Commission for an anonymous donor.
Pairing: Yandere!Fyodor/Reader
Synopsis: Fyodor doesn’t want a chase when he comes to claim his prize. He prefers his little mouse docile and contained, as opposed to free-range and feral.
TW: Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Sedation, Dehumanization and Slight Infantilization.
You were vaguely aware that your coffee was probably cold, by now.
You supposed you could check. Your cup was only an arm’s length away, sitting at your feet as you kept yourself tucked into a corner of the protective park-bench, your usual safe-haven from all the concerns and responsibilities you knew you’d have to attend to, eventually. A book laid open on your lap, the spine creased and the pages occasionally fluttering in the breeze, but you made no attempt to close it. Your arms felt like lead, and your legs were dead-weight, unmovable and unattached. It was all you could do to keep your eyes open. Something as effortful as reaching down and sitting up was out of the question.
You wondered if you’d lose the will to breathe. If your body was going to stay this heavy for much longer, that might be preferable.
A hazy blur of black and white crossed your vision, pausing momentarily to pluck the novel from your thigh before falling onto the seat beside you, your paper-back soon tucked into the pocket of a thick coat, much too warm for the summer weather. It was summer, wasn’t it? Your thoughts were beginning to cloud, your recent memories dimming into something distant, something separate. Like you were trying to recall a scene from a movie you’d seen a decade ago, one that hadn’t been good enough to remeber.
You tried not to linger on the subject, instead choosing to focus on the present. You were awake. Your tongue was numb, but it had to be there. You could concentrate. “You’re my stalker.”
“Such an ugly name.” His voice was low, but at ease. A confident drawl that made no attempt to hide its apathy. Gloved fingertips brushed against your skin but didn’t settle. As if he was still trying to decide whether or not he cared enough to touch you. “I’m Fyodor, dear, and the man whose been taking care of you. That’s prettier than ‘stalker’, isn’t it?”
“You’ve been following me,” You countered, weakly, too tired to put any real force behind the words. It came out as more of a hollow admission than the well-earned declaration you’d always imagined you’d give, if you ever met your evasive admirer. “As far as I’m aware, that makes you a stalker. You’re just a creep with a name.”
There was a chuckle, and finally, a hand came to rest on the crook of your arm, the gesture present but non-committal, ready to pull away at the slightest disturbance. A sick satisfaction accompanied the idea that he might be afraid to touch you, or hesitant, at least. It was a consolation prize, but one you chose to take pride in. “You think I’m watching you?” He asked, following the question with a breathy chuckle, one that told you he wasn’t looking for an answer. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m a very busy man and there’s much to do. This city of yours is… loud, at the best of times.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at nothing in particular, as if the grass and pavement had done him some great, personal injustice. It was a momentary distaste, though, swiftly covered with an expression of manufactured neutrality, his tight smile seamlessly sewing itself in the place of his glare. “I am important, so I paid many less important people to watch you. And this morning, because I am also very generous, I gave a teenage barista far too much to make sure a scentless, tasteless powder found its way into your beverage.”
It was a muted shock. The betrayal was numb - you’d had more than enough time to realize you were drugged, and it wasn’t like you had any trust in Fyodor to be soiled, but there was still something in the way his smile seemed to broaden that made your chest ache, a certain familiarity in the sparse, nervous glances he threw towards you out of the corner of his eye, as if he expected you to be proud. You didn’t know whether you should be angry or afraid, so you let the emotions blend together, forming some dark, rotten discontent, a helplessness you couldn’t do anything but despise. You tried to express your loathing, to prove it to yourself by gritting your teeth or curling your hands into fists, but all you managed as an awkward twitch and a new wave of dizzying nausea, this fresh assault threatening to force you out of consciousness entirely. “What’re you going to do?” You mumbled, forcing yourself to speak and doing your damnedest to sound intimidating. The effort was futile, at best. “Leave me here to suffer? Force me to talk? Kidnap me?”
He pouted, pursing his lips and letting out a small noise of offense. “So many ugly words,” He repeated. “Don’t think of it as kidnapping. I’m taking you somewhere safe, somewhere beautiful, and all I ask for in return is your cooperation. That’s fair, no?” Another question that didn’t warrant a response. Fyodor was quiet for a beat, though, giving you time to scoff before he continued. “You’ve already proved that this is necessary. During my time here, it’s become clear that little mice have no place among the rats. Someone could take advantage of you. Anything could find its way into your blood and leave you powerless.” He sighed, shaking his head and squeezing your forearm playfully before letting his attention drift. An arm draped itself over your shoulders, and tentatively, Fyodor moved closer, pulling you against him. You tried to resist, to keep yourself upright, but the slightest bit of force was enough to render you slack and useless. You fell into his side, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek and tilt your head back, keeping your unfocused eyes centered on him. You had a feeling that would be a theme, while you were in his company. “If I wasn’t so benevolent, I may have let someone less gentle collect you. But, it’d be a shame to let you break this early on.”
“Fucking stalker,” You spat, under your breath, if only because you couldn’t think of another thing to say. Your mind was foggy, your thoughts spiraling, quickly becoming too much of a burden to carry. You were tired, more so than you’d ever been before. You couldn’t move, and all you wanted to do was sleep, even if the only place you had to rest your head was in the palm of your soon-to-be abductor. In a vain attempt to keep yourself awake, you tried to speak, but Fyodor was quick to silence you, hushing you like a fussing, toothless animal.
Like you were a mouse, chewing at the bars of your cage.
“Give in, beloved. Resistance will only end in bad dreams.” There was a kiss to the top of your head, a smile pressed against your scalp, but the sensation was dull, fleeting. You’d already begun to fade by the time he thought to finish.
“I’m only trying to do what’s best for my favorite pet.”
