wc. 1.3k
contents. fluff, gn reader (but one feminine nickname is used), reader dotes on fyodor, a few russian words translated at the end of the post. mentions of fyodor’s past (multiple of them, perhaps).
notes. you know what irl dostoy said… “i say let the world go to hell, i should always have my tea” ෆ
it’s 1:43 in the morning when you nudge open the door to fyodor’s office.
you’re too busy balancing the tray in your hands to notice his ears perking up, eyes glued to the computer screen ahead. once feeling secure enough, you sneak a glance over at the man. one leg tucked to his chest, thumb between his teeth and eyes adorned by a dull grey shade, he looks endearing in ways you’d never dare speak of out loud; but ogling doesn’t hurt no one, and so you take in the fleeting pleasure of taking in the languid flutter of his ink black lashes and the glimmer of stray gray hairs under the dim, violet lights.
he’s perfectly still in his spot while you close the distance between the door and his desk, empty aside from the keyboard, mouse, and brass flower shaped lamp.
you reach his side and only then does fyodor finally look up at you. you put the wooden tray down, involuntarily sighing with relief at keeping every item in its place.
you know better than to interrupt fyodor in his work — though really, there is never any bite in his words when he does comment on it, anyway — but this time, you’re not nervous at all, for you’ve brought something he cannot deny.