Fyodor One Shots

Life on Paper

Anon said: "...i was wondering if you could do a scenario with fyodor in which he finds his s/o sketchbook full of drawings of him?? like his reaction and what he would say to them if it's okay with you <3"

I know it's unusual for me to post updates so close together. I'm just trying to be productive.

-

You had left Fyodor alone for a bit to pick up some things from the nearby convenience store. Of course, being him, he was quick to notice that something you kept quite private had been left in his company; your sketchbook.

It wasn't long before he decided to pick it up and take a peak. He wasn't concerned about the possibility of you catching him, and he was too curious to leave it alone. You had been sketching since long before the day he met you, and yet you had showed him barely anything of this sort. Fyodor realized that your lack of confidence was to blame.

He opened to the first page. Your name, along with the day you began using the book, had been scrawled on the inside of the cover. It registered with him that you had begun using this sketch book before the two of you met.

The first few pages were filled with flowers, landscapes, and the figures of people walking through city streets. You had also sketched old architectural marvels and paintings you had seen in art galleries. It was evident that this book contained many of your memories.

Fyodor turned the book's pages delicately, being careful not to smudge any of your creations. His eyes trailed over each drawing slowly, as if to catch every detail.

He was taken by surprise as your sketching took a sudden turn. Staring up at him, dating the day after you had first met, was a stunning replica of himself from the shoulders up.

It wasn't exact, one wouldn't have expected it to be, but it was surely close. A small smile appeared on Fyodor's lips.

His likeness continued to appear throughout the sketchbook, both small and large in size. Each grew in accuracy, representing your growth as an artist, and perhaps something more. They were all dated. Some of them had small notes written under them as well, detailing where the drawing had been done, or what you had been talking about around the time it had been drawn.

Fyodor was impressed, he had known that you were dedicated, but perhaps he had underestimated that dedication. It was something truly admirable.

This book, Fyodor noted, contained what you considered beautiful; what you wanted to preserve. He couldn't help but feel slightly confused at the prospect of someone caring for him this much. Yet, a warmth had spread through him, one he was not well aquatinted with.

Violet stared up at him from one page, creating the illusion that another pair of his eyes was present. He figured that this must be how he looks when lost in thought. Meanwhile, red ink marred the portrait's fingers, like blood often marked his own.

On the following page, there was a touch of sorrow in his eyes. Fyodor was taken aback. You must see all, he thought, yet you still find it beautiful. Perhaps you are a god yourself, creating with lead and ink in place of flesh and bone. In your drawings, you seemed to recreate life, at least in his eyes.

Fyodor immediately sensed when you came into the room. He turned to you, and you quickly noticed your sketchbook in his hands.

"Fyodor," you said, almost in a panic, "let me have that back please. It's embarrassing."

Fyodor closed the book, but kept it in his hands. You pouted in response.

"But why is it embarrassing?" he asked.

"Just give it back." you muttered, grabbing for it, but he quickly evaded you.

"You're very talented, you shouldn't be embarrassed."

"You saw all of that then?" you asked, though you already figured that he had.

He smiled slightly. "You always told me that you were sketching still lifes. All of your sketches are wonderful though."

"My drawings aren't that great... Just please give it back."

"You are a creator, (y/n); almost like God." Fyodor replied, finally dropping the book into your hands. You blushed.

"I'm nothing of the sort," you retorted weakly.

"Well, I'll just say this: you know me better than you think you do. It's honestly somewhat worrisome for me."

"What is?"

"How well you know me."