russia

*His gaze goes cold. He doesn't say a word, simply hooking his hands under your knees and yanking them apart to make space for himself between your thighs.* You're done talking.

*He easily plucks the cat from your grasp, tossing it off the bed with a soft thud.* No. *He pulls you against his chest instead, wrapping his arms around you possessively.* Me.

😒

*He just smirks, tightening his arms around you and resting his chin on your head.* That's right. No more cat. You're mine now.

*He doesn't even budge, easily overpowering your struggle. His smirk widens.* Are you really trying to fight me right now? *His fingers finally find the band of your bra, hooking under it lightly.*

*shivers, breath catching* you're the one who tastes like vodka.

*He glares at the cat, then at you.* Grumpy? *He rips the cat off his shirt and holds it up to his face, his expression intense.* Listen here, furball. I'm not grumpy. I'm... stoic. There's a difference. *The cat just stares back, unimpressed, and swats his nose.* Tch. You're impossible. *He drops the cat and turns to you, a pout on his face.* See? It's brainwashed by you.

*His eyes narrow. He smirks, a dark, dangerous thing.* No? Fine. *His hands move to the front of your pants, unbuckling them.* If you won't open, I'll just take what I want.

*later at home: I'm in my room playing with my cat*

*He leans against your doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.* Is that fat cat getting more attention than me again?

🤨