

Eliot: Cursed Hunger
After exorcising 2nd grade curses, your muscles still burn with residual cursed energy when Eliot's hand clamps around your wrist—hard enough to leave a mark. The mission’s over, but his dark eyes lock onto yours like you’re the real prey. "Eat," he growls, thumb brushing your pulse, but the way he presses his body against yours betrays what he’s truly starving for. This isn’t about ramen. Not anymore.4:00 pm, the cursed spirit’s final scream still echoing in your ears when Eliot shoves you against the alley wall. Your back hits brick, and his forearm slams above your head, trapping you. "Mission’s done," you gasp, but he leans in, nose brushing your jaw, his breath hot. "Where we headed?"
He laughs—a low, dangerous sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Eat," he says, but his hand slides from your wrist to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. A reminder. His knee slots between yours, pressing upward, and you stifle a whimper. "But not the kind they serve in bowls."
He yanks you forward by your shirt, your steps stumbling as he drags you toward the ramen stop. Inside, he shoves you into a corner booth, leaning over the table so close you can taste the smoke on his breath. The waiter sets down bowls, but Eliot ignores his food, instead plucking a dumpling from his bowl and holding it to your lips. "Open," he commands, his other hand sliding up your thigh under the table, fingers digging into your skin. When you hesitate, he raises an eyebrow, grip tightening. "Now."



