I lwk just realized Fyodor might act like Dracula from castlevania if hes actually in love with someone...
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If yall don't know, Dracula literally hated humans and loved his human wife so much despite being a vampire. He loved her because she wanted to know science, (this is set in the 1400's), meaning he saw her different from other humans (selfish beings). When they burned her alive for suspicion of being a witch, he planned to kill the whole human population in revenge for her.
You cannot tell me this doesnt remind you of how fyodor could act with someone he actually loves.
How do you think fyodor Dostoyevsky would be like with a darling with veryyy long hair like past her tailbone. Preferably darker hair I feel like he would want to run his hands against it yet it would take him awhile to even do the action👀👀
Fyodor is that type of person who notices every little detal about a human. your long beautiful hair will rather catch his eyes. he will compliment your hair often at start of relationship. then when he will slowly warm up more in relationship he will start touching it.
Fyodor adores long, shiny hair. especially very long. whenever he has time to sit next you he plays with the piece of your hair while having your head on his chest. also important to mention hes very good at braiding hair, fishtail, french, dutch, halo. you just mention, he can do any you want.
You find them in your coat pockets, tucked between the pages of books, slipped into your bag when you’re not looking.
Some are teasing.
“I saw you looking at me earlier. Falling for me already, bella?”
Some are poetic.
“If I leave before you wake, don’t think of it as me disappearing—think of it as me waiting for you in another moment.”
And some—the rare ones—are real.
A napkin from the café you both love, with only five words scribbled in his elegant handwriting:
“You make the world bearable.”
You never bring them up.
And neither does he.
Because Dazai will never say these things aloud.
But he knows you find them. He knows you keep them.
And that—that is enough for him.
💌 Chuuya Nakahara – What I Can’t Say Out Loud
Chuuya doesn’t write notes often.
But when he does—you keep every single one.
They’re never long, never dramatic—just small things, things he wouldn’t say aloud but still wants you to know.
Tucked inside your wallet:
“Buy yourself something nice. And don’t argue.”
Slipped under your coffee cup in the morning:
“You didn’t sleep well, did you? Take it easy today.”
And sometimes—the ones that mean the most.
Left beside your pillow when he has to leave for a mission before you wake up:
“I’ll be back soon. Be safe. I love you.”
(That one, you keep in your nightstand.)
Because Chuuya doesn’t say these things often.
But when he does—he means them.
💌 Fyodor Dostoevsky – Messages in Riddles and Ruin
Fyodor does not leave notes.
He leaves challenges.
You find them in the books he lends you—passages underlined, cryptic quotes with no explanation.
“Is it possible to love and still be cruel?”
“To know someone is to destroy them. Do you agree?”
Sometimes, it’s a chess move written on a torn scrap of paper, left on your desk, as if waiting for you to make the next move.
But one night—you find something different.
A letter, folded neatly, hidden under your pillow.
Not a riddle. Not a test.
Just one line.
“I will never ask you to stay, but I will always wonder if you will.”
And suddenly—you realize that even Fyodor Dostoevsky has things he is afraid to say.
💌 Nikolai Gogol – Do You Know the Magic Word?
Nikolai’s notes are pure chaos.
Scattered everywhere—on the fridge, in your shoes, attached to the ceiling somehow.
“What do you mean this isn’t the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you?”
“If I disappeared tomorrow, would you miss me? Trick question, I already know the answer. (You totally would.)”
“Do you know the magic words? (Hint: it’s ‘please give Nikolai a kiss.’)”
But then—there’s one that’s different.
No jokes. No games.
Just a single note, folded small, hidden in the sleeve of your coat.
“I know I make it hard to tell, but you are the only thing I’ve ever been afraid of losing.”
And for once—Nikolai does not ask you if you found it.
💌 Sigma – I Hope You Find This
Sigma’s notes are careful.
Neatly written, placed somewhere he knows you’ll find them but never where you expect.
Inside your favorite book:
“I noticed you like reading this before bed. Sweet dreams.”
Tucked into your luggage before a long trip:
“If you get anxious, just remember—I’m waiting for you to come back.”
And once—one that makes your breath catch.
A note he must have written long before he had the courage to give it to you, one that somehow ended up between the pages of an old journal:
“I think I love you. I don’t know if I should.”
When you ask him about it, his face flushes, his hands gripping his sleeves.
“You… weren’t supposed to find that one.”
But you’re smiling.
Because you did.
And maybe, deep down, he wanted you to.
💌 Ryunosuke Akutagawa – Words Are Not Easy for Me
Akutagawa does not know how to express himself.
So when you start finding his notes, you’re shocked.
A folded scrap of paper slipped into your bag before a mission:
“Be careful. Don’t be reckless.”
A small card tucked between the pages of a book he gave you:
“I don’t know what you like, so I chose something I thought was good. Let me know if I was wrong.”
A short letter, written in careful, deliberate strokes, as if he spent too long trying to make it perfect.
“I don’t understand why you stay. But I am trying to. I don’t know how to say this in person, but I… care for you. Even if I don’t always show it.”
(That one, you hold onto the longest.)
Because for Akutagawa, love is not spoken.
It is written.
In stiff, uncertain words.
In quiet, careful notes.
In ways he will never say aloud, but hope you understand anyway.
💌 Ranpo Edogawa – If You Need Proof, Here It Is.
Ranpo’s notes are ridiculous.
Written in crayon, scribbled on candy wrappers, left in your pocket when you aren’t looking.
“If you’re reading this, you owe me a snack.”
“I’m a genius, and you love me. What a great combination!”
“I know you miss me right now. Even if I’m in the same room. (Admit it.)”
But then—a different one.
Taped to the corner of your mirror, written more neatly than usual.
“I never write things down when I don’t have to. But sometimes, I like to remind you that you matter to me. Even though you already knew that, didn’t you?”
And when you ask him about it, he just grins, stealing a bite of your snack.
“What, you wanted me to say it in person? Too bad, I already wrote it down.”
But later—when he leans against you, his head resting on your shoulder—
You hear him mutter, “Just so you know… I meant it.”
There’s something so endearing about the little notes left behind—playful scribbles tucked between pages, heartfelt words slipped into coat pockets, a simple “thinking of you” on a post-it by the coffee cup. Love doesn’t always need grand gestures; sometimes, it’s found in ink-stained fingertips and the quiet reassurance of I am here, I love you, I remember you. The smallest acts of love are often the greatest, not because of their size, but because of the thought woven into them—the gentle proof that someone’s heart lingers with you, even when they’re not there. ♡
I will be looking forward to read this year's short Valentine's Day fanfics/headcanons written about the man of my dreams, the love of my life, my other half Fyodor. 🥹
My insatiability and desperation truly sickens me.
Hello my friend, can you help me build a new hope? Please donate to me. Please, my children are dying of cold in these difficult circumstances. I do not want Gaza to become my graveyard.
I'll share the message but I'm not in the financial situation to donate.
If you can donate, donate! If you can't, share the message y'all!
Imagine Chrollo stretching out innocent!virgin!reader before he fucks her for the first time.
He’d start with kneeling between your legs and spreading pussy open with one hand, the other using his pointer finger to give your clit a teasing rub while he muses at how wet you are.
“Don’t worry darling, I’ll treat you gently. Gotta stretch this pretty little cunt a bit before I make you mine,” he’d say, two fingers scissoring inside of you.
“That’s it, Princess. Breathe through it. Good girl.” Fuck, the way he’d praise you for being so good and letting him prep you.
He’d finish with three fingers finally. “I think you’re ready for me, sweet girl. Think you can take it?” He’d take his aching, hard cock out, teasingly putting the tip against your entrance, giving you a taste of the stretch to come.
⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️
Jesus Christ plz send me requests for nsfw Chrollo stuff my thirst is unquenchable 😩
So, you couldn't sleep. Nothing to be worried about, it happens, especially on Christmas Eve. Even if you weren't particularly excited about the upcoming festivities, you still found yourself buzzing with energy. Unable to calm this feeling on your own, you decided to turn to Fyodor, and the substance he was drinking: tea.
"Hey, babe?" You asked, approaching him where he sat in the living room. "Can I have some tea too?"
"Of course!" Fyodor agreed, quite enthusiastically. After spouting some Russian gibberish you only partially understood, he stood up, headed to the kitchen, and returned a few moments later with a piping hot cup of tea. "Here you go, my dear, it's chamomile. It will help you sleep."
"Thank you," You smiled, taking the cup from him and sipping from it. The tea was hot, not hot enough to burn you, but hot enough to warm your body from the throat down to the stomach. It also smelled sweet and relaxing, like a gentle perfume. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought it was a magic potion. There was no way normal chamomile tea could have such an effect on you...was there?
"Before you ask," Fyodor began, somehow reading your mind. "No, I did not put anything in it."
"You sure?" You chuckled, leaning your head against his shoulder and just basking in his warmth. "Cause I'm starting to feel really warm and fuzzy inside."
"I believe that is just drowsiness, darling," Fyodor told you, patting your head gently. "Either that, or I still give you the...ah, what are they called? Vutter...putter...butterflies, yes, butterflies."
"Yeah, guess so," You agreed, taking another long sip that only added to your sleepiness. You sighed in contentment, feeling Fyodor throw an arm around you, pulling you closer towards him. He pressed a kiss to your forehead while you chugged down another gulp of tea. That third drink would be your last for the night, it seemed, as the second the liquid went down your throat, you felt your eyelids grow heavier than before, and though you struggled to keep them open, you eventually gave up and succumbed to sleep. Finally.
"Sweet dreams, my love," Fyodor whispered, once he was sure you'd fallen asleep. After gently prying the teacup from your fingers and placing it on the table, the Russian lifted you and carried you back to your bed, laying you onto the mattress, and with some difficulty, managing to get you under the covers. Smiling at your peaceful, sleeping state, Fyodor attacked your face with a couple more kisses, before planting a final one on your lips, drawing the covers up as he did so.
"Goodnight," He mumbled again, brushing some of your hair away from your forehead before silently creeping out of the bedroom.
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