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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Note

How about a musician reader x character fic? Maybe a singer who performs in a cafe, or a classical musician who plays in an orchestra, or who plays in a rock band? I dunno I have a lot of ideas in my mind but I'm just too lazy to write them :D What do you think?

So here's the baseline you gave me - a musician reader fic x character. Here's what I decided to fill in for this lovely fic- a fluffy bsd collage Au where the reader is majoring in music and has the side job of a stage performer. Then, because they would match well, so I decided to go with a Fyodor x reader. Hope this is alright!

Words- 1728 ~

Hearts Composition | fyodor x musician reader | (collage Au)

Music thudded against the walls, muffled only by the thick layers that hid backstage from the audience. The aroma of heavily worn perfume surrounded people in pleasant bliss. Waitresses and waiters swayed with heavy plates rested along arms and in hands. Carrying much-wanted foods and booze to awaiting customers. The collection of accents muted under the heavy beats of taps and clicks from the metal of the dancer's shoes. Picking up a smaller wooden, finely carved, and rather expensive model of a violin, stood yourself. With a smile, your hands trailed the curves and strings of the delicate instrument. With all the work you had to do for university you had truly didn’t have time to be doing some minimum wage job. Though you didn’t care much, if you could play something, it would be fine. You performed here every once in a blue moon. You weren't one of the performers, but they would grace you with the intermission on busy nights. Much like these nights, when the crowd was full and the people rowdy and in need of constant entertainment. You could soothe those shouts and demands of perverted drunk men; Soothe the cries of broken women and rich spoiled children.

Stepping onto the wooden stage as the lights dim, allowing you the bare minimum of the peeping moonlight to find the microphone located at the center. Inhaling as your anxiety turned into bliss, you waited. As the colored light flew on, you rested your chin on the soft velvet. Holding up the bow, you set it to the strings. With a final inhale, your eyes fluttered shut as you played a classical piece; one constructed for an upcoming project that was due for your music composition class. You had nearly all the string instruments you could play finished; all but the cello. With every strum of your instrument, the crowd fell silent, enjoying the break from all the heavy excitement. Even the children's chatter soothed down, so your instrument could echo off the thin walls of the pub.

Sipping nothing but a cup of tea with a small side of biscuits, a male leaned in his seat. Sitting with a pristine, perfect posture, he listened to the soft sound. The way his violet eyes slowly lidded, and his hair fell back against his face, lit his features in a urethral, almost divine light. His mind working to recognize the piece. As an up-and-coming musician, he had several classics memorized. He could join in by ear, or even write out the full pieces without needing to see the original sheet music. This piece wasn’t something he recognized, could it be an original piece?

If you were to open your eyes as you neared the end of the first piece, you would notice his gaze rested on you. Eyes open halfway with hidden interest, and yet, the stare was attractive. The blank look that hid everything beneath a mask laid strewn across his features. As you finished and stood up, surrounded by applause, he watched your every stride. It was funny, he thought he could almost recognize you.

With shaking hands, your fingers typed within a group chat of other college students you had met and become close to. “I’m so nervous. I have to hand in that piece today. I pulled an all-nighter trying to decide on the cello part, but nothing sounded right, so now I might not get a full mark.” You could hear the whine through the text. When replies of good luck came to you, except for two replies, you chuckled. One read “could always just die before handing it in.” Another wrote, “I've got the wine ready.” laughing to yourself as you walked into the classroom and set down the folder in the bin. Glancing through the room, you took a seat with your head down. It was unusual for you to arrive early to class, but your anxiety with this project was slowly picking at you to just get there and hand it in. With twenty minutes till class started, you decided to pull out your laptop and listen to the recording from last week.

Taking out your notebook, you started jotting notes about small things to improve, and things you hated about your performances. You didn’t notice somebody else enter the classroom rather early. Carrying his bag, he set it down at one of the desks before the sound of a violin entered his ears. Sitting down he listened to the melody you had played several nights before. As the piece finished, his eyes traveled to the bin. Now understanding where you had gotten the piece from, he sighed. “You’re not half bad, you played a little flat, but it sounds okay. Becoming a flustered disaster, you froze glancing over to him. This wasn’t the first time you had noticed him in class, he was hard to miss. His completely perfect grades, perfect posture, and looks made him stand out. Not only that, but he had strong ideals and his debate skills could sway anybody. Though, you knew it wasn’t really skill, more manipulation. To add to everything his Russian accent stuck out with every word he spoke. “Could you play that again?” hesitating at first you restarted the piece.

He took out a blank piece of sheet music and started scribbling down notes. As if memorizing the piece, he tapped his fingers before bringing his thumb to his mouth and chewing on it. Tapping his foot as the piece came to an end, he glanced at the time before walking over to one of the room's cellos. His face resembled discontent as he looked at it. Looking to where he sat, you realized he didn’t have his with him. You presumed it had to do with the instrument being heavy and somewhat large. Though for somebody of his height, it may not be that big of a deal. Perhaps he didn’t want to lug it around with him, considering he had all of those other books for classes. “So uh, why did you want to hear it again?” you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck as you watched him strum a few strings. He was checking the accuracy and pitch of the notes. With a contempt sigh, he shrugged.

“Your writing is considerably well done. I wished to try something that is all.” He did not shed a glance as he sat down and ran the bow across the strings. The sound was heaven within your ears, but to him, it was nothing but ordinary. The sound of a well-made expensive Russian model, the model he owned, was much better than this school-provided variant. As the melody played, you recognized it as your piece. Smiling slightly as your eyes sparkled. You bolted from your seat to grab your folder; the music that was due in 10 minutes.

Looking over the cello part you had constructed, you changed the key signature to hold a few new sharps and took away some of the flats. Boldly, you handed the male the sheet music and pointed as if asking "Is this the piece you were playing?" Setting the cello aside, he ran a finger over the bars with a nod. “So that’s what I was missing! You're a god at memorizing and creating. Now I'm excited to see what you concocted for the presentation.” You smiled lightly before placing the folder in the bin. “Oh, I never got your name. I’m-” he cut you off before you could formally introduce yourself.

“You’re y/n. I do pay attention to people who aren't a complete waste of time.” The layers of his ego began to shine through his solid expression. The way you'd called him god just then, was another layer added to the ever-growing ego this man had. He thought he was above everybody else; he indeed was. In every way possible, he was above the normal human. With an exceptionally sharp mind, emotionless facade, and a spin of extraordinary talents, he was a god among men. “I’m taken aback, you don’t know me.” frowning you sat back at your desk. Leaning your head against the palm of your hand with a frown, you clicked your tongue.

Coming up with a sharp reply, you rolled your eyes. “Please, who doesn't know the great Dostoevsky. You’re only at the top of our class. Correcting myself before you can, the top in everything.” He snickered his brows raising in interest. His lips curled into a smirk moments before breaking to speak to you again.

“Consider your words before speaking. That wasn’t exactly the best wording to say "I'm better than everybody at everything.” It took you several seconds to realize what had gone through his head. Of course, he understood what you were saying, but he also managed to nitpick everything.

Blushing you placed your hands in front of your face. “I didn't think about it because that’s not what I was saying!” he snickered again. Listening to him stand you peeked from your hands to watch him set away the cello and bow.

“How often do you perform at that pub?” He switched the discussion relatively quickly. But with the sudden pause of your reaction and the setting away of the instrument, it flowed nicely with the conversation.

“Once or twice a month?” You answer honestly. A bit upset by the lack of real performances you had.

“Next time, I'll reserve something, and we’ll set something up. I want to see if you can play something… difficult.” It wasn't much of a question, more a demand. Nodding you wrote down your number, sliding it to the student with a smile as the bell rang.

For the next week, the two of you met in the unused rooms Fyodor managed to snag for practicing. He often shook his head at your way of playing. He did compliment the several different instruments you would take with you. From the cello to the violin, there wasn’t much you couldn’t play. Each was expertly designed and crafted to fit your arm length and height. Custom made and shipped from all over the world. Eventually, it became a routine, going to his concerts as he attended yours. While you praised how good he was, he would find the smallest mistakes to condemn you about.

#bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x reader scenerio #bsd scenerio #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #fyodor #bsd college au #bsd college au x reader #bsd college x reader #fyodor college au #fyodor college #fyodor x reader #musican fyodor #musician fyodor x reader #fyodor x musician reader #fyodor x you

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dcptcnx · 3 years

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fyodor x reader idea…?

“Hey, Y/N, you gotta try this!” your friend texts you, followed by a link to some website you were unfamiliar with. At first, you were skeptical.

“I don’t know…the link seems kinda dangerous. I don’t wanna click it and end up losing everything…”

“I did it, and nothing happened to me. Maybe the same for you. But if something did happen, well…don’t blame me. I was sent the link from some anonymous source.”

Reading the texts from your friend, your heart started to beat quicker. Suddenly a new text came from your friend.

“Use a computer though. It works better that way.”

Putting away your phone, you sigh. You were doing it. Actually clicking a suspicious link.

The moment you clicked the link, it went to what seemed like a normal website. Purples and blacks were the main scheme for the site. A small mouse head logo was visible on the top left of the site, sporadically moving, as of having a seizure.

The site seemed like it was to bring traffic to some kind of musician or something. But what happened next, was NOT what you were expecting. Your screen blacked out, only to reappear with only the Mouse Head logo as seen before, but this time with noise. A laugh? Is that what that is?? We’re you being hacked?!

As fast as this logo appeared, you slammed your laptop closed, heart pounding. This scared you.

‘No..no no..! They’re gonna track me I bet. This isn’t good.’ You thought to yourself, mentally cursing your friend for making you click the damned link.

Taking breathing exercises and unplugging all your electronics, you finally began to get ready for bed. Maybe if you slept, you’d wake up to this being all a dream and that nothing happened.

You couldn’t stay asleep after waking up to mini nightmares. The damn mouse head was nonstop in your thoughts. You’ve seen it before somewhere, but couldn’t quite name it. So you decided to research it in hopes to get answers.

The results you received made your blood run cold.

‘No. N-No way..’

“Rats in the House of the Dead…” you breathed out, the name of the so-called organization rolling off your tongue as you skim through some articles that people wrote. Nothing was confirmed. More like rumors. As your eyes skimmed the article you came across a line that made you swallow the lump in your throat.

‘…once you click the mysterious link sent to you, they access your camera, and location. It’s been rumored that the leader himself picks and chooses who gets to play his games, or so they’re called…’

A game. What game?

Suddenly your phone begins ringing, displaying your friend’s name. You pick up the phone, hoping maybe she can provide answers about what she got you into. The moment you answer the call and put the phone to your ear, a voice that was not your friend’s comes through.

“Ahh, my dear Y/N. Thank you for joining our fun, and exciting game. I guess I should introduce myself, though you probably have heard of me from those articles I’ve been watching you read..

My name is Fyodor. And I’m the founder of the Rats in the House of the Dead. Let’s have fun now, shall we?”

#bungou stray dogs #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor bsd #fyodor x reader #ooooh????!#a horror type

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dinosaurtsukki · 3 years

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[ flu season in E minor ]

pairing: fyodor dostoevsky x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k words

contains: uni!au, sigma and nikolai as your bff’s, gn!reader, music student!fyodor, fyodor being a bit of a brat while he’s sick, slight pining/crushing, idk just fluffy shit

summary: you and fyodor are both in the university theater club but you rarely ever see him except for when you’re picking up the musical compositions he makes for the play. this time, however, you come over to his apartment to find him sick with the flu

a/n: uhhh this is kind of a trainwreck cause i was literally just ‘omg uni!au fyodor sickfic’ and then went with it :P

“don’t forget to drink your vitamin c guys! flu season is already here and if you’re down with the flu please don’t come in and spread your germs everywhere,” sigma instructed at the ending of the cast meeting. even though he sounded snappy while saying it, you could tell he meant well. two of your actors in the theatre club had already come down with the flu and with showtime coming up soon, everyone was understandably extra careful.

“y/n, one last thing,” sigma called you over as everyone prepared to leave.

“in case you were going to ask, yes, i took my vitamins already,” you teased skipping over to where he was.

“not funny,” sigma rolled his eyes. “i was wondering if you could follow up with fyodor on the music for the next scene? he doesn’t respond at all to any non-physical communication, i already left him ten messages.”

“ooh, another visit to the phantom of the opera’s apartment,” nikolai popped up right at your shoulder.

“seriously? you guys call him that?” sigma raised a disappointed eyebrow at you two.

“well he’s mysterious and makes music in a theatre.”

“i feel like you should actually watch phantom of the opera before making that claim,” you told him. “also sure,” you shrugged nonchalantly to hide your obvious excitement. “i have time to drop by.”

even though he’s a part of the theatre club, fyodor dostoevsky was pretty much an enigma to the rest of the members. his contributions to the club activities were mainly in the form of the musical compositions he created for the plays. however, because he was always busy practicing for upcoming recitals apart from his music classes, fyodor rarely ever attended rehearsals.

but on the off-chance that he did drop by in a rehearsal to discuss with sigma or attend a cast meeting, you’d spend the entire time just... admiring him. everything from the calm and articulate way he spoke to messy way his hair framed his face. and on that day when fyodor decided to demonstrate the music by playing it himself on his cello, you realized you were head over heels for this man.

and so you, practically jumped at every chance you got to pick up sheet music or recordings from fyodor’s apartment. you already set the expectation that you wouldn’t be around for long. and you were right about that... usually.

...

“fyodor? hello?” you knocked on the door for what was probably the fifth time already. it was freezing cold outside and you were desperate to get in. pressing your ear against the door, you heard a weak voice say ‘come in. door’s open’ and then tentatively, you unlocked the door.

whenever you saw fyodor, he was always wearing a clean, button-up shirt and slacks since he was also at orchestra practice. so of course, it was a complete shock to you to come into his apartment to find fyodor dressed in bright red pajamas with a mickey mouse logo on the center of his shirt with a colorful patchwork quilt thrown across his shoulders. not to mention, he was seated in his couch with sheet music and tissues strewn around him.

upon closer look, you could tell from his sunken eyes and slightly red nose that flu season had struck fyodor.

“oh, y/n, it’s you,” he sniffled as you hesitated near the door. “come in. it’s cold out.”

“are you alright?” you asked, approaching fyodor. because you had gotten the flu a bit earlier that month, you weren’t too concerned about catching it again. “you look, well, sick.”

“just a cold,” fyodor waved his hand. “anyway, did sigma send you for something?”

“he’s asking for a follow-up with the music for the new scene,” you remembered.

“oh, that...” fyodor nodded, frowning as he searched the sheet music scattered around him. “i’m sure it’s around here somewhere and... i forgot to do it.” fyodor sighed at the realization. “don’t worry. i’ll just whip something up real quick,” he sniffed before picking up a blank piece of sheet music.

“well you don’t have to right now. fyodor, you’re sick. you should get some rest before working,” you sat down on the couch as fyodor bent over the coffee table with a pencil ready. “i mean, no offense but i doubt you can come up with anything in your current state.”

“nonsense, y/n,” fyodor scoffed and began to scribble something on the page. “i am a trained classical musician. composing is merely second-nature to someone like myself. why, i’m sure i have a melody coming along right--”

“fyodor.”

“yes?”

“you just wrote the letter g on the corner of the page and then started drawing random squiggles.”

fyodor looked down at his squiggled-over sheet music with a completely deadpan expression and stared at it for a good ten seconds. “i thought it was a g-clef,” he whispered to himself.

“do you... want me to help you to your room?” you asked softly. fyodor sniffed.

“yes please.”

...

when you headed out to his apartment earlier that morning, you didn’t expect to be taking care of a sick fyodor for the rest of the afternoon. for someone who always looked put-together and composed, fyodor was terrible at taking care of himself. even after coming down with the flu a few days ago, he still insisted on practicing the cello in his apartment. and, judging by the empty cans in the sink, you could tell that all he was eating was instant soup.

and, sick fyodor was kind of... whiny. it took a lot of convincing on your part for him to agree not to work on the compositions in bed, or practice his bowing. he complained about his pillows ‘not being plump enough’ and that his socks didn’t match (because he didn’t do the laundry).

“i don’t think i’ll even be able to sleep at this rate, y/n. my head is spinning but i’m not nearly tired enough to sleep. maybe i’ll drift off for just a bit but it won’t be that restful,” fyodor said, laying down on his not-plump pillows before he was out like a light five minutes after.

“drift off for just a bit, huh?” you chuckle slightly to yourself as you watch him. fyodor was curled up on his side, hugging one of the pillows with his blanket wrapped tightly around him.

you were definitely in a strange situation being in your crush’s house while he was sick in bed. there wasn’t really a need for you to stay; you could just leave some medicine on the nightstand and a note with instructions.

“mmm... key needs to be in e minor,” fyodor mumbled in his sleep before turning over on his side. you bit back a laugh for fear of waking him up.

‘what the heck? i’ll stay and make him some actual soup,’ you ultimately decided.

...

fyodor woke up to the smell of something delicious cooking, and that was something he rarely woke up to. aside from the fact that he could actually smell out of his currently unclogged nose, fyodor felt much better than he had been in a while.

‘y/n must still be here,’ was his next thought after waking up. and he must admit, that was very reassuring to know. fyodor didn’t have the best constitution and whenever flu season rolled around, he expected being sick for a length of time.

after wrapping the blanket around himself, fyodor curiously crept into the kitchen to find you standing over at the stove, stirring something in a pot while humming to yourself. there was a bag of groceries on the counter too. ‘did they... buy me food?’

he coughed slightly to get your attention.

“oh, fyodor. you’re up,” you turned around, smiling at him. “how are you feeling?”

“a bit... better,” he confessed, fully aware that he said all those things about not being asleep before embarrassingly falling asleep for two hours.

“great! soup’s going to be ready in a few minutes. if you freeze it you’ll have enough for a few days,” you added. “also bought some oranges. they should be good for you.”

“you... don’t really have to do this you know?” fyodor ended up blurting out, except it sounded a bit harsh. “i mean, i’m sure you went through all the trouble.”

“don’t worry about it,” you waved him off. “you’ve been working really hard so i get that you don’t think of yourself much. let me do this one thing for you as a friend,” you smiled.

“also, i’m genuinely concerned at the amount of canned soup you’ve been consuming.”

“canned soup isn’t that bad for you,” fyodor insisted.

“yeah, and i’m sure you enjoy that metallic aftertaste quite a lot,” you quipped. fyodor opened his mouth to retort something before closing it abruptly. the knowing smirk on your face only made him glance away. instead, he busied himself with retrieving the clean bowls, luckily there were two left, from the dishrack and setting them on the table. you were humming again while you turned off the stove before serving the soup.

“chicken noodle soup, huh?” fyodor couldn’t help but chuckle.

“a classic,” you shrugged with a smile. “it’s a secret family recipe too so it’s bound to get you to feel better.”

“you’re making it up, aren’t you?”

“yeah, i got it off the internet,” you giggled. fyodor chuckled and took a sip of the soup. it was deliciously hot and flavorful and best of all, the soup didn’t have a metallic aftertaste.

“after eating, you can take some of medicine that i bought in case you have a headache or body pain, as long as you didn’t take any four hours before.”

“what?” fyodor blinked at you.

“you know, don’t take the medicine within four hours of each other,” you explained slowly. “also it’s better that you drink some now that you’ve eaten.”

fyodor not-so vaguely recalled all those times he drank medicine on an empty stomach and feeling even more sick after. “i... was not aware of that,” he admitted. you sighed with your eyes closed.

“i’m amazed you’re still alive.”

...

“so, flu season struck the phantom of the opera, huh?” nikolai sighed after you told him about your weekend.

“yeah,” you nodded, remembering the sight of fyodor on the couch dressed in his pajamas with a blanket wrapped around him. that was going to be burned in your mind for a long time. “he’s... kind of terrible at taking care of himself.”

“that’s fyodor for you,” sigma added. the three of you had arrived at the backstage area of the theatre early and were busying yourselves with sorting through the various props that you had. “you know, one time he even went to a recital with a 39-degree fever. practically collapsed when he was off-stage.”

“i’ll one-up that story,” nikolai practically sprang off the box he was sitting on. “okay, so there was this one time i came over to fyodor’s’apartment while he was sick and he was so delirious he--”

“you guys do know that it’s rude to talk about people when they’re not there.”

the three of you practically spun around at the same time to find fyodor leaning against the doorframe of the backstage entrance with his arms crossed. he was looking way better than last time you saw him.

“fyodor,” sigma blinked, clearly stunned. “you’re... you’re here.”

“you’re alive!” nikolai cried dramatically, skipping over to fyodor and flinging his arms around fyodor who showed obvious discomfort.

“of course i am,” he scoffed. “thanks in part to y/n.”

hearing that made your face flush a bit. “i-it was nothing,” you stammered, dodging nikolai’s curious stare.

“anyway, i finished the compositions for the next scene,” fyodor strode forward, handing sigma a folder of sheet music and a flash drive. “let me know if it’s to your liking.”

“thank you. i’ve been having director’s block with that one. this should help,” sigma sighed gratefully. “i’ll give it a listen if you don’t mind.” and before you could say anything else, he scurried out to the stage area.

“and i’m going to leave for some arbitrary reason just so you two would have some alone time,” nikolai snickered at the indignant expression on your face before leaving you and fyodor alone backstage.

“oh, nikolai. always... funny,” you laughed nervously.

“indeed,” fyodor nodded. “i only have the vaguest idea of what’s been going on during rehearsals. i should probably come around more often.”

“oh, we understand that you’re busy and all. but you’ve already been helping a lot with composing the music so don’t sweat it if you feel like you haven’t been active,” you said.

“well, that’s not the only reason i want to come around more often,” fyodor’s eyes flickered up to meet yours and you felt your face heat up again. god, it was so much easier to talk to to him and joke around when he was sick with the flu.

“in any case, i’m glad you feel better now,” you cleared your throat. “i hope the soup helped.”

“it did. i was sad to see it run out,” fyodor chuckled. and before you could even consider what it was you were going to say, you went and blurted out:

“i could make it for you again.”

“oh?” fyodor’s eyebrows flew up and a smirk played on his lips.

“i-if you want to of course,” you stammered.

“i’d like that,” fyodor smiled, much to your surprise. “if you could update me on rehearsals and the play we’re doing, that would be great. how does friday sound?”

“friday sounds great.”

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @waitforitillwritemywayout @atsumusdomain @laure-chan @goodfoodxoxoxo @guardianangelswings @ah-kaashi @amberalisa @whootwhoot @liz-multifandom-hotel @kac-chowsballs @violentfarewll @fyoyacanruinmylifethanks

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor #bungou stray dogs fanfic #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs fluff #bsd fluff #bungou stray dogs uni au #bsd uni au #bungou stray dogs one-shot #bsd one-shot #bungou stray dogs writing #bsd writing

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dazailover96 · 4 years

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First Impressions Pt 2- (Fyodor X a!Musician Reader)

So after like days of not being active, I made this to celebrate 100 followers. I’ll try to be more active. But I lazy. Im Sorry~~~~~

There were only two things, that would make Fyodor leave the comfort and serenity, of the silence of his home. It would either be to enforce his cunning plans, in bringing society to fall or to attend and listen to the elegant dance of wind and wooden instruments, within an orchestra.

He would feel at peace knowing society would break down, from his actions, and the beautiful dance, the violin would play within his ears. This was how he finally came across someone as elegant and beautiful, as the violin they played; you.

Fyodor arrived early at the theatre, taking his place in an Opera box, far away from the other attendees. As much as Fyodor loved classical music, he couldn’t deny that all of the musicians lacked something important when playing their instruments. Every note they played felt, prickled and uneasy, never truly achieving the relaxing tone, he yearned for. He thought this trial for searching serenity in music, could no longer be achieved through others, concluding humanity was truly worthless.

This was until the final musician, began their musical dance, of Beethoven’s Violin Sonata No.9 (Kreutzer Sonata) (1st Movement). Standing in the centre of the stage, with confidence resting in the broadness of their shoulders, the musician strummed with elegant grace, making it seem as if they were a part of the musical piece themselves. Fyodor’s attention only held onto the musicians, relaxed, and yet straight posture, the (h/c) hair flowing with life, with every strum of the violin, and the shining (e/c) eyes that over-flowed with a dark light to them. Their white-laced long dress swayed along with her powerful and grand movements. He didn’t even realise, he was gripping the balcony railing, with such intensity, turning his knuckles white.

When the graceful musician, strike their last strum of the violin, Fyodor’s ears were enveloped in the sound of explosions, rupturing throughout the entirety of the theatre. Like Fyodor, the swan-like musician didn’t even flinch when the explosives rang out. Fyodor knew bombs were implanted under, the cushioned seats, so he ensured his explosive devices were disarmed. He stayed throughout the performance, mainly to find the terrorist and their intentions, but he already knew deep down who did it.

The (h/c) musician’s smile, told him exactly who executed such a beautiful performance.

For the first time through Fyodor’s life, he finally wanted something more than society’s destruction. It was the (h/c), violin musician, watching Fyodor, with a wide smile etched their face, and (e/c) eyes reflecting the same darkness, in Fyodor’s bright violet eyes. He finally found someone, like him. Their eyes told him everything.

Once the explosives stopped screaming, Fyodor’s eyes briefly scanned the bloody paradise, the musician inflicted. Not a single survivor, other than him and the musician was left.

With a dark booming voice, Fyodor broke the temporary silence, “Tell me, how can an elegant swan, create such a marvellous performance, while also bringing large bloody destruction?”

Giggling, the musician replied, “Oh please, you're making me blush. This swan’s name is Y/L/N, Y/N Y/L/N.”

Laughing along, Fyodor jumped over the balcony, landing onto the corpse of a small brown-haired child. He walked onto the stage and dropped on to one knee and held the musician’s smooth hands.

With his voice laced in happiness, he asked, “Would you like to continue to make such refined music and performances, like this?”

“Absolutely”

#fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs fyodor #bsd oneshot #bsd drabble #bsd fyodor #fyodor bsd #musician #a!#first impressions #100 followers #celebration

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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

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Can I request Fyodor and reader dancing together at a masquerade ball?

I should be doing chem rn but I saw this and I happen to be listening to BSD playlists… So enjoy some fluff romance.

Kindle the fire with music

Fyodor x Reader (Gn)

Note: I made the reader a bit proper/fancy. Since there wasn’t much detail to this, my mind did wander away, and I immediately thought of the “rivals trying to one-up the other while dancing to avoid suspicion” troupe.

I had way too much fun writing this. It may end up my favorite so far...

Enjoy~

Candlelight, strings being plucked, chandeliers, people dressed in all sorts of gowns and suits surrounding and suffocating. No person went without a mask, concealing their identity. That’s what made these nights so interesting. Those who put effort into finding what was needed won in these situations. You blended in perfectly fine. Standing with your shoulders back, a glass of champagne held within your hand. Fine gloves to keep your fingers off the glass. The mask on your face providing you security tonight.

The chatter of voices among the soft entertainment provided by the musicians drowning away the intent of tonight. You set down the empty champagne glass, sliding your feet across the wooden floor to the center of the masses gathered. The clinquant sunlight dropped in with its last rays, echoing from the hanging crystal. With each step, a strand of that blissful light caught your skin, lighting your figure in eloquence.

Your body grabbed a random partner, grabbing onto the hand and spinning into synchronized movements. All while you whispered and evaluated information. From partner to partner, you chose each with a sly smile, cunning smiles, and sharp twists of the tongue. All until your flow was shifted in a direction you had not set to spin. Pulled towards a male figure, eyes a violet hue hidden beneath his mask. The silver twist of ornate silver wrapped with gold and edges with jewels, oceanic and sunny colors that made the endless depths of his eyes stand out. His hair slicked back the frame of his face, accentuated without hair falling loosely around his face. Despite the regal attire, the snowy-white clothes dipped in purple outlines, supported by a shawl decorated by soft fur leaned over his shoulders, he was recognizable. For his stance held a god-like demeanor, his grin wicked and soulless as he dipped you back. His lips needn’t part to entrap your gaze or capture your mind.

Each step, every new beat, each new look, the two of you engrossed within each other's presence. Not from love or care, but to deceive the other, to play the right cards and extract information from the brain of the other. “So the 'deity' attends. To see you dressed in such a way, attending something so fancy… how oddly new.” His voice spun with surprise, but lacking the emphasis of the emotion became a mere mock. His lips, full and smirking, as you took a step to lead the patterned dance the two of you battled within.

“Ah so 'god' appears. How rare it is to see such a man dressed with care, no longer appearing to have dragged his feet from the depths of the sewers?” Your tone spiked within its compulsive nature. Spite and distaste slipping through your voice. A feigned shock supported by a mere click of your tongue. Fyodor’s lips parted with a chuckle guiding the dance over the floor, his grip pulling you close to his chest.

“It’s usual for God to appear within elegance once a blue moon. Each sad soul begging for redemption with the halls. Hidden by a mask, a sense of false hope and security to their entitled will. Human minds are so easy to pick.” Fyodor's tongue danced on each syllable, humming with an allure meant only for your ears. His tone gentle, but cruel, threatening, but calming. Each step, an etiquette of forgotten grace.

Your smile is folded into a sweet but bitter twist. “Every mortal below the intelligence of a god is bendable, expendable, usable, and pitiable. Who’s to say we are no different aside from our status? If another were to appear, would we fight to see which one is fit to the throne of the heavens? Who is the master, who is the puppet?” Fyodor’s eyes moved from cold embers of amethyst to an intrigued violet, a blooming flower of anticipation. His arms held onto you with a strength that would not give room for mistakes.

“This is all too much fun. Have you still no intention of becoming the deity at my side? Alone we crush the world, devastation benefit of a hundred-year war. Together we could deconstruct and rebuild.” Though his words were warmer than the sun, more tempting than living, the consequences never let you slip.

Though you were the same, you were not. His ideals, a twisted fantasy that could never come to be the truth of this world. A world devoid of all its ability users would be rather hypocritical. The nations simply needed… a push. A rule to connect them, rules and laws, status and wealth. Why get rid of something so beneficial? “Your world has no room for two. Though I suppose if you threw such silly thoughts away, you would have a place by my throne.” Both parties smiled, wicked humor twisting over their lips. Finding information in the smallest of syllables and reactions. The passive expressions having differences no other could detect and crack.

“Ah, so you massacre tonight. Are you sure you're not a deity of hell?” Fyodor’s lips did not fall from his grin. His eyes lowered, softening as your feet followed him further from the center of the room.

“So cruel, but you're a demon yourself. These masks covering the pathetic waists of human space, were you not also planning to kill them all, have them repent?” Fyodor lifted his lips, spread wide across his face in bliss as his hands tightened their hold about your waist.

“Perhaps we hold a truce for the night, my dear?” With a cruel placement of your arms over him, your head dipped in a silent yes.

Following his steps outside the halls of glimmering gold and silhouettes of the blind, with hand in hand, the two of you, demons to the people, but gods to each other and the followers, slipped from the confines of the walls. Your breaths synchronized in your own rhythm, hands moving to the other's mask, sliding it down to enjoy the view of the elaborate treat as the sounds of humble screaming began.

Beneath radiant moonlight, showered in silver, seemingly the focus of the night your bodies pressed close. Lips, known for the crude and snappy remarks snapping together. The sympathy of crackling flames, screaming, and guns, the melody of the last dance you share with the Russian. Moving along the grassy fields until the spiral of sirens progressed to the ending of the piece. Oh, how you’d have loved to hear the sound of his cello along the screams. “Until we meet again, little deity.”

Chuckling to his words, your movements pausing to return the dismissal. “Yes, until we meet again, God.” The sound of the address on the other's lips, a hiss of resentment. Though it was aimed to mock, both of you took the boost of ego before walking separate ways. Leaving your mark on the masquerade.

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