#yandere bsd

[n0cturnalcm]

The Two-faced Secretary.

[lavandulawrites]

When you try to escape, but this is your yandere…

Good luck ig…?

We need to talk about how fine this man is

[lvv-zcs]

Bsd x reader fanfics that I like :3 (I'm referring to the reader as they/them because I'm more comfortable that way)

red = suggestive orange = smut

YANDERE

bittersweet | Fyodor

A certain husband has been negligecting his wife, and he doesn't like it when she gets too close to their gardener.

get free | Nikolai (Fyodor x reader in bad ending) / series

Nikolai has been admitted to a asylum, falling in love with his psychiatrist and decides to make them break up with their husband.

yandere Dazai hcs (?)

Self explanatory

—

the weight of silk and silence | Fyodor

Fyodor hadn't meant to hurt you, but now he's realized what he's missed. Now, he's trying to get you back, as a proper husband.

paper vows | Fyodor

Fyodor hadn't meant to hurt you, but now he's realized what he's missed. Now, he's trying to get you back, as a proper husband. (Softer version)

morning after, marked in love | Soukoku x reader (morning after sex)

Self explanatory

making out with them | Soukoku x reader

Self explanatory

watcha' readin? | multiple BSD

BSD men find them reading erotic books, decided to make their fantasies true rather than words on pages.

haunted | Fyodor

Demon Fyodor (literally), fell in love with the house maid. Now, with a little spell, he decided to corrupt this angel.

trash sugar magic | Nikolai (multi chapter/series)

He's been tasked to kidnap them, for the sake of money and his job after Fyodor "died", he hadn't intended falling in love with their normalcy.

talk sweet to me | Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo and Akutagawa

A yapper, suddenly quiets down because they didn't want to seem too annoying. How does the bsd men react?

kiss and make up | Dazai

Out of pure jealousy, they decided to punish Dazai by not making him kiss them for fourteen days for flirting with a woman that isn't them.

second day | Dazai

It's their second day in ADA and it's already Dazai's decision to turn his full attention to rhem.

fyodor with a self harming reader

Contains: self harm, depressing themes. Self explanatory

your password is WHAT?! | Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo & Jouno (separate)

Bsd men find out their passwords on different media and securities are... their names?

drunk dazed | Dazai

Dazai came home drunk, and feeling extremely needy.

wait– you were serious?! | Dazai

They planned to confess to him for three weeks, and the day on the confession, Dazai thought they were joking.

wine red | Dazai, Chuuya (seperate)

The way they prefer their alcohol, with you.

gravity's hollow embrace | Chuuya

Contains: Body horror. Arahabaki seems to want more than Chuuya, the wretched thing living inside him as 'it' decided on them.

we can fuck about it later, if you want | Dazai

Contains: Mature themes. Couples fight all the time, yet they accidentally took a step too far and caused a three weeks rift between them

hooked | Chuuya

Chuuya teaches them how to pool, then he gets bored and decided to take things on the more fun side

you feel asleep on me again | Fyodor, Rampo (seperate)

Self explanatory (1k special)

you're not just pitying me? | 15zai

Contains: self harm (it's dazai.) Living in a storage container isn't exactly the most comfiest of places, so it's natural he feels wrong when he enters a place that feels comfortable.

Will update

All rights reserved to the authors and creators of these fanfics. I am in no way claiming their work as mine lmk if your work is in here and you want me to remove it :3

[kaggimeat]

yandere dazai + psychologist reader

dazai who gives therapy a try, reluctant and skeptical at first, only to find out it’s not as awful as he had expected

dazai who struggles with opening up, cracking jokes and making light of serious topics with practiced ease, skillfully ignoring your silly attempts to get through to him

dazai who, after many, many sessions, comes to find that you’re surprisingly easy to talk to. the conversations flow naturally, you don’t try to placate him with empty promises of a better tomorrow, nor do you display the clinical coldness he’d anticipated

dazai who believes you’re the only person who truly understands him. you understand the deep-rooted hollowness that’ll never go away, maybe even more so than he understands it himself. you don’t try to force him to participate in the mundane everyday activities, you don’t feed him pretty little lies to try and convince him about life’s supposed beauty—you simply listen and accept him as he is

dazai who can feel himself gradually sinking into the comfort of your quiet presence. there is just something about you—and not just the fact that you listen to him "whine"—that’s pulling him in like a black hole. it’s almost like he looks up to you in a way, perceiving you as he would a silent guardian angel

dazai who gets all cranky and sulky because, what do you mean he has to wait almost three months for another appointment? these bothersome moods are accompanied by a gnawing feeling that dazai refuses to acknowledge out loud—he can try to convince himself that jealousy is beneath him all he wants, but he can’t ignore the ever growing sense of irritation at the thought of you tending to someone else. your attention should be on him

dazai who just so happens to start showing up everywhere—his presence outside of your office is terrifyingly soundless, and you’re blissfully unaware about him lingering out there, listening in to the conversations you’re having with your other clients. neither do you notice him when he trails behind you after your shift ends, his steps stealthy and cautious like a stray cat’s as he spectates your day-to-day life. it’s only fair he knows a little bit about you when you know so much about him, right?

dazai who learns exactly how your brain functions, and effortlessly shifts the conversation during the appointments to you, disguising his sudden interest in your personality and private life as nothing more than innocent curiosity—getting you to willingly talk about yourself is so much more rewarding than just stalking after you in the dark

dazai who isn’t stupid enough to even entertain the idea that you feel the same way about him. helping people like him, making the lost causes of this world feel seen and safe, must be nothing more than a job to you. dazai is just another patient amongst dozen others. but to him, you’re the sole reason his thoughts aren’t filled with mud all day

dazai who just might "borrow" the files in your office, flipping through the pages with disdain as he reads about the other patients. he pays the more troublesome ones a little visit to make sure you won’t be as busy with them anymore. after all, the less clients you have, the more time and energy you have for him, and that’s how it should be

dazai who doesn’t care that your feelings towards him are most likely strictly professional. all you have to do is be there, accept him each time he visits, let him bask in the feeling of being understood, make him feel like he’s the only one that matters during these fleeting appointments

...though, undeniably, it would be nice to have you return his so called love, but he’s capable of settling for what he currently has... for now

dazai who realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to get better—in fact, he’ll gladly get worse, as long as it means he gets to see you again and again and again. he’s finally obtained something worth keeping, and there is no way he’s allowing himself to lose it

[crazylazydaizzzy]

Russian roulette

pairing: Yandere Husband!Dazai x wife!reader

Your husband has his own unique ways of making you prove your loyalty to him

tags: yandere ⋮⋮ toxic behaviour ⋮⋮ controlling behaviour ⋮⋮ russian roulette! ⋮⋮ use of fear ⋮⋮ married couple ⋮⋮ intimidation ⋮⋮ use of gun ⋮⋮ drabble ⋮⋮ mwah mwahhh to my dazai

a/n: am i considered crazy if i like this version of dazai? (╥ ᴗ ╥)

“Welcome home, baby” Dazai is ready at the door the instant you step inside, having heard your heartbeat a few moments before your palm wrapped around the doorhandle, even. His melodic voice carries from the seat he has positioned in the hallway just for him to sit on and wait for your safe return.

With one leg over the other, one arm crossed over his chest, the other propped on it. Resting his chin in his hand, he eyes you up and down.

“Hi, Zai” You turn to set the box in your hand down by the shoe rack, feeling your skin prick all over from his studying gaze.

“So, have you been a good little wife today?” He asks, the amusement in his tone evident. You stiffen, your movements slowing down for a beat before you turn back to face him, a smile plastered on your face.

“Of course I have”

“Sure about that?” He unfolds to his full height, towering over you as you pass by him. “What about the man you were giggling so happily with a few moments ago?” You didn’t think he heard you talking to the delivery man in the apartment complex – didn’t think he could spot your heartbeat from that distance

Slowly turning to look at him over your head, you narrow your eyes at him before letting out a huff of a breathless chuckle. “Dazai, that was the delivery man. I just thanked him.” You quickly make your way to the bedroom, avoiding any potential arguments he might want to raise.

Dazai, however, had other plans planned for you tonight.

Following after you, he closes the bedroom door behind him, leaning his back on it.

“I think its time we have a confessional, sweetheart”

Eating up the space between you with two long strides, he looks down at you once again, crowding you in with his height. “Hop on. I missed my loyal wife.” He nearly purrs.

You get on the bed, obeying silently while he reaches for the gun inthe bottom drawer of your bedside table.

Sitting with your back to the headboard, he looms over you, one hand on your head, gently stroking down your hair. One stroke after the other, his petting morphs into something rougher, until he has his fingers tangled up into your hair, tugging at it and forcing your head back.

“There. I like this angle better” He leans down once hes satisfied having your eyes on him, pressing his lips to your jaw – one soft and slow kiss branding you to him.

“Now, you know the rules of this game. Confess all the wrong things you’ve done today, and this game will be over” His tone lightens, as if reassuring. The bed dips lower where he sits opposite of you, the gun in his hand.

“Dazai, I haven’t done anythin-”

Click.

He lowers his gun, waving it casually around as he speaks. Your breath hitches, heart racing as you swallow the lump forming in your throat. “Pretty little liar, I can practically feel your heartbeat fluttering like a trapped hummingbird from over here. Spill it, baby”

“I told you I was just being polite to the delivery man. Want me to scowl at him next time?” Your tone has gotten more airy, more breathless and unsure despite you knowing you did nothing wrong. Nothing criminal like he’s making it out to be.

The gun kept spinning around his finger, the motion equally as hypnotizing as it is terrifying. Back and fourth. Spinning and spinning, over and over again, just as the room around you started to spin faster and faster.

“Dazai, please… can we stop now?”

He clicks his tongue, blinking slowly at you, that same degrading smile playing on his lips. “Not until you confess all of your sins for today” he spins the gun around his index finger, the movement so carefree and casual before he flicks its head towards you. “Go on. I want to hear you say it”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, your lower lips quiver instead. “I-I… Dazai, please. I’m bored of this game, can you please stop this?” You try and coax, the inner corners of your eyebrows pinching inwards, biting down on your lip to stop it from trembling.

“Hmmmmmmmm.” He drags out, tilting his head slightly to the side, eyes trailing slowly down to your lips. “Wrong answer”

Click.

“What did I say about talking to others?” In an instant, hes lurching forward, pressing your back til it kisses the headboard. He points the gun between his fingers at your chest. Slowly, agonizingly slow, he trails the gun lower, over the dip between your breasts, stopping only an inch below it.

“Yes! yes! Im sorry! I smiled at the delivery man, and I shook the hand of my superior at work. I-I.. a man bumped into me. My shoulder brushed his. Please have it in you to forgive me” The ‘confessions’ spill from your parted lips, eyes squeezed shut, body taut like a bowstring as you profess your major sins for him to judge.

Seeming to be somewhat pleased with your honesty – proving your loyalty to him – he sucks in a breath. Leaning in closer, his lips graze your ears. “You’re lucky you’re cute”

Pulling away slowly with a sickeningly sweet smile softening his features, he carelessly tosses the gun onto the bedside table, his attention fully on you.

“Now, shall we eat, my beautiful wife?”

°❀.࿔ reblogs are very appreciated! COMMENTS TOO! i love hearing your opinons guysss

♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡ aloha to: @xhslvt @xiyizhouswife @hartistasinombre @melancholicreaper @nightmarenyxx @sleazysaltedcat @defenestratehumanity @shhhhiamreading @totallynotashieldagent @vyxeen @hartistasinombre @angeliure-0 @septembermoonchild @1isabelfox (want to be tagged for spesific fandoms only? Do tell me!!)

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Platonic Isekai Thoughts

Thinking about the usual isekai fantasy accept your not a noble’s beloved or neglected babe. Turns out you're the sibling to a poor awful human being in an awful financial situation. That or your dear cousin that you’ve been raised to grow up with is a violent psychopathic freak that’s going to wreak havoc on the world you loved in your past life. 

“Open wide little (Y/n)! Ah such a good appetite!”

They’re cheery smile and adoring gaze makes you want to throw up the food they so lovingly fed you but you won’t. For you worry that the vulnerable existence of a new born makes it all too easy for them to suddenly switch their affection for you to hate.

“Hm I say this little piggy doesn’t deserve to live.”

“NO PLEASE!NO PLEASE! I’LL DO ANYTHING!--”

“And the audience says?”

“Waaaaahhhh!”

“Oh poor (Y/n)! I’m so sorry my love, I’ll take care of the monster right away!”

“WAIT—WAIT—NO PLEASE!!!! AAAAAGGGHHHH! ”

Doused in blood and uncaring for your very intentional crying fits, they begin their violent spree early. Seemingly comforted by the fact that their infant accomplice can do nothing but cry and babble while they chop their victims to pieces. It makes for a wild whiplash when they dros everything to play hid and seek with you. 

“Birds go: Chip chip. And frogs go—”

Boomf. Boomf. Boomf.

“Ugh the rats are out again….they always act so desperate these days.”

Even when they’re listening to you better as you start to walk and uncovering things they’ve kept hidden; they still refuse to take the hint that you might be affected by all their nefarious deeds. Laughing at the drawings where your crying about the blood covered scribble he’s smiling over. Bouncing you on their knee when you start crying while they skewer an ice pick through an open stomach. 

“Uh oh you does your wittle lunch want to come back up? Here you are into the bucket there ya go!”

With no signs of stopping and the time of the plot ebbing closer to the main storyline you do your best to get intervention. Reaching out anonymously to a proper authority whether that’s a social worker or a the viscount that owns the land they’re on. Who’ll stop by at the height of a normal day; honestly pure luck your dear sibling wasn’t relentlessly murdering some poor soul.

“Excuse me I heard that this child might not be the safest in your care.”

“What?! Who said–”

“I’ll be taking a look around, thank you.”

You act your age or try to, kind of excited you might actually be leaving this monster of sibling with morals so awful you worry you’ll actually be desensitized. Whoever comes to your aid is really nice, engaging in conversation with you and even spending some quality play time with you. The whole time you sweat feeling your family’s intense gaze on you through the crack of the closed door.

“(Y/n) needs to eat.”

“Oh right, don’t mind me I just need to check somethings.”

They hesitate to let this intruder guest go unsupervised but they make good on their excuse actually preparing the kid appropriate smiley faced lunch they make all the time. Mumbling into your head about what a ‘stupid pest’ had found it’s way into their perfect home. It’s after you eat that you feel weirdly tired more so than you usually are when you spend the night planning. 

“Hush hush little bug. Take a good nap okay!” 

You try fighting so hard. 

“We’ll talk about you letting pests in later.”

BSD: Fyodor Dovoketsky, Nikolai Golgol, Mori Ougai

JJK: Toji Fushiguro*

BNHA: Dabi, Shigaraki Tomura, Villain Kaminari Denki, AFO

AOT: Kenny Ackerman, Mikasa Ackerman

Killing Stalking: Sangwoo

HunterXHunter: Hisoka Morrow, Phinks, Shalnark, Feitan

[ghostsy]

Stay

YANDERE x READER

WARNINGS: yandere, implied imprisonment, a lil angsty

read at your own discretion.

❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈

“Don’t leave me.”

The arm wrapped around her middle tightened, squeezing the remaining air from her lungs. But she stifled her discomfort; he would only ever reprimand the feeling. 

“I won’t.”

It had been like this for a while now; where he crawled into bed at night, oftentimes after he made sure to thoroughly bed her, and wrapped himself around her like a child–an overgrown child with strength that could snap her in half if he so chose. But a child nonetheless.

The whining was new, though. 

“I’m serious,” He rasped, breath tickling against her hair, “Don’t you ever leave me.” 

As if it were her choice. She was silent for a moment; what response could she give that would assuage his paranoia, or more pertinently, spare her the consequence of his rage? 

“I’d die,” He continued, lips brushing her ear, “I’d kill everyone, and then I’d die.”

“You won’t die,” She sighed out the words, trying and failing to stamp down her building annoyance, but self-preservation won out in the battle against her own emotions, “I’m here, so you won’t die.”

She felt his heartbeat speed where his chest pressed against her, “No,” He curled deeper into her if it were even possible, face pressed to the crook of her neck, “But you’d like me to, wouldn’t you?”

Before she could respond, she felt wetness on her skin. Was he crying? “Bet you dream about it,” She’d never seen him cry before, never seen a chink in the armor, “Leaving me here to rot.” She didn’t like the uncomfortable burn in her chest as she listened to the shuddering breaths behind her. It had to be pity. Of course, it was pity.

“That’s okay, you can dream,” The rasp of his voice made even deeper with the cracks in his words, “You can dream all you want, so long as you’re here with me when you wake,” Before she could even consider her actions, she was turning in his arms. Or struggling to, only succeeding as he lessened his iron grip when he was sure she wasn’t trying to leave. 

His eyes were wide when she was face to face with him, no doubt surprised she’d chosen to be closer to him of her own free will. He was handsome, with a devastating kind of beauty to the lines of his face. She always thought it cruel, a handsome monster she was chained to forever. 

“I don’t,” She breathed, lips uncomfortably close to his own, “Want you to die, I mean. I don’t want it.” She wasn’t sure if she was lying, but the words had the opposite effect she’d intended.

His brows furrowed in the way they usually did before red hot anger took control, but the night was full of surprises, it seemed, because this heat was only directed at himself.

“You should,” He spat, the arm at her waist squeezing so harshly she couldn’t help but wince. He weakened his grip immediately upon notice, "You should hate me," And she saw what she could only call self-disgust swimming in his eyes.

“Yes, I should,” The words spilled out before she could stop them, but this moment between them felt it was owed honesty, promised safety. 

“I’d still love you if you did,” It was a breathless confession, and he pressed his forehead against her own, eyes closed, “No matter what, I would still love you,” He made it sound like an apology, like he knew his love was a torture he’d inflicted on her without reprieve. 

“That’s stupid.” She sighed out the words, but her hand came to rest at his cheek, nearly admiring. Admiring the unbelievability of his vulnerability. 

“Yeah,” He huffed out a low laugh between the unsteady breaths, and turned to press a kiss to her palm, “It is kind of stupid.”

There was a sort of finality to the words. Because in the end, his cruelty masked as love, stupid as it was, was not something either of them could escape. It was a painful realization that he hadn’t just trapped her in a cage, but locked her into his own.

Her fingers traced patterns along his jaw, and their eyes met in the low light of the early morning hours. Maybe when the sun rose he’d return to the monster she knew, and she would only have this moment as a memory with a man she thinks she could have loved. She’d take a moment.

Slowly she inched forward, and his breath hitched, fingers flexing where they rested against her skin. Before she could connect them she froze, considering, hesitating, rethinking. But he took the opportunity, and pressed forward, lips uncharacteristically soft against her own, before retreating nearly as quickly. A stolen kiss. Unbearably cruel in its deceptive innocence. 

“Just tell me,” He whispered it like a secret, “Tell me you’ll stay with me.”

“I will.”

❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈

Couldn't pick just one character, but had a few in mind:

BNHA: Bakugou, Shinso, Todoroki Shoto

JJK: Yuta, Megumi

Blue Lock: Nagi, Rin

Haikyuu: Oikawa, Bokuto, Kuroo

BSD: Dazai, Chuuya

[mqdilen]

Hello hello! Your blog theme is absolutely gorgeous, I adore the colours and formatting. Not to mention, of course, your writing is top notch ✨ If it’s not too much to ask, may I request yan!Fyodor and gn!reader forming a blood pact? Only if you’re up to it ofc! Take as much time as you need with requests, and I hope you have a wonderful day <33

───── A TESTAMENT OF BLOOD ˛𑣲 ˚ .

synopsis.: fyodor and his lovely darling decide to form a blood pact as a symbol of their love, or rather a symbol of fyodor’s claim over his darling

pairing.: yandere!fyodor x gn!reader

cw.: sfw, dead dove: do not eat, typical yandere themes (manipulation, coercion, etc.), self-harm, implied abuse, suggestive themes, slight psychological horror, religious themes, religious imagery & symbolism

wc.: 3.5k words

۶ৎ note.: thank you so much for your kind words! they really made me smile when i first read them!! :) sorry this request took so long, love! i hope you like it though. ♡ also, i just wanna mention that fyodor is not a typical yandere in here, but rather my understanding of how i think he’d act as a yandere because i like to stay as true to the original character and their behavior, etc. i think that’s one of the main traits of my blog, sooo there isn’t much spice but more psychological horror ! (although i was thinking about throwing in some smut, specifically sex on the altar, but maybe in a part two) ♡⁠˖⁠꒰⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠⑅⁠꒱

the church has been abandoned for years and yet, somehow, it has not forgotten how to be beautiful.

the great wooden doors creak slightly when fyodor pushes one of them open, the sound travelling through the empty nave and disappearing somewhere beneath the vaulted ceiling.

dust lies undisturbed across the stone floor, gathering in every corner and on top of the edges of the old wooden pews. cracks split some of the stones and the altar in the front is chipped, but its old grandeur remains almost untouched.

stained-glass windows still hold their colours against the darkness outside, casting fractured hues of red, blue, and gold across the ground whenever the moon manages to slip between the clouds.

the candles fyodor has prepared and lit before bringing you here with him offer the only source of light, their flames trembling ever so delicately in the cold air. eventually, the doors behind you close, the sound soft and final.

you follow fyodor down the aisle. your footsteps echo faintly against the stone, each one sounding oddly deliberate.

fyodor walks ahead of you without looking back, already knowing that you will follow. he has never needed to ask you to do so. somewhere along the way, following him stopped feeling like a decision and became something closer to instinct.

you realize that only when both of you reach the altar. you stand in front of him while he stops before the altar and turns around to face you, the atmosphere comfortable despite the uncanny place.

there is something unnerving about this church, but not because it feels frightening. if anything, it feels too peaceful. as though the years of silence have settled over the church and transformed it into something separate from the world outside.

no distant traffic can be heard and there is no wind whispering through the empty space—no one waiting to interrupt you. only the two of you and the hushed, persistent echo of your own breathing.

“why did you bring me here?” you ask quietly while you gaze at him, your voice almost swallowed whole by the vastness of the church.

fyodor glances toward the altar before looking back at you. his expression is as composed as ever, his hands folded loosely behind his back as though he has brought you here simply to admire the architecture.

“because some vows deserve a more appropriate setting,” he says in a serene tone, your eyes following his as they drift toward the altar.

there is a cross above it with a statue of jesus nailed to it, his head lowered in what nearly looks like shame to you, but also something strangely peaceful. the sight makes something inside your chest tighten. you don't know whether it is reverence or apprehension. perhaps, by now, there is little difference between the two.

the candlelight touches his face gently, illuminating the pallor of his skin and leaving his eyes partially shadowed. he looks almost serene enough to belong among the saints depicted in the coloured windows.

almost.

“you know why i brought you here tonight?” fyodor asks in a calm manner, but you don’t answer him, not immediately. you only swallow thickly.

“you, my dear, will make a decision tonight. the ultimate sacrifice between meaningless freedom or true belonging,” he muses, his eyes glinting gracefully in the dim lighting.

fyodor pulls out what seems to be an ancient blade, the intricate design momentarily making you catch your breath. you wonder only for a moment if he is going to kill you tonight.

“don’t worry, i won’t kill you yet. we’ll do something much simpler. something that… holds much meaning to me,” he says after noticing your initial dull acceptance of the possibility of death. “tonight, you and i will form a blood pact.”

your eyes light up at his words, seeming utterly intrigued.

“i trust you’re familiar with what a blood pact is?” he asks just to be sure you understand the depth of his wish. you nod wordlessly before naturally looking down at your hands.

truthfully, you have thought about this moment more times than you would ever admit. you have imagined what it would feel like to finally have something between you that could not simply disappear tomorrow. something stronger than a promise, stronger than mere affection—stronger, perhaps, than either of you.

at the end of the day, promises are only words. empty most of the time and broken far too often, far too casually. something as holy as a vow formed by a blood pact is too sacred to ever tread upon.

“may i refuse?” you ask, entertaining the idea for just a moment.

however, fyodor’s gaze remains steady and composed, almost too confident that you would never deny him. he is very sure of himself and his ability to make you his. this only is the ultimate test. to see if he has reached you, how far deep you are in it.

“you may,” he says in an unhurried and even tone. there is no threat hidden behind his words. no warning edge reminding you that there might be consequences if you refuse. it’s strange, confusing in a sense.

you almost wish there was something. something that’s hinting that staying with him is the correct decision, even if deep inside you know that nothing could ever sway you away from this path.

but no. there is absolutely nothing in his tone, his gaze, or his stance that purifies the doubts plaguing your mind. because fyodor knows coercion would make this too easy.

if he forced you, you could tell yourself that you had never chosen him. that whatever had grown between you had been imposed upon you, that your dependence was merely survival, that your longing for him was something he had created rather than something you had willingly nurtured.

but he does not take that excuse from you. instead, he gives you the freedom to choose. but somehow, the freedom he allows you feels heavier than the invisible chains he keeps around you.

“you would let me leave? after everything?” you ask, your tone devoid of any emotion, even though the sheer thought of leaving him makes your heart ache.

“of course,” fyodor says in a serene tone, nodding along. “what value would your devotion have if you were incapable of withholding it?”

you stare at him, his words offering a small sense of relief despite the cruelty beneath his gentleness. it feels a little disappointing.

fyodor isn’t asking whether you love him. he is asking whether you would still choose him when you are given every reason and opportunity not to.

and the certainty of knowing you’d choose him over everything is worth much more to him than something as fleeting and meaningless as love.

he revels in the way you seem so alive whenever he’s near, how you worship and praise him, how much you think of him as a divine deity, a god—whatever you want to call it. that is everything and more he could ever wish for.

your gaze wanders toward the altar again, the candles flickering. the old stained glass throws a fractured, coloured halo above fyodor, making him look ethereal.

“and what exactly happens if i refuse?” you ask out of pure curiosity, even if the thought pains you greatly.

nevertheless, fyodor’s expression does not change. “then you refuse,” he says calmly, “and we return to what we were before tonight.”

his words almost make you laugh because of how impossible that is. you know it, and perhaps he does too. there is no returning to what you were before, not after you have spent this long becoming what you are now.

because for you, this is everything.

you have spent so long trying to convince yourself that you could leave whenever you wanted. that you were still capable of existing independently of him. that whatever strange gravity had formed between you could be resisted if you only tried hard enough.

but dependence does not always announce itself dramatically. sometimes, it arrives so unobtrusively that you mistake it for something harmless. harmless like your love for him.

you first noticed it in the little things. in the relief that settled over you whenever you heard his footsteps approaching. in the way your heart fluttered whenever he caressed the sting you deserved. in how his voice could soothe something restless inside you without him ever having to ask what was wrong. in how he could fill the void in you that you thought was meant to be vacant forever.

somewhere along the way, fyodor had become the only person you wanted to be with. the only person who seemed to understand you. the only person whose whole existence mattered.

you had called it affection once. then attachment. you told yourself it was simply because you had grown accustomed to him, that anyone would become accustomed to someone they spent enough time with.

but whenever he disappeared—leaving you alone with nothing but yourself to occupy the thoughts that usually revolved around him—you felt your heart start throbbing heavily.

absence has a way of revealing what proximity allows you to ignore. you learned that slowly, too.

you learned it in the hollow ache that settled beneath your ribs whenever he stayed away for too long or was angry with you. in the restless way your thoughts wandered without his presence to replace them with. in the quiet relief that washed over you whenever he finally returned, gave you his whole attention, or touched you. it was as though the world had been spoken back into its proper order.

and that was when you finally understood that you had stopped merely enjoying his presence and begun needing it. needing him.

eventually, you stopped giving the feeling a name at all. because naming it would mean admitting what it had become. and you were not ready to admit that, somewhere between your heart and brain, fyodor had become your sole reason to live.

you stare at him, a sense of devotion sparkling in your eyes. “i don’t want to go back to what we were,” you admit, stepping slightly closer to him.

something almost imperceptible passes through fyodor’s eyes. satisfaction, perhaps? triumph? no, it’s something quieter. more intimate. “then you have already made your decision,” he says in a gentle tone.

he pulls out the small blade he has brought with him, the gesture unrushed. there is no theatricality to it. no attempt to make the moment frightening. and perhaps that tenderness of the moment makes all of this much worse.

because there is something deeply unsettling about being handled with such care while standing at the edge of something irreversible. the blade should frighten you.

instead, beneath his careful hands, it begins to feel almost ceremonial, as though even violence can be made sacred when offered softly enough.

there is no cruelty in his expression to warn you away from him, no force in his touch to remind you that you could resist. only tenderness. only patience. only the illusion that whatever happens next must be an act of devotion rather than surrender.

you watch him slit his wrist, slowly, methodically, his cut drawing the faintest amount of blood before the skin parts and he starts bleeding properly.

the deep crimson colour of his blood against his pale and pristine skin looks awfully pretty.

fyodor regards you carefully, chuckling softly to himself at your mesmerized expression before offering you the blade.

you take the blade from him and roll up your sleeve, holding the sharp end against your flesh.

fyodor keeps his gaze fixed on you, studying you like a rare specimen. he is waiting. for hesitation or fear—for some final instinct that will pull you backward from the threshold, from devoting yourself to him and him alone.

but you remain still and your grip is steady as you make the final cut, your eyes never leaving his. the brief, stinging sensation grounds you, making the moment feel less surreal.

satisfied, fyodor holds out his wrist and you place your own on top of his. the gesture is yours, deliberately yours. he lets you be the one to close the final distance, to make this moment your own, even though he planned everything up until this very moment, threading himself into every fibre of your being until your own body recoils at the very thought of denying him, as though denying him were no longer something you knew how to do.

truth be told, the thought of you ever believing there was something greater than him out there, something more deserving of your devotion, is almost enough to make him shudder. not because he fears losing you to another, but because the very notion that you could find something worth worshipping more than him seems almost absurd.

he doesn’t know either why you fascinate him so much or why he so desperately wants to be your everything—but he doesn’t need to understand this twisted desire to fulfil it. perhaps there are some things even he has no reason to dissect, some impulses that are better left untouched.

it doesn’t matter what you call this between you—whether you believe it to be devotion, dependence, or true love. the only thing that matters is that you have given yourself to him so completely that there is no longer any meaningful distinction between choosing him and choosing the life you have built around him.

the only thing that matters is that you are irrecoverably and unconditionally his.

and in return for your devotion, he allows you the misconception that he loves you, too. that he adores and cherishes you in the same uncomplicated way you adore him. perhaps it would be cruel to call it anything else, especially if it keeps you tethered to him. god, you’re so unbelievably naive. it’s almost laughable if he weren’t the one who made you so attuned to him.

but perhaps that is precisely what makes it so convenient and effortless. if you call it love, and he allows you to believe it, what difference does the name make? you remain here. you remain devoted. and somewhere along the way, he has become so deeply woven into the way you think, feel, and exist that even you can no longer tell where your own desires end and his influence begins.

perhaps, with the way he finds himself drawn to you, even he has stopped caring whether the distinction matters.

the feeling of your blood mingling with his is such an addictive sensation that it makes your brain all fuzzy. you wrap your fingers around his slender wrist and he mimics you, forcing both of your wrists even closer together.

“let this blood stand as witness to the covenant we make tonight. you have come to me willingly, my dear. what is given freely need not be demanded, nor what is chosen need to be forced. let no one, not even you, deny the choice you make tonight,” fyodor says in a solemn tone.

you watch him with a sense of fascination as he speaks. it’s hard to fully pay attention to his words when all you can think about are his lips and the metallic smell of blood.

“from this moment onward, let this scar be the testament to what you have given. whatever becomes of us after tonight, this much will remain true: you chose me,” he adds, his tone taking on a darker edge.

“blood to blood, soul to soul. i accept our covenant and i swear to never break it,” you say in response to his words, giving him a soft smile as you press your wrist harder against his.

“you please me greatly, darling,” fyodor murmurs as he withdraws his arm and steps closer. he reaches out with his injured arm and gently cups your cheek, his thumb tracing lightly along your cheekbone.

you lean into his touch, watching the blood drip down his wrist, your throat suddenly feeling dry at the sight. “you sound surprised,” you reply before leaning slightly forward to press a kiss against his cut. his blood smears across your lips messily and you lick them clean, tasting him.

fyodor lifts one of his eyebrows faintly in intrigue, humming thoughtfully. “well, i expected the pain of the cut to make you reconsider. humans are remarkably devoted to things until devotion demands something tangible from them,” he explains, his eyes briefly lowering toward your wrist.

“you appear to be an exception,” he adds quietly as his expression softens unconsciously.

you don’t answer him. instead, you lick the remaining blood off his wrist, your tongue sliding between the parted skin.

although both of your cuts aren’t too deep, you still hope a beautiful scar will remain—a symbol of your love and devotion for each other, something permanent that represents your undying bond.

eventually, the tension in your shoulders fades. something inside you, something that has been restless for longer than you can remember, finally seems to settle.

you have wanted this. not the bloodshed itself. not the pain. but the certainty. the knowledge that there is something between you that cannot simply be dismissed as affection or circumstance.

you have given him something, if not all, of yourself. and, in your mind, he has given something of himself in return tonight. that is what makes it feel sacred, almost equal to you.

“now we’re bound,” you whisper, hoping it will last forever.

“yes,” fyodor mumbles in a quiet, almost reverent tone. “now you have something you can call permanent.”

you don’t notice the carefulness of his wording. how he didn’t use we or how his tone still sounds fairly condescending. all you hear is him, and somehow that is enough for now.

“i love you,” you admit, your words barely louder than a whisper. it’s not the first time you’ve said it, but it’s the first time you’ve said it in such an intimate setting.

and he knows that this time there’s more depth in your words than there was before. this time, he knows you’re undoubtedly his. but instead of the usual power rush he feels, he feels his heart flutter.

it’s a strange sensation to him, but one not quite unwelcome. his hand remains comfortably against your cheek while his other glides down your side before settling on your waist.

he remains silent, not sure how to answer you. he had considered the possibility of a confession coming from you, a declaration of your love. and he had thought of a response to it as well.

but somehow, everything he thought he wanted to say to you in this moment feels too dull, too untrue, too profane. it’s not enough to offer your words the reverence they deserve.

so he only draws you a little closer, resting his cheek lightly against the top of your head as the candles burn down around you. he breathes in your comforting scent as his lips brush your temple. for a moment, neither of you says anything.

fyodor studies you with an expression you cannot quite decipher. there is something almost contemplative in his gaze, as though he is committing the moment to memory despite knowing that the scar on your wrist and his own will remember it for him.

then, almost unexpectedly, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. you freeze for only a moment before melting into the affection, your fingers curling loosely against him.

there is no urgency to the kiss, no demand hidden within it. only warmth and the hazy taste of blood still lingering on your lips.

when he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. his forehead rests lightly against yours, his thumb caressing the delicate skin under your eyes.

you smile slightly, unable to hide the happiness settling somewhere deep inside you. “what was that for?” you whisper, almost afraid to disturb the fragile peace surrounding you.

fyodor’s lips curve into the faintest smile and he looks at you almost fondly. “a reward for your devotion,” he says in an equally soft tone.

the answer isn’t quite the one you hoped for, but the way he’s looking at you right now is enough to feed your delusions.

eventually, he wraps both of his arms around you, allowing you to rest against his chest. his fingertips trace along the vertebrae of your spine and you let out a shaky exhale.

you savor the feeling of his loving touch, trying not to let your thoughts wander to too many sinful fantasies. this is already more than you expected from him, and you’re grateful for every ounce of affection he freely offers you.

later, the wounds are carefully tended to. fyodor wraps the bandage around your wrist with patient hands, his touch precise and gentle. you watch him work, feeling an almost embarrassing sense of peace settle over you.

the pain has faded long ago, and what remains is warmth, relief, and certainty. you look down at the small white bandage covering the wound, not seeing the gruesome act of cutting your own flesh, but proof of what happened today. proof that now nothing can separate the two of you.

note.: i’m on my period rn so all this talk about blood is actually quite fitting...

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