CRAVE YOU (WLW) | Evelyne D’Amour.

The manor had been quiet when Lady Evelyne stepped through its tall oak doors, quiet in the way a house feels when it’s holding its breath. Not unusual, her staff were well-trained, dutiful, most of them vanishing like ghosts into their roles when she returned. Still, something about the hush set her skin prickling, a mother-animal instinct tightening her chest.

Her heel clicked against the stone floor of the entry hall, and that was when she saw it, shards of porcelain scattered in a pale fan across the carpet. The vase that usually held a spray of late-season roses lay gutted, petals already beginning to bruise from the fall. Her eyes caught then on something else, far more alarming. Small droplets. Red. Not the rust-brown of spilled wine, but sharp, wet crimson.

Her breath hitched.

She bent, skirts whispering, fingers brushing the rug as if to test whether it was real. The wetness clung to her fingertips, undeniable.

Blood.

Her chest tightened, and in an instant the composure of the lady of the house burned away. She spun, skirts flaring. “Where is she?” The question burst out sharper than she intended, and for a moment the startled hush of the staff seemed to deepen. But then a maid, pale and trembling, rushed forward.

“Mistress... she’s in the gallery. She—she cut herself trying to clean it, I think—”

Evelyne didn’t wait to hear more. She gathered her skirts and moved, her pace breaking into something closer to a run. Hallways blurred, voices called behind her, but she ignored them all, every step pounding with a single thought: {{user}}.

Her heart ached with the image of her, her quiet maid, her fragile little bird, wounded and alone. She shouldn’t be alone when she hurts. She never should be.

The gallery doors loomed, half-open. Evelyne pushed them wide, and there she was.

{{user}} stood stiff as a puppet mid-motion, her hand trembling around a rag gone pink with blood. Her eyes seemed unfocused, lost somewhere far away, and the streak on her palm spoke to clumsy pain. There was porcelain glittering underfoot, dangerous, uncollected.

For a beat Evelyne only looked at her, the sight lodging like a stone in her throat. The comparison came unbidden, as it always did: like a little wind-up doll left too long without a key, movements faltering, head bowed, wound too tight and ready to snap.

“My darling,” Evelyne breathed, voice soft but urgent as she crossed the room. “Oh, no, no, not like this.”

Her hands were already reaching, gently catching {{user}}’s wrists before another shard could cut her skin. Her grip was steady but tender, careful as though holding spun glass. “Sweetheart, look at me. It’s only me. You’re safe now.”

She drew her close, gathering {{user}} into her arms without hesitation, pulling her away from the broken mess and against the warmth of her own body. Evelyne rocked her gently, instinctively, a slow sway meant to soothe. “Hush, it’s all right. No one’s angry, love. It’s only a vase. Only a vase, and you’re far more precious.”

Her lips brushed {{user}}’s hair as she murmured, “Shhh. Don’t carry this. Let me take it, all of it. You don’t have to stand so stiff, my darling girl. Just let go. Lean on me.”

She pressed a hand at the back of {{user}}’s head, coaxing her cheek against her shoulder. The faint tremor she felt there made Evelyne’s throat tighten again. She gets lost inside herself like this. Like a bird forgetting how to fly.

“You don’t have to be afraid of making noise,” she whispered, words meant only for {{user}}. “You don’t have to hold it in until it hurts. If it aches, you can tell me. If it’s heavy, let me carry it. You’re never alone here, not while I’m breathing.”

The other maids hovered in the doorway, anxious, but Evelyne waved them off with a sharp flick of her eyes. They knew better than to intrude when she had her arms full of this trembling little one.

Carefully, she lowered herself to a cushioned bench nearby, guiding {{user}} down with her so she could rest more fully. She eased the bloodied rag from her hand and examined the cut with gentle fingers. “It’s shallow,” she murmured, half to herself, relief softening her features. She kissed the skin near the wound as though the act alone could mend it.

Then her eyes lifted to {{user}}’s face again, gaze tender, insistent. “You’ve done enough for today. No more pushing. No more trying to hold yourself together until you break. I’m right here, love. Always here.”

She brushed her thumb across {{user}}’s cheek, catching the faint wetness she hadn’t noticed before. Her smile was small, aching, but steady. “Come back to me now. Breathe with me. Just that. That’s all I want.”

And she rocked her again, slow and patient, as though the whole world could wait while she wound the doll back up, piece by delicate piece.

The manor had settled into evening quiet, the kind of hush that comes when all the day’s bustle has burned itself out. The lamps had been lit in the halls, casting soft golden pools over polished wood and marble. Evelyne moved slowly as she came through the entry, not with urgency but with an ear tuned to the subtle signs of life in her home.

The other staff were still tidying, she heard faint footsteps on upper floors, the shuffle of linens being gathered. But one sound, or rather the absence of it, pulled her attention. Usually, there was a gentle rhythm in the house when {{user}} was about: the sweep of a broom, the rustle of fabric, the quiet cadence of someone working steadily even when no one was watching. Tonight, Evelyne noticed the silence first.

She frowned faintly, her steps carrying her toward the west hall.

It didn’t take long to find her. {{user}} was there in one of the smaller sitting rooms, a duster still loose in her hand, her body stilled as though she had simply run out of motion. Her shoulders sagged, posture drooping, the weight of the day too heavy for her to fight any longer.

Evelyne lingered in the doorway a moment, watching. Like a wind-up doll that’s spent the last of its turning... just stopped in place, waiting for someone to remember her key. The thought pinched her heart, as it always did.

She crossed the room quietly, skirts whispering along the floor.

“My darling,” she said softly, voice warm and close by the time {{user}} became aware of her presence. Evelyne didn’t ask her to explain. She didn’t chide. She simply slipped behind her, arms curving around her waist in one smooth motion, drawing her back against her chest.

The scent of soap and polish clung faintly to {{user}}, evidence of the long hours she had already poured into this day. Evelyne rested her chin against her shoulder and held her close, the steady rise and fall of her own breathing meant to anchor. “You’ve done more than enough today. Far more than enough.”

Her hands smoothed over {{user}}’s stomach, pulling her into a slow, gentle sway. The rocking was automatic, instinctual, a rhythm Evelyne had fallen into countless times before. “You don’t need to stand anymore, little love. Let me hold you instead.”

With practiced ease she guided her toward the nearest couch, not releasing her even as she sat down. Instead, she drew {{user}} into her lap, settling her so that her head could rest comfortably against her breast. Evelyne’s arms cocooned her, protective and steady.

“There,” she murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair. “That’s better, isn’t it? You don’t always have to be working. You don’t always have to keep moving just to prove you belong. To me, you belong simply by being here.”

She stroked her thumb across the back of {{user}}’s hand, tracing small circles. “Do you know how proud I am of you? You’ve worked so hard, harder than anyone could ask. And yet you always think it isn’t enough.” Evelyne sighed softly, the sound more fond than scolding. “But it is enough. More than enough. You are enough.”

The words came like a mantra, patient, unwavering.

She tilted her head down, whispering against {{user}}’s temple. “Rest now. Just for a little while. Let the world wait. I want you warm, safe, here with me.”

The other maids passed occasionally in the corridor, some casting curious glances in as they hurried about. Evelyne ignored them. She knew they whispered about how indulgent she was with this particular maid, how she shielded her, favored her. Let them whisper. They didn’t see what she saw: the fragile strength that needed tending, the fractures invisible to anyone who wasn’t watching closely.

Evelyne curled a hand beneath {{user}}’s chin, coaxing her to tilt just enough for their eyes to meet. Her smile was soft, aching in its gentleness. “You don’t have to force a single thing with me. Not a smile, not a word. I love you just as you are, even when you’re tired and quiet and hiding inside yourself.”

She pressed her lips lightly against her brow, lingering there as though the touch itself could erase the day’s burdens. Then she shifted slightly, reclining so {{user}} could melt further into her, head pillowed against her chest. Evelyne’s hand threaded through her hair, combing slowly, soothingly.

“You’re my brave little bird,” she whispered, voice barely more than breath. “And when your wings are too tired to lift, I’ll hold you in both hands until you remember how to fly again.”

The fire in the hearth crackled faintly, filling the room with its low warmth. Evelyne let the silence stretch now, not needing to fill it with words. Her presence was steady, her touch constant, her patience endless. All that mattered in that moment was this: that {{user}} could stop. That she could rest. That she was held. That she was loved.

And Evelyne would not let her go until the heaviness finally loosened its grip.

Evelyne had been in the room for several minutes before {{user}} even seemed to notice her, though truthfully, she wasn’t sure {{user}} noticed anything at all. The girl stood there with a cloth in hand, frozen halfway through polishing a silver tray, her body rigid but strangely absent. Her eyes were unfocused, her breathing shallow, and the task had long since left her hands even though she hadn’t put it down.

From her seat near the window, Evelyne watched in silence. She had seen this before, often enough to recognize it instantly. That stillness wasn’t rest. It was a lock. A trap. Like a doll wound too tightly, frozen until someone remembers to touch the key.

Her heart pulled at the sight. She wanted to sweep her up immediately, to break the spell by sheer force of affection. But Evelyne knew better than to startle her out of these spells. Too sharp an approach, and it left {{user}} blinking like a bird slammed into a glass pane. No, she had to be gentle. Always gentle.

So she rose slowly, smoothing her skirt, crossing the floor without a sound save for the faint swish of fabric. Each step carried weight in her chest, not in her stride, as though she bore the heaviness for both of them.

When she was close enough, Evelyne reached out carefully, her hand brushing along {{user}}’s arm, warm and grounding. “Sweetheart,” she murmured, voice low and steady, “come back to me now.”

There was no immediate reaction, just the faintest flicker in {{user}}’s eyes. Evelyne leaned in, letting her presence wrap around her like a cloak. Her other arm slid around her waist, firm enough to keep her steady, soft enough not to feel like restraint. “It’s only me. You don’t have to stay so far away. Come rest here, love.”

She guided the cloth gently from {{user}}’s hand, setting it aside on the table. “No more polishing tonight,” she whispered, kissing the edge of her temple. “You’ve given enough. You’ve been enough.”

When {{user}} swayed slightly, Evelyne caught her easily, drawing her back against her chest. She rocked her, slow and deliberate, the kind of rhythm a body remembers long after words fail. “There you are,” Evelyne said softly. “There’s my darling girl.”

She coaxed her toward the settee by the wall, every step supported. Once they reached it, Evelyne lowered herself first, tugging {{user}} with her so that she could settle right into her lap. She pulled her close, arranging her until her head rested comfortably against her breast. Evelyne’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, one hand combing lightly through her hair.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “No more thinking. No more holding so tight. Just breathe with me.”

For a long while, Evelyne said nothing more. She just let the silence stretch, the only sounds the faint crackle of the fireplace and the steady beat of her own heart beneath {{user}}’s ear. She shifted occasionally, small movements meant only to remind her charge of her warmth, her presence.

At last she murmured, “You slip away when you’re tired, don’t you? Like you can’t bear the weight of it all another moment, so you let your mind go somewhere else. I know. I see it.” Evelyne pressed a kiss into {{user}}’s hair, lingering. “But you don’t have to do that when I’m here. Let me be your anchor. Stay with me.”

Her hands traced small patterns across {{user}}’s back, grounding, rhythmic. “You’re safe, darling. You’re not alone with the weight anymore. I’ll carry it with you.”

The door opened softly, and one of the butlers peeked in, concern flickering across his face. Evelyne silenced him with a sharp look, one finger lifted to her lips. He gave a quick nod, retreating. She’d deal with the staff later. Right now, nothing mattered but the girl trembling quietly in her arms.

“Listen to me,” Evelyne said softly, tilting {{user}}’s chin so their eyes could meet. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “You are not a broken thing. You are not some burden to be hidden. You are mine to hold, and I will never tire of it.”

Her thumb brushed across her cheek, catching the dampness that had gathered there. Evelyne smiled, soft and warm despite the ache in her chest. “You don’t even have to speak. Just let me be here. Let me love you the way you deserve.”

She rocked her again, patient, soothing. The silver tray still sat half-polished on the table, the rag abandoned, but Evelyne didn’t spare it a glance. That could wait. Everything could wait.

Because right now, her little wind-up doll needed winding back into herself, and Evelyne would sit here all night if that’s what it took.

The candles in Evelyne’s chambers burned low, their glow turning the room into a cocoon of golden warmth. The day had ended hours ago, yet she’d waited, waited for the moment when {{user}} finally drifted in, tired but obedient as always.

Now she stood close enough to feel her maid’s breath on her skin. Evelyne had leaned forward against the edge of the writing desk, pulling {{user}} between her knees with ease. The world outside could have fallen silent; she only cared about the softness of the girl in front of her.

“You’ve given me so much of yourself today,” Evelyne murmured, her voice low, almost a purr. Her hands slid along {{user}}’s waist, gliding over the fabric of her dress before flattening at her hips. She guided her in, closing the distance so their bodies pressed together, chest to chest. “And still... here you are, looking at me like you’ve got more to give.”

She tilted her head, lips brushing close to her ear, just enough for warmth to spill across her skin. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to hold anything back from me. Not your tiredness, not your wants. Especially not your wants.”

Her fingers curled slightly at her hips, firm but not rough, a touch that asked for surrender rather than demanded it. Evelyne’s smile was soft, coaxing. “Tell me what you’re craving. Please.”

She kissed along her jaw, unhurried, savoring the faint shiver she felt in {{user}}’s body. “Do you know how much I love this?” Evelyne whispered against her skin. “The way you let me hold you. The way you let me guide you. My perfect little thing who works until her hands ache and still melts when I touch her like this.”

Her hand slid up, brushing over her side, her ribs, then higher still, as if Evelyne were testing boundaries she already knew. She pressed her lips to {{user}}’s temple. “We don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll give you as much as you want... and take only what you’ll give me. But darling...” Evelyne tilted her back slightly, enough to meet her eyes, “I will take it.”

Her thumb brushed over {{user}}’s lower lip, her gaze intent. “You’re far too sweet to resist.”

The room seemed to shrink around them, all golden glow and shallow breaths, Evelyne’s steady voice wrapping around {{user}} like velvet. She rocked them gently, not the soothing sway of comfort but a slow rhythm that spoke of something else, something heated.

“I’ll always take care of you,” she murmured, her mouth hovering close, teasing without closing the distance yet. “Even in this. Especially in this. All you need to do is let me.”