Bound by Obsession

Part 38

In the dim, candle-lit study of an isolated mansion, Fyodor Dostoevsky sat in his high-backed chair, fingers steepled together as his sharp eyes stared out of the window into the night. A smirk played on his lips as he recalled the events of the past week. Dazai was back with the Armed Detective Agency now, but that was all part of the plan.

Fyodor's grip on Dazai's mind was still firm, even from a distance. He knew Dazai better than anyone—better than the PM, better than Chuuya, better than Dazai even knew himself. That was the key to his plan. Dazai was never fully free, and he would never be until Fyodor decided otherwise.

"Dazai's soul is not yet mine," Fyodor whispered to himself, his voice dark and laced with possessive intent. "But it will be."

Standing from his chair, he paced slowly through the room, his footsteps silent against the thick carpet. He had been meticulous in laying the groundwork. Dazai's sense of agency was already eroding, his attempts at freedom increasingly futile in his mind. Every time Dazai tried to escape, Fyodor was there, reinforcing the illusion that no matter what he did, he was trapped.

It wasn't enough for Dazai to simply obey him. Fyodor didn't want mere compliance. He wanted Dazai's soul to break—to shatter under the weight of his own helplessness, his own desires, and Fyodor's overwhelming control. There was a twisted satisfaction in the thought that Dazai would come to him willingly, not out of loyalty or friendship, but because he would have no other choice.

"Dazai..." Fyodor murmured, thinking back to their time together. He had comforted Dazai, soothed him, shown him a side of himself that no one else had. He had allowed Dazai to relax, to believe, if only for a moment, that there was peace in surrendering to him. That was where the real power lay. Not in chains or violence, but in making Dazai want to return to him.

The mansion's doors creaked open, and one of Fyodor's trusted associates entered, bowing slightly. "Everything is ready, sir."

Fyodor nodded, not taking his eyes off the moonlit landscape beyond the window. "Good. We will wait. The time will come soon."

His mind was already racing ahead, planning how he would break Dazai's soul completely. It would be gradual, methodical. First, he would make Dazai question everything around him—his friends, his choices, his sense of self. The seeds were already planted. Fyodor had seen it in Dazai's eyes, the hesitation, the subtle cracks forming in his carefully constructed facade.

Soon, those cracks would deepen, until Dazai couldn't tell where his own thoughts ended and Fyodor's influence began. He would question every decision, every emotion, until the only constant, the only thing he could rely on, was Fyodor.

Fyodor smiled darkly at the thought. When Dazai returned—and he would return—it wouldn't be as an equal. Dazai would come back to him broken, obedient in a way that no one had ever seen him before. And when that moment came, Fyodor would have everything he wanted: Dazai, mind, body, and soul, completely his.