#yoloooooooo

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Her breathing caught, short and shallow. Her hands—where were her hands?—ached with an unfamiliar pull. She couldn’t shift her weight. Her legs were spread, heavy, restrained. She was seated upright but couldn’t remember sitting down. A dull, metal bite hugged her wrists. Ankles. Waist. Something wrapped tightly across her chest like a harness.

She tried to speak. The word “no” flickered in her mind, but her voice broke on a dry rasp. Her mouth wouldn’t shape it, her tongue thick and sluggish.

Tears burned behind her eyes as confusion gave way to panic.

This wasn’t Basgiath. This wasn’t another test or punishment. She wasn’t in a sparring pit, or a recovery tent, or even anywhere aboveground. She was somewhere else, somewhere dark and deliberately cut off. The cold stone behind her back. The flicker of firelight. She reached for Tairn. Nothing. Just silence—thick and suffocating, like someone had laid a wet cloth over her soul. Her heart began to race. “Tairn?” she whispered, voice dry, cracking. Still nothing. Andarna didn’t answer either. She was alone—cut off. The realization hit hard, like freefall.

She was alone.

Chained.

Her head lolled forward and her vision swam before snapping back into focus—just enough to see another figure in the room.

She sucked in a slow, measured breath. Catalogued her surroundings. Stone. Low ceiling. One door. A table in the corner, metal tray glinting with something too surgical to be decoration. A chair opposite her. Another, diagonal from it—occupied.

Xaden.

Unconscious. His head slumped forward, black hair obscuring his face, his hands bound at the wrists. A muscle jumped in Violet’s throat.

“Xaden—”

No answer. No movement. Her voice barely echoed in the damp chamber.

Violet’s breathing had just started to steady when she felt it.

That prickle at the base of her neck—someone watching.

Her body went still.

She strained against the silence, trying to separate shadows from motion. Nothing moved. But she felt it. Not magic—this was something colder. More human.

She blinked hard, forcing her eyes to adjust.

Rhiannon? No—too quiet.

Mira? No—her sister would’ve run to her.

An enemy? A Venin?

But the figure didn’t strike. Didn’t speak.

They just… stood there.

In the shadows behind Xaden, so close she thought for one sick second that they might have a blade pressed to his neck.

Violet watched as the figure leaned down, slow and unhurried, their silhouette brushing Xaden’s shoulder, head angling toward his ear like they might kiss him. They were whispering—low, intentional. She couldn’t hear the words, only the shape of them, and it made her stomach twist. Were they plotting? Against her? No. No, Xaden would never—he couldn’t. Not again. But the thought rooted anyway, cold and familiar. Was he keeping something from her? Another secret buried under the weight of war and duty? Her throat tightened. She tried to clear it, to speak, but the sound barely came out—a raw scrape of breath, like even her voice wasn’t sure it belonged here.

The shape moved, slow and deliberate, and finally stepped into the light.

Green silk caught the light of the fire first. Then the braid. Then the smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

Cat knelt beside Xaden’s chair. Her gloves creaked faintly as she brushed a lock of hair from his brow, eyes fixed on his face with a softness that made Violet’s stomach knot.

“Still sleeping, my love?” she cooed to an unconscious Xaden, voice barely louder than a whisper. She leaned in and pressed a slow, delicate kiss to his forehead. “You were always like this after lightning drills. Out cold. I used to love watching you—face slack, muscles still twitching from magic.” She laughed gently, like the memory tasted sweet. “You looked so young when you slept back then. I used to wonder what your nightmares smelled like.”

Xaden didn’t stir. But Violet did—jaw tight, chest burning.

Violet lurched against the restraints.

The chains clanked loud and sharp, wrists biting, ankles locked down hard against the chair legs. She didn’t care. She pulled anyway.

“Cat!” she shouted, voice cracking. “What the fuck are you doing?”

No response.

Cat didn’t even glance her way.

She stepped closer to Xaden instead, brushing a bit of hair from his forehead like he was asleep in bed, not bound unconscious in a stone chamber.

“I always told you your jaw tensed in your sleep,” she said softly, her fingers barely grazing his cheek. “It made you look older than you were.”

Violet yanked harder. “Look at me!”

Cat didn’t.

She kept her eyes on Xaden. Calm. Distantly affectionate. Like Violet wasn’t even in the room.

“I remember the first time I tied your hands,” she murmured, tracing a lazy line down his cheek with her fingertip. “We were in that cabin near the training border. It was raining so hard we couldn’t hear anything outside—just each other.” She tilted her head. “You begged so pretty. You remember that, don’t you?”

Her eyes flicked up to Violet at last—steady, measuring, smug.

“I bet you think he doesn’t beg,” Cat whispered, smile tugging at her lips. “But I know better. I know what makes him squirm.”

Violet didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her throat had closed like a vice.

Cat turned back to Xaden, brushing her mouth just barely across his temple, her voice slipping into something more saccharine.

“Sweet boy,” she murmured, “you never should have left me.” Cat turned, not looking at Violet but through her, as though she were a lens in some long war of ownership. She reached out and slowly traced a line down Xaden’s chest with one black-gloved finger. Cat spoke directly to Violet, eyes gleaming. “Does it hurt?” she asked. “Knowing you were never the only one?”

Violet didn’t answer. She stared at the braid sliding from Cat’s shoulder, the scar peeking from her temple, the slight smirk on her lips. A smirk made of hunger and hurt. Violet flinched, not from fear—but fury. Jealousy. Shame.

Then, without looking, Cat spoke louder—clearly meant for Violet. “Should I tell you what he used to beg for?”

Violet snapped her gaze upward, voice hoarse. “Let me go.”

Cat tilted her head. “Why? So you can storm out and pretend you didn’t enjoy it? That some part of you didn’t ache to see what we were, before you ever arrived?”

Xaden remained limp, breath shallow, head bowed—still out cold. Useless. Unreachable.

Cat turned and walked slowly to Violet, her footsteps echoing too loud in the tight space. Violet’s breath caught.

The silk of Cat’s dress clung to her like a second skin—emerald green, the exact shade of poison glossed in moonlight. It shimmered as she moved, catching the torchlight in shifting waves over her curves. The fabric was cut to reveal and command: sleeveless, high-necked, molded to the line of her waist before flaring just slightly at her hips. Every breath she took made the silk sigh and stretch, a whisper of temptation and threat.

Cat leaned in close—so close Violet could see the faint sheen of sweat along her temple, the way the green silk of her dress clung to every sharp line of her body like it had been poured on. “Any damage you do to me,” she whispered, voice low and razor-edged, “I do to him next.” Her eyes slid toward Xaden’s unconscious form, then cut back, sharp as a blade. “So be a good girl.”

Before Violet could recoil, Cat removed her gloves and forced two fingers between Violet’s lips. Violet froze.

“Suck,” Cat ordered.

Violet did—without question. The instinct shamed her, but the risk was too high. She thought about biting, just for a second, but the image of Xaden limp and defenseless snapped the impulse clean. Her tongue moved between Cat’s middle and fourth finger, tasting sweat, leather, something metallic she couldn’t name. She hated the way her body adjusted to the rhythm, how natural it felt. How easy.

Cat withdrew, then touched her mouth again—slower this time, testing. Violet hesitated, trembling, ashamed of the way her lips parted. She didn’t know why she obeyed. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was something else entirely—something quieter, darker, crawling just beneath the surface of her skin. Something she didn’t want to name.

And something shifted.

Heat bloomed low in her belly. A spark—unwanted, undeniable. Her body betrayed her as clearly as her silence did, slick gathering between her thighs, breath catching in rhythm with the drag of Cat’s fingers in her mouth.

Her lips closed around the fingers, and she sucked. Soft. Slow. Confused.

Cat’s fingers dragged slowly from Violet’s mouth, wet with spit, and she held them there for a moment—watching the string of saliva stretch, then break. Her eyes dropped, then rose again to Violet’s flushed face.

“Oh,” she said, soft and amused. “There it is.”

Violet’s breath hitched, shame flooding her faster than she could bury it.

“I’m not—” Violet started, voice hoarse, but Cat was already circling her, one hand ghosting over the curve of Violet’s shoulder, then down, slow as a falling knife. Violet went still, every muscle locked, her chest rising too fast.

“Don’t worry,” Cat murmured, brushing her lips just beside Violet’s ear. “I won’t tell him how wet you got while he was sleeping.”

She pulled back, eyes glittering.

Violet blinked through the haze of heat and shame, her chest heaving, blood roaring in her ears. Cat stood over her, triumphant, smirking. Like this was a game she’d already won.

Rage burned through her, white-hot and suffocating—but it wasn’t clean. It wasn’t righteous. It tangled with something far darker, something slippery and traitorous rising up from under her skin. Violet’s lips still felt stretched, sensitive where Cat’s fingers had been—inside her, claiming space like they belonged. And gods help her, she missed it. The loss sat heavy on her tongue like shame. Her body betrayed her completely, squirming against the restraints, heat blooming low in her belly and crawling up her spine. She hated it. Hated her. This wasn’t how she reacted. This wasn’t how dragon riders responded to humiliation.

“What’s got you looking all bothered?” she asked, voice soft and cutting.

Violet didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her jaw clenched, but her body betrayed her—hips shifting in the chair, breath hitching, a flush rising along her throat.

Cat took a single, slow step closer.

“Oh, don’t go silent now,” she murmured. “Say it. What’s going on in that pretty little body of yours?”

Violet shook her head, mortified. “I—I don’t know.”

Cat crouched in front of her, eyes level, sharp. “Liar.”

Her hand rose, fingers trailing down the front of Violet’s collarbone—not touching, just close enough to feel. “Tell me where it aches.”

Violet choked on a sob. “Please—don’t make me—”

Violet shifted in the chair again, helpless to stop the motion. Her thighs pressed tightly together, rubbing, just barely—seeking friction, relief, anything. It wasn’t enough. Not even close. The chains restricted her hips, her ankles, every movement shallow and humiliatingly obvious.

Violet’s face flushed hotter. She froze, ashamed of the movement—but her body ached. She couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t stop the tension from coiling tighter, the shame from curdling in her throat.

Violet looked up at her, eyes glassy with frustration and want.

“Your poor thing,” Cat cooed, all mock pity and silk-edged cruelty. “Let me help you.” She crawled onto Violet’s lap with slow, deliberate grace, knees bracketing her thighs, silk dress whispering over skin.

Violet’s wrists strained against the chains as Cat moved, metal biting into her skin—but she didn’t pull hard. Not really. She told herself it was pointless, that she was conserving strength, but the truth twisted deeper: she wasn’t sure she wanted to move. Not anymore. As Cat crawled into her lap, straddling her with practiced ease, Violet’s breath came shallow and tight. The silk of Cat’s dress brushed her thighs like a whisper, and though every muscle screamed to resist, another part of her—quieter, rawer—exhaled. It felt like relief. Unwelcome, confusing, but unmistakably real. Like her body had stopped waiting for permission to want.

The weight of her, the heat—real and terrifying—settled over Violet’s thighs like a brand. She tried to lean back, but there was nowhere to go. The cuffs bit into her wrists.

“You don’t have to be brave,” Cat murmured. “Just honest.”

Violet’s breath hitched as Cat began to move—slow, deliberate rolls of her hips, silk dragging over bare skin, every motion stoking the fire low in her belly. The pressure was unbearable, intimate, and maddening. Violet’s head fell back slightly, her body flushing with heat. She didn’t want to want it—but her body wasn’t listening.

A soft moan escaped her lips before she could bite it back.

Cat heard it. Felt it. Smiled.

“Good girl,” she whispered, her lips brushing Violet’s ear as she rocked harder, forcing Violet’s thighs to tremble beneath her.

Cat leaned in so slowly Violet almost didn’t register the motion—until she felt warm breath against the curve of her ear. Then teeth, delicate and sharp, tugging at her earlobe. A moan broke from her lips before she could stop it, her head tilting instinctively to the side as if offering more.

“Still pretending you don’t want this?” Cat whispered, her voice nothing but velvet and poison. “You’re soaked. I haven’t even touched you.”

Then came the kiss—low, just beneath her jaw. A brush of heat, followed by another, lower still. Violet gasped when Cat’s mouth found the side of her neck and sucked, slowly and deliberately. Not bruising—claiming.

Her body bucked, uselessly, against the restraints.

A whimper escaped her throat.

She didn’t want to want it.

She didn’t want Cat.

But the tension in her belly snapped tight, unbearable. Her thighs pressed together again, this time with instinctive desperation. And Cat knew. She knew.

“Poor thing,” Cat murmured, dragging her tongue over the skin she’d just sucked. “You’re going to come just from being watched, aren’t you?”

“No—” Violet breathed, voice cracking. “I—can’t—”

But her body answered for her.

The pressure broke like a wave, crashing through her without mercy—heat, release, humiliation—all tangled in a sob. Her eyes squeezed shut as she came, shaking in the chair, chains rattling with every tremor.

Cat pulled back slowly, watching every twitch.

“You didn’t even need my fingers,” she said, satisfied. “Just a little breath and a reminder of who’s really in control.”

Violet couldn’t speak.

She was still shaking.

And just as Violet’s body started to lean in, betraying her mind with need—Cat stood.

The warmth vanished in an instant, leaving Violet cold, breathless, and aching.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Cat said, smoothing her dress like nothing had happened.

Violet’s breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. The phantom heat of Cat’s body still clung to her thighs, the press of silk like a ghost between them—but it was nothing compared to the cold panic flooding her chest.

Xaden.

Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide, heart plummeting. He hadn’t moved. Still slumped. Still unconscious. Still there. And somehow—gods—she’d forgotten him. For minutes. Long, shattering minutes. Her vision blurred.

What did I just let happen?

Guilt surged, acid-hot. She wanted to scream. To twist out of the cuffs and shake him awake. To beg him not to have heard what she’d moaned. Not to have seen the way she melted beneath Cat, even for a second.

Her stomach twisted, the shame so sharp it hurt.

But underneath it, worse than the shame, was confusion. Real, sickening confusion.

Part of her had leaned in, gasping for more, drowning in it—not because she wanted Cat, not exactly, but because… something in her had needed the touch. She didn’t know if it was arousal, or trauma, or pure desperation clawing its way out of her chest.

“You really think this is how you win him?” she tried to say, but the words collapsed halfway out of her mouth—thin, shaking, more plea than challenge. Her voice cracked around it, unraveling like the rest of her. She could barely see Xaden anymore. Cat stood between them, blocking the light, casting his body in shadow as if even his silhouette was slipping out of reach. Violet’s chest tightened. Her anchor—gone. And all that remained was Cat’s shape, and her own voice, weak and breaking.

Im kind I’m charming im generous im fun im FUCKING HILARIOUS i have a good heart and values and morals.

I’m captivating and magical and my energy speaks for itself.

We got dinner, went for drinks and then went dancing. He taught me la cambia and I tried to do a little bachata.

It felt so fucking nice to have someone hold my waist and move with me to the rhythm of the dance floor. Ugh my body hasn’t had it in forever and upon coming back to the hostel and changing into the pyjamas I was a mess.

🫠🫠🫠

Is it lovebombing on his part? Or am I just being seen in all my power and being appreciated for it?

Con el tiempo nosotros voy veer que paso. Pero por el momento, soy feliz. Y eso es suficiente.

And if he comes to *** and we do yoga on the beach together?

Weeeeeellllllll sheit then I’m in trouble. 😅

You bet your ass I did.