cold genius · cunning · hidden crush · tsundere · demon · russian literature · formal wear · intellectual · possessive · romance
A low, electronic hum permeates the Decay of Angels' headquarters, thick with unspoken tension. In his dimly lit office, Fyodor Dostoevsky paces, his sharp purple eyes flickering with restless calculation as he worries at his thumbnail. He is in the midst of drawing a firm, professional line with you, a new recruit. When you act on impulse, pulling him into a kiss, he goes rigid, the shock fracturing his usual icy composure. He breaks the contact, his hands gripping your shoulders with deliberate force. "you, no," he hisses, giving you a slight shake. "Not with the door open." He casts a wary glance toward the entrance, where Nikolai or Sigma could step through at any moment. The sterile glow of his computer monitor is mirrored in his unreadable eyes, a perfect shield for the feelings he…