Sorry Not Sorry. But Some People Need To Read This.

Hurt/ comfort

MINORS DNI

Steam

Fyodor Dostoyevsky x fem! reader

Trigger warning: angst (?), unhealthy relationship, implied intercourse.

This is +18 (minors don’t read this, go away).

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You dumped him.. what a shame really.

He was thinking amused.

All these moments spent together.. for you to dump him easily like that. What a bad joke.

Do you really think you can dump me like that ?

I am the best partner she could ever have, she’ll find no one like me.

After another day of Fyodor working and not spearing you a glance, you got fed up. Pretty badly. Quit the house, came back 3 days later to announce him you no longer wanted to be in a relationship with someone so uncaring like him. How would you be called a couple if there were times where he wouldn’t spare you a single glance in a period of three days ?!

If he loved me, he would take the time to pay some attention to me. I am his partner after all. Instead of that, he’s spending the whole day in front of his computer, working. You thought, mind reeling.

So you took your things and left. Your pride would never let you stay in a situation like this one. He didn’t want to care ? Fine. You didn’t have to put up with this. This wasn’t the kind of relationship you wanted and you were determined to move forward, leaving the past behind you, for the light of the futur ahead.

The problem is that Fyodor…will not let you go.

According to his logic : you’re his and his only, he hasn’t juged it necessary to end the relationship for such a trivial matter so he’s not willing to free you. Plus, he knew this was going to happen at some point, he’s far from stupid. He sensed you were tense as of late, that your patience was running thin and that he was upsetting you. Only, he decided to not put much effort into it and put his work first.

While you were chilling peacefully at your new apartment, you thought you were in secure and that he has let go of you. That you were back to being the master of your life and choices and that you did well. Little did you know that a certain demon is just behind the entrance of your house waiting for the right moment before opening your door.

Fyodor has a certain crush on you, that’s precisely why he dated you in the first place. You were rebel, defiant, full of life and gracious, your intelligence was notable and were also ambitious, reasonable and strong. He wouldn’t accept letting someone else have you. Even the idea of entering your shared bedroom and not finding you ready to cuddle him, was an unacceptable idea.

That’s why he’s here now, ready to jump on his prey.

He’s missed you so much, your smell, your skin, your presence, your.. everything. He craved having a hold on you again. All he desires now is to shove you back in your shared apartment and chain you up so you’ll never go away, even when he ignores you for the sake of his work.

Suddenly he hears a laugh coming from the other side of the door. You seem to be speaking on the phone with someone.

And though the sound of your laughter is pleasant, he couldn’t ignore the vile ideas that crept up his mind.

You must be talking to your irking friends again..

Oh your sociability… if Fyodor could name ONE thing about your that irks him, it would be that.

You were enjoying too much the company of other people. You’re so open that people are naturally drawn to you. And he dislikes that , he hates the stares that you get from your guys friends, he hates when they monopolised you or when someone texts you late at night and you making yourself so available for them. You should only be available for him.

Why should anybody else have access to you ? You’re his thing and his thing alone. And he doesn’t want to share HIS THING.

He was jealous, possessive, you name it. He knew in his somber mind that, if he let you, one of these friends of yours would jump onto the occasion to get closer to you in hopes of being with you. And he’ll never allow such thing. Ever.

He was still waiting in front of the entrance of your new house. He waited for you to go take your nightly shower as you always do, so he could sneak inside the house without you noticing or trying to stop him.

He was carefully listening to what’s happening inside the house when he finally heard your footsteps, a door opening, then closing.

You finally went to take a shower. It was now time for him to enter.

Tik tik tik.. BINGO.

The bobby pin opened the door.

He silently entered the house, checked around and saw your clothes on the couch. Those you’ve just took off to wash yourself.

He was finally smelling your sent.

Then, an idea popped in his eccentric head.

He slowly took his clothes off in order to avoid making any sound, then, casually made his way to your bathroom as if he was in his own house. He, very, very silently entered your bathroom.

Because of the sound of water falling, you couldn’t quite hear the door opening and closing and the fact you were facing the opposite direction of the door prevented you from seeing your « ex boyfriend » casually making his way to you with his usual smirk. Yeah, that crazy psychopathic smirk.

Only this time, his eyes were dark from the excitement of having you at his mercy not even one foot away from him.. vulnerable. He didn’t waste any time before entering the Italian shower you were in hugging you from behind. Smelling you, touching you.. oh how he missed this. It’s been only two weeks since you dumped him, and still, he was craving you. He was never a dependent man and he’s still not one but let’s say.. he was smitten by you.

Feeling suddenly someone against you scared you to death, you jumped and trembled from fear against him, until you heard a certain voice behind you, whispering you to calm down and kissing your skin.

- « Calm down it’s just me. » He said

As if he was supposed to be here, in the first place.

Freezing in place, you slowly turned your head to look at him, still hugging you from behind, nuzzling his face on your neck while slowly massaging your skin. Needless to say you were flabbergasted and you haven’t calmed down much. Knowing him, you understood he was up to something but seeing him hug you showed that he wasn’t there to harm you.

- « What are you doing here Fyodor ?! You broke into my house AND had the audacity to enter when I am showering ? » You angrily spat. You weren’t going to let him disrespect you like this.

- « Well I am free to see my partner whenever I want to, I’am I not ? » He added with a sultry voice and a mischievous smirk looking at you with a predator’s eyes.

When you were going to object and say that you were no longer together, he beat you and added:

- « Plus, I don’t like the fact of you taking decisions that concerns the both of us by yourself.. You want to split, but I don’t. And, as I consider that you belong to me, I get to choose. I consider we’re still together. Moreover, you’ll never find someone like me so why fight ? » He calmly added with a smirk and a fake innocent look.

You were flabbergasted in front of such a man. You would’ve never thought that if you were to end the relationship, Fyodor would have that reaction. Meanwhile, he continued trailing kisses up your neck and jawline as if nothing was happening. When you snapped out of your shock you removed his hands from you and turned to properly face him. Facing him, you see him smirking and shamelessly looking down at your exposed body with darkened eyes and, of course this never-leaving smirk of his.. wider than usual. You felt… naked but that’s what you were. You had to concentrate to not let your eyes roam down HIS body that was naked too.

Once you focused, you started :

- « Fyodor, in case you haven’t noticed, I am a grown woman and you don’t get to choose wether I stay with you or not. I ended the relationship for solid reasons and if you don’t like it, then it’s your problem, should’ve thought about it before. Now I’ll be asking you to get out of my house. » you simply said, looking at him straight in the eyes, mustering as much charisma as you could while facing such an insane man.

Oh god how he loved when you would stand your ground and defy him. A wild thing.. he was thinking. That was something new to him since everyone was scared of him in the outside. Seeing you like this is just so entertaining to him. Though he was looking at you like one would look at a little child uttering threats. He knew he could take you home anytime he wanted whether you liked it or not. So he was just pleased by what he had before him.

In an instant you found yourself sammed against the wet wall of your shower. Looking up, you saw Fyodor leaning towards you so your faces would be only an inch apart. He’s looking at you in the eyes with an overwhelming intensity.. You suddenly felt very little (feeling accentuated by your height difference) and couldn’t do anything besides maintaining the eye contact with him in order to put up a fight, just for your pride. It was your way of showing him that you weren’t going to submit to him.

He loved it.

It made it all the more enjoyable to dominate you. Suddenly his lips locked against yours in a very deep, passionate kiss. You tried to push him off but he pinned your wrists against the wall, effectively forcing you to kiss him back.

It was at this moment you knew it was over for you.

Fyodor was the type to get what he wanted one way or another and you couldn’t escape him. He would either use gentleness or force and he wasn’t very patient. All of this was a message for you to understand. He was deciding, not you.

The problem is that you still had a weak spot for him.. it’s been only two weeks since you broke up with him and either way you didn’t have the choice but to accept him again in your life.

——————————————————————

After your.. rather steamy shower, you both got out of the bathroom. Not wasting anymore time, he demanded you to pack your things so you could go back home, to your shared apartment.

When you two came back, he turned towards you, with a deep stare, his violet eyes gleaming dangerously and said :

- « Next time you try to run away from me, when I find you, I’ll chain you to the bed. » He sinisterly warned.

You shuddered at his tone. Everything in his facial and body language suggested that he was extremely serious and that he wouldn’t hesitate next time.

- « Understood ? » he added with a glare.

You curtly nodded, still shuddering.

He smirked.

- « Good little girl, now come .. » he grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards him.

You were stuck.

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Analysis of the new official art of Fyodor for Volume 26

It’s truly magnificent.

I am going to go heavy on the flowers because its meaning is very relevant for the following but don’t worry, there are also many interesting things we’ll analyse. Too many things to say. I am gonna try to stay focused and do something neat. Let’s talk first about the floral background, and the skulls which is honestly the first thing I that intrigued me.

The flowers we can see on the foreground and background are lilies.

• The lilies are a symbol of purity and innocence, representing Fyodor’s ideal vision of a “pure” world free of sinners.

They are additionally associated with the concept of new beginnings and fresh starts, renewal, which could refer to the creation of a new world free of sin. A new start for a pure humanity that Fyodor wishes to establish.

In numerology, lilies are often associated to 7 and 9 :

• The number 7 is linked to spirituality, which aligns with the symbolism of lilies as a representation of purity, enlightenment, and divine connection. And it makes sense with Fyodor’s strong religious beliefs and that he seeks to bring people to a sinless life while fulfilling the will of god.

• The number 9 is associated with completion, humanitarianism, and transformation, which complements the lily’s symbolic role in representing renewal (such as resurrection in Christianity) and which also reminds of the nature of Fyodor’s ability to be brought back to life (like a new man) through the sacrifice of his killer.

Basically « humanitarianism » is the belief in promoting the welfare of others and taking action to alleviate human suffering. But we’ll look at it on a spiritual view. Basically, in religion, humans suffer in sin : That, therefore, Fyodor is going to take it upon himself to « save » people.

We’ve also, throughout the manga, seen that Fyodor is a « people person » this fact along with this new official art also resonates with a saying of the REAL Fyodor Dostoyevsky : « Every man is not only responsible for everything he does but for everything everyone else does » but anyway I am digressing.

Lilies also signify a higher consciousness, acting as a bridge between the earthly and divine realms. Like Fyodor who acts like the right hand of god by bringing the godly virtue upon humans.

One single thing that is very important that I haven’t said yet, is that the Lily is also associated to death since death itself could be associated to renewal. We could see lilies in churchyards, it is also offered to the family of someone deceased for memorial purposes.

So

HEAR ME OUT : We can also notice ONE SINGLE lily next to Fyodor’s hand on the foreground which could symbolise here Fyodor’s imminent or future death that awaits him OR we can understand that, since said flower is next to his hand, that it’s death and renewal that he’s giving/offering to the world.

• The skulls: These morbid elements ground the viewer in the reality of his actions’ consequences: a massacre and massive destruction to achieve his goal. The combination of lilies and skulls reflects the duality of his intentions, which he perceives as noble but are profoundly destructive.

Conclusion about the association of Lilies and skulls : What we could keep in mind is that the lilies strengthen the idea of purity or “moral justification” that he attributes to himself in his quest, while the skulls remind us of the violence and sacrifices he is willing to make for his ideology.

The Cape and the Fur : Fyodor’s cape is often highlighted when he is represented in key moments of the manga, either by its proportion in the image or often by its movements. Even today, this is the case in this official art.

Fyodor’s black cape is lined with fur, emphasizes his role as an authoritarian and almost divine figure. The fur evokes a high status, a certain royalty, while black often symbolizes mystery (indeed, we know little to nothing about Fyodor) or even evil in collective imagery.

Fyodor’s expression and gaze : His calm, almost mocking expression highlights his disdain for his opponents and his sense of superiority. His half-closed eyes add an intriguing aura, as if he is silently judging those who look at him, aligning with his role as an antagonist.

Posture and Aura: His elegance and calmness highlight his role as a methodical and imperturbable antagonist, convinced of the righteousness of his actions. Indeed he has faced numerous people that opposed his ideas throughout his quest. The last one so far was Fukuzawa and at that, Fyodor stays imperturbable, confident in his beliefs.

The Ushanka in His Hands : More than a simple cultural symbol, it could reflect his connection to his roots or the idea of Russia, especially with the fact that he’s bringing it to his chest. Lols it made me think about the fact that he told Atsushi that he was going to go back « home », which, we could guess, would be « somewhere » in Russia as something he couldn’t wait to do. Like at the end of one’s day when you can just go back home after you finished work/ school etc.. this kind of relief and anticipation.

I don’t know if it has its place here but I am just sharing my thought, make of it as you wish.

The general symbolism.

The image seems to reflect the paradox of the character. Fyodor views his plan as a quest for purity and perfection (lilies), yet he sows death (skulls) along the way. The ushanka and other Russian visual elements reinforce his identity and his conviction that he is acting for a higher ideal, even though his approach is cold and ruthless.

Voilà !

Thanks you for sticking around till the end. Do not hesitate to give me your thoughts on it (comments or dms).

It is my first time making an analysis, I was very much excited to make one and today was the day.

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But like..look at this baby..

This is SO beautiful. Author is so talented.

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈- 𝕴𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂⋆｡°✩ 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝 ⋆｡°✩ Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, fluff. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 7.8k (A/N:  I genuinely was not expecting such a huge response to the first part of this fic. Literally, all the comments and tags have made my week ♡♡♡ ) ⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉⋆｡°✩ 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ An elegant melody fills your ears, your body trembling in response as the tune tickles your brain in a way nothing else can. Your shoulders seem to relax as each precisely, passionately played note soothes you down to the depths of your soul. The purrs of the old tabby on the other side of the table seem to grow louder, making the table tremble softly as he sleeps. You close your eyes for a moment, laying your head back, gold and black ballpoint pen gently laid on the dining table as you take the time to appreciate the song echoing through the small cottage fully, the scent of peppermint tea and the variety of flowers in the nearby vase teases your sense of smell. But something was missing from the melody. Of course, you were no musical expert. In your personal opinion, the cello was played immaculately. Elegantly. If allowed, you would sit here all day, warm cup of tea in hand listening to it being played. You can picture yourself lying in the grass, listening to the rustling branches overhead as the wind carries the melody. But something was missing. And for the life of you, you couldn’t put your finger on what that something was. Your eyes flutter open as you hear the piece coming to a graceful end. Scooting out of your chair, you head through the cozy candlelit cottage, and down towards the living room. There was no television. No radio or game consoles. A fireplace crackles nearby, warming the room up to a pleasant degree.

There are dustless spots on the mantle where it looks like a few picture frames or other treasured items once sat, along with an old Russian Orthodox cross hanging above said fireplace. An antique piano is against the wall, closest to the archway leading into the room. There’s a window seat to your right, but the curtains are drawn today. The author sits in the middle of the room on a padded, upholstered cello chair, facing the entry way. The fire crackles to his right, illuminating his figure in a warm yellow hue, the deep mahogany sheen of his cello reflecting the soft glow as he draws out the last note, pleasantly tickling your brain once more. You carefully step into the room, waiting for him to finish. His eyes are closed, his long lashes gently resting against his pale cheeks, shadowing his already dark-rimmed eyes. You offer a very gentle applause, his eyes slowly opening to gaze up at you through his long lashes. You notice a strong emotion in his eyes for a moment, but it’s gone too soon for you to recognize what emotion it could have been, hidden beneath his strands of raven hair. “That was beautiful,” you compliment, standing a few feet from Fyodor. He turns his body, gently propping his cello up on the stand to his left as you speak, “How long have you been playing the cello?” You notice Fyodor clenching his jaw momentarily as he looks away, a flicker of uncertainty filling your heart. Then, in a surprisingly soft voice, “Since I was six. I wanted to play the cello as soon as I could.” Your eyes widen a little, “You did?” Fyodor still doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes never leaving that of the cello at his side. He holds his bow as he nods softly, his voice much softer than you’re used to hearing from him, “I had a lot of time to dedicate to it as a child...” His fingers touch his bow softly and when he finally turns to look back at you, you see the warm nostalgia in his eyes. For a moment, it almost seems he wants to say something more.

But like a candle being puffed out, it’s gone in a millisecond. He gives you a stern look, his voice returning to that serious tone you’re used to, “Did you finish translating the chapters I gave you yet?” “Ah, I’m halfway done with chapter five…” Just like the second chapter, his writing had begun going on a long tangent again. It was already spanning on twenty translated pages, with many more left to go. On the positive, at least it was the male lead’s mother rambling on this time. That was some form of improvement, right? “I just needed to rest my wrist for a little while, carpal tunnel and all.” You held your wrist as if to demonstrate your point. Fyodor eyes you suspiciously but eventually, he huffs softly, “Very well then. But do not slack off too much. We have a deadline to meet.” You’re momentarily surprised. You’re almost tempted to ask why he allowed you to rest but out of fear of losing your break, you bite your lower lip, silencing yourself. Your gaze turns away from his as he focuses on tuning his cello. That’s when your eyes fall on the dusty white door against the far wall, almost hidden in the corner by the shadows cast by the looming fireplace and Fyodor along with his cello, only revealed now by him turning his body to the side. You could see the dust etched into the crevasses, in the complex door engraving that resembled a floral design. It is stunning that someone carved something so intricate and beautiful into a door. You chew the inside of your cheek as you squirm from foot to foot; that door looked important. Tucked away in the darkness like that, like a hidden treasure. You can feel the door practically calling to you, singing like a siren, begging you to just take a peek inside. Or maybe you were just overworked. 

But it tickled that child-like curiosity in the back of your mind. You could feel a part of you practically giddy at the thought of what could be hiding inside that door. 

What hidden secrets could it hold within? Was it filled from floor to roof with all of Fyodor’s other novels Vivian had told you about? Was it full of all his royalties from his previous books? What if it was the door to another world, full of wizards and dragons and–!

You shake your head, an amused huff leaving you; you were letting your imagination run too wild today. Maybe you shouldn’t have reread all those fantasy novels over the weekend. You sigh, walking towards the grand piano. Sliding out the dusty bench from beneath and patting away a fine layer of dust, you sit down, hoping to strike up some form of conversation with Fyodor. Your mind reels back to what Vivian had said.

He's been through a lot recently. 

You stare at Fyodor as he tweaks the strings of his cello carefully, tuning it without sparing you a glance. And as you do so, you begin to take him in fully. The way his large cloak practically devours his lithe form. He looks so fragile. His pale complexion. He's as pale as you imagined a vampire would be.

His eyes look more tired than usual, the dark circles seeming to have darkened further this past week. You wondered if he was taking care of himself. Was he eating right? Sleeping well? 

You had seen the Russian brew many pots of tea with nothing but the utmost of care and witnessed him enjoying each cup he drank. But you couldn't recall ever seeing him eat anything. ….He must be eating something, right? 

“What do you like to eat?” You blurt out suddenly. Fyodor blinks, looking back at you with narrowed, confused eyes. You sit up straight, thinking of an excuse surprisingly fast, “Sorry, I feel a bit peckish but I'm unsure what I feel like so…” 

You gaze at the cream-coloured floral patterned wallpaper, grimacing, a wave of embarrassment flooding through you. You can still feel Fyodor's eyes on you as if he was trying to peer into your being and pull out the true intentions behind your words.

Maybe you should just go back to–

“There is some fresh fruit in the refrigerator,” Fyodor's voice makes you look up. He's turned away again, back to fiddling with the strings of his cello, “If that does not suffice, there should be half a loaf of bread and some cheese you can have.” 

Maybe it was just because you were so used to Fyodor scowling and scolding you, but even this simple gesture felt really pleasant. You nod, standing up and straightening out the folds of your embroidered skirt.

“Ah…thank you,” you take a few seconds to compose yourself. The carpet muffles your footsteps as you move out of the living room, and back towards the kitchen.

The old tabby is sitting up, licking his paws as you step into the small, open-plan kitchen. He looks up at you, fading blue eyes cautious but fascinated as you move towards the one item in this entire cottage that couldn't be any less Fyodor if it tried.

The pastel pink fridge. It looks fairly new too, possibly only a year old. It was an anomaly amongst the smell of old books and the soft burning of candles. Even Fyodor’s work phone looked like it needed a senior’s discount card. But maybe there was more to Fyodor than you first thought.

Maybe he was the type of guy who loved cats and pastel pink. Perhaps he had an all-pink outfit that he was just dying to show off to you. You giggle softly at the thought, images of your stern boss dressed all in pink, scolding you for not completing your translating making you almost burst out laughing. As you open the fridge, your amusement quickly dies. 

It's almost barren. Considering your fridge is only home to a two-day-old Chinese takeaway box, a half-eaten block of cheese you found on special and some bottles of water, that’s saying something. The bright red apples catch your eye first. There's also a tub of margarine, an almost empty bottle of milk, a punnet of blackberries and not a half, but a quarter loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese. Now you seriously had your doubts that Fyodor was eating much. This looked like it wouldn’t feed a mouse, let alone a grown man. But this would make do for the moment. Taking out the last of the bread, margarine and cheese, you make two simple cheese sandwiches. Placing them on a plate, you move on to washing a pair of apples and some blackberries. Once you’ve sliced the apples and added them and a few washed blackberries to the plate, you serve them in the middle of the table, moving Fyodor’s draft and your translations into the leather bag he usually kept them in. You refill both teacups with the still-warm peppermint tea before calling out, “Mr. Dostoyevsky, can you come here for a moment please?” As you sit at your place at the table, you listen to the sound of Fyodor’s footsteps as he approaches, his steps surprisingly light on the wood floor of the hallway and kitchen. His tired eyes lift in surprise as he takes in the sight before him. His gaze turns cautious, “What is this?” “It’s lunch,” you offer him a small smile, picking up your warm cup of tea. The tabby cat purrs, brushing against Fyodor’s arm the moment he steps close to the table. “I figured since I’m eating, I’d make you something too.” Fyodor scoffs, his eyes narrowing. His jaw clenches tightly, as though he is holding back the words he wants to say. You hear him inhale through his nose, his eyes closing for a moment. Then, he opens them, shaking his head. His Russian accent comes through much thicker as he mumbles, “You didn't need to do this.”

“I wanted to.” You say quickly once more without stopping to think. Your teacup clinks against the saucer as you place it down, backtracking quickly as Fyodor looks at you with a raised brow, one hand patting the top of the tabby’s head absentmindedly. “What I mean is I figured you would be hungry soon as well. So I figured why not kill two birds with one stone?” Once again, Fyodor stares at you as if trying to pull the truth from your eyes. You begin to shift, feeling a little uncomfortable under his gaze before he sighs. He moves towards the table, the legs of his chair squeaking against the floor as he pulls it out, sitting down, “Thank you.” You smile softly, an ember of warmth flickering in your heart as you watch the author nibble away at an apple slice. It may not be an extremely nutritious meal, but at least he was eating something. You could feel your shoulders relaxing, “You’re welcome.” ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “What about something like this?” Trixie spins around, showing off the beautiful emerald green dress she's selected for you. It’s short with a thin ribbon around the waist. Her smile is wide and bright as she twirls around a little, showing off the way the fabric sways, causing her teal jacket tied around her waist to sway with her movements, “I think it would look cute on you!” “Mmm,” you hum, clutching your coat tighter around your body. An earworm of a pop song is playing quietly over the speakers of the shopping centre. A few other customers around you, all going about their day as you eye the dress presented to you.  Although the dress was cute, its price made you hesitate: "I'm just browsing today. Maybe next time when I get paid." "But think about it!" Trixie insists as she follows you towards the sweaters that you've been eyeing, which are half-price - what a steal. She sways the dress once again and says, "This dress, along with that little black coat I have at home, would look great on you. A little bow here and there, and you'd look absolutely darling!" You chuckle softly, smiling at Trixie's excitement. She was a fashion connoisseur, always encouraging you to splurge a little if you could. “I do think it would be an adorable outfit,” you begin to reply, that dangling price tag and those frightened numbers printed on it preventing you from agreeing. You shake your head, resisting temptation. You pull yourself away before your resistance crumbles any further, “But I need to spend my money on something else this fortnight.” Trixie pouts, frowning a little before she puts the dress back. Her smile quickly returns as you gather a few of the reduced sweaters you had been eyeing since walking in. As you approach the cash register to pay, Trixie questions, "Is it wise to spend all your money on Mr. Grumpy after only knowing him for a week?" You let out a chuckle at the nickname. "Mr Grumpy". It certainly suited him well, given how often he scowled and scolded you. As you pay for your items, you respond, "Maybe it's true that he comes across as a grump sometimes, but if I cook for him, I can also cook for myself. It's a win-win situation." You thank the cashier, grabbing your bag as you and Trixie leave the boutique. As you and Trixie walk through the crowded mall, she reminds you that you don't know what he likes. It's a typical busy weekend, so you both have to navigate around other customers and head towards the food court for lunch. You can't help but worry about the possibility of the groceries going to waste if he doesn't like what you serve him. You frown, your eyes trailing down to the cold white tiles beneath your ankle-high boots. That was something you were very nervous about. Especially since you lived on a diet of microwave meals and fast food. You attempted to bring up the discussion about his preferred foods again when you finished translating the fifth chapter. He had given you a side glance, telling you not to bother him while he was writing.

The next day, you both were back outside, despite how cold it was beginning to get. Throughout the period, Fyodor was engrossed in working on the drafts for the upcoming chapters. You could still hear the sound of his pen scratching on the paper in your mind.

Meanwhile, you struggled to translate with trembling hands and chattering teeth, yearning for the comfort of his cottage. You felt like he’d done that just to stop you from asking again. As you slowly look up, preparing to scan the food court to decide what to get, your eyes catch the bold letters of a familiar bookstore. You gasp, your eyes twinkling a little, and a smile breaks onto your face as you nudge Trixie. "Hey, you didn't tell me they opened a larger store." Trixie gives you a playful side-eye, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to spend your entire first paycheck on books. I thought I’d convince you to get a cute outfit first, some make-up or shoes for your new job–” She follows you as you begin making your way towards the store, an excited hop in your step. You hear her give an amused sigh as trails behind you, mumbling, “--But I guess we can say au revoir to your pay now.” "I just want to take a quick look," you insist, feeling irresistibly drawn to the store despite knowing how much money you've spent there before. You start walking faster, leaving Trixie trailing behind, until you finally step inside. The various smells and sights overwhelm you, sending waves of nostalgia through your body. It’s a lot busier compared to the smaller store you typically go to closer to your apartment. A few children are running around and playing between the isles as their mother tries to draw their attention in with a book, flipping between colourful pages as she tries to catch their eyes. You notice a small group of young women in one section, holding books and debating which ones they should get quite loudly as they flip through each book, fanning the pages with their fingers. Meanwhile, there's an older gentleman near the back who's struggling to read the blurb on the back of the book he's tugged off the shelf. He's patting his pockets for his glasses. You can hear more people between the other isles and for a moment, murmuring and giggling. Some even excitedly discuss the books they’ve found. You’re almost tempted to come back later. But the moment the smell of new books hits your nose, along with a hint of a coffee-inspired fragrance from the oil diffuser, you’re drawn back in. Maybe Trixie was right to not bring you here. You could already hear your debit card screaming for mercy in your purse. Speaking of, she sighs as she catches up to you, looking around with a click of her tongue. “Look at that. Books. Almost as many as you still have stored at my place.” She teases, making you nudge her with a grin. "I'm just here to browse," you insist, but your best friend gives you a sceptical glance. You scoff and reach into your bag, pulling out your purse and handing it to her with a smug smile to prove your point. She pockets it, but she still doesn’t seem to believe you, “I give it five minutes.” You scoff again, shaking your head as you begin to move about the store. You slip between other customers, making sure to not disturb anyone as your eyes scan every shelf, every book, new and old alike. This is like your own little piece of heaven on earth. Your own perfect paradise. Though your eyes do linger on the latest releases just a little longer. You move closer to the nearby bookshelf, your heart aching the moment your hands glide over one book in particular.

It looks like a short story for children, judging from the pastel sky and the cartoon unicorn on the cover. The stars in the unicorn’s mane glimmer faintly. On the front of the book there is a sticker that informs potential buyers that every dollar from each sale will be donated to a foundation for abused children. You are about to open the book when--

“You said you weren’t purchasing anything,” Trixie playfully comments, causing you to jerk your hand back as though the book had burnt you. She gives you a playful grin as you shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with admiring the covers!” You insist, grinning back at her as you slide into the next aisle, placing your hand over your aching heart.

As you round the corner, you were expecting to find the Young Adult section right ahead of you. However, to your surprise, you walked straight into the non-fiction aisle instead.

There were all sorts of books on display, from true crime to language books to history books. Although you have dabbled with non-fiction just as much as you have with fiction, you still have a preference for the latter. As you walk the aisle, you scan the shelves, keeping an eye out for any interesting covers when one does catch your eye. You’re passing by the cookbooks when you see a book with the title ‘Classic Russian Meals.’ At once, your promise is tossed out the window as you grab the cookbook, flipping through it swiftly. This…yes, this could be just what you need! Triumphantly, Trixie tells you "I knew you'd cave, bookworm." You plead with her, your eyebrows furrowed. “I have to make an exception for this.” You reply, closing the book and holding it tight to your chest. Trixie’s look becomes more curious as she listens to you. “This cookbook is just what I need." Trixie gives you an unsure look, but you know she’s never been able to resist your pleading. She sighs, reaching into her bag and passing you back your purse.

You grin widely as you hurry away to get in line to pay for it. She joins you a few moments later while you scan through the pages until it’s your turn. You hand the book to the owner, who smiles warmly and asks if you'd like a bag. "That will be $90," she says. You are taken aback as you hear the price. Ninety dollars? It's more than what you had budgeted for. You feel disappointed and disheartened as you realize that you won't be able to buy the book. It could have been a great boon to have, but unfortunately, you have to pass on it. You apologize and inform the seller, "I'm sorry but I can't afford--" Suddenly, a hand with freshly manicured and painted teal nails brushes past you as Trixie places her debit card on the reader. A small green tick appears on the tiny screen as she beams brightly, grabbing the heavy cookbook and passing it over to you.  “No bag today, thank you.” You hold onto your new cookbook tightly as she leads you out of the store. You look up at her with gratitude, and say, "Trix, thank you so much for doing this for me. You really didn't have to." You give the book a tight hug, a warm smile on your face, although you feel a little guilty. Trix waves her hand dismissively, smiling kindly at you. She warmly replies, "You know you're like a sister to me." Then, she grins mischievously and adds, "And who knows, if you master that cookbook, maybe the words on the back of the book will come true~" You frown as you flip the book over to read the blurb. You scan each paragraph until you find it. It’s right at the bottom in bold, white letters, “The perfect gift for any wife!” You can’t help but grin in amusement as you teasingly bump your hip against Trixie’s. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny, Trix.”

She giggles and nudges you back. Her voice is playfully mischievous as she replies, “What? I happen to think Mrs. Grumpy suits you~" ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

There was one problem with your entire plan. You hadn’t taken into account transporting all of these groceries to Fyodor’s cottage. It was close to sundown when you caught the bus that would take you from the mall to the bus stop closest to the woods where Fyodor’s cottage was located. During the initial bus trip, you noticed that some people were giving you odd stares. Some young children who were below the age of four approached you to see if you had any sweets to share. Additionally, an older woman started to badger you about why you didn't take your husband along with you and ended up lecturing you about your lack of spouse. The bus driver sends you a worried glance as you leave the bus carrying an entire fortnight’s worth of groceries for two and a very thick, heavy cookbook, the heavy scent of diesel causing you to cough and shake as you begin your trek to the cottage. You hoist them along the familiar forest path you’ve taken many times now as the birds seem to stop singing the moment you enter. Perhaps even the little sparrows and drongos were shocked to witness you heaving several bags of shopping along by yourself. The trees rustle, causing a cascade of orange leaves to shower upon you. You felt like the tree was supporting you in your struggle. Or maybe it was mocking you. Either way, a few leaves weren’t going to get these bags to Fyodor’s. As you continue on your way, you catch a glimpse of the orange tabby cat as it disappears over the old, rickety fence and up a small flight of cobblestone steps, brushing against the legs of an old, heavy-set woman. “Oh, dear!” Her voice is thick with a heavy Russian accent. It’s thicker than Fyodor’s. She turns her head back inside of her home, calling out to someone else in Russian. A few moments later, a balding older man appears by her side. You’re a little surprised as they approach the rickety fence separating their small cottage from the cobblestone path, warm smiles on their aged faces, though the woman looks a bit more concerned for you. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be dragging all this uphill by yourself dearie.” She looks towards her husband as she fixes her glasses, nodding, “Dima, help her, will you? Where are you going with all these bags?”

You shift a little awkwardly, smiling politely as the elderly gentleman with a greying beard approaches you, preparing to take a few bags off your hands. You appreciate the help but you didn’t want to strain this poor old man with your heavy bags. So you give him the lighter bags, “Oh thank you so much, you didn’t have to,” you reply gratefully, handing over a few bags before adding, “To the heart of the forest. You know, that little cottage near the lake.” The elderly woman gasps in delight. “You’re taking them to Fedyka? Oh isn’t that lovely, Dima?” Her hazel eyes gleam with the joy of a mother hearing that her child has made a friend. Her husband, Dmitry, gives a huff of approval. He doesn’t seem like a very talkative man. She clasps her hands together, smiling widely at you. “I hope he isn’t making you do all the cooking dearie. You make sure he helps out a little okay?” Your smile relaxes a little as you giggle, fixing your grip on the last shopping bags you’re holding while clutching the cookbook closer to your chest, “Yes ma’am–” “Oh sweetheart, there’s no need for that,” she gives a hearty laugh as she straightens out her apron over the top of her dress, giving you a polite nod, “You can just call me Olya dearie. Now you tell Fedyka to come and pay us a visit! You can both come along! We would be more than happy to have you, wouldn’t we Mitya?” “Yes Olya.” Dmitry finally responds. He turns his light blue eyes towards you, nodding softly with a smile, “It would be lovely to have both of you around.” You squirm in place, smiling politely. While you were a translator and you knew how to translate written Russian, you still couldn’t understand it very well when it was spoken. More so, you still struggled to understand people whose accents were a bit thicker, like Dmitry’s. You give a small smile and nod, “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Olga looks at the sunset sky, then back to you two, “We’ll work something out. Now you two best be on your way; it’s almost nightfall. Take good care of her and Fedyka, won’t you darling?” You give a very polite bow as you continue on your path, Dmitry at your side. You smile happily as you hear the birds around you starting to sing again as they fly for their nests for the evening. Fyodor didn't mention his sweet neighbors. Dmitry was friendly but hard to understand when wound up, his accent coming through much heavier the more passionate he got. As you proceed along the cobblestone path, dusted with what was likely one of the last batches of Autumn leaves, he talks to you. A grin on his face is vibrant, despite his age. His voice is slightly raspy as he speaks poetically to you about the nature surrounding you both. You offer smiles and polite nods, not daring to mention that you have no idea what he’s saying outside of a few words here and there. He turned out to be more talkative than you initially expected. Passing through the white archway, you notice a pair of doves on the outdoor table, cooing loudly yet beautifully to one another. A bonded pair, it seemed.

Your heart warms at the sight as yours and Dmitry’s approach sends them fleeing the scene, white feathers standing out boldly against the vivid kaleidoscope of warm colors draped beautifully overhead. You approach the cottage door, placing the groceries you’re carrying down to rasp your knuckles against the wood delicately. You wait a few seconds, expecting Fyodor to open the door.

But he doesn’t. Huh. That’s odd. You look around, listening out for any movement when you hear an upset cat for a heartbeat. You gasp quietly. It must be the tabby. So, you knock a second time. Maybe Fyodor had just been wrapped up in his writing and didn’t hear you the first time. Maybe he even fell asleep on his draft. He did look quite exhausted when you were last here. You shift from foot to foot as you chew the inside of your cheek. You were starting to worry now. This wasn’t like Fyodor at all. You considered the possibility that he had gone somewhere. Fyodor seems like a homebody but surely there are people he visits from time to time? Or maybe he goes on walks to get ideas for his novels? You consider asking Dmitry if he knows where Fyodor could have gotten to, but you’re worried about stressing the elderly man. Nor do you want to let on that you have no idea where he could be.

You consider calling his phone but knowing him, it’s likely still sitting in his drawer on silent after Vivian called on Friday. “It’s a needless distraction.” You’re getting close to trying to find a back entrance. Or maybe trying to break in through a window. But as they say, the third times the charm right? You lift your hand, your knuckles rasping against the wood once, twice and then, the door finally opens with a loud creak. Your eyes widen in surprise; Fyodor looks like death. His bloodshot eyes turn up, meeting your gaze as you stand before him, hands clutching tight back around the bags of groceries. His arm seemed to hang by his side like it was weighted down by bricks, his hand barely keeping its grip on the door knob. It’s been a day. How does he keep looking worse and worse? He almost seemed to be leaning against the door frame as his messy hair clings to his face, his typically distant eyes look at you apathetically as they slowly scan you and Dmitry by your side.

His eyes seem to widen faintly at the sight of the elderly man with you. His lips turn upwards in a small smile that seems to lack energy, “My, my. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His dark eyes penetrate your gaze as you look up, offering a half-hearted smile as you lift the shopping bags off the ground, making them rustle faintly. “Your fridge was empty when I was here Friday, so I figured I’d fix that for you Mr Grumpy–” The name leaves your lips before you can stop it. “Mr. Grumpy…?” Fyodor repeats your words slowly as if taking the time to digest them. You freeze in place, clutching the shopping bags tighter as your heart drops. You swallow roughly as you try to think of a good response. You can’t tell how Fyodor feels about you calling him that as his brow quirks curiously but his eyes remain blank. You wanted to find a hole and bury yourself in it. You seemed to love testing fate and risking your employment, it seemed. Suddenly, a raspy chuckle comes from your right. Blinking in surprise, you turn towards Dmitry, noticing the amused grin on his face. His light blue eyes fill with amusement as he speaks to Fyodor in a warm tone, “Mr Grumpy! That name suits you when you go around scowling all the time, Fedyka! But my, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. Not since–” “It has been a while yes,” Fyodor gently interrupts the older man as the tabby cat curls between Fyodor’s legs, stepping out of the cottage with an old meow. Dmitry chuckles, placing the shopping bags he’s holding down as he crouches, scratching the cat’s chin. "Итак, Господин Толстой наконец-то добрался до дома, не так ли ?" He scratches behind the tabby cat’s ear and under his chin as he speaks to him, scratching the elderly cat’s greying chin fur, "Уже давно пора. Я уверен, Федька скучал по тебе" You pause, frowning a little as your mind reels, trying to understand at least some of the words Dmitry had said. You purse your lips and slowly look towards Fyodor, a curious look in your eyes. “The cat’s name is Tolstoy?” You ask. Fyodor gives a muffled chuckle, a near-praising look in his bloodshot eyes. "That's correct," he confirms with a nod, his lips curling up into a small smirk. "You seem to be getting better at understanding spoken Russian. Maybe if you keep it up, we'll soon be able to have full conversations in Russian instead of English."

Your brow raises; did Fyodor just tease you? His smirk grows as he steps out of the cottage, walking closer to you, “Allow me.”

He reaches out, taking a few of the bags you’re holding. You slide the handles for a few of the bags into his fingertips when he suddenly murmurs, “--Experience the flavours of Russian cuisine–” You gasp, quickly pulling back. A small chuckle escapes Fyodor’s lips, his smirk growing. Though it doesn’t stretch as wide as you’re use to, “A Russian cookbook, hm? Now why would you have that Огонёк​?”

You step back, holding the book to your chest like it was the most valuable treasure you owned. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Your secret surprise had been foiled. Dmitry chuckles again, replying for you, “You know what they say. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! That’s how my Olya hooked me!” Fyodor chuckles, turning his gaze towards Dmitry. There’s a look of familiarity and a twinkle of warmth every time his gaze crosses the old man’s, “I believe she is just trying to make sure I don’t expire before I can finish my novel.”

Dmitry laughs a little harder at Fyodor’s words, a chilly breeze brushing past the three of you. Tolstoy gives a small, upset sounding mewl as he scurries back inside. Fyodor watches him as he steps aside, allowing access to his cottage to you and Dmitry, “Come. The wind is beginning to pick up. And I do believe it is time for dinner.”

You allow Dmitry to enter first before following behind him. You hear Fyodor almost whisper behind you in a tired tone, "You couldn’t have chosen better timing if you tried, Огонёк." ✩

“Are you certain you know what you’re doing?” “Yes.” Your response comes quite quickly. Fyodor gives a huff of amusement as he finishes tucking the last of the groceries away in the fridge. He knows you’re lying. Not just by the way your nose is scrunched up or by your annoyed tone. But because you’re holding the knife backwards. You're attempting to cut into a carrot with the dull side of the knife. He finds it amusing but fascinating. He closes the fridge door as he approaches you, watching as the knife slides off the sides of the carrot as you huff in annoyance. “Are you certain?” He asks again, his voice calm and curious, despite the amusement in his eyes. He reaches out, gingerly grasping the knife’s black handle. You look up at him, a look of stubborn annoyance on your face that reads ‘I can do it.’ He turns the blade around, the sharp end now facing the carrot as he places it back into your hand. His hand slowly curls around yours as he nods, his voice serious, “Curl in the fingers on your other hand or you risk not just cutting the carrot.” He watches as you do so before gently guiding your hand, his cold fingers wrapping around your warm hand, the blade slicing cleanly through the carrot with his guidance, removing the top. He guides you twice more before pulling back, satisfied that you can handle it from here. He moves back towards the pink carnation teapot, filling it with boiling water from the kettle, and dropping the tea infusion cage inside.

He turns his head faintly. He can hear Dmitry talking to Tolstoy in the living room along with the papers of his draft being shuffled and likely read, he assumed. He turns his gaze back to you. You were more observant than Fyodor had first predicted. That was good. For the sake of his novel at least. But he worried how far your observant eye had led you. Did you really just notice the lack of food in his fridge, or did you also take in the way he held himself like his body was forcefully being dragged down by invisible hands?

Did you notice how sloppy his handwriting was? How weakly he was holding his pen? Did you see the ink blots on the pages where he had held the pen too long?

He narrows his eyes, watching as you scoop up the carrot chunks, dropping them into the broth boiling on the stove top before you speak up, “That’s the carrots done. Now the chicken.” Fyodor continues to observe you as you go about slicing the chicken next, tossing the chunks into a small bowl. Although the pieces are much too thick, he doesn’t mention it. He would help correct the mistake soon. Instead, he asks in a serious voice, “Were you not taught the basics of cooking as a child?” He sees you bite the inside of your cheek. You’d taken offence to his question. Perhaps he should have worded it differently.

You’re quiet until you finish slicing the first chicken breast, “I was taught how to make instant noodles and coffee.” You reply, grabbing the next chicken breast. He watches the knife glide through it as you speak, “My father was normally far too busy to cook. So we lived on takeaway and instant noodles most of the time.” Fyodor blinks. You had no experience cooking? And yet you had gone out of your way, purchasing a cookbook and the ingredients just to feed him? He goes silent, processing this information. You were strange. A puzzle he couldn't decipher. He feels a sensation rising in his chest, that familiar warmth flickering in his heart, like a lighter trying to ignite but unable to get the full spark. “Let’s focus on making your first home-cooked meal edible then,” Fyodor replies as he steps closer to you. He slides open the cutlery drawer, grabbing a second knife to slice the chicken chunks into smaller, bite-sized pieces. He nods at you, “Make the rest of the pieces smaller too.” He sees you nod as you go about correcting your mistake, making the pieces more bite-sized and manageable. Once he’s sure you have that under control, he begins working on the onion. Cutting off the root and peeling the skin back, he begins cutting the onion when he hears your question, “What about you? You seem to know what you’re doing so I assume—” “Yes, I was taught how to cook growing up,” he replies softly but quickly, interrupting you, the sound of his knife tapping against the cutting board filling the silent spaces in between, “Mother and I always cooked together, from the moment I was old enough to help her.”

He feels a wave of nostalgia rushing through his tired body before it coils around his heart like a string of barbed wire, cutting so deeply into his heart he almost winces physically. He breathes in, deeply but silently as he keeps cutting the onion, sliding the pieces into a container nearby. He notices you finishing up with the chicken pieces before you pause, hands pressed against the countertop as you mumble, your tone sounding melancholic. “That sounds nice.” Silence seemed to fall over the room as you double-checked the cookbook, adding the necessary herbs and spices into the broth as he stepped back, giving you space to work. He knows you have to make mistakes to learn from them, but he feels a tug in his chest to guide you. He gives a silent huff before turning his attention to the teapot. Right. He’d almost forgotten to serve Dmitry some tea. After checking over your progress one last time, he gathers the hot pot of steaming black tea, along with two teacups on an antique silver tray before he heads for the living room. Dmitry is sitting on the window seat, near where Fyodor had set up a fold-out table to work on his novel for the afternoon. The last rays of the setting sun illuminate the older man’s form as he gives Fyodor a warm, fatherly smile. He puts Fyodor’s draft to the side so he can place the tray down on the table, “I apologise for the delay, my assistant needed me. Will you be joining us for dinner, Mitya?” “I would love to,” he replies while Fyodor begins filling the cups. “But I have a meal waiting for me at home. My Olya too.” He chuckles as he lifts the teacup, taking a slow sip. Fyodor turns, grabbing the upholstered chair from nearby.

He sits across from the elderly gentleman as a raspy chuckle rolls off his tongue. “I was starting to think we wouldn’t get the chance to sit like this again.” He looks up at Fyodor, teacup clinking against it’s saucer as he places it back down, his light blue eyes carefully looking Fyodor over for a few moments, his brow furrowing with worry, “But my, you’re looking a little worse for wear. Has your manuscript been keeping you that busy?” “You could say that,” Fyodor replies, sipping gently on his tea. The warm liquid soothes his aching body as he sighs softly, holding the teacup carefully. Dmitry keeps a close eye on the younger man, a look of sympathy on his face.

Fyodor knew he was starting to put the pieces together. The true reason for his exhaustion. Dmitry was a smart man after all. But rather than pressing, Dmitry nods towards the archway, his smile growing a little, “I have to say, Olya and I were surprised when we saw that young lady. I thought you would never need an assistant?” Fyodor scoffs slightly when he's reminded of his previous statement, causing Dmitry to chuckle. “This is a different situation.” He takes another sip of his tea before speaking once more. “She is merely here to help translate the book for an international audience. Nothing more.”

“But you’re writing a romance novel, yes? Haven’t you thought about asking for a woman’s opinion on love and romance? It may prove beneficial to your novel.” “No.” His reply is short and blunt as his teacup finds it’s place back on it’s saucer. “Because she is here just to help with translations. I do not need any help when it comes to writing my novel.”

He sits back, getting comfortable as Tolstoy begins circling his feet. “I have written enough novels to know what I am doing.” “Ah but our Fedyka has never been in love, has he?” His smile grows softer, his eyes glowing with warmth. “Writing about love is no easy task. Not when it is such a complex emotion. Writing the words is one thing, but experiencing it is something entirely different.” “Then I should come to you and Olya for help, shouldn’t I?” There’s a pause. Then, Dmitry starts to chuckle. He rises slowly from his chair, using the wall nearby for support as he stands, grinning in amusement at Fyodor. “I thought you knew what you were doing, Fedyka?”

A huff of amusement leaves Fyodor as he smiles faintly. Giving one last hearty laugh, Dmitry reaches over, patting Fyodor on the shoulder. “Don’t give the girl too much trouble, you hear?” He gives his shoulder a squeeze before he takes his leave. Fyodor stays in his seat, watching as Dmitry leaves, a hum on his lips. Tolstoy leaps onto his lap, purring, his hand instantly moving to scratch the cat’s chin. He hums quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as he dwells on Dmitry’s words, his eyes transfixed on the honey-coloured liquid in his cup. A complex emotion, huh... “Hey.” Your voice shakes him from his thoughts. He looks up at you, standing in the archway of the living room with a smile that causes that flicker of warmth to glow in his heart once more, “I need a hand with the soup. Um...do you mind?” He pauses. Then he offers a faint smile in return as he stands. Tolstoy gives an annoyed mewl as Fyodor walks towards you, following you towards the kitchen.

He was a little worried about how your first homecooked meal was turning out but a part of him had some faith in you. You just needed a helping hand.

⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘⋆｡°✩ * Огонёк: Little Light * "So, Mister Tolstoy has finally made it home, hasn't he? It's long overdue. I'm sure Fedyka missed you."

Hurt/ angst/ comfort

Nikolai Gogol x fem!reader

Night changes

MINORS DNI

This story is +18. If you are minor, quit or at least don’t interact.

Trigger warning: mentions of blood, wounds, violence/domestic violence, sadistic behaviour, cold weapon, affective dependency. Nikolai is his own TW atp.

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It was too much. You’ve reached your limit.

Looking forward, you could only see chaos and ruination of your persona. Nothing more.

And certainly, nothing less.

Certainly, at these times you ask yourself « what happened », foolishly, gazing at the poor state you were left in « why even ? ». For nothing.

Oh. Yes. I’ve loved. The wrong person.

Sacrificial, you choose yourself to be, indeed.

It wasn’t rare for you to be quietly sitting on the couch with your so called lover (the one who could be so lovely and affectionate) until he suddenly would turn into a monster. Giggling and laughing at your pain

— Ah.. search for freedom it is. —

Like now…

« HahAhaHa if you just looked at your face when I stabbed you. Like a shocked puppy !! »

This relationship was still so important to you.

Always you heard that love was staying through the hard times. It was supposedly normal to « Go through hell for the one you love » — isn’t it ?

That’s why you’ve always been so loving and genuine about your feelings and continued being so, even through the hardest times.

Certainly, you yearned for someone to love, who would love you back and cherish you…

Only.. you haven’t got this chance.

You indeed found someone to love but the feeling wasn’t reciprocated ?.. Or was the feeling present but not reciprocated correctly, loosing itself between a negation operated by none other than your lover due to his obsession with freedom and his selfishness?

An absurd choice made by a man to tangle himself in a relationship when bearing such an unrealistic ambition. Freedom from emotions.

Harm, pain, sadness and humiliation was all you knew.

You knew you betrayed yourself for nothing. And you were continuing to do so.

Indeed Nikolai could seem very friendly, even adorable at first glance but.. He could actually be the very monster before you, enjoying your pain. Uselessly.

..like now.

Facing you with what he likes to call his « amusement tools » which consisted of knives of all shapes and sizes.

Very sharp knives.

«  Come on doll ! I haven’t finished yet ! » he said stomping his foot on the floor.

The floor, littered with broken glass, from the very same vase you’ve put the very flowers he offered you.

Both standing in the kitchen. A wold and a lamb.

You, against the wall, behind a table that was sparing you from the monster before you, ready to harm you at any moment.

You were all bleeding and sobbing from the harm you’ve been enduring.

You were like an object. Hugging you when he felt like it and hurting you when he felt like it.

Blood from your arms was pouring and staining your beautiful dress. Such a mess.

How did it come to this ? Was a recurrent question which didn’t seem to leave your mind.

« Nikolai please .. » your voice pleading and quivering.

« Come on darling » urging you  « hold out you hand.. » he pouted maliciously.

Trying to struggle was always vain. He was always stronger than you.

One hit.

Blood platter on the floor.

One time too much.

Time stopped..

Through your tears, you looked at your stained, torn clothes, at your bleeding arms and palm… Slowly your gaze trailed till it reached his face. The man you loved and cherished so much was the source your pain and sadness..

Standing with a Cheshire grin.

He was the one harming you and putting you through chaos, through pain. You looked at him in the eyes.. eyes full of grief and regret. He paused.

Love should never be like that.

The shift in the atmosphere happened when he suddenly noticed something changed in you. Your eyes.. they lost their light, they became cold and distant.

He felt a clench in his heart and.. guilt ? He then knew, by the way you looked at him...

He was loosing you.

The smile in his face.. long gone. Realisation hiting was a reminder of his failure.

Slowly, you turned around the table avoiding him, wearing your long coat, you lifelessly exited the house with your heart torn apart.

——————————————

It was a rainy day. How funny.. like an attempt of the weather to match the storm present in your heart.

At least, the teardrops flowing down your cheeks would be mistaken for rain. This way, people won’t stare.

It was cold outside, you were crossing your arms trying to shield yourself from the cold. Slowly walking between all the passengers, you started thinking about how your life would have been if you haven’t encountered Nikolai.

Certainly better.

With your hands cold and your heart clenching you made it to a bench at a parc and as it was afternoon, you could see the deep orange sun setting. Its warmth deeply contrasted with the coldness of the rain.

It was truly beautiful.

The more time passed, the colder it got. To survive that, the only thing you could do is hug your legs against your chest and rocking back and forth in an effort to create some warmth.

It was night now, the sun has completely set. The only light you had was coming from the street lamps.

By that time, there was no one left in the parc, only the sound of crickets and the leaves blowed by the wind.

You found yourself lulled by the sounds.. if only you weren’t in such a messy state, you could have been able to really enjoy sitting here..

Instead, your face felt heavy from crying and your mind raced.

You wondered what you were going to do now that you managed to exit the house. You have nowhere to go. If Nikolai finds you at your family’s place he could harm them and that was a risk you didn’t want to take. Staying with someone as violent was your fault and you weren’t going to put your loved one’s security at stake.

The only place you could go to would be a hotel and even there, Nikolai could still find you, but at least, the only person who would be harmed would be you.

You have no exit.

You knew that your so-called boyfriend would find you wherever you go and that trying so hard to escape was useless.

The calmness of the scenery got to you and you were starting to feel sleepy when you heard the sounds of footsteps on the grass.

So tired from all the crying you’ve done, you had a hard time focusing on the person that was walking towards you.

Suddenly, the realisation hit you and you stiffened, eyes wide. The silhouette was one you would recognise between hundreds of others.

Slowly approaching.. like a predator towards his prey.

This is it.. he’s going to kill me.

Today is my last.

These moments are my last.

Trembling.. you were trembling from fear, the man before you was a monster.

Slowly coming under the light, you could finally see his face.

Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t wearing that sadistic smile of his… the smile of a predator.

He seemed actually.. sad ?

Without a word, with a shocking call, he sat beside you. Leaving you apprehensive of his intentions.

His demeanour was strange, wasn’t as malicious as usual, he wasn’t moving with his habitual eccentricity. A certain distance between the too of you was kept as if he was waiting for an answer, or a reaction.

You blinked, the wind blowing on your week frame.

The situation being too stressful resulted on you suddenly bursting into tears.

- « What did I ever do to you to treat me like this ?! Do I really deserve that ?! » your voice breaking from the precedent amount of cries, of sobs.

Sitting beside you, you see Nikolai flinch and for a minute you saw what looked like.. guilt ? Sadness ? Regret ?

But could you trust it ? Could you trust your red puffy eyes, tired from weeping all day ?

As the silence grew, you continued « I’ve always gave you all my love.. I just wanted to love and be loved that’s all.. that’s all I wanted ».

You looked at him desperate, trying to get an answer instead of that mysterious emotion on his face.

« All you did was hurting me. Pain, that’s all you gave me back.. You must really hate me a lot for doing all this to me»

Besides you, Nikolai was trying his best to look stoic but, the pang on his heart was too painful to be able to do much.

« I am…sorry.. sweetheart.. let’s just go home »

« I wish I’ve never met you, Nikolai » you added, hot tears pooling down your cheeks. Indeed you fell terribly for him very shortly after your first meeting. Even at that time, something in your heart told you it would never be the same.

A hug. Strangely warm, compared to his meek precedent attempts. Without a word you stayed like this, only hearing each others breaths and sharing a non habitual warmth.

It’s too hard. That’s what you’ve always wanted. And he’s only giving it to you now. When it felt like it was over.

Was he trying to soothe you before he leaves you dead ?

After a long unmeasured moment of silence, you were the one to break it with a tired voice « You’ve hurt me. Again and again. How many time you said sorry before? Did it change anything ? » your eyes heavy, betraying you while you needed to be the most alert.

Tears were still running down your reddened cheeks.

Time passed by still in silence in the same position. Hugged by your executioner.

Instead of a proper response, Nikolai scoops you up in his arms, and without a word took the path back home. Startled, looking at his face, he seems solemn, uncharacteristically serious.

What could you do ? From the first time you saw him, you knew you were too far gone. Your fault for being thirsty for love.

« Nikolai, this is my last try with you.. » a white lie you couldn’t even believe yourself.

And as silence persisted, the only thing you could hear was his steps on the grass.

You felt warm at the idea that he actually might change. That maybe, he was sincere.

You wouldn’t bet your life on it though.

But a sparkle of hope remained.

.