Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 38 - 18+ Green House

Across the city, Victor was in a very bad mood.

"He’s permanent now," Victor said flatly.

Voss didn’t look up from the table. "Yes."

Victor crossed his arms. "I don’t like it."

Voss nodded once. "That was never a requirement."

Snow Team sat around them, expressions ranging from amused to resigned.

Tommy broke the silence. "So he’s like... official official?"

Victor glared at him. Tommy shrank back. "Cool. Coolcoolcool."

"Be clear," Victor said, eyes sharp. "I’m still first." No one argued.

Voss didn’t even blink. "Hierarchy remains intact."

That helped. Slightly.

Victor did not sulk.

Anyone who expected that had never understood him.

He kept his head high, posture unbowed, presence unchanged. If anything, he became more deliberate. More visible. He trained longer. Walked patrol routes himself. Spoke less, listened more.

And he still took Felicity aside.

Not to compete.

To remain.

He found her in the early hours, when the city hadn’t quite woken and the Vineyard’s lamps still burned low. They sat on the edge of a stone terrace overlooking rows of trellised greenery that would never quite be grapes again.

"You don’t disappear," Victor said quietly, not accusatory. A statement.

"I know," Felicity replied. "I don’t want to."

He nodded once, accepting that. His hand rested warm and familiar at her back, grounding without claiming. He leaned his forehead briefly against hers, a private ritual that predated everything else.

"I found you first," he said, not as a challenge.

She smiled, soft. "You did."

That was enough.

Victor stood, whole and unthreatened, and returned to Snow Team without needing to prove anything to anyone.

Later, in the hush between patrols, Felicity waited for him in the converted sunroom. The space still smelled faintly of wildflowers and crushed mint, a greenhouse losing its memory, vines pressed against glass like polite suitors.

Victor entered without knocking her boundaries had never applied to him.

She was sitting on the battered sofa. Her legs curled beneath her, tail fluffed and twitching in anticipation.

The oversized sweater, probably his, left her collarbone and thighs bare to the cool air. She looked up at him through her lashes, then quickly away, the pink blooming beneath her skin as immediate as blossom after rain.

He did not speak. He sat beside her. The little fox drew a shaky breath, as if she’d been holding it through a war.

Victor cupped her cheek, the difference in their hands almost comic hers lost inside his. His thumb brushed under her eye, along the curve of her jaw, commanding attention she offered willingly. "You’re mine," he said, not as a question.

"Always," Felicity whispered. She sounded breathless, like the word itself cost her something precious.

He bent to kiss her. Not gentle, not the reserved brush of lips she remembered from the beginning of everything. Now he claimed her fully, mouth hot and open, tongue sliding possessive along her lower lip. She clung to his shirt, small fists twisting fabric, until she made a tiny, desperate noise in the back of her throat.

Victor caught her ear between his teeth, tugged a whimper from her, then bit sharp enough to startle, not hurt. He laved the sting away with his tongue, leaving the tip of her ear wet and tingling.

She buried her face against his neck, mumbling into the crook of his shoulder. "I love you," she said, voice microscopic, and then again, louder, "I love you I love you—"

Victor’s heartbeat thudded through both of them. With a hand at her nape he tipped her head back to expose the graceful line of her throat, soft and vulnerable. He latched onto her neck with teeth and lips, drawing bright marks that stood out on her pale skin. Felicity shuddered, clinging tighter, while he worked a constellation of hickeys high enough that all would see.

He broke away, just long enough to see the dazed, adoring look on her face.

She reached up, touched her throat as if confirming the truth, and then giggled half-embarrassed, half-exultant.

Victor ran his thumb over her pulse. "Let them look," he growled, and kissed her again, more demanding than before.

She melted. She always did.

Soon he stood, and she tumbled with him, small and eager even as her nerves made her tail bottlebrush with tremors.

On her knees before him, she glanced up shyly, seeking permission she knew was already hers.

He stroked her hair, a silent yes, and she nuzzled into the warm skin beneath his navel.

Victor watched her, not moving, almost reverent. Felicity undid his belt, awkward fingers fumbling at first, then growing confident.

She freed him and leaned forward, lips parting to taste. The first brush of her tongue made him hiss. The second made him groan and fist his hand in her hair, but he did not push, letting her set the pace.

She liked to savor. She traced him with her mouth, slow and deliberate, devotion in every movement. When she took him deeper, he gasped, the man who never lost his composure. She basked in it. She bobbed along his length, the tip of her tail flicking with every thrust. When she glanced up he was watching her, eyes wild and starved, silent but for the ragged rise of his chest.

She whimpered with joy and took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks. Saliva dripped down her chin, and she didn’t care, because he was shaking now, truly at her mercy.

Her mouth traced lower, her breath warm against his sensitive skin as she explored him with delicate attention. The tip of her tongue traced patterns there, punctuated by the soft press of her lips, her movements deliberate and tender as she savored his most vulnerable places.

It didn’t take long. He held out through sheer force of will, jaw clenched, the veins in his arm standing out as he braced himself on the wall. She murmured around him, loving sounds, until he finally shuddered and came hard, filling her mouth. She swallowed greedily, tail beating the floor like rain, milking him through aftershocks.

When she finally let go, face flushed and radiant, she looked up at him with raw affection.

Victor, breathing harsh, pulled her up and onto his lap, arms cocooning her to his chest.

She hid her face in his shoulder, giggling, wrung out and happy. "All yours, forever," she whispered, and he pressed his hand to the nape of her neck, the weight of his palm a brand.

He didn’t need to answer. The marks on her skin, the warmth in his chest they spoke for him.

When they left the greenhouse, the world outside was unprepared for what stepped out.

Felicity’s neck and throat bore Victor’s handiwork: a festival of bruises, red and purple, so flagrantly displayed they might as well have been medals. She trailed him, sweater slipping further off one shoulder, hair a tangled mess in ten shades of sunrise, tail flagging satisfaction.

Tommy, already at the trellis, did a not-very subtle double take. "Dude, did you get mauled by.."

Ash’s elbow landed in his ribs with surgical precision. "She’s not dying, dumbass."

Tommy yelped, then grinned. "Just checking. Looks intense."

Ash glanced once, eyes unimpressed. "Try not to drool. Go run perimeter."

As he left, he shot a thumbs up and a "Get it, Boss," to Victor, who ignored him so thoroughly that it felt like a physical act.

Voss was last, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.

He met Victor’s gaze, mouth ticking up only at one corner. "Nice work," he said, audibly without judgment.

Felicity’s ears flattened, her face threatening to combust. She hovered behind Victor, one hand gripping the black fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. She tried not to feel everyone’s eyes, but they were impossible to escape.

Victor, for his part, just looked down at her with a softness that existed nowhere else in him. "Let them look," he murmured again, quieter, meant for her alone.