#fyodor being a softie will be the end of me

[lovedazai]

i know this is probs ooc for fyodor, but imagine him laying his head on your lap as you scratch his scalp and hum a gently tune. he feels like he is in heaven and just the sound of your voice makes his heart flutter. he loves you so much and never thought he would end up being so vulnerable for a person, but here he is yearning for your touch and your love. he loves the smell of your perfume, the way you present yourself. you were an angel in his eyes. no, you are an angel. he never wants this to end. all he can think about is you smile, your beautiful eyes, and of course your gentle touch. he can't imagine a life without you by his side. he loves you so much <3

this is so dreamy opie ur making little hearts float above my head rn !! lovesick fyodor !! hes so content & at peace letting u take care of him <33 i wonder how much it would take for him to completely relax & let someone touch him like that :< im such a softie for that kind of quiet intimacy, it makes me so warm & fuzzy inside

ur making me think ab the beginning stages, like when he starts to notice how his thoughts drift to u more often & how he finds himself missing u when u arent around. i cant decide if he’d be in denial when he realizes hes crushing on u or if he’d actually try to pursue u >:/

[soukokuwu]

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

THE LITTLE THINGS

》 look! no trigger warnings because FLUFF ♡

》 fyodor x reader

》 word count: 1.9k

》 thanks anon for the request, i tried my best with this fluff and i hope you like this (〃ω〃) i had to google the russian words i hope i got em right..

“no other dream would be better”

“I knew you’d miss me but I didn’t think you’d miss me that much.”

Gasping, you leaped up from your position on the couch where you had been replaying the old videos you took on your dates. You scrambled to turn the television off, and stood rooted where you were, flustered, your right leg brushing the back of your left sheepishly.

“Fyodor! Wh- when did you get back?”

The man gave you a once-over, amused by how adorable you were being. The watching of the nauseating videos aside, there were other signs that showed you missed him. You were wearing his casual shirt as an oversized dress, your hair pulled up into a messy bun with a pen that he gifted to you, and you had been cuddling with a bear that he won for you. It practically screamed ‘Fyodor’, head to toe. Like a little fangirl.

How cute. How interesting.

You were still as pure and predictable as you were when the two of you first met. Despite being with a man such as he, you were still the same annoyingly helpful and caring being you were. You never let other people’s evil deeds toward you change your view of the world. You wanted to do whatever you could to contribute to the good, ideal world you sought. The two of you didn’t talk much about that, but Fyodor knew enough to respect your outlook on it.

“Is that all you have to say after not seeing me for a month, lyubov moya (my love)?”

Pushing your embarrassment aside, you grinned up at your boyfriend and ran across the room into his arms. You breathed him in, only realising now just how much you truly missed him. You hugged him tighter, afraid that if you didn’t he’d slip out of your reach again. He was really back, and you couldn’t be happier.

You knew how dangerous it was every time he went off on one of his ‘missions’. Depending on who he would have to face, it could very well escalate into a life-or-death situation. You had spoken about your reservations to him before, but he simply asked you to trust in him and his ability. Needless to say, he was baffled you’d think anyone could actually kill him. He saw himself as practically a god. Given that you were someone whose opinion meant the world to him, he was very offended that you could even think that. That conversation ended with the two of you compromising, where he would update you at least once every one or two days, and in turn you would try to stop overthinking things.

Now that he was back, you felt the weight lift off of your shoulders. He’s safe, he’s really safe. His arms made his way around your waist, accepting you in a tight embrace. You felt as though your heart could burst at any moment. It has been way too long since you’ve last felt your lover’s touch.

Fyodor’s cold, thin fingers made his way up to your chin, tilting your face upwards to press his lips against yours. Your hands were wrapping themselves around his neck when you felt something on your head.

Your eyes shot open, and you saw Fyodor flashing you a smirk. Your hands traveled up to your head, and you felt the familiar feel of fur.

“Is this-?”

“Your own Ushanka, milaya (darling).”

He noticed your eyes glimmer with appreciation as you fixed the position of the hat. Fyodor chuckled silently as he watched you with curious eyes. He had seen you don his ushanka before he left for his mission, and while he pretended he didn’t catch you doing that, he couldn’t quite forget how beautiful he thought you looked wearing it. The image of you was burned into his mind, and he couldn’t forget it even when he was busy carrying out his plans. That was when he made a mental note to get you one for yourself.

“Thank you,” you gushed, face red as a cherry as you beamed up at him. You then stood on your tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. But as your lips brushed his face, alarms set off in your head. “Are you running a fever?”

Oh no.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

At the dining table, Fyodor propped his head up against his fist as he finished up the last of the grilled chicken breast you had cooked for him. You were washing the pan at the sink, still going off on how he should take more care of himself while he was away.

The past ten minutes had been filled with you nagging him on his almost non-existent eating habits, as well as his horrible sleep schedule, insisting that he had to be more careful due to his anemia. There was a time when Fyodor found this terribly exhausting, but as time passed, he saw past the lectures and realised it was your way of saying you loved him. So this time, he took it all in, basking in the idea that he was the only one to receive all your affection.

“Here,” you prodded at him, gesturing to the cough syrup you had placed in front of him.

All the pleasant thoughts in his head earlier vanished and turned into dread. Not that. He had had to drink that the last time he fell sick, and it was foul. It worked wonders, but it was horrible. Fyodor didn’t know what came over him, he became so openly clingy with you the moment it was in his system. It was like barf in a bottle.

“Try to hide the disdain from your face, will you?” you asked of him, twisting the bottle cap open.

“You know,” Fyodor began, leaning forward to cup your face in his hands. “I don’t know how much of my luck was used up in meeting you. I love you.” His purple eyes were locked straight into yours, entrancing you. His smile was different than usual, this one was mind-numbingly sweet.

Just as he leaned in to kiss you, you put your index finger up to his lips. Fyodor gave a slight frown as he looked at your unamused expression. Damn.

“Nice try,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You need to stop saying that every time you want to get out of something.”

A spoonful of medicine and a change of clothes later, Fyodor sighed. He lost that one. Noticing your smug smile as you took a seat beside him on the couch, he flicked you on the forehead.

“Plokhaya devochka (bad girl).”

You furrowed your brows as you rubbed your forehead. “What does that mean?”

“Se-cr-et.”

There was your signature pout, right on cue.

Fyodor absolutely loved it when you got confused over the Russian terms he used. You were already stunningly beautiful yourself, even with a stoic expression you were positively captivating. Pair your natural beauty with that adorably puzzled expression and you looked even more exquisite than usual.

He found himself smiling as he thought of that, aware that the medicine was getting to his head, starting to take effect. Maybe allowing you to see this side of him once in a while wouldn’t be too bad. Giving in to the drowsiness, he slowly laid his head down on your lap, choosing to gaze up at you from below. “I did mean it, you know.”

“What?”

“What I said before you force-fed me that spoonful of vile potion.”

You chuckled at his exaggeration. Smiling down at him, you pulled apart the hair covering his face. “I love you too, Fyo,” you whispered, noticing that his eyes were gradually getting droopier.

You sang softly along to the song playing on the television, lulling your exhausted lover to sleep who was mumbling, “Your voice is so... angelic.”

It was quite a rare sight to see the usually calm and confident demeanor of his fade into something sweet. Only in sickness would this behaviour appear, and you felt so bittersweet about it. You wished he would show it more often, but you knew that was not the kind of person he was. And you still accepted and loved him for it, all the same.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Fyodor awoke in the middle of the night. He opened his eyes only to find that your eyes had been replaced by the plain ceiling staring back at him. A blanket was draped around him, and your lap had been replaced by a mere pillow.

Not good enough.

Slowly, he sat up, the medicine still causing a little giddiness. As he looked around, he spotted you just inches away from him, engrossed in your work. You were busy sketching away on your notepad, with only the faint light of your phone as a source of illumination.

His heart warmed, and he wasn’t sure whether it was an effect of the medicine or the fact that you were being so considerate of him. But the moment he saw what you were sketching, it felt even warmer. A realisation dawned upon him. You were always putting your own needs aside for him, regardless of the situation, big or small. You always thought of him, even if you didn’t get anything back for it. You deserved more, and he wanted to give it to you. He waited for you to finish your sketch before getting down and nestling up to you, wrapping his lithe arms around your body and resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Fyodor?” you exclaimed, surprised that you didn’t notice him get up.

“You should frame that up, it looks amazing.”

He was referring to the sketch you did of the two of you reuniting in a hug. You felt proud of the validation he gave you, glad that he liked it enough to want it hung up in the apartment.

“Wow, Fyo, you can be such a softy sometimes, you know that?” you teased. 

You had expected him to give you some sort of witty or unsatisfied reply, but you didn’t see this one coming.

“I know I can be difficult,” he murmurs in your ear, voice still thick with sleepiness, “But if you can help it, please don’t leave my side.”

A part of you was squealing with delight at his sudden confession, another part feeling worried why he was saying such things with no warning. Usually he’d never let words that heavy with affection slip from his mouth. What was it that led him to say such things?

But there was another part of you, an overwhelmingly large part, that felt more love for him than you ever had before. Yes, it was tasking being with a man like Fyodor. Not just because he was so sharp and smart, not only because you felt he deserved someone much better than you in every way, be it looks or status, but because you thought that much of him. There were instances he referred to himself as a god, and you never questioned him. You only questioned your ability to keep up with such an astounding man. But maybe this was his way of assuring you. With the little things. And it may not be conventional and he may not ever be straight with his words, but what does it matter when you understood his love language? You rested your head on his, wondering if you could feel even more bliss than you did right now.

“I’ll be with you,” you assured him, returning the hug, “Every mission, every milestone, I’ll be there.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

“love, and then love more”

[bsd-fitzgerald-appreciation]

How is it I get given such kind words, and then produce this?

(Come at me Dos fangirls/fanboys.)

(This genuinely pained me to think about. I’m so sorry fictional child of this fictional character, and to anyone who stumbled here thinking “Oh! Some warm fuzzy Dostoyevsky headcannons!”)

His child is incredibly obedient. Mostly because Fyodor is brilliant at picking up what his child would want, allowing him manipulating their motivations. Still, he would be a dedicated parent, making sure that his child was never harmed.

Unfortunately, he would be a helicopter parent. Monitoring their location through tracking devices, looking through their internet usage, or even reading their diaries. Though these are self preservation tactics, he fools himself into thinking this is to protect the child.

Dostoyevsky would likely have his child be a member of the Decay of Angels or Rats of the House of the Dead. Though, up until a certain age, they would know much less than even Nikolai Gogol.

In the end, Dostoyevsky’s child would either be:

Incredibly dependent on their father, lacking initiative or a spine when it comes to rebelling against their parent (though would have no qualms doing this against any other body of authority).

Or become as messed up as Nikolai. They would want freedom more than anything, though just as obedient as case (1), they would have initiative, be as devious and cunning as their parent. This may seem like the better option, but then those same twisted morals of sin, crime and punishment would run even more deeply through their veins.

(Can you tell I’m Hamilton trash?)

“Look at my son!” Like another father who is overly proud of their child, Dazai would be very proud. He would tease the populous on how his child is better than anything they could birth.

“Pride is not the word I’m looking for. There is so much more inside me now.” Dazai would attend their competitions, events, anything that has anything to do with his child, even if his dear wife were with him. Every memoir of an achievement, be it baby videos, art projects or participation badges, he keeps. Not only does it give him a chance to be off work, but those events fill him with a bubble of joy. It gives him a feeling as though something he’d done could cause a change, a legacy he could be proud of.

“You outshine the morning son, my... son.” It’s hard for him to believe he’s a father, forget a father of someone who could do so much good in the world. To him, this child is the best thing that ever happened to him. This child has become the centre of his world.

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” If he finally found a good suicide method, he would rethink his ideas on death all together for the sake of his child. Equally, he would put himself in the most excrutiating death if it meant the wellbeing of his child. Whatever he needed to sacrifice, he would give up. This doesn’t mean he would sacrifice needlessly. Just like his child is the centre of his own world, the opposite is true. If his child were to see Dazai suffer, it would be like seeing an entire star system being engulfed by a black hole.

“When you came into the world you cried, and it broke my heart.” We all know Chuya loves the tough guy act. Whenever he sees his child, he can’t help but feel overwhelmed with emotion. In public he puts up the image of a strict father, but he’s a big softie that cuddles his kid to sleep after a nightmare and punches anyone who dare insult his poor baby. Not being able to stand his child being upset, he would do anything in his power to make them happy, even if it meant covering up his aching heart via tsundere pout excuse combos.

“I’m dedicating every day to you.” Though he always seems to be away on some dangerous task, his family knows just how much they mean to him. He keeps a small image of his kid in his wallet, a secret little pocket to keep safe, for him to look at whenever he’s away for ridiculously long periods of time.

“Domestic life was never quite my style.” He’s not at home often, and he has no clue of how to look after a child at first. When his child was a baby, they would cry a lot. This has nothing to do with Chuya, they would just cry more than the average baby to the Nakaharas’ luck. Panicking over how to handle the situation, Chuya would have so many restless nights, falling asleep at any opportunity of desk work. Soon, Mori just gives him an extended parternity leave for his health and slowly but surely, Chuya manages to handle childcare pretty decently.

“What to say to you? [...] I’ll make a billion mistakes.” Chuya isn’t the perfect father, and it’s hard to be while in the Port Mafia; sometimes the criminals are in as much danger as those who fight for justice. Chuya has a hard time communicating his affections without the time or even knowledge of how, his love tends to slip out at inappropriate times. In Port Mafia meetings, in front of Dazai and in front of the enemy stood right there (probably Dazai), which collapses Chuya to wits end. Of course the point manages to struggle its way across.

Dazai is the Hamilton to Chuya’s Burr. Change my mind.

I’m sorry if you don’t get this anon. I had inspiration, so I used it.

The song I used is called “Dear Theodosia” from Hamilton.

[rostovs-lover]

Sick pt.2

Pierre Bezukhov, Helen Kuragina, Anatole Kuragin, Vaska Denisov, Fyodor Dolohov | discussion of sickness, not graphic | gender neutral reader | fluff, hurt/comfort

Pierre 

Pierre wants to help but he doesn’t really know how to 

Someone, please help this man 

He would probably end up bringing you food 

“Oh, no rum? I do suppose rums not the best when you're ill,”

He would also read to you so much

Like whatever you wanted him to read, he’d read

Helen

Helen would be so dang protective

She probably wouldn’t stay with you the entire time because she had parties to go to and diners to have but she would frequently check up on you

Shes also so ready to yell at someone for not doing something right 

She's just worried 

But shes honestly probably the most level headed like she knows that you're not going to die from this 

But she also knows it's horrible and probably hurts because when does being sick not hurt?

Protective girlfriend Helen makes me gayer than usual

Anatole

Anatole is by far the most confused when it comes to taking care of you 

Like, is he supposed to be in the same room as you? Can he touch you?

Poor baby is absolutely lost and expects the worst

So he when he finally goes in your room he is bewildered by the facts that you're sitting up and talking

Your face is flushed and your voice is scratchy but you're alive and he’s relived

Kind of leaves it up to the nurse to take care of you but he will bring you tea because he's trying his hardest!!

Denisov

BDE (big dad energy)

At the slightest sniffle, he's all over you 

Checking your temperature and wrapping you in blankets 

You can bet your bucket if you get cold he's right there

He's probably the human equivalent of a space heater but this is like 1812 so those don’t exist 

He's just soft and protective

Dolokhov

Fyodor Dolohov knows what to do

He took care of his mother and sister so he's prepared

Soup and tea and vivid war stories 

He’ll totally just sit with you (that seems to be a common theme) and play with your hair until you feel better 

He's a softie and he cannot hide it