#me: oh. oh right. ivan goncharov

[trek-tracks]

Thanks to this godforsaken website I got jumpscared while helping my students do library catalogue research on literary techniques

[kriswantstowrite]

⚜️ Make a Man Disappear!

• General Audience, M/M, Nikolai Gogol x Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nikolai Gogol & Sigma (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nikolai Gogol & Ivan Goncharov (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nikolai Gogol & Oguri Mushitarou (Bungou Stray Dogs)

• Summary: What happened yesterday? Well, that's a long story. Nikolai avoided any thoughts that felt far too trapping, far too long.

• This post has been cross-posted on AO3. If you wish to make content inspired by this au specifically, please credit me.

[ID: Picture of a person in a suit with white gloves, tapping a magician's wand against a hat. The hat is glowing with magic.]

What happened yesterday?

Well, that’s a long story.

Nikolai avoided any thoughts that felt far too trapping, far too long.

He’d rather his thoughts to jump from one branch to the other, disappear inside a hat and reappear from a non-existent handkerchief, to float in the air and create bird-like shapes.

Nikolai didn’t want to gather his attention right now.

Instead, he ate half a pack of salty crackers, watered two out of the eight plants in the office and worked on a new card trick he had found on the internet for two hours.

Oh wait. That was ereyesterday.

Silly him.

Today, he did his old, old paperwork, and drank the tea Ivan had made.

...

Huh. Ivan never made him tea. But the cup on his desk was undoubtedly the fancy kind he used.

Does Nikolai look that pathetic today?

...Nikolai will think about it later.

For now, he’s gonna have his tea and what’s remained of the crackers.

“Cookies?”

Ah, even Sigma seems to be getting worried.

“Thanks, I have crackers.” Nikolai looks at the pack of crackers, thinks for a bit, then looks at Sigma. “Do you think it’s possible to make a love child biscuit out of crackers and cookies?”

Sigma looked surprised. Maybe because he hadn’t shouted “Quiz time!!” at the top of his lungs before asking the question (Oh, silly him, what a good opportunity wasted), but surprised faces are always worth it.

“...Wouldn’t eating both at the same time feel like eating the love child biscuit you’re talking about?”

“Intelligent answer!”

The worry in Sigma’s eyes hadn’t faded away yet.

Perhaps he needs to think about it later today.

“Gogol san?”

Nikolai turns around in his chair (two times, because it’s fun) and looks at Mushitaro, who’s standing in front of him with a confident yet nervous posture.

“Young man! Are you here for a quiz, or perhaps, to see a magic trick?~”

“Ah...actually...”

Nikolai tilts his head. Mushitaro sighs. It’s because of his untidy hair again, isn’t-

“Gogol san. I wanted to thank you for saving me yesterday. And, if there’s anything I can help with-“

“Ah, young Mushitaro!! No need to mention it!!”

Nikolai has to think about it now.

***

Nikolai knocks on the soft wood of infirmary’s door. Always a fine, distracting texture, complimenting the purple of his gloves in a way like he was meant to be here, knocking, all along.

“Enter,” answers a calm, sweet voice, already sending shivers down his spine.

It makes him feel helpless.

He didn’t like this trapping feeling.

But that’s an issue for another day, he decides and opens the door.

“What a pleasant surprise, Nikolai.”

Like something so obvious would be a surprise to Dos kun. Nikolai would scoff, if he wasn’t beaming already. Beaming is as easy as crying, for a clown like him.

“Is there anything you want?” Dos kun continues.

Anything he wants? Can he see Dos kun’s surprised face?

“I want to die.”

Dos kun’s eyes widen a little bit.

Nikolai already wants more.

“Kill me.” He offers his hand to Dos kun.

Even if Dos kun didn’t have an ability, Nikolai would still die by a touch of his hand.

That would just be too much for his heart.

Dos kun sits in front of him.

“Do you want to tell me what happened yesterday, before that?”

He figured Dos kun would ask this. He’d thought about it for a reason. And it’s not like Nikolai’s much of a secret keeper (because people can’t recognize the truth from the lie in his words anyway. But Dos kun is not people).

“You know that criminal I killed yesterday, Dos kun?” Nikolai’s eyes are hooked on Dos kun’s face, waiting impatiently for the surprise that might appear at his next sentence. “I didn’t kill him because I had to. I killed him because it was fun.”

No eyes widen.

No eyebrows are raised.

Not even his soft lips curl into each other.

...Did you predict this too?

“I understand.”

Of course you do. But please, Dos kun...

Dos kun’s hand reaches to take Nikolai’s offered one.

Act at least a little bit surprised.

[setsunaseshi]

Hello. I hope that you accept requests. Can I ask for headcannons about how Mori Ogai, Fukuzawa Yukichi, Shibusawa Tatsuhiko, Ivan Goncharov (you can remove him if there are a lot of characters) are jealous of their s/o? How does their jealousy manifest itself? Please.

a/n: yes I love taking requests!! And to anyone who hasn’t read my part one, you can find dazai, Chuuya, and Fyodor jealous of their s/o hcs, here! Also I didn’t proofread so if there’s a spelling mistake shh

Mori Ogai

He is a little baby.

He’s a little male wife.

He would get jealous of the smallest things. From you not spending enough time with him to even going to work. Anytime away from him makes him jealous.

And he makes sure you know that

He’s not annoying. But he’s winey.

And he never shuts up about missing you

The pm would get so annoyed that they considered putting out a search warrant for you (can’t blame them. I’d do the same to get that man to shut up 😪)

He’ll respect your space but make it clear whenever he misses you (aka all the time)

“Y/n how come you haven’t come to see me! Don’t you miss me and want to spend time together?”

And he’ll spoil you rotten until you give him the attention he wants

He’ll send you gifts, get lunch delivered to your work, call you, etc…

He’ll even go so far as to call up your boss requesting for you to have some time off because you’re ‘not feeling well’ (I mean no complaints. Who doesn’t love a day off)

Simp

I can imagine him getting you caught up in his little schemes so he can play the knight and shining armor

He would hope for you to never leave his side after that. You would.

Oh and once you get into his sight of line, prepare to be absolutely smothered

“Oh how I’ve missed you my dear y/n! Life wasn’t the same without you. How could I go on living without you by my side. It just wasn’t the same

Like damn the world doesn’t revolve around you Mori

But this sudden attention always comes from a place of love which he’s always happy to express his feelings for you

Fukuzawa

He normally doesn’t get jealous but when he does, he acts like a lonely puppy

He’s subtle about it but his feelings are strong

He’ll try and cling onto you more hoping you notice and give him all the love in the world

He also will express his wanting for you with small surprises such as your favorite snacks and food

Unlike mori (thank god) he’s not nearly as expressive as a way to respect your privacy

He’s gentle, calm, and patient!

But patience can only last so long

He’d probably ask rampo or Yosano to spy on you and see what you’re up to

But it would be out of concern and missing you

Prepare to get little voice messages from him

“I just wanted to let you know that I miss you and hope you’re having a good day. I look forward to seeing you soon I hope!”

How could you say no to such an adorable message like that 🥺

He may sulk a bit too

But that’s kinda cute

He would be the type to slip his hand under the desks/table just to hold hand with you

Shibusawa

My man is a little dramatic bitch

Well sort of. Let me explain:

His jealousy would be a cycle. Starting with an internal cycle of “what’s wrong with me, what am I feeling”

And then spending way too much time in his head figuring out emotions

Once he realizes that it’s jealousy he would be in denial.

Like the five stages of grief!

He would fight these emotions, suppress them, and argue with them (for such a genius he has a very low emotional iq)

Constantly he would bicker with himself over this matter and the whole time you’d be standing there like ayo bro you ok? You doing ok over there?

He is not ok.

And somehow his over the top showdown with his own emotions would make such a scene that his s/o’s concern for him would cure his jealousy!

You’d show your concern and by giving him that attention, his jealousy is no more

Of corse this cocky bastard would be like “aha so bickering with my emotions did solve the problem!”

Bro chill

Give this man some of my adderall god damn

Of corse this behavior would warrant a question as to what’s going on

And in his moment of genius, he would be like “oh nothing” with a smirk, hiding the fact that he feels like he won a Nobel prize or some shit over this

Once he came down from this new kind of high, he would spend a bit more time with you

Maybe planning dinner dates or coming to give you a hug!

Look I may have written him to be over the top, BUT YOU CAN SEE THIS HAPPENING TOO RIGHT

Ivan Goncharov

Surprisingly he doesn’t get very jealous!

He has faith and trust in his s/o, enough where this feeling hardly arises

But when it does…

Oh boy get ready…

It’s like a mix of mori, fukuzawa, and shibizawa.

That is not good.

Look I don’t think he would turn into a stalker or anything but he definitely would noticeably spend wayyy more time with you

Like ‘coincidentally’ your schedules just happen to look almost identical

He would hope for you to notice this sudden approach but if he gets too impatient, he has no shame!

He will make it clear as water that he wants you, your love, and your attention

He would go out of his way to make your life easier and clear all of your to do’s so that you’ll be able to have free time

And what would he want you to do with that free time?

Well he’ll constantly BEG for you

“Y/n darling, may you come over? Or shall I come to you”

I know he would be all fancy and use big words he doesn’t know the meaning of

Anything to impress his beloved y/n

[angolicious]

Do you write for BSD Poe, Lovecraft , brams or Mori? Also what are your rules for requesting ?

Yes! I write for all of them! I love all of them!!! (Though edgar allan poe and bram stoker have a special place in my heart. ❤️)

Here are my rules!

I write for all bungo stray dogs characters EXCEPT!

Fukichi. FUCK that guy.

I will only write kenji and kyoka platonically

I won’t write for koyo… red haired chick? Mori’s right hand man? I don’t feel i could do her justice either.

Oh and Fitzgerald…? He just like… annoys me.

All of this aside, i will write for ANYONE else. However- my personal favorites are-

Ango (duh.)

Sigma

Fyodor

Mushitarou

Ranpo

Edgar Allan Poe

Ivan Goncharov

Bram stoker

LITERALLY ANY OF THE FLAGS. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH PLS.

Updates are i WILL write for the hunting dogs now I’m obsessed with them.

Those are my babies… anywho, onto the rules.

No more than 4 characters per request! I’ll get overwhelmed and wanna go die in a hole

If i don’t get to your request immediately, please try to remember i am a college student full time, who also works. I’m just tryna get a degree ya’ll please be patient with me.

I do NSFW, but i will not write it for anyone under 18!! No exceptions! I won’t age someone up just for an nsfw request either. No bueno. It won’t happen sorry.

I will accept like- almost all kinks. I’m fairly kinky myself so- idk fucking hit me with it i guess. I stop at anything with fecal matter or bodily fluids other than jizz. Pls… pls don’t.

I will write dub-con, with subtle consent and enjoyment implied. Where y/n is obviously consenting through body language and enjoying what’s going on. I will NOT write complete non con, unless it’s for angst purposes. I don’t want anyone thinking that like… real life non-con is okay. I do not be supporting. However, i understand the thrill in a CONSENSUAL scenario. Anywho-

Pls be nice to me… :( let’s be friends! Seriously! Just don’t be mean to me. :(

[redvoid-40]

A Game for a Kiss

Don’t ask me where this came from. I’ve watched BSD a couple months ago and of course I got the hots for the feral rat-man. -.-

Anyway, slowly I came up with a little plot for an arc with some OCs (weird calling them OCs, when they’re all named after past writers but oh well) and even thought about developing it, but since I’m not in the mood to write a whole multi-chaptered fic, I decided to just write this interaction between Fyodor and my main OC for the BSD-universe, Mary Shelley. You know, as a treat. >.<

I know the fandom is super small, but I thought someone might enjoy this, so here it is! :)

Also, Fyodor might be OOC (it’s hard to get a full understanding of his character) but I see him as creepy-pretty, with no qualms in manipulating women in ways that border on dub-con. So... TW: some making out; Fyodor’s thoughts making it clear his morals are more twisted than a pretzel. 

Anyway, enjoy! :)

Part 1 / Part 2 (NSFW) / Part 3 (NSFW)

“How about a game?” Fyodor proposed, smiling from ear to ear as he moved a chessboard from the side table to the coffee table in front of them. It was small, with tiny and expensive crystal pieces that had a purely decorative role, but he had never minded playing with valuable and irreplaceable things before, so why start now? Much worse to die of boredom than to shatter a hundred-dollar pawn. “I heard you had quite the reputation at the Chess Club in Oxford.”

“It’s been a few years since I last played,” Mary admitted as placed her glass of anise-infused gin on the coffee table and reached out to touch the white king, as if she was caressing a long-lost lover. “Not sure I’ll be a worthy opponent to you, Mr Dostoevsky.”

“How about I give you some impetus then?” Fyodor asked, raising a sole eyebrow as Mary’s eyes shone with interest. “If you win, I’ll give you something. Something I know you want from me.”

Mary quickly pulled back, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie-jar. “You’re already doing so, and I’m eternally grateful for it. Helping me retrieve Adam and right my wrong is all I could ever hope for and more, Mr Dostoevsky. There’s nothing el-”

“A kiss.”

Fyodor’s smile widened and his eyes darkened as a pink dusted over Mary’s cheeks. Her dark eyes made it hard to discern her emotions, but if he were to guess, Fyodor would bet her pupils had doubled in size at his indiscretion.

“I can feel your gaze on me, Doctor Shelley. Every time I walk in a room, your eyes peruse my figure like I’m an appetising treat,” Fyodor spoke, feet planted on the floor as he projected his body forwards, elbows on spread knees and the fingers of his hands intertwined. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you are interested in me in a way that’s not entirely professional or proper.”

Mary reached for her lowball glass and quickly brought it to her lips, downing the rest of her gin in a way that also wasn’t professional or proper. Fyodor watched her throat move, amused and admitedly a bit impressed at the pace at which she was draining her gin, wondering if maybe he should have proposed a drinking game instead. Who would fare better, her with her gin infusions or him with his chilled vodka?

“... and if I lose?”

Fyodor blinked, lazily trailing his eyes up her chin, passing by her pouting lips, blushing cheeks and up to dark eyes that stared at him so attentively. Lips curled at the corners, he raised a single eyebrow, urging Mary to continue.

“If I lose the game, what would you demand as compensation?” She clarified, and Fyodor exhaled at how she pressed her thighs together beneath her knee-length, black skirt.

“I’m not sure,” Fyodor said. “Why don’t you let me decide later? If I win the game, that is.”

Mary’s eyes turned away from his, moving down to gaze at the empty glass in her hands as some luster in her eyes darkened into distrust. “I think I’ll pass on your offer, Mr Dostoevsky. A kiss for an IOU? Your proposition doesn’t sound fair to me.”

Fyodor retreated, letting his spine fall comfortably against the back of the sofa as an airy laugh left his lips. The woman wasn’t as foolish as he had expected, at least; despite admitting in all but words she was enamoured with him, her shackles remained raised, certain she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Must be a woman’s intuition, Fyodor thought, remembering the looks he so often received from the fairer sex throughout his late adolescence and adult life. So many inviting smiles were thrown his way, only to morph into barely veiled jitters when he got close enough to touch. For all his years of manipulating the brightest of the brightest to have his way, Fyodor still hadn’t figured out how to lull women into unravelling themselves for him without promises of money - or some other stimulant - as reward.

“If I win I vow not to abuse my freedom, and will only ask for something of equivalent value to what I offer,” Fyodor proposed, lips relaxing in a smile he hoped Mary deemed trustworthy. “And if you feel I ask too much, you can deny me and I’ll give up my reward altogether. Does that sound fair, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary looked at him through lowered lashes and he could almost hear the gears turning in her head, lust and reason rotating in opposing directions in a struggle to decide.

“Fair enough,” Mary spoke at last, and placed her glass back on the coffee table. Her hand then moved to the chessboard and spun it around so the white pieces were close to her. “But I play white.”

Fyodor almost protested, but the smile Mary threw his way demanded enough endearment that he’d allow her this little bit of despotism just this once. 

He found he rather liked it.

---

To Fyodor’s surprise and satisfaction, Mary proved herself to be a worthy opponent. For the first time in years, Fyodor stood over a chessboard with furrowed eyebrows as he macerated the pad of his thumb between his teeth to the point he could taste iron on his tongue.

“Don’t do that. You’re hurting yourself.” 

Fyodor had just moved his knight when a hand seemed to appear out of nowhere and gently wrapped around his wrist to guide his thumb out of his mouth. Purple eyes narrowed, shooting up from the board to Mary, but his scowl melted into something almost benign at finding the woman hunched over the board, positively pouting. Her hand released his wrist, leaving an imprint of heat on his flesh despite not touching skin, and floated back to her, fingers twitching as they hovered over her pieces, debating their next move.

There was a brief knock on the doors before they opened and in walked Ivan, pulling Fyodor’s attention just in time to see the narrowing of his silver eyes as they fell on the back of Mary’s head. The glare disappeared as soon as it came, so when Mary turned around to greet the newcomer with a polite smile, he responded with an enormous grin and flamboyant mannerisms.

“I’ve come to check upon you, see if everything was alright,” Ivan announced as he stood behind Mary, silver eyes fixed on Fyodor with adoration. “It’s almost midnight.”

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she reached for the phone she had forgotten on the cushion by her side. “Oh my, there are twenty calls from Jane. I really should take this thing off silent mode.”

Fyodor’s jaw tightened as Mary’s focus shifted from their match to her phone. “Ivan,” he called with a firm voice that demanded to be the centre of attention again. “Please, let Doctor Shelley’s companions know she is safe and sound with me, and that we’re both occupied at the moment. Also, would you be so kind to have someone bring us something to eat? Something sugary would be best. I will have a drink as well. Vodka, chilled but no ice,” then he lowered his eyes back to the woman in front of him and smiled as he motioned to her empty glass. “Doctor Shelley, would you care for another?”

“Ah, I-”

“A gin for the lady, Ivan. Thank you.”

Ivan’s smile didn’t falter as he bowed his head. “Of course, I’ll have someone bring your drinks. As for sweets, I believe there are a few strawberry shortcakes in the fridge. Would that be to your liking?”

This time, Fyodor remained silent as he stared at Mary, giving her the illusion she had a say in this whole matter, that she could choose her treat in the way she couldn’t choose to refuse a drink. 

Mary’s eyes were glued to his and once again he noticed how her thighs rubbed together at his attention, leaving her phone forgotten by her side. Blushing, she craned her neck to glance at Ivan and nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Very well. Someone will bring everything here briefly,” Ivan said, moving his eyes back to Fyodor. “If you need me-”

“We will be fine,” Fyodor dismissed, purple eyes fixed on Mary as he gave her a smile that showed too many teeth. “I believe it’s your turn, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary nodded, turning her gaze to the chessboard. Her hand hovered while her brain readjusted to their match, reviewing the last rounds as it calculated the best moves she could make. It took her only a couple of seconds to review their entire game and make her move.

“Good,” Fyodor said, right hand rising to his lips out of habit, only to stop midway as he felt an intense stare on him. When he looked up, Mary was giving him a look that quickly morphed into a smile when he aborted the movement. He snorted and smiled back. “Worried about my delicate fingers?”

“You’re the one who said you have an anemic constitution,” Mary replied, eyes dropping back to the board. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself; it might take longer than usual to heal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fyodor said, letting his eyes move up and narrow slightly at finding Ivan remained still behind Mary, staring at him with a doll-like smile on his face and wide eyes. “Ivan, our drinks?”

“Oh, of course! My apologies,” the man said before bowing theatrically. “I’ll leave you to your match. Good night!”

Fyodor nodded as Mary turned back to Ivan, throwing a polite “Good night, Mr Goncharov”, before once more focusing her attention on their game, waiting for Fyodor to take his turn. He grinned, purple eyes fixed on her as he made his move, enjoying the way Mary’s lips pouted as she concentrated.

He really was having fun playing with her.

---

The game came to its inevitable conclusion hours later, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and the birds chirped outside the window. After a couple slices of strawberry shortcake and a few refills of vodka and gin, Fyodor let his body fall back on the sofa, smiling from ear to ear as he stared at the pouting woman in front of him.

“Check-mate, Doctor,” Fyodor purred, purple eyes darkening in satisfaction. 

Mary stared at the board for a couple more seconds, as if a solution to her defeat would present itself to her. But when none did, she sighed in acceptance as her forefinger gently laid down her king.

“Don’t beat yourself, Doctor. It was a splendid game; the best I had in years,” Fyodor commented.

“Thank you, Mr Dostoevsky. But your words don’t make defeat taste any less bitter.”

“I guess not,” Fyodor said. “Especially since I have to claim the spoils of my victory from you.”

Fyodor didn’t miss the glance Mary threw his way, clearly torn between enticed curiosity and rational diligence, clearly still wary that he hadn’t made his wants known before their game despite his guarantees. Those intelligent eyes clouded with lust made him lick his lips, and her breath hitched in response.

“I want… a kiss.”

Mary’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I promised to ask for something reasonable, didn’t I?” Fyodor mused. “What’s more fair than to ask for the very thing I offered?”

“But then… why did we play?” Mary asked, head dropped to the side.

“Well, I don’t feel like moving at the moment,” Fyodor said, letting his knees fall open as his eyes ran over the woman in front of him. “So, since you’re the one owing me a kiss, you come here and give it to me.”

Fyodor had never seen someone’s skin change colour so rapidly before, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bright red that bloomed all over the pale skin on Mary’s cheeks and neck. Without thinking, he brought his left thumb to his mouth, nibbling gently on the soft flesh as he regarded the woman with his own sort of unprofessional and improper interest.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said, eyeing the contour of his lips around his digit.

“Come and stop me,” he replied.

Mary swallowed his words with the same relish she swallowed her gin as she stood from the sofa, taking a moment to straighten the fabric of her pleated skirt, before walking towards him with soft, elegant steps. She came around the coffee table, sparing a glance at her toppled king before her eyes fell on his widespread knees and ran up his body until they reached his face. And while Fyodor was used to such appreciative looks, he didn’t expect the soft smile she gave him when their gazes crossed; it was usually at this moment that women stepped back from him, frightened by the intensity in his eyes.

Mary sat down by his left, so warm against the side of his body, and reached up with both hands to pull his thumb away from the abuse of his teeth. She brought his hand down to her chest to examine the damage, pouting when she saw the pad of his thumb was red and swollen, with a small laceration that had just barely crusted over and still threatened to bleed.

Fyodor watched her through half-lidded eyes, exhaling deeply when she glanced up at him. From such close-quarters he could make out the limits between the black of her pupils and the brown of her irises; just like he imagined, her pupils were dilated to extremes, wary of and eager for him. The red on her cheeks subsided, leaving a light pink colour in its place that enticed him to run his lips over the skin.

With a small quirk of her lips, Mary glanced back at his hand and shook her head at the damage on his thumb, before bringing it to her mouth to kiss the wound. The touch was soft as a rose’s petal but still knocked the breath out of Fyodor’s lungs. His warm breath gusted over the top of her head, then hitched as a soft, warm hand laid on his cheek.

“That was not what I had in mind when I asked for a kiss,” Fyodor spoke, smiling down at the woman. 

A chuckle escaped Mary and once again she gave him that soft look he was unfamiliar with. Before he could taunt her further, Mary tilted her head and guided his face down, letting her lips ghost over a corner of his mouth before moving to the other, soft and sweet. Hypnotised, Fyodor’s eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed into these teasing touches that, despite being feather-light in their delicacy, made heat rush in his veins like molten metal, erupting out of his heart to his cock and leaving a trail of feverish desire in his veins that demanded more. More contact, more kisses, more pressure.

Fyodor pushed forwards, folding his body over Mary as his hand reached out to grab the back of her neck, only to freeze mid-air as her cold air took the place of her warm flesh. Somewhere he heard an unholy sound, and only after he opened his dark purple yes to find startled brown staring back at him he noticed he was the source of it. He was growling.

In a fraction of a second, Fyodor wondered about the stage he had set for them. Had he misjudged her interest? Hadn’t he offered her enough drinks? How much did she need his help? How much did he need her and her companions? How far could he push? Was everyone in the house still asleep? If she screamed, would anyone come to help?

Brown eyes narrowed slightly and Fyodor swore he saw a glimpse of himself in them; of something aware, astute, and artful. It was there for a moment so short he wasn’t sure he had projected the connection, so before he could let his brain process it, he was once more being subjugated to that look. That nauseatingly soft look no one had ever given him before, and that he did not know what to do with.

Without words, Mary bent the rules of their game and took his turn from him, cancelled aggression with tenderness as she pushed him back against the sofa gently before swinging her leg over his lap to settle herself on his thighs, pulling a pleased hum from deep inside his chest. 

“May I?” Mary asked, hand playing with the flap of his ushanka hat.

Smiling, Fyodor nodded, and Mary pulled the hat off his head. The motion left his hair messy, drawing a giggle from her lips as she combed the knots away so gently he couldn’t help but shut his eyes and relax against the caresses. 

“Your hair is so soft,” Mary murmured, letting Fyodor smell the gin and strawberries on her breath. He felt her fingers dance on his face, collecting his long fringe to push it back and away from his features. “And you’re so beautiful.”

Fyodor’s eyes opened slightly, just enough so he could stare at the rosy lips hovering so close to his. His hands twitched by his sides, unsure where to go or how to touch. He was used to grabbing, pulling, bruising and scratching; not to soft lips or delicate touches dancing over his skin like her hands ghosted over the chess-pieces only minutes before.

Mary’s lips let out a delicious, trembling breath before moving towards him, avoiding his own mouth altogether to give a kiss on his cheek before moving to whisper into his ear: “You feel so tense. Relax.”

Easier said than done, Fyodor thought, turning his head to bury his nose in Mary’s long, black hair and breath in the scent of her shampoo - something citrusy and common that made him light-headed in a way he only felt when his anaemia got the best of him, causing him to black out and wake up stretched on a hospital bed, with an IV bag of O- blood connected to his arm. 

Still, he couldn’t possibly lose consciousness now, not with Mary’s warm body grounding him so sweetly, not with her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat between her legs trapping him against the sofa’s cushions in the best possible way. Gently, like everything she did, Mary finally laid her mouth over his, allowing a whimper to escape the back of her throat when he pressed against her, not as much as he would have liked, but enough to hold back the most violent aspects of his desires, for now.

At the contact, Fyodor’s passive hands took action, sneaking up Mary’s thighs and hips, before slipping under her blouse to rack his short nails over her naked back as he used his hold over her to press her heat harder against his cock. He half-expected her to pull back again, startled at his boldness, but Mary surprised him by letting out a delighted gasp as she tightened her grip on his hair and arched her back, pushing her breasts even more against his chest.

Fyodor took the opportunity and shoved his tongue inside her mouth, groaning as the taste of her invaded his senses. One of his hands danced over Mary’s skin, causing her to shudder as it tickled by her ribs before moving up to her-

“Oh, Dos! Are you in there? Why is the door locked?”

Nikolai’s happy-go-lucky voice breached the door’s barrier, causing Mary to pull back from their kiss, panting. Fyodor’s nails tensed over her skin before his hands relaxed again, dropping to her waist as he sighed and dropped his forehead against her collarbone.

“I guess your debt is paid, Doctor,” Fyodor spoke against her skin. “There’s work to be done.”

“Of course. I have my mission in a couple of hours as well,” Mary agreed as she pulled away to stand up on shaky legs. “It would be best if I got a couple some sleep before it.”

Fyodor glanced down at himself, at the wet spot on the crotch of his pants, and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes with a devil’s smirk. “Think you need a shower too?”

Mary blushed as she straightened her clothes in a modicum of decency. “I guess.”

Fyodor chuckled, but before he could tease her further, Nikolai’s loud voice invaded the room once more, making his eyes roll upwards in exasperation.

“Quiz time! How long until I force the door open? Two minutes? Two seconds?”

“I will leave you two alone,” Mary said. “Excuse me, Mr Dostoevsky.”

Fyodor nodded dismissively, but the look in his eyes was anything but uninterested. “I will see you later… Mary.”

The woman’s breath hitched at having her first name spoken with such heavy desire before she quickly made her escape, almost slamming against Nikolai when she unlocked the door.

“Good morning, Mr Gogol,” she said with a polite smile.

“Good morning, Mary!” He replied enthusiastically, pulling one of her hands to his lips. “What a treat to see your charming figure so early in the day! Don’t tell me Dos has summoned you at such ungodly hours to talk business?”

“Oh no, we were just having a match,” Mary said, pointing to the chessboard on the coffee table. “He wiped the floor with me.”

Nikolai took a few moments to examine the board and what he saw made him raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Looks like a tight match to me,” he said, before turning to Mary. “Next time you should invite me so I can cheer you on! Gods, what I wouldn’t give to watch Dos lose a game…”

Mary chuckled and opened her mouth, but Fyodor beat her to the punch. “You wanted to talk, Nikolai?” He called, smiling tightly at the other Russian. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

“Hmm, grumpy,” Nikolai whispered, sharing a conspiratory smile with Mary as he once again kissed the back of her hand. “Lovely to see you, my dear.”

“You too, Mr Gogol. Have a good one,” Mary said before walking away, throwing one last smile in Fyodor’s direction.

Nikolai waved at Mary’s back as she walked away, closing the door once she turned a corner.

“You know,” Nikolai began in Russian, spinning on his heels to face Fyodor. Both men smiled, but the emotions they showed were something dark, almost cruel. “I believe this is the first time I see a woman in a room alone with you leave without tears in her eyes.”

Feet planted on the floor and knees spread, unashamed of his hard-on or the wet spot on the fabric of his pants, Fyodor hummed a little song as he reached for his hat and adjusted it back on his head. Satisfied, he reached forward and grabbed Mary’s fallen king from the board.

“Honestly, my friend,” he said, bringing the piece to his smiling lips. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

[tayaminaka]

'S/O dies while giving birth to their daughter' with Kunikida Doppo, Dazai Osamu, Chuuya Nakahara and Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Kunikida Doppo

His dream of a perfect family was gone...along with you. He tried to pull himself together but as he saw your lifeless, cold body, tears started to streamed down his face. He fell on his knees, lowered his head so that his forehead was laying in the sheets. took your hand and held it as long as he cried into the sheets

Now he's on his own. He would try to stay with his daughter as long as possible but he knows that work won’t wait. He would mostly hire a nanny but if Naomi really insist he would let her babysit his daughter

In his free time he would mostly go for a walk with your daughter. He would go to the most beautiful places and try to tell your daughter something about the places, even if she doesn’t understand anything yet

It was only 6 a.m. when your daughter woke up. Laying in her cradle she reached up her hands everytime he passed by, a sign that she wants to be picked up. After he had done everything he wanted to do, he went to her cradle and finally picked her up, receiving a happy sound from her. He knew that she didn’t want to sleep so he decided to make a little morning walk with her.

„This is the Yamashita Park, here i met your mother the first time. This park was built...”

He stopped as he saw your daughter trying to reach down to some flowers. He got on his knees with your daughter in his arms, so that she could reach the flowers. With her fingers she lightly touched the flower, looking really excited. He smiled, after all she was just a little kid. These were your favorite flowers, he remembered. You would always stopped by them to simply look at them. Oh how your daughter reminds him of you right now. He looked at his watch, it was time to going home. With a slowly becoming heavy heart he stood up...

„...Let’s go Home. You didn’t even eat breakfast, it’s bad for your growing body.” he said trying to brush off the heavy feeling in his chest. Oh how he wished that you would be with him now.

If she gets older and ask him about her mother he would first say that she’s at a better place now but when she’s old enough he would tell her the full truth. They both would casually sit in the living room and he would tell her some stories about you two.

If she’s old enough he would also go to the cemetery with her. When she was little he went alone to your grave but now even if his heart becomes heavy by the thought of you, your daughter still deserves to visit you. Even if you aren’t alive anymore.

Dazai Osamu

As he heard about your dead, a strong feeling of emptiness grow in his chest. Time stood still for him. He didn’t hear the doctor, he didn’t hear the noises around him, he didn’t hear anything anymore. He was thrown back to reality as he felt Kunikida‘s hand on his shoulder,reminding him that his daughter needs him.

He would sit right beside you,place your already cold hand on his cheek, a small tear would fall down from his eye and he would ask only one question ‘What should I do?’ over and over again only to be greeted by a pitiful silence

After your dead he would stop with his suicide attempts. Of course he wanted to do suicide but the thought of your daughter stopped him everytime. He didn’t want that your daughter becomes an orphan, is all alone or even worse, ends up in the port mafia

At night he would let her sleep in his bed. He would look at her peaceful sleeping face, pet her head a little and pull her closer to his body. Oh how much she reminds him of you.

„Look...the Sunset...”

It was evening, the sun was slowly settling but it was still pleasantly warm. He was standing at the balcony with your daughter in his arms. A few minutes ago your daughter was peacefully playing in the living room with some plushies. Dazai was sitting right next to her on the floor while holding another plushy in his hand to play with her but as he looked out of the window, he saw the beautiful sunset. The idea of showing your daughter something new spread through his mind, so he quickly grabbed your daughter and went to the balcony. Looking at the peaceful sunset made his heart ache. Of course he was happy that his daughter was with him, of course he liked the sunset...but it felt like...something is missing...

„I wish...you would be here with me...”

A sad smile was on his face as he looked into the sky,...you were gone and nothing would bring you back. Your daughter yawned a little, she became sleepy. With that he was thrown back into reality. As he looked at her cute sleepy face he chuckled...

„Well...lets get you ready to sleep, shall we?”

With that he looked the last time at the sky and went back in with your daughter in his arms.

Even if she gets older she would still be his little sunshine in his darkness. Maybe because of her, he would finally find his meaning in life.

Chuuya Nakahara

Out of anger he punched the wall beside him. It was hard for him to restrain himself from destroying everything around him.He was angry. He was angry, that the doctors didn’t save you, that his dream of a happy family shattered, that life is so fucking unfair

But after a while his anger setteled and sorrow came. He cried over your corpse as he held you in his arms. He stroke your hair, called your name desperately and hugged your tightly in hope that you would wake up and hug him back...But it never happened

Now he was alone with your daughter. The first weeks were the worst for him. Your daughter would cry the whole night, sometimes even the whole day and he would try to calm her down, give her food or change her diapers but it seemed that nothing of that worked.After two weeks he snapped...

„What do you Want?!” he shouted

He sat down on his bed and covered his eyes with his hands. He tried everything already to calm her down but nothing worked. Everytime she calmed down he put her back in her cradle but as soon as he laid down to sleep at least a little she woke up and started to cry. He looked in the mirror in front of him. Dark circles were already under his eyes, due the lack of sleep. Your daughter cried in the background,with a loud sigh he stood up to pick her up. He started to go around in the room with her in his arms and she slowly calmed down. But instead of putting her back in her cradle, he put her next to him on the bed and covered her with a blanket. A few strands of his hair were in her hand as she slept peacefully beside him.

„Good Night, Little sweetheart.” He said and a little smile appeared on his tiered face as he gave her a little kiss on her forehead

After that night your daughter slept with him constantly. At some points he would sleep on the edge of the bed while your daughter would sleep in the middle in the form of a star. Even if she gets older, when she has a nightmare she would run to Chuuya’s bedroom to sleep there

At some points he would get very sad. This sadness usually comes when something big or beautiful happens, like the first steps or words of your daughter or simply a lovely evening with your daughter at the park. Everytime a small tear would fell down his cheek but he will simply brush it off, so nobody see it.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

On the outside he remained cold, ther was no reaction or emotion but on the inside something in him ached.

He went to you, placed his hand on your cheek and brushed it a little with his thumb. He bowed down to you and placed all last kiss on your lips before he left, promising a better world for your daughter

After your dead he would work much harder on his plan to create a better world for his daughter. Because of that he would let Sigma look after his daughter (He's the most trustful and adequate from them all)

But sometimes if he has some time he would play a little with your daughter. Maybe with some (rat) plushies or other toys but as she gets older the games would start to get mature and mature. At some evenings he would play chess with her while chatting about some philosophic questions about god or the meaning of life and death.

It was already past midnight when he got home. It was quite and peaceful. He entered the room where his daughter was sleeping. He went near to the cradle your daughter were laying in. She held a little grey rat plushy in her arm while the white on was laying right over her head. He corrected her blanket and started slowly pet her head. She was so small, so weak, so defencless, oh he will make sure that nobody ever lay a hand on her. A little smile appeared on his face as his daughter frowned in her sleep and turned around...

„Sleep well,little mouse.” he chuckles „Soon the world will be a better place.”

With that word he gave her a kiss on her forehead and left to get himself ready to sleep. He’s gonna make the world much better for himself, for your daughter, for everyone.

About the existence of your daughter would only knew five people (Nikolai Gogol, Sigma, Ivan Goncharov, Alexander Pushkin and himself) because of safety reasons and the possibility that your daughter becomes a part of his plans. After all, having a trump card in his hand is nothing bad...for him,...right ?

[fairyonfrost]

(FIC) A pretty complicated week // BSD

Title: A pretty complicated week

Rating: None, PG?

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoyevsky x Ivan Goncharov

Warnings: ;D Ohh those Russians

Summary: „Oh, I really like this cake!“, - Ivan baked for his new friends and really likes talking to them. There's just one problem: „I want my tea!“ - Fyodor is not amused.

#

It was a really wonderful day in the life of Ivan Goncharov. This day was even as beautiful, as these days before. Why; could you ask, because he was obviously kind of an hostage of the detective agency. But it didn't bother Ivan at all, he didn't even consider this. Around here, everbody was pretty interested and asked him many, many questions. Ivan was happy. They were interested in his personality and would sure like to get to know him better! Finally he would meet new friends. It wasn't like he wouldn't be satisfied with his other friends, but Ivan wanted to get to know the world!  

Gladly he provided them information to all their questions and only kept those things to himself, where he knew Fyodor wouldn't appreciate it, if he revealed them in front of others. Keeping secrets was one of his talents.

„Back to Dostoyevsky“, this nice and friendly young man turned back to him, „could you not probably tell us a bit more about his current activities?“, while the others seemed displeased. Ivan couldn't imagine why, so he decided to be extra friendly.

„Dostoyevsky-sama is probably at home now and maybe he's playing cello. I don't even know, because I didn't see him for some days. He might try to make his tea on his own and he thinks a lot. Maybe, if he notices that I'm gone, he might search me and pick me up from here. I don't even know, but he's actually a really kind one“, Ivan replied and received many blank stares.

„He won't pick you up“, responded another man with glasses and longer blonde hair slighly irritated. Obviously this conversation was really stressful for that poor guy. Maybe he didn't even like talking to strangers. Ivan couldn't understand that after all. That's why he needed to convince them all that Fyodor was a nice person, and himself too.

„Well, it's not a matter then. I may even stay here for a while. I could bake something for you all“, he suggested to brighten the mood. Some of these stares already lighted up, which suddenly also brought a smile to Ivans face.

Some minutes later, Ivan stood already in the kitchen and pursued his passion. He didn't only bake a cake, he also made tea and served it pretty nicely. He had never baked for so many people before, that's why he was pretty excited at the moment. Sadly, he couldn't buy any additional groceries before. But the workers of the Agency for sure not wanted to wait so long for their cake and that's why they didn't let him go. He could have made something really fancy, but to the given circumstances, he made a simple chocolate cake instead. But it wasn't even simple, because he knew how to bake it that it tasted really delicious. Having finally finished the cake, while you could already smell this sweet scent of cake everywhere, Ivan just knew that he could be friends with the others soon – because you could lead better conversations if you sat down together and ate cake. So he served everyone a piece of cake and sat down next to them.

„I really hope that you like my cake“, he said while smiling and taking also a piece of the cake, „if so, you can always visit me and Fyodor and I could make even better cake then“, he suggested to them, even if he wasn't so sure if Fyodor liked any guests. But maybe he would stop being so distempered and depressed if he had new friends. Ivan decided spontaneously, that his new friends could even be Fyodor's. They seemed at least interested and wanted to know a lot about Fyodor. Nevertheless they were somehow reserved. Maybe they were just very shy, but his words were serious.

„Nobody would visit Fyodor by choice“, he heard this one man say, that he considered at first as friendly and was a bit surprised at this point.

„Well yes, that's true. How did you guess that? Fyodor hasn't many friends. But he is really really kind, he's just not outgoing at all. If you're really interested to become friends with him, I might tell you more about him with pleasure“, he said and was a bit surprised that all those guys stared kinda... uncomprehending at him. What was the matter? Some people just didn't like to go outside and meet other's, so they probably just didn't have many friends. But Ivan didn't say anything, because atleast one of them seemed seriously interested.

A man with black hair and glasses pushed the others gently away and said with a smile:

„Yes, we're interested, so please, do tell us some more.“

Because of his reaction, the other guys didn't seem as negative as before and Ivan was sure that the ice was broken now. So he could surely talk a bit more about Fyodor at this point.

„Ah yes, and when he drinks his tea he puts, most of the time, only one piece of sugar in it. Unless he's in a bad mood. Then at least three. Oh, and I didn't tell you yet that he once composed a song only for me. It had a strange sound after all, but I really loved it anyway. If he's thinking about all these complicated things, he sometimes just falls asleep. I cover him with his fluffy blanket every time, but I don't think he ever noticed it. On bad hair days, he wears his hat. Well, as always actually. Okay, that doesn't make any sense. By all means he wouldn't leave his house without his hat. I'm convinced that he overthinks things way too much, but he needs this, otherwise he wouldn't be himself. At night he stays awake for a very long time and I never went to sleep later than him. But whenever he wakes up, I already made breakfast for him. Hmm...“, suddenly Ivan stopped because he noticed something and kept quiet for a moment. Not a second later, the blonde guy with the glasses dropped an irritated „That's enough“.

„Right. That's enough. You really should get to know Fyodor himself in person", Ivan replied euphoric, but anyway he noticed by now, that Fyodor had many days of breakfast without him. He probably might not appreciate that. He needed to contact him immediately. The members of the agency debated and he ate the rest of the cake, while he thought about how he could submit them this suggestion. Not far away from him he saw a telephone on the table. He took it and dialed clandestinely Fyodors number while the others still were kinda busy. Well, he could also surprise both of them, if they were too shy to make new friends!

#

It was a poisonous and terrible day in the life of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. And this day was even worse than the days before. Then meanwhile the kitchen burned halfway down, the clean laundry was nearly completely used and Fyodor couldn't find the instruction of this stupid washing machine, though he almost turned this whole apartment upside down, only resulting in a huge chaos. His rats also escaped and he didn't know where there holed up. To top it all, every drop of Vodka was gone. Of course this was that miserable Pushkin's fault. Malcontently he ate a canned soup due to the lack of other groceries. But he wouldn't leave the house because he couldn't find his Ushanka hat anymore. Unwillingly he wanted to admit, that these painful circumstances had something to do with the vanishing of a certain Goncharov. He didn't need a guy like that. Sometimes he even regretted, that he pushed him through this experiment to create an always happy human. All things got even worse because of that. And now, Ivan Goncharov was gone. As he probably never would leave him by choice, there was only one logical conclusion: Ivan must have had been kidnapped. Now, many new problems appeared. Fyodor wanted to think of a solution or a plan or he didn't even know because how could he even do this if there was not even decent food and he constantly drowned in this whole chaos!??

„PUSHKIN!“, he screamed loudly into the flat. Usually, Fyodor was always calm and thoughtful but by now, there was a state of emergency.

Not much later an always eating Pushkin looked into the chamber and dared to speak up with a timid „Yes?“, already knowing that he would be blamed for everything even if it was not any of his duties.

„Pushkin, I command you to search the instruction of the washing machine at once and that you order Pizza and buy some Vodka“, Fyodor summoned him and rubbed his temples. He could already sense a huge stress headache. Nevertheless, he couldn't allow himself any weakness in this miserable situation and he didn't allow that Pushkin neither.

„Yes, Dostoyevsky-sama!“, Pushkin replied what made Fyodor kinda satisfied, and disappeared.

Of course he would buy the vodka first and then stay there for a little longer – a fact that Fyodor considered as truth as he noticed he was alone after a while. As a result he was kinda nervous and began to bite his fingers, his bad habit. He stared kinda grumpy into the room and stayed still while he tried to meditate on things. But it didn't work because he barely slept last night – or because he didn't wear his Ushanka, that could also be possible. He wanted to look for it, but he felt truly miserable. Hopefully he wouldn't get sick. That would top all. How should he even survive this? As a poor and lonely man, left alone from the whole world, he sure would suffer endlessly. But then he remembered that Pushkin was supposed to be back at some point. And then, suddenly the phone rang.

The noise made Fyodor cringe. He had totally forgot this sound, then usually nobody ever dared to call him. This was kinda strange. Slowly he reached for the phone like it would be a dangerous animal or something. As he could read the unknown number on it, he went back. He didn't know this number and he didn't plan to answer the call. But maybe it was Pushkin or something even worse. It just didn't stop ringing. Damn, he should have installed a telephone responder. But when it didn't stop it might be something really important – this terrorized him immensely. And so Fyodor did the obviously unavoidable – he took the phone off and said at first... nothing.

#

Ivan looked sneakily at the others, while he noticed that someone took the call, the display had changed. Fast he let the phone disappear quite unnoticable under his long hair before he wispered a quiet „Master“ into it. Apparently, Fyodor was glad to hear his voice – atleast he didn't show any disapproval.

„Ah. Goncharov“, was the only thing Fyodor said. He totally would had crawled trough the phone cable if he could to call the responsible over the coals. But he couldn't. He didn't know from where and why Ivan had called him. It might be a fault to speak to him in general.

„I met some new friends!“, Ivan told him in an excited way and laughed. He just had to tell him. Even if he could notice the strict stares from the members of the Agency on him like stitches.

Fyodor felt a stitching somewhere else. What did here just happen? Did Goncharov trying him to say, that he had gone and would never come back? Was he really serious? Or was it just any trap? Probably someone planned to go against him again. He chewed nervously on his fingetips and murmured a quiet „Oh, is that so?“.

He couldn't avoid a little coldness in his voice. If the call would be recorded, this surely might be stacked against him. He thought about hanging up, but he needed Ivan back here. Immediately.

„Don't you believe it, Master? But it's the truth and they are very nice people“, Ivan said in a sickly sweet voice and drove Fyodor out of his mind. On the one hand, he was really happy, but on the other hand he was royally pissed.

„I don't care. I want my tea“, Fyodor said sulkily, because he really had have enough.

Ivan was meanwhile trying to get away from the members of the agency to avoid giving them the phone back. In spite of all he smiled happily due to the words of his master.

„I suppose he doesn't consider to speak with you at the moment“, he said to the people and lauhed.

„Ivan...“, Fyodor said now with a more dangerous undertone.

Meanwhile, there was chaos around of him and Ivan didn't even know why. He only has had well intentions for both of them. But he was sure, that Fyodor intended that he came back which made him somehow happy. The members of the agency finally held him down and grabbed the phone. But Fyodor hanged up already , because a little panic came over him. Ivan couldn't understand that at all. There was now a big smile on his face. Fyodor would coming to pick him up after all. But maybe things were different, as somebody came to him.

„Would you do your new friends a little favor?“, the young man, who talked at first to him asked him now, friendly.

Ivan crooked his head confused and he suddenly noticed the bandages the guy in front of him was wearing. NOW he knew, why he looked like a pleasant person at first.

„Yes, of course I could do that“, he said and smiled back.

„You can eat cake with us more than once, if you want, and we could bake something for you the next time too, just under one condition: we demand that you don't talk about anything that happenend here. Agreed?“, he put his claim and Ivan looked at him with big eyes while his collegues where also surprised.

„You would...bake something for... me!??“, he asked amazed and was really overwhelmed. Nobody ever made him an offer like this yet. Ivan cried tears of joy, because he couldn't truly believe it. How kind was this even? He needed a moment, until he gained his words back but first he hugged all of those present.

„This is so kind. And I promise. I won't absolutely tell anything“, he promised and twinkled.

„Okay, you can go home then to your Master – he waits for his tea“, said the detective and winked at him.

„Yeah, he sure does“, Ivan said quietly, still a little bit confused and finally stood up.

„See you next time!“, the detective said goodbye friendly, before the other blonde guy came to him while shouting and beated the crap out of him. But Ivan didn't care then he had met new friends and he had to make Fyodor's tea immediately. So went through the door, while he could hear „Hey! He won't say anything he doesn't think like a bad guy!“, in the background as he left the house. Yes, that was true, he wasn't a bad guy and so he was still smiling as he finally came home.

#

There Fyodor already waited for him, while being quite mad. What was the point with those new friends? He also was scared that they now had the possibilities to find where he lived. Hopefully  this didn't ever happen. Probably not. But he still panicked somehow.

„Ivan“, he said angrily, as the latter entered the house, „are you alone?“

„Of course, Master! You didn't want to talk to them though. If you want, I will make you now Your tea!“, Goncharov said fucking friendly as always and Fyodor took a deep breath. He tried to convince himself that everything was as usual again. He leand back into the chair and waited for his tea. Fyodor watched his subordinate in a sceptic way, as he finally came back with a tea service but everything seemed ordinary. Probably it was though.

„Your tea, Dostoyevsky-sama. Prepared with love~“, Ivan said gently and put the tablet near Fyodor on a little table.

„Thanks, Ivan“, Fyodor said briefly, until something came to his mind, that's why he added a „...wait“.

Goncharov stood still and looked him in the eyes, responding with an eagerly sounding „Yeeees?“

„I truly hope, that you didn't tell your „new friends“ anything about me“, he said with a lightly dangerous sounding voice.

„Uhm...well... I didn't tell nothing but in no case anything bad or anything that could you-“, Ivan tried to get out of this but Fyodor lost his patience. Was that even possible? He stood up and and stepped up to Ivan with his hands on his hips to appear taller, though he was actually smaller than Goncharov. With those smile onto his face he almost seemed, like he would laugh at him, so Fyodor  adjusted his hat and tried so stay calm, while he stared kinda cold and expressionless at him.

„Please don't be mad, Master, drink Your tea, before it gets cold“, replied Ivan gladly and gave him demonstratively the cup. Fyodor was so mad at first that he almost slapped the cup out of his hands, but as the other one just smiled at him, he just couldn't stay mad anymore. Which kind of person was that Ivan, Fyodor wondered sometimes. Until he remembered the issue with the operation and he wasn't so sure anymore, if he should have ever made it happen. Then from time to time...it cracked him up.

Absentmindedly he ran his fingers through his hair, before he gave up, took the cup of tea in his hands and took a sip from it. Actually, he just wanted Goncharov to be back and serving him his tea and doing the housework. Still this one question didn't get out of his mind. And Ivan would have probably answered him if he wouldn't have intimidated him. Due to this he tried to solve this situation differently.

„I'm not mad at you“, he murmured lastly and tried to stay calm. After a few sips of tea he already felt better, „but I expect, that you tell me what you've told them, Ivan“, he tried again after all.  

„Uhm, Master... is this really necessary?“, Ivan sad at last and for a short moment Fyodor could feel his madness coming back, but he didn't want to show his feelings this time.

„Yes, it is. Tell me“, he commanded shortly.

„„Well. I'm just not so sure, if you'd actually like to know it“, Ivan said a bit subdued. He already started to clean the room, because he felt awkward. Fyodor watched this confused, but he was still irritated. Sometimes he really had the impression, that Goncharov made fun out of him.

„I WANT to know it. Why would I even ask then?“, he replied impatiently and rubbed his temples.

„Well then... I will tell You“, Ivan said hesistant, while he just put something away. Fyodor made an impatient gesture and wondered at last truly, if Goncharov didn't let out any private information, because he kept acting like that. But what he heard then, let Fyodor speechless. At first he wanted to add the question, with whom Goncharov talked, but due to the words of his subordinate he totally forgot. Ivan reported, that he talked about his eating and drinking habits, from his hat that he always wore and that he once had composed a song for him. This wasn't actually true, but Fyodor let Ivan believe it. He just was surprised, that Ivan could remember. When he talked about, that he believed Fyodor would overthink things to much he frowned and as Ivan mentioned in the end, that he always covered him with a blanked, he suddenly blushed. Somehow confused how he should answer, he looked at him. But in the end he was just relieved, that Ivan didn't reveal any information about their  organisation. But  all theses moments were really private, told from a person who watched him everyday with a smile...

„Th-thank you, Ivan...“, Fyodor stumbled quite overcharged and didn't even know what to do in this moment, as he suddenly felt a wellknown and warm touch on his head, as Ivan suddenly put on his Ushanka hat and replied: „You're welcome, Master“, while smiling.

„You found it!“, Fyodor said and suddenly, all his bad mood was like vanished and a honest smile came to his face. Ivan smiled with him and for a really rare moment they were in united harmony.

„Yes. Everything will be fine, Master“, Ivan said and gently laid his hand onto Fyodors arm. Fyodor pulled is arm back first, but before Ivan could retreat, he grabbed his hand.

„Of course it will. If you eliminate the chaos in the kitchen, clean the dust, catch all the rats, clean up in general, done the laundry, cook dinner for Pushkin and me, then it'll be fine,“, Fyodor said while smirking and finally let Ivan's Hand go.

„YES, Master!“, Goncharov replied with a determination, that pleased him and got started at once. Fyodor sat down into his chair again and watched him while cleaning. He almost distracted him so much while preparing his new plan, due to his frantically work. He never saw him work this fast before. Maybe he did expect something from it? Fyodor crooked his head thoughtful. Truly weird, this Goncharov. But what would he only do without him? A little smile came onto his lips and he sighed content. Luckily, he was back and strange enough this really terrible morning  turned out to be a really beautiful day at last.

[chuuyasuggestions]

Checkmate

It takes a few minutes of thrashing about, the fear cutting deep enough to choke him of coherency before Dazai makes him look, really makes him look him in the eye. 

That’s all it takes. 

Ivan Goncharov is good, but he’s not this good, couldn’t in a hundred thousand years replicate the light in Dazai’s eyes at seeing Chuuya again, even if he’s a mess, even if he looks like he’s been dragged to hell and back he still looks at him like he’s the world held in his arms. 

His name is on Chuuya’s lips immediately, not with the same terror or heartbreak as before. Relief floods his system, the first time in hours, days. It makes his already compromised mind tilt on it’s axis, a desire to shut down now that he’s safe he’s safe but the tears flow free first, the chains come away and then he’s a limp doll in Dazai’s arms. His vision darkens and lightens periodically, he can hear their voices - Dazai’s and Fitzgerald’s - and snatches of conversation but he can’t make his brain follow it. He blacks out completely being airlifted out, but he comes back enough when they land that he gets a precious second to whisper in Dazai’s ear.

“Don’t...don’t let...Atsushi or Kyouka...see me like this...” he gets out through his abused throat. Dazai squeezes his arm, lips against his forehead and that’s all he needs for reassurance before he’s slipping under again. He wakes again when Dazai brings him to a hospital bed, belatedly realizing that he’s at the Agency. Dazai doesn’t let him lay down on his own, he cradles Chuuya’s head in his lap, holding him for some reason he doesn’t fully understand right away. There’s a quick exchange of words between Dazai and a female voice, Chuuya can hear the tenseness in his husband’s voice, feel it in his form. He takes his hand firmly, gives it a reassuring squeeze while smoothing back the hair from his forehead and then the pain comes. 

It’s localized in his chest, intense but somehow more bearable than the pain Dostoyevsky’s subjected him to. Lungs contract and squeeze, heart ruptures, blood flows from around the knife to add to the gorey tapestry already painting his clothes. It stops all pain from before, and gradually he realizes it’s because his blood is slowing in his veins, his heart sluggishly pumping, pulse weakening, skin growing cold. His last flash of thought before slipping under (oh, the doctor, that’s right) is his only reassurance that he’s not being allowed to die. 

He wakes up a couple days later.

He’s still weak, but major and minor wounds alike are gone. His hair and skin have been washed free of all trace of blood and filth. He feels like he could sleep for another week or so but he’s tired of being confined to darkness.

When Chuuya glances to his side, he finds Dazai wedged in beside him on the hospital bed. He hates that the sight of him brings back tortures from the Rats but he suppresses the urge to jerk away. He won’t let them have this, he won’t let them take Dazai from him like that.

Instead he slips under his arm, snuggling in tight against his chest to listen to him breathe. He’s missed it dearly, just existing in the same space, so he closes his eyes and listens, allows himself to drift back off, this time in his proper place. 

He doesn’t know anything about kings or queens or knights or pawns, or any of the games they play. He just knows that his spot has always been here next to Dazai, and that it’s going to take several more moves from an opponent to change that.