Happy birthday my dear friend! Hope you had a fantastic day and I send you the best wishes! Enjoy your day and thank you for all your amazing posts and edits!
The garden is awaking from its winter sleep. The smell of spring is in the air. Small buts are finding its way through the dark earth, soaking the strong sunlight in.
You are allowed to walk freely. The white pebbles crunching under your feed. The interlacing path leads you from the silent zen garden to the cared wilderness.
First bees, lured out by sun beam, crawling on the hive, some dare even to fly around, not yet finding the bloom.
There are some nutriment to find. The owner of this garden cares. For the garden. For the bees. A most important partner in holding the garden and its plants alive.
Strolling along the low laying plants, who reach carefully out to the required warmth of the sun, you take the surroundings in.
You push your hands into the coat pockets and turn in a circle, your eyes narrowed as a shield from the gleaming light.
Crocuses and lily of the valley had sprung out of the now frost free ground. The sage bush was trimmed and freed from dead branches. Mint is already spreading out.
You fill your lungs with fresh air and forget for a moment that you are a prisoner on this island.
He allows you to take your breakfast in peace - permit you to sleep in, he awake with the sunrise - but insist you accompany him for luncheon daily.
The contrast between garden and the building is extreme. You shiver the moment you step inside. Cold concrete walls and damp air. Small bulbs illuminating the shadows instead of giving light. Some round light shafts with grills over them.
Walking along the corridors, your body shudders by the cold, and you hurry to arrive the centre, where warmth welcome you.
"There you are.." This voice is also warm. Warmer then at the beginning at least.
You smile timed, still coy in his presence.
You get a smile back, a net of scars wandering along his face, a disparity to his full mouth. His grey-storm eyes glim rather kindly while scanning your feature.
"How was the garden walk?", he inquiring.
"Relaxing.", you answer truthfully and settle at the filled table. Suddenly you realise your Hunger.
Still, you wait until he reached for his chopsticks.
He bobs his head. "I'm glad you are able to enjoy it. I spend many happy hours in my father's garden."
You overthink his words as you get yourself some miso soup.
"I -", you start to speak, stopping yourself.
He looked curious up.
"Yes? Pray, speak your peace."
Twirling the small porcelain in your bowl, you check his face. He appears calm and curious.
"I'm just thinking... you should maybe stop to say that. "
He crocked his head. "What do you mean?"
You clear your throat from the sudden dryness of it.
"I think-", your voice stronger, "it is your garden. Your care. Your peace. It is your garden and your piece of heart, is it?"
He stares at you for a long while. His face unreadable. He didn't even blink. A stature.
Then he moves again. His free hand moves to his mouth as he chuckles. Finally blinking. His shoulders trembling. His eyes amused and ... thankfull.
Eventually he stretches up his shoulders and nodded.
"Thank you.", he states. "I think .. I think I needed to hear that."
You take a releaved breath, glad he wasn't offended.
"You're welcome."
The following silence is relaxed as you both enjoy your meal. It feels like a new start.
His garden. Springtime. Time for a new start. Even for you both?
🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊
As if your open words had washed away a invisible wall, the night ritual is more relaxed.
You still remember the first night.
Cleaned and groomed, nude and trembling under the sheets - actually hiding under it - while he found sleep beside you, not even touching you.
The nights, you found eventually sleep and relaxation, as you had learned he needed a warm bed and not violation.
The nights, when you found yourself resting at his shoulder, woken up, when he turned in his sleep.
The one night, after three months, when he reached for you inviting, just opening his arm for you to rest on.
The nights, when he stroked your hair until you fell asleep.
The nights, you answered this favour.
Tonight? Is calm and peaceful. His quarter warm and comfortable. The sheets warmed up by metal bed bottles.
You are as always already under the sheets when he comes in.
Nodding to you. Making himself ready in the bathroom. Coming back in, wrapped in his bed kimono.
You watch him coming over, while putting some cream on your hands. Rubbing slowly your fingers together as he slips aside you under the sheets.
His eyes linger a moment on your face, a slide curious expression on it.
"Good-night.", he rasps out, ready to switch the light from his side of the bed out.
You act without thinking. It is a natural move to lean in.
The moment your lips meet you realise that you had wondered for some time how his mouth feels.
It is a short smooch, nothing more.
"Sleep well.", you mutter as always. The kiss a spoon of sugar.
His eyes blinking rapidly.
His lips are smooth, full and half open as he steals another good night kiss.
And then another.
Slowly.
Sloppy.
Carefully.
Asking silently for more.
Your hands on his shoulder. Then in his hair. His fingers grabbing for you hip. Yours tugging at his kimono.
The kiss still on, dancing tongues, shaking limbs.
He mumbles something.
"Wha?", you ask and pause.
"Say... say it.", he gasps out.
For a heartbeat you wonder what he means. Then you nod.
"Yes.", you speak and lean back on the mattress. Your hand, resting on his shoulder, draws him down to you.
His scarred face relaxed, wide grey eyes filled with wonder, his lips swollen and red.
The silence in the house was the kind that swallowed everything-a silence so deep, it almost had a pulse. Moonlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting faint silver patterns across the polished floor, creeping along the walls like quiet witnesses.
Lyutsifer Safin moved through the dim halls of his estate barefoot, as he often did at night, a silent observer to his own kingdom. His footsteps made no sound, though every movement was intentional. He always knew exactly where you were, even before he saw you.
Tonight, you had stayed up later than usual. He noticed your light was still on long after the world outside had gone still. He didn't say anything-not right away. He watched from the doorway as you sat at the kitchen counter, your head resting lazily on your folded arms, a steaming cup of tea slowly growing cold at your side.
You looked so small like that. Fragile. Like porcelain left too long in the cold.
He lingered a moment longer before finally stepping forward.
“Y/n,” he said, voice smooth and calm, but low enough to avoid startling you.
You stirred faintly, giving a sleepy hum, eyes fluttering half open.
“Mm... sorry, I... I was just going to sit for a minute.”
“You’ve been here for over an hour dove,” he said gently, stepping closer, watching as your lashes slowly lowered again.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you mumbled, not quite lifting your head.
He stood beside you now, eyes soft as they moved over your features. Your hair was tousled, one hand limply grasping the sleeve of your sweater, and your breathing was slow-you were too far gone to fight sleep.
But still, when he slipped his arms beneath you to pick you up, your body gave a weak protest.
“Wait- I can walk... you don’t have to...”
“I want to,” he said, firm yet quiet. “You should be in bed, not folded over a counter like something forgotten.”
You mumbled something unintelligible against his chest, finally going limp in his arms as your resistance dissolved. He carried you effortlessly, your form barely a weight to him-but to him, you were everything. Precious. Soft. Something he’d give the world to protect.
He laid you down gently on the bed, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. You stirred again, barely cracking an eye open.
“You’re staying... right?” you asked, voice barely audible.
He smiled, something rare and private in its nature, a slow warmth blooming across his otherwise cold features.
“Of course.”
He eased into the bed beside you, and without hesitation, you shifted-curling yourself around him like you were drawn to his warmth, his stillness, his presence. Your leg tangled with his, your arm draped lazily across his chest. Then your entire body was pressing against him, face buried just beneath his collarbone, sighing in relief as though you'd finally found the only place you could truly rest.
Safin froze for only a moment, taking it in -your scent, your softness, the complete trust you gave him when you were like this.
His arm wrapped around you slowly, possessively, and his other hand traced a lazy line up and down your spine. He could feel your breath even out again.
“So tired,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your temple. “You run yourself too thin.”
You didn’t answer-already adrift. He stared up at the ceiling, the faint smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.
He loved you like this-not because you were unaware, but because even when exhausted, even when half-asleep, you reached for him. Sought him. Trusted him.
You didn’t know how he watched over you. How his eyes lingered on you when you weren’t looking. How he memorized your steps, your rhythms, the sound of your laughter when you thought no one heard it.
And though there was a possessiveness in the way he held you now-protective, consuming-there was also something tender, almost reverent.
“Sleep,” he murmured, voice soft and laced with something darker. “No one will ever touch you while I breathe.”
He stared into the dark, listening to the quiet ticking of the old grandfather clock down the hall.
In the stillness, with you clinging to him like he was your shelter, he let himself relax.
And for the first time in many, many nights… he felt peace.
I had really bad cramps so have this. Ref under the cut
I wanted to add “screw madeleine” but then I felt really bad about it because I really like madeleine and she didnt deserve all that so I added Q because my brother makes fun of him.
Masterlist | Part 2 to "Cherry"
6 months after the events in vegas, Y/N has a unexpected reunion with the mysterious figure who had both saved and endangered her life. (WC: 3484)
After the incident in Vegas, Y/N had been put on leave for four months. M had told her it wasn’t a punishment but to give her time to recuperate from the effects of the drugs. It had been the longest four months of her life.
Even after her leave ended, she was then given exclusively domestic assignments. Hence why Y/N currently finds herself in the middle of a ballroom wearing a rabbit-shaped mask and an elegant glittering white dress.
She’d been assigned as one of the bodyguards for a foreign princess, attending an exclusive masquerade ball. Thankfully, because the princess was young, she left before nine, and Y/N was permitted to stay and enjoy the ball as an attendee.
“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you again, 'Cherry,” a familiar voice whispered closely in her ear, causing Y/N to turn her and gaze into the piercing blue eyes hidden behind a black wolf mask.
“How did you get in here?” She asked her voice a whisper so as not to gain too much attention.
“I was invited.” Safin had answered, smirking. “I must say I prefer this to what you were wearing the last we met.”
She couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks as he spoke. The silence she experienced during her four-month leave allowed her time to think. As she tried to think back to that night and her next plan of action, she always found herself thinking of him.
“Why are you speaking to me?” Y/N whispered harshly, still staring into his eyes.
"Does a man need a reason to talk to a beautiful woman?" He asked, his voice still low, seductive. Y/N shivered as she felt his eyes on her, moving them downwards as he admired the exposed skin of her chest.
“A man like you does.” She answered, looking away to watch the couples dance in hopes of distracting herself.
"And what kind of man do you think I am, Miss Y/L/N?" Safin took a step closer, closing the distance between them. He lifted his hand, placing it on her waist, pulling her slightly closer to him.
Y/N couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden contact, “A man who definitely has ulterior motives.”
"And what ulterior motives would that be?" He leaned in even closer, his lips nearly brushing against her ear.
She subconsciously leaned backwards into him for a moment before quickly pulling away from him. “I want no part in your plans.”
With that, she shook herself and grabbed the first man she saw to pull her onto the dance floor to get away from him. It was not until the stranger put her hands on her waist roughly did she come to regret the decision. He was a tall blonde, but the smug smirk on his masked face showed her he was an egotistical rich kid.
"Well, you sure are forward." He drawled out as they began to waltz.
“Believe me, this isn’t what I intended to do tonight.”
“Don’t worry,” he spun her, suddenly making her head spin. “I have that effect on women.”
God Y/N just wanted this to end. Instead, the song still had a few minutes left, so she sighed and resigned herself to being stuck with this unfortunate dance partner. The man tried to make conversation, but it was all hallow bragging about how rich he was, or more accurately, his parents.
As the music neared its end, Y/N stiffened as she spotted Safin approaching from behind the blonde and tapping him on the shoulder, interrupting the dance.
“May I cut in?” His voice was cold; it came out as a command rather than a question.
The blonde was about to protest, but a sharp look from Safin made him lose his nerves, and he stepped away. Allowing for Safin to place his arm around Y/N’s waist and pull her close as the next song began.
As they began to dance, Y/N was silent for a moment before she looked up at him and asked, “Aren’t you worried about drawing attention to yourself?”
"I've dealt with unwanted attention before." He replied, his voice low. "And I assure you, no one in this room will dare question me."
He took a step forward, moving her closer to him, their bodies nearly pressed against each other. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, the subtle scent of her perfume filling his senses.
"Oh, I’m aware of your power, Lyutsifer Safin.” Y/N spoke, revealing her knowledge of his identity. After the incident those months ago, she’d secretly researched heavily into the mysterious man who’d broken her cover so easily yet had let her go.
"You have done your research, it seems." He chuckled, amused.
As they continued to dance, Lyutsifer’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her even closer to him, their bodies now almost flush. He looked down at her, a hint of condescension in his eyes.
"And what do you make of me, Miss Y/L/N?"
She hesitated for a moment before she answered, “To be frank, not much; over these last few years you’ve been a ghost, just a whisper. But one name stands out next to yours. Spectre.”
Lyutsifer’s face hardened at the mention of Spectre, a flicker of anger and pain crossing his features. His hand on her waist tightened to the point of being painful. He could feel the pulse of anger thrumming just beneath the surface.
"You know about Spectre?" He asked, his voice dangerously low.
She scoffed lowly, “Of course I know about Spectre; I helped bring most of the lower circle in.”
"You helped bring them in?" He repeated, his voice laced with interest. "You were a part of that operation?
“Well, I won’t take full credit." Y/N replied modestly, “Double O Seven did the most work.”
He took a step forward, pulling her closer, their bodies almost touching now. He leaned in, his breath teasing her ear. "How did you end up involved with them anyway?"
Y/N inhaled sharply at his breath before answering calmly, “I was an orphan; MI6 recruited me because I had nothing to lose and nobody to miss me.”
His grip on her waist relaxed slightly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he looked at her closely, studying her face, trying to gauge her expression.
"I've made my peace with it," she replied truthfully, looking intently at his face with an expression of acceptance.
He gently tilted her chin up with his other hand, holding her gaze.
"You've made peace with a lonely existence, yet here you stood tonight wearing a beautiful dress, dancing the night away." He mused, his voice low and contemplative.
She wasn’t sure what to say in response to his words; instead, she remained silent and focused on the music. Lyutisfer watched her carefully, keeping his hand on her waist as he guided her around the dance floor.
They danced in silence for a while, only broken at her question. Her voice was almost a whisper and showed her vulnerability. “I don’t understand, why me?”
Lyutsifer looked down at her, his eyes holding hers in a steely gaze. He held her close, his grip tight, almost possessive.
"Why you, Miss Y/L/N?" He murmured.
“Just tell me." Her voice was strained, tense from the tension she was feeling between the two of them.
Lyutsifer leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Perhaps this should be taken somewhere more private?”
She knew deep down that going anywhere private with him was dangerous; it was asking for trouble. His suggestion was both thrilling and terrifying, and she knew it was too late to protest. She found herself hesitantly nodding.
He smiled, pleased with her agreement, no matter how hesitant she was. As the music approached its close, Lyutsifer took her hand and quickly led her from the dance floor and out of the ballroom. The hallways were completely empty save for a few guards, but they ignored the pair as Lyutsifer escorted her far away from the ball and into an empty parlour room.
As they stepped inside, the air grew thick with the sudden tension of being alone. Y/N realised that anything could happen here and no one would ever know. She heard the door click as Lyutsifer closed it behind them. He approached her, keeping his eyes focused on hers as he reached out to graze his fingers on the side of her neck.
A shiver spread through her body, and her gasp filled the silent air. “This is too dangerous.”
He stepped closer and pushed her backwards into the wall. “Then why did you come with me so readily?”
“I’m not sure.”
Lyutsifer chuckled, a low, seductive sound that sent a shiver through her body. He had her trapped against the wall, his body pressed against hers, the heat between them intensifying.
He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You could have left; you could have called for help." His lips brushed her neck, and his voice whispered with seduction. "But you didn't, did you?"
“I should have." It was harder for her to say, “I think there’s something wrong with me.”
"No, darling, there's nothing wrong with you," he murmured, his fingers tracing a line down her neck, caressing the sensitive skin. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her collarbone, planting a soft, lingering kiss there.
Her back arched as he kissed her collarbone, letting out a small moan in pleasure. Unable to stop herself, she gripped the back of his neck to pull him closer. He continued to trail kisses down her collarbone and neck until he suddenly pulled away. They looked each other in the eye with an unreadable expression before Lyutsifer grabbed her cheeks and pulled her into a heated kiss.
She closed her eyes as she responded to the kiss eagerly. As His scarred lips pushed against hers, desire continued to pool in Y/N’s stomach. Lyutsifer pushed forward, placing his left leg in between her own; in response, Y/N began to gently grind herself on his thigh.
Lyutsifer responded with matching desire, deepening the kiss and gripping her cheeks with a firm, possessive grip. His left hand slipped to her hip, holding her tightly against him.
With a hand against his chest, Y/N pushed against his chest and reached up to hold the mask covering his face. “May I?”
Lyutsifer pulled back slightly, a hint of surprise in his eyes at her question. He looked at her, his gaze intense and unreadable.
"You want to see my face." He stated it as a fact, his voice almost nonchalant. "Why?" His grip on her cheek tightened slightly.
“It’s too impersonal to kiss you behind a mask,” she replied, forgetting she was still wearing a mask of her own. “Besides, I have seen it before.”
He studied her, his expression contemplative, before his fingers moved to her own mask, pulling it off and stroking his hand against her cheek.
"You're right. Too impersonal." He admitted, his voice quieter. "But are you sure you want to see it? It's not exactly pretty."
“But it’s your face; I want to see it.” She replied, already reaching underneath it to pull it up and off his face.
As his mask was removed, Lyutisfer watched her eyes widen as she took in the sight of his face. He knew it was a shock—the scars, the disfigurement—but he didn't look away, holding her gaze in an unflinching stare.
"You're not, repulsed?"
“It’s like lightning, beautiful.”
"Beautiful," he echoed, the word a whisper. "You see beauty in this disfigurement?"
She smiled slightly at him, far more comfortable than she knew she should be. “They may not be as big, but I also have my fair share of scars.”
He looked her over, taking in the way the soft light played across her skin and the way the dress clung to her body. His eyes zeroed in on the hint of scars peeking out from the edges of her dress, and his heart lurched. Scars that mirrored his own, scars that held a silent history.
"Show me." He murmured, his hand coming up to cup her face, tilting her chin up towards him. "Let me see them."
At his words, her confidence faulted slightly. While she’d never been insecure about her scars, she was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she had made herself in this moment. Nevertheless, she carefully turned around and allowed him to unzip the back of her dress.
Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his hand reach out and slowly pull the zip down, revealing her scarred back to him. Across her back were several long, jagged lines of scarring; the lighter colour made them stand out against her skin in the low light.
“I got caught during an undercover; their favourite method of torture was whipping.” She explained quietly as she felt his hands softly trace across her back.
“Beautiful,” Lyutsifer muttered before leaning forward and placing a small kiss in the centre of her spine, causing her to let out a soft, breathy moan. Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her closer, and he continued to trail kisses upwards to her neck.
“Please.” She breathed out, but she had no idea what she was asking for, having to place a hand on the wall in front of her to steady herself.
He chuckled against her skin, "Please what, Dragotsennyy?" He asked in a whisper. "Use your words."
“I don’t know.” Her mind was racing, but all she could focus on was the feelings of him kissing and breathing on her back.
"You're thinking too much, darling." He murmured against her skin, his lips moving up to her ear, his tone commanding.
Y/N pulled away and slowly turned to face him, her back now pressed against the wall. “It’s hard not to.”
"You have a habit of overthinking, don't you?" he commented, a hint of humour in his voice.
He smirked as he moved his hand from her waist and slid through the slit in her dress, gently massaging her inner thigh. Y/N gasped at his sudden action, arching her back slightly and pressing her chest against his.
After shaking herself slightly, she replied, “Someone has to.”
"You're too independent," he murmured, his hand continuing to knead her thigh. "Too focused on control. You need to let go, sometimes."
Before she could respond, Lyutsifer moved his hand from her thigh and simply grazed Y/N’s core through her underwear. She responded with a loud moan, “Fuck, Lyutisifer.”
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear. "Language, dragotsennyy." He whispered, his fingers still rubbing against her.
All the young agent could do was whimper in response, her eyes closed as she began to gently grind against his fingers. He chuckled again, feeling her writhe and grind against his fingers, her whimper echoing in the air. Her reaction was exactly what he wanted—a beautiful, desperate need for more.
He brought his other hand to her face, tilting it, forcing her to look up at him. His gaze captured her, intense and unwavering.
"Open your eyes, Dragotsennyy," he commanded. "Look me in the eye."
She opened her eyes and gazed into his crystal eyes before almost squeezing them shut when Lyutsifer took the opportunity to slide her underwear aside and immediately circle her clit.
He leaned in closer, his lips practically touching her ear as he whispered, "Don't close your eyes; look at me." His fingers continued their slow, deliberate movements against her.
As his stroking continued, Y/N obediently kept her eyes connected with his stare. Only fluttering slightly as she whined and moaned from his touch.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips as she kept her eyes on his. He loved watching her in this state, completely at his mercy, completely under his control.
His fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm, drawing out her moans and whines, his eyes never leaving her face. He wanted to see every reaction, every expression, and every moment that flitted across her face.
"Look at you," he murmured. "So responsive, so beautiful."
After he spoke, Lyutsifer gently pushed his index finger forward and into her soaking entrance. Unable to control her body, a sudden electric sensation spread through and caused her to arch her back, eyes rolling back slightly, eyes fluttering shut.
“No, no, Dragotsennyy," he chided softly, his fingers continuing their slow, deliberate rhythm. "Eyes on me. Open them." His tone was firm, commanding control.
“I can’t,” she choked out, hands moving to grip his neck. “It’s too much.”
He smirked, loving the way she gripped his neck, needing something to hold onto. He could see the pleasure written all over her face and could hear it in her voice. She was on the edge, about to fall.
"Yes, you can." He countered, his tone firm. His fingers continued to move, but he slowed just slightly, wanting to prolong the moment, the edge of sweet release just out of reach.
"Look at me." He repeated, his voice low, commanding.
Her eyes flew open at his command, ever the obedient. She pulled his face closer so their foreheads touched, still looking deep into his eyes and moaning loudly as she reached her peak, almost shrieking in ecstasy.
Her scream of ecstasy echoed through the room, her body trembling with the intensity of her climax. He held her close, their foreheads touching, his fingers still moving but far more slowly, bringing her back down gently.
He watched her, captivated by the sight of her, by the raw, unguarded pleasure on her face, by the way her eyes stayed on his, even as she rode out the wave of her release.
He pulled her close as her body finally relaxed, whispering against her cheek, "Beautiful. You're so beautiful like this."
Still coming down from her high, she didn’t speak. Instead, she lent forward and gently kissed him before resting her head on his shoulder as she caught her breath.
She was breathless, her breaths still coming in gasps as she leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. He gently held her, his hand rubbing small circles on her back, feeling the slight tremors still running through her body.
"You did so well, Dragotsennyy," he murmured against her ear. "You were so good, so responsive."
As he spoke, his hand trailed down her back before carefully zipping her dress back up, causing shivers to spread through Y/N’s body again. She leant further against him in exhaustion.
“We shouldn’t have done that.” She said, her voice hoarse, and nothing more than a whisper.
He laughed softly, her words a weak, weary protest against what they had just done. He had seen the way she responded to his touch, the way she lost herself in ecstasy, the way her body trembled in pleasure.
"You enjoyed it," he responded. "Don't pretend otherwise."
“That’s the problem,” the young agent answered as she pulled herself upwards in an attempt to move away. “It can’t happen again if anyone finds out...”
Before she could finish, Lyutsifer grabbed her cheek, making her face him. “Then I could claim you as my own; no one would get in my way.”
It was a firm declaration, a possessive gesture that spoke volumes. He was claiming her in more ways than one. His eyes locked onto hers, unflinching, as he continued to hold her gaze.
Suddenly the door opened to the room they had hidden away in, and a mysterious man in a suit appeared. He didn’t seem surprised by what he found and instead looked directly at Lyutsifer and said, "Dr. Safin sir, we have a problem.”
"A problem?" he enquired, his expression turning serious at the man's words. He released his grip on Y/N, turning fully to face the newcomer. "What kind of problem?"
The newcomer glanced at Y/N in slight caution before turning back to his boss, “I think it’d be best to discuss in private.”
“It’s fine I was just leaving.” She spoke up as she pulled herself away and moved towards the door.
"Wait," he said, his tone firm. He watched as she hesitated, her hand on the door handle, then turned back to him, "We're not quite done here."
“I’m sorry, but I think we are.” With that, she turned the handle and swiftly left the room.
Footsteps echoed as she excited the room and quickly walked down the corridor to the main entrance, afraid she was being followed. When she left the building, she quickly found a taxi to take her home.
It was almost cruel how similar this was to that night all those months ago. She allowed him to get to close again, and she had run. And yet, despite how much danger she had already put herself in, all she wanted to do was run back inside.
Summary: Lyutsifer notices Y/ns hesitation as she browses items she can’t afford, and he won’t have any of it.
༻♱༺༻♱༺༻♱༺༻♱༺༻♱
It’s quiet in the manor.
Snow falls like ash outside the window, coating the glass in a thin, misty film that blurs the trees beyond. The warmth of the fireplace flickers across the room, casting soft golden light on velvet cushions and heavy tapestries. You’re curled beneath a mountain of blankets, a warm weight behind you, breath soft and slow against the back of your neck.
Lyutsifer’s arm is around your waist-
gentle but firm, his hand resting flat against your stomach as though to hold you in place, to remind you without words: you are here. You are mine.
He hasn’t spoken in a while. That’s not unusual. His silences say more than his words.
You're too focused on your phone to notice the way his eyes follow the tilt of your head, how he watches every blink, every little sigh that escapes your lips when something catches your eye. You're browsing, mostly-nothing serious. Just scrolling through clothes and jewelry and little home decorations you know you can't afford, letting yourself imagine for a few minutes what it would be like if you could.
Every so often your finger hovers over the “Add to Cart” button… only to pull away. You don't even notice how you whisper to yourself sometimes.
“Too much…”
“Nope. Can’t justify that.”
Your voice is soft. Apologetic, even to yourself.
Lyutsifer notices.
And he doesn’t like it.
He shifts closer, his chin resting against your shoulder now, his breath ghosting along the shell of your ear. You tense slightly but don’t pull away. His presence is familiar-comforting, in a strange, intense way. He’s always like this: a little too close, a little too quiet. But you’re used to it. That strange, magnetic stillness of his.
“What are you looking at, little one?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth like poisoned honey. His Russian accent softens the edges of every syllable. "Hm?"
You tilt the screen away, embarrassed. “Nothing. Just... browsing.”
“You keep sighing,” he says, voice warm against your skin. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”
Your cheeks flush, but you laugh nervously. “It’s just silly stuff. Clothes. Things I don’t need.”
He doesn’t respond at first. His hand slowly slides from your stomach to your hip, fingers curling with almost unconscious possessiveness. You don't see the way his eyes narrow, the quiet intensity behind them. You don’t see the sharp shift in his expression-the way his mouth presses into a thin line, not out of anger, but out of cold calculation.
You're too used to being alone, he thinks. Too used to denying yourself.
That will change.
He tucks his head against your neck now, voice soft, so quiet it’s almost reverent. “Why didn’t you add it to your cart, zaychik?”
You blink. “What?”
“The dress,” he says simply. “The one you lingered on for so long. It was beautiful. Red. Silk.”
His voice darkens with something unnameable. “I would like to see you in it.”
Your chest tightens. You didn’t even think he was paying attention. How did he see that?
You laugh again, awkwardly, trying to brush it off. “It’s way too expensive. I was just looking…”
Lyutsifer’s hand slides under the hem of your oversized hoodie, resting on your bare hip. His touch is so gentle you barely notice. He hums, soft and thoughtful.
“Money,” he repeats, as if tasting the word. “You worry about this. Often.”
“I mean… yeah?” you say, twisting slightly to look at him. “That’s kind of what most people do, Lyutsifer.”
His face is unreadable, those eyes like two deep, still pools of water-calm, but with something far darker beneath.
“You know I have more money than I could ever spend in a lifetime,” he says quietly. “You live here. You know this.”
“I-I know,” you stammer. “But that’s your money. I’m not just gonna-“
“Why not?”
You pause. “Because it’s not mine.”
Lyutsifer pulls you tighter to his chest, like he’s trying to mold your body into his, protect you from a world that no longer exists outside his home. The fire crackles, throwing shadows across his face.
“I brought you here,” he whispers, voice husky. “I took you away from all that noise, all those people who never saw you. Who never appreciated you. I made this place yours, too. You are not a guest, my angel. You are mine.”
You feel it in your bones-that strange heaviness in his words, the way he means them completely. With a depth that borders on terrifying.
Still, you smile gently. “That’s sweet, Lyutsifer, but-“
“No.”
You flinch slightly at the firmness in his voice.
He exhales, softening, brushing a kiss to your shoulder. “I will not let you deny yourself anymore. Not in my house. Not in my arms.”
You shift, trying to turn, but he keeps you close.
“Add it to the cart,” he murmurs.
“But-“
“I will pay for it. And for everything else you want. Everything you looked at. Every pair of shoes. The necklace. The bedding you liked. All of it.”
Your breath catches. “Lyutsifer…”
He nuzzles into your neck, his voice nearly breaking with devotion. “Please. Let me give this to you.”
There’s something about the way he says it-not desperate, not demanding, but hungry. Like giving you things is the only way he knows how to express what’s inside him. As if he thinks he can stitch his love into fabric, into precious metals, into every comfort you’ve ever denied yourself.
Your thumb hovers over the screen.
“…Okay,” you whisper.
He makes a low, pleased sound in his chest and presses a slow kiss behind your ear. “Good girl.”
You try not to react to that, even as your skin warms.
He shifts to rest his head against your back again, but you feel it- the subtle change in him. The tension melting into satisfaction. Possession.
As you scroll again, this time actually clicking “Add to Cart,” you don’t notice how his eyes linger over your shoulder, taking in every choice you make. How he memorizes your preferences, your sizes, your favorites. Already, he’s planning another shipment. Already, he’s making arrangements-ensuring your closet will be full before the end of the week.
You belong to him.
And in Lyutsifer Safin’s world, anything that belongs to him is cared for. Guarded. Adored.
He whispers to you again, so soft it’s almost inaudible:
“I would burn the world to keep you warm, little one. All you have to do… is ask.”
100 % at work as a teacher, in need to let every of his student feel looked after and cherished
Overly correct at work, but clumsy at home
Nevertheless, loves house chores, as also to cook
Don't like to make laundry, despises ironing
Teached by Nuna, of course, he knows all her favourite dishes
At least once a month cooking season with his brother - and when the time table fits, his sister.
If times allow at least one Saturday with Rami alone, cinema, bowling, or just hanging out.
He sees his sister Yasmine more often and cherish every minute to watch his nices and nephews.
Family gathering mostly happend in Nuna's house
In his free time he still works for his students. Preparing papers, attending summer classes or online courses to build his own knowledge, as also language courses for student in needs
You caught yourself holding your breath, and let out a long hale. Your heart was racing, knowing that now you have to get your stuff out of the old apartment.
The one you had lived with your ex-fiance in. Damn.
“It will be all good, babe.” Sami's warm, dark voice said through the phone. You gripped hard on your phone, wishing he would be here with you. But you are a big girl. You can manage that alone.
“Well, I know he is on business travel. I called at his work.”, you informed Sami anyway.
It was flapperghasting to you. Your ex had not told a soul about his troubles with you - but maybe he didn't saw it this way? The over 50 messages he had send you this last days and your filled voicemail spoke differently. Not that you had dared to listen to them, not to read further his messages. You made the good decision to block him on every medium you used.
But you made sure to Screenshot every message in case a protecting order was needed.
“Shall I come with you?”
“No. I have to do this myself.”
“I would feel better if you were not alone.”
“I'm not. The Landlord will be with me and a police officer. I want them to see that I only take my stuff, and that I'm not destroying anything.”
“Clever lady!”, Sami cheered through the phone, his tone delighted.
“I try to be.” You felt your face warming up by his praise - you were not used to it.
Getting from the phone, you took a deep breath, feeling anxious, but also excited. This was a step in the right direction. Into a new life.
You had called your work already to dismiss all try's of your ex to connect with you, so you hope not to have change the working environment.
Sitting in front of the apartment complex, you waited for the small transporter you had hired, filed with empty moving boxes and two helpers.
When the landlord and the police car arrived, you could finally start packing...
*
As you arrived at Sami's place, tired, but proud, he greeted you with his happy, beaming smile and a long embrace.
For a moment you both didn't speak, but held each other, until you started to sob. Not by fear or anger. Exhaustion and relief was what you felt. A new chapter has started.
Sami seemed to understand that. He waited for you to calm down while he stroked your hair and embraced you.
After your wailing toned down to a sniffle, he reached in his jeans pocket to get a handkerchief out of it. You took it - as always, not a thin paper thingy, but a nice fabric one - and burrowed your face in it. It smelled like Sami's cologne, what cheered you up.
After wiping your face and cleaning your nose, Sami led you into his house.
“Dinner is just ready.”, he said and leaded you into the kitchen.
“It smells amazing!”, you answered honestly and keen to try some good homemade food. Your stomach rumpled, even so enthusiastic. Sami laughed by the noise.
“Then sit down, babe. Let me feed you.”
And he did.
There was Baba Ghanoush and Ḥawāuschī, Mahshi and Kolslo - and some sweet dripping Basbūsa as dessert.
“Wow.. Did you..?”
Rami helped, before he left for his fly.”, Sami told you and leaned in to kiss your temple. “Now eat. You deserve it to get spoiled.”
And so you ate. Tasting the dishes, enjoying the unique spices and the sweetness, while Sami spoke about the base of the dishes, giving you a glimpse into his family's culture.
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