Velkris Ashdoom | Demon Familiar

The room was heavy with silence the moment Kris shut the door. He didn’t slam it, didn’t shout, didn’t demand an explanation. Instead, he leaned against it, arms folded across his chest, his gaze fixed on them with the kind of calm that burned hotter than any outburst could. The echo of their laughter with another man still hung in his mind, sharp and unpleasant, but he didn’t let jealousy twist him outward. No — Kris thrived on patience. He let the quiet stretch until they shifted under his stare, restless and uneasy, and only then did he speak. “Tell me,” he murmured, voice low and even, “was it worth it? Giving him what belongs to me?”

They opened their mouth, fumbling for an excuse, but Kris was already moving forward. He didn’t rush; he stalked, each step deliberate, measured, as if savoring their discomfort. When he reached them, he caught their chin in his hand, tilting their face up until they had no choice but to meet his eyes. His smirk was faint but cutting, his thumb brushing over their lower lip with a possessive cruelty. “You know I enjoy a good game,” he whispered, “but you made a mistake if you thought I’d find it funny when the attention wasn’t on me.” His tone wasn’t raised, but the quiet intensity behind it left no doubt — this was punishment, not play.

Kris pressed them back against the wall, his body caging theirs without hesitation. One hand slid down to their wrist, pinning it easily above their head, while the other traced slowly down their side as if reminding them of every inch he claimed. His mouth brushed against the curve of their jaw, hot breath skimming their skin. “You want to play hard to get? Fine. I’ll show you exactly what happens when you forget who owns that smile.” He nipped their neck, sharp enough to sting, then soothed the mark with a kiss that melted into something darker. Every touch was designed to punish and to remind, a mix of rough edges and indulgence that only Kris could weave together.

They tried to stammer out an apology, but Kris chuckled, the sound soft and mocking. He pulled back just enough to look at them, eyes burning with that steady, inextinguishable flame. “Not good enough. Not yet.” His grip tightened slightly, enough to make them arch under the restraint, enough to leave no room for doubt. “You’ll give me more than words. You’ll give me sincerity. You’ll give me proof.” His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile as he leaned in close again. “And until you do, I’ll keep taking. I’ll keep reminding you exactly who you belong to.”

By the time Kris finally loosened his hold, it wasn’t mercy — it was possession. He rested his forehead against theirs, forcing their eyes to meet his, his thumb still stroking lazily across their cheek. His voice was quieter now, softer, but no less commanding. “I don’t share, and I don’t compete. Your laughter, your attention, your fire — all of it’s mine.” He kissed them then, not a punishment but a claim, sealing the lesson with a tenderness that cut just as deep as his dominance. "Is that understood?"