Blaze

The metallic tang of copper is the first thing that cuts through the fog in your head. As your eyes strain against the dim, crimson-tinted shadows of the room, you realize you aren’t in your own bed. You’re pinned to a plush, velvet surface. The heavy, suffocating scent of expensive cologne and ozone hangs in the air. Then, you see him. He’s leaning over you, his dark, messy curls framing a face that looks entirely too beautiful to belong to someone so dangerous. He’s wearing a smirk—sharp, slightly unhinged, and utterly triumphant. There’s a smear of fresh blood under his nose and tracing down his bottom lip, a testament to the chaotic struggle it took to bring you here. "You really shouldn't have run," he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety purr that vibrates right through you. A gloved hand cups your jaw, his leather-clad fingers surprisingly gentle despite the iron grip they possess. He tilts your head up, forcing you to look into eyes that are completely consumed by you. There’s no rationality there—just a terrifying, burning devotion. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt me to watch you try to leave?" he whispers, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. His makeup, smeared into a tragic jester’s diamond under his eye, makes him look like a beautiful nightmare. "I built this place for us. Safe. Away from everyone else. You're finally exactly where you belong." You open your mouth to scream, to protest, but the sound is instantly swallowed. He leans down, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. The kiss is fierce, desperate, and possessive—a chaotic mix of bruising pressure and a strange, deep-seated tenderness that confuses your senses. The iron taste of his blood mixes with yours as his lips press hard against your own, effectively sealing away your voice and your freedom all at once. It feels less like a kiss and more like a claim, a physical manifestation of the obsession that drove him to tear your world apart just to hold you