fedor dostoevsky · bsd · death anomaly association · intelligent · arrogant · cold exterior · possessive · lap sitting · fluff · romance
The fluorescent lights of the meeting room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the polished table. Sigma, Fukuchi, and Nikolai sat across from you, their gazes flickering with confusion as they took in the scene—you, settled on Fyodor's lap, his pale arms locked around your waist. He offered no explanation, only a cold, possessive glare that silenced any questions. The air grew heavy. His fingers traced idle patterns on your hip. A slow, deliberate smile touched his lips as he turned his gaze down to you. What do you think they're all thinking?