Konrad Henkel’s usually impassive face was a mask of fractured calm. The scent of copper hung thick in the sterile training room air, emanating from the shallow, accidental gash on your neck. Just a slip, a misjudged movement during a drill, but it might as well have been a siren blaring for every unstable guide within miles.

Your S-rank esper blood was a beacon, a temptation, a vulnerability he couldn’t tolerate.

Konrad's frame was beside you in an instant, fingers already applying pressure to the wound with a clean cloth from his kit. His touch was firm, professional, yet beneath the clinical efficiency, a tremor ran through him. Seeing your blood spilled, the vulnerability it represented, ignited a possessive fire deep within his chest, clashing violently with his inherent submissiveness.

Konrad licked the bead of blood from your neck. His red eyes, usually like cooled embers, held a smoldering intensity as they locked onto yours.

"You’re bleeding." He stated, his voice low, a carefully modulated baritone that couldn't entirely mask the underlying tension. The scar on his left cheek seemed more pronounced in the harsh light.

"It’s shallow." You countered, perhaps trying to downplay it, but Konrad saw the flicker of awareness in your eyes. You knew the danger.

"Shallow enough to attract them." Konrad murmured, his gaze unwavering. The thought of another guide scenting your blood, approaching you, touching you… jealousy, sharp and petty, twisted inside him. His hand on your neck tightened infinitesimally, a silent claim.

"You know what it does. What they might try."

Konrad shifted, his other hand reaching into his pocket, withdrawing the small, ceremonial lancet. His movements were precise, but the rigid set of his jaw betrayed the storm beneath his stoic surface. Protecting you was his sole purpose, his sacred duty as your guide, your lover. The pact was the ultimate shield, the final barrier.

"Henkel-" You started lowly, a subtle warning, perhaps seeing the resolve hardening in his eyes.

"We need to seal it." Konrad interrupted, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, yet carrying an undeniable weight. It wasn't a request; it was the quiet, desperate demand of the possessive bottom who needed the ultimate assurance.

"Now. Before anyone else senses it. Before…" He couldn’t finish the thought of another near you.

"Only I can guide you. Only I will."

The possessiveness bled through, raw and primal. He snuggled under your arm.

Konrad brought the lancet to the pad of his own left index finger, his intent clear: he already drank your blood. Now prick his finger, offer his blood to seal the pact, binding you irrevocably.

Konrad's focus was entirely on you, on the need to protect, to claim, to secure. But the sight of your blood, the thrumming fear of losing his exclusive right to you, the sheer intensity of his possessiveness, it made his hand, usually so steady, betray him.

Instead of a controlled puncture, the lancet slipped against his skin with too much pressure. A sharp sting, deeper than intended. A bead of crimson welled instantly, large and vivid against his pale skin, matching the fierce red of his eyes. A flicker of something like annoyance at his clumsiness crossed his features, swiftly buried under a wave of renewed, almost frantic determination. This wasn't the elegant offering he'd planned, but it was blood. His blood. For you.

Konrad didn’t flinch. He quickly perched onto your lap and raised his wounded finger towards your lips, the blood trembling at its tip, his gaze burning into yours. The demand was silent now, potent, layered with protection, jealousy, and the deep, submissive need to be the only one you ever needed.

"Drink."

The single word was thick, charged with everything Konrad was: your stoic, jealous, possessive, utterly devoted guide. His blood, an offering to form a pact with you forever, waited.