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with-love-from-hell · 3 years ago

Note

hey I had a really shitty holiday and I was wondering if I could get a fic with Lucifer standing up for mc during the holidays. like maybe he knew only a little bit about how family treated them but is now fully aware of how fucking awful they are and is furious. I really liked the eating disorder fics you did, so if you can incorporate some body shaming or something, I'd appreciate it. I just want Lucifer standing up to shitty family for some comfort. <3

Hello Anon!

I am sorry that this is late- I know you sent it around Thanksgiving, so I hope you're doing okay! I have shitty family myself so I know how batshit the holiday season can be with being forced to be around family. I enjoyed writing this one- so I hope you enjoy it too!

I also saw your follow up ask- requesting this for a F!Mc instead of GN like you had originally intended, requests to include some toxic Christian undertones, and stating the Mc be a middle sibling with two sisters- and so it has been done!

Won't Back Down

Genre: one-shot, heavy hurt/comfort

MC characteristics: F!Mc, age is in between 24-25

Pairing: Lucifer x Mc

WC: approx. 4.2k

Cw: emotional/verbal abuse, strained family relationships, body shaming/insults toward appearance, fatphobia, swearing, religious trauma, mentions of Christian holidays, anxiety, depression, restricting diet, implications of sex, implied hx of physical abuse, threats, mild physical altercation, use of a derogatory term toward ethnicity, use of abelist terminology, use of misogynistic terminology

Note: Though I do have a masters degree in Psychology and clinical training in treating survivors of abuse, I am not your therapist, nor is this fic intended to take the place of professional help. If you are experiencing any type of abuse, please seek support from a professional. Utilize the Victim Connect Resource Center to get connected to the appropriate helpline.

Fuck.

You were late. so very late.

You hurried up to the stoop with Lucifer in tow, careful not to slip on the thick ice that had yet to be salted on your parent’s driveway. You only realized once you had gotten through the portal that Barbatos had opened that there was an hour lag between the time in Devildom and the time in the human world where your parents resided, and you knew that being late was something they took very seriously. The holidays were already stressful enough with your family’s snide comments, insults, and critiques of your life choices- but now you had to throw arriving well passed the established time for dinner.

Well, at least this time you had Lucifer. Perhaps he would provide you some distraction from the terrible night that was sure to follow.

You barely grazed the door with your knuckles before it flung open. There stood your father. A very annoyed look was present on his features as his eyes bore holes into your head. You flushed, looking down- knowing you needed to apologize before he would spiral into another one of his lectures.

“Sorry we’re late, Dad. We got caught up-”

“Just get your ass in here. You’re wasting the heat.” He snapped, not even letting you explain yourself. You clutched the tin of sweets you had brought for dessert tighter to your chest as his booming voice hit your ears. You lowered your head and rushed past him, not wanting to make him more upset.

Lucifer met his stare. Your dad looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. He cocked his head to the side in response before shaking his hand. The moment went on for a bit longer than was comfortable before he broke the connection and followed you into the house.

Since you had been dating, you had told Lucifer snippets of how life was for you in the human world. He knew your parents were not the most saintly individuals, despite their obsession with church. You would avoid talking to them as much as possible, and he had overheard some of your phone calls with them where they would make petty remarks, but other than that you had kept him in the dark. He had never met your family before, so you knew that a good first impression was important. You reiterated it to him multiple times to suck down his pride and be quiet and respectful, which he was willing do do for you...

But after the initial meeting, he had a bad feeling about how the night was going to go.

“It’s about time you got here!” Your mom shouted from the dining room as Lucifer helped you out of your jacket and scarf. “I nearly had to remake dinner.”

You kicked off your boots and set them on the drip tray near the door before rushing to the dining room. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

She gave an elongated sigh, raising from her chair and moving to give you a cold hug. She noticed Lucifer enter the room and she (along with your two siblings) audibly gasped.

“You...you’re Lu?” She was awestruck, seemingly expecting you to bring home a hermit who hadn’t showered in 8 months and had only been living on squirrels out in the woods.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow and nodded, bowing to her gently as a greeting. He had forgotten you had told them his name was Lu, given the fact that they all were very Christian and would abhor the idea of you dating a man named Lucifer- let alone the actual demon himself.

“Well, frankly I’m shocked.” Your mom chortled as she crossed her arms. She looked him up and down, taking in his sophisticated stature, impeccably formal attire, and enchanting features. “I wouldn’t expect a man so handsome to go for someone so ordinary like you, Mc.”

Lucifer was completely taken aback by her brazen insult and shot you a glance. You gave a fake laugh, trying to hide your hurt at her words. His heart sank at the sight. He knew how sensitive you were about your appearance and how insecure you often were in your relationship with him.

Well...at least now he knew why.

“Are ya just going to stand there all night, or are we finally going to eat?!” Your older sister snarled, glaring at you intently.

“S-sorry.” you sputter as you take your seat across from your sisters on the long end of the table, Lucifer taking the seat next to you.

“So. What kept you, dear?” Your mother asked. However, she was seemingly uninterested as she gawked at Lucifer. Clearly she was more interested in undressing him with her eyes than whatever you had to say.

“Oh...um-” you stuttered, trying to think of reasoning that didn’t involve portals from other dimensions. “We got caught up in traffic- we figured the roads would be clear enough, but I a lot of other people thought the same thing!”

You let out a small laugh, though no one at the table seemed to find it very amusing. Actually...it didn’t really seem like anyone heard what you said as dishes were passed around the table. You felt your face flush at the realization that everyone but Lucifer had been completely ignoring you.

Lucifer watched as everyone took heaping plates of the turkey, sweet potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and green-bean casserole...well, everyone except you. he noticed immediately how barren your plate looked. You had taken a small slice of white meat, what looked to be a tablespoon of stuffing and casserole, and a few scoops of sweet potatoes. He was very concerned- you had barely eaten over the past few days due to how anxious you were about the event...there was no way you weren’t starving, so why weren’t you eating more?

“Darling,” he cooed to you quietly, watching you ladle out a teeny portion of cranberries. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

Before you could even respond, a snort from your younger sister was heard across the table. “As if she needs any more. Just look at her stomach. ”

Lucifer's nose twitched in annoyance at the comment, and he felt anger begin to bubble up in his chest. “Pardon?”

You gripped Lucifer’s leg under the table tightly, signaling to him to watch his tongue. He gave you a pitiful glance, before sighing and turning his attention back to his own plate.

“Alright, now let us say grace.” Your father lead a prayer amongst your other family members while you and Lucifer bowed your heads, though declining to participate for obvious reasons. He shot glares in your direction every so often, and you felt his dark eyes judging you for refusing to say the prayer. He knew you were no longer religious, and it infuriated him.

As they finished, your siblings immediately dug into the food. You slowly picked at your turkey, a depressed look present on your features...the likes of which Lucifer had never seen. He watched you play with your food while everyone else happily ate- his heart aching for what you have had to deal with for what he had assumed to be your whole life.

“So, Lu.” Your dad grumbled through bites of casserole. “What is it that you do, exactly?”

Without missing a beat, Lucifer retorted with the lines he had rehearsed with you for hours on end in preparation for meeting your family. “I’m an assistant administrator at the University Mc attends. I see to it that the professors have the materials needed to teach properly and students have what they need to be successful in their studies.”

Your younger sister laughed. “How old are you? It’s a little weird that you’d be dating someone who goes to the school you work at.”

Lucifer smiled, causing your mom to raise her eyebrows in amusement. “I’m only an assistant. It’s not like I’m a professor or the dean of admissions.”

“Yeah but how old are ya?” Your older sister spat the food she was chewing on as she spoke with her mouth full. Lucifer’s eyebrow to twitch in disgust at the clear lack of manners present within your family.

“I’m 29- only a few years older than her.” He nodded toward you, stealthy requesting silent validation that he was hitting all the marks. you gave him a gentle smile, confirming he was doing well.

Your sisters snickered and shared a knowing look. Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Is something humorous about that?”

“Its just a bit funny that the only man she’s ever dated has to be so much older than her.” Your mother giggled. “I mean, it’s really no surprise. She’s never been a head-turner, so older men have always been more interested in her rather than men her own age.”

You felt your face drain of color and you sank down in your chair. “Mom...”

“Oh come off it now,” She rolled her eyes at you and pointed her fork in your direction. “It’s taken you this long to finally bring home a man- the least you can do is be grateful someone is paying attention to you. You’ve never shied away from the attention before.”

Lucifer felt his blood begin to boil. He dropped his gaze to his food and swallowed hard, trying his best to push down the anger he was feeling at how your parents were treating you. He stole glances at your still sorrowful face, wishing desperately you would allow him to give your relatives a piece of his mind.

“How’d you even end up together anyways?” your younger sister side-eyed you across the table, as if not truly believing that you could actually be dating Lucifer.

“Oh- uh-.” You stuttered, not expecting the question, your mind blanking on the rehearsed statements due to the anxiety that was now building in your chest.

“We met at the local pub.” Lucifer stepped in, sneaking you a knowing smile. “Our drink orders got mixed up and we got stuck waiting for the busy bartenders to re-make them. We got to talking, and figured out we had a lot in common.”

“Really, now?” Your father leaned back in his chair, eyeing Lucifer suspiciously. “Tell me Lu, what are your intentions with my daughter?”

You let out a groan. “Dad, please-”

“Shut it, Mc. I want to know if this guy plans on marrying you or just wants to stick his...thing...in your...hoo-ha.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock at his statement...but did find humor in the fact that while your father had the audacity to bring up your sex life at the dinner table, he was still so immature that he couldn’t use the proper terminology to denote sex organs.

you gasped. “DAD!”

“What?!” He snapped. “It’s not like you’ve brought anyone home before! Am I supposed to just trust the first man you bring home? Clearly he must be after something if he’s willing to put up with you- Just look at what you’re wearing!”

Your dad motioned to your shimmery red dress- the one Lucifer had bought you for your most recent birthday. You felt hurt by his insinuation that it was somehow bad taste and began to feel hyperaware of how the dress hugged your curves. “W-what about it?”

Your mother scoffed. “Well first of all, it’s barely leaving anything to the imagination.”

Your younger sister cackled and nodded, pointing at your chest. “Your boobs are practically popping out of it!”

Your eyes widen and you immediately cover your chest with your arms. A beat red blush painted your face, and you found yourself wishing that you could just sink into the ground and cease to exist.

“Second,” Your mom continued, flapping her fork about as she talked with her hands. “Red really isn’t your color, dear. It’s just not flattering. Also, it really should be longer to cover those big legs of yours.”

Your father nodded in agreement. “You’re out here looking like a damn prostitute.”

Lucifer shot him a glare, feeling his anger fester more. “For the record, I’m choosing to date Mc because I love her- not because of what she looks like or how she dresses.”

Your father rolled his eyes, ignoring Lucifer’s statement. He turned his attention back toward you. “Just don’t come crawling back to us when Mr. smooth talker takes what he wants and moves onto someone better.”

You felt tears sting the back of your eyes. You began quietly eating your food to prevent yourself from crying. Lucifer squeezed your leg under the table, trying to get your attention, but you refused to look up. He felt so much contempt for how your family was making you feel- and he felt the hurt burn in his own chest as he watched you try to maintain composure.

The rest of the meal consisted of your sisters and mother trying to engage in small-talk with Lucifer, all the while completely ignoring you. Your father added an occasional quip, and grunted in response to the things being said. You only nodded and gave soft “mhmm”‘s in response to things, otherwise eating the remainder of your food in silence.

After dinner, you and your mother cleaned up the table while your father and Lucifer sat in the living room. Your father had turned on a football game, and was completely ignoring him- which honestly didn’t bother him too much. Your sisters moved on to their own activities- the older one leaving to visit her own boyfriend and your younger one video chatting with her friends in her room.

As you washed the dishes with your mom, you stole glances back at the living room. You were anxious about how Lucifer was doing alone with your dad. You barely heard your mother’s voice until she was snapping her fingers in front of your face to get your attention.

“Hello, earth to Mc!” she spoke loudly, in an annoyed tone.

“Oh...what? Sorry.” you shook your head and turned your complete focus to her. “What did you say?”

She sighed, giving you the final dish to rinse before draining the soapy basin. “I said, what did you bring for dessert? You remembered for once, right?”

“Oh! Yes I did!” you rinsed the dish quickly and dried your hands, gathering the tin of sweets you had brought with you from devildom. Barbatos had showed you how to make traditional sugar plums, and the first batch had turned out great. You were excited to share them with your family.

Your mom smirked. “Finally you’ve done something right.”

Lucifer’s attention perked up at the comment, turning to see your back toward him in the kitchen with your shoulders slumped.

Your dad let out a sinister chuckle. “Now honey, lets not count our blessings before tasting whatever concoction she made. Remember last year when she gave us those terrible cookies?”

Both your parents shared a deep laugh while your face flushed red.

“T-they were just Linzer cookies.” your voice was sheepish as you clutched the tin tighter. “I learned how to make them from one of the exchange students.”

Your dad scoffed. “Either that foreigner couldn’t taste a damn thing or you made them wrong, because those were disgusting.”

Lucifer could not believe his ears. You had made him and his brothers Linzer cookies numerous times, and they turned out absolutely perfect every single time. It appeared that this was a matter of taste- which your parents clearly didn’t seem to have...He could tell that from the bland meal they served. He snickered to himself, wishing he could just say the words to their face, but he knew how important this event was to you...so he held his tongue- albeit barely.

You brought the tin to the living room and opened up the top nervously, now second guessing your choice. Both of your parents scrunched up their faces in apparent disgust at the small brownish-purple balls that littered the inside of the container.

Lucifer immediately took three and savored each one, relishing in the tangy flavor that turned sweet as he chewed them. Barbatos had clearly taught you well, and he was proud you were continuing to learn how to cook various types of cuisines with such grace and skill. However, your mothers disgusted squeal made the pleasant taste of the sweets grow sour.

“Blech!” She spat the plum into the waste bin near the entry way. “What the hell is that? It tastes like potpourri!”

Your dad grimaced as he too spat the plum out into a napkin. “I’m not sure how you managed to ruin desert, Mc. But you did.”

Your face burns bright red as embarrassment wash over you. “I-I’m sorry...”

“Tch. Sorry?” Your father snapped, glaring at you hard. “Your job was to bring a desert- not a pile of shit. Why do you make everything so complicated? All you had to do was bring store brought brownies or somethin.’ But maybe it was my fault for not dumbing the concept down enough for you.”

You felt tears prick the back of your eyes. “I...I...”

Your father balled his fists and made a fake crying motion, mocking you. “ ‘I...I...’ - speak properly, will ya? You’re a damn adult. Stop acting like a spoiled rotten child.”

Your mother nodded in agreement and threw her hands up in exasperation. “You always bring out those crocodile tears. Every year its the same thing! Why do you always have to play the victim?!”

Lucifer watched your face contort as you tried to hold back your sobs. He felt his heart break as you tried and failed to keep you character. He was getting quite sick of sitting by and watching them abuse you- and the final words from your father sent him completely over the edge:

"If you weren’t such a pathetic mess, then maybe we could actually have a good time at our gatherings.” He scoffed, sending Lucifer into a blinding fury.

“That’s quite enough.” Lucifer roared. He quickly moved in between you and your parents, towering over them as he shielded you with his arm. “I have absolutely had it with your constant berating towards Mc.”

Your dad got up, scowling up at the demon who had many inches on his height. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me.” Lucifer snarled. “You’re a lowsey excuse for a man, and a piss poor parent. I hope to never bear witness to the pits of hell you will find yourself snuggly buried in after all you’ve done to her, because you surly aren’t making it up to those pearly gates- not if I have anything to say about it.”

“How dare you use such curses in my house.” Your dad snapped, stepping closer to Lucifer.

“I will speak to you however I damn well please, you repulsive cretin.” He hissed. “After all, you seemed to have been just fine talking down to your own flesh and blood. Maybe it’s about time you got little a taste of your own medicine.”

“Lu--” you tried to squeeze his arm, indicating that you wanted him to stand down.

“No!” Lucifer snapped. He usually wouldn’t take such a terse tone with you, but he wanted you to know he was hurt by how they treated you- the light of his life. He turned his head toward you, shooting you a firm, empathetic glance. “You don’t deserve to be treated like this!”

Your mother moved to pull your dad back from Lucifer, but he shook her off. Lucifer took a step back, pulling you closer to him. He felt your body tense as your dad postured toward him, rolling up his sleeves as he moved. He began wondering what he had done to you in your past to make your body respond in such a way, and his wrath only festered at what his imagination produced.

“You think you’re so tough, huh?” He grumbled. “I knew Mc wouldn’t date a respectable god-fearing man. Maybe I should teach you a lesson in being polite!”

Lucifer let out a loud cackle at your dad’s attempt to exhibit power over him. How truly pathetic.

“Something funny? Huh!?” Your dad screamed, attempting to push Lucifer backwards.

Lucifer’s voice then took on a deep growl, his eyes flashing red with wrath as he stared your dad down. “I surrender to no man, nor god. The only individual I answer to is Mc.” He leaned his head down so he was mere inches away from your father’s face. “Without her commands, I know no mercy- so I suggest you watch who you threaten.”

Your father scrunched his face in confusion- not quite understanding what he meant. Your mom tried to intervene, seeing a pause in the escalation.

“Now now, boys. That’s enough.” She stood in between Lucifer and your father, pushing them apart. She attempted to let out a light hearted chuckle to calm the tension, but it only made Lucifer’s rage fester. “Really now, Mc is not so special she deserves a fight to break out over her own silly emotions.”

Lucifer now turned his attention to your mother, his voice still maintaining a low growl that shook with rage. "Seriously? Seriously? Tch. What sort of vile shrew speaks of her own daughter in such a way!?”

At his insult, your mother’s jaw dropped. “W-what?!”

Lucifer continued his tirade despite your clawing at his shirt, begging him to stop. “You have done nothing but insult her appearance and desirability ever since I set foot in here. Mc is the most breathtaking individual I have ever laid eyes upon- and the audacity you have to make her think she holds no beauty is astounding. Have you ever stopped to think that perhaps you’re projecting your own insecurities onto her? Or is it that you enjoy tearing her down? I suppose I wouldn’t expect someone with a skull as thick as yours to truly comprehend the grace she has.”

She sputtered, trying to think of a retort as Lucifer continued to insult her.

“Any good mother would completely pummel anyone who dared speak to their child in the way you do to her. And the fact that you let your own children do the same? It’s absolutely despicable.” Lucifer huffed, thinking of how much their words had hurt you over the years. “A bitter old cunt such as yourself should be begging to be in her life, because pretty soon you’ll end up alone, with no one by your side but a burnt-out nurse who does nothing for you but wipe and feed you.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but your mother’s jaw dropped further- nearly hitting the floor. You found a smile make its way on your face at her reaction and you ceased your clawing at Lucifer’s shirt. You felt your heart flutter at how ruthless he was in standing up for you.

“How dare you speak to my wife like that!” Your dad now pushed your mother completely out of the way and was standing toe-to-toe with Lucifer, pointing a boney, calloused finger in his face. “Who the hell do you think you are?!”

With that, Lucifer had finally reached his limit with how much of your family he was willing to tolerate. He smiled widely, bearing his sharp fangs. You father gasped and jolted backwards, colliding with your mother and sending them both toppling to the floor. As they scrambled to their feet, he released his full demon form- wings spread wide to prevent their escape. The terrified scream from your mother sent a chill down your spine, but strangely... you didn’t feel shameful anymore.

Now you felt angry.

You watched for a moment as your parents sat frozen in fear at the exposure of Lucifer's demon form. After you got your fill of their fear, you pressed your fingers to the small of Lucifer’s back, whispering a command to him.

“Let me pass.”

Both your pact marks began to glow in the low light of the living room that was further dimmed by his enveloping presence. Both your parent’s eyes grew wide at the site of Lucifer- the archangel- in all his radiant fury, with you commanding him like an attack dog on a leash. He dropped his wings slightly so you could walk in front of him to face your parents. He wrapped his arm delicately around your waist, and stood tall behind you- almost as if he was daring either parent to insult you or try to harm you now that they knew what he was.

Your mind raced with all of the things you could never say to them, but now finally had the opportunity to. You stared them down, wondering what you could do to hurt them- hurt them like they had hurt you. The reins were finally in your hands, and you were completely dumbfounded by what to do.

“Mom...Dad...” You stated, sucking in a deep breath as they looked between you and Lucifer with eyes full of fear. “I’m leaving. And I’m not coming back.”

They stared at you, questioningly.

You continued. “Lucifer is right. I don’t deserve this.”

The color drained from your dads face as he once again met Lucifer’s icy stare. “L-Lucifer?!”

"Yeah. Lucifer.” You gripped his hand in yours, entangling your fingers with his. A warm smile found its way onto your lips as you glanced at him. “Isn’t it funny how a literal demon could show me more love than you two ever did?”

Your parents gaped at you, shocked into silence at the unholiness you now embodied by submitting yourself to the love of an agent of Hell.

“Well,” your smile faded, noticing their agonizing silence. “It would be funny if it weren’t so utterly depressing.”

You dropped your gaze for a moment. tears coming back to your eyes. Lucifer squeezed your hand to reassure you that he was here, and that he wasn't going to leave your side. “All I wanted was for you guys to act like you gave a shit about me. But I guess that’s asking to much of you. So I am going back to the place where I have people- or well, Demons- who love and cherish me without a single gripe, and are waiting for me to come back with open arms. They’re my family now... My real family.”

Your parents stared at you, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. They couldn’t even really process what you said before you turned to Lucifer, who was beaming at you with pride.

“Lets go home.” You smiled, earning from him a delicate kiss to your forehead before he ushered you to the door. You put on your coats and boots in a rush, excited to finally return to the other 6 Brothers who were impatiently awaiting your return at the House of Lamentation.

By the time your parents finally processed what you had said, you and Lucifer were half-way down the street. His demon form had receded when you entered the brisk night air, so as not to disturb the neighbors. He held your hand firmly in his, swinging it gently as you walked. You could hear your parents yelling for you to come back as you returned to the place where your portal would be waiting to transport you and your lover back to Devildom...Back home.

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sfiddy · 6 years ago

Note

Pardon me, but I need to apologize. If your latest fic is for me, I would read it, but I won't, as I'm sixteen. I feel so bad, I forgot that you're new, and didn't know that. I forgot to say that I really would prefer the fic to not be explicit. Please don't feel bad, it's my fault for forgetting. I'm so sorry! Is all of it smut, or may I read some of it? I really love your writing, and I feel so terrible. I hope this won't ruin things between us, because I want to talk to you more.-Pure Anon

Dear Pure Anon,

You are astonishingly considerate and I extend my deepest apologies for the misunderstanding. No, it’s not all smut. Allow me to present an edited version (I was careful to remove all rated content but I believe I left the tension and affection) that provides all of the flavor and none of the spice.

Silver Storms, rated PG-13

Summary: Summer is easy to survive, but winter is not so kind, and comfort is as valuable as coin when ghosts howl in the wind.

…

Leningrad in summertime was an easy place to survive. It was easy for Anya to sweep all day and relax in the afternoon, eating a ladle of cheap street stew bought with her slim wages and still each week lay a little by for travel. She had a tin cup for her stew, a bed roll to sleep, and enough clothes that she was never too ripe. She had enough for a slice of soap every week, and the Neva was a fair enough washtub. The breezes that rolled from her banks were refreshing on warm nights.

And it was a fine life in summertime.

There was even entertainment in the mornings. Speeches in the square. Marches, sometimes, too. Decorative uniforms and sleek words. Good words. They were plain and good and Anya understood work and it’s value. When she finished sweeping a street, it was cleaner. That was good, and she was paid and that was better. So she got her assignment every day and swept the street, usually in the area around the Prospekt and the square, and listened to the speeches as she did her work.

And if the man giving the speeches sometimes lingered when he looked at her, well, that was nothing to be concerned about. As long as he only looked, though worse fates had been suffered and occasionally enjoyed in the course of her treks, though not since arriving in Leningrad. Anya knew how delicate her situation was. It was enough that she had bad dreams. She did not need visitors in her patch under the bridge, too.

And thus, everything was such. A fine life. In summertime.

…

The weather hinted at change one day, and Anya needed her coat until mid morning. With winter coming, she would be able to save less– it took more food to survive and she’d need shelter some nights, though how to find it was yet to be worked out. The cold, too, brought its demons, waking her in the night with faded strains of a song full of sorrow. Images floated in the darkness, crowding her from peace with rhymes of wings and silver storms and other words not common to her speech. Ideas not safe for a simple Russian. Her nights were haunted by ghosts.

Her arms were slow to loosen that morning and, even working, it was chilly until the sun was quite bright. Even the commissar giving the morning speech had kept his great coat on. Anya was amused that there were medals on both the coat and the uniform underneath. Only the Cheka were permitted such duplication of goods, it seemed.

Even as he spoke– of a brave future, of shared work and shared rewards– his eyes followed her. But for the first time, it seemed, it was with concern. Anya looked away quickly, but had seen the way his sturdy brow knitted together. For winter came fast in Russia, and without warning. The same could be said for much else, if the occasional raids that resulted in new faces on the street and in the shops she swept the doorways of were any indication.

Warmth returned again, fading the song, the ghosts, and dreams of places far from Leningrad. Anya rose refreshed and gathered Russia’s dirt into piles, following her broom on a slow march across the Prospekt.

…

A pile of grit had knocked loose from a damaged concrete barrier and Anya spent her day chasing the debris. In the afternoon, nearing the time when Anya would return to the work station for pay, she stopped to survey her work.

“A good day’s work, comrade.”

She spun around, ready to hold off whoever had come so close without her knowledge but… it was the speech maker, his uniform glinting with medals.

“Ah, thank you. Just doing my part.”

He smiled, and nodded at the smooth pavement and the tidy seams along walkways. “And an excellent contribution. Russia is in your debt.” He gave a little bow, and offered her something in his hand. When she shied away, he unwrapped the package a bit. “Russia may not be able to offer many comforts at present, but just one will do no harm, eh?”

Crinkled white paper parted in his hand and inside was a small clutch of dried fruits and nuts. Sweets. Hardly decadent, but her mouth watered at the idea of a dried apricot, leathery and chewy and melting with sugar.

But who knew what this was? Perhaps it was a trick. Some test of loyalty or her adherence to austerity. “I shouldn’t.”

He gave the bag a little shake, jostling the treats around. “Well, if you just look, I’m sure you’ll find something you like. Oh look! I’ve got one more date!” He held it out proudly.

“No. I’m just doing my job.”

He looked a little defeated. “Oh. It’s the uniform, isn’t it?”

Anya looked down. “I can’t lose this job. They’re very hard to come by.”

“I understand. What is your name?”

She looked up sharply. “Why? Am I in trouble?”

“No!” he said quickly. “I just… I see you every day and I wanted to say hello properly.”

“By giving me candy?”

Curiously, he muttered to himself before clearing his throat and looking up again. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to do something nice. Just… just cup your hand behind you, like this.” He tucked his arm to his side and made a well with his hand. “I’ll walk by and your work leader won’t see, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not.” But she cupped her hand by her side anyway because you don’t turn down food and you certainly don’t say no to someone with two sets of medals. He passed by and her hand filled with various nuts and fruits.

He turned and showed that the bag was empty, glee painted in his smile. “I’m here every day!”

She already knew that, but she stuffed the nuts and fruits in her pocket and saved most of her wages that day.

…

The next morning she woke to the chilly breath of the Neva and finished the last of the fruit as her dream song full of sorrow faded. Then Anya spent her day thinking about the officer. He was sweet and charming. A fine example of a man, but not for her. Surely a man like that belonged to someone.

It was almost an accident. Anya was simply sweeping but found that her path crossed his before his speech, and he tipped his head towards her as he made his way to his podium. She saw the direction he came from and noted it. If she lingered over her broom later, she was marked for her efforts, and it gave her a view to the street he walked and the row of doors he approached before she had to mind her work once more.

It took nearly a week to find out which flat was his. And it was his. Only his. Two entire rooms and a bathroom. Running water and a kitchen and a little balcony with a few potted plants. Anya scurried back to her detail and worked fast to make up the time, but kept his shy smile at the back of her mind.

…

There were soggy, shredded pamphlets in the square today. Rain and wind during the night had turned stacks of them to mulch, spreading decomposing to slop in her usual work areas.

“I’m sorry, comrade.”

She knew his voice well by now. He was here everyday. “What for?”

“I had the pamphlets set out last night. I’d hoped to start early, but instead I added to your burdens.” When she turned, he was in his coat and had his hands clasped in front of him. He looked like a confessing child. “I’m sorry. I did not think of the weather.”

She shrugged. “It’s work.” He nodded at that, but lingered, watching her sweep the gobs of wet paper into neat piles for later collection. It was odd, his inspection of her broom’s harvest. While Russians were discouraged from idle chit chat, Anya realized she had not thanked him for the sweets the other day.

“I’m Anya.”

He held out his hand. “Gleb. Gleb Vaganov.” When her eyes travelled to the stacked rows of medals and the thick epaulets, he tipped his head to the side with a faint grimace. “Ah, Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov.”

Anya took his hand, but only then. “Just Anya.”

The shy smile returned and Anya wondered what made him bashful. Was he shy or did he lack experience? Another idea to examine later in her bed roll.

“Anya. That’s a good name.” Gleb released her hand. “A strong name.”

“It’s the only one I’ve known.”

Gleb nodded. Russia was a place where you did not ask too many questions. There were ghosts everywhere.

“May I buy you a cup of tea, Anya? For the mess?”

Her mouth nearly watered. She’d not had good tea in weeks, usually contenting herself with herbs and pine boiled in her tin cup. But the broom… her job.

He caught her hesitation. “I will send a message to your work leader.”

It was just a cup of tea, and they were both here every day. And if Gleb slipped an extra biscuit onto her saucer, who was she to refuse?

…

Another day, another street full of chipped wood, sand, and… ice? Anya had dreaded it, but the first morning came when the edges of the gutters were wet with ice shards melting in the morning sun. Over the next week, the ice took longer to melt as the concrete cooled more every night, and Anya wrapped her scarf around her head and neck against the cold.

She looked up from her work as Gleb approached.

“Brisk morning, comrade!” He rubbed his hands together and clapped them. “I have risen early every morning this week and I have yet to see the first snow of the season. Tell me, my friend, have you seen snow yet?”

She laughed. “What a good Russian you are, Gleb. And no, I have not seen snow, only ice.”

He sighed dramatically. “A pity. I suppose we will have to find solace in this.” He held out his hand. Anya had grown accustomed to his offerings. Nuts one day, an egg another. She swept her way to him and looked at the waxy paper his hand.

She could not name the memory. She had no reference for it, but she recognized the glossy brown lump peeking from the waxed paper.

“Is that… chocolate?”

Gleb closed his hand. “Shh! It took me two weeks to get it! Here.” Artlessly, he took her hand and tucked the package into it. He backed away, cheeks blazing, and glanced down at his shoes. “Enjoy it later and tell me all about it!”

“Wait, don’t you want–”

But he was already walking to his office.

Anya curled one corner of the paper to see, then she dented the shiny crust with her fingernail. Definitely chocolate, though she wasn’t sure when the last time she’d had a taste.

He was nearly to his office on the Prospekt, and Anya watched as the door was opened for him.

She whispered to no one. “Don’t you want some?”

That night, Anya broke off a piece of the cold chocolate and slipped it into her mouth. It warmed and loosened. It slid across her tongue, melted smoothly, and coated her mouth in a polished, bittersweet glow. It made her mouth water but she didn’t want to swallow too often. Anything to make this last.

It didn’t, but that was alright. The taste slicked her mouth and was the most luxurious thing she could remember. It was tempting, the other half, but she wrapped it tightly in the waxed paper to tuck away in a spare pocket and then tucked herself in her cold bedroll. She would save the rest for a colder night. Maybe.

…

A colder day came soon enough. The ice lasted through the morning and the sun did not come out to melt it. The sky was gray and lightened only enough to make the darkening all the more ominous. Anya felt the chill of heavy wet air, and it was late afternoon when the first pellets began to fall. They bounced off her shoulders, then grew sticky. Before Anya could make her way back to the meager shelter of the bridge, the cold rain had passed into ice, then rain, and back again.

In the late afternoon, back at her patch, Anya shivered violently and tried to light a few coals but her matches were wet and so was the kindling, and she was shaking. There had been nothing to eat even with her few ready coins, and as much as she would have enjoyed the chocolate, it wouldn’t help her tonight.

With no way to get warm and no food, Anya searched her slowing mind for options and found only one. Using her broom to keep upright in the freezing rain, she picked her way past landmarks she knew well enough to know on which side the street filth accumulated, beneath the very few lamps burning dim with fish oil, and past the Nevsky Prospekt. She stumbled past the shops she swept, and finally slogged shakily to the row of doors.

The cold was so deep in her she could scarcely stand to knock on the door. It was a kittenish knock. If he did not hear then the doorway was good enough. A little warmth seeped from the chinks around the frame.

Exhaustion dimmed her sight, and she banged her thin fist against the door once more.

“Yes! Yes! I’m coming!” The door opened a crack as shoes shuffled about on the other side. “A terrible night, comrade. Do you have a message— Oh!”

It was warm inside. Gleb was in shirtsleeves.

“Anya! You’re freezing!”

She managed a weak smile. Blue-lipped, most likely. “A terrible night indeed, comrade.”

The swift motion made Anya’s head spin and she was suddenly inside, clutching at a wall as Gleb closed and locked his door. There was warmth but she could not feel it, not through all the wet and the crusts of ice.

“Get out of that! Here, in here.” Her coat was stripped away and Gleb led her to a washroom. “I’ll get you some blankets and hot water. Anya! Listen!”

She’d been cold before. Worse, maybe, and managed to live without help but she would not refuse it now. Not when she could sense heat on her face and smell the steam of a boiling kettle.

“Yes, Gleb.” Once she started loosening her clothes, Gleb let her be. Her wool skirt was sodden and slapped to the floor in a heavy heap. Next her undercoat and scarf, and she could hear pots moving around and water being pumped into them. A glance in the mirror showed that she was a fright, hair plastered down and her lips white. Her blue eyes were too bright in her pale face with no warmth for balance.

“Towels are there in the cabinet. Here,” he set a steaming tea kettle by the door and took her clothes. “You can use this.”

Anya used the basin to wash and wrapped her hair in a towel. It wasn’t much, but she was warmer and certainly cleaner than she’d been in days. It was dangerous to wash when the weather was turning.

She accepted a robe and a quilt he slipped through the door. The robe was warm and whole, and the blanket was soft with age and had places where the mismatched fabrics were cut by the threads that held it together. Surely an officer would have better finery?

In her bare feet and clutching his robe around her, Anya opened the washroom door and caught Gleb arranging food on a plate, her clothes carefully hanging near the stove to dry.

“I’m sorry, I interrupted your supper.”

“No! No, I already ate. I had some extra. Come and eat.” Anya did, eating her fill until her stomach warned her to stop. Gleb fussed over her, tucking the quilt over her legs, then went to the cooker, heating potfulls of water and his kettle again. “I’ll, uh, make tea.”

He left for the washroom and returned a moment later, his hair suspiciously smooth and combed. “How did you get caught in this storm, Anya?”

She shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“It’s not a joke,” Gleb turned stern. Perhaps a touch fearful. “The first storms can be the most dangerous. People aren’t ready and don’t realize how long they can last.”

Stern did not suit him; not without the medals, at least. Anya thought back to one morning in the square. “I thought you did not think of the weather.”

Whatever severity had been there, relief swept away. “You frightened me.” A small smile. The one he offered when he had a treat. “You must be feeling better if you can tease me.” He set a cup of tea in front of her and Anya immediately cupped her hands around it.

“I think I should tease you no matter how I felt.”

Gleb looked away quickly and took his tea with him to stand by a window. He looked out and shook his head. “I can’t let you go back out tonight, even when your things are dry. I’ll only need a blanket or two and I can sleep by the stove.”

“I can’t take your bed, Gleb.”

“You need it. You need to keep warm tonight.”

After Gleb washed the few dishes and put things away, he went to fetch blankets from the chest in his bedroom and wash up for bed. Anya sat by the warm stove and stretched her toes, no longer wax-white from the cold. Her face was warm too, so she would not look so haunted. The ghost who walked across Russia only to risk freezing by the Neva.

Anya ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing it into something acceptable. If Gleb had made an effort, so could she. He gave her a shy smile and laid out a small rug, then stacked a few blankets on a chair next to Anya. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out of the way in a few minutes.” He took a pot of hot water into the washroom and moments later Anya heard water splashing.

Experience had taught her that a meal before sleep kept bad dreams away. It also taught her that few things were as generous as a shared hearth and food. While Anya was hardly a woman of loose morals, she was not immune to generosity. Morality had little to do with it anyway; when your goal was survival, the means hardly mattered, and comfort was as valuable as food.

Still chilled, but warmer than she’d felt in days, Anya waited until there was a pause in the splashing. Gleb deserved her consideration, so it was only when she heard tapping on the sink and the sounds of his things being reordered that she set the quilt aside and approached.

The door was well oiled and did not squeak when she opened it.

“Anya!” Gleb was toweling his face when he saw her and startled. The edges of his cuffs were wet. “Did you need something?”

In the mirror, she caught sight of herself. Pale lips, but warm cheeks. Eyes bright with purpose. “No, I am very well. Don’t let me interrupt.”

He was lean in the way soldiers were. Strong and economical. Able to miss a meal or two without weakness, but had obviously known hunger. Everyone had. There were ghosts everywhere and that was why a little comfort went further than coin these days.

She stepped closer to him. Close enough to see where the shirt clung to him. “Your shirt is wet, Gleb.”

His breathing was louder. It bounced off the tiled walls. “I put it back on. I didn’t want to offend you.”

The fabric was translucent where it was wet and Anya lightly plucked at it. “It’s cold. You shouldn’t wear wet things to bed.” He was warm and the shirt would be dry soon, but that was not the point.

Gleb had gone very still but for his rapid breaths and his dark, searching eyes. Eyes that watched her so often from across a square watched her now in the glass, peeping at his edges, her head by his shoulder.

Her hands on his sides. “Let me help you, Gleb.” Slowly she reached around him in a loose hug from behind. Watching in the mirror, as his eyes glazed for just a moment, her fingers reached the top button and went to slip it free.

“Anya,” he said, and stopped her hands. “You don’t owe me anything. I won’t take from you.”

He was kinder than anyone could be allowed to know. Anyone but her. Others got his scowls and speeches but she got his smiles and chocolates.

“You aren’t taking, Gleb. I’m giving.”

His hold on her hands remained, but was not so strong. “I didn’t expect–”

“Shhh, Gleb,” she whispered by his ear. They were alone, and though the walls were thick a whisper says more than a shout and travels over the skin, into the bones. Like a benevolent twin to the violent cold howling outside.

Both could rattle the nerves.

Maybe it was a testament to how much he liked her, or perhaps it was just inexperience. Whichever it was, he did not strip hastily, did not leap at her, all hands and grabs.

She opened her arms.

Once, while traveling, Anya had fallen into a river and clutched a floating branch until she reached the shore. The cold had clenched her lungs and she nearly didn’t make it. The ghosts came that night, singing sadly.

Perhaps Gleb was drowning and that was why he held her the way he did. A kiss at her forehead, then her temple, then he lifted her hand to his cheek and pressed it to his lips. Anya shivered.

“You are still too cold, little sunshine,” he said as he rubbed her hands between his. He led her to the bed and laid the well-loved quilt over it and tucked a brick he’d warmed on the stove at the end for her feet.

“Thank you, Gleb.”

When she was tucked in, Gleb knelt at her side. “Good night, my Anya.”

“Good night.”

There were no ghosts that night.

…

The next morning found her clothes stiff and dry. Anya shook them out and dressed, and after a few bites of bread with Gleb, collected her broom from the doorway.

She left first. It would not do to walk together so early, and an hour later, Anya was sweeping the square. She was a little stiff from the previous day, but the Gleb’s bed had been warm, and the cold had not quite yet chased it from her bones yet.

“A fine morning, comrade.” He was bright and pink lipped despite the damp chill. Like a grin was fighting to break through the stern looks he kept for the day.

Anya smiled. Gleb’s voice was never this tender when he gave his speeches.

“It is,” she returned. “You should be cautious with your cheer, comrade. Someone might think you too happy for a good Russian.”

Gleb suppressed a smile now. The one he saved for her. “A good Russian loves the winter.” He was about to turn when he stopped, looking back. “Will I see you again, Anya?” he asked quietly.

She pushed her broom, shifting one mess closer to another. It was early in winter, who knew what it might bring?

Anya offered a little smile. “I’m here every day.”

…

There, Pure Anon! I hope you enjoyed it!

#Pure Anon #glenya #silver storms PG-13 version #fic

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