SOOO Bsd..right hehe it's me.back again!!! I needed a idea for the request.and I got one
Chuuya, Dazai, Ranpo, Sigma, Fyodor Nikolai
(Tho if you can't write all of em I please ask for Chuuya, Dazai and Sigma)
With a lover thats a dog persona. Like they are really loud that they don't realize it, Oblivious, really sweet, loyal, would do anything to make their lover happy. Etc... take your time and i wish you a happy new year and merry late christmas!!
ʚɞ You are a bad girl, bad girl, what you gonna do now? ʚɞ
Pairings: Chuuya x Reader, Dazai x Reader, Ranpo x Reader, Fyodor x Reader, Sigma x Reader, Nikolai x Reader
Summery: Them with their golden retriever lover!
Tags: Fluff, emotional vulnerability, strong themes of loyalty, dazai is highkey a bih, overprotectiveness, Fyodor calls you 'milyaya' (forgive me if this translation is wrong), The Book mentioned, themes of cages and freedom in Nikolai's part, comfort in Sigma's part, Reader calls Nikolai 'Kolya'.
A/N: Tysm for the req! FIRST BSD FICCC, tbh this is not my first Bsd writing but it is the first in a very long time, gave me so many flashbacks, someone correct me if I've written anything wrong here, anyways, hope you enjoy!
⚘ Chuuya Nakahara:
Chuuya notices it in pieces.
The way you practically bounce when you see him. How your voice carries across the room without you realizing. How you stand a little too close, tail-wag energy radiating off you as you talk about your day like it’s the most important thing in the world.
You’re loud, affectionate and clingy in the best way.
“Chuuya!” you shout the second he walks in, already halfway across the room. You latch onto his arm, grinning up at him like he hung the sun himself. “You’re back! Did you eat? Are you tired? I missed you—”
He sighs, but there’s no heat in it. His hand settles on your head automatically, fingers ruffling your hair.
“Tch… you don’t gotta announce me like that,” he mutters, though his ears are red.
You beam. “Oh—sorry! I just got excited!”
That’s the thing. You always do. You’d do anything for him. Carry his coat. Wait up late. Defend him with your whole chest if someone even looks at him wrong. And you never expect anything back—your happiness comes from him being okay.
Chuuya realizes, slowly, that you’re not just loyal. You’re devoted.
And gods help anyone who tries to take advantage of that, because Chuuya will tear the world apart before letting someone hurt something so pure.
⚘ Osamu Dazai:
At first, Dazai thinks it’s an act. You’re too eager. Too trusting. Too openly affectionate—laughing loudly at his jokes, clinging to his sleeve, praising him like he’s some misunderstood hero. He thinks it's an act because he too ia relishing in the same facade.
“You’re amazing, Osamu!” you say brightly. “I love being with you!”
He watches you carefully and waits for the punchline but it never comes.
You follow him around like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You listen when he talks. You defend him when others criticize him. When he’s quiet—really quiet—you sit beside him, humming softly, content just being there.
One day he asks, casually, “You know I’m not a good person, right?”
You tilt your head and smile. “I know you’re my person.”
Something in his chest twists painfully. You don’t see his darkness. Or maybe you do—and you stay anyway. Loyal to a fault. Loving without conditions. You don’t try to fix him. You don’t demand anything.
And that terrifies him. Because if you ever realized you deserved better… he doesn’t think he’d survive it.
⚘ Fyodor Dostoevsky:
You adore the man. Openly, loudly and without restraint. You sit too close, speak too brightly, praise him without irony. You smile at him like he’s something precious instead of something dangerous.
Fyodor watches you like a curious experiment. You bring him tea before he asks. You wait patiently for his attention. When he dismisses you, you return anyway—unbothered, unwavering.
“How naive you are, milyaya. You should be afraid of me,” he says softly once.
You blink. “Why would I be afraid of you?”
That answer—so simple, so sincere—makes something fracture. Your loyalty is absolute. You’d follow him anywhere. Do anything to make him happy. And you never once question his intentions.
Fyodor recognizes the danger immediately. Not in you but in himself. Because loving someone like you would be the first sin he’d commit willingly—and the only one he’d never be able to justify.
⚘ Ranpo Edogawa:
Ranpo figures it out in five seconds. Your loud, clingy and undeniably lovely demeanor. It's no facade, he's deducted— rather genuine love he's received from very few people.
“You behave like a dog,” he says flatly.
“Huh?” you reply, already offering him snacks you bought just because you thought he’d like them.
You’re loud, affectionate, emotionally transparent. You praise him endlessly. You stick by his side with unwavering loyalty, defending him with your whole heart even when he’s being unbearable.
And Ranpo? He thrives. You make his life easier. Happier. Warmer. You listen to his rambling. You clap excitedly when he solves cases. You don’t mind when he’s blunt—you just wag your metaphorical tail harder.
And the detective isn't just leeching off of your love. He returns it, in any way he can. He starts saving candy just for you, lets you sit closer than anyone else. And when someone insults you Ranpo’s smile sharpens. Because you might be oblivious—but he’s not. And anyone who hurts his loyal partner will regret it immediately. To think his intellect is to solve cases only would be a major misconception.
⚘ Sigma:
Sigma is overwhelmed. You’re so earnest. So affectionate. So present. You praise him constantly—his efforts, his kindness, his existence. You cling to him when you’re happy, curl up beside him when you’re tired, follow him around like being near him is enough.
“I’m not… very remarkable,” he says once, uncertain.
You stare at him like he said the sky is green. “What? You’re amazing. You’re kind. You make me feel safe. Of course you’re remarkable.”
You say it so easily that Sigma doesn’t know what to do with that kind of devotion. He’s afraid of disappointing you. Afraid of being unworthy of your loyalty. But every time he falters, you’re still there—smiling, patient, unwavering.
And for the first time, he believes he's more than just a creature born of The Book.
⚘ Nikolai Gogol:
Nikolai loves it. You’re loud. Dramatic. Unapologetically affectionate. You laugh at his antics, encourage his chaos, cling to him without fear. You call his name across rooms. Praise his performances. Defend him fiercely even though he doesn't need it.
“Kolya!” you shout happily, tackling him into a hug. “You were amazing!”
He freezes for half a second—then laughs. Oh, this is dangerous, this freedom is dangerous. You don’t flinch from him. You don’t fear him. You don’t try to cage him. You love him loudly, loyally, without restraint.
And Nikolai, who fears stagnation more than death, finds himself wanting to stay—just a little longer—if it’s with you.
Because you don’t try to control him. You are the hands that open the cages of his life instead.
just thinking about fyodor whos completely whipped and doesnt even dare to deny it since everyone can tell
ʚ♡ɞฺ main m.list ྀིᨯ — cw. fluff, established relationship
fyodor who just smiles whenever he's asked about you. doesn't even look at the person he's talking to, or well... the person trying to ask the question. he's just closed eyes and smiling in some unknown direction.
"of course. it's [name] after all, why wouldn't they be so skilled? i find it odd that you still had to consider that." - "i was just asking if you guys baked the cake together man..."
he also likes to protect your name while you aren't there. it's funny especially when his long-time friends don't even get that from him LOL.
and when people comment about how he's wrapped around your little finger? fyodor just has the audacity to laugh it off. he doesn't say yes or no, but the point is he isn't denying it!!
not to mention the gazes he gives you whenever you're within eye range, when someone trying to start a conversation... he's just giving brief glances to where you are, a succinct glimpse of warmth breaking his usual cold exterior when he sees you.
hi nonnie! i hope this came out the way you wanted it to :) i'd never even think of writing something like this so thank you for this challenge! + my first time writing for fyo and sigma
dazai.
he blinks. twice. you’re in the middle of folding laundry on his couch like it’s a normal tuesday and not like you just said the single most terrifying sentence known to man.
“a mother?” he repeats, half-laughing, half-panicking.
you hum, sorting socks. “mhm.”
he sits up. “like, of a child?”
“what else would i mean, osamu.”
he doesn’t say anything for a long time. and then, real soft:
“...you’d be a good one.”
(he doesn’t say, “i’d ruin it.” but you hear it anyway.)
nikolai.
to him, it’s not nothing. it’s huge. it’s terrifying. it’s… kind of cute.
“a mother?” he echoes, grinning too wide. “what, like a nurturing, apron-wearing, lullaby-singing type? you?”
you shrug, half-amused. “why not?”
“no reason,” he says, spinning a spoon in his fingers. “just picturing you elbow-deep in baby food and existential despair.”
“so you mean parenting.”
he laughs, a real one.
but then he quiets. leans forward just a little.
“you really want that?”
you glance at him. there’s something soft in your face. “i think so.”
he twirls the spoon once more. then sets it down.
“you’d be good at it,” he says. like it’s a secret. like he didn’t mean to.
and when you smile, something in him twists.
he wonders—for half a second—what that kind of future might look like.
but then he blinks, and the thought vanishes, folded back into chaos.
“dibs on teaching it magic tricks,” he adds, already hopping off the table.
“you’ll scare it.”
“that’s the goal!”
sigma.
you say it absentmindedly, over coffee. not even looking at him. just, “i think i want to be a mother.”
his spoon pauses in his cup. he blinks down at the swirling milk.
“you do?”
you nod, sipping yours. “not now. just… someday.”
he’s quiet. and a little pink in the ears.
you glance at him. “that scary?”
“no,” he says quickly. “just. new. but… not scary.”
you smile, and he smiles too. something warm in the middle of his chest blooms slow and sweet.
fyodor.
you say it so plainly. like it’s fact. like the weather.
“i want to be a mother.”
his gaze sharpens, barely-there curiosity flickering through his expression.
“do you?”
you nod. “i think i’d be good at it.”
fyodor hums. sips his tea. you’re not sure if he’s actually thinking about it, or calculating a thousand years ahead.
eventually: “i suppose you would.”
you raise an eyebrow. “you suppose?”
he glances at you, something almost playful in his smile.
“with proper guidance.”
you roll your eyes.
he doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s imagining it now: your hand in a small one, your voice soft with lullabies. you’d be good at it. too good.
Hii i love your writing can I request something with Fyodor being sweet and soft for his wife... I love the way you write him so much. Some people make him so cruel but I think he wouldn't be like that with someone he loves enough to marry. I like to read the irl authors letters to his wife Anna and I think he would be like that, the way he talks to her is so cute sometimes especially the way he proposed... Anyway sorry if this is little information in a lot of words. Thank u so much
in the margins ─ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
ᯓ feat. fyodor dostoevsky
contains. wife!reader, soft husband fyodor, quiet love
word count. 0.3k
𑣲𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. hiii!! thank you for requesting!! I hope you like it!!
bsd m.list - main m.list
Fyodor Dostoevsky loved silence.
Not the empty kind—but the kind that existed between two people who understood each other so well that words became optional.
You sat by the window, a book resting forgotten in your lap, rain tracing slow paths down the glass. Fyodor sat at his desk, pen moving steadily across paper, the scratch of it familiar—comforting.
He paused.
“You’re cold,” he said gently, without looking up.
You blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I know,” he replied, rising immediately. He crossed the room and draped his shawl around your shoulders with practiced care, fingers lingering just long enough to be warm. “But you leaned closer to the window.”
You smiled, soft. “You notice everything.”
He hesitated, then corrected quietly, “Everything that matters.”
Fyodor returned to his desk, but not before pressing a kiss to your knuckles—reverent, almost shy. The kind of affection he never rushed, as if afraid to cheapen it by excess.
Later, you found him rereading a letter he’d written to you months ago, expression thoughtful.
“You kept it?” you asked.
He looked almost embarrassed. “Of course I did.”
“You wrote it to me.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “That’s why.”
Fyodor believed love was not loud. Not grand gestures meant for the world. Love, to him, was continuity—choosing the same person again and again, even in quiet rooms, even when no one was watching.
When illness stole your strength one winter, he stayed by your side endlessly patient, reading aloud in a low voice until you fell asleep. When doubt crept into your thoughts, he listened without judgment, never interrupting, never dismissing.
“You don’t frighten me,” he once told you, brushing your hair back as you cried. “Nothing about you does.”
You asked him once—half-teasing, half-curious—why he married you.
Fyodor went very still.
“Because,” he said carefully, as if selecting the most fragile truth, “with you, I am not required to be unyielding.”
He took your hands, thumbs warm against your skin.
“I am allowed to be human.”
And when he kissed you then, it wasn’t possessive or consuming—it was tender, full of devotion that asked nothing in return but your presence.
Love, in Fyodor’s eyes, was not cruelty softened.
It was cruelty never allowed to touch you at all.
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
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Can you write the pregnant reader with the fyodor version??
NOTHING A WARM BATH CANT FIX
oooh i defo can think of a way to redo it with a different touch for fyodo! my brain IS buzzing with excitment today, ill cook up a snack for you rq hehe
and thanks for the req, youre the first, anon!
pairing: Husband!Fyodor x pregnant!reader
summary: you’re very pregnant, tired, and sore everywhere. Luckily, your loving husband Fyodor prepared you a warm bath!
tags: fluff, married couple, oneshot, established relationship
wc: 612
You’ve been moaning and hissing at every small movement for a while now, unable to find a comfortable position to lay in. The worst part is that you can't even toss and turn as you please, your stomach too big to truly let you rest peacefully and comfortably on the couch.
You hear Fyodor’s footsteps approaching closer. He’s been a very patient and understanding husband for you, giving you the space you need to relax when you’re understandably being all sore and hormonal. But he just can’t for the life of him let you be for too long. You just look too adorable in his eyes, and he doesn’t think this whole “give me space” thing is working for either of you.
You try your best to move away, your heavy belly in the way of you fully turning away from your husband now kneeling on the carpet beside you. “Leave me alone, I’m tired and… well very tired.” You bluntly state, face scrunching up with frustration at, mostly the ache in your body, but also your impatience is bleeding into other territories too; now partially aimed at your husband
“It’s your fault I’m like this in the first place” you whine out, earning a huff of a chuckle from him, his warm breath fanning over your hair from behind you. “Annoying rat” you grumble, giving up on trying to find any peace or comfort in this body anymore. Turning over and swinging your legs down to the floor, you glare down at him – still kneeling by your legs.
“You’re right, it’s my fault you’re like this” he smiles, nodding slowly, a satisfied hum escaping his lips. His hand reaches up, placing gently over the peak of your bump, feeling slowly over that area. “This beautiful and alive” he continues, eyes on yours, brimming with affection as he leans closer to your plump belly. “And feisty” he adds, chuckling with pride, in love with every part of you, even the feisty, frustrated, hormonal parts.
They might even be his favourite at times, actually.
His other hand joins the first over your stomach, his gaze dropping to where your body is doing its best to host another mini Fyodor in you. Fyodor has always loved all Gods tiny creatures, but never have you seen him look at any with this much care and adoration in his eyes. its a bewitching sight to behold.
“You’re sore and tired because of me.” His hands move slowly further down, eyes up on yours again – his tone soft, accent slipping through. “Can you let me take care of it now?” his tone turns even gentler – more velvety than normal, coaxing your muscles to relax and follow the sound of his voice, his rhythm. You don’t respond, looking for answers in his eyes.
Fyodor lets out a soft breath. Exhaling, his hands skim further down, resting on each of your thighs now. “Ill prepare you a hot bath, how does that sound to you and the baby?” he gives your thighs a little squeeze, tilting his head to the side in questioning.
You manage a small nod, prompting a smile to spread over his face. Slowly, Fyodor unfolds to his full hight, his hands cocooning yours in his, pulling you gently up with him.
“Up, up. Come, you always tell me my hands are magical. Ill give you a nice massage.” He leads the way towards the bathroom, letting go of your hand only to turn on the knob for hot water, filling the tub up for you. “My baby and our little baby need some extra warmth and rest. It’s my job to do that”
After all, God made him stronger to protect you, especially when you’re all tired, sore, and very much pregnant.
Fyodors love for Gods creations have never been greater.
Daizzzy ᝰ.ᐟ
want to see more? head to my masterlist!
a/n: despite fyodor supossed to be the rat here, hes ironically good at wearing the shoes of the piped piper, with you following the sound of his melody hehehehehhee
❥ a!! i really want to get on vgen, and to be accepted i'd need 100 likes and 5 unique comments... please help a girlie out.....
❥ my vgen is vgen.co/lemoncrunch !!
It does not take a genius to notice that Fyodor's hands are pretty. It's a purely objective statement, or so you like to claim — his skin is pale to the point of shimmering with translucence, blue veins prominent, and his fingers are long and thin, knuckles protruding.
They're on display for you whenever he plays the cello, holding the bow and allowing it to glide over the strings, the motion elegant purely in itself, yet underlined by the music filling the room. The deep notes entrance you, willing you to step inside the room, warm with the fire place crackling just a few metres away despite the frost biting at the window panes, and just watch.
Despite the wonderful show of his obvious musical talent, your attention keeps flickering to his hands, to the way his fragile wrist flexes. It's no wonder you get curious — and even less of one that he's well aware of your fascination. Lilac eyes move towards you ever so often, observing you observing him, and it's only a matter of time until he puts the cello down, focus now on you.
“Is there something on your mind?” he asks, amusement faintly veiled, and you quickly nod.
“May I see your hands?”
You're glad he's this agreeable when it comes to indulging your every whim.
Moments later, you're perched up on the arm of the sofa, towering just a bit over him, and your palms are pressed together flat. His skin is cold to the touch, always a bit of a surprise, and, apart from the callouses on his fingers, smooth.
Pale lips twitch into a smile, Fyodor's eyebrows raised in humour. “And what exactly are you hoping to see?”
“Just our hands.” An unsatisfactory response, certainly, so you quickly tack on: “I don't really know, I merely like yours a lot. They're very pretty. At first I just wanted to look at them up close, but then I wanted to see how ours look together, you know? To see how they compare.”
He hums in response, soft. “And how do they compare?”
You squint a little. His fingers surpass yours, long and boney, and despite the gentle moment, you can't quite suppress a faint line of thoughts, asking yourself how they'd feel touching you anywhere else, ghosting over your skin, pushing inside of you. Quickly, you blink, forcing those fantasies away to indulge in another time.
“You're still biting your nails”, you say instead, tone scolding.
Fyodor huffs out a small chuckle. “Guilty as charged.”
“I told you that's a bad thing to do. They'll never grow strong when you keep doing that.”
“An old habit, I suppose. I need them to be short in order to play the cello, anyway.” Loose strands of black hair fall in front of his eyes when he shifts. Your hands are still pressed flush against each other's. “Are you done comparing?”
“I guess so.” Before he's able to pull away, you weave your fingers between his, clasping his hand in yours, smiling, victorious. “This was all a plan to trick you into holding hands, though. And you fell for it.”
You really can't tell if his surprise is genuine or faked — truthfully, you suspect the latter, though even that effort of his makes your chest feel warm inside —; his eyes widen before he exhales, allowing himself to dramatically slump against the sofa's backrest.
“It appears I did. Blame a man for letting his guard down around his beloved.”
CW: Fluff, kissing, established relationship, will give you diabetes
Word count: 1,229
First fanfic ever, so pls be nice to meeee
You entered the small library. Your gaze was fixed on the floor as you moved, as if in a trance that deepened at the piquant yet gentle scent of old books and aged wood. The familiar smell was a soothing balm to your soul, a memory of peace and innocence.
Perhaps reading books in your childhood has equipped you to find moments of respite in this modern world—full of human melancholy and fabricated urgency.
As you finally raised your eyes, they widened for an instant, then your lips faintly curled into a small, happy smile. A quiet figure sat on a sofa, a heavy book in hand. The pale man made no sign of acknowledging your presence, yet you knew it was unnecessary; he was always aware of everything.
You decided not to disturb the silence, punctuated only by quiet breaths and the occasional flip of a page. You sat near him, close enough to feel a comfortable shared warmth, yet preserving his solitude. And then you proceeded to read your own, lighter book.
This quality time was perfect for both of you; there was no call for frivolous words or undue touch. Physical desire was not a necessity for either of you, though there was nothing wrong with it. To some extent, at least. You started to long for his touch.
At first, you simply fidgeted, trying to suppress the urge and distract yourself with reading. It was no use. Fyodor's presence was alluring and deeply magnetic—a mystery to be solved with a delicate touch and careful observation.
You sheepishly glanced at the Russian. Still engrossed in his book, his face was serene and undisturbed, his cheek supported by the knuckles of his slender hand. His tranquillity was frustrating, almost mocking your growing desire.
The inner conflict had been slowly brewing, but before it became visible, you chose to take action: you put your book on the armrest and leaned slightly towards Fyodor, putting your weight on your arm propped on the sofa.
You pursed your lips and carefully looked at him, "Fyodor..." you whispered shyly, "can I... lean on you?" you almost pleaded.
Fyodor gently lifted his gaze from his book to look at you. He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady on your vulnerable expression. His face didn't change, not even a millimetre, yet his composure offered no discomfort.
"Yes..." Fyodor finally murmured, "Yes, you may." He returned to his reading, but not before shifting his body to offer you space to lean on comfortably.
The Russian man's permission filled your chest with warmth and swelling joy; you couldn't help but smile softly. Ever so carefully, you moved like a cat towards Fyodor. The moment your cheek met his shoulder, your eyes closed and your heart melted.
You both stayed like this for a while, in a shared, comforting silence. The moment felt like a warm blanket draped over the two of you, a peace only a true couple could share. The soft breathing sounded like a distant melody, and your heartbeat—steady and real—grounded you in the beautiful reality of the moment.
Before slumber overtook you, you sensed Fyodor shifting. You lifted your gaze and it was met with his. The man was staring at you, like a specimen of wonder. You wanted to ask him what was wrong, but you couldn't. You were mesmerised by his cold, deep purple eyes. You could have sworn those eyes had soaked in all human emotions—both good and bad—and now they sharply reflected his deepest understanding of humanity.
Suddenly, he asked, "Can I touch you?" His voice was calm.
You froze at his abrupt question, your eyes wide in disbelief. Then you chuckled into your fist. You found his directness and curiosity adorable, a delightful contrast to his usual reserve.
"Touch where?" you teased him with a pretty smile.
At first, Fyodor blinked, as if unsure he heard you correctly. Then he chuckled lowly, and you immediately joined him.
"Are you insinuating at something, dear?" he then asked with a small grin, barely visible.
You shook your head gently, then smirked with a tilt of your head, resting your palm on your collarbone. "No, not really, Fyodor," you replied. "I simply asked because some parts of my body are sensitive—like my upper arms…" you pinched the soft skin of your arm to demonstrate. "…Or my cheek. My thighs and shoulders, however, are not so sensitive and are perfectly fine to touch."
The man gently grabbed his chin and hummed in mock thoughtfulness, as if listening intently to your explanations like a scholar reviewing a complex thesis. A faint smile curled the corners of his lips.
"Is that so?" Fyodor murmured, which almost sounded like a purr. He then leaned towards you just an inch closer and asked, "In that case, may I touch your nose?"
Your breath hitched at the unexpected request. You stared at Fyodor for several seconds before letting out an amused huff. You found his playfulness utterly charming.
"My nose?" You lifted one eyebrow, a lopsided smile playing on your lips. "Sure, you may touch my nose, my dear." You then leaned forward, presenting your nose for his touch.
Then, something startling happened.
You expected Fyodor's hand to reach for your nose, imagining his cold finger gently tapping your cute nose.
Instead, Fyodor leaned even closer to you. Your mind blanked at the proximity of his face, leaving you petrified in place. His face was inches away, getting closer… You squeezed your eyes shut and then…
And then, you felt a tender brush on your nose.
You opened your eyes and… saw Fyodor gently rubbing his nose against yours. You noticed that you were holding your breath, so you let it go slowly. Soon, Fyodor leaned back with a satisfying smirk.
You were quiet for a moment, taken aback by his actions, then you asked him with a raised eyebrow: "Did you just... Eskimo kiss me?"
Fyodor's smirk grew, slightly exposing his teeth. He settled back, leaning his weight onto his knuckles propped against the sofa's back.
"I did, indeed, my dear." He replied and tilted his head playfully.
His response baffled you but soon you burst into a soft chuckle, stifling it with your middle knuckle. Your laughter made you feel light and happy in your chest.
Meanwhile, Fyodor was admiring your happy scene. His eyes almost surrendered to the softness of the scene and your endearing display.
"I can't believe," you tried to compose yourself, "that our first kiss was an Eskimo kiss!" You smiled widely now, clearly not disappointed and utterly happy with the new progress in your relationship with Fyodor.
Fyodor hummed, as if he was actually thinking about your declaration. "It's a progress," he glanced at you confidently, clearly still teasing you, "small yet a significant one still."
You finally managed to stop your laughter, wiping tears of joy from your eyes. Then you looked fondly at Fyodor, with rosy cheeks and eyes full of love for the Russian man. You weren't aware but the way you looked so lovingly that it almost made Fyodor catch his breath.
"And there are many more to come~" You purred and leaned on the back of the sofa, your cheek squished adorably. "I will remember this, our first kiss, for the rest of my life."
(P.S. CHAT, I am so cooked. I only imagined this moment for mere minutes, who knew this imagination would take THIS MUCH TO TYPE, HOLY—
Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy it!!)
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