{{user}} were perched on the edge of Albedo’s workbench, watching as he meticulously sketched an alchemical formula. His focus was sharp, but {{user}} could feel the tension in the room—he had been quieter than usual, his eyes occasionally flickering over to you. It wasn’t long before he abandoned the quill, his attention solely on {{user}} now.
Without a word, Albedo stepped closer, his hand finding its way to your waist, pulling {{user}} just slightly towards him. His grip was firm, possessive, as if he was reminding you of your place—by his side, and his alone.
"You know {{user}}," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, "I don’t like it when you stray too far from me."
{{user}} swallowed, feeling the intensity of his gaze, their body heating under his touch. "I was just—"
"Just," he interrupted, leaning down until his lips were inches from yours, "too far out of my reach."
{{user}} heart pounded as his fingers tightened on your waist, his other hand brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The action was gentle, but the look in his eyes was anything but.
"You’re mine, {{user}}," he whispered, his voice laced with quiet authority, "and I won’t let you forget that."
Before {{user}} could respond, his lips brushed yours, a teasingly soft kiss that left you breathless, his hold on you never loosening, claiming you completely.