𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘 [fyodor dostoevsky x reader] ༉‧₊˚✧

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘.

‟A kiss on the forehead—erases misery.

I kiss your forehead. 

 A kiss on the eyes—lifts sleeplessness.
I kiss your eyes. 

 A kiss on the lips—is a drink of water.
I kiss your lips. 

 A kiss on the forehead—erases memory." 

 — Marina Tsvetaeva, "Kiss On The Forehead" (1917)
Translated by Ilya Kaminsky and Jean Valentine

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

(Name) Ivanovna Yeliseyeva. The second-in-command for the Rats in the House of the Dead. That was the title she had been going by for so long now; it almost felt like second nature.

Her hand rested confidently against the handprint scanner, rushes of static light transmitting a familiar trill up her spine. Another mission. It had become an almost weekly routine for her — receive information about an individual or organization, infiltrate their security systems or personal guards, and halt their obstruction of the Rat's plans. There were no breaks. There was only a constant wave of adrenaline rushing through her veins, along with the settlement of a taboo impression in her bones. Her younger self would have scolded her for the dim outlook of her future — she had always wanted to be a writer when she was that age — but things changed for that version of herself many years ago.

And it was all thanks to him.

He was a man, despite the protests of both his enemies and allies alike. Some declared him to be an uprising god, and others declared him to be the embodiment of Satan himself. But he was only a man — maybe even a boy if she reached back into her memories far enough. Because, unlike God or Satan, only the will of a man could change a future such as hers. And through his will alone, she had been bound to his side.

The scanner completed with a small beep, the door adjacent to it sliding open slowly to reveal a hidden computer database that had long awaited their presence. As had become a mission routine, she crept inside to take a precautionary sweep of the room with her gun pointed towards each shadow — someone could easily hide within their spreading boundaries. Once she had concluded that no one was hiding in there with her, she specifically gestured for the taller of her allies, Semyon, to join her.

However, both of her allies — Semyon and Rodion — walked inside instead, leaving the hallway vacant of a watchful eye. It was no wonder he always complained about them lacking any self-initiative.

She soughed, her voice laced with fatigue as her empty gaze cast across both men, who rightfully shuddered as they slowly came to the conclusion that they had messed up. Aiming the muzzle of the gun away from their faces, she placed it delicately back in the holster on her hips with a short click.

Her voice remained low, continuing in a careful whisper. "One of you must remain outside. Otherwise, we'll have no warning if or when the Creed will—"

THUD.

She looked towards the closed door, which had obviously been made specifically so that there were no handles or knobs to let anyone outside or in without the scanner. Her eyes shifted towards the one on the inside wall, its screen flashing red with an error code.

"Oh, dear."

Rodion turned to look at her, panic already evident as sweat permeated against his pale, clammy skin. "Ms. Yeliseyeva, t-the door—!"

Her throat unwittingly released a sigh, one with deep and guttural anger that took root in her muscles — but it was more directed toward herself than at the two idiots. If she had taken into consideration their frequent destructive habit of never thinking before acting, she would have already had them out of the base. Though sometimes she contemplated reporting their incompetency so that they could receive proper conditioning, a larger part of her enjoyed working with sane allies over obedient ones. Goncharov already freaked her out with his slimy voice and dull eyes — she didn't need clones of him.