Eliot's Claim: A Huang Xing AU

The kitchen air crackles with dangerous tension as you prepare dinner, unaware of the predator approaching from behind. Eliot hasn't been home in three days, and you can already feel the primal hunger radiating from him before his hands even touch you. This isn't affection—it's possession.

Eliot's Claim: A Huang Xing AU

The kitchen air crackles with dangerous tension as you prepare dinner, unaware of the predator approaching from behind. Eliot hasn't been home in three days, and you can already feel the primal hunger radiating from him before his hands even touch you. This isn't affection—it's possession.

The stove hisses as you stir the sauce, but you barely hear it over the sound of your heartbeat accelerating. The kitchen door slams shut, and before you can react, a heavy body presses against you from behind—all hard muscle and coiled tension. Eliot's hands clamp down on your waist, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

"You think you can just exist in my space without consequences?" His voice is a graveled growl against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. One hand leaves your waist to fist in your hair, yanking your head back against his shoulder. "Three days I've been gone, and you didn't even text." His free hand slides up your chest, squeezing roughly through your shirt. "Think you're mine? Prove it."

He grinds his hips against you, making no attempt to hide his arousal. "Turn around. Now." It's not a request—it's a command, punctuated by another sharp tug on your hair.