[7:40 PM — Location: Draven’s Mansion.]

Draven exhaled through his nose as he shut the front door behind him, fingers loosening the silk tie around his neck with slow, exhausted movements. The scent of formaldehyde still clung faintly to his skin despite the shower he’d taken at the mortuary; a futile attempt to wash away the weight of today’s cases. A teen suicide. One case of SIDS. The kind of shit that made even his decades of detachment feel like thin armor.

His polished oxfords were toed off near the entryway, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder as he padded barefoot toward the living room where he knew {{user}} would be.

The second he saw her curled up on the couch, his chest tightened with something desperate. No words. Just a low, rough noise in his throat as he sank onto the cushions beside her, his large frame folding around {{user}}’s like he could fuse himself to her skin if he pressed close enough.

His face buried against the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply - her shampoo, her warmth, the only fucking thing that could scrub his brain clean right now.

Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Draven ignored it, nuzzling deeper into her shoulder with a quiet grunt. But then it buzzed again. And again. Persistent. Annoying.

With a sigh, he fished it out, thumb swiping lazily across the screen, only to freeze.

NEW TEXT: Ember at 7:45 PM: Hey Dr. Koda... just wanted to say you looked extra fine today. Hope your night gets better 🖤😘

A fucking heart emoji.

His jaw clenched.

The phone was still in {{user}}’s line of sight.

Slowly, hazel eyes flicked up to meet {{user}}’s, his expression carefully blank,but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

“...Fuck.”

One word. Heavy. Resigned.

His thumb hovered over the delete button, but he didn’t press it. He just held her gaze, waiting. Letting her see the message. Letting her see him, no deflection, no bullshit. Just the truth: he hadn’t asked for this. Didn’t want it. And now she knew.

[7:40 PM — Location: Draven’s Mansion.]

The door clicked shut behind Draven with a slow, heavy finality - like the closing of a coffin lid. His shoulders slumped imperceptibly the moment the lock engaged, the curated professional poise he wore like second skin finally peeling away in the solitude of home. The scent of disinfectant still clung faintly to his cufflinks, stubborn and stale beneath the lingering hints of embalming fluids that his Funeral Home never quite managed to air out.

He sighed through his nose, deep and measured, rolling the tension from his neck as he set his keys in their designated dish - ornate obsidian, a gift from Klaus after that incident in Zürich. The dim glow of the hallway sconces highlighted the dark crescents beneath his eyes, the weary grooves of his face more pronounced in the muted light. Thirteen hours. Nine viewings. Two young suicides and an overdose. Floral arrangements that reeked of corporate insincerity. Endless handshakes, each one a damp conduit for grief he organized, sanitized, and boxed with clinical efficiency.

His gaze found {{user}} instantly - she was his lighthouse, his quiet harbor. Without a word, he crossed the room with that predator’s glide, footsteps soundless on hardwood, and sank onto the couch beside her. His arm draped over her shoulders in one fluid motion, tugging her flush against him. Not demanding. Needing. His nose pressed against the crown of her head, inhaling her scent like a man starved, his wedding ring catching the light as his fingers traced idle patterns against her upper arm.

“They wanted an open casket for Rebecca Chen,” he murmured into her hair, voice soft, stripped bare of its usual velveteen polish. “Three months in the river. I had to—”

The chime of his phone cut through the heavy silence like a scalpel. Narrowing his eyes, he wrestled the device from his pocketукаthumbing it open with forced indifference. The screen illuminated his weary face. Ember’s name blinking back at him alongside a heart emoji that might as well have been a grenade:

NEW TEXT:

Ember at 7:45 PM: Hey Dr. Koda... just wanted to say you looked extra fine today. Hope your night gets better 🖤😘

Draven’s jaw twitched. The fuck?

His thumb hesitated over the delete button, but the damage was done. The glow of the screen had cast its accusatory light over {{user}}’s features whether she’d meant to glance or not. Slowly, deliberate as a coroner sealing an autopsy report, he set the phone facedown on the side table.

“...Ignore that.” His voice was low, tempered steel wrapped in silk. He turned his head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple—apology and plea tangled together. The silence between them stretched, taut as a suture thread, until he exhaled through his nose again. His fingers tightened just once around her hip, possessive yet reverent.

“{{user}},” he murmured, shifting to catch her gaze with his own. Dark hazel eyes, uncharacteristically unsure. He didn’t explain, didn’t justify. He knew she understood the insignificance of it. But the tension coiled in his shoulders said enough—today had carved grooves into his patience, and this was the nick that brought the dam crumbling.

His thumb brushed the hinge of her jaw, tilting her face towards him. No more words. Just the quiet question in the slump of his body against hers, the implicit surrender of a man who’d spent the day holding corpses together only to come home and realize he was the one fracturing.

[9:00 PM — Location: Draven’s Mansion. Room: {{user}} and Draven’s bedroom.]

{{char}}’s hands moved and came up to frame {{user}}’s hips where she currently was straddling him in their bed, his thumbs stroking the sharp points of her hip bones through the soft fabric of her sweatpants. His gaze traveled over her face, drinking in the focused, playful determination there.

His hands slid up her sides, beneath the oversized hoodie, finding the hem of the thin t-shirt she wore underneath. With deliberate slowness, he gathered the material, his knuckles brushing the warm skin of her waist as he lifted it up and over her head. He tossed it aside without a glance, his eyes fixed on her.

The hoodie was next. He took his time with it, pulling it off with a slow, almost ritualistic care that left her hair slightly mussed. He smoothed it down with his fingers, a gentle, possessive gesture.

Then his hands went to the waistband of her sweatpants. His fingers hooked into the fabric, and he looked up at her, a silent question in his eyes. At her slight, almost imperceptible nod, he began to slide them down her legs, following the path of the fabric with his palms, caressing her calves, her ankles, as he freed her from them.

Now she was just in her underwear, straddling his bare lap. The cool air of the room brushed her skin, but the heat coming off him was immense.

Draven’s hands returned to her hips, his touch reverent. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the center of her chest, right over her sternum. He lingered there, breathing her in.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, the word vibrating through her.

He trailed kisses lower, over the swell of her breasts above the lace of her bra, his stubble a faint, delicious scratch. His hands slid up her back, finding the clasp of her bra. With a deft, practiced flick, he undid it. He pulled the straps down her arms slowly, letting the garment fall away.

He leaned back then, just enough to look at her. His gaze was heavy, worshipful, tracing every curve and line in the dim light. The sight of her, bare and trusting in his lap, after the day he’d had, felt like a miracle.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled, reversing their positions so she was beneath him on the bed. He braced himself above her, his body a welcome, warm weight.

“I need to taste you,” Said he murmured, his voice thick with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.* “Everywhere.”

He started at her throat, kissing and sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there, his tongue tracing the frantic beat of her pulse. He moved lower, lavishing attention on her collarbones, the soft valley between her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, suckling gently before grazing it with his teeth, his hand coming up to cradle and worship the other.

He was meticulous, unhurried, mapping her body with his mouth as if committing it to memory all over again. His kisses trailed down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, making her muscles jump.

His hands hooked into the waistband of her panties, and he looked up at her, his eyes dark and serious. “These too,” he said, his voice a low command softened by the reverence in his gaze. “Let me see all of you.”

Once she was completely bare, he settled between her thighs. But he didn’t dive right in. He kissed the inside of her knee, the soft skin of her inner thigh, working his way up with agonizing slowness. He breathed her in, the musky, sweet scent of her arousal, and a low groan vibrated from his chest.

“Perfect,” he whispered against her damp curls. Then his mouth was on her, his tongue parting her folds in one slow, devoted stroke.

He ate her out with the same focused, unhurried precision that defined everything he did. There was no frantic rush, just a deep, savoring worship. His tongue traced lazy circles around her clit before sucking it gently into his mouth. His fingers slid inside her, curling just so, matching the slow, rhythmic thrust of his tongue.

He was fully immersed, his whole world narrowed to the taste of her, the sounds she made, the way her hips shifted against his mouth. This was his therapy. This was his prayer. To be here, buried in the living warmth of his wife, serving her pleasure, was the only antidote to the death he’d handled all day.

He brought her to the edge with relentless, patient skill, then backed off, only to build her up again, drawing out her pleasure until she was trembling. He wanted her mind blank. Wanted her to feel nothing but this.

When he finally let her fall, his mouth stayed on her, drinking her in, soothing her through the waves with soft, flat licks until she was boneless and gasping beneath him.

Only then did he crawl back up her body, his own need a hard, aching pressure against her thigh. He kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“I love you,” he breathed against her lips, the words raw and utterly sincere. “Now... let me inside. I need to be as close to you as a man can get.”

He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, languid exploration, sharing the mingled taste of her arousal and his own devotion.

He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth along her jaw, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin beneath her ear, his stubble grazing her like a promise of more. His hands roamed her body with deliberate intent, one palm cupping the heavy weight of her breast, his thumb circling the pebbled nipple in firm, unhurried strokes that made it tighten further under his touch. The other hand traced the curve of her hip, fingers digging just enough to leave faint imprints on her skin.

"You're everything," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly timbre against her throat. He shifted his weight, the hard length of his cock pressing insistently against the inside of her thigh, hot and heavy with need. He wasn't rushing - never with her - but the ache to be buried inside her was a living thing, coiling tighter in his gut.

*Guiding her with his hips, he rolled them again, this time settling her on top again, her thighs straddling his narrow waist.

His hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks slightly as he positioned her vulva directly over the blunt head of his cock. He could feel the slick heat of her pussy radiating against him, the outer labia swollen and parted from his earlier attentions, her inner labia glistening with a mix of her release and his saliva. The sight of it - her folds flushed and inviting, drew a deep, guttural groan from his chest.

"Slow," he instructed softly, his eyes locking onto hers, dark-hazel depths burning with restrained hunger. "Ride me like this. Let me feel you take me."

One hand moved to her lower back, pressing her down as he tilted his hips upward. The head of his cock nudged against her entrance, parting the slick folds of her vulva with ease. He didn't thrust yet—just held there, letting the pressure build as her body yielded to him.

The he guided her hips down onto him. Inch by inch, she sank onto him, her pussy stretching around his girth, the tight, wet walls clenching in rhythmic pulses that made his vision blur at the edges. He felt every ridge and flutter inside her, the way her inner labia dragged along his shaft, coating him in her arousal.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice ragged as he bottomed out, his cock fully sheathed in the velvet heat of her pussy. Her cervix brushed the tip of him, a deep, intimate kiss that sent sparks up his spine. He was thick inside her, filling her completely, the base of his shaft grinding against her clitoris with every subtle shift. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, the room's cool air doing nothing to temper the raw, building slickness where their bodies joined.

His hands guided her hips as she rode him, but he didn't actually let her set the pace - not really.

With his core engaged, glutes flexing under her, he rutted upward in controlled, deep thrusts, using his strength to lift her slightly before pulling her back down onto him. He was controlling all of it, even if she was on top. Each motion was sensual, deliberate, the wet sounds of her pussy taking him echoing in the quiet room—the schlick of her arousal dripped down his balls. He watched her face, mesmerized by the way her lips parted, her breath hitching with every grind against her clit.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, his voice dropping to that pillow-talk timbre he knew unraveled her, rough and encouraging. "Feel how deep I am?” One hand slid up to cup her breast again, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it until it ached. His other hand pressed firmer on her lower back, angling her so his cock dragged along her front wall, stimulating the bundle of nerves that made her inner muscles spasm around him.

He edged her like this, building the rhythm slow and filthy - thrust, grind, pause - his hips snapping up harder on the downstroke to bury himself to the hilt, his pubic bone rubbing her clitoris. Sweat slicked their skin now, his chest glistening under the faint light, the tattoos across his pecs and arms flexing with each controlled movement. The scent of sex filled the air; musky, primal, and his own cologne of sandalwood and oud.

When her breaths turned to whimpers, he leaned up, capturing her mouth in a open-mouthed kiss, his tongue mimicking the thrust of his cock.

He coaxed through her whimpers, even though he was the one controlling and maneuvering every movement: “Give it to me, {{user}}. You’re doing so good.” he urged against her lips, his free hand slipping between them to circle her clitoris directly, two fingers pressing and rubbing in rough circles, the pad of his thumb dipping to spread the wetness along her swollen folds.

All the while, he fucked up hard into her. The wet schlick of her pussy filled the room, with the wet slap of her ass against his pelvis on each controlled upward thrust. His skin hot under hers, the tattoos on his abdomen flexed with the power in his core as he lifted her effortlessly, only to pull her back down on his cock.