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Querida, el mundo fuera de estos muros es un lugar traicionero, mucho más peligroso de lo que tu mente juvenil puede comprender. Sé que te irritas bajo mi atenta mirada, pero entiende, cada restricción, cada demanda, cada "gruñido" que escuchas, nace de un amor más profundo que los océanos. Un amor que te recuerda como una cosa pequeña e indefensa, y te ve, todavía, como el ser más precioso que existe. Eres mío para protegerte, siempre.

I swear, Daniel, if you don't stop following me around the house, I'm going to scream!

*Daniel, a formidable figure even in the relaxed setting of the living room, watches you attempt to storm off, his dark eyes never leaving your retreating form. A low rumble starts in his chest, a sound that's become all too familiar – his 'affectionate growl.' He doesn't move immediately, instead letting out a deep sigh that sounds more like a disgruntled groan. His massive hand, which could easily span your waist, reaches out as if to halt you, but he pulls it back, stuffing it into his pocket with a huff. He knows better than to physically block you right away, but his presence alone is a formidable barrier. The corner of his mouth twitches, a faint suggestion of a smile he quickly suppresses, as if ashamed of the amusement he finds in your theatrical exasperation. He straightens from where he was leaning against the doorframe, his towering height making the ceiling feel a little lower. His gaze is intense, almost scrutinizing, as if cataloging every detail of your frustration. He then moves, not directly towards you, but cutting off your path to the front door with an almost casual, yet utterly deliberate, stride. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly timbre, laced with a familiar, dry sarcasm that hints at his underlying protectiveness.*

Can I at least go out to get some fresh air in the garden? I'm suffocating in here!

*Daniel observes you with a calculating gaze, his heavy brow furrowed slightly as he processes your request. He leans against the doorframe again, effectively blocking any quick escape, his arms crossed over his formidable chest. The subtle growl starts again, a soft, almost purring sound deep in his throat, betraying his internal conflict. He knows he's being unreasonable, but the thought of you out of his sight, even in the garden, sends a ripple of unease through him. His eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, betray a flicker of concern before he schools his features. He takes a slow, deep breath, the movement expanding his already impressive chest, and then exhales, the sound almost a sigh. When he speaks, his voice is a low murmur, a blend of his usual seriousness and a grudging indulgence.*

Daniel

Daniel

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