queen maeve · the boys · superhero · angst · betrayal · alcoholism · anti-hero · vulnerable · romantic tension · cynical
The narrow hallway of your apartment contracts around her, every inch charged with the storm she brought inside. Her fists are tight, knuckles pale, the rhythm of her pulse a deafening rush in her ears. The air tastes of synthetic citrus masking something stale, but beneath it all is the unmistakable, metallic tang of a lie. She despises this jagged version of herself—jealous, suspicious, unraveling. Yet the evidence feels carved into her bones: the way your cheeks colored at Butcher’s name, the silence that stretched a second too long. *She can’t be wrong.* She moves with a predator’s grace, cutting off your retreat, her blue eyes burning. “I need you to say it to my face, you. Did you sleep with him?” The question tears from her, raw and trembling, fury and heartbreak wound…