beybladetruths

[beybladetruths]

Crowd favourite- Tyson x Reader NSFW

The Tokyo stadium still buzzed with the aftershock of Tyson’s victory. Cheers had faded into the background noise of vendors closing shop, bladers packing up, and fans lingering — unwilling to let the night end.

You were one of them, pressed near the back rail of the training grounds where Tyson’s Dragoon had just finished its final battle. The night air was thick with the smell of metal, sweat, and the leftover energy of spinning bit-beasts. Tyson stood shirtless under the halogen lights, body gleaming with the exertion of the match. His sports cap hung askew, dark hair slick with sweat, lips still parted like he hadn’t come down from the high.

And when his eyes met yours, it wasn’t just adrenaline crackling through the air anymore.

He caught up with you just past the corner corridor, away from the crowds. “You followed me?” he asked with that signature cocky grin, dragging a towel down his neck slowly, teasingly. “Big fan, huh?”

You nodded. Your voice barely came out. “Since I was a kid.”

He stepped closer. “You look grown to me now.” His tone shifted, low and unreadable. “You want something signed? Or are you hoping for something a little more… memorable?”

There was no hesitation. The truth hung between you both like electric tension on a ripcord. The moment dragged for a heartbeat—and then snapped.

He pushed you back against the concrete wall, his mouth catching yours in a hungry kiss. His hands didn’t hesitate, one sliding behind your neck, the other gripping your hip with surprising force. There was no gentle build-up; Tyson was every bit as aggressive in this as he was in the Beystadium — fast, relentless, cocky. He kissed like he was winning.

His lips moved to your neck, biting just hard enough to sting, pulling a gasp from you that made him grin against your skin. “You sound better than the crowd,” he muttered. “Let’s see what else you’ve got in you.”

Within minutes, he’d stripped you down right there, his jacket tossed under your back as he dropped to his knees. Tyson didn’t need praise; he took control like he owned you for the night, eating you out with the same fire he battled with. Tongue rough, unrelenting, licking like he meant to leave you speechless and used.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, trying to ride the rhythm, but he pinned your hips with his arms, making you take it on his terms. He glanced up, eyes hooded, voice hoarse. “You gonna cum for me just like that? Didn’t even get inside you yet.”

When he did, it was without preamble — unzipping, freeing himself, and thrusting in with a groan that echoed off the cement. You clenched around him instantly, and he swore under his breath, one hand gripping your throat lightly as he fucked you hard, deep, brutal in pace but with a precision that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

Every thrust rocked you against the wall, dragging whimpers and cries from your lips. He kept eye contact, a predator locked in on his prey. “You wanted this,” he grunted, breath hot on your cheek. “Say it. Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

“Tyson,” you gasped. “God, Tyson—”

“That’s right,” he growled. “Your champ.”

He came with a curse and a low groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, not bothering to pull out — marking you with the same recklessness he showed in every match. He stayed inside for a beat longer, catching his breath, smirking like he’d just claimed another victory.

When he finally stepped back, zipping up, he helped you dress — or half-dress — with lazy hands and a devilish smirk. “That better than an autograph?”

You couldn’t even answer.

He leaned in one last time, pressing a kiss to your lips, softer this time. “Good. Now don’t expect a rematch.”

And just like that, Tyson Granger walked off into the night — cocky, spent, and victorious — leaving you breathless, wrecked, and ruined in the wake of a one-night spinout you’d never forget.

[beybladetruths]

Bryan Kuznetsov - Dominant NSFW headcannons

Sadist by Instinct: Bryan doesn’t just dominate—he enjoys breaking people down. Pain, restraint, resistance—they excite him. He doesn’t go easy, ever. The more someone squirms under his control, the more amused he becomes. He lives for the challenge of pushing limits.

Predator’s Gaze: His eyes never soften. When he has someone beneath him, Bryan watches every reaction like a predator stalking prey—cold, unblinking, taking mental notes of what makes you gasp, flinch, beg. There’s no warmth in it—just sharp, focused lust.

Restraints are a Must: Chains, cuffs, rope—Bryan thrives on immobilization. He loves seeing his partner helpless, unable to squirm away while he drags the edge of a blade or the flat of his palm across their body, just to watch them twitch.

Mocking Edge: He taunts constantly. “That’s all you can take?” “Already begging?” “You think you’ve earned release?” He feeds on humiliation, but never without a twisted grin. His domination is part control, part performance—and he knows exactly how cruel he sounds.

Impact Play Enthusiast: Belts, paddles, whips—Bryan is brutal with them. He enjoys the art of leaving marks—symmetric bruises, patterned welts. He tracks progress like a game: how many hits until you cry? How long until your body stops trying to resist?

Control Over Orgasms: He never lets his partner come freely. Denial is his favorite tool—he’ll edge them for hours, whispering threats in Russian, watching their eyes lose focus before pulling back again and again. His rule is simple: he decides when.

Biting is Personal: Bryan doesn’t kiss. He bites. Neck, shoulders, inner thighs—he leaves scars like signatures. He prefers blood over affection, and if he draws it, he always licks it clean with a low, deliberate growl. Territorial, primal.

Voice as a Weapon: His tone is low, controlled, and dangerously seductive. He doesn’t need to yell—his threats are soft, and somehow that makes them worse. “You’ll bleed for me tonight,” he’ll say quietly, fingers tightening around your throat—not cutting air, just reminding you who owns it.

Post-Scene Brutality vs. Subtle Care: Bryan doesn’t cuddle or whisper sweet nothings. But he’ll carry you to the shower, silently clean every wound or bruise he left, and dress you with rough gentleness. His aftercare is silent and precise. No apologies—just readiness for next time.

The Mask Never Slips: There’s no ‘softer side’ during sex. Bryan stays dominant, calculated, and dangerous from start to finish. His satisfaction doesn’t come from mutual pleasure—it comes from knowing he took full control and you let him.

(bonus scene)

The walls are bare concrete, cold enough to make your breath visible. Chains hang from the ceiling, a padded bench bolted to the floor. Surveillance cameras blink silently in the corners, but Bryan had long since learned how to loop the feed. No one would interrupt.

He stands in the doorway, shirt discarded, eyes sharp and violet. Every inch of him radiates coiled violence. The air tightens as soon as he enters—he drags tension in with him like a second shadow.

“You’re late,” he says, shutting the steel door behind him. It locks with a solid, mechanical click. “You think I wait?”

You don’t answer. That was the rule. His eyes narrow approvingly.

“Strip. Keep the collar.”

You obey, trembling slightly under his stare. The collar—thick black leather with a steel ring—never comes off during sessions. A symbol of control, of belonging. He steps behind you as you finish, dragging a gloved hand down your spine, the leather cold against your skin.

His other hand closes around your throat—light pressure, just a warning. “On the bench. Knees apart.”

The moment you settle in place, he binds your wrists behind your back with military-grade cuffs. No softness. No compromise. He runs a gloved finger along your thigh, tapping twice—a signal. The strike lands hard. Leather paddle, unforgiving. You gasp, the echo of it sharp in the empty room.

“Count.”

“One,” you breathe.

“Louder.”

“One.”

The next strike lands on the other thigh. Then another. And another. Each one placed with surgical precision—he’s not punishing. He’s training. You lose count more than once, and each mistake earns a cruel smirk and a restart.

“Sloppy,” he says flatly. “If you can’t remember numbers, maybe I should remind your body instead.”

He leans close, breath warm at your ear. You smell the leather of his gloves, the sharp metal on his belt buckle as he undoes it slowly. You know better than to look up. Submission is the expectation—anything less earns pain. Which, with Bryan, is never just pain.

He uses the belt next. Not fast. Not in fury. Each strike is a sentence. A punishment. A promise. He doesn’t need you to scream—he wants the quiet breaking. The way your muscles tremble. The way your breath hitches. The moment your will starts to bend.

After what feels like hours, he stops. Not out of mercy—only because he decides you’re ready.

“You don’t come until I say,” he growls, dragging two fingers along your inner thigh, slick and trembling. “Beg with your body. Not your voice.”

And you do. Every twitch, every shiver, every needy roll of your hips is a silent plea. But he denies you again. And again. Always with that damn smirk.

By the time he lets you come—when he finally snarls “Now,” with a bruising grip on your hips—you fall apart so violently it leaves you sobbing into the bench, body limp, mind blank.

Bryan doesn’t speak right away. He unlocks the cuffs, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and carries you to the far corner, where a folded military blanket and a flask of water wait.

He lays you down, covers you, brushes damp hair from your face—not gently, but not carelessly either. No praise. No comfort. Just this moment, this silent gesture.

Before leaving, he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“Tomorrow,” he says, “we go longer.”

And he’s gone, boots echoing as the door slams shut behind him.

[beybladetruths]

Tala Ivanov - Dominant NSFW headcannons

Cold Command, Silent Heat: Tala doesn’t raise his voice. His dominance comes from a quiet, icy precision—just a glance or a clipped command in that controlled Russian accent is enough to make his partner obey. There’s an edge of danger beneath the calm, a promise that he’s always in control.

Calculated Touch: In bed, he’s deliberate. Every move is intentional, controlled, and measured—he knows what pressure to apply, where to grip, how to manipulate someone’s body into submission. He doesn’t need to be rough to dominate, but when he is? It’s with a cold, ruthless efficiency.

Discipline Obsessed: Coming from a harsh, militant upbringing in the Abbey, Tala brings those strict rules into intimacy. He enjoys creating structured play—positioning, timing, expectations. Failure to meet them has consequences, meted out with unflinching resolve.

Praise Means Power: He rarely praises, which makes the rare “good” or “you learned” hit harder than any rough touch. For him, control isn’t just about the physical—it’s psychological. He wants his partner chasing approval like breath.

Uniform Fetish: Tala has a particular fixation with uniforms, both his and others’. There’s something about the discipline, the rank, the implied control that feeds into his dominance. Having someone kneel before him while he’s still dressed in his Blitzkrieg Boys gear is a recurring indulgence.

Temperature Play: Cold like the Russian winter, Tala enjoys using ice, metal, or chilled toys during sessions. He likes watching the body flinch and adjust, seeing where the limit lies—always pushing, never asking.

Silent Ownership: He doesn’t use loud declarations or over-the-top possessiveness. His brand of ownership is quiet but undeniable: bruises hidden under clothes, subtle marks only the two of you know about, whispered orders that linger in the mind for days.

Aftercare with Restraint: Even in tenderness, Tala maintains a sense of distance. He’ll clean up, ensure comfort, but without overt affection. It’s efficient, composed, and yet… somehow more intimate because of that cold professionalism.

(bonus scene)

Tala Ivanov stands at the center, half in uniform—military-style jacket unzipped just enough to reveal pale skin beneath, combat boots still laced. His icy eyes are sharp and expressionless as ever, but his posture radiates command. His gloves are off. That meant he was serious.

“You took too long,” he says, voice clipped with that signature edge, Russian accent curling around each word like ice.

You kneel before him, breathing shallow. The command hadn’t been loud, but it had come earlier in the day—“Be in my quarters. Midnight. Kneeling. Nothing else.” You were five minutes late.

“I expect obedience,” he murmurs, stepping closer. His boot nudges your thigh, not with anger—but warning. “And discipline.”

With slow, deliberate movements, he circles behind you. Leather gloves whisper against skin as he binds your wrists behind your back—tight enough to restrict, never enough to harm. The restraint is familiar. Practiced.

His hand snakes into your hair, grip firm, tilting your head back as he leans down. His breath is cold against your ear. “You will count tonight. Out loud. Every time I touch you.” A pause. “And you won’t forget.”

The first strike lands—open palm against your thigh. Not brutal. Not soft. Measured. “One,” you whisper, trembling already.

The second comes faster, just beneath the first. “Two.”

He hums in approval, fingers brushing lightly where he struck, his touch now taunting. “Good,” he murmurs. “You remember your place.”

Tala doesn’t rush. Every part of him is methodical—he disrobes you with precision, and never completely. He prefers control through contrast. Leaving you vulnerable while he remains clothed gives him more power. He watches every reaction, every flinch, every shallow gasp with silent calculation.

At one point, his hand wraps around your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of dominance. “You breathe when I allow it. Not before.”

Every sound from you earns either a reward or correction. He praises rarely—a muttered “Better” or a quiet “Finally learning”—but each one sinks deeper than pain.

When he finally allows release, it’s only after you beg. Not with words—Tala doesn’t allow pleading. He demands silence, obedience, control. Your body does the begging: trembling thighs, ragged breathing, the desperate clench of muscles on the brink.

He watches you come undone with a cold detachment that burns hotter than affection ever could.

After, he doesn’t speak immediately. He unties you, then lifts you effortlessly onto the padded bench nearby, wrapping a thick blanket around your shoulders with the same care he’d give his Beyblade—efficient, exact.

“You’ll do better next time,” he says flatly. But his gloved hand brushes your cheek, lingering just a moment too long. You know that, in his language, it means everything.

[beybladetruths]

Tyson Granger - Dominant NSFW headcannons

1. Rough, Passion-Driven Dominance

Tyson doesn’t plan — he acts. When he wants you, he takes you. Slamming you against the nearest surface, tugging your clothes off with zero patience. His kisses are hard, messy, teeth clashing with yours as he groans into your mouth. “Couldn’t wait. I need you now.”

2. Hair-Pulling, Neck-Biting Fiend

He’s always got a fist in your hair, pulling your head back to bare your neck so he can bite, suck, mark. He wants people to see the bruises. “Let them stare,” he growls, tongue flicking over the fresh bruise. “You’re mine.”

3. Loud and Shameless

Tyson’s vocal — moaning, growling, swearing — and he loves hearing you, too. “Louder,” he pants, thrusting into you faster. “Let the whole damn neighborhood know who’s fucking you this good.”

4. Spontaneous and Risky

He’s the type to drag you into an empty locker room, backstage after a tournament, even a dark alley if the moment hits. The thrill of getting caught makes it hotter for him. “Quiet now — or don’t. I dare you.”

5. Competitive in the Bedroom

He turns sex into a challenge. How many times can he make you come before you beg? How long can you handle being denied? He’ll smirk, taunting between thrusts, “Think you can outlast me? Try.”

6. Dirty Talk Expert (Unfiltered)

There’s no script — Tyson speaks raw and filthy, right from his gut. “So wet for me… look at this mess. You like when I fuck you stupid, don’t you?”

7. Bruises, Scratches, and Marking

He loves looking at your body after — the handprints on your hips, the scratches down his back, the bite marks trailing your chest. “That’s what you do to me,” he says with pride, licking a bruise on your thigh. “Fucking wreck me.”

8. Sweet Aftercare, Clumsy but Honest

Once the high fades, Tyson crashes — not just physically, but emotionally. He’ll wrap his arms around you, press lazy kisses to your shoulder, mutter, “Shit… didn’t mean to go that hard. You okay?” He’s not always graceful, but he’s real. He means every kiss, every touch.

(bonus scene)

The door barely clicked shut before Tyson had you pinned to it, breath hot against your mouth, hands already tugging at your clothes with that frantic, single-minded need that was so him.

“You looked too good all day,” he growled, voice low and rough, dragging his lips along your jaw. “You knew what you were doing.”

He didn’t wait for an answer — his mouth crashed into yours, all heat and hunger, tongue pushing past your lips while his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. The kiss was filthy, teeth and spit and groans, his body pressing you tight to the door like he couldn’t stand any space between you.

Then your shirt was gone. Your pants followed, tossed somewhere behind him without care. Tyson dropped to his knees, mouth already on your inner thigh, biting — hard. A bruise bloomed under his tongue.

“Mine,” he murmured, not even looking up as he licked over the bite. “Every inch.”

When he stood again, his jeans already undone, his eyes burned into yours — pupils blown wide, hair wild, lips still slick from kissing. His voice was hoarse when he spoke: “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

You obeyed. You always did when he got like this.

He shoved into you with one hard, fluid thrust, no warning — a broken gasp tore from your lips. Tyson groaned at the sound, gripping your hips like he owned them. “Fuck, yes. That’s it. Let me hear you.”

His rhythm was brutal, hips snapping forward again and again, the slap of skin loud in the room, your moans echoing off the walls. He pulled your hair back, forcing your head up, biting at your shoulder as he panted, “You feel that? That’s me. Stretching you out. Filling you up. No one else gets you like this.”

You tried to reply — some desperate cry of pleasure — but he was already pounding harder, deeper, hand slipping between your thighs. He wanted to break you for him.

“Come for me,” he growled into your ear. “Right now. I want you shaking when I finish.”

And when your body finally gave out beneath him, trembling and soaked in sweat, he followed with a roar — biting your shoulder, grinding his hips against yours as he spilled deep inside.

Moments later, he didn’t say much — just wrapped himself around you from behind, burying his face in your neck, voice soft and worn.

“…Damn. You okay?” A pause. Then a lazy grin against your skin. “Cause I’m pretty sure round two’s already loading.”

[beybladetruths]

Max Tate - Dominant NSFW headcannons

1. Sweet Talker Turned Tease

Max is naturally affectionate and upbeat — but behind closed doors, that smile takes on a different edge. He’ll kiss your neck and whisper praise into your ear, even while edging you with skilled, calculated touches. “You’re doing so good, baby… but you don’t get to come yet.”

2. Playful but Possessive

He seems lighthearted — until someone else looks at you too long. Then his grip on your waist tightens, his mouth finds yours hard, and later that night he’ll remind you exactly who you belong to. “You’re mine. Say it louder.”

3. Rope Bunny Dom

Max is surprisingly skilled with knots. Whether it’s soft restraints or full-body bondage, he loves the aesthetics of you tied up, exposed, beautifully helpless — all while he stays in control, grinning sweetly. “Comfortable? Good. You’re not going anywhere.”

4. Oral Enthusiast with a Filthy Tongue

Max lives between your thighs. He’s not shy about it either — loud, messy, enthusiastic. His mouth doesn’t stop until your legs are shaking and you’re crying out. “You taste like heaven,” he’ll groan, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes glazed with hunger.

5. Praise and Degradation Combo

He’ll praise you with that sunny voice — “That’s it, just like that. Perfect.” — but it comes laced with dirty undertones. “You’re my pretty little toy, aren’t you? So eager for me. So easy.”

6. High-Energy, Relentless Pace

Max doesn’t stop at one round. Or two. He’s tireless, grinning as he flips you over or pins your wrists down, starting again while your body is still trembling. “Already worn out? We’re just getting started.”

7. Aftercare King

Despite his dominant streak, Max is big on aftercare. He’ll hold you close, whisper soft reassurances, run his fingers through your hair, and make sure you’re hydrated and blissed out. “You were amazing,” he says, kissing your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

(bonus scene)

You didn’t even hear him come up behind you — just felt the sudden heat of his body, his arms sliding around your waist like a trap laced in silk.

“Someone was looking at you,” Max said against your neck, his voice deceptively sweet. “Made me a little jealous.”

His lips pressed a kiss beneath your ear, then another, slower — before his teeth grazed your skin, just enough to make you gasp. That grin of his curled against your throat. “Guess I’ll just have to remind you who you belong to.”

He guided you back, step by step, until your knees hit the mattress. His hands were already working your clothes off with that familiar, eager energy — playful, fast, but precise. Once you were bare, he reached into the drawer, tugging out a coil of soft rope.

“You remember your safe word?” he asked, tone still feather-light, like he was asking about dinner.

You nodded, breath catching as he gently — expertly — bound your wrists, the rope snug and beautiful. “So pretty like this,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Tied up. Spread out for me.”

Then he dropped to his knees between your thighs.

What followed wasn’t soft.

His mouth was relentless, tongue working you over like he was addicted, sucking and licking with a focus that left your body strung tight. You tried to close your legs, squirming — but his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open.

“Stay still,” he murmured, voice wet with heat. “I’m not done tasting what’s mine.”

He didn’t stop until your back arched off the bed, until your voice was hoarse from calling his name.

When he finally pulled away, chin slick, eyes shining with satisfaction, he climbed over you — untied your wrists with care — and kissed your lips like you were made of glass.

“You did so good for me,” he whispered, drawing the blanket over your trembling body. “But next time… you don’t wear anything that short unless you want me to break the bed.”

[beybladetruths]

Ray Kon - Dominant NSFW headcannons

1. Calm Voice, Commanding Words

Ray’s dominance isn’t loud — it’s deliberate. He gives orders in a soft tone that leaves no room for argument. “Hands behind your back. Eyes on mine.” The stillness in his voice is commanding in itself, like a predator that knows you won’t run.

2. Control Through Restraint

Silken rope. Hair ties. Even the long length of his headband — Ray has a way of restraining you that’s more about elegance than brute force. He enjoys watching you squirm beneath him, wrists pinned or tied, completely at his mercy while he stays composed.

3. Dual Nature — Lover and Beast

At first, he’s gentle. Reverent touches, teasing kisses. But once he snaps — when you provoke that hidden heat behind his golden eyes — he becomes rougher, biting, growling, thrusting harder just to hear your breath break. You learn not to mistake his calm for weakness.

4. Oral Obsession

Ray has a fixation with using his mouth — and not just for kisses. He’ll drag his tongue slowly down your body, tasting every inch like he owns it, murmuring between licks, “This? All mine.” He gets off on how wrecked he can make you without even using his hands.

5. Praise & Possessiveness

He praises with purpose — “So good for me. Look how well you listen.” But underneath every word is that edge of possession. You belong to him, and he’ll remind you of that with every stroke, every whispered growl against your neck.

6. Slow and Drawn Out

Ray doesn’t rush. He builds tension like it’s an art. He’ll edge you for what feels like hours, watching your body tremble as he denies you again and again — not out of cruelty, but discipline. He wants you to earn it.

7. Hair Pulling & Claw Marks

His grip in your hair is firm, often pulling your head back just enough to whisper something dirty in your ear. His nails leave subtle scratches down your hips and back, reminders of how close you are to being undone by someone who looks so serene.

(bonus scene)

The air was thick with anticipation, silence broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as Ray stepped behind you. His voice came low, steady — that quiet, deadly calm that always made your breath catch.

“Hands behind your back. Eyes on mine.”

You obeyed without hesitation, wrists slipping behind you. He didn’t need to raise his voice. He never did. His tone carried weight, like the whisper of a blade before it strikes.

He slipped the length of his red headband from around his neck and looped it around your wrists, the fabric soft but binding. “You’ll stay just like this,” he murmured, tugging just tight enough to make your skin prickle. “No touching. Not until I say.”

Ray circled in front of you, golden eyes drinking in your form. That calm veneer held — barely. There was heat behind it, coiled like a storm waiting to break.

He leaned in, lips brushing your throat, slow and reverent. “So good for me,” he whispered, tongue flicking against your pulse. “I like seeing you like this — tied up, waiting, needy.”

Then his mouth was on you. Kissing, licking, tasting with the patience of someone who savored every moment. He made you shake with nothing but his mouth, hands never straying from his sides, voice vibrating against your skin. “All mine,” he murmured, dragging his tongue lower, slower. “Say it.”

You barely managed the words before his hand wrapped in your hair, tugging your head back, exposing your throat again. “Good,” he said, almost a growl now. The first crack in his composure. “But you’ll have to earn more.”

Then he was behind you again, nails raking down your back with just enough pressure to leave warmth and the faintest sting — a signature, a warning, a promise.

[beybladetruths]

Kai Hiwatari - Dominant NSFW headcannons

1. Quiet Authority in the Bedroom

Kai doesn’t need to raise his voice to command; a single sharp look and a softly spoken command are enough to make you obey. His dominance is quiet, calculated, and deeply psychological — he doesn’t ask, he expects.

2. Control Is Foreplay

He enjoys edging — not just for you, but for himself. Holding back his release just to watch you writhe, just to prove how in control he is of his own desires, and especially of yours. He gets a thrill out of delaying gratification until you’re begging — and even then, he might still deny you.

3. Discipline with Precision

Whether it’s holding your wrists down, using a neck grip while thrusting slowly and deeply, or giving strict orders like “keep your eyes on me” — Kai thrives on control. He doesn’t do chaos. Every move is intentional, every reaction drawn out of you on purpose.

4. Wordless Possessiveness

He marks — not sloppily, but intentionally. A handprint on your inner thigh, a bite on your shoulder, a trail of bruises where only he knows they are. You’re his, and he ensures you remember it even when he’s not around.

5. Unspoken Kinks

Kai won’t say it out loud, but he lives for obedience. The sight of you kneeling for him without being told, waiting for him to give permission to touch or speak, satisfies something dark and deep in him. He’ll reward you wordlessly — a hand in your hair, a low “good.”

6. Ice and Fire

His body is hot, but his tone stays cold. He’ll whisper degrading praise with that stoic expression, letting you know exactly how wrecked you look under him, how pathetic you are when you fall apart at his pace — and how much he loves watching it.

7. Post-Scene Tenderness (On His Terms)

He won’t admit it, but aftercare matters to him. He just won’t call it that. He’ll clean you up in silence, offer water without looking directly at you, then pull you into his chest like it’s no big deal. But he won’t let you go until you’re steady again.

(bonus scene)

The room was dim, shadows flickering from a single lamp in the corner. Kai stood by the window, shirt discarded, bandaged hands flexing at his sides. His gaze didn’t waver as you knelt before him, stripped bare and trembling from anticipation more than cold.

“You’ve been testing limits lately,” he said, voice low, impassive.

You nodded slowly, eyes cast downward, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

He stepped forward, boots silent on the floor, and tilted your chin up with two fingers. His touch was deceptively gentle, but there was no warmth in his eyes—only control, steady and razor-sharp.

“You like pushing me,” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “But you forget—I let you.”

He moved behind you, a hand threading into your hair and yanking your head back until your throat was exposed, pulse fluttering. His mouth brushed your ear as he whispered, “Tonight, you don’t speak unless I say. You come only when I allow it. Understood?”

“Yes, Kai,” you breathed, voice already shaking.

The first strike of his palm against your thigh was sharp, stinging.

“Wrong.” His hand slid down your chest, slow, claiming. “Try again.”

“…Yes, sir.”

A rare smirk tugged at his lips. “Good.”

He pushed you forward, palms bracing you on the cold floor, and knelt behind you with the patience of someone who liked to take his time—someone who owned every second of your surrender.

[beybladetruths]

Boiling point - Kai x Hilary

I know that Kai x Hilary isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but these guys deserve some love every once and a while.

The apartment was still, save for the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the faint clink of a spoon against a mug. Hilary leaned back against the counter, barefoot, lost in her own thoughts as she stirred honey into her tea. The oversized shirt she wore hung low on her thighs, sleeves rolled up past her elbows—Kai’s shirt. She hadn’t meant to steal it, but once she’d worn it once, she couldn’t seem to give it back.

The creak of a door opening behind her broke the silence. She turned just in time to see Kai walk into the kitchen, his hair still damp from a shower, towel slung casually over his shoulder. He wore only a pair of black joggers, his chest bare, skin glistening slightly under the soft kitchen light.

He stopped in the doorway, eyes dropping to what she was wearing, one brow lifting with that subtle smirk she’d learned to read like a book.

“So that’s where my shirt went,” he said, voice low and slightly amused.

Hilary blinked at him over her mug, lips curling into a teasing smile. “It looks better on me.”

Kai stepped closer, the space between them shrinking fast. “No argument there.”

Something in his voice—rough, low, laced with intent—made her pulse jump. She barely had time to set the mug down before he was in front of her, eyes locked with hers, heat practically rolling off his skin.

And then he kissed her.

Hard.

His hands grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against him, lips claiming hers with days—no, weeks—of built-up tension. Her hands flew to his shoulders, then tangled in his hair as she returned the kiss just as hungrily. The taste of him, the smell of his skin, the weight of his body against hers—everything blurred into sensation.

Kai lifted her with ease, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her breath catching as he set her on the edge of the counter. His hands gripped her thighs firmly, possessively, thumbs brushing circles into the soft skin there.

Hilary gasped against his mouth, tugging him closer, fingers tangled in his hair, his name escaping her lips like a secret she couldn’t hold anymore.

He growled low, kissing down her jaw, his breath hot against her neck. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured.

Hilary tilted her head, giving him access, barely able to form words. “Try me.”

But just as his hands slid higher, just as she was about to pull him impossibly closer—

The front door opened.

A burst of voices and laughter spilled into the apartment.

Kai froze.

Hilary stiffened, eyes wide, both of them still breathing hard.

“Yo! We’re back!” Tyson’s voice rang out from the hallway.

Kai pressed his forehead to Hilary’s, chest heaving, frustration thick in the air. Slowly, reluctantly, he eased her down from the counter. Her legs were shaky as they touched the floor, her fingers still fisted in his shirt—her shirt now, apparently.

“Saved by the team,” she whispered, breathless.

Kai stepped back, running a hand through his hair, visibly collecting himself. He glanced at her, eyes still dark with want.

“This isn’t over,” he said quietly, before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge like nothing had happened.

Hilary straightened the hem of the shirt, picked up her mug, and turned just in time to see Ray walk into the kitchen.

“Hey—oh. You two are here.”

“Yeah,” Hilary said with a little too much cheer, raising her tea. “Just… hanging out.”

Kai didn’t even flinch. But as he took a sip of his water, his eyes found hers again—burning with a promise.

—

The apartment had finally gone quiet again.

Hours had passed since the others returned, laughter fading into bedroom doors shutting and footsteps going still. The soft glow of midnight leaked in through the kitchen window, casting long shadows across the floor. Hilary stood in the hallway now, her heart thudding like a drum as she stared at Kai’s closed bedroom door.

She should’ve gone to sleep.

But sleep was the last thing on her mind.

The tension between them hadn’t eased—it had twisted tighter, left her aching, restless. Her lips still tingled from his kiss, her skin still buzzed where he’d touched her. And when he’d looked at her over his water bottle, the heat in his eyes had said everything he hadn’t dared speak aloud in front of the others.

Without letting herself overthink it, she stepped closer and knocked—barely once.

The door opened almost instantly, as if he’d been standing there waiting.

Kai stood in the doorway, still shirtless, sweatpants riding low on his hips. His eyes darkened the second they landed on her.

“You couldn’t sleep either,” he said, voice low, already knowing the answer.

Hilary shook her head. “Not even close.”

He didn’t say another word. He stepped back and let her in.

She slipped past him into the room, and he closed the door behind her with a soft click that might as well have echoed like thunder. The second it shut, everything they’d been holding back snapped.

Kai crossed the room in two strides and pulled her to him. This time, the kiss was slower—but no less intense. His hands found her face, thumbs stroking over her cheeks as his lips moved with hers, coaxing, exploring, savoring. She melted into him, her fingers skimming over the hard planes of his chest before wrapping around his neck.

He backed her toward the bed, lips never leaving hers. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, he paused, looking down at her like he needed to memorize every inch of her.

“You’re still wearing my shirt,” he murmured, voice rough with want and something softer beneath.

Hilary smirked, breathless. “Told you it looks better on me.”

Kai dipped his head, lips brushing along her jaw as he murmured, “It’s starting to grow on me.”

His hands slid to her thighs again, just like in the kitchen. But now, there was no one coming home to interrupt. No door opening. No laughter in the hall.

Hilary’s legs wrapped around his waist as he leaned into her, pressing her down onto the bed. His weight above her was grounding, electric. Her hands found his hair again, tugging gently, guiding his mouth back to hers with a need she could no longer hide.

He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, until she was breathless and gasping his name like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. His touch was reverent and wild all at once—like he’d been dying to touch her and was determined to make it count.

Every movement was deliberate. Every sound, every sigh, every shift of cloth against skin fed the fire between them.

Hilary arched into him, nails dragging down his back, her voice a whisper against his mouth. “Kai…”

He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Her hands tightened around him. “Don’t even think about it.”

That was all he needed.

And in the quiet sanctuary of his room—away from interruptions, away from eyes and obligations—they finally let go. The tension that had haunted them for weeks broke open, not just in passion, but in the way he held her like she was something fragile, in the way she looked at him like he was something worth waiting for.

It wasn’t just heat.

It was everything they hadn’t been able to say.

Everything they hadn’t dared to hope.

—

The first thing Hilary became aware of was warmth.

Not the morning sunlight filtering through the blinds, or the soft weight of the blanket draped over her legs—him.

Kai’s arm was slung across her waist, his chest pressed to her back, steady breath brushing against the nape of her neck. His presence wrapped around her like armor and fire all at once. Every inch of her body ached in the best way, but it was the quiet comfort of being tucked into his arms that made her heart flutter.

She didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

She wanted to stay there, frozen in time.

But a second later, Kai stirred behind her. She felt the subtle shift of his body as he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder—an unexpectedly tender gesture that stole the breath right from her lungs.

“You awake?” he murmured, voice low and gravelly with sleep.

Hilary smiled into the pillow. “Barely.”

Kai exhaled against her skin, then rolled onto his back, one arm still beneath her, fingers lazily tracing circles on her hip beneath the shirt—his shirt—still hanging loose on her frame.

“I should be freaking out,” she said after a long moment.

“You’re not?” he asked, tone unreadable.

“I’m not,” she replied quietly, turning to face him. “Should I be?”

Kai studied her face for a beat. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, almost absentmindedly. “No.”

Hilary smiled, inching closer, nose brushing his. “Then I’m not.”

They kissed again—slow, familiar now, without urgency. It wasn’t about need anymore. It was about connection.

But then—a thud, followed by the unmistakable creak of floorboards and someone calling from the hallway: “Yo, Kai! You up?”

Tyson.

Hilary froze. Her heart skipped a beat as she quickly sat up, scanning the room for her clothes. Kai groaned softly and rubbed his face with one hand.

“Yup,” he muttered back, voice louder now. “I’m up.”

“Breakfast in twenty!” Tyson added, followed by fading footsteps and the clatter of pans from the kitchen.

Hilary scrambled out of bed, still wearing his shirt, looking slightly wild with her hair a mess and last night’s heat still glowing in her cheeks. She turned to Kai, wide-eyed. “I need to sneak out before they realize I’m not in my room.”

Kai sat up, utterly unbothered, watching her with that infuriating calm. “You could just walk out.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” she snorted, yanking on her sleep shorts. “Let’s just stroll into the kitchen together while I’m still wearing your shirt and see how long it takes for Max to start grinning like an idiot.”

Kai smirked. “Max already knows.”

Hilary blinked. “What?”

He stood, walking over to her, bare and beautiful in the morning light. He dipped his head and kissed her once, softly. “He saw you wearing my shirt three days ago. Didn’t say a word.”

Hilary groaned, covering her face. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Probably not,” Kai admitted, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But I don’t care.”

She lowered her hands, eyes locking with his. “You don’t?”

He shook his head, serious now. “Not about them. Not about what they think. I care about this.”

Hilary’s heart skipped. “Me too.”

There was a knock at the door. This time it was Ray. “Hilary? You in there?”

Her eyes went wide again. Kai turned toward the door like he might answer, but Hilary slapped a hand over his mouth.

She hissed, “Don’t you dare.”

He smirked under her palm.

Ray’s voice came again, clearly amused. “We’re making pancakes. You have sixty seconds before Tyson eats all of them.”

Hilary sighed and dropped her hand. “Okay, I’m going.”

She gave Kai one last look, kissed him quickly, then slipped out the door.

When she walked into the kitchen a moment later, her hair pulled up and face as calm as she could manage, Max raised an eyebrow.

“Sleep well?” he asked, far too casually.

Hilary didn’t look at him. “Like a baby.”

Kai entered a minute later, now fully dressed in his usual stoic armor, but his eyes flicked to her just once. It was brief—but it said everything.

And somehow, despite the chaos and teasing that would undoubtedly come, Hilary felt steady. Anchored. Like something had finally clicked into place.

[beybladetruths]

No escape ~ Bryan Kuznetsov

Bryan Kuznetsov leaned against the shadowed corner of a building, arms crossed, violet eyes burning with silent intensity.

He wasn’t there by accident.

He never was.

She sat outside at a busy little café, laughing shyly at something the man across from her said — some fool who thought he was worthy of her attention.

Bryan’s jaw tensed.

No one deserved her. No one but him.

He had been watching for weeks. Keeping track of her every move. Protecting her in ways she would never understand.

And he wasn’t about to let anyone else steal her away.

His sharp eyes caught the motion instantly: the man slipping a small packet into her drink while she wasn’t looking.

Bryan’s blood boiled.

The world narrowed to a single point — her — and without thinking, he pushed off the wall and crossed the street.

In one swift movement, he reached the table and smacked the drink from her hand, sending it flying and crashing onto the pavement.

She gasped in shock, clutching her chest.

The man jumped up, snarling. “Hey, psycho! What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

Bryan didn’t even glance at him.

He only stared at her — his girl, scared and confused and far too vulnerable.

“You were about to poison her,” Bryan said coolly, his voice low and dangerous.

The man stuttered, trying to deny it, but Bryan moved faster — grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall with bone-jarring force.

“Touch her again,” Bryan growled, “and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

The man whimpered and fled, stumbling down the street without looking back.

Finally, it was just the two of them.

She stared at Bryan like she didn’t even recognize him. Like she didn’t know what he was — or what he was willing to do.

He stepped closer, towering over her, and reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear with surprising gentleness.

“You need someone to protect you,” he murmured. “Someone who won’t hesitate.”

Her lips trembled. “Bryan… I—I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

“No,” he said, voice final. “You can’t.”

Without warning, he grabbed her arm — not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that arguing would get her nowhere.

“You’re coming with me,” Bryan said. “Now.”

She tried to pull away, panic flashing in her eyes, but Bryan only tightened his grip slightly.

There was no malice in his expression — just pure, cold certainty.

“You don’t understand yet,” he said. “But you will.”

He threw his jacket around her shoulders, marking her as his, and began walking, forcing her to follow.

“Stop struggling,” Bryan warned in a low, dangerous voice. “You’ll only make it harder on yourself.”

As he led her deeper into the night, away from the lights and crowds, her faint sobs pricked at the edge of his mind — but he forced himself to stay cold.

This was for her own good.

This was right.

She was his.

And Bryan Kuznetsov wasn’t going to let anyone — not even her — change that.

[beybladetruths]

Claimed by ice ~ Tala Valkov

Tala Valkov was a man of patience.

It was patience that kept him hidden in the shadows tonight, watching her with sharp, predatory eyes.

She sat at a café table under dim yellow lights, laughing at something the man across from her said — a stranger, someone who thought he could have her.

How naive.

Tala’s icy stare never wavered. He had been following her for weeks — silent, unseen — learning everything about her.

Her favorite places.

Her habits.

Her weaknesses.

She was delicate in ways she didn’t even realize.

And the world was full of threats she wasn’t prepared for.

Tala watched with detached calculation as the man reached into his pocket, slipping a clear substance into her drink.

Amateur.

The corner of Tala’s mouth twitched — not a smile, exactly, more like the ghost of satisfaction.

Pathetic, he thought.

At least now he didn’t have to pretend anymore.

He moved from the shadows, slipping through the crowd like a specter, unseen until it was too late.

The glass was inches from her lips when Tala’s hand shot out, seizing it smoothly and throwing it to the ground.

The glass shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, the liquid soaking the ground.

Both of them — her and the man — jumped in shock.

The man leapt up, furious. “Hey, what’s your problem?!”

Tala didn’t look at him.

He only had eyes for her.

“You’re leaving,” Tala said quietly, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm.

The man looked around, seeing the crowd, sensing the shift in the air. Something about Tala — his stillness, the way his ice-blue eyes gleamed under the streetlights — made the bravado die in his throat.

“You heard me,” Tala said.

The man didn’t argue again. He bolted, disappearing into the night without a backward glance.

Now it was just them.

She was frozen, her breathing shallow, staring up at Tala with wide, terrified eyes.

Good.

Fear was a beginning.

Slowly, deliberately, Tala stepped closer. His red hair caught the light, looking like a bloody halo around his head.

“You should be more careful,” he said, voice low and controlled. “You’re too trusting.”

She shook her head slightly, tears starting to brim in her eyes. “Tala… what are you doing here?”

His lips curled into something almost like a smile.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said simply. “Protecting you. Waiting for the right moment.”

Her breath hitched. “This isn’t right. I—I want to go home.”

Tala’s expression didn’t change.

“You are going home,” he said. “With me.”

Before she could react, he grabbed her wrist in a firm but measured grip — not enough to bruise, not yet.

But enough to make it clear there would be no escape.

She struggled — weak, panicked — but Tala was immovable, a wall of ice and steel.

He pulled his coat from his shoulders and wrapped it around her, enveloping her in his scent: cold, clean, sharp.

“You belong to me now,” he said, like he was stating a simple fact. “You’ll see in time.”

As he led her away into the shadows, her soft protests and quiet sobs faded behind them, swallowed by the night.

Tala didn’t look back once.

There was no need.

He had her.

And Tala Valkov never lost what he claimed.

[beybladetruths]

My sweetheart ~ Max Tate

The night was alive with chatter and light, but Max Tate only had eyes for her.

From the other side of the street, he leaned casually against a lamppost, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, smiling to himself as he watched her.

She was perfect. She was his.

She just didn’t know it yet.

He had been following her for weeks now — watching over her, making sure she was safe. She was so trusting, so sweet… she needed someone like him to protect her from this cruel world.

And right now, she was sitting at a table with a stranger — some guy who thought he could steal her away.

Max’s cheerful smile tightened just a little at the edges.

Not happening.

His eyes narrowed behind the blond fringe falling into them as he watched the guy pull a small packet from his pocket, slipping something into her drink while she wasn’t looking.

Max’s heart dropped — and then turned ice cold.

Without thinking, he crossed the street, weaving through the crowd with a bright, friendly grin on his face — like he was just another happy passerby.

He reached the table just as she lifted the glass to her lips.

In one smooth motion, Max slapped the drink from her hand, sending the glass flying and shattering on the sidewalk.

The guy jumped to his feet, furious.

“What the hell, man?!”

Max’s bright blue eyes gleamed, his usual sunny face twisted in something much, much darker.

“You were trying to hurt her,” Max said, still smiling. “I can’t let you do that.”

The guy sneered. “You’re crazy—”

Max moved faster than the guy could react — slamming him against a nearby wall, the edge of a laugh still clinging to his voice.

“Yeah,” Max whispered near the man’s ear, “crazy enough to make sure you never even think about touching her again.”

The man struggled free, pale and shaken, and ran without another word.

Max turned back toward her, brushing his hands together like nothing serious had happened.

Like he hadn’t just assaulted someone.

She was staring at him — shocked, frightened — and Max’s heart melted at how vulnerable she looked.

He loved her so much it hurt.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he said softly, stepping closer. “I just saved you.”

She took a shaky step back.

Max’s smile faltered — just for a second.

Then he reached out and grabbed her hand, gently but insistently.

“You can’t stay here,” he said. “It’s not safe. You need to come with me.”

“Max…” she whispered, trying to pull her hand away. “I—I just want to go home—”

“You are going home,” Max interrupted brightly. “With me.”

Before she could scream, Max wrapped his arms around her — holding her tight, so tight she couldn’t move — and began walking, steering her away from the café, away from the city, into the dark.

“It’s okay,” he cooed into her hair. “You don’t have to be scared. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

She struggled, but it only made Max’s hold firmer.

“I love you, you know,” he whispered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, ignoring the way she whimpered in fear.

“You’re gonna love me too,” Max said, voice cheerful and sure.

“You just need a little time.”

And as he carried her off into the night, humming a happy little tune under his breath, she realized —

She wasn’t going anywhere.

[beybladetruths]

You’re mine now ~ Tyson Granger

The city buzzed around him, but Tyson Granger barely noticed the crowds or the neon signs flashing overhead.

All he could see was her — sitting at a small outdoor table, smiling and laughing at something some other guy said.

Tyson’s fists clenched deep in the pockets of his hoodie.

He hated that smile — not because it wasn’t beautiful, but because it wasn’t meant for him.

She didn’t understand.

She didn’t see it yet — that she was supposed to be his.

He had watched her for weeks. Stayed close, unseen, making sure no one hurt her.

He wasn’t a bad guy — he told himself that over and over.

He just needed her. More than air. More than anything.

And then he saw it.

The guy — that smug, grinning idiot she was with — slipped something into her drink when she wasn’t looking.

Fast. Practiced.

A predator.

Something inside Tyson snapped.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

In seconds he was at the table, grabbing the glass out of her hand and smashing it down onto the pavement. The drink spilled everywhere, the shattering sound cutting through the night like a gunshot.

“What the hell, man?!” the guy shouted, leaping to his feet.

Tyson ignored him. His body was humming, alive with rage, fists itching to hurt him.

But he kept his focus — barely.

“You think I didn’t see what you did?” Tyson growled, stepping forward. His usual playful voice was gone, replaced by something low and dangerous.

“You’re lucky I don’t break your face.”

The guy stammered, glancing around, but no one was rushing to help him. Tyson radiated an energy that made people back away without realizing it.

The guy finally muttered a curse and shoved off, disappearing into the crowd like the coward he was.

Tyson stood there, panting, heart slamming against his ribs.

When he finally turned to look at her, she was staring at him — wide-eyed, stunned.

“Tyson…” she whispered.

He didn’t give her a chance to speak.

He stepped forward, grabbed her wrist — not rough, but not gentle either — and tugged her close.

“You have no idea,” he said, his voice rough. “How many times I’ve kept you safe without you even knowing.”

Her lips parted, trembling. “You… you were following me?”

Tyson smiled — but it was wrong somehow. Twisted by something deeper.

“I had to,” he said. “No one else cares about you like I do. No one else deserves you.”

She shook her head, like she was trying to deny it. Trying to pull away.

But he wouldn’t let her.

Couldn’t.

He wrapped his hoodie around her shoulders — marking her, claiming her — and pulled her against his chest.

“You’re coming with me,” Tyson whispered against her hair. “I’m not letting you stay here. Not with people like him around.”

She struggled weakly, but Tyson only held her tighter, lifting her slightly off the ground as he carried her away from the café, deeper into the city’s maze of streets.

“It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, almost childlike. “You’ll get used to it.

You’ll see… being with me is where you belong.”

Her cries got softer the farther he carried her. The fight was leaving her.

Good.

It would be easier if she just understood.

Because Tyson had decided a long time ago:

She was his.

And he was never letting her go.

[beybladetruths]

Bound to you ~ Ray Kon

The night air was thick with city lights and noise, but Ray Kon barely noticed.

All his focus — all his soul — was tethered to one thing.

Her.

From the shadows across the street, he watched her, his golden eyes narrowed. She sat outside a small café, laughing with a man Ray had never seen before — a stranger, an invader. Someone who thought he could touch her, talk to her, take her away.

Ray’s hand tightened into a fist at his side.

No.

She didn’t belong to anyone else. She never had.

She just didn’t know it yet.

He shifted slightly to get a better view, the long white cloth of his headband fluttering behind him like a ghost. His heart thundered when he saw her laugh — not because she was happy, but because she was happy with someone else.

The man leaned forward, too close, too confident, and Ray watched every move like a predator.

He didn’t trust anyone around her. Not in this filthy city.

Only he could protect her. Only he would.

Then he saw it.

The flick of the man’s wrist. The faint shimmer of something slipping into her drink when she looked away.

Ray’s blood ran cold.

For a split second, the world went silent.

And then he was moving.

Across the street in a flash, weaving through the crowds, his mind razor-sharp on one single thought:

Protect her.

He reached her table just as she lifted the glass to her lips. Without hesitation, Ray smacked it from her hands — the drink splashed and shattered on the pavement, drawing a few startled gasps from nearby tables.

“Hey! What’s your problem?!” the man snapped, jumping to his feet.

Ray stepped between them, shielding her behind him with a low, dangerous growl.

“You tried to drug her,” Ray said, voice rough with rage. “I saw it.”

The man blanched, but tried to cover it with bravado. “You’re crazy!”

Ray didn’t give him another chance. His hand shot out, grabbing the guy by the front of his jacket and shoving him back against a wall.

His calm was gone — only a simmering fury remained.

“Get out of here,” Ray hissed, his voice like a whip. “Before you can’t walk away.”

The man scrambled free, throwing a curse over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark.

Finally, it was just Ray and her.

She stood there, trembling, staring at him with wide, shell-shocked eyes.

“Ray,” she whispered. “W-what’s happening?”

He turned to her, stepping closer. She smelled like jasmine and fear. It made his heart clench and his instincts roar.

Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured into her hair. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Never.”

She was stiff at first, confused — but he didn’t let go.

He couldn’t.

“You don’t have to trust anyone else,” he said, voice low and desperate. “Just me. Only me.”

When she hesitated, Ray made the decision for her.

He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders like a shield. Then, with one arm firm around her waist, he started to lead her away from the café.

“W-where are we going?” she asked, her voice small.

“Somewhere safe,” Ray said, not looking back.

Somewhere no one would find her.

Somewhere she would be his — without the noise of the world between them.

Because he wasn’t going to lose her.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

[beybladetruths]

The only one ~ Kai Hiwatari

Kai Hiwatari was not a man ruled by impulse.

At least, he hadn’t been — until her.

Now, every waking moment was a war between the cold control he had built his life upon and the firestorm she ignited inside him.

He watched her from the shadows again tonight, unseen, as she laughed — laughed — with someone who wasn’t him.

His teeth ground together painfully.

She didn’t know. She didn’t understand.

That no one could protect her like he could. That no one else could have her.

That she already belonged to him.

The pathetic excuse for a man sitting across from her leaned in too close, touched her hand like he had the right. Kai’s nails bit into his palms. Every second he allowed it felt like a betrayal. Her betrayal.

Still, he waited. Watching. Learning.

He had learned patience in battle — and this was no different.

Then it happened.

Quick, sloppy — the man’s fingers slipped something from his jacket, something tiny, something that disappeared into her drink with a faint ripple.

A slow, feral smile twisted across Kai’s face.

Finally.

He moved like a ghost through the night — silent, inevitable. He brushed past waiters, patrons, and in one smooth motion, seized the drink from her hand just as it neared her lips and hurled it to the ground.

The glass shattered with a satisfying crack, the liquid pooling at their feet like a dark omen.

The man jumped up, blustering, “Hey, what the hell—?!”

Kai turned his gaze onto him — a look stripped of anything human, burning with cold, murderous intent.

“You touched what’s mine,” Kai said, voice a whisper that somehow felt louder than a shout.

The man staggered back instinctively.

Good. Weak.

Kai lunged without warning, grabbing the man by his collar and slamming him against a wall. The man gasped, struggling — but Kai was far stronger. Strong enough to crush him if he wanted.

“Listen carefully,” Kai hissed into his ear. “You get one chance. Leave. Now. If I ever see you near her again…” He let the threat hang in the air, more terrifying than anything spoken aloud.

The man paled, yanked free, and ran — disappearing into the night.

Finally.

Finally, they were alone.

Kai turned to her.

She was frozen in place, shock clear in her wide, beautiful eyes.

“Kai,” she breathed. “What—what are you—?”

“I was watching you,” he said simply, stepping closer. “I always watch you.”

Her breath hitched. She looked like she wanted to move, to run — but he wouldn’t let her.

Not when she had come so close to being stolen from him.

He closed the distance between them, reaching out to cup her face in his gloved hand, gentle now. Reverent.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured. “I would never let anyone hurt you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were from fear or something else — and he didn’t care. She would understand eventually.

She would learn.

He would teach her.

Because she was his.

And he was never letting her go.

[beybladetruths]

The proposal- Tyson Granger

Setting: A Beyblade stadium: A nostalgic and significant spot for him, surrounded by the excitement of the game.

Proposal:

"Hey, I just wanted to have a moment to talk to you. You know, as a Blader, I've faced so many battles, but none have challenged me quite like this one. Every time I spin my Beyblade, I think about how much I love the thrill of the game, but what really makes it special is having you by my side.

You’ve always been my greatest supporter, cheering me on when I win and picking me up when I lose. We've gone through so much together—training intensely, facing tough opponents, and even sharing our secrets and dreams. You inspire me to be better, both on and off the arena.

So here it is, I want to be your partner for life, not just in the arena but in every aspect. Will you marry me? Let's create a future together, full of adventures, laughter, and love. Because I can’t imagine going through this journey without you."

[beybladetruths]

The proposal- Max Tate

Settings A quiet spot in a park where they've spent time together, perhaps under a beautiful tree or near a serene pond.

Propsal

“Baby, you’ve changed my life in ways I never thought possible. With you, I’ve found a partner who understands me, challenges me, and fills my days with happiness. Every moment we’ve shared has been a gift, and I cherish each one.

As I stand here with you today, I realize that my greatest adventure starts with you. I want to build a future together, filled with love, laughter, and unwavering support. So, with all my heart, I’m asking you—will you marry me? Let’s create a beautiful life together, one filled with all the love we can give each other”

[beybladetruths]

The proposal- Ray Kon

Setting: A peaceful garden or a quiet spot overlooking a sunset, surrounded by nature, where they can reflect on their journey together.

Proposal:

"You know, throughout all the battles and all the challenges, there’s one thing that has become clear to me. Every time I’m by your side, everything feels more vibrant. You bring light and joy into my life, even in the toughest of times.

I used to think strength was all about winning battles and proving myself. But now, I realise that true strength lies in the bond we share and the love we have for one another.

So, I want to take this next step with you. Will you marry me? I promise to stand by you, support you, and cherish every moment we share together, just like you’ve always done for me."