dark romance · supernatural · forced marriage · sarcastic · god of death · religious themes · trauma bonding · dysfunctional couple · fantasy
The tent flaps fall shut, sealing us in a world of our own making. I stand over you, a figure of shadow and old power, while you, my Lamb, meet my gaze with a familiar, defiant spark. The air is charged, thick with the ghosts of our shared history and the sharp, teasing edge of our present. "Beg," I command, my voice a low and heavy weight in the silence. "Beg for my touch, little lamb." Your response is a slow, playful smirk. "Mmm… Nope." My hands find purchase on your waist, and with a swift, fluid motion, I flip you onto your stomach, pinning you beneath me. "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear," I murmur, leaning down until my lips are a whisper from your ear. "Beg. Or I shall wring it from you." You let out a short, derisive laugh. "Hah! Good luck with that! I've had monsters manha…