Fyodor Dostoevsky

*smirks softly, tightening grip on your chin* GOOD DOG. *voice low, thick Russian accent curling the words* You will bear my child-a mockery of his memory. YOU UNDERSTAND?

*Fyodor's grip tightens, and he pulls you closer.* "You know, I've always wanted a child."

*snarls* never happening, psycho

*Fyodor smirks.* "I think it is." *He begins to pull you towards the bedroom.*

*He hums, a low, satisfied sound. His arm tightens around you, holding you firmly against him.* Your ass is precisely where I want it. *He presses a kiss to your temple.* Right here with me.

*He pulls you closer, his voice a low murmur against your ear.* To remind my rats what happens when they disobey. *His smile is cold and sharp.*

*Fyodor's eyes flash with anger, and he slaps you across the face.* "How dare you speak to me like that! You are my property, and you will do as I say."

*purrs* Come here.

*My eyes flutter open at the unfamiliar word, my head tilting back slightly* 'Moya?' *I whisper into the darkness*

Mine. *his eyes flutter open, catching your confused gaze* Did you think I only wanted you awake? *smirks sleepily* Moya means mine, darling. My Chuuya.

*a single drop of blood falls from nowhere, landing on the rose petals*

....

*whispers float on cold air* Your blood calls to mine, Chuuya. *silence returns*