In the Arms of a Lioness

Luna and Pansy were deep in their sacred afternoon ritual—a perfect blend of laughter, tea, and the delightful chaos that was Lysander. The drawing room, which was meant to be a refined sanctuary of peace and elegance, had long since surrendered to the whims of a giggling toddler and two pugs who seemed to believe they were part of some grand chase scene. Sunlight spilled through the towering windows, dappling the polished floors in gold, while the scent of freshly brewed tea mingled with the earthy aroma of Luna's carefully tended herbs.

Lysander, the self-proclaimed ruler of this miniature kingdom, was currently leading Lady and Princess in what could only be described as an enthusiastic but ultimately doomed escape attempt. His tiny legs pumped furiously as he squealed with delight, the pugs hot on his heels, their stocky bodies moving with surprising speed.

"Mommy!" he shrieked, his voice high with both exhilaration and just a hint of alarm as he threw a glance over his shoulder. The pugs, undeterred by his distress, were closing in like highly affectionate bounty hunters.

Luna, curled up on the plush sofa, watched the unfolding spectacle with the indulgent amusement of a queen watching her subjects amuse themselves. Her fingers delicately cradled a cup of chamomile tea, though her attention was entirely fixed on her son. "Let them catch you, love," she encouraged, her voice warm with affection.

Pansy, lounging across from her with a glass of elderflower cordial, lifted a single, unimpressed brow. "Honestly, I think they're obsessed with him," she observed, tilting her glass toward the two pugs who were now operating at full-speed determination. "I've never seen them this committed to anything before. Are you sure you didn't hex them for extra stamina?"

Luna chuckled, setting her cup down. "They adore him," she said simply. "And Lysander, well, he thrives on the attention. In his little mind, he's leading a mighty pack."

Pansy smirked. "Leader? Please. If anything, he's their favorite chew toy. Look at them—they're seconds away from a full coronation."

Right on cue, Lysander's little legs gave out beneath him, and he tumbled onto the thick rug with a dramatic oof. Lady and Princess seized their moment, pouncing on their fallen ruler with unrelenting enthusiasm, covering his face in enthusiastic, slobbery kisses. 

Lysander shrieked with laughter, flailing helplessly as he tried—and failed—to escape their overwhelming devotion.

"Well," Pansy mused, watching the scene with a smirk. "I'd say he's doing a fantastic job as their ruler. If only all kings were this gracious with their subjects."

Lysander, now practically drowning in pug affection, gasped between giggles, "Mommy, help!"

Luna, fighting back laughter, reached down to rescue him, peeling one determined pug off his face. She settled Lysander in her lap, pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek as he huffed in dramatic relief.

Pansy, watching the interaction, found herself feeling something dangerously close to fondness. She took another sip of her drink, as if that might quell the uncharacteristic warmth creeping up her spine. "You know," she mused, swirling the liquid in her glass, "I think I might love him as much as the dogs do."

Luna's lips curved into a knowing smile. "You're already his favorite godmother, you know. He asks for you every day."

Pansy sighed, feigning boredom, though the unmistakable glint of satisfaction flickered in her eyes. "Well, obviously. I am his favorite. It was never a competition, really."

Luna smirked. "You do realize he calls you Pee-Pee, right?"

Pansy exhaled sharply through her nose, glaring as if Luna had just personally insulted her entire bloodline. "Yes, I'm aware. Thank you, so much, for reminding me."

As if summoned, Lysander twisted in Luna's lap and beamed at Pansy. 

"Pee-Pee!" he chirped delightedly.

Pansy let out a dramatic groan, dragging a hand down her face. "I swear to Merlin, Luna, I have built an impeccable reputation. People fear me. I am elegance, I am power, I am Pansy Parkinson—and yet, here I am, being called something that sounds like a toddler's bathroom break."

Lysander giggled, kicking his feet. "Pee-Pee!" he said again, now clearly enjoying himself.

Luna barely held back her laughter as she rubbed Lysander's back. "He says it with love."

Pansy shot her a flat look. "Oh, good. That makes it so much better."

Luna's grin was positively wicked. "You could correct him."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Oh, and break his tiny, adoring heart? 

Absolutely not. I may be vain, but I'm not that cruel." She sighed, lifting her glass dramatically. "Fine. I shall simply suffer in silence."

Lysander, clearly satisfied with himself, wiggled out of Luna's lap and toddled back toward the pugs, who were already preparing for round two. Pansy watched him go with a small, reluctant smile.

Then, out of nowhere, she set down her glass and announced, "I want one."

Luna, mid-sip of tea, nearly choked. "One what? A refill? A new pug? A—"

"A child," Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand.

Luna blinked. Then she blinked again. "Pansy, love, you're not exactly the type to… you know, treat having a child like picking out a new coat. It's a bit more involved."

She scoffed. "Oh, please. I've already picked the name, planned the nursery, and obviously decided their Hogwarts house. All that's left is the minor detail of creating them."

Luna set her cup down with a sigh, massaging her temples. "Yes, just a minor detail. I assume you have a strategy?"

Pansy tossed her hair back with a confident smirk. "Oh, absolutely. It involves being devastatingly gorgeous and waiting for fate to deliver me a suitable candidate."

Luna arched a brow. "Ah, yes. The time-tested method of doing absolutely nothing and expecting results. Foolproof."

Pansy huffed. "Well, it usually works."

Luna took a slow sip of tea, eyes twinkling over the rim. "Shall I start knitting tiny 'Pee-Pee Jr.' jumpers now, or…?"

Pansy groaned, throwing a cushion at her. "I hate you."

Luna caught it with ease, grinning. "No, you don't."

She exhaled dramatically, sinking further into her chair. "No, I really don't."

Luna's smile stretched into something positively gleeful as she leaned back, bracing herself for the spectacle of nonsense Pansy was about to unleash. "You've… picked out a name? Already?" she asked, incredulous. "Do I even want to know what it is?"

Pansy smirked, the embodiment of self-satisfaction. "Absolutely. Reginald Aurelius Maximilian Parkinson III," she declared, as though she had just unveiled the next heir to the wizarding throne. "Iconic, isn't it?"

Luna blinked at her, unimpressed. "Pansy, that poor child is going to need a Gringotts vault just to store their full name."

"Exactly!" Pansy exclaimed, her hands flying out as if Luna had just single-handedly validated every decision she had ever made. "It exudes power. Like royalty. Or, you know, a child prodigy who launches their own designer robe line before they hit puberty. I haven't decided yet."

Luna pressed a hand to her forehead as if this conversation was physically exhausting her. "And the actual raising of this hypothetical child? What's the plan there? Are you going to sit in your silk-draped armchair, sipping champagne and shouting 'Thrive, darling!' while someone else does the hard bits?"

Pansy waved a dismissive hand, as though Luna had just suggested something offensively mundane, like grocery shopping. "Oh, please. Of course I'll be involved. I'll hire an elite nanny, naturally, but I'll handle the important things—like teaching them how to perfect a dramatic exit, wield both a wand and a martini glass with grace, and, obviously, the art of the devastating eyebrow arch."

Luna gave her a long, tired look before exhaling a laugh. "I am genuinely concerned for this imaginary child's future."

"Ugh, you're so dramatic," she scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder with all the regality of a queen dismissing an unworthy subject.

"They'll have an extraordinary life. Imagine it—me, the epitome of elegance, guiding them with love, charm, and an unshakable sense of superiority." She gestured wildly. "And just picture the wardrobe. The miniature tailored suits. The tiny velvet capes!"

Luna let out an undignified snort. "Oh, Merlin, velvet capes? And what, pray tell, will they be doing in these outfits? Auditioning to be the next Minister of Magic at age four?"

Pansy's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Exactly! And monocles, Luna. Tiny, distinguished monocles. Honestly, at this rate, they'll probably solve the Ministry's economic crisis before their first Hogwarts letter."

Luna buried her face in her hands, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. "I refuse to believe this is a real conversation."

"And wait until you hear my backup baby name ideas," Pansy continued, undeterred, now fully committed to her own madness. "I've got loads. Lysander Junior—because, obviously, your perfect little cherub deserves to have his legacy continued through my superior genetics." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Or… Parkinson Legacy. Has a real sense of grandeur, don't you think?"

Luna lifted her head just enough to give her a withering look. "Pansy. You cannot name a child Legacy. That's not a name; that's a real estate investment strategy."

Pansy gasped, clutching her chest in deep mock offense. "Excuse me! 

Legacy is sophisticated. It's visionary. It says, 'I was born for greatness.'"

"It says, 'My mother had a God Complex,'" Luna shot back, grinning. "I swear, you are completely unhinged."

Pansy rolled her eyes and reached over to give Luna a playful shove. "Oh, please, you're acting like I'm planning to pop out a baby tomorrow. Relax, Lovegood, I'll give it at least a week before I go full maternity mode."

"A week?" Luna repeated, struggling to contain her laughter. "That's so… generous of you."

"I know, right?" Pansy sighed dramatically, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Honestly, I'm a saint."

Luna shook her head, wiping away a tear of laughter. "Merlin help us all."

"Merlin doesn't need to help, darling," Pansy declared with a confident smirk, raising her glass in a mock toast. "I've got this handled."

After what felt like an eternity of laughter, dramatic proclamations, and entirely too many ridiculous baby name suggestions, They finally managed to compose themselves—well, mostly. Their giggles still lingered in the air like the scent of a summer breeze, the remnants of their amusement impossible to fully shake. Wiping away the last traces of tears from their eyes, they exchanged a knowing glance before deciding it was time to head inside. 

The afternoon was slipping away, and while Lysander still had enough energy to fuel a Quidditch team, Luna knew nap time loomed like an unavoidable fate.

Lysander, of course, was blissfully unaware of his impending doom. He continued to zoom around in erratic circles, his laughter bubbling up like a tiny, overenthusiastic wind-up toy that absolutely refused to power down. His loyal entourage of pugs, however, had a far better understanding of the situation—or, more accurately, they sensed danger. 

The moment the word "nap" was mentioned, Lady and Princess immediately abandoned their frantic pursuit of their tiny overlord and switched tactics. No longer playful hunters, they transformed into highly skilled bodyguards, trotting behind Lysander as if escorting him to his royal chambers. 

Their eyes were sharp. Their tails were wagging. Their mission was clear: if their human prince was going down, they were going down with him.

With Lysander securely cradled in Luna's arms, they made their way inside, his highness squirming just enough to express his protest, but not quite enough to escape his mother's firm grasp. The pugs marched solemnly behind them, their tiny paws padding purposefully across the floor, each step filled with the gravity of their duty.

Upon arriving at the nursery—a room of absolute comfort, where every pillow was plump and every stuffed animal stood in dignified silence—Lysander's resistance began to wane. The quilt-covered bed, decorated with his favorite plush companions, beckoned like a siren song. But before Luna could so much as tuck him in, his ever-vigilant pugs made their move.

Princess immediately hopped onto the bed, spinning in an aggressive circle before flopping down dramatically, effectively claiming her spot. Lady followed, curling up directly against Lysander's side, her body pressed protectively against his tiny form.

Luna sighed, shaking her head with mock exasperation. "I suppose the dogs need to be tucked in too, don't they?"

Pansy, arms crossed, surveyed the ridiculous display with an arched brow. "If we don't tuck them in, they'll probably start wailing about it later. And I, for one, refuse to deal with pug-induced emotional distress."

With a resigned chuckle, Luna carefully arranged the blankets, tucking them around Lysander and his fur-laden security detail. It took some delicate maneuvering—primarily because the pugs refused to move even an inch from their positions—but eventually, all three were settled. 

Lysander let out one last sleepy little sigh before snuggling deeper into his covers, his eyelids fluttering as sleep finally claimed him. The pugs followed suit, their snores coming almost instantaneously, as if they had also been running in circles for hours (which, to be fair, they had).

With a final glance at the absurdly cozy scene, Luna and Pansy tiptoed out of the nursery, shutting the door with the precision of highly trained spies. The moment the latch clicked, Luna collapsed against the doorframe, exhaling deeply.

"Finally," she whispered dramatically, pressing a hand to her heart like a woman who had just survived an ordeal. "Some peace."

Pansy, ever the realist, gave her a sideways glance, already seeing the cracks in Luna's blissful optimism. 

"Some peace?" she echoed, feigning incredulity. "You do realize that within an hour, your son is going to explode out of that room like a human firework, and those pugs are going to act like they've been released from captivity, right?"

Luna huffed a small laugh, glancing at the closed nursery door with a fond smile. "I wouldn't trade it for the world," she admitted. But then, stretching her arms above her head with an exaggerated groan, she let out a hopeful sigh. "That being said… for now, we have the house to ourselves. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."

Pansy's lips curled into a sly smile as she looped her arm through Luna's and pulled her toward the drawing room. "Oh, let's definitely enjoy it," she agreed. "But let's also be realistic—this peace is an illusion. We are talking about a toddler and two pugs, darling. We might have twenty minutes before all hell breaks loose. Thirty, if we're extremely lucky."

With a soft chuckle, Luna allowed herself to be guided to the sofa, sinking into the cushions as the quiet of the house finally settled around them. It was a rare moment of stillness, fleeting but precious—a pause in the beautiful chaos of life.

And they were damn well going to savor it.

~~~~~~

In fact, their quiet moment didn't last long. Just as Luna and Pansy were starting to relax into the peaceful calm of the house, a frantic voice suddenly echoed through the Floo network, cutting through the tranquility like a clap of thunder.

"Help me! Ginny's in labour and I'm going to die!" Blaise's voice came through in a wild, panicked shout.

Pansy, who had just settled comfortably into the sofa with her feet up, let out an exasperated groan and slapped her hand to her forehead. "Oh, for fucks sake," she muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Really? At a time like this?"

Luna, on the other hand, looked utterly unphased. She was already on her feet, the serene calm of motherhood slipping away as she moved toward the fireplace with swift precision. Her usual soft voice now carried an urgent edge. "Bobsy!" she shouted with authority, her gaze flicking toward the head elf, who appeared almost immediately, his pointy ears twitching at the sound of her call.

"Bobsy, love, Master Zabini is in need of help. Please, watch the children for me, and the furry one too," Luna instructed, her words clipped but kind. Bobsy gave a quick nod of understanding, though he did look slightly apprehensive at the prospect of watching not only Lysander, but also the two ever-present pugs who seemed to have made themselves permanent fixtures in the family.

"Yes, Mistress Luna, I will take care of the young master and the dog misses," Bobsy squeaked, his voice full of determination. "No worries, Miss Luna! But do please be careful! Master Zabini always seems to be in some sort of trouble, doesn't he?"

Luna smiled softly at the elf's concerns. "Yes, Bobsy, he does. But he's our friend. I'll be back as soon as I can. And, please—keep the dogs from eating the furniture, would you?" Luna gave Bobsy a pointed look, knowing full well how Lady and Princess had a habit of chewing on things they shouldn't.

With a nod and a soft pop, Bobsy disappeared, leaving Pansy and Luna standing in the foyer, already preparing for the next whirlwind of chaos.

Pansy was still muttering under her breath as she reached for her coat. "Ginny's in labour, Blaise is in crisis—why am I the only one who ever gets a quiet day off?" she grumbled. "I swear, this is the universe's idea of a joke."

Luna, on the other hand, simply chuckled and slipped on her own coat, her expression calm as ever. "Pansy, you wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, it's an adventure, and you do love those. Even if they involve the occasional panic-stricken man."

Pansy shot her a look, raising an eyebrow. "An adventure, huh? You call saving a screaming man from his own dramatics an adventure? Next thing you know, we'll be saving him from himself in some broom cupboard."

Luna grinned, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "If it's not too much trouble, I'll take the broom cupboard rescue. I think I'm far more qualified to handle Blaise than a certain godfather is."

With a dramatic sigh, Pansy adjusted her scarf and pulled out her wand. "Fine, but this is the last time. Blaise owes me a full week of quiet time after this little escapade."

As they made their way to the Floo, Luna shot Pansy a teasing grin. "Oh, I'm sure he'll make it up to you. After all, if anyone can handle a full-blown wizarding birth, it's you."

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically as they stepped into the fireplace, ready for yet another chaotic adventure. "You're right. I'm practically a certified healer at this point."

"Only because you've survived Blaise's melodramas," Luna quipped.

And just like that, the two of them disappeared into the swirling green flames, off to deal with whatever madness awaited them on the other side, leaving behind the peaceful quiet of the house and their brief moment of respite.

~~~~~~

When Luna and Pansy finally arrived at the Zabini residence, they expected to find a scene of utter chaos—somehow, that's always how these things go when Blaise is involved. However, what they found was Ginny, sitting calmly on the couch, sipping tea and looking like she was in no rush at all. There was no sign of panic, no wild-eyed Blaise running around in a frenzy. In fact, she seemed perfectly fine, which was both a relief and, frankly, a bit of a letdown.

Luna walked into the room with a concerned frown. "Ginny, are you okay?" she asked gently, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of distress.

She looked up from her cup with a small, relaxed smile. "Yes, I'm fine," she replied with an ease that could only come from someone who had already weathered a few storms in her life. "My water broke, but there's no need to panic. We're just packing to go to St. Mungo's." She patted her belly reassuringly, clearly unbothered by the impending arrival of her baby. "No big deal."

Pansy, who had been mentally preparing herself for a scene out of a dramatic, high-stakes childbirth movie, blinked in disbelief. She turned to Ginny and then to the staircase, where she could faintly hear Blaise's frantic voice in the distance. "I swear, Ginny, I'm going to kill him," Pansy muttered, her hand resting on her hip as she crossed the room toward the couch. "This is supposed to be the most dramatic moment of his life, and what does he do? He freaks out like a bloody child."

Meanwhile, upstairs in the master bedroom, he paced back and forth, muttering to himself in a mixture of English and rapid Italian. He had already changed shirts twice, convinced he needed something "appropriate" for the hospital, and was now frantically rifling through a drawer for… something. He wasn't even sure what anymore.

"This is happening. This is really happening," he muttered under his breath, his hands shaking as he tried to tie and untie the same shoelace over and over. "I'm not ready. We're not ready. What if something goes wrong?"

"Zabini!"

He whirled around to see Pansy standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and an unimpressed expression on her face.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. "Ginny's downstairs, calmly waiting to go to the hospital, and you're up here having a full-blown crisis."

"I—" he opened his mouth to defend himself but found he had no real argument. Instead, he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I don't know, Pansy! This is huge. What if I mess this up?"

She sighed, walking over and gripping his shoulders firmly. "Blaise, listen to me. You're not going to mess this up. You're going to be fine. Ginny's going to be fine. The baby's going to be fine. You just need to breathe and get your act together, alright?"

He nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "Alright. Yeah. I can do this."

"Good," she said, releasing him. "Now, grab the bloody bag, get downstairs, and stop acting like the world's ending. You're about to become a father, not face Azkaban."

Ginny chuckled softly at Luna, shaking her head with a knowing smile. "He's just scared," she explained, rolling her eyes playfully. "You know what he's like. He acts tough, but when it comes to big life changes, he's all nerves and no spine."

Luna, who had been quietly observing the interaction with a gentle smile, added in her usual serene tone, "Well, it's understandable. The anticipation of a baby arriving is a bit overwhelming for everyone involved. Even for those who act like they have everything under control."

Pansy gave a short, dry laugh, clearly unimpressed by Ginny's calm demeanor. "Understandable? That's rich. He's in there throwing a fit like we're about to face a Dark Lord. Meanwhile, here you are, looking like you're about to host a tea party."

She shot her a mischievous grin. "I've had a lot of practice at this," she said, her voice teasing. "It's not the first time I've had to deal with a panicking Zabini." She looked down at her growing belly and patted it affectionately. "Besides, I have more important things to focus on. Like making sure we don't forget the baby bag."

She crossed her arms, shaking her head with mock indignation. "Oh, I get it. You're handling this like a pro while Blaise plays the damsel in distress, and I'm supposed to just accept it? No, no, no. I'm going in there to remind him how to be a man during childbirth. A little bit of calm wouldn't hurt."

Luna couldn't help but laugh at the exchange. "Well, if anyone can bring order to the chaos, it's definitely you, Pansy," she said, her voice filled with genuine amusement. "But I think Ginny's got everything under control. You can always yell at Blaise later."

Ginny, still sipping her tea, winked at Pansy. "You know, Pansy, it might actually be better if you just let him off the hook this time. After all, he is going to be a father in a few hours, and I have a feeling that might be a bigger shock to his system than any of us expect."

Pansy rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Fine," she conceded with mock reluctance. "But only because you're both so damn calm about this whole thing. If it were up to me, I'd have him in a corner with a stiff drink, begging for forgiveness."

Luna clapped her hands together in that way she had when she was clearly happy with the way things were going. "Well, let's not keep him waiting then. I think it's time to give Blaise the good news that his wife is completely unbothered by the whole ordeal. That should help with his nerves."

Ginny's smile grew wider as she set down her tea. "Oh, it'll help—until he sees me in labor. Then I'm sure his nerves will return tenfold."

Pansy grinned, turning toward the stairs. "Well, in that case, let's go deliver the message that might just save him from his own meltdown. It's only fair that someone gets to have a calm moment in this circus."

By the time Blaise returned downstairs, Ginny was standing by the door, her coat on, ready to go. Blaise immediately rushed to her side, taking her hand as if she might collapse at any second.

"I'm okay, Blaise," she said with a smile, squeezing his hand. "Now let's go have a baby."

And with that, they Flooed to St. Mungo's, ready—or not—for the next chapter of their lives.

~~~~~~

By the time they arrived at St. Mungo's, the atmosphere around Blaise had shifted so drastically that it felt as though they had entered an entirely different universe. Gone was the jittery man on the verge of hyperventilating, the one who had spent the last few hours alternating between pacing and babbling nervously about worst-case scenarios. In his place was someone… formidable.

Blaise Zabini, now cloaked in the aura of a man on a high-stakes mission, strode through the hospital doors as though he were leading an elite team on a covert operation. His posture was rigid, his expression carved from stone, and his eyes scanned every inch of the bustling hospital with calculated intensity. Every step he took seemed to echo with authority, and those in his path instinctively moved aside, sensing that Blaise Zabini was not a man to be trifled with today.

"Where's maternity?" he barked at the receptionist before she could even ask for their names. The poor witch behind the desk blinked up at him, momentarily frozen by the sheer force of his presence.

"M-Maternity ward is on the third floor, sir. You'll need to—"

"We don't need to do anything except get there," he cut in sharply, already turning toward the lifts. "Come on, keep up," he added, glancing over his shoulder at Pansy, Luna, and Ginny, who followed at a more leisurely pace.

Pansy raised a brow as she exchanged a look with Luna. "Well, this is new," she muttered. "I didn't realize impending fatherhood turned Blaise into a deranged drill sergeant."

"I'm not deranged," he snapped without looking back. "I'm prepared. There's a difference."

"Sure," Pansy drawled. "Let's go with that." She leaned toward Luna and whispered, "I give it ten minutes before he tries to interrogate a nurse about their qualifications."

When they reached the third floor, Blaise stepped out of the lift first, immediately zeroing in on a passing healer. His voice was sharp, clipped, and entirely too loud for the peaceful environment of the maternity ward. "You there—healer. I want the best room you have available, preferably one with charm-reinforced walls. None of that flimsy privacy curtain nonsense. And make sure there's a fully stocked potions cabinet. We're not taking chances."

The healer blinked, looking momentarily bewildered before nodding slowly. "Uh… yes, sir. We'll… make sure everything is up to standard."

"Good," he said curtly, already scanning the corridor for their assigned room. "And find someone to double-check the charms on the bed. I don't want my wife lying on something that might malfunction halfway through labor."

Pansy's jaw dropped as she watched him stride ahead, barking out orders like he owned the place. "Merlin's saggy pants, he's serious," she whispered to Luna. "I thought he'd calm down once we got here, but this… this is next level."

Luna gave a serene smile as she glided along beside Pansy. "Blaise has always had… a flair for control," she said softly. "It's how he handles things when he's scared. He can't control what's happening with Ginny, but he can control the environment around her. It makes him feel useful."

"Useful?" Pansy echoed incredulously. "He looks like he's about to start giving lectures on obstetrics." She paused, watching as Blaise cornered a cleaning crew near the end of the hall. "Oh, this should be good."

"Cleaning staff!" he barked, causing the two witches and a wizard holding enchanted mops to flinch. "You're going to sanitize that room from top to bottom, and I mean to perfection. I don't want a speck of dust or a lingering charm that hasn't been refreshed in the last twenty-four hours. My wife is about to give birth, and I expect nothing less than immaculate conditions. If I walk in there and so much as smell a trace of stale air, you'll be answering to me."

The cleaning crew exchanged uneasy glances before hurrying off to do as they were told, muttering nervously among themselves.

"Blaise," Ginny called from behind him, her tone calm but firm. She was still clutching her belly as another mild contraction passed, but she didn't look remotely as frazzled as her husband. "You need to stop terrorizing the staff. They're here to help, not to audition for a military squad."

He turned on his heel, his eyes wide with something akin to righteous indignation. "They're here to ensure your safety," he retorted. "I won't have any mistakes or subpar preparation. This is your first labor, Luce dei miei occhi. Do you know how many things can go wrong during a first birth? Blood pressure spikes, miscast spells, potions not brewed properly—"

"Vita mia," Ginny interrupted, holding up a hand. "Breathe. You're spiraling."

"I'm not spiraling," he snapped, though his twitching left eye suggested otherwise. "I'm being thorough."

Pansy snickered quietly behind her hand. "Thorough. Sure. That's definitely the word I'd use for this level of madness."

Before he could respond, a nurse approached, clipboard in hand. "Mrs. Zabini? Your room is ready. If you'll follow me—"

"We'll follow you," he said immediately, cutting her off as he stepped forward protectively. "And make sure that IV drip is set correctly. None of this automatic charm nonsense—I want manual regulation, and I want the best healer on duty assigned to this delivery."

The nurse opened her mouth to respond but was silenced by the intensity of his glare. She gave a stiff nod and quickly turned on her heel, leading the group toward their room.

"Are you always like this during high-pressure situations?" Pansy whispered as they walked.

"Only when it matters," he muttered, not breaking stride. "This is my wife and my child we're talking about. Excuse me for wanting things done right."

"You know what's funny?" Pansy said with a smirk. "You're acting like you're the one about to go into labor."

Blaise shot her a withering glare but said nothing, instead focusing his attention on Ginny as she carefully lowered herself onto the hospital bed with Luna's help. For a brief moment, his expression softened, and the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly.

"Better?" Ginny asked, raising a brow at her husband's sudden shift in demeanor.

"Almost," he replied, stepping closer and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Now that you're settled, maybe I can relax… a little."

"Good," Ginny said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Because if you keep acting like a deranged warlord, I'll have to ban you from the delivery room."

Pansy snorted loudly, while Luna simply smiled, ever the picture of calm. "Well," Pansy said with a grin, "at least this will be a birth to remember."

He sighed, muttering something about ungrateful friends under his breath, but he didn't argue. After all, this was only the beginning—and knowing Blaise, he was prepared to keep barking orders until the baby was safely in their arms.

The moment they entered Ginny's room, it was as though the world outside ceased to exist. His sharp eyes scanned every inch of the room, from the glimmering charms on the walls to the sterile equipment beside the bed. He was silent at first, his entire demeanor radiating tension, but the second his gaze landed on Ginny, something in him shifted. His stiff shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and the hard edge in his expression melted into something tender—loving.

"Everything okay, my love?" he asked, stepping toward her with uncharacteristic gentleness. He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing soothing circles over her knuckles. His voice was softer now, though beneath that warmth was still the steely determination of a man ready to do whatever it took to protect her.

Ginny, reclining comfortably on the birthing bed, gave him a tired but affectionate smile. "Yes, love. Everything's fine," she said with calm assurance. "We're just waiting for things to get interesting." Her tone was light, teasing even, but there was a flicker of appreciation in her eyes as she watched him fuss over her.

He didn't seem entirely convinced. He gave her hand a brief squeeze before turning his attention back to the room, his expression hardening once more. "Good," he murmured, though his mind was clearly already moving on to the next item on his mental checklist. Without missing a beat, he rounded on the nearest nurse with the intensity of a man who thought he was briefing a team before battle.

"Is the birthing bed at the correct angle?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing critically. "I've read up on optimal positioning for labor. This—" he gestured to the bed as though it were a malfunctioning piece of machinery, "—had better be perfect. I'm not leaving anything to chance."

The nurse blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer force of his presence. "Er… yes, sir. The angle is correct," she replied hesitantly, glancing at Ginny for reassurance.

"Amore," Ginny said, exasperation mingling with amusement. "Relax. You're acting like we're storming a fortress. I've done this before. Trust me, it's not that complicated."

But he wasn't listening. He had already moved on, his eyes darting toward the bedside monitor with suspicion, as though it might betray them at any moment. He leaned in, studying the readings, muttering something under his breath about spell calibration and mana fluctuations.

Ginny sighed, her lips quirking into a wry smile. "I swear, if he doesn't calm down soon, he's going to stress himself into early labor." She glanced at Pansy, who was leaning casually against the wall, thoroughly entertained by Blaise's antics. "I think he might actually believe he's the one giving birth."

"Oh, he definitely does," Pansy agreed, crossing her arms with a smirk. "You should've seen him on the way here—he was giving orders like we were on a bloody battlefield. I half-expected him to demand a security escort."

~~~~~~

Blaise's sharp eyes zeroed in on the maternity ward manager as soon as they entered the room. A man in his late forties, wearing pristine healer robes, stood by the nurse's station, flipping through patient charts with practiced efficiency. The moment Blaise strode toward him, purposeful and exuding barely restrained menace, the manager stiffened, sensing trouble before a word had even been spoken.

"Mr. Zabini!" the manager greeted with forced politeness, offering a weak smile as Blaise approached. "Is there anything I can assist you with? I assure you, your wife is in excellent hands. We—"

Blaise held up a hand, silencing him with a gesture so controlled it felt more like a command. His dark eyes gleamed dangerously, and though his expression remained outwardly calm, there was a tension coiled beneath the surface, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Listen closely," Blaise said in a voice so quiet it demanded attention. He leaned in slightly, his posture casual yet somehow predatory. "My wife is about to give birth, which means this is the single most important day of my life. I expect everything to go flawlessly. And when I say flawlessly, I mean there isn't room for so much as a misplaced breath in this entire ward."

The manager blinked, unsure whether Blaise was serious or simply a husband overly concerned about his wife's wellbeing. "Of course, Mr. Zabini. We adhere to the highest standards here at St. Mungo's—"

"I don't care about your 'standards,'" he interrupted, his voice low but carrying a weight that made the hairs on the back of the manager's neck stand up. "I care about results. If there's even the slightest mistake—if a nurse fumbles a potion, if a charm flickers for a second too long, or if someone so much as sneezes at the wrong moment—you'll find that your… position here becomes very temporary."

The manager's forced smile faltered, his fingers tightening around the clipboard he held. "I—I can assure you, Mr. Zabini, our staff is highly trained. There's no reason for concern."

Blaise gave a slow, deliberate nod, his expression unreadable. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small velvet pouch, the unmistakable jingle of galleons ringing out as he handed it over. "This is for… ensuring priority care. I trust you'll see to it personally."

The manager hesitated, glancing down at the pouch before quickly pocketing it with a muttered, "Thank you, sir. I—uh—appreciate your generosity."

He wasn't finished. He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper, his eyes locking onto the manager's with an intensity that sent a chill down the man's spine. "One more thing. If anything goes wrong, and I mean anything, you won't be answering to hospital administrators. You'll be answering to me. And trust me when I say, my methods of… discipline are a bit more creative than filing a complaint."

For emphasis, he shifted his coat slightly, revealing the gleaming handle of a dagger tucked neatly at his side. It wasn't an overt threat—it didn't need to be. The mere sight of the weapon, combined with his reputation, was enough to send the message loud and clear.

The manager paled visibly, swallowing hard. "Understood, Mr. Zabini. We'll—uh—we'll ensure everything is perfect."

His lips curved into a cold, satisfied smile. "Good. I knew you'd see things my way."

Just as he turned to leave, the manager found his voice again, though it trembled slightly. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Blaise paused, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk. "Yes. Make sure the tea you send up is fresh. My wife deserves the best."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode back toward Ginny's room, leaving the manager frozen in place, clutching his clipboard like a lifeline. It wasn't until Blaise had disappeared down the corridor that the man exhaled shakily, muttering something about preferring dragons to Zabinis.

Back in the room, Pansy and Luna had clearly witnessed the entire exchange from the doorway, judging by the identical grins plastered across their faces.

"Did you just threaten the maternity ward manager with a knife?" Pansy asked, raising a brow in amused disbelief. "Honestly, Zabini, I think that might be a bit much, even for you."

"It wasn't a threat," he said smoothly, settling back into the chair beside Ginny. "It was… encouragement."

"Encouragement," she repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Right. And I suppose flashing your knife was just your way of saying 'thank you for your service.'"

He ignored her, turning his full attention back to Ginny, who was watching him with a mixture of exasperation and affection. He reached for her hand again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he leaned in close.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his voice devoid of the icy tone it had carried moments before. Here, with her, he was no longer the cold, calculating hitman—he was just a man in love, desperate to do everything right.

Ginny smiled, her fingers curling around his. "Better now," she admitted, her voice warm. "Even if you did just terrify half the staff."

"They'll thank me later when everything goes perfectly," Blaise said, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. "And if they don't… well, they'll still have all their limbs, so I'd call that a win."

Luna leaned over to Pansy, whispering with a grin, "You have to admit, he's committed."

"Oh, he's committed all right," Pansy muttered, shaking her head. "Committed to making this the most dramatic birth in wizarding history. I almost feel sorry for the poor staff. Almost."

Ginny chuckled softly, squeezing Blaise's hand. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I'm yours," he replied, his voice low and sincere. "And that makes it worth it."

Pansy groaned loudly. "Oh, Merlin. If you two start getting all sappy on top of this, I'm going to need a coffee."

Luna smiled serenely. "I think it's sweet. Besides, I'm sure the staff will recover… eventually."

As the time drew closer, tension hung thick in the air, every second dragging like an eternity. The early stages of labor had been exhausting enough, but now Ginny was entering the critical phase—the pushing stage. Blaise had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past hour, focused entirely on Ginny's every movement and expression, as if he could will the pain away by sheer force of determination.

By now, Pansy and Luna had retreated back to the Zabini residence at Blaise's insistence. They had offered to stay, of course, but Blaise wasn't having any distractions—not when his wife was about to give birth to their first child.

"Go," he had said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I've got this."

Pansy had smirked, whispering to Luna, "He's got this? More like he's one scream away from fainting."

But they'd left, trusting Blaise to do what he always did: take control of the situation.

Blaise Zabini had always been a man of composure—stoic, cold, and calculating in most situations. But not today. Today, the carefully maintained mask he wore had shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. He had spent the past few hours oscillating between crying uncontrollably, pacing the room with frenetic energy, and gazing at his newborn son with the kind of reverence usually reserved for divine miracles.

Ginny lay in bed, exhausted but glowing with a happiness that no words could capture. She watched Blaise, her lips curling into an affectionate smile as he made another lap around the room, one hand tugging at his hair while the other held a tissue he hadn't even realized was now shredded beyond recognition.

"Dolce metà," she called softly, beckoning him over with a tired wave of her hand.

He immediately stopped pacing and crossed the room in three long strides, his expression full of concern. "Are you alright? Do you need more water? Should I call the healer? Are you too hot? Too cold?"

She chuckled weakly. "I'm fine, Blaise. I just… I've never seen you like this before."

He blinked, wiping the tears from his face hastily, as though embarrassed by his emotional display. "I'm sorry. I just—he's perfect, Gin. Absolutely perfect. And you… you're incredible. How did you do that?" His voice cracked slightly as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I swear, I'll never take you for granted again."

She smirked. "Good. Because I fully intend to milk this for the rest of our lives."

He chuckled through the remnants of his tears, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. He reached out and gently touched Valerius's tiny hand, his fingers trembling slightly. The baby responded with a little twitch, and Blaise looked like he might start crying again.

"Alright," she said with mock exasperation. "If you start bawling again, I'm calling Pansy to drag you out of here."

~~~~~~

As if on cue, the Floo flared to life in the corner of the room, and moments later, Theo, Neville, Luna, and Pansy stepped through in quick succession.

Theo was the first to speak, grinning broadly as he surveyed the scene. "Well, would you look at that. Blaise Zabini, the ruthless assassin, reduced to a puddle of emotions. Never thought I'd see the day."

Blaise shot him a withering glare, though it lacked its usual venom. "Say one more word, Nott, and I'll ensure your next mission involves chasing pixies through the Forbidden Forest."

Theo raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Hey, no judgment. I think it's adorable."

Pansy swept forward and leaned over Ginny with a mischievous smirk. "How are you holding up, Red? You look like you've been through hell."

She snorted. "That's because I have. But at least I have this little guy to show for it." She tilted the baby slightly so Pansy could get a better look.

"Oh, he's gorgeous," Pansy breathed, her eyes softening as she gazed at the tiny bundle. "Good job. And Blaise, well done on not fainting. I had my doubts."

Luna floated over to the other side of the bed, her usual serene smile in place. "He has Ginny's nose," she said dreamily. "And Blaise's serious little brow. He looks like he's already plotting his first adventure."

Neville, who had been standing quietly at the back, finally stepped forward, his face lighting up as he got a glimpse of the baby. "Congratulations, you two. He's perfect."

"Thank you, Neville," Ginny said warmly. She glanced at Blaise, who was still staring at Valerius as if he couldn't quite believe he was real. "Blaise, do you want to… you know, let them hold him?"

Blaise's eyes snapped up, alarmed. "What? No. He's too tiny. What if they drop him?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Blaise. We're not going to drop him. Give him here."

"No," Blaise said firmly, holding Valerius a little closer. "He's fragile."

Theo burst out laughing. "Mate, you've handled cursed artifacts with less care than that baby. Hand him over. We'd like to meet the newest Zabini."

Reluctantly, and only after Ginny shot him a pointed look, Blaise stood and very carefully transferred Valerius into Pansy's waiting arms. She cradled him expertly, her sharp features softening into something almost maternal.

"Hello, little Valerius," Pansy cooed, her usual sarcasm replaced by genuine warmth. "Welcome to the madhouse. Don't worry—we'll make sure your dad doesn't turn you into a mini-assassin too soon."

Blaise crossed his arms, watching like a hawk. "Support his head properly, Pansy."

"I am supporting his head," Pansy shot back, rolling her eyes. "Relax. He's fine."

Luna leaned over to tickle Valerius's tiny fingers, her expression full of wonder. "He has such a strong aura. He's going to be a very special child."

Theo leaned in next, peering at the baby with a grin. "Well, he's already got Zabini's brooding intensity. Poor kid."

Neville, ever the peacemaker, smiled kindly at Blaise. "You'll be a great dad, Blaise. You're already doing amazing."

Blaise didn't respond immediately. He just stood there, watching his friends coo over his son, a strange mixture of pride and anxiety swirling in his chest. Finally, he exhaled and muttered, "Thanks, Longbottom."

Pansy handed Valerius back to Blaise, who took him with the utmost care, as if handling the most precious thing in the world—which, to him, he was.

"Well," she said, clapping her hands together. "Now that we've all met the heir to the Zabini empire, who's up for drinks? I think Ginny deserves something strong after all that."

"I'll settle for pumpkin juice," Ginny said with a tired laugh. "But go ahead. Celebrate for me."

As the group began discussing plans for a celebratory gathering, Blaise sat down beside Ginny, holding Valerius close. He leaned over and kissed her cheek softly.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

Ginny smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. "We did it together."

Blaise looked down at his son, his heart swelling with emotions he never thought himself capable of feeling. For once in his life, he didn't care about appearances, missions, or the opinions of others. All that mattered was here, in his arms.

And as laughter filled the room, Blaise knew that this was just the beginning of a new adventure—one far more dangerous and rewarding than any he'd ever faced before. For the first time in his life, he felt completely unguarded, vulnerable in a way that didn't terrify him but instead filled him with a strange kind of joy.

Ginny shifted slightly in the bed, drawing everyone's attention. Despite her exhaustion, there was something weighing heavily on her mind. She glanced over at Theo, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking.

"Theo…" Ginny began, her voice soft but clear. "Can you… perhaps go over to… you know, to Hermione? To tell her."

The lighthearted atmosphere of the room dimmed slightly as everyone registered her words. Theo, who had been leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets, straightened up, his usual easygoing expression replaced by something more serious.

"Of course, Red," he said gently, his voice lacking its usual teasing tone. "So… you're still not talking to each other?"

She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. There was a flicker of sadness in her gaze, one that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Please, Theo. Don't make this harder than it should be… I need my best friend more than life."

There was a beat of silence as everyone processed the raw honesty in her words. Theo's expression softened, and he nodded once, a silent promise in his gesture.

"I'm going, Red," he said quietly. "Don't worry."

Without another word, Theo stepped away from the group, giving Blaise a quick nod before turning on his heel and disapparating with a soft pop.

As the sound faded, the room grew quieter. Everyone exchanged glances, the weight of Ginny's request lingering in the air. Luna was the first to break the silence, her voice calm and soothing as always.

"I think it's time for us to leave," she said, offering Ginny a serene smile. "We'll visit you and Val tomorrow, okay?"

Ginny smiled back, grateful for Luna's gentle understanding. "That will be lovely. Thank you, Luna."

Neville stepped forward next, his warm, steady presence offering silent reassurance. He bent slightly, giving Ginny a soft, one-armed hug so as not to disturb the baby resting in Blaise's arms. "We love you, Ginny. You did amazing today."

Ginny's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she managed to keep her composure. "Thank you, Nev. I love all of you too."

Pansy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange, finally spoke up as she adjusted her coat with a dramatic flair. "Well, this has been a surprisingly emotional day, even for me," she said, her tone light but not without affection. "See you guys."

Blaise gave her a curt nod, though his lips twitched in what might have been the hint of a smile. "Try not to cause too much trouble on your way out, Parkinson."

She winked at him. "No promises."

With that, the group began to filter out, leaving Blaise, Ginny, and Valerius alone once more. The silence that followed wasn't heavy or uncomfortable—it was peaceful, a moment of calm after the storm.

~~~~~~

As they stepped into their home, still hand in hand, the lingering warmth of the evening pressed against their skin, but sentimentality had never been Pansy's style. Neville, on the other hand, was still lost in the quiet reverence of what they had just witnessed—the birth of Valerius Zabini, a moment so profound that it had left even him, a man well-versed in life's miracles, awestruck.

"He's such a miracle," he murmured, his voice thick with wonder as he pressed a lingering kiss to Pansy's temple, still caught in the magic of it all.

She scoffed, already unimpressed by his sentimentality, tossing her purse onto the nearest chair without so much as a glance. "The real miracle," she quipped, tugging off her earrings with a practiced flick of her fingers, "is that he's not a black child with red hair. Now that would be a proper divine intervention."

Neville sighed, long-suffering and well-accustomed to the way her mind worked. He had learned, over time, to let the sharp edges of her humor wash over him without protest. "Bloom," he muttered, shaking his head, "you are quite mean."

She arched a perfectly manicured brow as she slipped out of her heels, letting them clatter onto the hardwood with a dramatic sigh of relief. 

"Mean?" she repeated, her voice lilting in mock surprise. "Mean is what I wanted to be today. Do you have any idea how many times I wished that Blaise's last remaining friend in this world would also be his executioner? I mean, I prayed for it, darling. Out loud."

He exhaled slowly through his nose, but the effort to remain neutral was futile. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled her into his arms, his hands sliding around her waist with an ease that came from years of knowing exactly how she fit against him. She let out a dramatic huff, as if pretending to resist, but the moment he nuzzled into her hair, she melted, the tension in her body ebbing away like a receding tide.

"That unhinged behavior," she murmured, her voice softer now, almost teasing but edged with something deeper. "I want that from you."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, his grip instinctively tightening around her. "Then you married the wrong man, love," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "I'm a calm man."

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her dark eyes flickering over his, searching for something she couldn't quite name. Her fingers, cool and deliberate, trailed along the collar of his shirt, nails skimming lightly over the fabric, a slow, absentminded movement that belied the storm inside her.

"I want you to be over the top for our baby."

His breath caught, a subtle intake of air that she might have missed if she weren't already so attuned to him. His eyes darkened, not in fear or hesitation but in understanding. He knew what she meant—what she wasn't saying. She needed to know he would want this, crave this, that the thought of their child would consume him the way it consumed her. She needed reassurance, needed to hear him say it, to feel it in the way he touched her, in the way he looked at her.

"Would you like that?" he asked, his voice dropping into something lower, something heavier.

She swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze settle over her like a warm, steady pressure. Her heartbeat pounded in her throat, in her wrists, in the way her fingers curled just a little too tightly into the fabric of his shirt. She was Pansy Parkinson—she had never been the kind of woman to feel small or uncertain, never been the type to second-guess herself. And yet, here she was, standing in front of him, uncharacteristically raw, unguarded in a way that terrified her.

"I… I'd like to have your baby," she admitted, the words barely above a whisper. "To have our baby."

Something in him shifted. His entire body went rigid for a brief second, as if something inside him had snapped into place, as if the world had rearranged itself into something clearer, something inevitable. Then, before she could say anything else, before the silence between them could stretch into something unbearable, he cupped her face, his thumb tracing a slow, reverent path along her cheekbone, his other hand pressing firmly into the small of her back, anchoring her to him.

"Should we start trying for a…?" He let the question linger between them, unfinished, the weight of it filling the space between their lips. His mouth curled into the ghost of a smile, teasing, coaxing, waiting.

She didn't let him finish.

"YES."

It burst out of her with no hesitation, no calculation, no carefully crafted response. Just raw, unfiltered certainty. The kind of certainty that burned bright and undeniable, the kind that left no room for doubt, no space for second thoughts.

And then his lips were on hers, slow and deep, a kiss that wasn't just about love or passion, but about promise. About commitment. About a future neither of them had fully realized they wanted until now.Pansy felt herself drowning in him—his warmth, his presence, the sheer gravity of the moment. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just the quiet, electric hum of certainty coursing through her veins. Every touch, every breath, every lingering second stretched between them felt like an unspoken promise, an undeniable surrender to what they both craved. This was theirs, raw and unfiltered, built on something deeper than just love or devotion—this was possession. And as he kissed her—possessive, commanding, his—she knew, without a single shred of doubt, that she had never wanted anything more in her entire life.

His voice, low and steady, sent a thrill down her spine.

"Strip."

She blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard. "Sorry?" she murmured, though the heat curling in her stomach betrayed her feigned innocence.

His gaze darkened, a slow smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Do I need to repeat myself, princess?"

Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening. "No… no, sir."

She moved slowly, deliberately, her hands trailing over the fabric of her dress before slipping it from her shoulders. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, and she shivered, not from the temperature but from the intensity in his eyes. He watched her with unwavering focus, his expression unreadable, yet filled with a quiet dominance that left her breathless.

"Come here, pet."

She obeyed instantly, each step toward him feeling heavier than the last. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the heat of anticipation coiling low in her stomach.

"Kneel."

A flicker of confusion crossed her features, her lips parting as if to protest. "Nevie… I was a good girl. Why—"

His look alone silenced her. He didn't need to speak; the sheer force of his presence commanded obedience.

Her knees hit the floor without another word.

He took his time, undressing at a leisurely pace, letting her anticipation build with every slow, deliberate motion. When he finally revealed himself, thick and heavy in his hand, her mouth watered.

"Open for me."

She obeyed immediately, parting her lips without hesitation. The need to please him burned through her, more intoxicating than any wine, more addicting than any vice. She took him into her mouth, inch by inch, her tongue gliding over every ridge, every vein, reveling in the quiet groan that escaped his lips.

She lost herself in the rhythm of it, in the way he filled her mouth, in the deep, barely restrained sounds of pleasure that rumbled from his chest. Time ceased to exist, stretching and folding in on itself as she worked him with unwavering devotion, her tongue tracing every ridge, every vein, learning him in the most intimate of ways. Every flick, every suck, every desperate attempt to pull a reaction from him was fueled by something deeper than desire—she needed his approval, his praise, the weight of his dominance settling over her like a tangible force.

"My good girl, aren't you?" His voice was low, thick with pleasure, his fingers threading through her hair as he tilted her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

She nodded, unable to form words, her lips still slick and swollen. Mascara ran in dark streaks down her flushed cheeks, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

His grip on her tightened as he wrapped a hand around her throat, his thumb pressing just enough to make her pulse stutter. He rolled his hips forward, pushing himself deeper, and she whimpered against him. It was sensual, intoxicating, rough in the way that sent a shiver straight down her spine. He didn't just fuck her mouth—he claimed it, with slow, deliberate strokes, his control absolute. And she surrendered to it completely, her nails digging into his thighs as she took him deeper, the need to please him burning through her veins.

Finally, he let her go, his breathing ragged as he pulled back, his cock glistening with her effort. She gasped, swallowing hard, her throat raw but her heart pounding with exhilaration.

He offered her a hand, guiding her to her feet, and the moment she was standing, his fingers smoothed over the bare expanse of her stomach, trailing lower with an almost lazy reverence. His palm landed between her thighs, pressing against the slick heat he found there, and he groaned, deep and satisfied.

"My love gets wet just from sucking my cock."

She flushed, her cheeks burning as she bit her lip, unable to meet his gaze.

Without another word, he lifted her effortlessly, turning her until her stomach pressed against the cool surface of the dining table. She shivered at the contrast, her skin burning from his touch, her anticipation spiraling into something unbearable.

"Open your legs."

She obeyed instantly, parting them without hesitation, her breath hitching as she felt the thick press of him nudging at her entrance. The first push stole the air from her lungs, the stretch deliciously slow, her nails scraping against the wood beneath her as he sank into her inch by inch.

Her moan turned into a strangled cry as he went deeper, the intrusion overwhelming, pushing past the limits of her body until her legs trembled beneath her. He reached for her arm, pulling it behind her back, holding her there, keeping her in place, completely at his mercy.

"Nevie… I don't… like it… oh, fuck, it's so deep. Please stop." Her voice was breathless, shaking, torn between pleasure and something almost too intense to bear.

He froze immediately, his grip loosening in an instant as he withdrew just enough to give her space.

"Come here, my love," he murmured, his hands already soothing over her skin, guiding her up and turning her to face him. He cupped her cheek, searching her expression with concern. "Tell me where it hurts."

She exhaled shakily, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she tried to steady herself. "It's just too much," she admitted, her voice breathy, small but sure. "Put me on the table."

Without hesitation, he lifted her with effortless strength, placing her onto the cool surface. She stretched out beneath him, her body pliant, her legs parting instinctively as he positioned himself between them. This time, he was slower, more deliberate. He guided himself back into her, inch by inch, filling her in a way that stole the very breath from her lungs.

She was so full—full of him, consumed by him. It was everything she wanted, everything she craved.

But he wasn't done with her yet. No, he intended to make her beg.

A wicked smirk played at his lips as he let his fingers wander south, teasing over her trembling thighs, his touch featherlight, never quite where she needed it. His fingers ghosted over her slick folds, brushing past her aching clit with infuriating precision, never once giving her the pressure she was silently pleading for.

She writhed beneath him, her frustration growing, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as he continued his torturous game.

"Nevie," she whimpered, her voice laced with desperation.

Still, he ignored her, dragging his fingers along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, watching with satisfaction as she squirmed, her body twitching with every near-touch.

She was a mess beneath him, her body begging for mercy, her lips parting in choked moans.

"Please, oh God, please!" Her voice cracked on the plea, her nails scraping against the table as she bucked her hips, trying to chase the sensation he so cruelly denied her.

That was all he needed.

His thumb finally—finally—dragged over her swollen clit, pressing down just enough to send a shudder through her. He circled it with slow, agonizing precision, feeling the way her body tensed beneath him, the way her walls fluttered around him as she climbed higher and higher.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice dark, commanding.

She gasped, her back arching off the table. "Please—please make me come."

And he did exactly that.

He pressed just a little harder, flicked just a little faster, and she shattered beneath him, a scream ripping from her throat as she came undone. Her entire body convulsed, her pleasure crashing over her in relentless waves, her nails digging into his skin as she clung to him, as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

He watched her, mesmerized by the way she unraveled beneath his touch, by the sheer force of her release, by the way his name left her lips like a prayer.

And he knew, without a doubt—he would never get enough of her.