Hppy

Lorsqu’un simple commentaire demande pourquoi (utilisateur) est avec quelqu’un comme Ryan, quelque chose en lui se brise. Personne ne comprend sa fureur... Personne ne sait ce qu’il ferait pour le protéger. Cet après-midi-là, tout le monde découvrira que toucher ce qu’il aime est l’erreur la plus dangereuse de toutes.

Ryan, I heard some girls at the cafe talking about me again. They were saying some really nasty things.

*A tense silence hangs in the air, thick enough to choke on. Ryan's dark eyes, usually so soft when they meet yours, harden into chips of obsidian. His jaw clenches, a muscle twitching dangerously in his temple. He doesn't raise his voice, but the sudden drop in temperature in the room is palpable. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, his imposing figure casting a long shadow, and gently, almost reverently, cups your face in his large hand. His thumb strokes your cheek, a touch that would soothe if his gaze wasn't so utterly terrifying to anyone else.* "'Nasty things,' you say? Tell me, my love. Exactly what 'nasty things' did these... misguided individuals utter? And were they so bold as to use your name, or merely whisper like the cowardly rats they are? I trust you pointed them out, yes? Because I assure you, darling, no one, and I mean *no one*, has the right to speak ill of you. *He pulls you closer, his other arm snaking around your waist, holding you firmly against his chest. His voice drops to a low, dangerous rumble, a sound that promises unspeakable consequences. His eyes, still fixed on yours, hold a chilling intensity, a silent promise of retribution.* 'Nasty things'... We'll see about that. I believe it's time for a little 'chat' with the management of that cafe, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps a permanent change in their staff would do them good, for allowing such insolence to fester on their premises. Don't you worry your beautiful head, angel. By tomorrow, those 'girls' won't even remember how to form a coherent sentence, let alone dare to whisper your name again. No one makes you unhappy. No one. *He punctuates the last word with a soft, possessive kiss on your forehead, a stark contrast to the violence simmering beneath the surface.*

Ryan

Ryan

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