#daniil dankovsky x reader

[the-kestrels-feather]

Concept: Dankovsky's romantic partner calling him a prickly prick as a pet name

[shmowder]

Hi!! Absolutely adore and love your writing it’s become like a drug to my brain! So I come baring a request! Can I get some general hcs on how it would be like to (non sexually!) sleep with Artemy,Daniil, Maria and Eva at night!

Thanks kindly if you end up writing this one!!

Thanks for clarifying it's nonsexual, I genuinely would've misinterpreted it otherwise. You're so sweet!!!! <333 I'm glad to hear that.

Sharing a bed with them

[fluff, cuddling]

[Daniil, Artemy, Maria, Eva - GN Reader]

Daniil Dankovsky

It depends greatly on if he's still residing at the stillwaters or not.

Despite the many overnight stays at work and sleeping over his desk in Thanatica Labs, Daniil rarely feels comfortable in any bed that's not his own.

Resulting in a very stiff Dankovsky laying next to you on the mattress, staring at the roof in offence as if it was its fault that the pillow under his head feels wrong no matter how much he adjusts it.

The night is uneventful.

He is the first to wake up–courtesy of never getting much sleep to begin with.

Now, if you were back at his apartment at the Capital instead?

You'd notice the massive difference.

His bed is completely catered to his personal taste, having picked everything out with immaculate care, down to the type of feather stuffings inside his pillows.

Daniil is a many pillows person, you found out.

Yes, even the small decorative ones, he has those.

Like a fish in water, he's completely in his element.

Tense shoulders softening as he sink into the mattress below, jaw unclenching as he buries his face into the pillow.

He enjoys sleeping on his left side.

Depends on how close the two of you are, 9 times out of ten, he'd politely offer you the bed and take the couch himself.

But if your relationship is more on the intimate side and this isn't your first time sharing a bed or being in such close proximity.

Then he'd assume you know you're very welcome in his bed.

It is a little jarring at first to see him without the his heavy coat or the many layers of clothes he adorns.

Seeing the bachelor without his red cravat was akin to witnessing a peacock without its colourful feathers.

Daniil does change into a full sleep set with a button-up long sleeves shirt and matching pants.

Made from breathable cotton, accent colours decorating the collar and cuff ends.

Fitting him comfortably. The "business-casual" of pajamas, something you wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen in by your boss if they dropped for a 3am surprise visit for whatever reason.

He has multiple sets that he cycles between, actually.

But that's a conversation for another day.

Daniil might not initiate touch himself, but if you happen to curl into his embrace or wrap an arm around his waist, Daniil wouldn't pull away.

Moving closer to you in his sleep, the heat of your body feels heavenly against his own under the warm blanket.

By the time you wake up, he's still there.

Sleeping on his side, facing you.

Realising how much softer his face looks relaxed, his overworker mind offered momentary peace.

He might not admit it, but the warmth of your embrace is a luxury he wishes he could indulge in more often, something he'll never take for granted.

-

Artemy Burakh

Whatever preferences and qualms about sleeping he used to have were smoothed out by the army barracks life

He can have the most restful sleeps on any surface.

Even a couch is more than sufficient for his power naps.

At the beginning of his return to the town, he slept stiffly.

Barely moving and staying in place, any twists or turns were the results of another nightmare plaguing his brain.

So as he gets accustomed back to the blissful domestic life where he has his own large bed–an actual bed this time around, unlike the wooden plank makeshift bed in his lair–his old habits slowly return

Artemy moves a lot in his sleep, you found out.

Sleeping on one side and waking up on the other, blanket on the floor, one pillow across the room for some reason.

His previous trait of being a light sleeper fizzles out as he gets accustomed to the security of a safe life.

Becoming more and more heavier of a sleeper.

His bed can fit the two of you, albeit snugly courtesy of his sheer size.

But Artemy has no problems with sleeping next to someone.

He used to have a lot of sleepovers as a kid, Lara, Stakh, and Grief using him as a pillow a lot.

So why don't you sleep on his arm instead of sticking to the wall like a bug?

Even without a blanket, his body feels warm next to your own.

With your head on his shoulder as he laid on his back, you watch the rise and fall of his chest.

Through the hours of the night, his hold on you doesn't falter even as he moves and turns.

You're helplessly dragged with him to the other side of the bed.

From the way his sleeping form keeps hugging you with no intent of letting go, you wonder if he used to sleep with a teddy bear or a plushie as a kid.

Artemy still remembers the way he used to tiptoe to his father's bed at night whenever he was having bad dreams

Isidor welcoming him in without any qualms or fuss.

Even as his son grew tall into his awkward teenage phase, the safety of his dad's embrace stayed a constant in his life, an open option he could seek every night.

Which is way on any given night, it's not strange to find either of Sticky or Murky fast asleep by his side.

Especially Sticky who used to occupy the chair at the end of his makeshift bed each time Artemy slept in the lair, watching over him as if he's afraid the other will abandon him in the middle of the night.

Murky prefers her own bed more, personal space being an important thing to her.

But she still stands in the doorway of his bedroom shyly at least once a month, clearly wanting to join the three of you but too prideful to admit it.

Artemy getting up with an amused smile, picking her up and heading back to bed.

With the four of you in bed, it is a snug fit.

Murky on top of Artemy like a stubborn cat, having hogged one of the pillows to hug as she used his chest as her own mattress.

Sticky on his left, sleeping on his arm because it was his pillow that Murky stole, complaining that his dad's sweater is too ancient and stray wool pieces keep irritating his face.

Finally, you are on his right with your back to the wall.

Choosing to ignore the concerning creeking sound coming from the frame of the bed under you four.

Maybe it is time you convinced Artemy to invest into a bigger one.

-

Maria Kaina

Silky sheets and valvet covers, Maria's bedroom is the embodiment of luxury and elegance.

Yet you can't shake the feeling that something lurks beneath the glamorous surface.

The cracked mirror on her vanity, shattered glass shards still remaining a whole piece despite the gap in the middle.

The aftermath of someone's fist colliding against its own reflection, bloodied knuckles slammed into the glass, shattering the brittle mirror.

Maria often invited people to her wing of the crucible, she doesn't go to others, they come to her instead.

And while that bed has seen her share fair of one night lovers, they never overstayed their welcome.

Maira... doesn't remember the last time she has let someone sleep by her side, just sleep.

The last time she entrusted another soul enough to remain defenseless next to them throughout the dead night.

She keeps a journal–a diary under one of her pillows, you discover it by accident as you adjust in bed.

She's quick to snatch it away, locking it safely in a drawer without offering a single explanation.

Adorning a crimson floor-length nightgown, ruffles alongside the shoulders, a matching robe on top. Both parts of the same set.

Her usually loose hair is secured by a tie in a low bun

other times, it's braided to the side.

whichever hairstyle makes it easier to untangle in the morning, she's not picky.

The mattress is more on the firmer side, the kind that adjusts your spine to it rather than the other way around.

It's good for your back, she explains.

Despite it being a queen sized bed, Marine lays directly in the middle, a force of habit.

Rather than split it in half.

You either stay near the edge of the bed and risk rolling over and falling during the night.

Or take the risk of snuggling up to her.

While a head injury pales in comparison to certain death, you still pick the more exciting option.

She already agreed to let you sleep in her bed...that at least shows that Maria feels comfortable around you.

Her breath hitches when you lay your head atop her shoulder

laying so close to hers, she can almost feel your body heat.

There is a moment of silence as she clearly contemplates her next course of action.

Before giving you an annoyed look, you think oh no, you're doomed.

Until her arm sneaks under your waist, curling around your back and pulling you closer to her.

"If you're going to cling to someone, at least do it properly."

Her skin is cold.

You run your fingers down her back soothingly, she tries to downplay how reactive to the touch she is.

As if no one has granted her a tender touch in years, she hasn't been shown this...delicate form of love since a long time ago.

...not since she was a kid, clinging to her mother's skirt after accidentally ripping the arm off of her favourite doll.

Maria attempts to remain stiff next to you, to school her expression into neutrality.

But amidst the darkness of the room, the realisation that you couldn't see her features even if you tried offers comfort.

Easing her into a sense of safety, her jaw unclenches, after what seemed like an hour, she finally lets go and melts into your embrace.

As the morning comes, she doesn't dare acknowledge the previous night nor speak a word of it.

Back to her usual smug and confident demnour.

Still...she trails at the end of her sentence, a subtle open-ended invitation to spend the night over again whenever the need arises.

Maria doesn't mention the fact her dreams ceased by your side,

That for one night, her mind was put to rest.

No future-plagued visions, no voices from the grave calling her name, no omens of what's to come.

A silent, restful sleep.

And someone's warmth lulling her into a sense of safety.

-

Eva Yan

Fresh out of the shower, having washed the soot of the day off of her, Eva is ready to curl under the convers and doze off.

Her sleep pyjamas are loose and airy, thin straps that keep falling down her shoulders, a pastel pink babydoll nightdress, the short skirt flares at the bottom.

The hair she keeps up in a ponytail is let down, strandends brushing against her shoulders, brushed throughly at her vanity after being dried.

You watch her go about her nightly routine with interest

How comfortable she is in her own skin, how much she pampers herself with cherry blossom scented lotions.

A beautiful smile adorning her lips as she meets your eyes in the mirror, offering you some.

Not wanting to strip to put on the lotion after you got comfy in your sleepwear, you politely refuse.

Eva insists that you should at least try on her chapstick.

It's strawberry flavoured.

Her fingers grip your chin gently, tilting your head upwards to meet her as she puts on the chapstick for you.

It does, in fact, smell sweet.

The atmosphere is light, reminiscent of a sleepover you'd have with a best friend.

Only she can get any person to feel as comfortable with her as an old best friend in such a record time.

Her bed is akin to a cloud stolen from the sky above.

The mattress sinks below your weight, engulfing half of you into it.

Fluffed up pillows stuffed with feathers, a soft cover that's seamless against your skin.

Multiple blankets, in fact, a lot of blankets.

She likes layering them on top of her rather than getting a big one.

Enjoying the feeling of their weight against her skin.

Plus this just means she'll always have enough blankets no matter who comes over.

Eva even takes her favourite blanket with her whenever she's off to spend the night over in a friend's house.

Trust her, you don't want to see the monster she becomes once a fight over the blanket starts.

Because she will win.

Her sharp well-maintained nails aren't just for show.

As her cheerful smile returns to place, you're urged to move on to more important subjects.

Such as, would you care to share a glass or two before bed? Red or white? She keeps both bottles right next to her nightstand, you don't mind the lack of glasses, right? Wonderful!

Blowing out the candles illuminating the room, a slightly tipsy Eva is finally ready to go to bed.

For real this time, no more stalling.

Only five minutes—no six, pass before you're delicately nudged as a quiet "Hey, are you awake?" follows.

You see, she just remembered the funniest story about a cat she saw today.

Would you like to hear it? Of course you would! So she was walking near the river, getting some fresh air as autumn finally cleared out.

Not that winter is any better. It's just more preferable to the twyre bloom season.

To be honest, the chilly weather isn't her style.

She's more of a summer child, but the sparkling snow always makes up for the harsh weather.

But it is a good excuse to share her bed more, nothing is better than to cuddle up next to another's warm body during the cold winter nights.

Which just reminded her, you do plan on staying in the town during the winter season, right?

She'd be so sad if you left so soon.

Even more sad that you never got the chance to view this town during the blossoming spring, the trees flourish and greenry fills the steppe.

She admits that she misses spending more time outside, staying in her house all day probably isn't the best for her.

But Eva doesn't talk to the Stamatins anymore. The Bachelor is always working, and Maria never has the time for her now that she started coming into her Mistress position!

Yulia barely squeaks a word in her presence no matter how friendly Eva tries to be.

She really has no one...so you can't refuse if hypothetically she asked you to accompany her to a picnic tomorrow afternoon?

it will make the most sweet memory, the two of you can watch the sunset together, share dessert and she could read to you one of her romance books.

Oh–sleep. yes right, ah she forgot. Do forgive her, she gets over excited sometimes.

Would you like to...cuddle maybe? She'll play with your hair until you've fallen asleep.

Sweet dreams.

[sorcerous-caress]

But. Theoretically. If i were to write pathologic x reader, here's what I'm thinking.

heads up, this is gonna be like ethically kinda terrible with a side of medical malpractice.

[ Smut below ]

Okay so. you know Hysteria?

uh huh yes that one. and you know how pathologic time-period setting is kinda messed up but in general it is semi-medieval?

You see where I'm going with this?

So back in the old times, those terrible dark ages, uh doctors used to diagnose women who showed any signs of emotional outbursts with hysteria because they were ignorant and misogynist, right?

Both Daniil and Artemy do use "hysterical" to describe other people ingame, not just women, but men too. Especially when those people are disagreeable with them, then they just scoof and claim they must be experiencing hysteria.

One of the cures for hysteria is a series of sexual climaxes. It was what led to the invention of vibrators as a medical aide to doctor's who's hands were getting numb.

Now, with the plague and all, I doubt either would care to deliver that particular cure since a panacea takes priority. But if we just...sweep the plague under the rug and use an au where Daniil and Artemy came back to an actually functional and normal town. Maybe no polyhedron au?

Or no, no. just delayed plague au? so this would take place on Day 1, but the plague doesn't arrive until 4 or 5 days later whatever.

Logistics of how to make it possible aside.

Then I clearly see them agreeing to attend to someone with an urgent case of hysteria because that's what good doctors do.

-

In Daniil's case, it doesn't feel that hard to get him to agree. He is fully convinced that hysteria is a real serious issue, and based on his medical books and degrees, an organic and easy-to-deliver cure like this is the most preferable.

He'd be clinical about it, white rubber gloves and a clean disinfected towel covering the mattress. Hangging his snake coat on the frame of the bed as he orders you to undress and lay down to begin the operation.

A bored look in his eyes, he's the furthest thing from bashful or coy. Pouring a lubricant on his gloved hand, holding your thigh with the other to stabilise you when you're surprised how cold the lubricant feels against your hot skin.

His silence is unusually comforting, not a hint of judgment in his eyes. He truly makes you feel like you're in safe hands with an experienced professional. This is his job, what he spent years studying. He will never shy away from all the requirements that come with being a doctor, including making a nervous patient feel calm and comfortable.

The pace he builds up is gradual and calculated, thoughtful of you and your body language. He informs you of his next steps before he takes it, be it moving his hand faster, going rougher or softer or paying attention to other stimulating parts of your body. You're completely aware of his movements and what's about to come.

If you pay attention, you'll notice the focus in his eyes. As if he's recalling past information. What he learned about each part of the genital organs and naming them in his brain. Testing his knowledge, studying your body as he compares it to his memories of drawn autonomy maps.

Eventually, as you get closer to your release and sink further into the bed below, his body leans more and more over you as if he doesn't want to miss this moment. To witness the fruit of his hard work, be it for self-gratification or just ensuring that you're experiencing actual pleasure and not just indulging him out of politeness. He's not a child, his ego will definitely handle the hit if his performance wasn't satisfactory enough. He'd rather go through trial and error until he finds what makes you tick rather than stick with something average and good enough to get the job done and over with.

No. he's just as invested in this as you are, if not more. It's his pride as a doctor on the line, as a bachelor of medicine, you need to be experiencing the highest of pleasures the human body could get through this.

Looking straight into your eyes as your last thread snaps, hips spasming through your intense release. His hand doesn't falters as he drains you dry of everything you could give him then have the audacity to ask for more even while his gloves are fully drenched in your cum.

Daniil doesn't waste a moment before he gets up and disposes of his sulled gloves while you get your breathing under control. He swaps them for a different new pair, bringing a small bowl of warm water and a clean cloth with his as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

Cleaning you up, wiping down your thighs, and between your legs. The same mechanical focus in the patterns of his hands.

Even after this whole experience, he doesn't seem the least bit phased. If anything, you almost catch a hint of satisfaction in the way his usually tense shoulders are relaxed, the way his eyes seem brighter. Getting to play proper doctor for a small moment in time did better to his mental health than whatever detective act wannabe the kains are making him do in order to uncover Simon's murder.

Your throat is dry, it's obvious in the crack of your voice as you attempt to answer his post-operation inquiries about your state of mind and wellness. Daniil gets up and gets you the glass of water without having to be asked, taking care of his patients seem to come second nature to him. It's what he prides himself on.

He informs you that you'll be allowed half an hour of rest before the next operation commences. As much as he'd like to give you more time to recover, hysteria is a serious thing you see, and he needs to make sure this cure takes effect.

Leaving you with a blanket on the bed, even offering his coat if the material of the blanket wasn't comfortable enough. He sets an hourglass down as he moves to the desk on the other side of the room, occasionally glancing at the grains of sands trickling down as he gets busy going over his hypothesis papers concerning Simon Kain's immortality.

-

I'm thinking about Artemy's and how different his methods would be. tbh if Artemy ever needs that cock warmed then I'm free from 9am to 5pm, I gotcha king. but personal feelings aside, I think he'd contrast Daniil in a lot of ways.

I mean, you could read the above drabble as Artemy's pov with doctor Daniil, who just insisted he must be treated for hysteria, just sprinkle in some insults and arguments.

Or still on the x reader route. Artemy would make it more intimate, use his bare hands, put those golden fingers to use. He'd believe that skin contact is the key here, would probably strip with you too just to get you on his lap and work you over.

[skyisover]

daniil dankovsky x reader enemies to lovers slowburn long fic part 1 of 34

description: y/n is artemy’s half sister and isejqebwkbrskdnsk j can’t fucking do this

[shmowder]

follow up question to the pet name question: healers favorite physical touch affection?

Is Rubin technically a healer? Should I still include him? sure, why not.

Their favourite ways to show physical affection

Daniil Dankovsky

He has a tendency to keep one of his hands occupied at all times, usually by carrying his bag or fidgeting with a pen. As of lately, Daniil started reaching for your hand instead.

The leather glove feeling pleasant against your palm, his thumb occasionally rubbing the back of your hand. His grip squeezing your hand reassuringly as the two of you walk side by side.

It's a subconscious habit at this point, moving his finger alongside your knuckles, trailing the delicate joints of your hand, maybe drawing the veins at times.

lifting your hand up to his face, pressing his lips against the back of your hand. Sometimes, he left a second smaller kiss on the sensitive skin inside your plam before going back to the original task he was occupied with.

The bachelor of medicine himself makes a rather passionate dance partner at times, despite him claiming otherwise and that he's simply following the correct steps. He enjoys the classical waltz, the dramatic symphonies as he twirls you around, a charming smile adoring his face as he steps closer until your chests are almost pressed together. Slowly swaying you with the soft melody, his grip confident at the small of your back, guiding your steps.

Stanislav Rubin

Closing his eyes and burying his face between your neck and shoulder is how Rubin gets his respite. Exhausted from work, a loud mind and an aching heart both get put to bed as he simply hugs you from behind.

Back slouching to allow someone of his height to tuck his face against your neck. You feel his soft breath tickling your skin, his arms tightening around you, pulling you closer into his embrace as if he's afraid to let go.

He is simply content with this, listening to your heartbeat, being allowed to simply hold you. Tense shoulders relaxing as you extend your hand squeeze his forearm, reassuring him that he may stay as long as he wants.

What a beautiful thing it is to be held and hold someone back. How lucky he feels, grateful for your kindness. For you to share your warmth with him, let him be a little selfish and hold you a little longer. You're the safety he can't go without.

Artemy Burakh

His hands seem to have a mind of their own at times. cupping your face in his big hands, staring at you with a smitten expression before giving you a kiss.

Holding you by the hips and coaxing you to move to the side when you're blocking his way to reach something, giving you a gentle squeeze before letting go, followed by a warm smile.

His hand resting on top of your thigh when you sit next to him, Artemy asking about your day as his fingers briefly massage the area. Switching between drawing circles and giving slow squeezes.

Especially the bear hugs he gives you each time he's back from a long trip to the steppe, covered in mud and grass. Setting the basket of freshly picked herbs to the ground as he picks you up with his arms and buries you against his chest, laughing as you tell him to at least take a shower first.

Asking for a kiss in exchange for letting you down, be it your lips, adorable cheek, or temple, he'd drown you in small kisses and pecks if he could. The idea of carrying you to join him in the shower is getting more temptating by the second.

[shmowder]

Daniil's the type to offer you his coat if it's windy or cold. Even if the two of you are arguing, he'd still take his coat off and drape it over your shoulders mid-sentence.

He'd open the door for you while scoffing about how no he won't stop the latin quotes because it's not his problem that people don't understand it.

Pull the chair for you to sit on as he explains why he's obviously right, and you should just agree and try harder to understand his reasoning.

Get you flowers right before starting to bicker about the right pronunciation of the french name on the label of the expensive wine bottle he brought as a gift.

[shmowder]

PLEASE LEWAD SNIFF SNIFG EOEASE PLEASE OLEASE PELASE PLEAE PLWASE HGK SNIFFLE SNIFFEL PEALSE LELAS LLEASE PLWASE PLAESE PELAS OLEES SOBS CRIES HEAVES EPLASE PELASE PEEEAAASSEEE

Fluffy marriage HC with the Daniil Dankovsky

Museum dates

It's the ideal date spot for him, getting you dressed up and marvelling at the history and arts of those who came before us.

He gets to show off his knowledge in front of you, which is a bonus. The soft lighting of the museum, the quiet atmosphere as he purposely avoids the crowded displays, leading you to a much more niche collection yet still beautiful all the same. Genuine passion in his eyes as he explains how this came to be, who documented it, how it was preserved through the generations. How close it came to ruin, to being stolen or torn apart during a war, how despite all of the strife it beat the odds and survived.

Immortalises in a glass box to inspire the future. He stares at the traces of history with longing, retelling the lives of the greats with yearning. He wants to belong there too.

his achievements will go down in history. One day, his name will join the list.

takes good care of his wedding ring

It's a symbol of your shared love, a proof of the vows you exchanged, how could he ever not?. He polishes and cleans it, sends it to a jeweller for maintenance once a year alongside his silver brooch.

He takes such good care of it that on some days he doesn't wear it to work. The lab equipments and chemicals he works with are too much of a liability to risk bringing near the ring. Yes, he knows gold is a noble element and therefore doesn't react with much, yes it is resistant to most acids.

But that's the key word here, most. All it takes is one unlucky day for the ring to be lost forever. He doesn't want to get a replacement. He wants to preserve this one. The same one you've slid onto his finger that day, he won't settle for less.

Otherwise, on safer outings, he makes sure to wear it... under his gloves. Hey, this way, it can't get stolen or slide off. Why are you giving him that look? He is a genius, shush.

Puts effort into his appearance to impress you

A lot of effort. He knows you will love him regardless–well maybe he has some doubts about just how loveable his personality alone can be–but he still wants to look good for you.

It's such an ego boost to stand out amongst other men too, especially other husbands who just stopped trying the second they got married. Oh no, if anything, Daniil tries even harder because you will be seeing him every day.

Making sure he's well-groomed and clean, taking care of his hair so it's fluffy and well combed. Styling it every day in the mirror until it frames his face perfectly. Ironing his clothes, from his shirt to his vest and even trousers. Hell, one time, you caught him ironing his socks after he woke up groggy and sleepy.

Especially since how much freedom, time and money he has now that university is over. He can afford the high-end capital brands and all the expensive clothes and fabrics. You still remember the day he excitedly came home to show you the one-of-a-kind snakeskin coat he bought at full price.

If you keep complimenting him like this, then his head will grow too big to fit through the door at the end of the day.

Silk cravats, leather gloves and shoes. Deep crimson red became his iconic colour amidst the blacks, whites, and greys. He knows he looks goods, fluffing his feathers with the confidence of a peacock as you come into the room, waiting for that twinkle in your eyes, that blush on your cheeks, the praise.

He has a clear vision of the man he wants to be, and he makes them come true, always working with diligence and care, putting effort into every aspect of his life.

Your taste does influence his fashion choices, too. If you mention liking a certain colour, he will incorporate it more into his wardrobe. Yes, he still has his iconic red, but he makes a couple exceptions for your favourite colour. Things he wears on special occasions, your birthday, wedding anniversary, or even just weekend dates.

Brings you up in every conversation

If a stranger met Daniil Dankovsky the Bachelor of Medicine, then they'll soon enough be acquainted with his spouse in less than 5 minutes of him talking. He never fails to mention you in some form or way, be it quoting something you said as if you were a well-known philosopher, or mentioning how someone's waiting for him at home so the stranger should kindly not waste his time.

His coworkers in Thanatica hear about you every day. During each watercooler conversation or lunch break, he answers their polite "How is life going for you, Dr.Dankovsky?" by replying as if they asked about you and nothing else.

Well, you are his life, so it makes sense from his point of view. Yes, the time you two spend together is rather too short for his liking these past months, but not a day passes by where he doesn't think about you or your wellbeing.

His reason for living, his breath of air, his beloved.

my life, my love.

Mea vita.

Deep conversations

Throughout his life, the bachelor came to the realisation that people don't like to use their brains, very early on.

It sounds condescending to claim, but it has been proven time after time with everyone he attempted to befriend or the other way around. Most people would rather turn off their brains and drift through life until their sand clock runs out.

Even the so-called respected academics suffered from the same trait at times. Daniil might have just minored in philosophy but he still took the classes more seriously than some of his colleagues who had it as a major.

He tries to appear intellectual, yes. But it's not a complete preformance, deep down, he really admires those traits. He wants someone smart and not afraid to have these difficult conversations, to discuss heavy topics with.

Especially someone who isn't afraid to be proven wrong, who doesn't take offence to him poking holes in their logic.

You were genuinely in it for the science, for the sake of learning, just like him. You didn't cut off his long explanations short, neither did you wave off his philosophic debates with a polite smile. You indulged him, even if you didn't have a single clue what he was saying, you still tried to listen and understand.

You allowed him to explain.

Daniil is self aware, he knows that he is too much. Too driven by pride and ego, too heavy for people to swallow. But he refuses to break himself into bite-sizes or water his intellectualism down.

You weren't intimidated, neither did you worship the ground he walks on. You saw him as human, capable of right and wrong, of ignorance and justice.

Correcting him on some occasions, winning against him in debates and arguments at times.

Daniil fell more and more in love with you each time. He was the most himself around you, full of passion, not afraid to share his wild theories or less refined ideas. Knowing you won't judge him for where he stood on the chessboard, even if the two of you disagreed on some principles, there will always be a spot for him in your arms.

tries to maintain your lifestyle

When he married you, he vowed to himself never to let you need anything in this life. All the prestigious salaries and funding that came with his degree will be used to fund his family first and his research second.

And you are his entire family, his only family, his beloved spouse.

He wants you to lead a comfortable life, to indulge in luxurious every now and then. Whatever your hobbies may be, expensive or not, they are completely supported by him.

Because you being happy and never having to work a day in your life, is genuinely the biggest achievement he could ever strive for.

He'll pick up the extra shifts at the hospital, don't worry about it. He wants the experience either way, it is his choice.

He will do whatever he can to maintain the high standards lifestyle he got you accustomed to. Even when Thanatica funds run dry from the lack of progress, he still doesn't compromise the home finance and rather go on long work trips and put in more efforts to meet the standards.

You have your degree, yes, and you're free to peruse any research of your own. Daniil would take care of the funding, he insists.

It's personal for him to be able to provide for you and your dreams. So you may never wish for anything you couldn't acquire.

Lets you see the embarrassing sides of him

When he's having bad hair days and ends up blaming the haircomb for not cooperating. His tendency to spill wine after a drink or two–which might be the real reason behind his dark red vests.

When he's rehearsing his speeches the night prior to the conference. When he's practising his latin pronunciation and keeps clumsily sounding the new words out.

How he slurs his speech and becomes very cuddly when wasted. How his student days of... wild drinking lowered his tolerance so much that it doesn't take much for him to start being moppy and clingy as he pours his heart out to you because nothing is working out in his research and he doesn't know what to do.

You've seen that man both at his most unfaltering situations and glamorous moments. He's so grumpy in the morning, annoyed by the sun as he forces himself out of bed and begins begrudgingly ironing his clothes and getting ready for work.

How he refuses to leave the house if he isn't fully content with his appearance. Even during his most work cramped weeks, he'd still pause before the mirror to adjust his caravat while glaring at his reflection with dark circles under his eyes.

You've seen him chase a rat out of the kitchen once after it stole one of the experimental tissue samples he brought home from the labs and put in the freezer.

The genius of the century, Daniil Dankovsky, cornering a small rat and threatening it with a loaded pistol in the middle of the night.

It was you who saved the day when you simply set up a big block of cheese on the nearby floor which the rat quickly scurried at. Its large size forcing the rat to abandon the dish sample in order to greedly drag the huge cheese away.

Although, you didn't have the heart to tell him that you did this because you knew how bad at aiming your husband was and you rather liked the new kitchen wall tiles the two of you just spent a fortune to have installed the other day.

Takes you on his work trips

The two of you travelled to france enough for Daniil to pick up on the language, using it to terrorise his poor coworkers back home, as if the latin wasn't enough already.

Surprisingly, the two of you spent more time together during those trips. Being in a different country meant he was only allowed to work within the normal working hours for other people, tragic yes. There was no private Thanatica labs for him to spend the night at, he'd get kicked out of the institution labs each time he attempts to stay more than the allowed duration.

So instead, he'd focus on you, takes you on dates around the new country. Sightseeing together and enjoying the culture and culinary food. Trying things you've never heard of before, Daniil truly loved the exploration of the unkown at his heart, and it really shined through during these nights.

Those trips were as therapeutic for him as they were for you. He had the person he loved most in the world by his side as the two of you tredded through new cities and marvled at extravagant inventions.

The creme de la creme of society, of art works and poetry. Each museum is filled with rich history and futuristic inventions. The two of you even rode an air balloon during one of those trips once, looking at the world below, drifting through the clouds. Daniil tightly held your hand, and for once, he knew that this way where he belonged, that there is nowhere else where he would rather be than here by your side.

-

Ngl that actually was a treat to write after all of that angst. Huh, I actually didn't expect to enjoy fluffy romantic husband Daniil this much but I did. I guess we both learned something new in this endeavour.

I hope you liked it because wow this one was rather tricky. I had to resist the urge for angst and bonk it with a broom each time it reared its head. Stay down ya cunt, I'd yell at it atop my fluffy fort of pillows and everything nice.

Tell me your thoughts if you did enjoy it <3 I hope you have a great day. I will come back later and fix the typos.

[shmowder]

Hi! I love the way you write, you're a great storyteller! Could you maybe write a little something about how Rubin, Daniil and Artemy would deal with a clumsy reader who often bumps into things and gets hurt? If so, I'd be grateful! I hope you have an amazing day <3

Thank you very much! I enjoy writing stories and telling them. I hope you have a great day, do take care of yourself <3

Dealing with a clumsy Reader

[fluff, overprotectiveness, GN reader]

[Artemy, Daniil, Rubin]

The Haruspex

The first time you've planted face first into the ground when walking up to him, Artemy chalked it up to a trip of fate. The second time, however, he walked faster to meet you halfway and catch you mid-stumble into the paved streets.

Call it intuition, a gut feeling, or whatever you want. Burakh seems to know exactly when to hold you by the arm just before you trip on air when walking together. He saved several obiects from breaking by catching them after they slipped from your fingers.

The two of you are on extreme opposite ends. He mastered his own body to move effortlessly; the precise movement of a surgeon was engraved into him since childhood. Learning to tread delicately despite his size and body, both as a child collecting twyre and making sure not to crush the fragile herbs roots and as a medic in the army where one misplaced step could spell his demise on the battlefield.

And you had the grace of a newly-born fawn learning to walk.

Watching out for your safety on your behalf started developing into one of his many habits, the ones that occur almost unconsciously. He just learned to stand close enough to pull you back just before you could fall into the river because you leaned too much against the rusty railings. His arm hovering around your waist whenever he brings you into his lair just in case he left another sharp scalpel or two exposed on a table.

Lending his aid to you with tasks that require precision. Usually, work around the house, like hanging a picture frame after you accidentally dropped the hammer on your foot or moving furniture and heavy boxes around.

You don't even have to ask him for help, Artemy visits you a couple of times a week to check if you need anything. Sometimes inviting you along on his grocery trips with Sticky and Murky so he gets an excuse to carry your bags and walk you home.

The two kids definitely catch on to your clumsy nature and it's clear Artemy had a talk with them about it when Murky offers to let you hold her doll for protection from bad luck while Sticky grumbles about how a doll won't help and you probably need to wear medieval knight steel armour just to walk around safely.

Sometimes Artemy feels like he should be concerned more, especially since he is finite and won't always be there to pull you away from danger and into the safety of his arms, he won't always be able to stabilise you or pick you up after you fall.

It eats him up at night.

Wondering if you got home safely, if you're eating well, if he's gonna see you tomorrow with a new band-aid on your finger, knees, or elbows.

Maybe you're thankful for his constant help, or maybe you begrudgingly accept it with defeated annoyance. Whatever your reaction may be, Artemy finds himself enjoying looking out for you. A part of him feels guilty for liking the feeling of having you relay on him in certain things.

"I'll take care of the bags, hold my arm instead...STICKY TELL YOUR SISTER NOT TO RUN TOO FAR AHEAD THIS ISN'T A RACE"

♧

The Bachelor

Is the one putting these said band-aids on you.

When he first met you, he was under the impression you were a patient coming to see him. What do you mean by no? You just came to say hello and introduce yourself? Then why do you look like someone who just came out of a brawl with a raccoon and lost? What's with all of these bruises and scratches?

Actually, it doesn't matter. This town is already full of weird people with unusual quirks. Daniil's politely insisting that you must sit down and let him disinfect the scratches, he has plenty of bandages for your brusies, too.

As Daniil works on cleaning you up, he's careful not to press too much on your bruises, asking you if the bandage is too tight or constricting as he wraps it. He gently goes over every painful spot on your body from the smallest of cuts on your fingertips to that painful bruise from twisting your ankle. Cleaning them with a cotton pad and applying the clean bandages afterwards.

Sometimes, he can't believe how one person can manage to get hurt this much in such little time. Other times, he wonders how you even managed to survive without a personal doctor accommodating you each night.

He's already busy at it, but he makes time for you. He's not going to turn someone in need away, especially someone who's hurt to no fault of your own. The human body is stubborn and uncooperative at times. He understands that better than anyone, he doesn't make you bear the blame of your limbs refusing to listen to you.

When he does scold you, it's for not coming to him sooner. An untreated papercut may result in amputation if left infected for a long duration of time. You're not a bother. You have every right to seek medical attention, and he won't turn you away from his door even in the middle of the night.

Ever since, he started carrying more band-aids and disinfecting alcohol in his bag. Each time you meet him on the street while walking around the town, he's stopping to check you over for any injuries, telling you to sit on a nearby bench as he quickly attends to you before leaving afterwards to the meeting with the Kains he's already late to. It's clear to any onlookers how much this town isn't his forte. The more days he spends here, the more symptoms of exhaustion he starts showing.

But there is something relaxing about the simplicity of someone merely asking him to treat their bruises. Finally, someone who isn't asking him to bring them the moon from the sky or solve another mystery murder.

He's delighted to get a moment to himself to take care of you. The more frequent these meetings become the more open and comfortable he becomes with you.

One time, you even heard him actually make a joke that wasn't fully oozing sarcasm from every letter. Friendly banter is rare but not scarce with him. He also enjoys sharing his medical knowledge and teaching you the proper ways to treat a cut in case he isn't around anymore.

If you do ever ask for a specific type of band-aids with colourful pictures on top, he'll throw a sarcastic comment your way about the proven scientific benfits of silly pictures of dinosaurs on band-aids, how he's not a pediatrician and you're being absurd.

He still shows up with the exact type of colourful band-aids you asked for the next day.

"The discolouration is due to the hemoglobins turning into biliverdin. It's a good sign and will go away on its own eventually. Are you feeling good enough to walk home on your own, or should I accompany you? No, I insist, it's far from a bother."

♧

The Warden

Rubin's first meeting meeting with you happened in a grocery store when you accidentally stepped on his foot while reaching for something on a high shelf. You immediately turned around to face him and apologise when you heard his wince but accidentally dragged the shopping cart along, making you stumble forward and step on his other foot.

The two of you ended up falling to the ground in the middle of the store. At least he was under you to soften the blow.

He was strangely calm for someone who just had his legs run over and back slammed against the wooden floor. Awkwardly getting up and acting like nothing happened as he picked up his scattered groceries from the floor.

You saw him staring at you as he internally debated whether to lend a helping hand with your fallen groceries or not. By the time he made his mind, you were already done. Instead, he reached over you to the item you were trying to get on the high shelf and handed it to you.

That memory of this stranger in the store stayed with him for a long while, he'd recall it while brushing his teeth or running errands. With a small town like this, you were bound to meet again.

Eventually, the two of you did. In a vaguely similar manner where your clumsiness resulted in both you and Rubin crashing into each other, with him softening your fall like always.

This time around, he made the effort to learn your name and introduce himself properly. He had an air of apathy around him like he was going through something, as if he lived in his head all the time. Rubin's eyes drifting to the side when the two of you would talk, his clothes looking as if he just threw them on after waking up without a second thought, his reponses to you rarely exceeded a sentence or two. It was very easy to mistake his demnour for his disliking you.

But he didn't. If anything, his legs seemed to take him to you in a beeline whenever he'd spot you around town. The two of you would sit or walk in silence most of the time. He wasn't as quick to pull you away before you bumped into a tree or a pole, but he'd put his hand between you and the hard surface to take the damage instead.

Just by being around you, he was already accumulating more and more bruises by the day. Ones he'd pay in your stead for your clumsiness. He never complained however.

A part of him enjoyed having you fuss over him each time he'd do it. Like that one time, you were about to touch a hot pot on the stove, and his reaction was to pick it up instead and move it away. You showed great concern as you sat him down on your kitchen chair and held a cloth with ice inside to the burn on his hand.

"I'd rather it be me than you, I can handle it."

[shmowder]

I love thinking about how each healer would comfort their s/o differently, like they’re all healers but manage the emotional aspects of pain in different ways. to me, once he’s attached to u enough, daniil could probs be very soothing if he wanted to be and if the situation called for it. calm whispers, “it’s ok, i’ve got you. I know it hurts but I will make it all go away”, featherlight touches that almost feel dreamlike. artemy is like the silent but calming presence that feels reliable and like home, yk? a glass of water that’s always full, gentle back rubs, layers of blankets that make you feel like there isn’t a worry in the world. I love them both so much, especially as someone who is always ill and or injured lmao. would love to hear ur take tho! love u lots!

i love you lots too anon. i might not know you but i do love you. lots.

Different ways they'd comfort you

[ Comfort, Fluff, Can be either platonic or romantic ]

[ Bachelor, Haruspex, GN Reader]

Daniil Dankovsky

It is common knowledge that the bachelor doesn't have the best bedside manners. His eloquent speech can take a sharp turn if provoked. Be it the accidental condescension or the occasional sarcasm, there are so many reasons why he'd be placed approximately at the bottom of the figurative list of people to seek comfort from.

And yet, you do.

He doesn't know how to deal with tears, which leads to his lack of tact as the only thing he can manage to say to you is to stop crying.

Is he saying it to you? It's worded like an order, much like he'd tell a patient to stop sneezing whilst aware it's an involuntary bodily reaction. Crying is an almost petellar reflex to intense emotions, high stress, overwhelming joy, or consuming despair.

Doctors grow jaded with time, the daily exposure to patients experiencing what could be considered the worst days of their entire lifetime simply does that to someone. Many people die before your eyes, you simply have to keep going and go check on the other patient waiting in the next room over.

Cases ranging from a newly teething infant experiencing mild discomfort with an overly concerned mother to a young newly wed person, about to receive the devastating news in the form of a positive test results confirming the suspicions about a terminal illness.

The trivial problems of the daily life simply pale in comparison.

You pour your heart out to him and his first instinct is to look for a solution, not realising the importance of simply venting.

He doesn't understand why you keep coming back to him exactly, especially after he messes up each time. Adding fuel to the fire, the only thing he manages to do is make you feel worse than you've felt before talking to him.

When life gets him down, he gets up, dusts himself off, and tries again. Simple as that. He refuses defeat;Daniil will never concede.

It's just what he's used to. His sharp tongue rarely spares him, and unlike other people, Daniil can't simply walk away from himself when his mind won't shut up as it constantly nitpicks on every single one of his mistakes and shortcomings. He is subjected to having to deal with himself every hour of the day.

You're asking him for something which he cannot even give to himself. Isn't it unfair? How could he extend you warmth and comfort when he can't even provide it for his own self.

It was easier to simply repress it all, to focus on the main prize above his head and ignore everything else.

Time after time you seek him out during your most vulnerable moments and he messes up. He feels insufficient, inadequate for this delicate role.

But you don't stop nor ever learn, you take whatever little kindness he's able to provide and treasure it.

Daniil hates feeling inadequate.

You make him want to try harder.

And so he learns, seeks books and guides. Clumsily attempts several techniques, works hard to reconnect with the emotions he has ignored all his life, with the sympathy he buried deep down.

With empathy.

Most importantly, he learns when to shut up.

Daniil is almost embarrassed by how effective his attempts at comfort became once he just closed his mouth and let you talk without interruptions, once he stopped listing solutions and learned how to listen.

To imagine how you must be feeling, to attempt to contextualise it and paint a semi accurate picture in his mind. To feel even a fraction of your pain.

And you see his sincerity behind the stiff expression and awkward shoulder patting. The way his eyebrows scrunch as he attempts to come up with an adequate sentence that could lessen your pain, or at least acknowledge it.

Daniil Dankovsky struggling for words is not a sight easily forgettable.

Gradually, he becomes better at reading your emotions. Realising what it is you truly need at the moment, be it words of encouragement, a hug, some time alone or just to talk shit together about the source of your pain, be it a person or else.

Physical contact isn't something he is very accustomed to either. You don't get many hugs in Thanatica, handshakes, however? yeah, there are plenty of those.

It's not just you he learns to console through this, but himself too. It was a pleasant side-effect that should've been obvious in handsight, yet he overlooked somehow.

He's better at regulating his own emotions, his infamous temper visits less and less frequently. Instead of simply getting up after falling down, he takes a moment to catch his breath now. He thinks of you, his motivation, of how he should probably go back home and have dinner with you rather than keep reattempting this failing experiment over and over.

Daniil comforts you with the same novelty of someone who hasn't known much comfort in his life. It's raw and callow at times. He's clearly putting in the required effort and more, overcompensating for his previous shortcomings.

He makes it known that you're not alone.

That this, too, eventually will pass. You've managed to overcome so much before, you'll survive this, too.

It's not easy, it never will be. Life is hard, so accept his offers of help. Let him carry your portion of responsibility while you get on your two feet, he'll be diligent.

Daniil might not be very good with vulnerability or emotions, but he has got everything else you could need. He will learn, never stay stagnant or let failure deter him. Whatever you require, he will accomplish and more.

Because he cares for you deeply.

The sight of you in pain is simply too much; he'll become restless and attempt to fix the situation in any way possible. He will make the pain go away. He is a doctor goddammit, and his degree has to amount to something in these situations.

It has to.

Artemy Burakh

Daniil learns to lovingly cradle your face and gently wipe the flowing tears. To reassure you that everything will be okay, he promises.

As early as he could remember, his father, Isidor, was always authentic with his emotions and feelings. Even more than most men were comfortable with showing during this time period.

Isidor taught him not only to listen to his heart, but to take it seriously. Emotions are what makes living worth living, what right do we have to supress them? If tears want to flow, then let them. If you care about someone, then cherish them.

The kin respected their own bodies and intuition, a burden shared is a burden halved, a joy shared is a joy doubled. They looked out for each other, they mourned with their neighbours and celebrated their friends achievements as if their own.

Generous in their love and sorrows.

They never subscribed to the notion of individualism or keeping up appearance, the put-together apathetic facade this new age is making people wear. The pointless masquerades and supressing emotions, the need to pretend that humans were something above the sensitivity of mammals.

That the heart was simply a machine.

These lessons were embedded deep within Artemy, to be proud of what he feels, to never ignore a single feeling nor diminish his own needs. He was loved, deeply during childhood and he carried that love with him everywhere he went.

It made him stand out during his years of travelling, his blunt authenticity made him memorable.

War is never easy, much stronger men became husks of themselves in front of his own eyes in the army. Artemy witnessed the fall of commanders with hearts of steel.

No matter how apathetic and uncaring anyone seems, their hearts are always laid bare before him on the surgery table, their lips always end up calling for their mother as Artemy extracts the ninth bullet from the deep wound in their thighs.

Yet his resolve never faltered no matter how grim his daily life became, his well of empathy never dried up. Because the answer to life difficulties was never to rawr and bite it back, you can't just be brave and bite the wind back.

His softness kept his mind intact. The love nurtured within him from a young age was what protected him during those years of madness. War couldn't break him, despair could never trick him, he trusted his body and heart far too much to fall into these traps.

If anything, his tested resolve only strengthened. He stubbornly digged his heels into the dirt below and refused to abandon hope.

You need to be soft in order to be truly strong. To allow the waves of emotions to pass through you like a river instead of constantly swimming against the tides.

No situation ia too hopeless, no pain is permanent. There is no dignity in suffering, there is no bravery in hurting.

Artemy is more aware of other's emotions than people realise. It's a children's game to imagine himself in someone else's shods and picture what they might be feeling. He just rarely mentions it or puts it to use.

People don't like it when you point out their emotions to them, he learned that the hard way. If someone wants to feign ignorance or remain unaware of their own feelings, than it is simply not his business.

He immediately notices it when your mood starts to shift. Of course he does; you're an important person in his life.

But you'll need to speak up for him to be able to address the elephant in the room. If you're not upfront or dismiss his questions about how are you feeling lately then he won't push the subject or attempt to force answers out of you. He'll respect your decision and wait until you come to him out of your own volition.

Artemy is a reliable support beam in this town, much like his father once was. Be it the kin or else, people entrust him with their moments of need and weakness. The kin seek him out during times of strife, he fullfills the Menkhu role earnestly.

Whatever you're facing seems much more manageable with him supporting your back. Catching you whenever you fall and allowing you to rest, sharing his wamrth with you when the world outside is too cold and cruel.

He makes you feel loved through his actions and words.

His smile is especially reassuring, the hardned face of someone who has seen far too much of humanity's cruel and sadistic side. Who has witnessed the worst of the worst of people and could still fearlessly love afterwards.

You'll be held in his arms, hugged and craddled for as much as you need. His body feels strong, you feel safe. He whispers words of wisdom, be it prayers to the earth to watch over you or reassurance that you're more than enough, that stronger than you know, that you'll always be more loved than any sense of despair could overwhelm you.

He keeps your body rested and well-fed, freshly cut fruits he coax you to try. Warm soup he shamelessly brings a pot of to your door each day in case you didn't have lunch, pouring you a glass of water whenever the two of you sit down. He is very attentive to your basic needs.

Your mind, however, he doesn't know a remedy for. He's deeply sorry that you've been dealt an unfair hand in this life, Artemy will ease the pain as many times as it takes. He will usher the monsters and whispering shadows away, he will guide you to the light whenever the corners of your mind get too dim.

Because he never takes your happiness for granted, he treasures every single day when you're sound of body and mind. He knows to count his blessings.

And it's worth it in the end to see you smile again. It's worth all the fussing and hard work, it's worth everything in this world. Loving you is worth it.

He's thoughtful, gentle, and patient. He listens to your tales of sorrow, lets you pour your heart out to him, and stain his clothes with your tears as he keeps a hand on your back. Telling you he is here, by your side and he is never going anywhere else.

He will remain here, protect and watch over you until his hair turns grey and his skin wrinkles.

Holding your hand in his, running his thumb over your skin, intertwining your fingers together as he pulls you closer.

Kissing the temple of your head, vowing your safety, whatever your cost may be.

Let him share your burden, entrust him with your pain. He will be strong enough for the two of you, he will be as soft as a feather to cushion your fall.

And everything will be okay.

[shmowder]

I’m not quite sure if you’ve played the marbles nest dlc yet but if you have….could I get some hcs for how marbles nest Daniil would be with a reader? Maybe even they’ve confessed their love for him randomly during one of the loops?

I always liked the concept of timeloops. Just when Daniil thinks he has seen and memorised everything, you go off-script and confess your feelings.

A tragedian Reader? Yeah I like the idea.

Death Is The Only Way Out

[ MN Daniil x Tragedian GN Reader ]

[ Angst with a happy end..kinda, Hurt/Comfort, Love confession, Romance, 4th wall breaks, Metafiction]

It was getting dull.

The same people stopping him in the same streets, delivering the same news.

Gleefully informing him of his failures, of his supposed dead status, of the Judge lifting quarantine and overruling any speck of authority the Bachelor may have held in this town.

- The Fifth Loop -

Dankovsky stopped listening to them by now

They've already said their useful piece time after time.

He already knows where to go, without being needlessly subjected to their sadistic gossip, vaguely disguised as concern for him.

…walking by the stillwaters, her voice still haunts him.

 - The Twentieth Loop - 

He finally came to  the bitter acceptance that there is no feasible way to prevent the vial of Panacea from breaking.

No matter how many instructions he gave to Cookaroo–the kid, even handing him his own snakeskin coat to use as a cushion for the fallen items.

It ended the same... except with broken glass embedded into his coat this time around. Neither could he possibly hide them from the guard outside.

Daniil even brought a water bottle with him just to swap its content with the Panacea, to hopefully sneak it outside this time around.

The guard confiscated it all the same, with the confidence of someone who witnessed him in the very act itself.

Daniil was sure he locked the door before he did. The walls must have eyes and ears, he concluded.

As he held the Panacea in his hand, pale blue eyes chided him from not having faith in him.

- The Twenty-sixth Loop -

It never gets easier.

Having to purposely fail as a doctor, having to go against his very own instinct at every turn and butcher the self-inflicted wound on the worm.

Failing at the very basics of the basic training granted to each student in their first year of medical school.

But after the first few times of being handed a still-warm human heart–bright red, freshly plucked from someone's chest, oozing blood from every vein and crevice–He decided to pick the lesser evil... or the one that doesn't test the endurance of his lurching stomach each time.

One death was mandatory to happen this day, he reckoned, one that must involve him as a participant.

Directly or else.

Both the worm and the Herb Bride chose to die, and both of them welcomed it. The blood on his hands is something he cannot change.

He can only choose whose.

To even call it a wedding, what a tasteless joke. What crude practices.

- The Forty-fifth Loop -

How idiotic of him to think that he even had a choice to begin with. The heart was mandatory. He learned it the hard way

All the days he wasted thinking he was sparing a life, saving someone's daughter from being butchered like cattle.

Letting a patient die in his own arms, killing him with the same medical tools meant to mend and heal.

Only for it to be the wrong choice after all.

Of course it was.

Of course, this rotten town will never be satisfied until his suffering reaches its maximum potential.

Of course, he couldn't even be granted this one mercy.

Daniil stopped looking in her direction afterwards. He couldn't stomach seeing her dance.

He just focused on sparing the worm's life, accepting his curses and insults without retaliation this time around. For part of them felt deserved.

What a grim wedding.

- The Fifty-seventh Loop -

One of the tragedians appeared in front of the cathedral earlier than expected.

Daniil didn't even have the heart yet to trade you with.

Just when he was about to inform you of that, he noticed something different, Your mask was cracked.

Sure, the tragedians' clothes were always worn with visible stitches, their masks covered in tiny scratches, the white colour eroding into grey with the constant wear and tear. 

But yours was indefinitely cracked. It wasn't anything small either but a major split.

"How does it stay in place?"

The question caught both of you off-guard as it slipped from his lips.

Daniil immediately regretted asking it, he doesn't have the time for this, you're not going to tell him anything useful, you're just here to insult him and rub salt into his wounds, just like that insufferable executer dwelling in-

"Fabric glue." You answered.

Oh.

Yeah, it makes sense.

His brain must be getting very stale if he couldn't figure this one out by himself.

Without another word, he turned around and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

- The Fifty-eighth Loop -

You're here again... even earlier than last time.

Daniil approaches you with caution still, as if you're about to grow two heads or fizzle out into a plague cloud. Because of the off-chance that you might carry crucial information that could help him finally defeat death... he must prevail.

It feels odd, attempting to strike a conversation after so many loops of people just coming to him unannounced to voice their thoughts.

You're quieter than the other tragedians, less fidgety, too. You're not acting in place like a mime performance, nor are you standing ominously still like a statue.

You're simply... there.

Eerily human-like.

Sometimes, looking at the sky, other times stretching your limbs. Loitering, in summary.

"Why aren't you with your friends?" The question came out by his own agency this time around... although it was said with a hint of venom.

Daniil stood impatiently in front of you, as it took you a moment to realise he was addressing you and not one of the townsfolk.

"My friends?" The mask twitched, your expression must have changed underneath, the crack making its movement more pronounced, "I'm not sure who you're referring to..."

"The other actors, mimes, tragedians, whatever your group calls itself." The hostility in Daniil's tone simmered down at your casual demeanour.

"We're not really friends. Coworkers, more likely." 

Daniil gave you an expected look. You weren't sure what it meant… so you continued to elaborate on the subject.

"I mean, Anton's nice and all, he always brings an extra coffee for anyone who asks, but like I wouldn't say we've ever invited each other to a birthday party or something." You explained earnestly.

"No, that's not what I-" Daniil took a deep breath, "I meant to ask, why aren't you with them? What are you doing here so early?"

You faced him, and for a second, Daniil thought he glimpsed a pair of human eyes looking at him behind the dim fabric, veiling your face from underneath the mask.

The eye contact was cut short as you urgently turned your head away, refusing to meet his face again. Realising that he's still awaiting an answer, you simply shrugged.

"I see..." So you weren't here because of his actions or something he did during one of the loops... that's both relieving and frustrating at the same time.

Without another word, he turned around and went about his usual routine for this Saturday 

- The Fifty-ninth Loop -

Daniil didn't bother addressing the townsfolk gathering outside the grocery. Their praise fell on deaf ears as he pocketed the remaining change left over from pawning his pocket watch and hurried away.

Not only was your demeanour unusual, but the way you acted when you thought he wasn't looking as well.

Daniil felt your eyes following him as he trudged through the stone yard, facing away and feigning innocence whenever he'd abruptly stop and turn to catch you in the act.

At first, he was put off by it.

But the more he observed you from far away, the more he came to the blunt realisation that you were simply bored out of your mind, and he happened to be the only changing variable nearby.

That's why he decided to head towards the Committee first thing this time around. Informing them to unlock the nearby store.

The Bachelor wasn't sure why he's doing this.

Was it a vain attempt to gain some sort of benefits or information out of you that might aid him in this seemingly endless battle?

Or was it the fact you seemed to retain your memories through each reset just like him.

…maybe the fact these two conversations with you were the closest thing to normality he has experienced through this hopeless journey.

But he cannot trust you, not yet. 

For all he knows, you could be death itself, who found another way to taunt him through exploiting his ever growing loneliness in this fragment of reality, detached from the outer world, never ending, never growing, much like a bird stuck in a cage or a soul preserved in a peanut.

He should really stop humouring these kids; their wild imagination is starting to alter his thoughts and view on reality.

You're at your usual spot, in front of the cathedral is where he finds you. 

It seems that you've taken a liking to sitting at the far end of the stairs, than to aimlessly standing around.

Were your legs tired? he couldn't help but wonder.

The click of his bag opening caught your attention, Daniil reached into the safety of a pocket lining the inner walls, three coffee beans tucked in there.

The ones he freshly bought from the grocery a few minutes ago.

“Here.” He says, unceremoniously extending his hand to you, coffee beans sitting on his palm. 

Your expression is veiled beneath a layer of black fabric. The cracked mask–was the split always this big?–offers some leeway, however. Daniil can vaguely make out the shape of your nose, poking from underneath the fabric.

With initial hesitation, you opened your hand, feeling his gloved fingers carefully set the coffee beans atop yours one by one, rather than just dumping them all down.

It wasn't feasible to feel his skin beneath the thick layer of leather, but by the gods, did the tightness in your chest claim otherwise.

“I couldn't find a kettle or sugar, but I'm sure you'll figure something out.” Daniil retracted his hand, politely taking a step back–it just hit you how close he must have been–his tone devoid of any bitterness this time. “Was it Afton, right? the colleague who usually brought you coffee.”

“Anton,” you corrected him, still staring at the coffee beans in your palm with disbelief, “...thank you.”

“I…” Gratitude is definitely not what he was expecting. Daniil's eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing away, “it's nothing really.”

The smile on your lips, he couldn't see, neither the glimmer adorning your eyes as you admired this humble yet thoughtful act of kindness.

“Did you get out of your way to do this? you always order the Committee to just send more guards.” Your words made him pause in place.

The genuine surprise on Dankovsky's face was quickly masked away. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it, gears churning in his brain.

“Don't flatter yourself, I had my own reasons.” Daniil took another step back, spoke with a defensive tone “...you're more observant than you initially seemed, I didn't think anyone was keeping track, least of all the tragedians.”

It felt like the temperature dropped several degrees, the quaint atmosphere vanishing in an instant as his cold eyes sized you up and down.

“The game is rigged, isn't it?” He continued, not giving you a chance to speak. “You've indirectly confirmed my suspicions, just now. I'm under constant surveillance, aren't I? That's why that pesky guard couldn't be outsmarted.”

Whatever fragile resemblance of a friendship you two held was shattered by a mere slip of the tongue on your part.

“...yes.” It came out in a whisper, yet you were sure Daniil still heard it all the same.

Without another word, he turned around and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixtieth Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixty-first Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixty-second Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixty-third Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixty-eighth Loop –

He glanced in your direction as he exited the theatre, having just been informed of the execution of Dora and Marat. 

Their ashes remain on the ground.

– The Sixty-ninth Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Seventieth Loop – 

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Eightieth Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Ninetieth Loop –

He sat down beside you on the cathedral stairs.

Eyes sunken, a look of absolute defeat on his face.

You fidget with the three coffee beans in your hand, twirling them around with your fingers. Dankovsky watches.

“I would've told you if you had asked.” You quietly explain, “I never meant to trick you.”

A heavy weight falls on your shoulder, Daniil's body collapsing against your side. Face resting against your collarbone, his breathing ghosts over your neck.

The comforting weight of forgiveness.

“Then tell me.” He sounds beyond exhausted. You wonder how close his metre is to being filled. “How can I defeat death? And don't give me any of those vague answers your colleagues do each time, I want the plain truth.”

“You wouldn't like the truth.” Plague clouds flood the streets. Polluted air passes seamlessly through your lungs as you take a deep breath.

Daniil buries his face deeper into your neck, fearing a coughing fit if he dares to breathe too generously. “I can handle it, please just… spare me some dignity.”

“You can't win. You could never win. It was always rigged. Death is the only way out.”

“I refuse.” Even after all this time, nearly one-third of a year spent in the samsara, Daniil's determination never wavered, “there must be another way, I refuse to accept death.”

“Well…” Your mask splintered, chipping at the corners as the crack grew in size, “you could always stop playing this game.”

“You really think this is just a game? Do you realise the number of people residing in the stone yard? Whole families, kids, and elderly alike will not survive the infection if the plague makes it across the bridge.”

“It was always meant to be a stand-alone story, a demo for backers, a preview test of what's to come. It wasn't made with the thought in mind to become a full-fledged DLC down the line. It's too incomplete, too linear. The endings aren't satisfying either, and it constantly loops after each one.”

“Have you gone senile? Just what the hell are you talking about?” Daniil lifts his head to be able to face you, eyebrows scrunched together in a mix of frustration and confusion.

Your eyes glance down to his chapped lips.

With one of your hands–the one that's not carrying the precious gift he graced you with–you bring his hand upwards, coax his fingers under the edges of your mask.

All negative emotions vanish from his expression. Understanding your intentions, Daniil brings his other hand to the opposite side of your face.

The porcelain mask crumbles down into dust after he moves it less than an inch away.

The silhouette of a face is visible now underneath the fabric. He moves his fingers delicately across your features.

Caressing your cheeks with his thumb, trailing down your nose with the tip of his finger, brushing against your lips, memorising the shape of your upper eyelid

Staring into those very same eyes he briefly glimpsed that day.

“I've always loved you.” Your voice sounds clearer without the echo of the mask. Your vulnerability shines through.

Daniil stares at you with wide eyes, processing everything happening at an alarming speed, taking your words to heart.

Fear flashes through his eyes for a split second, fear of the fate which befalls those he cherishes. Clouding his brain into a fog, churning in his stomach akin to bitter venom.

Eva's voice rings in his ears, Artemy's eyes bore into his own.

Yet the taste of your lips brings him back to his senses, your soft mouth pressing against his own, a thin layer of fabric separating you two, preventing your realities from ever fully merging.

“I love you.” You repeat, “and I can't watch you suffer for much longer.” 

Daniil's arms envelope you.

“Please…” You whisper, cradling his face in your hands, “stop playing the game. That's the only way to win.”

He doesn't argue with you. He peers at you with morose acceptance.

With a final kiss to your temple, the world stops in place. The two of you akin to statues, frozen in that position, preserved for eternity.

The key to immortality.

A figure stares at their reflection on the screen. The pause menu is the only light illuminating the dim room.

Scrolling down to the last option, a confirmation window pops out, asking if you're sure you want to exit the game.

You press ‘Yes’

Greeted by the usual desktop screen on your computer, you glance at the clock in the corner of the taskbar. 

It's getting late, you think. You should head to bed soon.

The DLC was too short, and it was definitely not worth the price. You still find yourself recommending it when inquired about it in the future.

The mattress sinks under your weight, the covers weigh comfortably on top of you, the pillows cradle your head.

As your eyes flutter shut, your soul soars free. Drifting amidst the streams, a starless sky filled with dreams.

[shmowder]

It's aro Daniil anon again :) I hope your weekend was good! I am here with a request that is not specifically aro (but could be)-- I'd love to see something with the reader trying to comfort Daniil postgame after the Polyhedron falls and he's stuck in the Town?

Thank you. Writing this was therapeutic. I wish I could've offered more, but that's all I had today. I hope you like it <3 And I'm glad to see you here again.

Mors Tua, Vita Mea

[ slight angst, comfort, hugging, can be romantic or platonic]

[Daniil Dankovsky x gn reader]

"They threw me here hoping that I'll never return, didn't they?" There's a quiver to his lips, frail sentences spoken with fragile tones. “I never had a chance to begin with, how naive I was to think…”

The same bachelor stood before you, the one who held ultimate authority over the town a week and a couple of days ago. passion-born speeches about the importance of figuring out the truth, doing everything he can since day one, going by the book and applying all that he has learnt in his long years of battling with death in this one showdown, truly exhausting the cards he has been dealt until nothing but desperate clenching fists remained.

Gazing at the river ahead, the beautiful view of cloudy skies and the thriving greenery of the steppe at the far back only dig deeper into the fresh open wound–be it yours or the earth's below–the now empty space where the polyhedron used to be is slowly fizzing out of your memory.

Not Daniil's, however, he's still tracing the invisible stairs with his eyes, counting the steps from what he could recall, every turn and twist, every blueprint etched into the wooden panels.

His face is soft. Ever since you've met him, it's the softest expression you've witnessed him wear. Or was it simply the mask that slipped down?

The raindrops hitting the top of your umbrella are reminiscent of a certian melody, nostalgic in nature, you feel like you've heard it before, as if you've stood witness here before, enough times to memorise the sound of rain's pattern on this exact same day.

He was drenched when you first found him, the bachelor of medicine, it must have been the rain which washed away the know-it-all facade he clung to like a security blanket at times.

For now, he's dried up a bit after you shielded him under your own umbrella. Standing in silence, he tried to give you an acknowledgement smile out of politeness, but the corners of his lips weighed down heavier than he could manage to lift them.

There are no winds to howl, no showering rain to taunt, no fireworks of celebration to mock. The apathy of the universe to stand indifferent to the suffering of those who were, of those who are, of those who will be.

“My life's work snuffed out from behind my back while I was none the wiser, working day and night to save this damned ungrateful town.” His gloved hand reaches to hold the handle of the umbrella just below yours, “They tore the research papers, burned the tissue samples, and destroyed the building whole. Thanatica is no more, and so is hope.”

What remained was a shell of a broken man, a hollow consolation trophy for humanity's failed attempt to outsmart death.

A reminder to mankind to remember your place. Or be dragged back into it, kicking, screaming, and beaten down.

You could tell him it's not the end; weave the most beautiful lie from the spindle of half-truths.

List every phrase and condolences messages you could remember, the same ones adults cooed your way when you were a mere child after your dog died, or the dismissing ones you received from teachers in the seventh grade fair when you came second place, or maybe the many unnervingly polite rejection letters delivered to your door by employers who happened to just find someone who fit better.

You could.

And so could he take the que and fix his mask back on, adhere to society's expectations of someone of his status.

He could.

You'll pull the trigger, and he'll follow along.

But you're, too, unbelievably tired of this prolonged song and dance the head ruling families in this town are obsessed with. The exhausting lies, the concealed truths, and the never-ending self-serving hidden motives behind every single word.

Letting go of the umbrella so he may continue to carry it instead, you move closer to him, holding his arm in your own.

“I know.” You whisper against his shoulder. You don't. How could you possibly understand? Do you even comprehend the meaning of his entire life purpose being swept aside, of being sent to his own death by his own legs, the most humiliating parade of failure for all of those who wished him harm to see.

Daniil pulls away.

Your heart sinks.

The deafening sound of rain pouring rings in your ears.

A single step, then another, and he's completely facing you with his back to the polyhedron. You get a good look at his glossy eyes, his damp hair, the crooked brooch on his cravat.

Then he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly as if you were his last lifeline. You're pressed to his chest, hidden under his coat as if he could hide you from being stolen away by death's claws if he just kept you there.

You don't have to understand to sympathise.

“I don't know what to do… where to go.” The two of you fit snugly under the umbrella with how close you're pressed to one another, you feel his heartbeat and he listens to yours.

He has lost the fight and lost his way. Dreams unravelled, not a single star left to guide him through the ocean he's aimlessly drifting in.

You hug him back, run your fingers through the wet strands of his hair in an attempt to soothe his heavy heart. “Away from this town for a start.”

That gets an unexpected laugh out of him, bittersweet and extremely short, more like an amused huff of air, to be precise. “Yes… far away.”

Yet he lingers in your embrace, and you don't make a move to pull away first. You let him collect his thoughts, wallow in his own sadness while you anchor him in reality.

Staring up ahead at the remains of the crumbled down structure, you wonder what it must have looked like as it fell down. You weren't there to see. You merely heard the sounds of the canons from across town. Broken symphonies, more likely, the doom weapons of humanity used to destroy the miracles of its creation.

The army didn't let anyone near until all the blood was collected. You wonder if the ground really did open up and bleed or was it a metaphorical statement.

No matter how hard you try, you can't spot a single spec of red on the spotless streets upfront. The rain must have washed it away, too. A cleansing shower for the entire town.

Yet the world does not feel anew.

Sinking into the warmth of Daniil's coat, you close your eyes.

No, it feels incredibly old, tiring, same story, different perspective.

You hoped to leave this town a better place than when you first found it, both of you tried really hard.

It seems like you've overestimated your abilities. How did Daniil put it again? Oh yeah, it was like spitting on a tower of flames, expecting, somehow, to put it out.

This place reeked of death.

Welcoming, ridiculing, taunting death. Hanging a carrot onto a stick and pulling the two of you along like fools.

The only way to win a game this rigged is to refuse to play.

You wonder if things could've been different, if in another lifetime the two of you are standing triumphant atop the tower, the jewel of humanity safe and sound.

This parasite of a town set ablaze instead.

No use dreaming of what could haves and what ifs.

A soothing breeze caresses your cheek, your eyes flutter open to the world ahead brighter with the clouds having dispersed. The pause between each rain droplet falling down grows more and more further apart.

Daniil closes the umbrella, and the sunrays fall upon the two of you like a warm blanket. He pulls away, offering his arm instead for you to hold.

“I need a drink. Would you care to keep me company?”

With a nod, you accept it.

A delicate smile graces his lips.

You'll build it, all that was destroyed, you'll salvage the fallen pieces and build it back together from the ground. Thanatica might be no more, but as long as death exists, so will hope in turn.

Humanity went through many hardships, backtracked on its own steps, and regressed before. Wings of wax gave way to prototypes of flying vehicles, and one day, they will conquer flight and manage to stay upright in the sky.

Who knows, maybe one day even the moon will be within reach.

As long as there is someone to die, the fight against death will remain alive.

Two ships sailing side by side in the aftermath of the storm, aligning their destinies, strings of fates intertwining, walking each other home.

He holds you tight.

And you keep him warm.

[shmowder]

I am humbling asking you for nsfw Daniil X reader hcs unfortunately the prickly prick who’ll bury us all has wormed his way into my heart and now I need that bastard carnally secondary question would he eat his partner out…..?

Ps I adore your stuff it’s really good and you capture all the characters ya write about really well! It itches my brain so much! And I can’t express how much I adore your work!!

Not only would Daniil Dankovsky the Bachelor of Medicine eat his partner out, but he probably has an oral fixation to do so.

He'd need some encouragement at first, testing the waters and realising this is much better than merely using his fingers. The man barely shuts up, at least you'd be putting his mouth to a good use in this scenario.

It becomes such a habit for him, gradually getting addicted to your taste as he moves his head between your thighs.

Something about him directly having his lips against your most sensitive part sends an immediate rush through his body, an ego trip with every flick of his tongue that has you pulling harder against his hair.

Getting to taste you directly, lick up the evidence of your arousal, mouth against your hot sensitive parts and keep your legs spread atop his shoulders.

looking you shamelessly in the eyes as he swallows down your cum, lustfull drunk eyes, a flushed face and messy hair. Your wetness around his mouth, dripping down his chin, droplets of your cum staining the red silk of his untied cravat below.

He's absolutely greedy, always attempting to milk just one more orgasm out of you before pulling away. Spending hours eating you out, watching you slowly lose control to the overwhelming pleasure, your words becoming more and more incoherent as you babble and whimper gibberish between the moans, fog veiling your brain as every orgasm melts into the other, until you can barely register anything but the absolute painful pleasure and the wetness trailing down your thighs, drenching the sheets below, dripping down your ankles.

In contast to the absolute mess you are, Daniil looks as if he's truly alive, as if he's choking on the necter of the gods with how hungrily he's swallowing you down. Completely letting go of all the decorum, the gentle manners and etiquettes, giving into the temptation.

How delicious you taste, how this goes against everything he knows about gentle lovemaking. How he can't get enough of your strained voice begging him to please not make you cum again while your hips practically grind your heat against him, rolling with his movement, thighs shaking as overstimulation sets in.

You've opened Pandora's box, there is no undoing this.

Especially with how relaxed his body feels afterwards, how clear his mind is.

Daniil starts seeking you out whenever he's frustrated, giving a brief explanation as he coaxes you into the nearest surface and gets on his knees between your legs.

Offering one polite apology for how sudden this is before his lips kiss upwards your inner thighs, licking just shy of your most sensitive parts, purposely avoiding it to observe you grow more desperate for his attention, slowly dripping as you grind down, dangling the promise of relief just out of reach.

Until you're all pent up and wet, eyes glossy and lips pressed tightly together. Until your fingere weave between his hairsteands and tug.

Tug his head towards where you need attention the most, show him where it hurts so he may help you, isn't it his job after all? Bury his face between your thighs, wrap them tightly around his neck and cut off his air circulation just as you're about to cum, make him gag and choke as he stubbornly tries to take all of you down.

Watch the facade of an elegant academic melt away as he unravels his true primal desires for you to see, as he spirals into madness and addiction, as he grazes his teeth against twitching heat.

Repeat this song and dance as many times as life allows. After every argument, before every make up.

Let him worship between your legs, allow him a taste to sate his hunger with. Let him break you down through pleasure and pleasure alone, bring you to the verge of madness before pulling you back up for air again.

Let him kiss you afterwards, making you taste your own cum in his mouth. Have you curled against his chest as, thighs shaking from overstimulation as he runs a hand down your back.

You've given him too much power, a taste of something forbidden he's bound to ask for more and more.

You might just become the death of him.

-

Thanks for the sweet message <3 It makes me really happy that you think I do these characters justice! I really don't try ah. Hope this one itchied your brain in a good way too. Daniil smut is something this blog desperately needs more of istg

[shmowder]

More Ex-husband Daniil. The day you hand in the divorce papers. how much angst? Yes.

-

The food has long gone cold by now, wax pooling at the bottom of the candles, halfway melted. Their fire flickers against the shadows of the dark room, the sun having bid its goodbyes hours ago.

How unnervingly still the world stood at the clock of midnight.

You blink the sleepiness away, an empty stare landing on the equally empty wine glasses set aside. Meeting your own reflection, distorted against their curved surface.

He said he'd come home early today.

Daniil gave his word, a promise whispered in the aftermath of the brief kiss atop your cheek as you stood by the front door, watching him put on his coat before heading out to work this very same morning.

His angelic eyes, the same ones you fell in love with years ago. A delicate smile painted on his lips, ones he couldn't keep off of you in between lectures during the long gone university days.

And like a fool you fell for it.

Again.

Fell for the passion in his voice as he spoke about his dreams, his work in Thanatica. His mission a crusade against death itself. All death.

The wooden chair creeks as you adjust your semi-numb legs. You don't dare look at the clock. You don't want to know how many hours have already passed with you sitting here, waiting for him.

Always waiting, staying in place, making yourself smaller to make space for him, pushing your dreams and obligations aside so he may overindulge in his own. Accommodating his self-made circumstances, bending to the whims of the prodigy of your generation.

There once was a day when he spoke about you just as passionately, a day when you still earned the right to his now stolen heart.

That day–like many others–was put on the shelf, collecting dust, reduced to a treasured memory, a security blanket you drape over yourself after every fight. Telling yourself he wasn't always this negligible, he wasn't always this harsh. He's just been cursed with a brilliant mind, you can't possibly understand, so make up a million excuses to justify his change of heart.

He vowed, till death do us apart.

The clicking sound of a key turning through the lock stands out amidst the quiet room. The creeking of the door pushed open follows.

He looks beyond exhausted, like he just escaped from the afterlife.

Pushing his own body to the brink of collapse and work through the long hours of the night. Always the last one to depart and first one to arrive.

Pushing aside your concerns about his health and mind. Saying how he'd know better, he's the doctor after all. Qui non proficit, deficit. His efforts are necessary.

Pushing the last thread of the patient you have until it snaps. Barely glancing your way with a raised eyebrow as the first words of his mouth are, "You should've gone to bed."

Swallowing down the acid in your throat, you give him the benefits of the doubt. Asking what took him so damn long to walk home?

"I had to attend to something important in the labs; a new sample is showing great potential." He hangs his coat, loosens his cravat, and doesn't add anything more.

A growing crack spreads through the walls of your mind. The dam finally breaks down.

An argument giving way into a yelling match, accusations are thrown around, vulnerabilities are targeted under the pretence of self-defence.

His brutal mind, your bruised heart.

It's nothing out of the usual, really. Those fights are becoming the norm as of late. Ones which and up with both of frustrated even more, storming away and slamming the door.

Dankovsky would think he memorised this ugly song and dance. Just like always, your anger would eventually fizzle out, and just like always, his pride would deflate down with time.

It's been done many times. The two of you break out into an argument, hours, days, or even weeks pass with total silence except for the passive-aggressive remarks until the original problem dulls and fades out. Politely swept under the rug so business as usual may resume.

After you're done with that tantrum, maybe the two of you can finally have dinner together like a civilised couple before the untouched food on the table gets more stale than it already is. Then he'll gladly tell you about his day, his annoying coworker who forgot to bring their pen and ended up borrowing his, finally ending his speech by asking about yours.

Dinner quietly passing with time.

As the soft mattress sinks below your weight, he'll close the book in his hand and take off his reading glasses to set them aside.

Looking at your turned back, a sigh leaves him, a semi-apology following close by. Empty promises of doing better easily slip past his lips, and maybe at that moment he spoke them with complete sincerity, maybe he really meant them.

You begrudgingly turn around, and he pulls you into his arms, lets you bury your face into the nook between his neck and shoulder.

And for a moment everything is fine.

Except maybe, not this time.

You never make it past the argument. He never makes it into your shared bed tonight.

No, Instead you're still sitting at that dinner table with him opposite of you. Explaining the documents in your hand, your signature already at the bottom of the divorce papers.

You're drinking in his expression of shock. Barely speaking a word as you talk, eyes wide looking at you in disbelief.

He doesn't put up a fight, he doesn't process his emotions fast enough to, he doesn't fully register the situation to reply back.

You almost feel bad, seeing him taking it lying down.

It didn't feel like winning to you, especially since he wasn't even playing, merely staring at the chessboard with an absent mind.

Until denial comes crashing down.

"Is this a tasteless joke? You can't possibly..."

He prays. He doesn't believe in god, but he prays deep down for it to be an awful dig at him. Please heavens above let it be one of your bluffing insults that was taken too far.

It's not.

He's lost in his own mind, what changed? You always came back so why not this time around?

You always waited for him.

The gold metal band glistens under the candlelight. You slowly slip the ring off. Dropping it into the table's tray, it clinks as it slots against its identical pair, the ring he forgot to put on this morning, the sound echos in the room.

You get up to leave, and he looks ready to drop to his knees. Painfull regret painted across his features.

For a brief moment, you're reminded of a younger Daniil. One who wore a similar anxious expression while studying for the finals, books scattered around, papers covering the floor as the two of you laid atop his dorm room's bed. You remember holding his hand, promising that everything will be fine.

You recall a sweet kiss, one he planted like a seed of hope as he brought your hand up to his lips.

Staring at the shadow of a man you once knew in front of you, a man of many talents and knowledge, a man lost for words, beaten, broken down.

Fists clenching against his coat, lips dry, eyes staring at you, waiting for your next move, begging for a reveal that confirms this is all a facade. For you to turn the lights back on, sit by his side, share dinner and forgive his sins for the night.

You don't wait for him to reply. Swiftly leaving the papers in front of him, you head towards the door.

The locks clicks in place behind you, the night air fresh in your lungs. Not a single star in sight amidst this cloudy night.

[shmowder]

Yeah marrying pathologic characters is fun and all but what about divorcing them? Just how petty would an ex-husband Daniil be.

Maybe it was his long overnight stays at Thanatica which was the final straw for you to hand it the divorce papers, or maybe it was a bunch of little disagreements that piled up until you decided enough was enough.

Whatever the reason was, your ex-husband never forgets nor forgives. Each time the two of you would coincidentally end up in the same social event or gatherings, he'd feign forgetfulness and still refer to you with the last name 'Dankovsky' before staring you in the eyes then correcting himself and offering a dry apology.

He's totally over it. What do you mean petty? Him? Never. He just doesn't get why you're suddenly so eager to attend to all of these gatherings when you used to complain whenever he took you to Thanatica's chairty events and networking parties. What's he doing here? Well, that's just none of your business, is it? Yeah, he never liked them either, but... something urgent came up, and now he's here.

Ex-husband Daniil, who's totally not bitter when you let other people flirt with you, especially when they get into your personal space and think they have the right to whisper in your ear so openly. Or maybe that's what you like? After all, Daniil was the perfect gentleman, or so he thought. Opening the doors for you, lending you his coat whenever it was windy, bringing your favourite treats after working overtime at the labs. And sure, his tone may have been less than ideal, not to mention his attitude, but his actions are what matters, right?

He'd scoff, walking up to them and rudely interrupting the intimate moment. Eyeing their arm wrapped around your waist with disgust, making his annoyance clear to the other person while hiding his insults under the pretence of a normal conversation.

What? He's not being unreasonable. He's just fascinated by their clothes and wants to know who was the mad tailor.

Actually, what are their qualifications? Any degrees? Which college did they attend?

Calmly sipping on his glass while keeping a civilised appearance as the other person gets more and more annoyed by his proding by the minute until they snap and storm off. Daniil feigning innocence as other people mumble around about how rude that person was to behave this way while talking to one of Thanatica's lead researchers.

Now, if the two of you end up at the same town during the events of the game? It's the closest Daniil has ever gotten to believing in fate. All he has to do is cure this plague, so you'll realise just how important his job is and that he wasn't neglecting you on purpose... and maybe get a second chance. But he'll never admit it out loud, but how about the two of you work together? Maybe you can help him focus... you know, like you did during his college days, maybe even stay in the same room?

You want to work alone? Are you insane? Did you go senile after the divorce? Whatever moment of softness he may have shown when trying to get you back is immediately washed away by his infamous venomous tongue, reminding you of why exactly you wanted a divorce in the first place. Fine, go walk to your death! He doesn't... goddammit, he deeply cares. Listen, at least come see him each morning so he is sure you aren't in danger. It is mandatory.

Daniil, who sends you a letter each time you make progress in finding more information about the plague, saying what you're doing is meaningless and stupid. It's especially worse if you decide to help the Haruspex make a panacea or encourage Clara's antics and believe in her powers. He's criticising your every step, writing it down on paper, and then mailing it directly to you. Addressing you by the same endearment names in his letters when the two of you were still together, "To my dearest love." Signing his obnoxious name at the bottom each time, "Yours forever, Daniil."

Having the audacity to still invite you over to show off his progress on the vaccine at the end of the letter. He still takes your account when buying groceries or rationing immunity pills and antibiotics, making sure to leave them in a package at the front of your doorstep if he's too busy to drop by. Ex-husband Daniil, who gets more irritated with your stubbornness, the more dire the situation in town gets, with danger lurking everywhere you're still the sole person at the front of his mind. Who tries to make a deal with the Kains or Alexander Block for a way to get you on a train and far off from this town.

[shmowder]

Hello! I sent an ask a few minutes ago but had another idea hdbdjd I wanted to ask, do you have some ideas on headcanons for Daniil Dankovsky with a reader from The Kin if they would have a Steppe wedding. How would Daniil act around it etc..

That's an interesting concept, we don't know much about steppe wedding traditions or how they work. We do get to attend a herb bride's wedding to the earth in the MN, so we have some point of reference, minus the human sacrifices ofc.

The kin aren't against marrying outsiders in P2, Artemy's mother being one. But they were more strict with their rules in P1, and both of Artemy's parents were originally kin, and their people were forbidden from laying with worms or steppe creatures in general. Aka Aspity saying as a Shabnak-adyr she can never be with Artemy in any way that matters, only love him from afar.(Don't focus too much on it, let me keep my platonic mother figure Aspity fantasy pls)

But it still didn't stop that one herb bride from running away to be with the worm she loved, and while butchers attempt to kill her for it, as a menkhu you can defend her choice and say it's still within the traditionals since all the herb brides' decisions are influenced by Boddho, so by extension mother earth herself allowed her to do this.

Would Daniil want a steppe wedding or even a one that happens in town? Absolutely not. He really just wants to go back to the Capital asap and never set foot in this town ever again. But if in order to convince you to go with him, he had to officially marry you and follow the traditions of your people, then he'll begrudgingly do it without mouthing too much.

It doesn't make it any easier that the kin absolutely despise the moga you're marrying. Outsider or not, Daniil has always been a mere scientist in their eyes, never a healer or a proper doctor.

You really had to go for the snake?

I'm going with P2 Kin marriage rules to make it easier for everyone involved. This is the best case scenario where the kin also begrudgingly give their approval on your wedding, planning your celebration the next day, honouring your family name by bringing a healthy nice bull to present as an offering to the earth. You and your husband must be the ones to spill its blood, if you want to go more extreme, maybe eat its heart.

Our dear Dankovsky is uncomfortable and a little horrfied. Yet he still complies since he gave you his word, bites his tongue whenever one of your well-meaning relatives openly criticises him, he even schools his grimce away when your parents diminish his bachelor of medicine degree, deameaning him to a mere alchemist or a fancy scholar.

It's just one night, he tells himself, he just needs to endure it. Then he is never ever bringing you back here again.

The steppe language is beautiful, at least, even when half the words he's hearing are probably digs at him. You look absolutely divine in your ceremonial outfit as well, flower petals weaved within the small braids in your hair, Daniil regrets not dressing up himself... He didn't think to pack a suit and the tailors in town were drained out of materials and cloths courtesy of the epidemic that recently came to an end.

At least he had enough decency to let go of his coat for once, show up in the one pristine shirt he thankfully kept safe in his suitcase, the only article of clothing he still had without any blood stains. Borrowing a white vest from Maria's father woredobe since neither of the Stamatin twins every cared for owning formal clothes, Daniil was astonished once he found out Andrey didn't even own a single shirt, but in retrospect it made sense.

The herb brides were cautious of him as they offered to braid flowers into his hair as well, Daniil let them. Sitting down to make it easier for them to reach, resisting the urge to sneeze as the flower pollen invaded his nose.

Only then did one of the herb brides kindly inform him that he should ditch the vest or replace it with a different colour. White in weddings was considered a bad omen, for it's the same colour as the fabric they buried their dead in. A green, brown, or even purple would've been seen as a much more respectful choice.

[shmowder]

LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR POLY SERIES. i binge read ALL of them and I'm beyond obsessed!!!! the way you characterize both artemy and daniil is so amazing. everything feels so in character it's all my brain needs to squeal.

I've noticed that for the most part daniil ends up eating you out while artemy fucks or breeds you. And I've been wondering how it would be if they switched places? as in artemy eats you out instead and daniil is in charge of the penetration?

i love your writing so much and discovering your blog was like finding pure gold in a clump of hay. unexpected but much welcome

-🌈 anon

"unexpected but welcome" OFBQOXJAIJDJSJS lmao, nice to have you here rainbow anon <3

You noticed that detail! I do it deliberately, giving each character a subtle preference for certain sexual activities and how they tend to behave in bed. It helps make them seem more alive and keeps the smut different and refreshing for each new character, otherwise there are only so many ways to describe having sex before it gets repetitive.

That's why I assign them a trait or two, a habit in bed they rely on the most. You noticed how Artemy prefers holding you during sex the most. He prefers penetrative sex and doesn't care for receiving oral much, big dick problems and all.

smut below...after my monologue

Meanwhile, Daniil is nearly oral obsessed, be it receiving or giving. He rarely thinks of penetration when it comes to sex. He prefers fingering you or using his hands in general. He's also the least touchy in bed, but the most vocal.

Victor prolongs the foreplay, it's his favourite part above all and he tends to edge you for hours because of it. He's also extremely aware of the passage of time.

It's nothing set in stone. Just vague guidelines to keep things fresh. I want you to be able to distinguish between the characters through sex descriptions alone without me having to say their name.

Yulia stubbornly tries to push past her limit and comfort, she wants the "masculine" role in bed, the service caring top, even when her leg makes it very hard to hold these positions. You have to be the one to accommodate it otherwise she will endure the pain just to have you on her lap a bit longer.

Stakh–While I haven't written smut about him before, I imagine him to feel... undeserving of pleasure and attention almost? He neglects his needs and focuses on satisfying you. He tends to worship your body, touching it in reverence as his wide eyes gawk at your naked form. Shaking hands and tightly shut lips, he is the least vocal during sex but the most sensitive, touch starved even. He can shed a few tears from a particularly intense orgasm

I talked about Aglay and Big Vlad before. Anyway, you get the idea. So yeah! thank you for noticing this little detail <3

-

Daniil taking Artemy's place

The size difference is the first thing you notice, the head of Daniil's cock seamlessly pops into place inside you with very little resistance. There is no painful stretch, no need for half a bottle of lube, and an almost hour of getting prepared by 4 of Artemy's thick fingers just to fit all of his girth inside you.

It adjusts to your insides clenching around it rather than the other way around, Daniil's cock brushes against your walls, slots perfectly in place.

The pace he sets is calculated, giving an experimental thrust as his hands ghost over your body. Testing the angles and observing your reaction with keen eyes.

Daniil makes a point to tell you before he goes in deeper, to inform you before he changes positions. He doesn't manhandle you around, rather coax your body into moving along with him, into following in his steps.

His fingers toy with your sensitive area, thumb grinding against your clit and circling around the bundle of nerves in rhythm with his thrusts.

Or having a steady grasp around your cock, trailing the sensitive underside and smearing the precum along the shaft. Watching it twitch and bounce with the movement of his hips.

His pretty face all flushed, a mess of fluffy black hair begging you to weave your fingers through it and tug, quiet moans slipping past his kiss-swollen lips. Daniil looks nothing short of mesmerising, half-lidded eyes filled with lust and desire.

Instructing you to meet his hips halfway, to touch yourself until you're tethering at the edge of climax before ordering you to stop.

Brushing his soaked thumb against your lips, pressing it against your tongue as he keeps your face positioned towards him, watching the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as your whines and moans fill the room.

Rather than finishing inside, his cock slides out with a wet pop as he moves your hand to wrap around it. Jerk him off and you'll be rewarded with his cum painting your skin, stripes of white falling against your chest, stomach and pooling down your thighs.

Smearing it against your body, he makes sure to get a good amount of it on his hand before moving it between your thighs, using his cum as a lubricant to finish you with it. Watching you desperately chase your relief through his hand alone, like a sweet thing in heat, all needy and seeking his approval.

Your eyes searching for any sign of permission from him, pleading to allow you this euphoria he's tauntly keeping just out of reach.

"Aren't you being too harsh, Danya." Hearing Artemy's voice was akin to finding an oasis amidst the desert, "You poor thing, he didn't breed you like you're used to, did he?"

Your body eagerly melting into his familiar touch as the strong arms you're so used to finally find their place around you.

You go down without resistance when he guides your head by the nape to fall face first into the pillow directly next to Daniil's head, your bodies pressed together.

Artemy's cock sliding between your thighs, your hole clenching against the empty air, your body too well trained by him.

The delicious burning of being stretched on the head alone, before it's even fully in, an orgasm takes you by surprise as your insides convulse and overwhelming pleasure floods your brain, turning it to mush.

There's a surprise groan from behind you, Artemy not expecting you to clench this tightly around him so fast.

Your embarrassingly quick orgasm only surprised one of them, it seems, if Daniil's smug face was anything to go by.

"You were saying, Burakh?"

"Fuck you."

-

Artemy taking Daniil's place

It was clumsy, the way his tongue swiped against your sensitive heat, experimental licks and curious touches.

But whatever he lacked in experience, he made up for in passion and enthusiasm. Artemy's could take all of you in so easily, the wet heat of his mouth felt heavenly against you.

There was clear frustration in his attempts to reach deeper inside, as if he could will his tongue into being longer somehow. No matter how deeply he buried his head between your thighs until his nose was directly pressing against your navel, he simply wasn't satisfied.

Without a warning, he lifted your whole body up as if it was a mere toy in his hands. Adjusting your position so your thighs are directly next to his head, he wanted you to sit on his face.

Truly sit down with all of your weight, Artemy didn't allow you the space to pull away or carry your own body. He needed you resting fully on him until breaking his neck becomes an actual possibility.

This new position gave him more control.

Allowed him to eat you out with fervour, as if you were his first meal after a long, exhausting day. The way he'd suck against your sensitive spots, swallow down your wetness, and savour every taste.

His hands massaging your thighs to get you to relax and melt against him more, squishing your hips, fingers digging into your ass and leaving bruises as he pulls you even more down.

Trailing up your sides, feeling your chest with the flat of his palm. His hands moved with a mind of their own as his brain only focused on eating you out, on completely overwhelming you with pleasure until you have no choice but to finish down his throat.

A haze clouding his eyes, the way his leaking cock is pulsing between his legs, screaming at him to touch it. Artemy has to supress his instincts telling him to slam his cock into you, to properly fuck you rather than just use his tongue to bring you pleasure.

But he won't... no matter how much he wants to. He gave you a word, and so he'll do his best to fulfil it.

It's only when your thighs press against his head impossibly tight that he's nearly suffocating, does he finally realise how close to the edge you are.

Artemy attempts to fit one of his fingers inside you while he takes your clit/cock into his mouth and starts sucking on it, flickering his tongue against it until you're losing your mind.

One finger quickly becomes two, they're thicker than the average person, and knuckles deep inside you by now. Brushing and grinding against your walls

Confident in their intrusive movement, as if he has memorised your body perfectly.

He doesn't stop or slow down as your first orgasm approaches dangerously fast, a rush of euphoria that quickly twists into sharp pleasure.

Overstimulating you until your thighs are shaking, his hand keeping your hips planted on his face, you can't escape as another painful orgasm is stolen from you in a row.

There's a feral look in his eyes, you've never felt more akin to prey than now with your most vulnerable and intimate areas exposed directly in front of his face, free for the taking.

You cry out his name, tug against his hair to no avail as he milks a third orgasm out of you. Your vision blanks out for a second, the only thing keeping you upright is Artemy's hand moving to support your back.

His hunger knows no end, insatiable desire to taste all of you, to choke down on your cum until your orgasms are dry or you pass out from the burning sensation frying the nerves between your legs.

Thankfully, neither will happen tonight.

"That's enough." Daniil's gloved hand dive shamelessly under your hips, taking a hold of Artemy's tongue like a misbehaving pet, harshly pressing down. "Look at all the mess you've made. Really, I expect that from a crude animal, but you?"

The hold on your back and hips finally releases, Daniil prevents your fall by catching you in his arms, gently lowering you to the bed instead.

It's only now that you notice the sharp teeth mark littering your inner thighs, the wetness covering Artemy's mouth and neck, how drenched his chest is.

You're met with the most satisfied look on Artemy's face, a sincere smile that has no right looking this innocent after all that he's put you through... Still, the sight of his usual glaring eyes being soft and relaxed for once is not something you'll ever forget.

It's hard to be annoyed at someone who manages to look breathtakingly beautiful after eating you out until you nearly passed out. It's so much harder when he calls you that endearing petname with his lovely deep voice.

"Shhh... you did well, Kheerkhen ." Artemy cradles your face with his hand, a gentle kiss against the corner of your lips, then your cheek, up next to your eye, and a final one against your temple. "Get some rest."

Your eyes flutter shut, and the world around you quiets down as you drift off to sleep.