Euphoria

Content Warning

Psychological manipulation, power imbalance, consensual BDSM/pain, references to childhood abuse, self-harm, themes of shame and degradation.

Elara

The storm had been whispering all evening.

At first, it was nothing more than a distant grumble, low thunder rolling somewhere beyond the city, like a warning no one was quite ready to listen to. The kind you ignore. The kind you convince yourself will pass.

But it didn’t. It wouldn’t.

By the time the first alert came through, the sky had already turned an unnatural shade of grey, thick and heavy, pressing against the tall library windows like something alive.

I stood behind the front desk, fingers curled around the edge of the polished wood, staring out at the rain as it began to fall.

Soft at first.

Then harder.

Then relentless.

It hit the glass in sharp, frantic taps, like it was trying to get in.

A shiver slipped down my spine.

“Severe weather warning in effect—”

The automated voice crackled overhead, far too calm for the way my chest tightened, like it didn’t understand what those words actually did to people like me.

“—residents are advised to remain indoors until further notice.”

I swallowed.

Dragonfly Town was known for its storms. And… well… its dragonflies. They were everywhere. In the summer, they clung to windows, hovered over gardens, skimmed across puddles like tiny guardians of the rain. Beautiful. Harmless.

The storms, though?

Not harmless.

They were violent. Sudden. The kind that swallowed the sky whole and made the world feel smaller… tighter… like it was closing in on you.

We were known for it. The little town that got the worst of it. So no, this wasn’t new. The only problem was… I was usually at home when it happened.

Curled up in bed.

Wrapped in blankets.

A book in my hands, something dark, something filthy, something that made my cheeks burn and my thighs press together when no one was looking.

In those moments, I was safe.

A soft sigh slipped past my lips. My tongue felt thick.

Great.

Just… great.

My anxiety was the worst thing about me. I knew that. I couldn’t control it. Couldn’t stop it once it started spiralling, thoughts stacking on top of each other until I couldn’t breathe properly, until everything felt too loud, too sharp, too much.

I couldn’t stop it from paralysing me.

I swallowed again, harder this time, my palms already damp, fingers curling into themselves as that familiar tightness began to bloom in my chest.

No.

No, not here.

Please not here.

“I need Bella,” I whispered under my breath, the words barely audible, like saying them too loudly would make everything worse.

Bella is my dog and comfort. My grounding. The only thing that could pull me out of my own head when it got like this.

But she wasn’t here.

I was… Alone.

Trapped in a library that suddenly felt far too big… and far too quiet.

I glanced down at my phone again, as if the message would somehow change the second time I read it. Roads flooding. Winds picking up. Public transport suspended.

I wasn’t going home tonight. My teeth caught my bottom lip before I could stop it, pressing down just enough to ground myself. A nervous habit. One of many.

Okay. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

It’s just a storm.

The library was safe. Quiet. Familiar…Empty.

Too empty.

The usual evening stragglers had rushed out the moment the warning hit, their footsteps echoing through the halls, leaving behind nothing but silence and the faint scent of old paper and polished floors.

Except…

My gaze lifted. And found him. He hadn’t moved. Still seated in the far corner, exactly where he always was. Like he belonged there. Like he had grown out of the shadows between the shelves.

Professor X.

I didn’t even know his actual name, just whispers from students, and the occasional mention when books were requested under faculty access. But I knew him. In the quiet way you know someone you’ve never spoken to. He came in late. Always alone. Always composed. And always sat in that same chair, beneath the dim lamp that cast soft gold over the pages in his hands.

I shouldn’t look. I knew that. But I did anyway. Just a glance. Just…

My breath caught. He’d rolled his sleeves up tonight. I don’t know why that detail stuck. It shouldn’t have. It was such a small thing. But it exposed his forearms, strong, defined in a way that didn’t match the quiet, academic air he carried. Veins faintly visible beneath the pale skin as he held the book, fingers long, precise… careful.

Not soft but controlled.

I sucked my lip deeper into my mouth, worrying it between my teeth. My thighs pressed together before I could stop it, heat creeping up my neck, settling in my cheeks like a slow, spreading burn.

God.

I looked away quickly, my heart stuttering in my chest.

Stop it.

He’s just a man.

A professor.

He probably doesn’t even know you exist.

Definitely older than you.

Way out of your league.

My fingers fidgeted with the edge of a loose receipt, folding it, unfolding it, over and over until the paper softened beneath my touch.

But the awareness didn’t leave.

It never did.

It lingered.

Like a presence.

Like something quietly watching.

The storm cracked loudly overhead, lightning splitting across the sky in a blinding flash that illuminated the entire library for a fraction of a second.

And in that moment, I saw him look up.

He didn’t seem startled or confused or derailed. He seemed…aware. Always aware.

His gaze moved slowly, deliberately, and landed on me. My stomach dropped. Heat rushed through me so fast it made me dizzy, my grip tightening on the desk.

Did he…

No.

No, he couldn’t have.

I looked down immediately, pulse racing, pretending to organise the stack of returned books in front of me. But my hands weren’t steady. They never were when it came to him. I’d noticed him weeks ago. Maybe longer.

It was hard to tell when exactly it started, when he shifted from just another face to… this.

This awareness.

This quiet, constant pull.

At first, it was harmless. Just curiosity. The way he always chose the same section. The way he read the books, not skimming, not rushing, but absorbing.

Like every word mattered.

Like he felt it. Like they belonged to him.

And then…

I started noticing more. The way his jaw tightened sometimes. The way his fingers paused on certain pages. The way he would lean back slightly, eyes distant, like whatever he had just read had settled somewhere deep inside him.

And God help me, the books.

I knew what he read. I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t my business. But I was the librarian. I saw the checkouts.

The returns.

The patterns.

They were dark texts. Sometimes too dark. Dark psychological studies full of control and power and human behaviour.

And then… Other things. Things that I desired. Sick, sadistic things I wanted done onto me. Things that made my chest tighten in a different way. Things I shouldn’t have lingered on.

But did.

My lips parted slightly as I exhaled, slow and shaky. The rain grew heavier. Louder. Filling the silence.

And still, he didn’t leave, neither did I. We couldn’t. Just two strangers trapped in the same space. With the storm pressing in from all sides.

My teeth caught my lip again, sharper this time.

Should I go over there? Ask him if he heard the announcement? Or just stand here like a complete fool, staring at a man who looks like he walked straight out of one of the books I shouldn’t be reading?

My grip tightened on the desk.

He was…

God.

He was unfair to look at.

Darkly handsome in a way that didn’t beg for attention but held it anyway. Quiet. Controlled. Dangerous in a way I couldn’t explain. The kind of man that made your knees feel weak without even trying.

I swallowed. I hadn’t had a boyfriend in… a long time. Long enough that even thinking about a man like him made something restless stir low in my stomach. To say I was touch-starved would be putting it lightly. My thighs pressed together again, instinctive, subtle, like I could hide it from myself.

This had to be hormones. That was all. I had to be ovulating or something. There was no other explanation for the way my body suddenly felt too warm, too aware… too reactive.

I shifted slightly where I stood, pressing my lips together. I should go to the bathroom.

Just to breathe. To get a grip, before I did something stupid, like walk over to him.

The silence stretched thick and heavy. Pressing in from all sides as the storm raged outside, rain lashing against the windows, thunder rolling through the bones of the building.

And still, I could feel him. Not looking. Not moving. But aware. My fingers stilled on the receipt. My breath caught.

“Are you going to keep staring… or are you going to come over here and speak to me?”

The voice cut through the silence. Low. Calm.

Deep. British accent.

Oh Lord, I am screwed.

My heart stopped for a second, just one, I thought I had imagined it. That my anxiety had finally tipped into something worse.

Something dangerous.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze. He hadn’t moved from his chair. Not even slightly. Still seated exactly as before, one arm resting lazily against the armrest, the other holding his book open, like he hadn’t just called me out without even looking directly at me.

Except now…

He was.

He was watching me.

My stomach dropped so fast it made me dizzy. Heat flooded my face, my cheeks burning as I immediately looked down again, my fingers fumbling uselessly with the papers in front of me.

“I…I wasn’t…” I stammered, my voice soft, breath catching halfway through the sentence.

God.

This was mortifying.

“I mean… I wasn’t staring, I just—”

The words tangled in my throat, my hands fidgeting helplessly, folding the same corner over and over again until it nearly tore. A soft sound reached me. Not quite a laugh. But close. When I risked another glance, he had finally moved.

Just slightly.

Leaning back in his chair, his hand dragging slowly through his shoulder-length hair, pushing it away from his face in a way that felt… deliberate.

Too deliberate.

God.

He was so distracting.

Like he knew I was watching. Like he wanted me to.

My breath hitched.

And then I saw it. The subtle shift in his posture. The slow, unhurried way he adjusted himself in his seat, like he had all the time in the world. Like the storm didn’t exist. Like I didn’t exist.

Or worse, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me… and simply didn’t care. Like I wasn’t standing here unravelling. Like he wasn’t the cause of it. My thighs pressed together instinctively. Heat rushed through me again, sharper this time, pooling low in my stomach, making it hard to stand still.

God, what was wrong with me?

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out quickly, my voice barely steady, eyes darting anywhere but him. “I didn’t mean to stare, I just—” I swallowed hard.

Focus.

Say something normal.

“Did you… um…did you hear the announcement?”

Smooth, Elara. Very smooth.

“The storm warning,” I added quickly, gesturing vaguely toward the ceiling, my fingers trembling slightly. “They said we should stay inside. The roads are… flooding, I think.”

Silence. My heart pounded. Why wasn’t he answering? I risked another look. He hadn’t moved. Still seated. Still watching me. Like I was something… interesting. Something worth studying.

“Did you hear it?” I asked again, softer this time, my voice almost disappearing under the sound of the rain.

A pause.

Then, “I heard.”

Two words. Simple. But the way he said them… Slow. Like they carried more weight than they should have. He didn’t stand. Didn’t move toward me. Didn’t close the distance.

He just… stayed where he was. And somehow, that felt worse. My fingers curled into my palms.

Why wasn’t he getting up? Why was I still standing here? Why did it feel like… Like he was waiting? My feet moved before my brain could catch up.

One step.

Then another.

Drawn in by something I couldn’t explain. Didn’t question. Didn’t fight. My breath felt shallow as I approached, my heart thudding loudly in my chest with every step closer to him.

Closer.

Closer.

Until I stood just a few feet away, clutching my hands together in front of me, fingers twisting nervously.

“I… um…” I swallowed, forcing myself to meet his gaze for half a second before looking away again. “We… we have emergency supplies. For storms like this.”

My voice was soft.

Careful.

Like I was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

“There’s food… blankets… candles,” I continued, gesturing faintly toward the back of the library. “There’s even a fireplace. In the older section. Most people don’t know about it, but… it still works.”

I fidgeted with a loose string on my oversized cardigan, wrapping it around my finger before quickly unravelling it again.

“Funny, right?” I let out a small, nervous laugh, glancing at him briefly before dropping my gaze again. “Having a fireplace in a place filled with books…”

My voice trailed off slightly in the heavy quiet.

His lip twitched. Just barely. But he didn’t say anything. He just… kept staring. My stomach flipped. I shifted my weight, my thighs brushing together again, my pulse still refusing to calm.

“There’s a storage closet too,” I added quickly, filling the silence before it swallowed me whole. “With everything we might need if we’re stuck here for a few days.”

A beat of silence passed.

“That’s very prepared of you.” His voice was quieter now. Lower. And something about it made my stomach tighten. I nodded quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my fingers lingering there like I didn’t know what else to do with them.

A beat of silence passed.

Too long.

Too heavy.

My fingers twisted tighter in the fabric of my cardigan, the loose thread digging into my skin as I searched for something else to say, anything to fill the quiet.

“I can also, um, I can check if the generator is still—”

“Elara.”

My name.

Soft.

Measured.

It stopped me.

Completely.

My breath caught in my throat, my lips parting as I froze mid-sentence, my eyes snapping up to him in shock.

I don’t remember telling him my name.

I don’t remember ever… “I—” My voice faltered, smaller now, uncertain. “H-how do you—”

“You ramble,” he said calmly, his gaze steady on mine, completely unaffected by my spiraling.

Not unkind.

Not harsh.

Just… certain.

My cheeks burned instantly, heat flooding my face as my fingers stilled, then fidgeted even more under his attention.

“I—I’m sorry, I just—”

“You do it when you’re nervous.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching me like I was something to be studied.

Something to be understood.

“Your hands,” he added, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to my face. “You’ve been twisting that string for the last thirty seconds.”

My stomach dropped.

I hadn’t even realised.

I released it immediately, like it had burned me, my hands hovering awkwardly before clasping together again in front of me.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.”

Those two words landed softer. But somehow… They made it worse. Because he did know. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt different.

Tighter.

Focused.

Like all of it, every shift, every breath, every nervous movement, was being noticed.

Catalogued.

My pulse fluttered wildly in my throat.

“I wasn’t staring,” I blurted out again, quieter this time, my voice betraying me. “I just—”

His brow lifted slightly. Not questioning. Not surprised. Just… waiting. And that was somehow worse than if he had said anything at all. Because it made me feel like I had to explain myself. Like I needed to fill the space.

“I mean, I noticed you, but not in a weird way, just—”

This is mortifying. Shut up already, Elara.

A pause.

Then, quietly. “I know. I noticed you too.”

My breath hitched, and my cheeks burned. His fingers tapped once against the arm of the chair.

“You’re very easy to read.”

“I should—um—” I cleared my throat softly, stepping back slightly, the space between us suddenly feeling too small. “I should go check everything. Make sure it’s all… still stocked.”

My words stumbled over each other again, my nerves catching up to me all at once.

“And I just—” I glanced toward the hallway, already retreating. “I need to… um… bathroom.”

God.

Kill me.

“I’ll be right back.” I didn’t wait for a response. I turned quickly, almost too quickly, my steps a little unsteady as I made my way toward the back corridor, the sound of the storm swallowing the silence again.

But even as I walked away, I could still feel it.

His gaze.

On me.

Following.

Watching.

The hallway felt longer than it should have. Too quiet. Too dim. My footsteps echoed softly against the polished floors as I hurried toward the bathroom, my chest tight, my thoughts loud, too loud.

You’re very easy to read.

God.

My hand flew to my face as I pushed through the bathroom door, the fluorescent lights flickering slightly before settling into a dull hum. I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection.

Wide eyes.

Flushed cheeks.

Lips slightly parted like I’d forgotten how to breathe properly.

“Get it together, Elara,” I whispered, my voice shaky but firm, like I was trying to convince myself more than anything else. I swallowed, shaking my head. “He’s just a man.”

A professor.

Older. Confident. Composed.

Everything I wasn’t.

I straightened slightly, smoothing my cardigan down over my hips, my fingers trembling just enough to annoy me. “You are not going to stand there and make a fool of yourself,” I muttered, my brows pulling together as I stared myself down in the mirror.

“Not for his voice. Not for his stupid… stupid—” My words faltered. My mind betrayed me. The way he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Slow. Absent-minded.

Intentional.

Like everything he did.

I groaned softly, dropping my head forward for a second before forcing myself to look back up. “No.” I noticed you too. A breath. Then another. “You are not falling for that.”

Not for what he said.

Not for the way he looked at you.

Not for the way he noticed things.

Not for the way he made you feel like—My chest tightened.

Like he saw you.

This was all too much.

I pressed my lips together, gripping the edge of the sink tighter, my knuckles paling as I forced myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest.

“Get it together,” I whispered under my breath, though it came out strained, fragile, like I didn’t quite believe it myself.

The lights flickered.

Once.

Then again.

And then everything went dark.

A sharp gasp tore from me before I could stop it, my heart lurching violently into my throat as the room plunged into complete silence.

No hum.

No light.

Nothing.

I am afraid of the dark.

“Okay, okay.” I murmured quickly, my voice barely steady as I straightened, my breathing turning shallow, uneven. “It’s just the storm… just the power.”

It’s fine.

It’s… A low mechanical rumble echoed somewhere deep within the building, vibrating faintly through the floor, followed by the soft flicker of dim, amber emergency lighting.

The generator.

Relief hit me so suddenly my knees almost buckled beneath me.

“Okay…” I exhaled, slower this time, pressing a hand to my chest as if I could physically calm the frantic rhythm there. “Okay, it’s fine.”

See?

Fine.

Everything is… normal.

My demons nearly came out to play.

I grabbed a paper towel, dabbing lightly at my cheeks before forcing myself to look at my reflection one last time.

Still flushed.

Still a mess.

But… functional. Hopefully. That would have to do.

I pushed the door open and stepped back into the hallway, the dim amber lighting casting long, wavering shadows between the towering shelves. The storm still raged outside, louder now, if anything, its presence pressing against the building like something alive.

But the library…

The library felt different.

Warmer.

Quieter.

Like something had shifted while I was gone.

Frowning slightly, I made my way toward the back, toward the storage area. I should check the supplies. Make sure everything was still in place.

Make sure... I slowed. Then stopped. The door to the storage room was already open. My brows drew together as I stepped closer, peering inside. The shelves were… Not empty. But close enough to make my stomach drop.

The blankets were gone. The sleeping bags were missing. The small emergency food packs noticeably reduced. “What…?” I whispered, the word barely leaving my lips. And then, a scent drifted through the air. I was warm and savory and familiar.

My head turned slowly toward the older section of the library, the part no one really used anymore. The part with the fireplace. My feet moved before I could think, drawn in by the smell, by the soft flicker of golden light dancing between the shelves.

And then I saw it.

The fire was already burning, crackling softly, casting a warm glow that melted into the shadows and softened the cold edges of the room.

Blankets had been laid out neatly. Sleeping bags unrolled with care. Not too close. Not invasive. Just… there.

Prepared intentionally that way by him.

Standing near a small portable stove, sleeves still rolled, his movements calm, precise as he stirred something slowly in the pan.

Chicken and steamed vegetables.

The scent wrapped around me instantly. Rich and comforting. I loved food. Always had. There was something about it, warm and filling and indulgent, that made everything else feel quieter.

And right now…

God.

It was doing exactly that. My breath caught. He didn’t look rushed. Didn’t look uncertain. He looked like he had already decided how this night was going to go. Like he had stepped into it… and taken control of it.

Of everything, my pulse quickened, including me.

I swallowed, lingering at the edge of the room, caught somewhere between stepping forward… and staying exactly where I was, unsure if I was supposed to move at all.