#its fedya why would anyone expect fluff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soukokuwu · 4 years

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heaven in hell

genre: fluff pairing: fyodor x reader warnings: some religious references/themes; bonus points if you can see who i projected them both as word count: 1.7k synopsis: you and fyodor go through thick and thin together. - requested by anonymous: fyodor with a childhood friend s/o who takes part in his murderous shenanigans — at one point she tells him: “it’s strange. when i’m with you, no matter how bad things get, i’m not afraid.”

White daffodils and crimson pomegranates.

Silk dresses and flower crowns.

That’s the sight that accompanied your beauty the first time he saw you. How old was he then? Eight? Nine? Somewhere there. He didn’t place much significance in that moment. How was he supposed to know then that you’d mean so much to him now?

The daughter of a wealthy family, someone who seemed to have everything. Everything but freedom. Even someone like you, who was constantly surrounded by people, must’ve felt lonely. The empty praises and fake kindness from those who surrounded you.

You hated it, Fyodor could see it. He had found you ravishing, and that was never a secret. That was what drew him in. At first. In all honesty he thought you’d be plain, a blank canvas in the mind, like a drone that only operated on commands.

But as he spoke to you that day, under the shade of the pomegranate trees, Fyodor found his expectations exceeded. The way you vocalised your opinions, the way you spoke of politics and disdain for the sinful nature of humanity. Then, only then, was Fyodor completely entranced.

Where he thought you grew flowers because you loved to see them grow, you admitted it was not; you liked to watch them fade and die. Like there was something worth admiring about a necessary death. A certain duality lived in you — like you could be the goddess of life, and yet at the same time, a ruler of all that was dead.

Fyodor found something in common with you that day. Both of you would kill for the sake of a better world, if only you had the means. That was the first time you spoke of him as that. It was when he confessed his perception of an ideal world — a world without ability users.

“Kill any one of them, that makes you a murderer,” you had commented once.

“But if I kill millions of them, that makes me a conqueror.”

You had turned toward him with a playful smirk then. “Kill all of them — that makes you a god.”

A wildflower — that was what he saw you as.

You grew from what you perceived as nothing. That house held no meaning, your choices were never actually yours to make and family was just an empty label tying blood relatives together. Where you used to be scared of going against your family, you stood up to them. Renounced everything they promised you, called them out for being nothing but self-fulfilling bastards.

You chose to run of your own accord, but that was not what your family spoke of. They spread rumours of how you had been seduced by evil, bribed by the demon, manipulated to leave your nest. They spoke of how you were stolen, not cast off. They were adamant on how you were dragged away from paradise and into hell. They omitted how you were the one who pounded on the its gates yourself just to escape the real devils parading as angels in their own personal form of ‘heaven’.

There was a sickness in them. Rising like the bile that leaves that bitter taste at the end of your throats. You hated it. And so you ran to him, to Fyodor, with only your hatred for such greed in tow. You had absolutely nothing. Yet ironically, with nothing to your name, you stumbled upon everything.

Whatever it was initially, it had bloomed into something more. Much akin to friendship on fire.

Only a beautiful soul such as yours would kiss the damned. That was how he viewed all ability users at first, and that included himself. But you? You didn’t have any — you were all human, pure, untainted, this way. You didn’t think of him as a damned being though. Much as you viewed certain deaths necessary, so were certain evils. And if Fyodor viewed himself as damned, you argued to put it to good use.

“You are not the devil, you are a god.”

You always reminded him of that. Until it was ingrained in his mind. And just like that, you became the most influential person in his life — the reason he does anything for the dream of a better world in the first place. Not only for himself, but also for you.

That’s why you followed him wherever he went. Fyodor deemed himself god and you were his one loyal, devoted follower. No — he viewed you as his goddess, one worthy of standing beside him as an equal. Although he does not say.

He was still doubtful you’d follow him away from Russia, leaving the safety of familiarity for foreign lands. Fyodor was preparing to leave you, to say farewell. But you showed up with your luggage in tow this time, carrying with you the smile he called home. He found it fascinating, how with each step toward him it’s like you brought springtime with you, and with each step away it felt more and more like winter. Lucky for him then, you’d always stick close to him.

You became his partner-in-crime, a goddess standing strong beside her god, the bride to his ruler of ‘hell’ (as they used to call him back at home — you were nothing like your parents though, you thought being with Fyodor was like heaven on earth), minus the deceptions because he could manipulate everyone, but he would never want to do that to you. Only you.

Every scheme, every murder. You had a hand in it. There were other subordinates, sure. But you were his right-hand man. There was no other he’d trust more than you. And you hid in the shadows, far deeper than any of them did.

But not for tomorrow. For tomorrow they needed a female. And you had volunteered.

Fyodor isn’t one to worry, much less one to admit it. Although you can always tell when something is off. Tonight is one of those times.

You’re on the balcony, looking out at the view before you. It’s a nightly routine for you, to stand here and just enjoy the song of the breeze, along with the choir of stars that blanketed the sky, seemingly endless. There’s something more tonight though — Fyodor. He’s right there behind you, bony, icy fingers nestling against your stomach, cheek resting against your back.

He’s the first to break the silence by calling your name.

“Yes, fedya?”

Fyodor exhales gently through his nose before he says anything, the warm air hitting the back of your neck now that he straightens up. “Мне так повезло́ тебя́ встре́тить,” he whispers in your ear.

He celebrates inwardly as he sees the smile creep up on your face. You’re trying not to grin silly, but you fail miserably the moment he leaves a chaste kiss on your earlobe. “I consider myself lucky to have met you too, Fyo.”

“Are you not worried, lyubimaya?”

He knows he is. He’s always preferred to keep you safe behind the screens, never let the enemy even know of your existence if he can help it. He’s not worried about whether you’re capable of carrying it out properly, no. He has the utmost confidence that you’re the best person for the job. As you did for the few previous times you had to help out. You’re intelligent, capable, tough. Perfectly able to kill anyone you had to. But you are also the only thing he is afraid of losing.

You turn around in his arms and cup his cheeks in your hands, giggling slightly as his cheeks grow rounder from being held. Your gaze shifts to his purple orbs, finding it endearing how you’re the only one who gets to see his hardened gazes melt into an earnest plea for answers.

Fyodor can’t help it; the way his vision wanders to your body — your torso. He only has to furrow his brow ever so slightly for you to know exactly what’s on his mind: the last time you went on a mission, how you had severely underestimated the enemy, how they had stabbed you and nearly killed you. Not a day goes by that Fyodor doesn’t think about it. The man is dead now, yes, but he can’t get the sight of your scar out of his mind. A reminder of how he had failed to protect you.

“It's strange. When I'm with you, no matter how bad things get, I'm not afraid.”

Your words snap him out of it. He swallows the lump in his throat. He appreciates your attempt at easing his worries, you can see that from the slight pink tainting his pale skin. His thumb rubs over the spot of your scar through your shirt.

They say that when you lose someone, you’ll only ever regret the things you don’t say. Is this what he’s feeling now? The taste of loss — however false it may have been now since you’re safe and alive — is still fresh on his tongue. Nothing will stop either of you from continuing with this. So maybe, this is the least he can do, isn’t it? Let you in? After all, you’ve been with him for as long as he can remember.

“Я хочу́ провести́ с тобо́й всю оста́вшуюся жизнь,” he mutters with a serious expression before he releases you from his embrace and turns around. “So you better not fail tomorrow.”

As he disappears back into the room, you lean back against the railing and smile to yourself. Over time you got used to his shows of affection. People who knew always commented on how he doesn’t show enough — but to you he shows plenty. Fyodor has never said he loves you. It’s always said in a roundabout way because that’s just who he is.

But what you heard earlier? That must be the best one yet.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too, Fyo,” you whisper after him into the night. Because you’ve never said you love him either. But just like you, he already knows.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

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