straydogsrepent

[straydogsrepent]

Page Twenty-Five | f. dostoevsky

synopsis: you assume he’s just a weird misanthrope who’d rather talk to his notebook than to people—truth is, he just has a crush on you.

wc: 1.2k

Even after spending months working alongside the Decay of Angels, you never really got close to Fyodor. No matter how many meetings you sat through together or how often you crossed paths, he always kept his distance. It wasn’t that he was rude—just distant, unreadable, and impossible to get a real read on.

The few interactions you did have were minimal at best. A quiet nod before a meeting. A polite "good morning" if you happened to arrive at the same time and maybe a brief glance of acknowledgment afterwards. But that was as far as it ever went. You couldn’t help but feel like there was an invisible wall between the two of you, one that Fyodor had no intention of letting anyone past.

He always seemed completely absorbed in that leather-bound notebook he carried with him everywhere. Whether in meetings, during meals, or even just walking through the halls, his eyes were often fixed on its pages. Whatever was inside, schematics, theories, cryptic thoughts, or long philosophical rants, it clearly held more of his attention than the people around him ever did. You’ve never asked him about it. Honestly, you’ve just assumed it contains the kind of ideas that only make sense to him. Maybe they're plans, maybe just a way to process the chaos in his mind. Either way, you let him be. After all, you didn’t join this organisation to make friends.

Still, there’s something oddly comforting about the nights the two of you spend working side by side, each focused on your own screen. There’s hardly any conversation, maybe the occasional question or comment, but his quiet presence has become something you’ve grown used to, and in a strange way, you find yourself looking forward to those silent coding sessions. 

One night, when Fyodor finally gave in to exhaustion—his head resting at an awkward angle, the evidence of sleepless nights still lingering under his eyes, you saw your chance. His notebook, always clutched tightly in his hands or tucked protectively under one arm, had been left carelessly beside him for once. He must have been too tired to ignore his body’s desperate pleas for rest.

You’ve always been a little too curious for your own good. It's the kind of curiosity that people say will get you killed one day, and perhaps they’re right. But no matter how many times you’ve tried to keep it under control, it still gets the better of you.

Your fingers brushed against the worn leather cover, the surface smooth and familiar from how often you'd seen it in his hands. You told yourself it was just a glance, just a peek to satisfy the question that had gnawed at the edges of your mind for weeks, what exactly was in there that he guarded so fiercely?

As your hand closed around the notebook and you fled with it in your grasp, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the point of no return.

All the guesses you’ve made about what he could be writing in it vanished the second your eyes landed on the first page.

It’s all about you.

He had been documenting everything—every little thing—he’d observed about you for months. Page after page filled with meticulous notes, written in a hand so neat it felt almost clinical. He didn’t just record your habits or routines; he included his thoughts about you too. His analysis ran deep, unsettlingly so, like he was trying to dissect you with words.

There were observations about the way you moved, the cadence of your speech, even the expressions you wore when you thought no one was looking. And then there were the more personal insights—things you didn’t even realise about yourself until you read them laid bare in his writing.

He saw through you. Completely.

“You always leave the teabag in for too long and go ahead and drink it without any complaints even after it has gone cold.  Do you like the bitterness? Or are you just refusing to throw it away?” 

You chuckle while reading the line, you hate when the tea gets cold and bitter but you can’t seem to change this habit of yours.

“I purposely keep you up to late nights working with me ever since I realised you smile more when you’re tired.”

You now understand how the most important things that can not be left for tomorrow always comes to his mind when you want to sleep. You don’t complain.

And then there are the sketches—countless drawings of you scattered throughout the pages. Some rough and hurried, others more detailed, almost careful. He tried to hide them among the pages, maybe embarrassed by his obsession. 

There’s a longer paragraph written recently.

“When I obtain the power of rewriting fate, I will write you into every chapter of my life.

I am no stranger to chaos, nor to the dark corners of the human mind. Yet, this strange affliction has taken root within me—a quiet torment I neither asked for nor know how to wield.

There is an unfamiliar weight in my chest whenever you speak to me, an inexplicable heaviness that dulls my sharpness and unsettles my reason. I find my thoughts adrift, caught in the orbit of your presence like moths circling a flame I both fear and desire.

I have studied the faces of many, cataloged the motions of countless souls… but yours, yours I cannot decipher, nor do I wish to. Your smile, though brief, lingers in my mind longer than is prudent. It haunts my solitude and breathes life into the cold chambers of my heart.

I loathe vulnerability, still I crave your approval more than any triumph I have ever known. You have taught me the terror and delight of hope, and I find myself rehearsing words I am too proud to say aloud.

If this is what they call a ‘crush’, then consider me its prisoner—helpless and willing.

Know this, even if these words never reach you: in a world teetering on destruction, you are my singular constant—the impossible calm in my storm.

May you never know the burden of how deeply I am lost in you.“

— F.

Page after page filled with quiet admiration, unspoken longing, and a devotion so deep it almost aches to read. All of it written in silence, words he was too afraid to say aloud.

You sit with the weight of it for a while, notebook open in your lap, heart heavier than you expected. Then, after a moment of hesitation, you decide to leave a note of your own, scribbled neatly at the bottom of one of the pages:

“If you ever want to tell me any of this out loud… I’d like to hear it.”

Days pass. Neither of you mentions the notebook. But one quiet afternoon, he finds you. He doesn’t ask about the note, he just looks at you with something soft in his eyes, something close to fear, and maybe something closer to hope.

“May I begin with page twenty-five?

[straydogsrepent]

How Fyodor courts

wc: 407

1. Intellectual seduction

He would enjoy deep, intellectual conversations. He would try to win you over not with compliments, but with challenging ideas, since its your mind that’s captivated him first, he wants to know if you would be able to walk beside him intellectually.

He may not flirt, but he listens, and he remembers every word you say.

2. Things he keeps to himself (Maybe)

He isn’t all for going for the typical flowers or jewelry. Doesn’t find it suiting him. Instead, he leaves something quiet and intimate; a copy of the book you mentioned placed on his desk, annotated in Fyodor’s handwriting, you rummage through the pages, seeing he wrote something on the last page:

“We are not like them. You and I.”

A cello piece he wrote and named after your honour, or a newspaper article headlining your name being underlined in name hidden among the pages of his book.

He finds joy in remembering you every part of his life.

3. Acts of quiet protection

You would never physically see him save you, but your gut would tell you something that meant to cause you harm disappeared out of your path.

He would never confess to it, his goal is to make you feel safe and not indebted but he would answer you if asked.

“I eliminate threats. That is all.”

And he’d make you realize, he’s possessive in a way that it’s not jealousy, but devotion. The kind that borders obsession maybe, but never crosses the line. Not unless you wanted it to.

4.Letting you in

For someone like Fyodor, being in love means being vulnerable and he detests weakness. But if he truly loves you, he wouldn’t mind being seen in the moments he hides from everyone else.

The way he holds himself up against a wall after getting up a little too quick, causing his vision to go black.

The way his eyes soften and his mind goes back to a certain memory when he hears a song he is familiar with.

The soft Russian lullaby he hums when he thinks you are asleep, head pressed against your desk while you wait for something to finish loading on your computer, sitting beside him.

Fyodor courts in a way so special to him. With you, he forgets he was made to be alone. He might not open the door easily, but once he does, he loves you knowing he cannot afford to lose you.

[straydogsrepent]

213 DAYS | f. dostoevsky

(click here for part two)

synopsis: you seek out a demons help not realizing just how long he’s waited for you.

authors note: LOL this was completely out of left feild. I binged bungo stray dogs in less than a month and CANNOT stop thinking about this man (and every other character) who would definitely manipulate me to death. LOL anyways enjoy this mess, i didn’t have much of a plan just kinda wrote.

cw: suggestive, soft!fyodor, lovesick!fyodor (he’s literally obsessed with you), manipulative, fluff, making out, cussing, plot convenience lol

wc: 3.9k

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Your hands were shaking terribly so you clenched them tighly as you followed a guard down a long, long hallway. It’s lights sickly, everything looked the same, the doors, windows, ceilings and flooring. All without a single identifiable difference. You took a steadying breath as the guard a few feet in front of you slowed. He turned slightly to talk to you over his shoulder.

“No one comes to visit this guy, your the first since he’s been here.” He says. You knew a lot about said prisoner. A bit of a complicated past, very, very complicated. “He doesn’t have any existing family, or so I’ve heard.” You could tell with the way this guard was talking he was sweet on the prisoner. That didn’t surprise you, the man you were about to see for the first time in months had a lot of things under his belt. He was manipulative, he could trick the soul right out of your body. The guard rounded one last corner and you knew which padded cell was his. Your hands shook even worse as the guard approached the door.

“I’m sure you know how dangerous he is.” The guard starts as you give him a sharp look.

“I do. Do you?” He looked caught, like the jig was up. He cleared his throat.

“Of course, ma’am. Our city thanks you for capturing him.”

“Just open the door. Oh and,” you take a step towards the guard. “Whatever he’s promised you, I advise you to not take it, or you’ll have me to deal with.” You threaten, the guard's eyes go wide as he slowly nods his head. “Good boy.”

The doors swung open and you saw him just mere feet away, locked tight in the middle of a room.

Fyodor.

There were countless scraps of paper littering the white walls. A various drawings of you. You walked forwards, eyes catching each piece. He started to not remember your face after some time so on some papers there were just hazy outlines but you knew it was you.

Your heart sped like crazy, his sharp snake like eyes met yours and a wicked grin spread across his lips. HIs eyes dragged every inch of your body, probably thinking this was a once in a lifetime visit and he had to memorize your features all over again. He told you you’d come back to him someday, you didn’t think it’d be so damn soon.

All alone the giant room seemed small. You walked forwards, feeling all sorts of things, sickness and anxiousness from seeing Fyodor again. You’d been driven right into the hands of a demon. You could feel his grip beckoning you to come closer. A dangerous energy swirling. You'd felt that since you first met him, unexplainable and new.

“213 days was all it took for you to come back to me.” Fyodor greeted as you walked the distance towards him. He’d counted the days, it wouldn’t surprise you if he knew it all down to the second.

“That’s quite some time.” You answered and Fyodor cocked his head to the side just barely, coal black hair falling over his shoulder.

“It is, my love, too long if you ask me.”

“Not long enough.” You quipped. Fyodor’s eyes locked onto yours. He was devilishly handsome, whatever pull to him back then you still felt in the pit of your stomach when you were around him. Like a magnet or a string tied from you to him. Everywhere you went didn’t matter because it all led back to him. Something kept you thinking of him for those 213 days just the same as him.

“You say that but your eyes tell a different story.”

“Mhm, is it the same story you so crave for me to want.”

“You will want it in due time, my love, but until then a new story is being written.”

“What story is that?” You ask. Fyodor grinned, eyes lighting.

“Well, the story of us.”

“It looks a lot like a tragedy.” You said and Fyodor sighed, amused with your comebacks.

“Now it does, but that’s just the first act. Can’t have a resolution so early on.” He’d wave off if he could. He was currently in a straight jacket, chained to the floor beneath him. He was a dangerous man and this was the only way to keep him from trouble.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you know why I’m here.” You say, you were now mere feet from him, his coal back hair looked like silk, his red crimson eyes looking up at you with something like amusement. You knew he was going to play dumb just for the sake of you talking more to him.

“I’m sorry, you might have to catch me up.” You needed his help and there was little Fyodor wanted in this word, but the biggest, most glaring thing he wanted was you. He’d been infatuated the moment he saw you fighting alongside the detective agency, he’d even foiled some of his comrades plans just to make sure you weren’t hurt in the process. Still, he was a highly dangerous criminal and should be treated as such. You needed to remember that. You slowly sat on the chair across from him.

“Dazai’s been captured and has been missing for three days now. The kidnappers have given us a week. If they were smart enough to trick Dazai they’re well over our heads. I’ve exhausted every avenue, I can’t sleep, I’m scared they’re going to kill him. I'm alone in all of this. If anyone is close to Dazai’s level it’s you.” You explained, Fyodor’s face morphed into something you hadn’t seen much except in your loved ones faces. He looked worried. “What is it?” You asked, scared that he knew something you didn’t and that he couldn’t help you, this was really a last resort.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” Fyodor asked, genuinely concerned. Your lips parted in surprise.

“What?” Was all you could say, he’d surprised you.

“How long have you not slept, my love?”

“That’s- that’s not what’s important here, Fyodor.” You dismissed.

“That’s what’s important to me. How long?” He asks, a bit more commanding this time.

“I- I don’t know. Two days at least.” You answer. Fyodor’s face goes serious.

“I will help, but you will not. You will sleep.”

“We’re working this together. Faster you solve the faster I can sleep.” You counter, wondering if this really was the only stipulation he needed in exchange for his help.

“Deal, we should get started at once.” He says, hastily working something behind his back until suddenly his damn straight jacket clicks and falls to the floor. You gasp, shocked. He could’ve broken out of that this whole time. You wondered what other measures put in place to keep him here were really just laughable to him. If he could escape so easily why hadn’t he before now? Was he really just waiting all this time for you to come back to him?

“That’s- that’s it?” You stutter as Fyodor stands, holding a hand out to you to take.

“Your precious company is more than enough to repay me for my services.” He beams and you know he means it. You're not sure what is it about you that has him to utterly captivated, whether it's all a lie and a part of some plan of if he really, truly cares for you.

Cautiously you take his hand and gently he pulls you to your feet, tugging you against his chest, long white fingers tucking hair behind your ear.

“You’re still as beautiful as the day I met you.” He says and you feel a traitorous blush creep across your cheeks. His eyes look hazy this close, you could feel on hand ghosting your cheek and another around your back. "Now, listen closely love, I own three out of four of the guards outside my door, plus the warden. You use those powers of yours on the last one and we can escape peacefully." He says, hands sliding off your body as he knocks a serious of knocks on the door, most likely some sort of code. Your mouth drops open.

"You what?" You burst out. He really was just relaxing here, not confined at all. Fyodor cocks his head at you, confused as though he hadn't just told you he practially owns the prison.

"I like to play games, dear, you know that. As long as I'm back in the morning no one will know." He says. Your jaw ticks as you strut across the floor, closing the distance between you two. You grab him by the front of the shirt.

"I'm not bringing you back here just so you can break free behind my back!" You growl, he looks at you as though you claimed the stars in the sky.

"I'm quite content here for now, but here, I'll make you a deal." He offers as you furrow your brows.

"A deal?" You echo and he nods his head. You let go of the front of his shirt.

"You visit me once a month and I'll stay put."

"You're crazy." You breath out, but the conviction on his face was real. He'd rather see you once a month than be free. It was fucking insane. You bit your lip in contemplation. "You give me the names of every worker here under your payroll as well." You say and he instantly nods his head.

"Do we have a deal?" He holds out his hand for you to take, and for the second time today, you take it. His cold hand envelopes yours, fingers gripping you gently as a smile spreads across his lips.

"We gotta go." You say and Fyodor nods his head.

"Swipe your card and put the guard with the blond hair to sleep." Fyodor says and you nod. You do as told, the door sliding open. There were four guards, three with dark hair and one women with blond hair. She looks up and smiles when you walked out. You smile back.

"Sleep." The power drips from your voice and the other guards are startled when the girl falls to the floor snoring lightly. They jump up, guns at the ready.

"Gun's down," Fyodor directs coldly, walking out behind you. The guards do exactly as told.

"Sorry, boss." The guard from earlier says, eyes meeting yours. You felt like an idiot, warning him earlier to watch himself around Fyodor and now here you were aiding his escape.

"We're going on a little date, keep things quiet while I'm gone." Fyodor says as the guards salute to him. You stroll out of the prison, Fyodor a step behind you.

“If you had an ounce of malice in your body you could destroy anyone that you ever came across, you know.” Fyodor said when you loaded into your car, the look in his eyes like a kid looking at their favorite superhero. Like he truly admired you. You had a hard time believing that but he was here and if he tried anything you could shut it down with your powers quite quickly. You had the power to control anyone with just your words. You were the one who captured him all those months ago, you could do it again.

“You're over estimating me.” You say as you turn down a backstreet that led towards the agency. Everyone else was out on various tasks, you were on this job alone. Everybody else just assumed he’d find a way to save himself, you didn’t like taking that chance. Dazai had saved you millions of times and you’d try your hardest to repay him.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself, dear, your agency friends would agree. You could be completely devastating.” Fyodor says as you roll your eyes.

“Well you must all be so lucky.” You wave off, pulling into the agency. You met Fyodor at the front of the car. Giving him a serious look.

“Don’t try anything, I really don’t wanna have to kill you.” You say tiredly, too tired to stop his hand from crossing the space between you two, tucking your hair out of your eyes. You freeze at the contact.

“To die by your hands would be bliss to me dear, but you won’t be rid of me yet.” He says, the look in his eyes like admiration, he looked at you the same way your father looked at your mother. It makes you feel unwanted things.

“When will I be rid of you?” You ask, but it was a loaded question and you weren’t sure what you meant. If you meant physically or mentally because you thought about him all the time when he was gone. Fyodor’s eyes slide down to yours, his hand lingering on your cheek.

“Dear, when we’re done here you’ll be begging me to stay.”

“In your dreams.” You challenged and he just smiled.

“Yes, those too.”

You swallowed and waved Fyodor forwards. As you walked, Fyodor turned to speak with you.

“You could’ve used your powers to bring me here.” Fyodor points out as though you didn’t know that.

“Yes, I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Maybe I did, then I told you not to remember.” You jest.

“Oh dear, how I would love you to manipulate me. But alas you are nothing like me, but that’s what I like the most. The purest of intentions.”

You slide the key into the lock, pushing the door to the office open. Fyodor gives the place a once over as you lead him towards your desk.

You slide into your chair, taking out the letter that was sent to the agency about Dazai’s disappearance. Something you’ve looked at time and time again, it almost made you dizzy with exhaustion seeing it again.

Fyodor leans against your back, face close to yours as he reads the note over your shoulder. Your heart speeds at the contact. Fyodor’s hand slides down your shoulder to the note as he points to something.

“Dazai sent this himself.” Fyodor says quietly next to your ear. You snap your head to the side to look at him. He’s so close as he slowly slides his eyes to meet yours.

“What?” You force out.

“Look there, love,” you look at where his finger is pointing. It’s small so you bring the note just a little bit closer. A smile smiley face. You hadn’t noticed that before.

“What the hell?” You ask.

“Some letters are darker than the others, it reads out, ‘be back in two weeks, Dazai’.” You feel like a complete idiot. Anger builds fast in your chest. You rip the note in two and push yourself up from your desk.

“I just helped break a highly dangerous criminal out of a maximum security prison to find out Dazai’s on vacation.” You huff, falling back down into your chair. You hear a soft chuckle behind you. “Screw this.” You growled, storming out of the office towards your car. In your anger you totally forgot Fyodor but that didn’t matter because he followed you just a few steps behind. It was later in the day now, you were so tired and so angry as you stormed to your car. “Get in.” The power slipped into your words as Fyodor tripped over himself to get in the car, you hadn’t even noticed you did it, sometimes that happens when you lose control of your emotions. This was still so new to you. When you slipped in beside Fyodor, you pressed your head against the steering wheel, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot.”

“Don’t say that, dear.”

“But it’s true. It took you seconds! I haven’t slept in days, searching that note night and day.” Frustration built in your chest as angry tears formed in your eyes.

“Dazai’s lucky to have a friend like you, someone who would lose sleep to help. Doesn’t matter how fast I figured it out, you would’ve gotten it out.”

“The note said a week till he was dead.”

“And you still had four days. Stop being so hard on yourself.” You slowly lifted your head off of the steering wheel, eyes fluttering to Fyodor’s. His voice was so calm, so non judgmental, it was messing with your head. You clear your throat.

“It’s too late to take you back now, we’ll have to go in the morning.” You say, trying to snap yourself out of whatever spell Fyodor was casting onto you. His face softens.

“Okay, dear.” He says, settling into the seat. You were hesitant bringing him to your home, he could kill you. But some stupid part of you thought differently of him, some part told you he wouldn’t hurt you. And that stupid part, driven by exhaustion had you driving back to your place, leading him inside and locking the door behind you too. You turned to him in the dim light of your hallway, his eyes shining red.

“Do I have to make you behave yourself?” You ask, the tightness of the hallway had you two quite close.

“You do whatever you like to me.” He whispered, his pale lips smirking in the dark. You swallow against the dryness in your throat, something tugs in your stomach. This was a terrible idea. The way he was looking at you was more dangerous than anything. The space between you both was barely existent. He was so tall, so handsome, all dark and magnetizing. You felt it all washing over you now. A invisible pull. A terrible turn. You let out a breath in your chest, eyes locking with his. Your hands had their own mind, reaching for the front of his shirt, his eyes watch over you. Your fingers knotted in his shirt and you stepped in his space. His lips parted. “Love, you’re crossing a line.” He whispers and you pause, drunk on something you weren’t sure of. Clearly you weren’t thinking straight but sobering up felt like going against yourself. It was strange.

“Should I stop?” You ask. His hand slides up your arm to tuck under your jaw, cold fingers pressing there.

“Never.” He says huskily. “But if you kiss me now then throw me in prison in the morning I’ll be quite hurt.” He jokes, his accent thickens. The air in your chest that you didn’t know you were holding exhales. You leaned into him and watched his eyes drift close, felt his body slack in anticipation. He was completely whipped, he was the one under your spell.

“You thought I was going to kiss you?” You ask, gaining a bit of attention back. Fyodor cocks his head just a bit, eyes fluttering open.

“You weren’t?” He asks, his lips slightly pouting. You grin sharply, slowly rocking on the tips of your toes to pull him down to your lips. A soft press, an answer. Something shoots through your body at the contact. You wanted this. You’ve wanted this since meeting him. He’d wanted the same. You pretended it away the best you could but you couldn’t fucking help it. He wasn’t a good person but he was to you. It was like he was two different people. One made for you. Fuck, you couldn’t help yourself any longer. Your hands dragged up into his hair, tangling. He groaned into your mouth, letting you walk him back into the front door, pressing your body against his, pinning him. You pulled back, kissing his jaw down to his neck, he whimpered at the contact, melting against your touch. “Love, you— you can’t,” he panted, unable to form a coherent sentence. Your cold hand slide under his shirt, feeling warmth beneath it, he gasped at your touch. His hands held you softly, as though you’d realize who you’d be kissing if he held you even tighter. But you knew who he was, what he’d done. But fuck it. You kissed him all over, his neck and jaw and cheeks and lips, you couldn’t stop. He shivered and his fingers slowly dig into the fat of your hips as he pulled you closer to him. He sighed, head falling to the side to give you better access. You kissed softly at his open throat and he made a low sound.

“I’ll show you to my room,” you whispered into his neck, hand sliding into his. When you went to tug him he didn’t move, you turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t.” He says and your heart dips.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” you say, dropping his hand but he catches your fingers, shaking his head.

“You misunderstand me. I want to. But not right now, you’re not- you’re tired and it’s been a long day, I’d rather you sleep then keep you up all night.” You find yourself blushing at his words. You swallow.

“What if I want that?” You barely whisper as though your words held too much gravity. You watch his jaw tick, something flashing in his eyes. It was clear what he was thinking about.

“Love, please, I have just a shred of chivalry left, don't test it.” God you wanted to test it so badly but you felt light headed, exhaustion plaguing you now.

“Alright,” you say softly, he closes the distance between you both, pressing a soft and quick kiss to your lips. When he pulls back he pauses a hair’s width from your lips and when he speaks you feel his breath tickling you.

“Let’s go.” He says. You fumble through the darkness, Fyodor’s arms around your body, pressing soft kisses to you shoulders and neck as you push open the door to your bedroom. You strip down, changing into a large t shirt, letting Fyodor borrow something to change into. Something an ex left at your place, you decided not to tell him that. You both fell into the bed together, exchanging tired kisses in the dark. His body on top of yours, the weight of it heavy, you brought your hands to his sides pulling more of him on top of you. “For someone who hasn’t slept in days you have a lot of energy.” He mutters against your neck. You shutter.

“I want you so badly.” You say before you can stop yourself.

“Trakhni menya…” he groans softly, rolling off of you. You roll to face him, blushing and hot. “You have to sleep.” He says, his hands sliding around you to pull you into his chest. You settle in his arms, his heart beating steadily against your back. He presses a kiss to your shoulder. You close your eyes, listening to his steady breathing. How things escalated was beyond you but you’d never felt more comfortable in your damn life. He pulled a cover over the both of you, reaching to flick off the light. He brushed your hair back out of your face as you wondered what the hell you were going to do in the morning. Taking him back made your stomach twist. You realized for those 213 days you were looking for a reason to seek him out. That when an opportunity fell into your lap you grabbed and ran with it because despite everything you tried lying to yourself about, you wanted him badly enough to break him out of prison. You settled closer to him, sleep slowly tugging you deeper. You tangled in bed with Fyodor, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

One last thought formed before you were taken by sleep.

You weren’t taking him back. He was yours to keep now.