FYODOR HEAD CANONS / REQUESTS

Drunk Fyodor :D

"Fedya, don't worry about ittttt. The assassin will be fine," I could hear Nikolai's attempt at a whisper from the kitchen. I had been waiting there all night. I knew Nikolai and Fyodor had gone out, but I had no idea that they'd be out until nearly 3 in the morning. If I was being honest, I was surprised Fyodor even allowed himself to stay out that late.

"She is going to be very unhappy," I could hear Fyodor.. giggle? Did he giggle? I turned my head in the direction of the noises. The two men were stumbling through the front door, giving me a perfect view from my stool.

The sound of shuffling and shoes scuffing the floor echoed through the entry way, followed by an "okay Fedya. Bye bye!" From the clown. He closed the door on his way out, leaving my lover to his own vices in the dark.

"Welcome home," I muttered. I watched the shadow on the ground as Fyodor jumped.

"Anastasia, darling," he slurred. My first instinct was to worry. Fyodor didn't stutter. He didn't stumble. He was always extremely well spoken. Ultimately, this pried me off my seat.

"Fyodor, are you alright?" I asked, but I didn't need an answer. I could smell the whiskey on his breath by the time I got to him. He was quick to wrap an arm around me, planting a messy kiss on my cheek. A gesture that would normal be endearing, had somehow become slimy and obnoxious.

He continued to plaster my face with kisses (though it felt more like when a dog attacks you with their tongue), and I just stood there. Processing.

"Let's get you into bed," I muttered, forcibly wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He stumbled a bit - another uncommon thing for him. In a way, it was both amusing and disorienting to see him act so unreserved.

"Anastasia, I have to tell you a secret," he whispered into my ear. I ignored the fact that he bumped his head against mine in the process.

"What is it?" I asked begrudgingly. Truth was, I'd rather have sober Fyodor.

"There is this woman," he snickered. "And I think I am in love with her," more snickering.

Alright. He had me there. My lips finally curled into a smile, and I chuckled to myself.

"Oh yeah? Tell me about her," I mused as I helped him up the stairs.

"Oh, why, she is just oh so beautiful. You must see her, Anastasia!" He practically yelled. It elicited a little bit more of a laugh out of me, and I quickly covered his mouth. I didn't need him waking Ivan and Klaus up.

He continued to giggle as I led him to our bedroom. I kicked the door open, helping my lover get into bed. As one could expect, he flopped down on it without a care in the world.

I took his boots off for him, and walked around the side of the bed. I knew he preferred to sleep in just his boxers, so I was prepared to help him get situated. However, when I leaned over to start undoing his pants, I paused when I felt my hair being pulled. I raised a brow, watching as the Russian twirled my raven strands between his fingers.

"You are so pretty, Anastasia," he mumbled, staring at me. The look in his eyes was one a child might have when first discovering amusement parks. I'd be lying if I said I didn't blush.

I shook my head, smiling as I helped him out of his pants. He tried to make it easier by kicking his feet, but it mostly just made it nearly impossible to get them off from around his ankles. Finally though, I managed to get it.

"Anastasia," he sighed. How many times was this man gonna say my name tonight?

"Yes, my love?"

"I know our circumstances are not ideal, but I wish for you to know something"

"Alright, what is it?" I asked, unbuttoning his shirt for him. He remained perfectly still, just watching me with adoration.

He grabbed my hands, putting them both on his cheeks. "In my head, you are my wife, and I will love you until the end of time. I love you. I love you. I love you," he repeated, over and over again as he kissed my hands.

It was adorable, honestly. Watching the usually well composed man, just blabbering away about his love for me. Sober Fyodor hardly ever said he loved me; usually showing me that he did rather than telling me. Yet, here he was. Uttering those three words like a mantra. It made my heart melt into my rib cage.

"I love you too, Fyodor Dostoevsky," I chuckled, kissing his forehead. "You should get some sleep"

He nodded as I helped him out of his shirt. I pulled the covers up over him before I crawled onto my side of the bed.

"Anastasia," he giggled. I sighed, turning to look at him. The silk pillow was cold against my cheek, making his abnormally warm hand on my arm very obvious.

"You are the best thing that has ever happened to me," he said, his tone more serious than it had been all night. I could see his lilac eyes reflecting the moon, only adding to the illusion of a fairytale. Surely that must be what this is, right? A fairytale? How else could it be possible for me to be so unfathomably in love with this man, and for him to feel the same?

"I love you," I responded. It was the best I could do with how tired I was, and how bewildered I was. I've said it before, and I'll say a dozen more times. Fyodor never failed to amaze me.