an official detective left you in pieces that you’re still trying to pick up to this day. There were too many missing factors but so many were coming to a horrific realization. There were no hints one moment and then the next, there were. Each step closer you thought you took, set you 10 paces back with little time to catch up. That case had flipped your life upside down and around. Like some sick cycle. 

If it was the same bastard behind that case, you were sure that the old you would’ve jumped at the chance.

But you aren’t the person you were in the past, and you haven’t been for a long time.

Maybe this was exactly what the guy wanted, what they came here for. To wait for things to get calm till they could hit hard again. Or maybe, there was a chance that this note could’ve come from a new, completely different person. Someone who wanted to take out an old big shot to make themselves look even bigger. There was just too many open spaces with a huge gap of no information. It could be anything from anyone.

"I don’t know Misha, with the little to no info right now… it literally could be anyone." You admitted, not trying to even hide the defeat in your voice. Your brain searching, scanning, and recalling for anyone that stood out to you in your life. Someone who would mess with you like this, taunting from afar. It hits you like cold water in the morning. "Oh my god. What if it’s my ex?"

"You think you got yourself caught up in like a weird crazy ex revenge situation? What was the guy’s name again?" Mikhail questioned.

"Nikolai. Nikolai Gogol." You responded, rubbing at your temple. Fuck, if it really was Nikolai…

But that was so long ago, way before your last case. And that relationship was never going to last, the both of you knew that. You wanted different things, you two were different…it wouldn’t have worked out. Maybe he wanted Bonnie and Clyde, turn you away from the so called righteousness and justice that is detective work. Live out a life of crime. You never were aware of what he did for work, you were able to tell it was dangerous. And maybe in another life, he was able make you his Bonnie. 

You made sure that this wasn’t that life.

Thinking back to all the times you’ve spent with him makes your heart has plunge into your stomach. You were aware that he wasn’t the greatest person to date. You said through heated kisses and angry sex that it was just the rush, the thrill of it all in the relationship you had with him that kept you around. Each time he could only laugh in your face. All his talk about freedom definitely added a new perspective to your life, but it was so extreme. 

And oddly enough when you wanted to end it, he was very much less than pleased even though that’s all he’s ever wanted. To be free. He’s a walking contradiction though and he left your life without a trace. You refused to look back.

It wouldn’t make sense to mess up your life now.

….

When did he ever make sense?

"I’ll check in with the database, see what I can scoop up on him." Mikhail attempts to reassure you, though it does little to soothe your thoughts. He never knew about the complexity of your relationship with Nikolai. Just that it was strange. He didn’t know how dangerous he was.

But you weren’t about to tell him right now, not while it felt like someone was watching you. "Okay…"

"Did you ask your neighbors if they saw anything? What about that one neighbor across from you?" Mikhail suggested. "Take a picture of the note and I’ll drop by with some of the team by your place so we can investigate more. Better to not tamper with evidence so just use the picture to show your neighbors."

"Okay, yeah I’ll do that." You agreed, it wasn’t a bad idea. "Thank you Misha."

"I’ll be there in about fifteen. Go chat with your neighbors. Don’t die."

"Trying not to." You chuckled, hanging up the phone. You stood back up from the couch, looking at the window with disdain. The note was still there, staring back at you. Though you knew nothing was confirmed, you tried to find any hints of Nikolai’s presence. The only thing sticking out to you was the smiley, and that wouldn’t be viable evidence of anything. You shook your head, opening the camera app on your phone and snapping a picture. 

Now  that was done and over with. Time to talk to your neighbor.

Your neighbor was a relatively tall and attractive man you would say. You’ve never talked to him before, only seeing him for a brief moment when you walk to your car or when he goes out. Your window allows you a somewhat good view outside. Though you could also say that his appearance did make him stand out too. 

Tossing on a jacket, you hoped your neighbor wouldn’t judge too hard if you were in your pajamas. It was still early in the morning when you woke up to that note. 

You bite your tongue, you shouldn’t leave the house unarmed. Taking a quick trip back to your room, you put on your belt that you wear to do your mentor work. The one that’s meant to hold your firearm. You grab your gun in your drawer to put in your holster.

You opened the door, shivering a bit as the cool air hits your skin and hugged yourself tighter. Whoever put that note there must be really motivated to mess with you because who on earth would put a stupid note on a window when it’s this cold?

Taking a couple of steps towards his door, you placed a firm knock. You really hoped he was here. It would be an even shittier day if he wasn’t and you were waiting out in the cold longer than you needed to be. But thankfully, the door opens.

"May I help you?" The rich Russian accent caught you off guard, making you blink in surprise. You weren’t sure what to expect when he did speak but it wasn’t that. 

You gave the man an apologetic smile, "Hi I’m so sorry to bother you early this morning but I was wondering if you had heard anything strange late at night or earlier in the morning? Or if you had seen anything weird?"

The man looks down at you for a moment and you could tell he was studying you. His eyes were probably the most vibrant shade of a deep purple hue that you had ever seen before. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he had a good poker face you had to admit. He only tilts his head to the side, looking concerned. "I had not heard anything out of the ordinary. I usually am not here all that often because of work, but when I am here, I like to stay in my bedroom and rest."

He sounded genuine, and he definitely looked genuine. But those years you’ve spent as a detective grew your skills, and you’ve kept them sharp. You wouldn’t have been earnestly praised highly as a detective if you weren’t good at catching onto the small things. A blessing and a curse. There was something off about this neighbor of yours that you couldn’t place your finger on.

You couldn’t let him know that though, so you only shook your head again and waved your hand. "Ah, I’m so sorry again then. There was just a note left on my window and I was just wondering if anyone saw anything. It’s okay, thank you for your time."

"That sounds terrible, forgive me if I’m overstepping but are you certain it wasn’t your roommate playing some sort of prank?"

……

You could feel the gears in your head pause abruptly. You blink at him in confusion.

Roommate? 

"I don’t have a roommate?" You clarified, raising a brow at his comment. But he only reciprocates your confused expression.

"Is that so? I was sure you did. There was this man I’ve seen at your place before quite often whenever I’m here." He tells you, and your mind goes into a frenzy. What the fuck was he talking about? Was he talking about Mikhail? 

"I’m sorry, could you explain more?" You kept your tone polite, and it was obvious you weren’t expecting this. You were too distracted by the thoughts swirling in your head that you didn’t realize that you were shaking a bit from the weather.

"Here, you should come inside. I have some tea prepared for myself but there’s enough to share. I’ll tell you what I know. Part of it is that it’s bad manners to keep a guest outside in the cold." He opens the door more, stepping out of the way. 

Jesus, you really did want to stop being dragged into these games.

[st4rd0lly]

a summary + masterlist of

ＴＯＮＧＵＥＳ ＆ ＴＥＥＴＨ—

CONTENT WARNING : this fic series will contain DARK content , smut , age gap (reader is mid-late 20s while Nikolai is in his 30s) , probably inaccurate descriptions of detective work , and religious themes. this does not follow canon and it is a non ability AU

CHAPTER ONE : WHO ?

[st4rd0lly]

ＴＯＮＧＵＥＳ ＆ ＴＥＥＴＨ —

CONTENT WARNING : this fic series will contain DARK content , smut , age gap (reader is mid-late 20s while Nikolai is in his 30s) , probably inaccurate detective work descriptions , and religious themes. this does not follow canon and it is a non ability AU

chapter warnings : suggestive themes (angry sex gets mentioned once) ; firearm

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ?

A detective.

That’s what you are.

Or well, that’s what you were. You had left that life behind you, swore on it. You weren’t a terrible detective by any means, quite the opposite. You were notably the smartest detective in your city. Sharp and witty, reliable and smart. That’s what you prided yourself on. But with making bigger shoes, you made yourself nearly look like a clown when you stepped out of them. All it took was one case, one case to make you step down.

And like that, you were out of the game.

With no interest to push yourself forward in your career, you sidelined yourself much to everyone’s dismay. You had people relying on you, people who needed you. But a normal life is what you desired after what felt like an action film that lasted forever. It’s what you deserved.

You didn’t lose all that much like you expected though. People still respected you for what you did, your ex-coworkers still treated you like their own, they still come to you for advice and you gave them your best. You became a mentor for younger detectives, a rowdy but loveable group who wanted to follow your footsteps.

You were content with the life you led. All trauma considered, you’d say you’re doing pretty solid for what you’ve been through going through cases.

You were happy for once, you were content with this domestic life you’ve made for yourself. 

"Someone tells me you’re sick of old games. Let’s play a new one. =)"

You repeated the note left on your window to your ex-work partner, Mikhail, on the phone. Staring at it with furrowed brows, you cursed to yourself. "I quit this shit for a fucking reason." With a groan, you slam yourself back down on the couch. 

"Did you check security cameras?" Mikhail questioned, groaning along with you. He’s been by your side since your guys’ first day together, two peas in a pod. You still remember the days where you were just young rookies together. You guys weren’t Sherlock Holmes and Watson by any means, but some might argue that your dynamic duo could come close.

Your face fell into a deadpanned expression, "You really think I wouldn’t?"

"Hey, I’m just trying to make sure we covered all bases. But knowing you, you probably already did that so I guess it was a stupid question— which is besides the point though." You could tell that he was just at a lost as you are.

"Misha, I wanted to leave this stuff behind me." You said, a little more solemnly than you’d liked to admit. "I thought after I faded out in the system for a bit, things would be okay for me. Sure, we’ve made our enemies—"

"You especially."

"Yes, me especially. But I know that most of them are in prison and the others are respectable enough to do this stuff to my face instead of… whatever the fuck that is. I wanted out."

"And you will be out. One day, I promise you." Mikhail reassures, his usual lighthearted tone softening. "Do you think it could be the same guy from our last case together?" He asks.

And you wished you had an answer. The last case you ever took on as an official detective left you in pieces that you’re still trying to pick up to this day. There were too many missing factors but so many were coming to a horrific realization. There were no hints one moment and then the next, there were. Each step closer you thought you took, set you 10 paces back with little time to catch up. That case had flipped your life upside down and around. Like some sick cycle. 

If it was the same bastard behind that case, you were sure that the old you would’ve jumped at the chance.

But you aren’t the person you were in the past, and you haven’t been for a long time.

Maybe this was exactly what the guy wanted, what they came here for. To wait for things to get calm till they could hit hard again. Or maybe, there was a chance that this note could’ve come from a new, completely different person. Someone who wanted to take out an old big shot to make themselves look even bigger. There was just too many open spaces with a huge gap of no information. It could be anything from anyone.

"I don’t know Misha, with the little to no info right now… it literally could be anyone." You admitted, not trying to even hide the defeat in your voice. Your brain searching, scanning, and recalling for anyone that stood out to you in your life. Someone who would mess with you like this, taunting from afar. It hits you like cold water in the morning. "Oh my god. What if it’s my ex?"

"You think you got yourself caught up in like a weird crazy ex revenge situation? What was the guy’s name again?" Mikhail questioned.

"Nikolai. Nikolai Gogol." You responded, rubbing at your temple. Fuck, if it really was Nikolai…

But that was so long ago, way before your last case. And that relationship was never going to last, the both of you knew that. You wanted different things, you two were different…it wouldn’t have worked out. Maybe he wanted Bonnie and Clyde, turn you away from the so called righteousness and justice that is detective work. Live out a life of crime. You never were aware of what he did for work, you were able to tell it was dangerous. And maybe in another life, he was able make you his Bonnie. 

You made sure that this wasn’t that life.

Thinking back to all the times you’ve spent with him makes your heart has plunge into your stomach. You were aware that he wasn’t the greatest person to date. You said through heated kisses and angry sex that it was just the rush, the thrill of it all in the relationship you had with him that kept you around. Each time he could only laugh in your face. All his talk about freedom definitely added a new perspective to your life, but it was so extreme. 

And oddly enough when you wanted to end it, he was very much less than pleased even though that’s all he’s ever wanted. To be free. He’s a walking contradiction though and he left your life without a trace. You refused to look back.

It wouldn’t make sense to mess up your life now.

….

When did he ever make sense?

"I’ll check in with the database, see what I can scoop up on him." Mikhail attempts to reassure you, though it does little to soothe your thoughts. He never knew about the complexity of your relationship with Nikolai. Just that it was strange. He didn’t know how dangerous he was.

But you weren’t about to tell him right now, not while it felt like someone was watching you. "Okay…"

"Did you ask your neighbors if they saw anything? What about that one neighbor across from you?" Mikhail suggested. "Take a picture of the note and I’ll drop by with some of the team by your place so we can investigate more. Better to not tamper with evidence so just use the picture to show your neighbors."

"Okay, yeah I’ll do that." You agreed, it wasn’t a bad idea. "Thank you Misha."

"I’ll be there in about fifteen. Go chat with your neighbors. Don’t die."

"Trying not to." You chuckled, hanging up the phone. You stood back up from the couch, looking at the window with disdain. The note was still there, staring back at you. Though you knew nothing was confirmed, you tried to find any hints of Nikolai’s presence. The only thing sticking out to you was the smiley, and that wouldn’t be viable evidence of anything. You shook your head, opening the camera app on your phone and snapping a picture. 

Now  that was done and over with. Time to talk to your neighbor.

Your neighbor was a relatively tall and attractive man you would say. You’ve never talked to him before, only seeing him for a brief moment when you walk to your car or when he goes out. Your window allows you a somewhat good view outside. Though you could also say that his appearance did make him stand out too. 

Tossing on a jacket, you hoped your neighbor wouldn’t judge too hard if you were in your pajamas. It was still early in the morning when you woke up to that note. 

You bite your tongue, you shouldn’t leave the house unarmed. Taking a quick trip back to your room, you put on your belt that you wear to do your mentor work. The one that’s meant to hold your firearm. You grab your gun in your drawer to put in your holster.

You opened the door, shivering a bit as the cool air hits your skin and hugged yourself tighter. Whoever put that note there must be really motivated to mess with you because who on earth would put a stupid note on a window when it’s this cold?

Taking a couple of steps towards his door, you placed a firm knock. You really hoped he was here. It would be an even shittier day if he wasn’t and you were waiting out in the cold longer than you needed to be. But thankfully, the door opens.

"May I help you?" The rich Russian accent caught you off guard, making you blink in surprise. You weren’t sure what to expect when he did speak but it wasn’t that. 

You gave the man an apologetic smile, "Hi I’m so sorry to bother you early this morning but I was wondering if you had heard anything strange late at night or earlier in the morning? Or if you had seen anything weird?"

The man looks down at you for a moment and you could tell he was studying you. His eyes were probably the most vibrant shade of a deep purple hue that you had ever seen before. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he had a good poker face you had to admit. He only tilts his head to the side, looking concerned. "I had not heard anything out of the ordinary. I usually am not here all that often because of work, but when I am here, I like to stay in my bedroom and rest."

He sounded genuine, and he definitely looked genuine. But those years you’ve spent as a detective grew your skills, and you’ve kept them sharp. You wouldn’t have been earnestly praised highly as a detective if you weren’t good at catching onto the small things. A blessing and a curse. There was something off about this neighbor of yours that you couldn’t place your finger on.

You couldn’t let him know that though, so you only shook your head again and waved your hand. "Ah, I’m so sorry again then. There was just a note left on my window and I was just wondering if anyone saw anything. It’s okay, thank you for your time."

"That sounds terrible, forgive me if I’m overstepping but are you certain it wasn’t your roommate playing some sort of prank?"

……

You could feel the gears in your head pause abruptly. You blink at him in confusion.

Roommate? 

"I don’t have a roommate?" You clarified, raising a brow at his comment. But he only reciprocates your confused expression.

"Is that so? I was sure you did. There was this man I’ve seen at your place before quite often whenever I’m here." He tells you, and your mind goes into a frenzy. What the fuck was he talking about? Was he talking about Mikhail? 

"I’m sorry, could you explain more?" You kept your tone polite, and it was obvious you weren’t expecting this. You were too distracted by the thoughts swirling in your head that you didn’t realize that you were shaking a bit from the weather.

"Here, you should come inside. I have some tea prepared for myself but there’s enough to share. I’ll tell you what I know. Part of it is that it’s bad manners to keep a guest outside in the cold." He opens the door more, stepping out of the way. 

Jesus, you really did want to stop being dragged into these games.

[st4rd0lly]

is it okay if i drop the new nikolai fanfic series i’ve been working on now guys 😋

[st4rd0lly]

I suddenly get crazy when i re-read all your dad!kolya short fic, i remember you said that since there's the kids in the house, nikolai and mama would be having sex in the bedroom or bathroom when they shower together DAMNNNNNN imagine he would carry you up and slam you onto the wall while the shower still on? Sex with dad!kolya would be hm hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

𝙙𝙖𝙙!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙚.𝙭

notes ✥ happy new year. here's a porn for starters. unedited! un-proofread! i'm sick and my hands slipped and i wrote dick n balls

contents ✥ fem!reader, kolya and you are hubby and wifey, shower se.x, oc kids make small appearance

“Kolya—”

A loud gasp. Your back arches as your husband presses the pad of his fingers harder on your clit, rubbing it skillfully. Your thighs tremble as your back is peppered with warm kisses—his tongue slithers against your skin, licking the droplets of the hot shower raining on both of your naked bodies. 

“One more, baby, one more,” Nikolai whispers against your ear, grinding his cock on your ass. “Do you feel how hard I am, sweetheart? You wan’ it, yeah?”

“Mm-hm,”

“Gotta stretch you reeeal nice first,” He groans lowly, inserting two fingers into your cunt. Your legs jerk, one of them lifts at the sensation of his fingers scissoring your cunt—both of his fingers make a wavy motion against the spot, causing your moan to grow louder. 

“N-Nikolai— Haa—! A-Ah—” 

You are panting hard beneath his palm that he pressed against your mouth. “Slowly, sweet thing. You're gonna scare the kids.” He chuckles breathily as his fingers move faster, plunging in and out. Your eyes roll back, hands gripping his beefy arms that are tightly holding you against his naked, firm body. Your mouth is gagged with another of his hands as he pulls your head to lean against his shoulder. 

He tilts his head, smirking, cackling with that deep voice of his. For a moment, his words come out accented—“My pretty fucking wife, aww~” He teases as he watches your muffled moan and body trembles against him. You are close, so so close. Your hand flings to your breast, fondling it and teasing your own hard nipple. 

Your pussy clenches hard around his thick fingers as your hips roll against his palm, but Nikolai withdraws before you reach your climax. A whine leaves your mouth but quickly changes to a surprised yelp when Nikolai turns your body, hooks both of his arms under your thighs and lifts you too easily. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms clinging to him as you press your lips against his, sharing a sloppy kiss. 

He aligns his cock against your pussy, tapping its head against your sensitive clit. You whine between the kiss, receiving a chuckle from him. Your eyes gaze at his face—water dripping from his white hair, his skin is blushing red. 

“Kolya..!” You whine against his lips, kissing him again. “Fuck me, please,” You beg as your hands roam on his chest, brushing against his nipples, which causes him to hiss in pleasure. 

“As you wish, wife.” Nikolai says before he pushes himself into your heated cunt. You gasp and his head is thrown back. “O-Ooh, fuck…” He moans and leaves no time to start thrusting as his lust is heightened. Your hips roll slightly against him, mewling in pleasure as his mouth latches on your neck, sucking the skin. 

Both of you are moving in harmony, with your moans and his whimpers grow louder as he thrusts harder and harder. His cock is hard—thickly filling you, pleasuring every nerve in your pussy. You lean your head, chanting his name as your legs jerk, hugging his waist tightly as you cum around his girth.

Nikolai moans, adjusting his arms under your legs as he snaps his hips rougher—the slapping sound echoes loud in the bathroom. Your cunt is sensitive and your eyes are teary as the coil in your stomach tightens again. You whine loudly, using your own hand to rub your clit, urging him to go harder.

Until, your lust is interrupted with a loud crash and girly scream from outside. You can barely hear it but you swear you hear Yuri is calling for Mari and the sister is threatening Karol and the youngest is laughing naughtily. 

Between the haze of your love-making, you try to call for your husband who is lowering his head to suck on your tits. His mouth catches your nipple, tongue rolling on the sensitive bud. You whimper slowly, trying to control your voice. With your trembling hand, you reach Nikolai’s hair, trying to get his attention. 

“Nikolai— Mmh!”

Your voice is interrupted by a sudden hard thrust and a palm on your mouth. Your eyes roll back as Nikolai continues to thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit, burying his dick as deep as he can, drawing pleasures to your nerves. He gives a long lick from your neck to your jaw and then to your ear. 

“Let the kids be. I wanna have fun with my wife for a moment.”

©doukeshi-kun 2025 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[st4rd0lly]

── STANDING NEXT TO YOU ; dazai osamu x fem!reader

synopsis ─▸ ❝ he is someone you should truly stay away from because every smile of his drips with danger, every laugh is coated with mystery and every touch has tragedy lingering yet that's the only thing you can't bring yourself to do -- staying away from him. especially when he seeks you out himself. ❞

warnings ; racer!zai. age gap. dazai is in late twenties while reader is in early twenties, nineteen to be exact. angst. romance. tragedy. illegal racing and illegal activities. port mafia is in here too. dazai has smoking addiction. drug addiction. toxic workplace. reader works at a club. sexual harassment. prostitution though it's mentioned lightly. uses of whore, slut etc in a derogatory way. pedophilic behaviour and pedophilia, mentions of grooming.

chapter specific warnings ; mentions of being raped, sexual assault, dissociation from reality etc.

masterlist.

it's a busy night tonight, you think to yourself as you descend down the stairs, going down to the ground floor to help at the bar. you stop for a moment to admire the moon shining brightly through the glass windows before you look down at the roads below and wonder how ironic it is for a club to be able to blend so well with it's surroundings.

how many people must pass by this lavish two floor building without even realising that they just passed by a club?

you wish you could be one of them, alas, you aren't. continuing to walk down after that short moment of peace, you initially flinch as the loud music reaches your ear. you aren't used to loud noises even yet despite working here for years.

as you walk through the many tables and couches, you have to pretend as if you don't feel the leering disgusting stares on your ass or the whispers of immature or drunk guys betting to each other how long it will take before you end up in bed with them. can't they be more quieter about their perverse nature?

you increase your pace, fortunately there was no customer who decided to stop you so you reached the bar without any intruptions or hardships, after which only do you take a breath of relief. the worst thing is you can't say no to any customer if they want you to do them some sexual favours. your boss won't listen to your reasons that this isn't your work and you are just a escort here. he will only tell you to keep quiet and keep your head low, desperate to please his disgusting customers no matter what.

you hate all of them. even your boss. you can't stand any of these disgusting men who think they are above all just because they have a little too much money to spare.

"i am surprised how packed and busy the second floor is." one of the bartenders say, leaning over the counter to talk to you since the music here is so loud.

you nod, leaning in so he can hear you speak too, "it's cause there will be a race later on."

"woah, really? just out in the open like this?" he expresses the same surprise you did when you first heard about it from one of the strippers who learnt this from her client -- the organizer of these races.

"mhm, money talks." you smile, leaning back to stand properly, slipping your feet out of the painful heels you are wearing to relieve them for a little while. you don't give them time to heal because you don't have the permission to do so. looking down at your feet, you grimace yourself at how they are covered with red markings from the heel. your soles pain alot too and even bending your toes is painful.

leaning back against the counter to look over at the bustling club, you wonder how their lives are. your eyes dart towards the entrance right in time to see a man with blue dyed hair entering and you immediately straighten up, adjusting your top.

the man moves like a snake slithering between the dancing and making out bodies on the dance floor. you squint your eyes to focus on him as he seems to blend in with the crowd.

"what are you focusing on?" the bartender from before is also leaning on the counter, eyes trained on the man.

"he's one of the event manager's of those races." you tell, not looking away even once.

"damn, he looks more like he belongs to a gang or one of those kpop idols."

"well he certainly fits the illegal part of those races." you smile, turning to look at the bartender again. "they come here often. good luck in guessing who is who."

"finally a good pass time apart from listening to horrible hook up stories." the bartender snorts sarcastically as you wave at him, turning to walk towards the direction of the blue haired man.

it's not hard to find him as he sits where he always does, at the centre on one of the u-shaped couches, observing the rest of the club.

he nods at you upon seeing you approach him and smiles a bit as you lean down to have your ear next to his mouth so he can speak without having to be loud.

"is the boss done?" he asks, you look down at your digital watch before shaking your head. "nope, there's still an hour left. he rented the room for six hours today. he's here since seven p.m."

you tell the man who groans. "what does he even do there?"

you blink. "um normally when someone books a room, it's to have se--"

"i know." the man cuts you off immediately, smiling sheepishly as he waves his hand to dismiss you yet you stay there as you want to ask him something.

you wet your bottom lip with your tongue before nervously whispering, "is he gonna come?"

the man furrows his eyebrows in thought then quickly smiles, "i am joking. of course he will, you are here after all."

you smile as you mutter a small thank you, turning as you leave because you do not want that man to see how happy you feel on hearing that since 'he' is the only one who makes it worth working in this hellhole.

cheers and howls erupted at the same time like an explosion when the familiar koenigsegg drives over the finishing line in first place. many more cheers erupted when it drifted and did it's famous donut on the road with it's tires as it stopped itself. due to the car's velocity, dust and pebbles which were on the road were now blowing around when the door of the car opened.

he steps out, his brown hair being the first thing which the spectators can see as he ruffles his hair, smirking. as the dust settles on the road again, rushed footsteps is all he hears before seeing his manager laughing joyfully.

"attaboy! " the older man cheers, laughing as he pats the taller man's shoulder. "you keep this up and you might catch the eyes of one of those suckers, my boy hafta get invited to formula one at this rate."

he smirks in amusement at the older's enthusiasm but quickly bursts his bubble of imagination, "oh my, how sad it is that despite your motivation i do not think of racing as anything more than a pass time?" he teases the older man who rolls his eyes. when the older man smirks, his gold tooth flashes as it catches the light from one of the streetlights, "if you change your mind, hit yo man up, 'kay dazai?"

dazai only rolls his eyes, "where's boss man?" he asks, not wanting to waste another second here.

"at the club.... where are you goin--"

"to the club." dazai shouts, already jogging away while the older man sighs, grumbling under his breath. "he's always at that club. what's so special that he runs there every night?"

dazai quickly jogged towards his mercedes, adjusting his hair in the rear view mirror and looking over his face incase something out of the ordinary was tainting it. he quickly looked away however, he can never tolerate seeing his own face too much. he opens the glove compartment to take out his box of cigarettes and a lighter, these two being absolutely essential for him. it's like he can't function without these now, a bad habit but he's already too addicted to give a fuck now.

he takes out one cigarette stick and holds it between his lips, using his other hand to light the lighter and brings the small flame closer towards the free end of the stick. as soon as he takes one puff he releases a loud puff as if he had only now engulfed oxygen.

tilting his head back, he closes his eyes for a while as his body feels it's almost reached a heaven like state, he feels light and he can feel the nicotine in every vein running through his body. it's been only six hours without smoking and he already feels as if he was going to loose his mind. cutting off his smoking habit seems like a distant dream now.

he sighs again as he looks at his face in the rearview mirror again, making sure he looks absolutely dashing. he has a girl to impress once again after all. ".... should i get her chocolates?"

"i am sorry, i don't drink during work hours." you politely smile to conceal your fear which the man sitting on the couch in this private room is producing in you, having no choice but to serve him because this is your job. you can't 'slack' off on your job as said by your boss the last time you tried to bring these kinds of harassment to his attention.

"mhm baby, just a bit? come on, it's gonna be worth it, i promise." he doesn't understand and continues to push you to do something you clearly don't want to. you lick your lips as you feel them go dry, a shrill stab of fear goes through your chest when you see his eyes narrow at your action as he had clearly seen this as 'seduction'. he doesn't seem to think of the sweatbeads on your forehead and your wide frantic eyes as signs of panick or fear but rather as signs of you trying to appear demure to seduce him.

"i was eighteen not long ago sir, please don't. we will both get in troub --" your voice is shaky due to fear, eyes closing as you try not to grimace when he lowers his hand to cup your cheek. his hand feels disgusting on your skin but you can't speak about it. you internally feel your stomach clench in disgust when he begins to rub his thumb up and down your cheek as he leans in, his hot breath hits the shell of your ear, "you think you can fool me? you think i don't know how long you have been working here? are you allowed to have favourites between customers, hmm? should i have a word with your boss?"

his underlying threats makes you widen your eyes, desperately shaking your head as you plead. "i-i am sorry. i was out of line, sir. i will drink it."

he smiles in victory, his hand moves down to cup your jaw as he brings your face forwards while tilting the glass towards your lips, you part your lips slowly as the drink flows down your throat. you have to pinch your thighs to not end up coughing or gagging.

"good girl. take a big sip." he orders, a shiver travels down your spine as you can guess what perverted thoughts are behind his cocky smile.

don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. hold it in. hold it in. don't puke.

you chant to yourself because you cannot manage to make a mistake. boss is a scary man. not knowing his name despite living with him for eight years is enough of a proof.

his hand travels up towards your lips as he taps it with his thumb before he leans down, licking his lips greedily as he tries to peak down the low cut neckline of your jacket. a cropped leather jacket under which you are wearing just a bra.

don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke.

the man tilts the glass down to watch the alcoholic drink flow down your throat and neck, disappearing inside your jacket. he gulps in pleasure at the thought of this drink staining your cleavage, how lewd it must look if he had the chance to see them, drops of the drink would cling to your nipples and drip down your chest.

an excited huff of breath escapes his lips at the imagery in his twisted mind, he smiles to seem apologetic but all you see are the ugly curves of his lips, like a monster smiling before devouring it's prey.

"i am sorry baby." he begins to speak, grabbing a few tissues from the tissue box next to him, he curled them and began to dap it on your neck. at his movement a very violent shudder travels down your spine, you don't even have to raise your eyes to see his second hand slowly inching towards his belt. the reason he is being so discrete despite wanting to pleasure himself is simple, this despicable man gets off to the thrill of subtlety.

"you should take your jacket off, i will help you clean it." he says, hand dipping lower to press the tissues against your covered cleavage, a shuddering breath escapes his lips, eyes hungrily waiting for you to expose more of yourself, to feed into his perversion more.

"i-i can do it myself." you stutter, trying to take a step back but he grabs your forearms, his fingers digging into your skin as he shakes his head. "no, no. it's my fault so let me help."

his words aren't a request or anything. it's an order. the previous threat of complaining to boss hangs at the back of your mind as you quietly unzip your jacket and take it off.

the man ogles your breasts covered by the bra, his hand slips inside his pants as he begins to jerk. "lean forward."

and you know you have to follow what he says because trapped in the walls of this private room, he is the king and you are the slave. not only to him but to the emperor (boss) as well. whatever boss says shall happen, no?

you do not have a choice, you think, it's all your fault anyway. you made a bad choice years ago and now this is the consequence.

. . . but isn't it too much? doesn't matter. blaming yourself somehow helps you to suck it up and continue working despite your own self screaming how unfair it is.

when the man leans to unclasp your bra, you do not flinch or react. over time you learned that fighting it or resisting it is more painful than the actual process (it isn't, both are equally awful but somehow gaslighting and blaming yourself helps you function.)

the man's hands hover over your breasts, skimming the skin as he pants.

a beep emits from your phone which is by his side before he could grab your flesh, a annoyed look of almost fury spreads onto his face as he looks at the useless piece of technology, he reads who messaged you and almost sighs but he doesn't.

no king is foolish enough to deny the emperor.

"it's your boss, go. he's sending someone else for me." he informs you, voice laced in annoyance yet the relief his words fill you with is almost enough to make you tear up.

it takes you no more than five minutes to wear your bra and jacket again, grabbing your phone as you immediately twist on your heels and walk out with hurried steps.

you unlock your phone to see what boss messaged you, heart thumping in your chest as you read the text.

boss : dress nice. he is here.

a shiver filled with relief travels down your vertebral column as you can finally meet the one who makes working here a bit more bearable. he hadn't come here yesterday or the day before yesterday so you are really happy that he is here today.

of course he has a life. he is not inclined to remember you either but it still feels depressing to think he will forget you one day, you won't be more than a blur with the tag of 'a girl at a nightclub'. it just feels wrong to not be remembered by anyone so you will put this expectation on the one who treated you like a human.

perhaps because he himself is unable to feel human? ... what an odd thing to say. you shake your head to rid yourself of these thoughts, thinking much about him is like being pulled down towards the ocean in a sinking ship where gravity works against your favour. if you sink too much into him, you are afraid he might run away like he always does.

he enjoys being a enigma, a mystery to intellectuals, an illusion disgused as a puzzle waiting to be solved but when you try to touch his pieces, the illusion shatters and he disappears.

your feet stop as you stand infront of boss's room. if he sees you here, you will have to go in so you retreat hastily, walking far far away from his office because you can never walk away from the man himself.

the door is always surrounded by black shadows which make the door seem narrower and more twisted then it actually appears, two years ago you realised it's because of your fear and bad memories associated with the room that makes your vision play tricks on you whenever it falls on this door.

you walk away for hours despite only a few minutes passing before you enter the dressing rooms where many pretty yet broken women lounges, some getting ready for their shift while some relaxed and others got ready to leave this godforsaken place for good only to return tomorrow.

a few smiles greeted you but then disappeared once they noticed your drenched and sweaty state and everyone ignored you, to not humiliate you. truly it's a messed up life you guys live, isolated from the 'normal, working part of society', drained in everything intoxicating and forbidden, placed on a pedestal where some think of as a fantasy while others look at you guys with either desire or mockery.

it is a monotonous process involving only a few steps -- you entered one of the dressing rooms with a dress you grabbed from the big closets, discarding your current ones which makes you want to vomit and instead slipping into the new ones ; black shorts and a tank top of the same colour. your steps are light and almost airy when you step out and walk towards the vanity area, adjusting your makeup and combing through your hair before you are on your way out again, waving at the women who still lounged.

your hips swayed as you walked out, putting on a confident smile as you enter the people packed areas again. this is the life you live, you can't slack off for even one second no matter how much harassment or violation you go through, you have to keep on dancing on thorns so the perverts can drink your blood from your feet and throw money at you which boss greedily grabs and hides in his black hole of a heart.

from your peripheral vision you see a customer raise their hand at the sight of you, needing some kind of assistance. you shift your body to face his direction, taking two steps in his direction but not more for a slender hand wraps around your hip to pull you towards him. you look up, eyes meeting those honey brown ones which seem to always have mischief and danger dripping down them and whoever looks into it can't help but lean in to drink it greedily.

greed is very reoccurring, is it not?

"hey." he breaths out, smelling like fresh mint. he smiles down at you and it feels the entire world stilled to admire the curve of his lips, you find yourself imitating him and smiling back, a giddy itch in your heart.

"hey." you breath out too. it's no fair, he seems to always steak your breath away. he applies forces on his hand on your hip to make you walk with him, away from the customer and from everyone towards one of the private rooms which is indirectly off limits to everyone else. only he uses it, it's untouchable to anyone else.

the room is nothing much worth defining because this specific room may be the treasure where you store your good memories, the other replicas of this exact room are horrifying realities tucked close till the door opens. you know these rooms better then anyone, having stared at them for hours while greedy folks had their fill of you, drank and left you all weak on the floor but alas that's the life of a prostitute.

never a human, always desired.

are you a mere escort? a prostitute? you aren't aware of your own identity in this concealed world of sins and desires. for all you know, you might be the golden hen with a eye-catching bow on her head, one which lures pigs.

oh silly you, pigs don't eat hens.

are you sure they don't? when even a human is capable of eating another, why can't a pig eat a hen? they have been eating you for years.

"thinking something?" his voice breaks you out of the never ending labyrinth of your thoughts, you smile almost from muscle memory alone.

"does dazai-san want me to think of only him?" you speak, a well reversed stream of words which dance around you as even to him you say them without meaning to. somehow you feel as if dazai knows it as well, that you only cling to him because he offers you safety.

"that's up to you but dazai-san himself has been thinking about you." his voice is airy and playful with gaps that are filled with mystery which he weaved himself, breaking pieces of himself and starving whoever is his companion before feeding them a very tiny piece, leaving them wanting for more.

you look up at him curiously, so he answers. "i wanted to buy you flowers but would you believe all chocolate shops and bakeries are closed at this time?" he whines playfully yet why is it that all the time spend together gave you an ability to look past the thick disguises to see just how tired he looks beneath them all?

how's it even possible to present oneself as filled with energy while being exhausted to the brink of fainting from the inside?

"why would you waste your money on me -- ah, i didn't mean to sound ungrateful. i am just curious dazai-san." you speak as he walks, making you walk along with him till you two approach the couch and he doesn't make you sit on the floor, he pats the space next to him once he is seated on the couch, you obey.

"too many questions, sweetie." dazai chuckles before he tilts his head back, eyes closing as if the burdens of the world is on his shoulders, "i have my reasons."

his answer is vague, hardly an answer but you nod, placing your hands between your thighs as you look down. "dazai-san?"

"hm?"

"thank you."

"hm?"

you smile as you continue to look down, shrugging. "for letting me breath and never asking me for sex."

how horrifying must it be for one to live such life that when someone doesn't immediately ask them to strip or kneel, they are grateful and feel as if they own them something, dazai thinks. he hasn't opened his eyes yet but he extends his hand to pat your knee. "don't thank me for treating you like a basic human."

and how much irony his words hold because what does he know about humans and how they live, how they feel and how they function?

but how can one think he doesn't know all this? knowing and acting on it is a very different think from naturally being born with the instinct. that's his only fault.

his words reach a part of your heart you didn't know still existed within you, which hadn't broken down due to your situation and misfortune. said part is very fragile and weak yet extremely guarded yet his words hold equal value. the parallelism of the man you were serving before him and him is too grave to not move you. you lower your head, eyes filling with tears as you nod yet you do not cry. you never cry.

crying makes you look ugly, boss always scolds you whenever he sees a tiny little tear attempting to leave the cage which are your eyes.

"i won a race today." to anyone else it might seem like a casual comment yet to you whose every move is watched like vultures watching a poor weak lamb limp as it tries to fight against it's inevitable death, this means a lot because he's really not treating you like you are an eye candy but rather as a normal person because he knows this normalcy is something you will never get.

"you are amazing dazai-san --"

"dazai." he corrects you, sitting up as he looks at you with his head tilted, a charming boyish smile on his face which makes your stomach flutter, "no need for honorific, hm? or i will use them with you too."

no, it's not only your stomach that flutters but the lining of your stomach that folds, your intestines which squeeze and your lungs which stop functioning whenever he speaks to you because his voice is so soft and gentle it feels as if everything will be better, the bad time will pass and good will come find you, that's what his voice is.

"you are not good for my health dazai-san-- dazai." you correct yourself at the last second, smiling at how better his name sounds without having to use honorific which you only use with clients to make them feel even more superior then what they already are,. you continue, "do you do this with every girl over here?"

you turn to look at him, tears still in your eyes yet none of you comment or acknowledge them. he grins, "do what?"

"make them feel special."

"nah," he quickly shakes his head, grinning as he leans closer to tap your nose, "i only do that with my special girl."

he freezes. the grin that takes over your lips and brightens your features, which makes you look much more happier and more your age and the realisation that it's because of him makes him feel funny.

he looks down, feeling shy now as he leans his head on your shoulder, making you halt as you look down at him.

"you say all that to me yet don't you know how bad you are for my health?" he mutters in a pouty tone, making your heart do flips.

"but i am only this way with you --"

"i know." he whispers.

"it's because you make me feel comfortable and i don't feel obligated to act a certain way around yo --"

"i know." he whispers again and you huff.

"what are you? a mindreader?"

"yeah, and i can even read your mind!" dazai teases, cackling as he sees the look of skepticism on your face. it's always worth it to see your reactions. "right now, you need to close your eyes and go to sleep for a while. your brain is begging you to take a small nap." he teases, once again a cackle escapes his lips when he sees your eyes widen, it's almost comical to him.

to you, however, it's astonishing because how does he know about the pounding headache on the back of your head? is he that good at reading people? must be. these are the times where you realise how much intellect this man hides behinds his tomfoolery, the times which makes a sensible part of you scream to distance yourself from this enigmatic man.

but how can you?

oh truly, how can you!

he wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you towards his chest, leaning back against the couch as he tries to find a possible position which will be comfortable for you both.

truly how can you distance yourself from him when every touch leaves your skin tingling and wanting more?

greed is inevitable and you are no God.

you fall for greed too. especially when it comes in the form of a man named dazai osamu.

as the man who has your whole attention shifts the cushions behind you both to find a specific position which will make his aching muscles to sing praises for showing them mercy, your eyes do not stray away from him, a true devoted follower.

you stare intently at his bandages emerging from deep below his neck as you wonder how he got them. he doesn't really speak much about him. you do not want to risk asking and angering him too.

"if you want to ask questions, prepare to answer some yourself too." he advices, not even looking at you yet it feels as if there is a pair of invisible eyes behind his head which are devouring your walls and masks. you nod. "how do i know it's the right time to ask?"

he pauses, a look of thought on his face though it's only a act, he quickly goes back to smoothing and adjusting the cushions as he answers, "when you have the upper hand."

you purse your lips. upper hand against someone like him? yeah, as if.

your sigh is inaudible as the advice he gave can't be used against him at all.

"hm. so much sighing from someone so young. when does your shift end again?" he asks which makes you look at the clock on the wall, "in half an hour. why?"

you look at him. his eyes are closed and a lazy smirk is on his face. "in half an hour let's go on a date. who knows how many upper hands you may receive if you do?"

his words are a trap. a bait to lure you in. you shake your head, not wanting to take unnecessary risk but the thought of being alone with boss for the night is more unpleasant, you can either sit in a room with snacks or rats.

the latter doesn't seem as dangerous as snakes but truly what's more scarier — the eye catching snake or the rats which curries away from under one's nose?

that's dazai and boss respectively. the date and being alone with boss likewise.

you blame dazai for this, ever since you began to meet with him a few months ago you began to see how disgusting boss really is, he makes your skin curl in disgust after dazai opened your eyes to what you consider normal to not be anyone else's normal.

you take your bottom lip between your upper row of teeth, sinking them onto your plush lip as you ponder while dazai removes his watch and tosses it on the glass spherical coffee table made of black marble. his moves are casual but he's a pretty snake. like a mamba.

the mamba or the rat?

"where ..... will we go?" you cautiously ask to which he hums. "a secret spot."

"your racing venue?"

"no. it's too soon for that — maybe after two or three dates i might take you there too?" he grins as he talks, eyes not opening because you know he doesn't think of you as a threat. you, however, do.

you nod. it's a date so maybe you should get ready?

as if hearing your thoughts, he shakes his head. dazai sits up and let's out a few curses when his joints pop in protest, screaming at this man who doesn't show mercy to even his own self.

"i don't want you to not enjoy yourself with me because of a headache. for now, you will sleep." he orders. it's not a advice or words spoken from worry but a prophecy in a way which will be true if you do not follow him.

what a dictator.

though you do not object for you have no reason to yet. instead you curl by his side, leaning back against his open arm. with your face against his chest, you close your eyes as the drumming of his fingers against your shoulders are a lullaby.

as your eyes close you are unable to see the pair of eyes who got their pigment from the sorrow it went through. sun lights and honey and tree trunks are all romanticized but his eyes are the colours of a abandoned and dried tree trunk which always feels as if this breath is it's last breath but then somehow the roots find water and its pulled up by the thread it's hanging on which dangles between life and death.

his fingers curl against your shoulder as he pulls you closer, shutting his eyes as his other hand is on your hip and pulls you closer by it.

though an hour later in the starry and chilly night sky which has no witnesses apart from the coldness, you crouch on the ground and scream. "dazai!"

you close your eyes to not look at the white tiger which lunges at you to attack you, his body looking majestic under the night sky.

this was not how you expected your date to go.

[st4rd0lly]

i think men who get hard when you snap at them is really hot and infuriating.

anyways, dazai’s pants feel really tight around his crotch when you actually stand up to him. when you finally snap at him, grab him by the collar and tell him to stop fucking around with you. when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours, he can’t help but wonder what your hands would feel like around his neck… or fuck if he really got you riled up, you might slap him. he might hate pain but sometimes he just craves the pleasure that he gets from it, really fucking bad. it’s so bad that he starts getting caught up in his own head about the things you would do to him and it isn’t until you grab his jaw harshly and get closer, asking him if he’s listening to you that he lets out a small whimper. there’s an undeniable flush on his face and a dazed look in his eyes and for once he doesn’t have anything to say. he just can’t stop his thoughts from how you would be in bed to him