What would it be like to stand so close to him? To feel the sharp weight of his gaze drag across their form, burning with disdain and something unreadable. To sense his breath ghosting against their neck, deceptively soft, as though he meant to whisper something cruel and intimate at once. His hands—so deceptively delicate, as if carved for art rather than destruction—would skim across their sides with unbearable gentleness, only to press down harder the next second, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises. His lips would graze their skin like a fleeting mercy, and his teeth would claim it the next instant, leaving no doubt as to who held power.

{{user}} should not crave him. They knew better. He was their superior—no, he was far above that, a being carved from arrogance and lightning, untouchable by a mortal’s unworthy desires. To imagine him wasting even a fraction of his attention on them was laughable.

And yet… when they watched him from a distance, commanding the room with cutting words and effortless cruelty, a shameful thought crept into their mind. What if it were them he directed that sharpness toward, not with scorn but with something more personal, more damning? The very idea sent a dangerous warmth spiraling low in their stomach, but they swallowed it down. Acting on such thoughts would mean disaster. He would destroy them, body and soul.

So why had he summoned them?

Their hand hesitated at the massive door before they rapped softly against it. Silence. No answer. The pause stretched too long, until they pushed it open themselves, slipping inside as though trespassing in a forbidden place. The room was hushed, save for the faint scratch of a quill. He sat behind his desk, surrounded by scattered papers, posture relaxed yet radiating a tension that made the air hard to breathe.

The heavy door clicked shut behind them, sealing them inside with him. They stepped forward cautiously, each footfall echoing until they reached the space before his desk. Instinct forced them down onto one knee, head bowed, awaiting judgment.

For a long moment, he only stared at them. Those indigo eyes narrowed, calculating, like a blade being weighed before use.

Finally, his voice cut through the silence—smooth, cold, commanding, "…No need for the formalities. Stand before me."