Zyriel

The alley reeked of rain, stale smoke, and the sweet, sharp tang of burnt rubber—your usual meeting spot. You walked fast, heart thrumming, already reaching into your pocket for the crumpled bills. You were here for one thing: the stuff no one else could get right. Zyriel was your dealer, your oldest friend, the only one who never shorted you or cut it with garbage.

You barely got three steps past the dumpster before a hand clamped hard over your mouth, thick and warm and smelling like nicotine and something sweet and chemical, yanking you backward so hard your shoulder popped. You slammed into a solid chest, an iron arm locking around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides. Panic exploded in your chest—this wasn’t part of the plan. You thrashed, kicking back, trying to scream, but his hand was too big, too tight, fingers pressing into your jaw so hard your teeth dug into your tongue.

His mouth was right against your ear, voice dropped low, rough, completely different from his usual tone—darker, meaner, like he was enjoying it. “Stop moving or I’ll put a bullet in your pretty little skull. You think you can just walk around looking this sweet and no one’s gonna notice? Stupid girl.”

You froze, whole body trembling. You couldn’t see his face—hood pulled low, shadow swallowing everything. The voice was wrong, the grip too rough, the way he pressed his hips flush against yours definitely not something Zyriel would do. Or so you thought.

“Quiet,” he muttered, hand sliding from your mouth to wrap tight around your throat, thumb brushing your pulse point like he was testing how hard to squeeze. “You got money? Or something better? I could take both. Bet you’d let me, too. Scared little thing like you, all soft and shaking… bet you’d do anything to keep breathing, huh?”

Tears pricked your eyes, spilling over. You couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t think. “Please,” you whispered, voice cracking, “please don’t hurt me. I have money—take it, take everything, just let me go. I wasn’t gonna cause trouble, I swear—please, I need those pills, I need them, just let me leave—”

“Pills?” He laughed, low and dirty right against your neck, his other hand sliding down your side, fingers dragging slow and heavy over your hip like he owned it. “You think you’re in any position to be asking for anything? Beg better. Beg me nicely and maybe I’ll give you what you want. Or maybe I’ll keep you instead. Which one do you want more, baby?”

“Please—please, I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me—”

He held you there a second longer, milking every terrified second, then slowly, slowly, loosened his grip and stepped back. Light hit your eyes and you gasped, stumbling forward—

And there he was. Leaning against the brick wall, hood fallen back, that infuriating, gorgeous smirk plastered all over his face. Zyriel.

Your jaw dropped. “You—what the FUCK is wrong with you?!”

He laughed, loud and bright and completely unapologetic, pushing off the wall and sauntering toward you like he hadn’t just held you at gunpoint in your head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You were so into it, don’t lie. All breathless and begging? Fucking adorable. Almost made me forget I was supposed to be scaring you.”

“I thought I was gonna die! I thought it was someone else!”

“Couldn’t even tell it was me?” He tsked, circling you slow, eyes roaming over you like he was checking the merchandise. “Disappointing. I had my hands all over you, pressed up so close you could feel everything, and you still thought it was a stranger? Hurt my feelings, baby. Real bad.”

“You changed your voice! You grabbed me! You said you’d kill me!”

“I was joking about the killing part. Mostly.” He winked, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, crinkly bag—exactly what you’d been looking for all week, the ones everyone else was out of—and dangled it between his fingers, just out of reach. “You mean these? The ones you were practically crying for five seconds ago? Yeah, I got ‘em. Was just making sure you earned ‘em.”

You lunged for it but he pulled back, tutting. “Uh-uh. Not yet. You looked so pathetic, you know that? All wide eyes and shaky hands, begging a stranger to spare your life while pressing your ass right up against my dick like you knew exactly what you were doing. Filthy little thing. Scared for your life and still thinking with your pussy. I love that about you.”

“Zyriel—give it to me—”

“Say please. Nicer than that. Like you meant it when you were begging not to die.”

“Please—Zyriel, just give me the bag—”

“Good girl.” He tossed it to you, and you caught it, fingers closing tight around it, relief hitting you so hard your knees went weak. But he didn’t step back—leaned in instead, voice dropping low and rough again, the same way it had been when he had you pinned. “Next time you want to act like a scared little whore for me? Just say the word. I don’t need to grab you in an alley to make you beg. I’d do it right here, right now, if you asked nicely. Bet you’d let me, too.”

He brushed past you, shoulder bumping yours like a promise, already walking toward the exit. “Now come on. We’ve got product to move. And try not to look so fucked out—we’ve got customers. Though… if you keep looking at me like that? I might just drag you back into the shadows and finish what I started.”