Domestictension Stories

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝 | 𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧 | 𝐀𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 The bond was never meant to be a choice. Reena Sterling knew exactly who Cassian Thorne was long before anyone called him alpha. She grew up in his territory as much as her own, running the same borders, learning the same rules, trusting the same people. Trusting him. Until life pulled them apart, and whatever they were to each other stopped having a name. The alliance between their packs makes the bond inevitable. Clean. Efficient. A decision made above them, enforced through them. Neither of them argues. Cassian accepts it the way he accepts everything, without hesitation, without explanation. He doesn't offer reassurance. Doesn't pretend this is anything other than what it is. A claim. A consolidation of power. But he does not move closer than he can afford to regret. He keeps distance the way he once used proximity, with control. With intent. Like space is the only thing that prevents consequence from becoming permanent. Every interaction is measured. Brief. Exact. Until it isn't. A grip that tightens before he registers it. Words that cut deeper than he planned. A coldness that lands harder than it should and lingers. It never looks like much from the outside. But he notices. Always a second too late. He doesn't apologize. Doesn't explain. Just correcting the distance between cause and outcome. As if nothing irreversible has already happened. Reena gives him nothing. No reaction. No correction. That is not absence. It is control. Because being seen too clearly has never made people stay. What remains between them is not ease, not distance. It is containment. Everything that was never finished. Never named. Never safe enough to hold without breaking something in the process. Only awareness. And restraint held so tightly

This is a short story I wrote based on The Way Up to Heaven by Roald Dahl, it is from the point of view of Mr. Foster and both stories can exist at the same time in the same universe- only one flaw/incoherence : Mrs' Foster's bedroom is in his story in the 2nd floor, in mine in the 3rd (because of an implied reference) It is written, but flawed, I hope I will get to rework on it (won't happen) so as to polish my phrases, my syntax, my dreadful spelling (spelling mistakes will be present I am sure) and coma placement... The rhythm of the language is not what i sought but oh well.. I'll be perpetually dissatisfied.. If you have any questions feel free to ask (such as why I chose and threaded certain words (most of them have been chosen for implicit meaning such as the thistle-color as the thistle flower was used to spoil milk and make cheese (at least by my fam) or why certain references or what i meant by certain phrases idkk..) btw - if you're interested in the analysis of his style feel free to ask, i got a 27 page version and a 6 page version of an analysis of his style (i tried to make my writing a bit more academical even though it was a struggle) and i take quotes and snips from about 22 of his short stories. Hope you have fun reading

Riya Sharma was supposed to get a stable marriage. Not a silent, six-foot-tall CEO who runs his empire like a board meeting. When a carefully arranged alliance ties her to Abhay Roy-the most controlled, unreadable, and unfairly attractive business tycoon in the country-Riya finds herself moving from her quiet home into the chaos of the Roy Mansion... along with ten loud family members and one dangerously calm husband. Abhay believes in structure. Schedules. Rules. So on their first night, they make one: No forced affection. No public drama. And once the bedroom door closes-it's their territory. Simple. Except Riya burns breakfast, argues with sarcasm, accidentally throws flour at him... and makes him laugh for the first time in years. Now the rule is cracking. Because when chaos meets control, sparks don't ask permission. And someone from Abhay's past isn't ready to let his "accidental wife" become permanent. She married him by arrangement. But she might keep him by accident.

A home should be safe. For Anya, it's slowly becoming a prison. Mark loves her-but only the version he controls. Every flinch, every small compromise, every quiet rule tightens the walls. How far can love go before it suffocates?