I’m having a thought! So we all want to see Antoni smut cause we’re thirsty, but of course respectfully understand that he is Ace. But Artyom ….👀 OR Antoni remembers those things…. Endless possibilities there Ash
CW: At first NSFW for like... Four paragraphs, some initial consensual spice, more or less whumper POV in a way, death threats/murder, creepy whumper
Antoni allows no direct smut, Anon. This is as close as he will let me get.
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Sweat trickles down the back of Artyom's neck, and his breath is hot and damp against hers. Her little cries are right against his ear, high-pitched. Her fingernails drag down his back, a little further with each rock of his hips.
He couldn't begin to describe how this feels. Hot, tight, wet - all the usual words come to mind but none of them are good enough.
Carly Riggs digs her nails so deep into his back he's sure he'll find blood later, whispering oh god oh god oh god as she comes. The way she goes tighter than ever around him, the prickle of pain near his shoulder blades, even just the way her voice sounds all overwhelms him and he follows her, eyes tightly closed as pleasure takes him.
The leather of her car's backseat sticks to his arms, his head nearly knocking into the door, but finally they slow and then stop, both of them breathing hard.
"Eto bylo khorosho," He groans. "Tak khorosho, tak korosho..."
Carly reaches one hand up to wipe the back of her hand across her forehead, smiling at him. It's a dopey expression, sweet and sated. He likes that look on her. "What?"
"Sorry. I mean... Very good. It was good." His accent is rougher just after sex, voice slightly breathless and rasping. He pulls back reluctantly, dropping a hand to dig around for his boxers and jeans. "We should do again sometime, see if I can be even better."
"Better than tonight?" Carly laughs, pushing herself up to seated, wriggle her jeans back up over her hips. "I might die."
"Only in little ways." He winks at her before pulling his shirt back on. "This is the idea, right?"
"Oh my god. Artyom, you are the weirdest." She's still grinning as he offers her a hand to scoot along the seat and finally stand. The breeze outside the car cools and dries the sweat on them both. Her hair is a rat's nest of tangles in the back, and they're both flushed and have a sheen of sweat. Not entirely subtle. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the party with me?"
"I am sure." He smiles, leaning back against the side of her car. She eases the door shut and follows suit, their elbows nearly touching. She yanks her tank top back down.
"Whenever somebody gets you to agree to a date, I bet you'll be an amazing boyfriend," Carly says, teasing and not-teasing.
"Maybe." He has no intention of dating anyone. Ever. But he doesn't say that to her. "Be safe at the party, eh?"
"Of course." She leans over to bump affectionately against him, as close as he allows to a goodnight kiss. "I'll see you at work on Tuesday, right? We both open that day."
"Da. You will see me then. Now I need to go inside. Keep off your lights until you are gone from my neighborhood, please."
"Just tell your mom to fuck off." Carly sighs, finger-combing her hair as best she can. "You're a fucking adult. Do what you want."
"Mmmn. Easier to say than to do."
It isn't his mother he is worried about getting a good look at Carly Riggs.
But he just gives her a hug, her perfume and the scent of them together a heady mix in the air, and opens her front door for her to settle inside and drive away, easing slowly down the road to make as little noise as she can.
His key in the lock makes only the slightest sound, and he oiled the hinges so the door never so much as squeaks. The house is dark and silent, the TV for once is off. He moves with perfect knowledge of every obstacle between him and his bedroom - avoiding the box of clothes for donating that has been sitting for three months now, his mother's little dog's pile of toys, even a kitchen chair out of place.
The vodka in the freezer pours easily into a shot glass, and he knocks it back to feel it freeze and burn, tasteless, down his throat.
Two more shots and the warmth spreads further than the cold, so he adds a little water to cover what he stole and puts it back, turning the bottle so the label is exactly the way it was when he came in..
He has long experience at this. His father will never know, never guess. The better for his health if his vodka turns more and more to simple water, anyway.
He showers, washing Carly off him as well as the smells of his job. When he checks the mirror after drying off and pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, he sees - yes, scratches, with bright red spots where blood welled up, from just below his shoulder blades down nearly to his waist.
He smirks at the sight, but then realizes the bathroom door is open. His smile fades as his eyes raise.
Reflected in the mirror, Misha stares at him, expression somehow both empty and avid.
"... The bathroom is taken," He says, after a breath. His younger brother, head tipped against the doorframe and mop of hair falling over his eyes, smiles. It's thin, and it doesn't reach his eyes.
None of Misha's expressions ever reach his eyes.
"Got mauled by a tiger at work tonight?" Misha's voice is light. He makes a little claw gesture with one hand, fingers bent. "Rrrrow."
"Misha-"
"Which girl was it? The cute brown-haired one?"
Artyom turns away. "None of your business. Go back to bed." He wets a toothbrush and gets toothpaste, hoping to stave off the conversation long enough for Misha to lose interest.
At first, he thinks he might have succeeded. Misha disappears from the doorway, and Artyom makes his way to his bedroom in the dark. His father's snores are deafening, down the hall. His mother will be sleeping in the guest room, and even if she snores, too, it would be impossible to hear it over his father.
He pads barefoot over the hardwood floor until he heads into his room, letting the door close behind him and collapsing onto his twin-sized bed with his feet hanging off the end. He can hear Misha's television in his room going through their shared wall, low murmuring voices.
There's a beat of silence. Artyom takes a deep breath, holds it for a beat, slowly exhales. Outside, the breeze shivers the leaves into a soft rustle. His clock reads past midnight, but if both his parents are asleep already, they won't know to bother him about it.
Not that anyone ever minds when Misha misses curfew, but if Tyoma is late, oh, let hell rain down...
He groans and rolls onto his side, pulling the covers up. He can feel bitter tomorrow. Besides
"The blonde, then?"
Artyom shoots upright with his heart in his throat, eyes briefly wide. "Chto za khren', Misha!"
His brother is a shadow in the corner, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched.
Smiling.
In the dark, he has only even deeper shadows for eyes.
"Tell me which girl it was, Tyoma."
"I... Why?" His heart pounds, and he scoots until his back hits the wall, watching as Misha pushes lazily away from the wall and takes the two or three strides he needs to drop into the computer chair Artyom keeps next to his desk. No computer, but maybe one day. If he can save up.
"Because I want to know, dumbass." Misha laughs, leaning over. There has always been something strange about his laugh. "I want to know who's out there stealing my brother's heart."
"No one is." It's an honest answer. "Not sure I even have one to steal, Mishka." Less honest. But his voice is still too airy, and he can tell Misha enjoys the idea that he has frightened him. "It's just... friends with benefits. Da?"
"Is it?" Misha scoots the chair closer, clicking over the boards on the floor. Artyom feels strangely trapped, even though he could push Misha back and run. But he doesn't. His brother won't hurt him.
Not yet.
"It is." He drops his voice even further. "I promise, Mishka. There is no one outside the family. No one."
"No one but me." Misha is inches from him, his knees touching the side of Artyom's bed. Now light from outside, dimly white, glimmers over his dark eyes. "Right? Right, Tyoma? Family first."
"Right." Tyoma meets his gaze. Misha's eyes are like dead things, empty marbles in a moving face. "Family first. No one is more important than family."
"Right. And I'm your family. Me. So you can't run off to screw people if it means not taking care of me, right? If you get some girlfriend-"
"I don't even want one." Artyom cuts him off. Misha leans even closer, somehow. And there's a glint, a sheen of moonlight off metal. His little brother is holding a knife. "Carly and I are just friends who, who fool around sometimes."
"Carly, then." Misha's smile widens, like a skull's rictus grin. "The blonde. I figured."
Artyom winces, internally. But all he does is swallow the lump in his throat and nod. "Da, Mishka. She has a boyfriend at college. This is just for fun."
"Khoroshiy, Tyoma."
The silence draws out, and then Misha moves in almost a lunge forward and upright. Artyom flinches back, but Misha only ruffles his hair, giggling like he used to do when they were kids and he would push other children down the slide before they were ready.
"Relax. You are my family, too, Tyoma." He pats the side of Artyom's face. The knife in his other hand disappears back into a pocket, closed up into harmlessness again. "Family first."
"Family first," Artyom whispers.
Misha turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.
Artyom doesn't fall asleep until it's nearly dawn.
A week later, Misha calls him for help, and he spends the night digging a grave in the woods, just deep enough to cover two bodies with pine needles and fallen leaves without it being obvious. It takes hours, and his arms burn, muscles screaming for him to stop. He ignores the pain.
Misha helps, which he doesn't usually do. He digs, too, his eyes locked on Artyom's face. The dead bodies mean nothing, now. They've served their purpose.
"They're both pretty," Misha says idly. "Good luck I found them, huh?"
Artyom grunts.
"Hey. Tyoma." Misha snaps his fingers and Artyom looks up. Misha is only a couple feet away. He has the same look on his face as he had in Artyom's room the other night.
"Don't see her again outside of work, Tyoma. Don't. You don't need friends. You have me."
"... Mishka-"
"Don't 'Mishka' me. I said don't hang out with Carly Riggs anymore unless I'm with you. Okay?"
"... Yeah."
"Say you won't. Say it out loud. I can finish this myself, you know."
Artyom thinks of the knife Misha keeps, one he never uses on anyone else. He knows that knife is for him.
Artyom's heart pounds all over again, exertion and a dim terror beneath. "... I will not hang out with Carly without you."
"Good. Let's finish this up."
He goes back to digging, and Artyom follows suit, trying not to look too hard at the bodies.
A couple Misha saw in a bar and wanted to destroy. So he did. And now Artyom buries them for him, as always. Because his mother's heart would shatter if her youngest son was caught doing such evil things.
Because he knows what he must do to protect the brother who has been the center of his life since his birth. The brother who will one day, he thinks, be the center of his death, too.
He feels Misha's eyes on him like a brand as he dumps shovels of dirt over the open dark, slightly feline eyes and messy dark hair of the man. The tangled blonde hair and bright blue eyes of the woman. She has a t-shirt on from the restaurant where Artyom's been working.
It isn't a coincidence. It's a message, and Artyom understands.
Family first.
Or else.
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I need to make amends with something from my recent past that has been horribly haunting me.
Not sure when, probably a couple months ago, my ex partner broke up with me to join anti-radqueers. Since then, I spiraled badly. (Well, one of our headmates did, called Loki, but that isn't important.)
I genuinely was in one of the worst moments of my life. I don't know why that pushed me over the edge. Maybe because I was genuinely happy for once in my relationships, which never happens; or maybe because my other partner was in the hospital; maybe because me and this partner (who left me) had fought prior to this and I got terrified of them doing this exact thing: leaving me. Maybe because they promised they'd never do such a thing as leave me to be anti-radqueer, just the day before.
It doesn't matter. The thing is: I spiraled. I'm seeking a diagnosis of bipolar, and I was in a manic episode at the time, which might've helped all this. I just felt such rage and sadness.
I did a horrible thing. I suibaited them. I told them to die and I thought I was an okay person for that for a bit. I sent multiple death threats. I couldn't bear the feeling of betrayal and a thing about me is, once someone hurts me I don't want to know they'll live through it. And that's horrible. That's terrifying.
I am here to publicly apologize. I made myself a promise after that day, that I'll become a better person. And though it's too early to know I've achieved it, I genuinely don't want to do this ever again and I don't want to be attached to this horrible thing I did. But I'll be. I'll always be the person who suibaited and I can only say sorry. And never, ever do something so vile again.
I've had multiple low points like this in my life. I also watched illegal stuff when I was younger, some years ago, something I want so badly to forget and get rid of in my past. But I can only say I'm so fucking sorry.
I want to apologize to my ex and to the radqueer community. [Redacted name], I'm so sorry. Though I know you'll never forgive me and I'll never forget how horrible that breakup was, I'm done playing the victim. I'm done saying it was all for a good reason, there's no good reason to act like a monster, to tell someone such horrible things. I hope you can forgive me one day, I hope your image of me isn't tainted, because I don't hate you.
Radqueers, I am also horribly sorry. I tainted the image of our community in people's minds forever. I was one of the bad radqueers they'll always talk about. I want to apologize and I want to be better. I don't want this community to have the image I brought to it, of "just as bad" or "worse". I will be better. I will be a good example of a radqueer person, and no matter what, I'll always be radqueer.
I hope you all can understand. Not the horrible thing I did, I want you to never understand why someone would act like this. But I want to be understood as someone who apologized and wants to do better. This wasn't prompted by anything. No one held me accountable, but I'm doing it to myself. I don't want to be the person who makes people's lives miserable. I want to keep this community as the safe space it was when I joined.
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