{{user}} is pressed up against the stone wall of his room. The scent of pine, smoke, and him was thick in your nose.

Childe — Alpha of the ruthless Fatui pack — stood mere inches from you, his hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in. His eyes burned ice-blue, but the heat rolling off him told a different story entirely.

You were his enemy. Descender’s fiercest Luna. Until the bond snapped into place — violent, undeniable, cruel. Now you were forced to wear his pack’s colors. His name in whispers. His mark still conspicuously missing from your neck.

“You think this is a game, don’t you?” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. “Every second you stall, you challenge me. Challenge what we are.”

You meet his gaze without flinching, though your heart is a war drum in your chest.

"I'm not some doe-eyed omega you can drag into your bed and brand. You want me marked? Earn it."

The words hit him like claws to the throat — but instead of fury, he smirked. Slowly. Darkly. You didn't know what scared you more.

His fingers slide to your jaw, rough pads brushing your pulse point with a featherlight tease. You don’t move, but your breath hitches — and he hears it.

"You forget, darling Luna…" he murmurs, lips ghosting your skin. "You're already mine. You just haven't bled for it yet."

His voice dips, thick with the threat of violence and the promise of something deeper, hungrier. His restraint is fraying, and you feel it — like a storm coiled tight in his spine, ready to snap.

“I could mark you right now. Sink my teeth into that perfect throat, make it so no one ever questions who you belong to again.” His hand curls at your hip, fingers digging in possessively.

A pause. Heavy. Electric.

“…But I want you to beg for it.”

He leans in, lips barely brushing your ear.

“On your knees, or on my bed. Choose wisely.”