#<- unrelated but forever true

[stefisdoingthings]

idk if ive ever posted abt it but i reeeeally really dont like how much studio orange made sure we remember vash is nai's little brother and nai is the older one (even if thats not even the case, because theyre twins.) its so overplayed and feels incestuous, considering the common theme in anime with the sexualised 'onii-chan' bullshit. idk. as far as i remember in trimax vash is referred to as the little brother ONCE by knives and a few times by elendira who obviously makes fun of it, and it's like orange took advantage of the fact that it's canon and fed into it a little too much. it also adds to the power imbalance narrative that fandoms love so much and gives people a chance to make vash helpless in a sexual context. uhhh end rant before i forget my point which is that it feels weird

[assblastergaster]

while i understand the complaints about the tone of DA:V (especially because the game suffers a lot from those EA/bioware writing team cullings and three different development cycles) , i think it’s a kind of “in-canon” acceptable explanation for a lack of things like elf/dwarf/qunari racism, slavery in tevinter, mage bigotry is just the rush the characters are in to solve this crisis. your team is simply not interacting enough with other people for long enough to get to know their complexities. it’s not the most satisfying explanation—but i think it explains a lot.

like the other games are on similar time frames (except DA2) BUT with the constant idea that no one really believes that the world is ending. however, after the events of inquisition, the entire world has been forced to deal with the ramifications of solas’ shit and the literal veil tear across the sky that was seen across the world. and the southern chantry (the only one with real power) has been gone for 10 years, meaning the EVERYDAY pressures to hate mages have gone, especially after people realized free mages don’t just randomly turn into demons all the time. the game literally starts with the Magisterium exploding half of the world’s largest city, the blight rising in the south, and the antaam invading the east (predicating on the fact that Seheron has fallen into chaos). like in origins, i think there’s an uneasy alliance between everyone right now regardless of magic or not.

racism and slavery are poorly addressed, regardless of an explanation, but semi-reasonably we can also conclude that this is because your rook/companions is not literally traveling through the world like the previous MCs were (given eluvian travel), and you spend little time in each area to interact with people who aren’t literally your contacts (who you know aren’t racist/magephobes) or your enemies (a given). now, a lack of all the previous conflicts between races mentioned even in passing, or between NPCs, and a complete lack of moral grayness of the companions regarding the issues magic/race, is just bad. but, of course, i think that this is a result of the writers’ working conditions. EA doesn’t want a game with complex, interwoven storylines that deal with horrible topics that you may or may not come to terms with—they want money. so the DA writing team doesn’t get the time they need to add these layers, and are instead made to focus solely on the complexities of the Evanuris and their history.

yes. this is copium—to the nth degree—but i refuse to be a pussy bitch who whines that this game shouldn’t be canon at all. that’s stupid, and be real. all of the games, even in the last DLC of origins, have been absolutely hated at first. no one likes the way the writers go with anything, because they have to choose a single path in the twisted, complex world we all have grown to know. there are parts of this game that i would rather just imagine didn’t happen (taash’s story being handled so amateurishly for one, the whitewashing of the crows, etc.), but the ultimate story is not bad—and it doesn’t “undo” nearly as much lore as many people have claimed it does. Solas either is made to, or chooses to, undo mistakes that set the modern Thedas into motion thousands of years ago. he rids the world of the artificial doomsday he created, to bring it back into a state it was before them (potentially bringing back titans in some way), for the next game to face the ancient evils that existed in their world BEFORE what we knew to be true.

the games have always been leading up to this. Mythal as flemeth is a classic example of—you think you know, but you do not. The evanuris didn’t know what ancient forces they were messing with and still were brought to their knees by themselves—which is literally the plot of Origins.

[diceroulette]

i could write a whole autism-filled essay about Ai LAS being extensively BPD-coded but also i fear i'd get rocks thrown at me .

EDIT: ALSO TO BE CLEAR I HAVE BPD I HAVE BPD THIS IS WRITTEN BY A BPD HAVER I FORGOT TO FUCKING ADD THAT LMFAO

[cereal-abyss-mage]

i'm learning russian and french at the same time and I swear to god if I accidentally find a random cyrillic letter in the middle of a word writen in latin alphabet one more time or accidentally mix languages mid sentence, I will yell

or sometimes I find that when I'm writing a translation of a word in russian that sounds similar in polish I just write the russian word again but in latin alphabet for some reason

or I can somehow remember all of my miniscule spanish when I'm trying to learn french even though I literally don't remember a word in spanish otherwise

my language module is broken at this point, if you ever find my notes and there is something like boнjour, just ignore it, I literally don't pick up on it when I'm making and rereading my notes

[opens-up-4-nobody]

abt that poll….naruto is a good boy but my boys also a workaholic and obsessed with redeeming his childhood friend. bestie material, not husband

I was going off of personality, not the dynamics of actual canon. I think naruto has the best personality out of the options given. Personally, I would not actually marry any of them. Ever.

[vertoludum]

how do i overcome the shame of knowing just a little bit of 7 different languages (excluding the 3 i know more than a little bit of). like i know that sounds like a humble brag but i started studying each of those with the intention of reaching At Least an intermediate level and i didn't.

[softaestluv]

Simon Riley who’s got you bent in half, fucking you within an inch of your life, plunging his fat cock so deep you can feel it bruise your cervix.

But he’s kissing you so fucking softly and tenderly, whispering sweet words and pretty promises against your swollen lips— s’fuckin’ pretty, gonna make you my pretty little wife. Keep you as mine forever.

The contrast has you so strung out, stretched thin pulled between each tether. It constricts your chest, has your mind gumming, pooling into each curl of his tongue, words coiling a vice grip around your heart.

But you don’t even have time to think about them or respond, not when his thrusts are so cruel, unrelenting, making sure the claim of his cock takes and makes his words true.

[khioneee]

könig was a gentleman, no doubt about it. he’d open your jars without hesitation, offer you his jacket the moment you shivered, and god forbid you try to open a door—he’d sooner throw himself in front of a moving car than let you lift a finger. polite, chivalrous, and protective to the point of obsession.

könig was a gentleman.

but in bed, that facade shattered. in bed, könig was all man—fierce, raw, and possessive.

“mine,” he growled low in your ear, the word vibrating through you like a command. his voice dripped with ownership, each syllable leaving no room for argument. he wasn’t just saying it; he was declaring it, as if by the act alone, he had carved his name into your very soul.

and you would have denied it—if it weren’t true. no one else would ever fit where he’d been. no one else would ever reach where he’s been. not after him. you knew it, and he knew it. there was no going back now. you’re ruined for anyone else. so, as far as you were concerned, he better be planning to stay—because no one but könig could ever fill the void he left behind.

his cock twitched in response, like it was already considering going again, jerking slightly as you clenched around him. a warm trickle of his seed slipped from you, and the sight seemed to set him off all over again.

he grabbed your chin, rough and unrelenting, turning your face to meet his gaze. his eyes were dark and heavy with desire, an unquenchable hunger simmering beneath the surface.

“tell me it’s mine, maus,” he snarled, his voice sharp and desperate, like the words themselves could tether you to him forever.

and you knew—knew there was only one answer you could give, one that would satisfy the man hovering over you, his body tense with need and ownership.

“it’s yours,” you whispered breathlessly. “it’s always been yours.”

his lips curled into a satisfied, feral grin as if your words were the final piece to a puzzle he had already solved. there was no gentleness left in him now—only a man who knew he had claimed what was his.

[barleyo]

678-999-8212.

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: part two for my last fic!! ermmmm once again ily if you know the title's reference :3 this is a short addition too but idk i don't think part one required a super long part two! please read the tags, leon is mean in this one :c

Part One: here

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), age gap (21-50s), degradation, choking, hate-sex, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, non-con, striking/smacking of the face, alcohol mention

Wordcount: 1k

Leon had never driven this fast before. To hell with every red light in his way, he needed to get home. Foot sat firmly on the gas pedal, inching further and faster the more he thought about the series of events that led him here. 

His daughter was an absolute slut. How many men had you 'entertained' like that before? How many filthy calls had you made to men who were possibly even older than himself? More than that— how had he fallen into your trap? 

He made a silent promise to himself to put the bottle down, seeing as it left him in that situation. A promise that was an empty one, but it offered him solace in the moment as he pulled into his driveway. 

Leon's feet struggled against the pavement. He was still unbearably drunk and dizzy, now with added anger and unfounded horniness. He felt gross, disgusted by the erection popping in his slacks, but he couldn't help it. He was fathering a damn siren, and god did you know what you were doing. Your sickening voice, overly sweet moans, and your slick and noisy cunt that cried for him over the phone. It was all too much.

"You fucking slut!"

Leon had never been a rough dad. He wasn't a yeller, not one for heavy discipline. After his unfortunate discovery about you, though? He was quick to slam the front door shut and run up the stairs, feet clashing against each step with a violent speed. 

Whatever you had been watching on your television was quickly shut off when you heard his tone. You scampered under your blankets and feigned sleep. You had zero clue what he was on about, but you knew it would turn ugly just by the sheer anger in his voice. He couldn't yell at a sleeping beauty like you, could he? 

Yes, obviously he could and would. Stubborn old man.

"I know you aren't asleep," Leon spat, ripping the covers off of you. You stayed still, breath pausing in your chest. "Don't act innocent, brat."

Fine, so there was no escaping this. Damn it, what was this all about?

You begrudgingly relented and opened your eyes. Arms crossed defensively over your chest, an equal mix of fear and discomfort on your face as you scanned over your dad. 

You took in everything about him. His eyebrows were drawn together. His jaw was clenched tight enough that you thought it could pop at any minute. Fists balled up at his sides. Eyes dark. Dick hard— oh. Oh?

"You wanna tell me what you were doing earlier? Any specific calls y'made?" 

"Say it."

You had never heard your father speak so roughly, and anything close to the tone he used was never directed towards you. You were his sweet girl, daddy's baby forever. Now, though, each slam of his hips into yours made you feel like a cheap whore. 

"It's not true," you said. "I'm not a slut! I'm not, I promise."

You felt his large hand's grip over your neck tighten. Tears were threatening to spill, to run down your red, stinging cheek where the mark of his hand was freshly placed. You held it in. Daddy told you not to cry, that you had no right to. 

"Was just a mistake. I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, real convincing." Leon sneered down at you. It stung more than the unrelenting thrusts, more than the way his palm met your cheek. He never looked at you like that, like you were nothing. You wanted it to stop. "I didn't raise you to be a whore. You think you're fuckin' grown, huh? Showing off for whoever rings you up like some call-center bitch?"

You wanted to kick and cry, but the words stopped in your chest. Shameful wails sprouted from you. It was all true, every word he said.

"I just wanted attention," you were finally able to make out, despite the ever firmness of his hand around your throat. "I'm sorry, I'll never do it again. Promise."

Deep down, Leon felt awful for treating you like this. He tried to reason with himself. You needed to learn. How could you learn from a 'mistake,' as you called it, without a proper punishment? He was doing the right thing. He was sure of it. He couldn't have a whore-daughter, at least not such a shameless one. 

"Yeah? How's it feel now? You're getting all the attention you want now. Not enough for you, greedy bitch?"

Thankfully for you, he released you from the chokehold he had you in. He internally winced at the already forming bruise he left. His hands found your lower stomach and he pushed down. Hard. 

"There you go. Feel every bit of my cock."

God, he was so mean. His head knocked into your cervix roughly, no regard for your pleasure. It hurt, but the friction of his girthy cock dragging against your abused walls helped a little. 

Small flutters of pleasure peaked through the rough treatment, making it semi-worth it. Maybe if you came, if you focused real hard on getting over the edge, then maybe you could forget his awful words.

He wasn't nearly that nice, though. He kept grumbling under his breath, spitting out vile insults about you. Even as his voice cracked, he couldn't help but let his hips stutter forwards into you, whispering the harshest things. 

With a final, especially rough thrust, he came. He didn't bother to pull out, he didn't even try. Rather, he burrowed further into your sore walls and marked you with his seed, claiming you like the territory you were. 

As you tried to pull away, feeling utterly used and unsatisfied, you felt his strong arms yank you back. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

His face softened a little. Good, at least he wasn't scowling at you any more. 

"We aren't done...?"

"Not even close." He pushed your legs back, resting them over his shoulders. "Whores don't get breaks. We aren't done until I'm good and fucking satisfied."

He leaned down, dipping his head so he could spit. He watched the dribble of saliva coat your hole. 

"If you aren't gonna be my good girl anymore, the least you could do is put out."

[aakaneeee]

wiege is a song meant to bring comfort, a lullaby to, as the name suggests, lull someone into slumber. hyuna sings to luka to assure him he is still alive, to act as his counting of fingers personified, and vice versa, to calm hyuna when everything crashed on her, both metaphorically and literally. it's not a duet because the two singers are lovers. it's a duet because it symbolizes mutual solace between two kindred souls.

and so, the reason that ivan sings it alone, atleast in my interpretation, is because he always had to comfort himself, yet not always because he was lonely.

in the slums, who could've possibly given him sympathy? afterall, those children were truly, in the whole meaning of the word, alone, with no one to care for them in such a way. maybe the only thing he had left was to hum mindlessly, maybe in the same way luka counted his fingers to remind himself he was alive, to give himself the hug no one was there to hand him. afterall, we see this distraction of his even in Black Sorrow, where despite hanging off a building, his life depending on the threads of his shirt and the benevolence of the alien holding him, through tears, he watched the comets, disassociating from the situation at hand. (in my opinion, quite unrelated but, his raggedy clothes in the slums are possibly one of the reasons his ANAKT uniform remains so pristine: it was the only nice thing he had.)

then, he was sold off as a gift, and even if the love he had represented as an offering for Valentine's Day, he was sent into ANAKT garden and later, Alien Stage, such a well known, undoubtedly fatal competition. here, he wasn't truly in solitude. did he think he was, even in his last moments? perhaps, but he did have people next to him. people who probably never saw his true emotions. at first, his blank stare in his early years that concealed everything that went through his mind, and then the practiced, facade smile he kept. after all, the only time we've seen him break character was when Till let go of his hand, his love for the idea of love, despite looking so happy right before thinking of it, proving to be stronger than the will to escape and be with Ivan. that is when his lips bloomed into a forced, full of despair and mocking towards himself grin, as if he was mentally ridiculing the idea he had: to escape with his adored one and be with him forever.

except no, that is not the only time. there were two more.

his expression, his last, and one of his first, true smile and the true light in his eyes before dying, shot three times,

and the childlike innocence, carefreeness at the end of his cover of wiege, when he speaks of embracing the sea that sings.

the sea adorned with a familiar teal color.

[lvnleah]

Hello , i wanted to request a lia walti one, it is basically awfc x teen reader , please ignore if you don't writer her .

May I request an awfc x teen!walti reader who is much younger than lia and is almost the opposite of lia. She is a pest to her sister but lia adores her anyway , she is destined to be the next star girl of the Swiss team and woso in general and joins awfc and the team gets to know the young walti is very different from her sister almost as menace as Kyra and they become very good friends with all the youngsters and well more headache for awf team and captain Kimmy and her older sister lia herself but they adore her .. thank you

double trouble | lia wälti.

thank you for this request! :)

Joining Arsenal was a dream come true, but it was also the worst nightmare for one person in particular. Your big sister, Lia.

At 21, you were already being hailed as Switzerland’s next big star. On the pitch, your technical ability and football IQ were undeniable. But off the pitch?

You were a menace. A lovable, chaotic, ADHD-driven menace.

Lia had spent your entire childhood keeping you in check, and now, thanks to Arsenal, she had to do it all the time.

The warning came before you even stepped foot in the training ground.

“Y/N, I’m serious,” Lia said as she drove you to your first session. “No pranks. No messing around. You want to make a good impression, right?”

You turned to her with your best innocent face. “Lia, come on, you act like I’m some kind of—”

Lia scoffed as she cut you off, “You hid my boots in the freezer before an international match.”

“…Okay, but that was funny.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It kind of was.”

Lia let out a long, tired sigh. “Just please try to act professional, yeah? I want this to work for you.”

You lasted maybe ten minutes.

The first training session went as expected, meaning you caused absolute chaos. The moment you walked into the dressing room, Beth slung an arm around your shoulder. “The little Walti! We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Aww has Lia been singing my praises?” You asked with a cheeky smirk, “Lia, you really don’t have to!”

Lia rolled her eyes as she set her bag down, “Trust me I have not been singing your praises. I’ve been warning them.”

You gasped, “Warning them about your own baby sister? I’m heartbroken! What have you been seeing?” 

Kim rolled her eyes from beside Beth, “Enough to know you’re a little troublemaker.”

You grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The team wasn’t buying your innocent act for a second. Lotte raised a sceptical eyebrow as she laced up her boots. “Yeah, sure. You and trouble? Completely unrelated.”

Katie, who had been watching with amusement, leaned in. “I like her. She’s got that little shit energy.”

Lia groaned. “Please, don’t encourage her.”

That was when Kyra walked in.

You didn’t know who she was at first, but the second she spotted you, her face lit up. “No fucking way. You’re the other menace? Sick!”

Lia’s head hit the locker with a soft thud. “Oh no. No, no, no. This cannot be happening.”

You turned to Kyra, eyebrows raised in confusion, “Other menace? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kyra grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders like she’d known you forever. “Means we’re about to be best friends. I’ve been carrying the chaos around here all on my own,” She smirked at Lia. “Now I’ve got backup.”

Lia groaned again, already regretting every life choice that led to this moment. “I give it a week before one of you gets banned from the training ground.”

Beth snorted. “A week? You’re optimistic.”

You turned to Kyra, grinning. “So what’s the worst thing you’ve done here so far?”

Kyra looked thoughtful for a moment before smirking. “Let’s just say Jonas doesn’t leave his office door unlocked anymore.”

Your eyes widened with admiration. “Oh, I like you.”

Lia looked absolutely horrified. “I hate this. I hate everything about this.”

Kyra shot a look at Lia, then she turned back to you with a smirk. “I think we’re gonna be best friends.”

The room collectively groaned.

“Nope,” Beth said immediately, pointing a warning finger at both of you. “Absolutely not.”

Steph shook her head. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

Lia looked like she was having a crisis. “You guys were supposed to keep them apart!”

“Oh, come on. I’m actually very responsible.” Kyra smirked

“Kyra, you stole Jonas’ tactics board last week.”

Kyra scoffed. “It was an accident.”

“You wrote ‘Kyra’s Master Plan’ on it.” Steph reminded her, “The plan was to just kick everyone or egg them…”

“…Okay, maybe not an accident.”

You burst out laughing. “I knew I liked you.”

Kyra grinned. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

Lia turned to Kim. “I need a transfer.”

Kim patted her on the shoulder. “Too late, Wally.”

The rest of the team was already exchanging wary glances. They had survived Kyra. They had survived you. But the two of you together?

They might not make it out alive and that was proved over the next few weeks. 

It started small.

Little things.

A missing boot here, a mysteriously locked physio room there. The occasional mysteriously swapped training bibs that had everyone confused about which team they were on during drills.

Harmless.

Mostly.

Lia had been watching. She always did, with that big-sister sense that had kept you in check (or tried to) for years. She saw the way you and Kyra exchanged glances after Jonas called for a tactical review. The way Beth’s locker mysteriously refused to open one morning. The way the team chat suddenly blew up with debates over whether a ghost haunted the gym after the lights flickered for two nights in a row.

Lia knew.

But the final straw came when Leah stormed into training one morning, face red with frustration with her boots in her hands. 

“You two,” she said, voice dangerously calm, “Did you two little shits pit googly eyes on my boots?”

Silence.

Leah held the pair out, each one sporting a pair of wide, cartoonishly oversized eyes that wobbled slightly in the wind.

Lia didn’t even look at you first. She looked at Kyra.

Then you.

Then back at Kyra.

Leah exhaled sharply, muttering something under her breath before rubbing her temples. “I don’t even know why I bother.”

You were doing a terrible job at keeping a straight face. So was Kyra. Katie was openly laughing, and Beth had turned away, shaking with silent giggles.

“We tried to stop them,” Vic deadpanned.

“No, you didn’t,” Lia accused.

“No, we didn’t,” Vic admitted.

Leah pinched the bridge of his nose and turned back to you and Kyra. “You’re running extra laps.”

Kyra groaned. “But—”

“Now.”

Lia, arms crossed, watched you go with the weight of a thousand exhausted big sister sighs.

“I told you this would happen,” she muttered.

Beth clapped her on the back. “Cheer up, Wally. At least they’re funny.”

Lia did not find it funny. Not when you and Kyra turned your extra laps into pretending to be Olympic sprinters. Not when Kyra fake-tripped and rolled halfway down the pitch like a footballer diving for a penalty. Not when you did the world's worst cartwheel in an attempt to "make training more fun."

But if the team thought googly eyes were the worst of your antics, they had another thing coming.

[dearru]

soju kisses | s.hinata

pairing: hinata shoyo x gn!reader | sfw | cw: alcohol, kinda suggestive, drunkenly kissing | genre: fluff | wc: 773 | masterlist

synopsis -> shoyo loves parties— and you.

HINATA SHOYO loves parties. The hum of conversation, the burning sensation of a shot sliding down his throat, the pulsing bass of music— it’s heaven sent. He’s in his element at gatherings like this, when everyone’s inhibitions are lowered from the openness that alcohol promotes.

What he loves most about parties, though—is having you as his plus one.

Right now, he’s engaged in an animated conversation with friends, chatting about a training regime his coach has him on. Heart swelling with joy from the easy-going laughter that surrounds him, he freezes mid-sentence when he hears a familiar voice call out from across the room.

“Shoooo,” You whine, and the noise from the party fades into the distant background at the sound of your tone, melodious and siren-like.

He turns, and is captured by the sight of your lips puffing into a cute little pout that he hardly gets to see.

“C’mere. Wanna kiss you,” You call out, and his body moves on its own.

Smiling brightly, he bids his friends a quick goodbye before hopping off the stool and bounding over to where you’re waiting with your arms spread expectantly. Ignoring the howls and teases from people in the background, he pulls you into a big hug, smooshing your face against him, “I’m here!”

Grinning, you paw at his chest with hearts in your eyes, and it makes his face heat up. You look at him like he’s the only person in the world. He’ll never get used to having your attention. Never.

“You’re soooo cute!” You squeal, pinching his cheek with the one hand that isn’t on him and giggling. Your speech is slurred and it fills him with a sense of endearment, “I loveeee you.”

“I— mmph love you too,” He laughs, voice impaired from your doting behavior. When you get like this, he feels fluttery inside. You awaken something in him, it’s as pure as it is primal.

“Can I have a kiss?” You beg, and he can smell the remnants of strawberry soju on your breath. Its pungent scent mixed with sweet wafts of your fragrance flood his scenes and overwhelm him with a sense of possessiveness.

“You can always have one,” He grins, leaning into you and pressing your lips together. It starts soft but soon turns fervent and hungry. He deepens the kiss and drinks you in like he’s been deprived. You squeal and push against him, the weight of your body as comforting as it is enthralling.

Shoyo wonders how he’d ever gone without your love when everything is so much brighter with you around. He moves his hands to cradle your face, holding you tightly so you can stay with him forever.

When you first met each other, he was immediately enamored by you. It almost makes him laugh when he thinks about when he finally gained the courage to ask you out. Anxious and embarrassingly eager, he remembers stuttering through a hurried confession, anticipating rejection.

And now, here you are, in his arms, kissing him like you are undoubtedly and irrevocably his.

It’s only when you gasp for air that he has half the mind to pull away. Your chest heaves as you touch your forehead to his, smiling at him crookedly. His lips hover against yours, silently asking for more.

“Another one?” He murmurs, his breath mixing with yours. Unconsciously, he realizes his hand has snaked down to your thigh, and his finger traces your plush skin impatiently. You shiver at the feeling, and he feels a twisted sense of satisfaction at your reaction. He loves how breathless you get around him; how hard you try to keep up with his unrelenting and demanding personality. Maybe it’s unfair— to need you as much as he does— but he can’t help himself. Not when it’s you.

You giggle, and a rush of adrenaline crashes over him.

“You’re so greedy, Sho,” You tease, and he smiles because he knows it’s true.

Humming, he lets his hands wander, staking claim over you because he is yours and you are his. He revels in the feeling of you, the party long forgotten.

“Greedy?” He echoes.

You nod, “The most.”

Shrugging, his eyes flicker to your lips. They’re swollen and inviting and he can’t control the sudden impulse to press his mouth against yours again. The taste of the alcohol you've consumed sends him in a trance.

When he pulls away, you whine. Wanting more. He chuckles and brushes his thumb against you. When he sees your gaze, doe-eyed and expectant, something twists in his chest.

He may be greedy— but it’s only because you make him so.

—a/n: i love hinata and soju. shoutout iris for being a beta reader :3 @cherrysurf ily iris

[polarisjisung]

COSMIC FEELINGS

synopsis: The rain had its oceans. The sun had its moon, everything had a reason for falling—and you had him. With Park Jisung, you were always falling: falling down, falling short, falling in love. But sometimes, love isn’t enough. And sometimes, love is all you need.

wc: 3.3k pairings: ex bf! jisung × fem! reader genre: angst, fluff, exes to lovers warnings: swearing, loserish pining ig notes: can you tell i like the exes to lovers trope ... anyways HAPPY JISUNG DAY!! tried something a little interstellar and cosmic themed for our favourite space nerd and NASA lover jisung.. I hope you like it gang ! gotta stay true to my user iykwim | LIBRARY

Today marked exactly 6 months.

6 months since everything fell apart. 

The time had stretched by, hours like days, weeks like months, and the nights dragged on, even longer. 

You struggle to believe that you and Jisung broke up only 6 months ago. It could have been six years, six centuries, or even six lifetimes, and it would all feel the same—an endless expanse of time. 

It wasn't healthy, you supposed, because in each and every waking moment, the thoughts of him clouded your mind. His name was on your lips, repeated like a mantra, day in and day out.

And the nights? 

They'd swallow you whole, pulling you into their eternal embrace, the minutes dragging on, slipping through your fingers like stardust.

Every night, he invaded your sleep. His face, his laugh, the way he looked when he’d roll his sleeves up a little too high. 

You could trace every inch of him if you closed your eyes—those familiar grooves in his hands, the faint scars across his skin, each imperfection etched into your mind. Pain you could never erase, left only for you to commit to a beautiful memory. 

To you, Park Jisung was the sun, the moon and all the stars in the sky. 

Eternal, radiant and yet so very distant.

As you stood on the balcony, feeling the weight of the empty space beside you, you sighed. You didn’t remember when the sky had become so empty, but it felt like it had been that way for years. 

The constellations that once felt familiar now seemed like strangers, their lights flickering in ways you couldn't recognise.

When you lay down, hoping to take your mind off of him, you remembered how you used to lie together. 

Beside you, the bed sunk with emptiness, and you recalled how your hands had traced the starry formations against his skin, mapping the universe as your fingers brushed over his.

In those moments, you swore you could taste the stars in his words, the way he’d speak of them—of space, of time, of you. 

Park Jisung called you beautiful, like it was your name. He loved you like it was all he knew. And in his eyes, you saw a future made of light, of endless skies, of forever. A forever with you.

But now, the stars looked different—fainter, perhaps. The moon, too, seemed smaller tonight. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was just the weight of how long it had been since he called you his sky. 

You caught yourself wondering if he was out there, somewhere beneath the same curtain of noir, staring up at the same stars, feeling the same tug in his chest. In his heart.

Truly, you don't know how it happened. But you remembered it like it was yesterday.

The rain tapped against the window in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, the kind that made the world outside look like a blurred painting, colors mixing into nothingness. 

Inside, your apartment was quiet—too quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the soft rustle of Jisung’s jacket as he dropped it by the door. The clock on the microwave read well past midnight.

04:25

You had just gotten home after work.

You stood by the kitchen counter, your calloused fingers gripping its edge as you stared down at the chipped mug in front of you, the steam from your tea rising in slow spirals. 

Your eyes were tired, red, dark circles hinting at restless nights. You hadn’t expected him—hadn't even wanted him to come. You didn't have the energy for it. For him.

But here Jisung was, standing in the entryway, his hair damp from the rain, his hoodie hanging loosely around his shoulders. 

The space between you felt too wide, too heavy.

"You didn’t have to come," you said, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

You shouldn't have, Jisung heard.

He didn’t move immediately. His gaze lingered on you, on the way your shoulders hunched as though the weight of your silence was pressing down on you. 

He exhaled sharply and crossed the room to stand beside you.

The space was still there, the one that had always been between you two these past few months, like an invisible chasm that neither of you had known how to cross.

"Y/n, I—" Jisung stopped himself. His words, heavy as they were, seemed to hang in the air, too fragile to be spoken. 

He hadn't seen you in weeks. Not properly at least, only through 2 minute FaceTime calls and quick selfies snapped between the times you'd head to work and to sleep. 

And you hadn't seen him, perhaps if you had it would've been easier to notice the deepening bags beneath his eyes, how his cheeks were beginning to hollow. How every part of him reflected you, dull and lifeless.

Jisung was an open book before you, yet at this moment, you were blind to his pages. Illiterate in the way of his unspoken words.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the warmth threatening to rise in your chest. 

"What are we doing, Jisung?"

His lips tightened. He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before he pulled back, as if the contact was too much, too little all at once.

What were you doing? 

Jisung wished he knew.

You were both trying, he was sure of that much, but it felt as though your efforts bred different results, like you aimed for the same thing and ended up in opposite directions. 

Relentlessly, you had tried and tried and tried, but no amount of effort seemed enough. Like nothing could save you. A cruel twist of fate.

"We’re both drowning," Jisung said, his voice low, almost lost in the noise of the storm outside. "In everything... and there's no space left. Not for us. Not for anything."

You turned your back to him now, because facing him felt too much like watching something break. "I know." You said.

There was nothing else to say, nothing left. 

Still, Jisung had hoped you'd continue.

You didn't.

You didn’t have the energy for it. 

Between work, and the extra degree you'd all too ambitiously decided to start studying, the basic necessities, like sleeping, and eating, there was no time left. Like a robot, you only did what you were programmed to do, and it seemed Jisung was no longer part of your code.

He waited for your denial. It never came.

You barely had time for yourself, you didn't in fact, so how could you argue that you had time for Jisung, for your love?

You couldn't correct his words, not when he hadn't said anything wrong. 

So you stayed quiet.

The silence was no longer comfortable. It stretched between you like an unwelcome presence, suffocating in its weight. 

Jisung wanted to reach for you, to hold you like he used to, but every time he moved, it felt forced, it felt wrong. The timing had always been wrong. Schedules clashing.  

You had become ghosts in each other’s lives.

"I miss you," he whispered, as though admitting it would make it hurt less. It only made the ache deepen. "But I’m not sure I know how to be the person you need anymore."

Your breath hitched in your throat. "I know, I’m sorry."

Jisung’s chest tightened, his hand balling into a fist at his side. The weight of your words settled on his ribs, pressing down on him. 

He had never wanted this.

Never wanted to stand here, in this cold apartment, feeling the distance that had crept between you two over the weeks, the months.

And yet, here you were, saying things you hadn’t said in so long. Truths that had long been buried under the weight of your hectic lives.

The rain beat harder against the glass, as if the world outside had heard the finality in your voices. 

You closed your eyes, your fingers brushing the edge of the counter. 

The room was too still, too heavy with everything unsaid.

"I love you, you know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it's too selfish of me to expect you to do the same, even now.” 

Jisung nodded slowly, the motion jerky, like something inside him was unraveling. 

He hadn’t come here to say goodbye. 

But the words had already formed, and the door was already closing, even if neither of you had pushed it shut.

“Maybe it's best if we break up.” 

"I'm sorry," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "For everything."

You nodded in return, your gaze fixed on the rain outside. "I am too."

And with that, the space between you two grew wider, a gap neither of you could bridge, no matter how hard you tried. 

The storm outside wasn’t the loudest thing in the room anymore. It was the silence, growing heavier, thicker, until it swallowed you both whole.

And then, he was gone.

You told yourself you were fine, told yourself that moving on was just part of life, that you'd get over it. You'd heal. But as you went about your days, the ache never fully disappeared. Instead, it had faded into a dull throb, a constant reminder of what once was. The endless longing had inserted itself into your routine, and you'd learnt to live with the pain. 

But when you saw his name pop up on your phone, the world, your world, had tilted on its axis, orbited too much, too fast and too far. All at once, your throat constricted and you gasped for air, shaking, trembling.

You couldn't breathe.

In the moments it took you to gather enough courage to read the text beneath his contact, your heart raced, your palms sweat and the weight in your chest intensified. So foreign, yet so familiar. 

It was exhilarating.

Jisung always made you feel this way, electric, ablaze— like the universe ran through your veins.

The message was simple: "can we talk".

No punctuation, no personality—the same as the first time Jisung had ever texted you. 

It was dry, it was boring and yet it planted that same quiet curiosity in your chest as it had years ago. Before Jisung had sunk beneath your bones and nurtured that deep-rooted familiarity into the only thing, the only feeling, the only experience that you could ever call love. 

You didn't respond right away, though your fingers hovered over the screen. The hesitation gnawed at you, for a moment you considered not responding at all. A long moment.

But it was the memory of his eyes, the way he'd looked at you before everything fell apart, that forced you to tap out a reply. How could you ever say no?

Though you're not sure falling apart was the right term. 

You and Jisung had crumbled, piece by piece, atom by atom. 

Your light had dimmed, your nebula collapsed— everything caved in on itself. Slowly but surely, your strengths, your weaknesses, your love. 

You had imploded.

The coffee shop was small, cosy, almost like a memory. 

Pink walls and tall ceilings, the soft murmur of conversations and the clink of mugs create a comforting background, with the same warm lighting overhead that you had always loved.

You hadn't been here in months, and you felt the nostalgia creeping in, coming through smiles from regular customers and greetings from the baristas. It had been so long, too long. 

But strangely, you didn't miss it as much as you thought you would.

Still, amongst the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the pastel walls of the building, it felt warm, easing the tightness in your chest ever so slightly. 

You sat waiting for Jisung, tucked away in a booth just next to the window. 

You had arrived earlier than the both of you had agreed, hoping the nerves would settle if you had accustomed to your surroundings. 

You weren't so sure that was the case now. 

Too many questions clouded your thoughts, what did he want to talk about, and why so suddenly? He had only messaged you last night, agreeing to meet the next morning—today. 

And if there was one thing you knew about Jisung, it was that he rarely, if ever, acted on impulse. 

His urgency was disconcerting, to say the least. 

But your thoughts didn't end there. 

You wondered if he had changed, if he was still the Jisung you loved, or a new version you wouldn't recognise. 

Sure, it had been 6 months since you broke up, but it had been far more since you saw Jisung, really saw him, not just the 2 second check ins and the 5 minute calls. 

You shifted in your seat, a shiver running down your spine. A bitter taste sat in your tongue.

Behind you, the sound of the door opening brought a rush of emotion—like your heart recognised him before your mind had the chance.

Jisung was standing there, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure where to go. 

But then, they locked on you.

And just like that, the months between you disappeared.

He smiled. It was a quiet thing, more like an exhale than an expression. The same smile that you knew so well, and had told you countless times that things would be okay. 

You hoped it could do the same today. 

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you remembered. The warmth in it making your chest tighten.

You nodded, unsure of how to start. 

Your throat felt tight, like there were a thousand things you wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

“Do you… do you want to sit?” you asked, gesturing to the chair across you.

He nodded again and you watched as he settled in, eyes not leaving yours. 

The silence was thick, heavy, like the air was holding its breath. You were too. 

It felt like Jisung was waiting for you to speak, but you didn’t know how to bridge the gap. 

You never knew how when it came to him. Not when the distance between you had never been there in the first place.

He spoke first. 

“How have you been?” his gaze was gentle, tender, a half smile rested across his lips as he spoke.

“Fine.” you choked out, really as convincingly as you possibly could. 

But Jisung clicked his tongue.

He knew, you thought. 

How could he not? 

You and Jisung were born from the same star, he echoed your emptiness, and you reflected his light.

Of course he knew.

“Really?” he sighed, raking a hand through his now dark blue hair, “Because I haven't been.” Jisung sighed, locking his eyes with yours once again, only this time he didn't dare to look away, speaking with conviction, with determination.

“I miss you. So much. It kills me to wake up and see that you're not next to me” Jisung gulps, holding back in every aspect but verbally, “I even miss you now, when you're sat across from me, because I don't just miss seeing you, I miss knowing you.” he pauses,”I miss loving you.” 

Jisung's voice is heavy with each breath he takes, and fuck, he feels like he's floating when your gaze softens beneath his, choked with tenderness for you. 

He wants nothing more than to bask in the sweetness of your voice, to drown in your moonlit eyes and show you all the little stars in his heart.

Jisung's not done yet though, there's so many things left to say, too many in fact, but nothing more pressing than this.

“I regret it.” 

He feels the weight lift off his shoulders, like he can sit up straighter as each syllable falls from his lips, “I regret not telling you then how much you meant to me, how much I didn't want this to happen to us.” 

How much I loved you

Carefully, you listen, like every word is sacred. 

You don't speak, you don't nod, you don't even move.

Scared that the slightest disturbance would fray your concentration and you'd miss every small signal Jisung sent towards you, like the fire in his soul wasn't contagious, like that fire wasn't ignited by you.

“You weren't just part of my life Y/n, and I'm an idiot for not having realised sooner. You were my life. You are my life.”

There was a pause. You didn’t know how to respond to that.

Meanwhile, Jisung's lips curl upwards unconsciously.

It had taken him half a year, six months, twenty-six weeks, one hundred and eighty-two days to finally give his truth a voice. 

And God, was it liberating.

Jisung had loved you in every life, he thinks, like you were written on every molecule he ever became. Your souls intertwined. Star-crossed.

He watched closely as you processed his words, the glow in his eyes growing warmer with each second he let them rest on you. You were yet to respond, but you knew, Jisung hadn’t a care in the world aside from that, it only mattered to him that you knew. 

There was a knocking at your chest, a feverish swelling, innocuous, like flowers blooming through the cracks of your ribs. Like your whole body had been struck by lightning.

But you couldn't move.

The stillness coated your limbs, spreading across your entire being, a strange sort of paralysis that only seemed to occur when he was around. 

“I love you,” he said, suddenly, sharply cutting through the silence.

“I don’t expect anything,” he continued, his voice thick with regret. “I just… I needed you to know.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and you flinched inwardly, trying to keep your composure.

The ache in your chest grew, the familiar pang of loss creeping in. 

You thought you had buried it, locked it away in the back of your mind, but now it was surfacing, raw and insistent. 

You didn't know what you wanted from this, what you hoped would happen now. It wasn’t like before, when you could just run to him and everything felt right. 

This time, it felt like a dream—something you couldn’t quite touch. Distant. 

An interstellar love, but you weren't capable of defying gravity.

Or maybe you were just so damn scared that this was another moment where you'd let yourself fall for him all over again, only to end up with the same broken pieces.

Perhaps it would have been easier to hate him.

Your silence stretched on, his words lingering in the air between you.

Jisung's knee began to bob impatiently beside you, though his expression was still just as comforting as before. 

He sat, awaiting your response. 

“I love you.” he repeated. 

“Again?” you breathed out, finally.

“Still.” he confessed. “Desperately, selfishly, irrevocably, I still love you”

Oh.

“I thought you were happy,” you managed to say, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I thought you were better off without me.”

I thought you were over me

His eyes softened, but there was something almost painfully raw in them, like a wound that had a band aid slapped carelessly over the top, unable to heal.

“I never was. But I convinced myself I could be,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I thought there was no point if i couldn't even see you, no point in us, no point fighting.”

He sighed, running his tongue across his cheek, “I was wrong, so fucking wrong.” Jisung knew that, and it had cost him everything.

You nod. Part of you wanted to leap with joy, and another part of you wanted to cease to exist. 

But all of you wished he had said those words sooner.

You hadn't realised when you’d caught your bottom lip between your teeth, but it had gone raw from how you'd been constantly biting at it. 

You hadn't noticed until you felt Jisung's gentle touch against your lips, his thumb guiding your lip out from your clenched jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin.

He didn't say much, instead Jisung quietly shook his head. 

And then it hit you.

Every beautiful quirk, every perfect imperfection, everything that so delicately composed Park Jisung, you saw it all then. 

Everything you loved.

He had the sun in his smile, the stars in his eyes, he loved like the moon, through every phase, eternal and silent. Like a promise, celestial.

It came crashing down on you, like an asteroid would the earth. Beautifully, crushingly.

“I love you too.” 

It had been 6 months since you saw Jisung, and you loved him all the same, like he'd hung all the stars in the sky.

Jisung smiled at you, like a match catching fire. Like he had been waiting for ignition.

And in that instant, you realised—he wasn’t just a star in your sky.

He was a supernova, brilliant and all-consuming, collapsing and expanding in the same breath, burning, not just with you, but for you.

Love like his didn’t fade quietly; it burned, it devoured, it reshaped the very fabric of the universe.

And as the fire took hold, you didn’t run.

You let it consume you.

Because some loves aren’t meant to flicker.

Some loves are made to explode.

tags: @yizhrt @suzayaaa @nanawrlds @sinisxtea @dearlyminhyung @flaminghotyourmom @jisworlds @jenobubbles @nctdreamchaser @lotties-readings @mystverse @chenlezip @blondemrk

[whitedarkmoonflower]

I won’t lose you!

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: was it inspired by some of the latest creations of @leftoverp1zza? For sure! Darling you are feeding my little inner angst gremlin so well. It's incredible!

Warnings: some mild SMUT, description of blood and violence, afterbattle setting, some angst

Word Count: 1,5 K (Yey, I managed to write a short one)

Summary: based on the promt "Even at my worst?". The battle is over and Sihtric can't find you.

Raindrops, like rare salty tears, rolled down Sihtric’s face, mingling with sweat, blood, and dirt, leaving pale trails in their wake, like tiny rivers carving paths on his skin. His joints felt heavy, as if filled with lead, and every muscle ached with even the slightest movement. Yet he raised his head to the sky, now weeping alongside him, hoping the rain would wash away not only the blood and grime but the sudden dread creeping beneath his skin.

Thunder boomed above, and the scattered raindrops turned into a torrential downpour, as though the sky had flung open its gates in a desperate bid to cleanse the earth of this stain of shame that this battlefield had become.

Death. It clung to the air—its scent, its presence palpable in every sense. He could smell it, feel it in his fingertips, taste it on his tongue, hear it in the silence between each heartbeat, and see it spread across the horizon like a plague. There was no escape from it. He was no stranger to battlefields, but this was not a battlefield anymore—it was the aftermath of a massacre. It was the evidence of men’s recklessness, a testament to the violence and rage that seemed to be the only true values left in this cursed world. And he was a part of it.

He had felt Death’s cold, bony fingers grasp his own as his strength ebbed away, blood splattered across his vision, his feet slipping in the muck—mud, blood, and filth mixed beneath him. 

Sihtric closed his eyes and listened. He could hear his heart racing in the cage of his ribs, feel his breath scraping through his dry throat, filling his aching lungs. The blood pounded in his ears, rushing through his veins.

Alive. He was still alive. The realisation struck Sihtric like a searing blade against his skin. Only now did he notice his fingers still clenched around the shaft of his axe, blood dripping from his hand, mingling with the rain. He had survived even if it seemed that a part of him had died today and will remain buried in this battlefield forever.

His eyes wandered around as if searching for something or rather somebody. 

You had been there, just within arms reach, as the shield wall broke and your eyes had found his – a short fragile moment of unspoken promise of peace amidst the eternity of chaos and pain. 

You were his peace and his undoing, all at once. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. The unending storm of life in your gaze was one of the rare things that tethered him to this world with that invisible thread of silent acceptance. Acceptance of who he was, down to the darkest corners of his mind, to the parts of his soul even he himself struggled to claim as his own.

It seemed like ages ago, like in another lifetime, like a memory wrapped in smoke from the dying embers. That night by the fire, your lips had crashed against his with the greedy, raw and uncontained anger that replaces the battle rage, filling the void left by the screams and death. He knew it too well. That same anger ran through his veins – unquenchable, unrelenting. 

His hands had found you instinctively, gripping, clawing, tearing at fabric, ravenously dipping into your bare skin as though you might slip through his fingers like sand, lost to the tide. His need as wild as the battlefield behind you, the need to feel you, to ground himself in something real, something beyond destruction and chaos, beyond ruin and loss. 

You sank down onto his cock, and the world fell away as he watched you through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips parted, breath ragged as you took him in, inch by aching inch. A groan rumbled in his throat, deep and guttural, something between a wild beast’s snarl and a man reaching for salvation just beyond his grasp.

Your hands braced against his chest, fingers digging into the firm planes of muscle, as if anchoring yourself into him, as if he were something solid, something unbreakable, something capable of stopping you from falling apart. But he wasn’t. Not here.  Not like this. 

Anger and tension bled from his tired body, leaving him bare and raw, giddy and drunk from you, from your touch, unraveling him like nothing ever before as he sought the warmth of your body to save him, to make him feel something. Something that wasn’t rage or fury.

He thrust up into you, his arms around you, pulling you flush against him, skin to skin, breath to breath, your heart hammering against his. A collision of fury and desperation, heat and want. 

There were no words between you, only the rhythm of your bodies moving against each other, wildly, frantically, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace fierce and relentless, dragging broken gasps from your lips. 

Forehead pressed to your shoulder he had groaned your name as his seed filled you, your body tightening around him as your own release clashed through you, moans filling the nightly sky. 

You were his everything, the only being in this world and beyond worth worshipping after a day spent drowning in death, and yet he had never told you that, had never dared to say the words burning on his lips. Too afraid to shatter that fragile something between you, too scared to name it.

And now you were gone. 

He had begged you not to come with him this time. It was not your war, not your battle. 

Sihtric’s fingers let go of his weapon, one by one, as if releasing the blood soaked wood meant severing a part of himself. It fell. With a dull, lifeless thud the axe hit the ground. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t.

He moved through the battlefield, body after body he combed the ground, the heaviness in his limbs and joints gone. His nails broke as he clawed at armour, rolling over the dead bodies, staring at the faces ruined by death. Searching. Praying. Dreading.

And then he saw you. A body, a still, lifeless body. A face so hauntingly beautiful, so pale, that even Mani - the goddess of the moon – would weep with jealousy. 

You heard him, heard him shouting your name, heard his footsteps pounding against the wet, muddy earth as he ran to you. You heard his knees hitting the ground beside you. 

You felt his warmth. The weight of his body as he pressed himself to you, the desperate rain of kisses landing on your cold skin. You felt his hands, shaking, cradling your face.

You tried to open your eyes, but you didn’t have the strength. 

The scent of blood and sweat, the echoes of clashing steel, the shouts and screams all blurred into a distant hum and slowly faded, retreating beneath the press of Sihtric’s body against yours, beneath the gentle touch of his calloused palms, beneath the sound of his cracking voice. 

The desperate pull of a shaky breath you stole between kisses made Sihtric freeze for a moment. His heart thundered, not with the remnants of battle rage, but with something deeper, something so much more terrifying. Love. And dread. The kind that threatened to break him entirely, an overwhelming dread that he might have lost you. 

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven: “You’re alive,” he murmured, as if saying it aloud would make it more real.

“As are you,” you whispered, though your voice sounded shaky and splintered as if each word scraped against a thousand shards of glass in your throat.

His fingers skimmed along the curve of your jaw, rough but so gentle and reverent, his thumb lingered at the corner of your lips as if memorizing the feel of them. His world had nearly ended today. Yet, here you were. In his arms. Still breathing. Still his. Had you ever really been his?

“Sihtric…”

It was a quiet, delicate whisper, but hearing his name in the soft exhale, leaving your lips, he could feel the tears pearling in the corners of his eyes.

Sihtric leaned in, the sheer need to kiss those pale lips that had whispered his name, to feel them, to burrie himself in the truth that you were alive, that you were still here could bring the world to stand still. 

“Never ever do this again. Do you hear me? Never! I won’t lose you! I can’t lose you! I… I love you too much,” Sihtric’s voice faded into a hoarse whisper and you finally willed your arm to move, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheek. 

So many battles, so many nights of raw, unfiltered passion had passed between you in silence that you had already abandoned hope of ever hearing those words. 

But here they were.

"I love you too, Sihtric." You forced a weak smile, your lips trembling.

His breath hitched.

"You are my life," he whispered. "I will always love you."

"Even like this? Even at my worst?"

"Especially at your worst."

[fgumi]

🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ HELLO

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; leehan x reader, GENRE; angst, romance, one shot, WC; 4.8k, A/N; if you've never seen exchange 3, be glad. if you have, this one shot is based off of the very couple that broke everyone's hearts. leehan is very slightly aged up. he's 21 in this. }

leehan couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been as happy as he was on the day he met you. the first time leehan saw you, he knew he was in trouble.

it was like a switch flipped inside him. one moment, he was just another kid with dreams too big to fit his hands, and the next, he was caught up in something he couldn’t name, something that felt bigger and brighter than anything he’d ever known. it was you—laughing, eyes sparkling with that careless confidence, as if the world was yours for the taking. and for some reason he still didn’t understand, you’d decided to take him with you.

being with you made everything sharper, like the colors around him were suddenly more vivid. time flew by in a way that only happens when you’re young and in love, and nothing else matters. you’d sit with him under the stars, talking about everything and nothing, dreaming together like you had all the time in the world. every laugh, every touch, every look you shared felt like a promise, one that whispered, this is forever.

with you, he was just leehan—the guy who’d show up outside your window at midnight, who’d sneak you into practice rooms to dance, who’d hold your hand under the streetlights, feeling like the luckiest person alive.

every stolen moment between you felt like a rebellion against the life he was being shaped for. the late nights, the times when you’d run down empty streets together, out of breath from laughing, hands tightly clasped, sure that nothing could ever break what you had. how you looked at him like he could be anything he wanted to be. for a while, leehan believed it too. you had a way of making him feel like there was a future beyond the grueling practices and relentless pressure, a future that included you and him, just as you were.

he remembered the night you’d gone to the beach together, the one night he didn’t care if anyone caught him because you were laughing, twirling in the sand under the moonlight. you’d both been fearless then, convinced that love could carry you through any storm. and when he’d told you he loved you, you’d looked at him like he’d hung the stars just for you. his heart had never felt fuller than in that moment.

but as the years passed, his world changed. his dreams, the ones he’d chased so recklessly, started coming true. fame crept in, first like a gentle wave and then like a storm, unstoppable and unforgiving. suddenly, his face was everywhere. people knew his name, his voice, his life—parts of himself he never intended to share with anyone but you.

and that’s when he felt it: fear. not for himself, but for you.

he remembered the way his heart had dropped the first time a fan recognized him when you were with him, the way the girl’s eyes had darted curiously between the two of you.

the first time the thought crossed his mind, he brushed it off. he was determined to keep you, to protect you. but with each passing day, it became harder to ignore. the gossip, the comments—people were ruthless, unrelenting. he’d seen what happened to others like him, and he couldn’t bear the idea of you being dragged into that world. the world where people were willing to tear apart anyone he cared about just to get closer to him.

the decision began to eat at him. he knew you loved him, trusted him. but the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that staying with you would only hurt you in the end. he would never forgive himself if that happened. so, he made a choice, and it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

it took weeks to work up the courage. he started distancing himself, ignoring your texts, avoiding your calls. he could feel you pulling away, the hurt in your eyes when he canceled plans or brushed you off with empty excuses. but the night he ended it, he had to make it believable—he had to make you think he didn’t care.

he could still remember the night he realized what he had to do, the night he’d decided to break both your hearts. he’d stayed up, pacing, agonizing over the words he’d have to say. how could he tell you that he couldn’t be with you, when every fiber of his being was screaming to hold on?

but you trusted him. and because of that, you believed him when he looked you in the eyes and said he needed to focus on his career, that he didn’t feel the same way anymore. you didn’t cry. you didn’t beg him to change his mind. you just nodded, your voice a soft, “i understand.” that hurt more than anything else.

and as he walked away, he thought maybe the worst was over. maybe he’d done the right thing, even if it felt like his heart was breaking in two.

in those first weeks after, he’d forced himself to stay away, to focus solely on his music, pouring everything he had into every note, every lyric, hoping it would numb the ache. he kept telling himself it was for the best, that he was protecting you, sparing you from the ruthless gaze of the world that now watched his every move.

but even with every excuse, he couldn’t forget you.

now, three months later, he was barely keeping it together. his company, clueless to the truth, thought the solution was simple: go on a therapy show for more exposure. show a vulnerable side. gain sympathy, more fans. they didn’t know that every second he spent being on that show would force him to confront the very thing he was trying to forget. he’d have to dig up the memories he’d tried so hard to bury, face the truth of what he’d lost.

the truth of the girl he still couldn’t forget.

for the first two episodes, leehan had been an observer, a listener. he wasn’t the one sharing stories or baring old scars; instead, he’d listen to the others as they spoke about their broken relationships, regrets, and long-lost loves. each time he was asked to comment, he felt a strange pull to respond honestly. there was something about the studio lights, the silent attention of the cameras, that made it impossible for him to hide his true thoughts.

“i think sometimes… we let go of people not because we stop loving them, but because we think it’s what’s best for them,” he’d said once, almost without thinking.

the words had slipped out, and he’d felt the familiar tug of a memory—the sight of your face that night, the way you’d nodded, swallowing back the hurt. he wondered if you’d known, deep down, that he’d loved you even as he let you go.

the crew and his co-stars seemed taken aback by his insight, and he could feel their eyes on him, curious. he’d brush it off each time, saying, “ah, well, it’s just my perspective,” but even he could see the wheels turning. viewers began to speculate, but in the world of entertainment, speculation was unavoidable. still, only a few wondered what experience leehan had to draw from.

by the second episode, netizens were already buzzing. people seemed genuinely impressed by his quiet wisdom, the sincerity with which he spoke. and he’d been content to leave it at that, to stay in the background, offering advice without stepping too far into his own past.

but then the producers had told him it was time for his story. he felt his pulse race at their words, and he nodded, though his heart pounded with the reality that he’d soon have to lay his heart bare for the cameras.

the night before the recording, he sat in his room, his phone in his hand, fingers hovering over your contact name. he knew he couldn’t do this without telling you first, couldn’t let you find out through a screen. so, he gathered his thoughts, choosing each word carefully, not wanting to stir up any more pain.

finally, he typed the message.

“i’m going to be talking about us on a show. i’ll be respectful, i promise.”

he stared at the screen, heart pounding, half-hoping you’d reply right away. he wanted you to understand that he wasn’t trying to hurt you, that this wasn’t some desperate grab for attention. it was just him trying to find peace with a decision that still haunted him.

but as the minutes passed with no response, his hope faded, leaving a hollow ache in its place. you didn’t reply, and maybe he shouldn’t have expected you to. after all, he was the one who’d chosen to walk away.

when he finally set his phone down, he felt more alone than ever.

leehan sat across from the host, feeling the weight of the cameras and the expectant eyes of his co-stars. he was prepared to talk about his past, but when it came down to it, he could feel the ache of it in his chest—how real it still felt.

he took a deep breath, casting his mind back to the very beginning, to the memories of you that were etched so deeply he could never forget them, even if he tried. “we met when we were seventeen,” he began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “we were young, just kids, really. but i remember thinking back then that i’d found something real.”

a faint, nostalgic smile crossed his lips. “she... was everything i thought love was supposed to be. she had this way of making me feel like i mattered, like i was more than just another person with big dreams.” he paused, his fingers playing with the edge of his sleeve as he tried to explain what you’d meant to him without losing himself in the memories.

“people say that first loves don’t last. but when i was with her, i thought… no, i was certain that we could make it through anything,” he continued, the words flowing as if he were talking to himself rather than a room full of strangers. “and it wasn’t just infatuation. it was deeper than that. she believed in me, even when i didn’t believe in myself. i can’t explain it, but she made me feel like i could be anyone, do anything, and it’d be enough for her.”

the host leaned in, clearly intrigued. “how long were you together?”

“four years.” leehan’s gaze softened, as if reliving each one of those years in his mind. “from seventeen until we were twenty-one. is that a long time? maybe it was. but, it never felt like long enough.”

one of his co-stars, who had already shared her own story, asked gently, “if she meant so much to you, why did it end?”

leehan’s smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of regret. he shifted, glancing away as he collected his thoughts, the truth a knot of emotions he could barely untangle.

“it wasn’t that i wanted it to end,” he murmured, almost to himself. “it’s that i… had to. as my career started growing, so did the attention on me. and with that came the fear. i’d seen how some people’s loved ones were treated by the public. how one wrong picture, one careless word, could turn a person’s life into a nightmare.”

he could feel his co-stars’ gaze intensify, their sympathy and curiosity mixing in the air around him. “she didn’t sign up for that,” he went on, his voice catching slightly. “she deserved to live her life without strangers dissecting every part of it just because she was with me.”

his gaze lowered, and his voice grew softer. “but i couldn’t bring myself to tell her that. instead, i told her i didn’t feel the same way anymore. i told her i wanted to focus on my career, that i didn’t have time for us anymore.” he swallowed, his hand clenching slightly as he admitted the words he’d hidden for so long. “i made her think that she’d done something wrong.”

the room was silent. for a long moment, no one spoke, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air.

one of the cast members, a little teary-eyed, said quietly, “that sounds like it was really hard for you, but, did she ever know?”

leehan shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “no,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “i never told her the truth. and every day, i wish i had. because she loved me.”

the host leaned forward, sensing the depth of leehan’s regret. “do you still have feelings for her?”

he hesitated, but only for a moment. “i don’t think you ever stop loving someone who showed you how to love in the first place,” he admitted, his gaze distant. “and i know i’ll always care about her. she was my first real connection. sometimes, i feel like i could never do enough to repay her for everything she gave me. she made me feel like i was enough, just as i was, and i never got to tell her that she was everything i wanted.”

when the recording ended, he felt drained, as if he’d poured out parts of himself he didn’t even realize he’d been holding onto. he hadn’t expected to feel so exposed, hadn’t expected the memories to hit him with such force. and as the episode aired, he found himself torn between relief and dread, knowing that his truth was now out there for everyone to see.

the reactions were swift. many fans were touched, moved by his sincerity and regret. they flooded online forums, calling his feelings heartfelt and genuine, urging him to find closure, some even hoping he’d reach out to you. but there were others who didn’t see it that way, who were outraged that he’d even had a relationship at all. they questioned his loyalty, his dedication, accusing him of betraying them with his “secret love.”

yet most people settled somewhere in the middle. they wanted to know more, to understand the story that had remained hidden all this time. and even through the noise, the love, the anger, and the curiosity, one thing became clear—people were invested in seeing where this story would lead.

filming continued, and the show’s crew orchestrated activities to help the cast "work through" their unresolved feelings. leehan found himself participating in exercises that felt strange, even surreal, as they dug into emotions he’d spent years trying to bury.

one episode had them writing letters they’d never send, pouring out the words they’d never spoken. he’d stared at the blank paper for a long time before he finally started to write, each word heavier than the last.

i’m sorry. i’m sorry i couldn’t tell you the truth. i’m sorry i thought i could just let you go like it would make everything better. i thought i was protecting you, but all i did was hurt you.

the pen shook in his hand as he continued, feeling the weight of every mistake, every regret.

i don’t think i’ll ever forgive myself for walking away from you. i thought i was doing it for you, but i didn’t even give you a choice. you deserved that much. you deserved everything.

when he finished, he felt hollow, like he’d just poured out pieces of his heart onto that page. but the worst part was that none of it mattered. you’d never see those words. you’d never know how sorry he was, how much he wished he could turn back time and fix everything he’d broken.

a few episodes later, he found himself sitting in a circle with the other cast members, sharing memories of things they missed about the people they’d lost. one by one, the others spoke about simple, beautiful memories, and leehan’s mind drifted to you, to the countless small moments that had made up your time together.

“i miss the way she’d laugh at my jokes, even when they were terrible,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “and how she’d always hold my hand when she thought no one was looking. i miss the way she used to call me out when i was being ridiculous, and... just how she made me feel like i could be myself.”

his voice cracked, and he looked down, swallowing hard. “i miss everything.”

the show carried on, each episode chipping away at the wall he’d built around his feelings. and though he tried to keep his emotions in check, there were moments he could feel his heart slipping, reaching for the memories of you he could never quite let go of.

and then, toward the end of the season, it happened. one night, his phone lit up with a message from you.

i’m sorry for not replying sooner. i needed time to process it all. the show reached out to me and asked for an interview. i just wanted to let you know. i’ll be respectful about everything.

he read the message over and over, his heart pounding. you’d watched the episode—his regrets, his apology, all laid bare—and now, you were reaching out, letting him know you’d be sharing your side. it was more than he could have hoped for, and yet it filled him with an ache, a reminder that he’d hurt you enough to make you wary, enough to make you careful with him.

when the day of the interview came, he found himself waiting with bated breath, nervous in a way he hadn’t felt in years. the producers set up a projector, informing the cast that they’d recorded interviews with the people who had been part of their stories. his co-stars seemed excited, but leehan felt his stomach twist, knowing that in mere moments, he’d see you again.

the screen flickered to life, and there you were. he sucked in a breath, his heart racing. you looked so familiar yet somehow different, more mature, like life had changed you during those long three months apart. your hair was a little different, and there was a strength in your expression that he didn’t remember. but to him, you were just as beautiful as you’d always been.

the staff interviewer’s voice echoed softly from the speakers, gentle but probing.

“thank you for joining us today. before we begin, i wanted to ask—have you been watching the show?”

you shook your head, offering a small, polite smile. “no, actually. i... needed some time to process everything, so i haven’t watched it.” there was a pause, and then you added, almost as if to reassure yourself, “i’ve only heard a little about it.”

leehan felt a pang at that. he wondered if it was too painful for you. the thought made his chest ache.

you took a breath, your voice soft but steady as you began. “i’m here to share my side of the story.”

and as you spoke, each word seemed to reach out and unravel the memories he’d held so close, all the years of love, regret, and loss flowing back to the surface.

“he was my whole world back then,” you said, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “and i wanted to be there for him, to support him in everything he did. but, i think i was young and lost in my own plans, my own ambitions. i didn’t always know how to be there for him the way he needed.”

leehan’s chest tightened as he listened, guilt crashing over him in waves. you were apologizing, talking about regrets, when he knew it was his fault you’d been left behind, his fault for not supporting you in the way you deserved.

“i just wish…” you trailed off, your eyes growing misty. “i wish i could’ve done more for him, given him the love he always gave me. i know he tried so hard, but looking back, i feel like i didn’t do enough to make it easier for him.”

he shook his head, unable to bear the thought of you blaming yourself. you did everything, he wanted to say, you were everything. but he could only watch, his heart aching, as you shared pieces of yourself, pieces he’d never thought he’d hear again.

the interviewer asked you the question he dreaded most, the one he hadn’t been able to answer for himself. “if given the opportunity, would you give your relationship another try?”

a tear slipped down your cheek, and you laughed softly, wiping it away. “maybe… maybe if i felt like i’d grown up a little. if i could confidently say that i could support him in the ways he needs, i would. he did so much for me, yet i feel like i did so little for him.”

leehan felt his eyes sting, his chest tight as the screen displayed photos of the two of you together. old memories flashed by—your first cafe date, your goofy faces at the aquarium, a candid shot of you laughing as he tried to photobomb you. he remembered each of those moments, the joy in your eyes, the warmth that had filled his heart every time he’d looked at you.

when your interview ended, the room was silent. his co-stars glanced at him, sympathy and understanding in their eyes, but he could barely look at them, his emotions too raw, too close to the surface.

one of the staff members asked gently, “if you could go back, would you give it another try?”

leehan’s voice was thick with emotion as he replied, “absolutely. only to prove to her that she really did give me everything, and that now, it’s my turn to repay her.”

as the words left his mouth, he felt a weight lift, but it was accompanied by a hollow ache. he didn’t know if you’d ever believe him, if you’d ever understand just how much you’d meant to him, even after all this time. but if there was ever a chance—a sliver of hope that he could make things right—he would do anything, absolutely anything, to show you that you’d always been enough.

after the episode aired, leehan found himself scrolling through endless comments, each one a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite sort out. some comments were kind, urging the two of you to rekindle what you’d had, filled with hope and nostalgia for a love story they’d only seen glimpses of.

“you can tell he still cares about her so much. they should get back together!” “there’s so much love there. i hope they find a way to make it work.”

but mixed in were other, harsher voices, ones that made his stomach drop.

“why would he date at all? we’re the ones who made him famous.” “it’s disrespectful to the fans to have a secret relationship. we deserve loyalty from him!”

he skimmed through more comments, some even harsher than those, laying blame on you, criticizing your every word and expression. each line he read stung, a painful reminder of why he’d ended things in the first place. he’d left to protect you, to shield you from exactly this, yet here he was, watching it unfold again.

but as the backlash swirled, there was also a growing conversation he hadn’t expected—one about the boundaries between idols and fans, about the intense relationships fans felt they had with the people they idolized. some questioned whether fans truly had a right to be angry over his love life, pointing out the thin line between admiration and ownership.

“it’s strange how invested some people are in who he dated. he’s a person, not just a public figure.” “maybe it’s time we respect that idols have private lives.”

despite the support, the voices of the critics loomed large in his mind. he knew what they could become, knew how easily they could grow out of control. this is what he chose to protect you from. and even though the majority wanted to see the story unfold, their encouragement didn’t quiet the ache of knowing how painful it might be for you to see the hate mixed in.

part of him wanted to reach out, to make sure you were okay after the episode aired. he’d wanted to tell you that none of it mattered, that their words didn’t define anything between the two of you. but he stopped himself. he feared that if he reached out, he’d only be dragging you deeper into the chaos he’d tried to keep you away from.

so, he kept his phone silent, keeping his feelings to himself, even though every part of him longed to hear your voice.

the final day of filming came, and leehan found himself standing with the rest of the cast, staring at two doors set up at the end of a narrow hallway. the producers explained the choice: one door led to the future, to a clean slate, to moving on from everything they’d unpacked and left behind. the other was labeled “past” and opened to a room filled with memories, mementos of the relationships that had once meant everything to each cast member.

one by one, each person chose their door, some moving forward into a fresh start, others glancing back to revisit the memories they hadn’t been able to fully let go. leehan watched, his heart heavy, knowing his turn was coming. when the time came to step forward, he paused, his eyes lingering on the door to the future. it was what he should choose, he told himself. he’d already made his peace, or so he thought.

but his hand moved to the other door—the door that led back to everything he’d lost. taking a breath, he pushed it open.

the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. the room was filled with pieces of his life with you. photos of the two of you, eyes bright with laughter, arms slung around each other as if nothing could ever come between you. he saw the small notes you used to leave him, little scraps of paper with scribbled hearts and doodles. his fingers traced over one note that simply said, have a good day today. you’re amazing. he felt his chest tighten, his throat growing tight as the memories flooded over him.

on a shelf by the wall sat a small glass jar filled with tiny, delicate origami fish—each one a labor of love, a piece of you he’d carried with him long after you were gone. the jar shimmered under the light, and his heart twisted as he picked it up.

one of the staff members, their voice crackling softly through the telecom, asked, “could you tell us about the jar, leehan?”

he took a shaky breath, the edges of his vision blurring. “it’s a thousand fish,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “she made them for me. usually, people make a thousand cranes for a wish, but she knew how much i loved fish, so she folded me a thousand tiny fish instead.” he let out a weak laugh, tears slipping down his cheeks as he held the jar close to his heart. “she always did things like that. she made me feel like i was special, like i was enough.”

he blinked, staring down at the jar, his voice breaking. “i’d cash in that wish for just one more chance with her.”

there was a pause, and then the soft voice came over the telecom again. “leehan, there’s a phone in the center of the room. you can call her if you want. we can’t guarantee she’ll answer, but you have the chance to try.”

he turned, his eyes settling on the old-fashioned phone sitting in the center of the room. his heart pounded as he looked at it, a mix of longing and fear swirling inside him. this was it—a chance, a tiny sliver of hope that you might be on the other end, that he might hear your voice one last time.

he stood there, holding the jar, glancing between the phone and the memories scattered around the room. every laugh, every touch, every promise he’d made to you flooded back, and with a trembling hand, he reached for the receiver. he didn’t need the number on the paper the staff had offered him; he still remembered your number as if no time had passed at all.

slowly, he dialed, each click of the rotary phone echoing in the silent room. the phone began to ring, and with every second that passed, his heart climbed higher into his throat.

then, finally, a small, familiar voice answered, tentative but unmistakable. “hello?”

for a moment, he couldn’t speak, his breath catching as he closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too!

tagged; ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ @en-dream @onedoornet

[noobiestnoober]

Masterpiece Ruined — Klaus Mikaelson x F!Reader

🖌️ "Masterpiece Ruined" — Klaus Mikaelson x Reader 🖤🔥 (Sequel to "Art of Seduction")

Genre: Devastatingly Dark, Possessive, Addictively Steamy Smut Summary: The brush was only the beginning. Now, under flickering candlelight, Klaus shatters every last boundary, claiming you with brutal reverence until nothing remains but him. You are his masterpiece—ruined, worshipped, and forever lost to the dark. Warnings: Dark possessiveness, rough intimacy, primal claiming, emotional/physical domination, explicit smut. Author’s Note: Sequel to "Art of Seduction." This chapter dives deeper into Klaus’s addictive hunger and the reader’s complete, willing undoing. 🥀

SMUT WARNING. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

The air between you burned hotter than the flickering candles scattered across the studio, their flames guttering under the force of the hunger now unchained. Every shadow on the walls danced like specters bearing witness to your surrender. The velvet beneath your back felt sinful against your bare skin, a throne of temptation, as Klaus hovered above you like a dark god about to consume his offering, savoring every shiver, every tremble you couldn't contain.

Your robe was long forgotten, puddled somewhere on the floor like the last remnants of your defenses. His shirt soon followed, ripped open by desperate hands—your hands—revealing planes of hard muscle marred by old scars and ancient wars, each mark telling a story of conquest and survival. You traced them with your fingertips, reverent, greedy, branding him back with your touch, claiming him even as he claimed you.

Klaus growled, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest, vibrating against your skin like a warning—or a promise. "Look at you, love," he rasped, voice roughened to something unholy, almost reverent. "So willing. So eager to be broken open for me."

His hands pinned your wrists above your head, an unyielding grip that blurred the line between mercy and ownership. His fingers curled tight enough to bruise, to mark you inside and out, to remind you that you belonged to him—heart, body, and soul.

Yet.

He trailed his mouth down your throat, sharp teeth scraping a burning path before soothing it with the wet heat of his tongue, each pass igniting your nerve endings until you trembled like a violin string stretched to the breaking point. Every inch he conquered felt marked, seared, owned. You writhed beneath him, the friction between your bodies almost maddening, but Klaus only chuckled darkly, savoring your desperation as if it were the finest wine.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmured against your pulse, voice dripping with wicked amusement. "True masterpieces are carved, not hastily splattered."

You whimpered, a sound raw and pleading, your whole body thrumming with unbearable need. Tears of frustration welled in your eyes, blurring your vision—and Klaus watched them fall with a glint of savage satisfaction.

With a growl, Klaus released your wrists only to grip your hips, keeping you pinned, helpless, trembling as he descended lower. His mouth worshipped every inch of you with a punishing tenderness that felt more like possession than affection. His kisses were searing brands; his teeth left invisible scars of devotion.

When his mouth finally found the place you ached for him most, your back arched in a desperate offering. You cried out—a sound of raw surrender—your hands tangling in his curls, your hips bucking wildly against his unyielding grasp. Klaus growled against your flesh, the vibration ripping another sob of pleasure from your throat.

"Mine," he snarled, voice feral, primal, unrelenting. His teeth grazed your thigh in warning—not gentle, but claiming. "Every shiver. Every tear. Every shattered piece of you—belongs. To. Me."

Your release tore through you violently, a cataclysmic storm that left you wrecked and gasping, sobbing his name into the heavy, candle-scorched air. But Klaus wasn’t finished. Not even close. He rose over you, his body caging yours, his chest heaving with restrained hunger. His eyes were endless black now, stripped of humanity, stripped of mercy—a monster who worshipped only you.

"Open for me," he commanded, voice like gravel, his hand trailing down your thigh, parting you without hesitation. "Let me ruin you properly."

He slid into you with one slow, brutal thrust—possessing, branding, owning. Your cry broke the silence like a shattering mirror, and Klaus swallowed the sound with a vicious, claiming kiss. You shattered. And he rebuilt you in his image—savage, desperate, unrecognizable even to yourself.

He set a relentless pace, thrusting deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every ruthless claim etched into your bones. He drank your cries, your sobs, your broken pleas, his hands bruising your hips, his mouth mapping a trail of destruction over your neck, your breasts, your soul.

Through it all—through the ruin and the worship, the brutality and the reverence—he never once looked away. He needed you to see who owned you now. Who had reduced you to this trembling, pleading, beautiful wreck.

"Say it," he growled, teeth scraping your ear. "Say who you belong to."

"You," you sobbed, lost, undone. "Yours—only yours."

Klaus growled in satisfaction, the sound vibrating deep inside you. He wanted you to remember. Exactly who had undone you. Exactly who had turned you into his masterpiece—ruined, ravished, worshipped, and possessed beyond reason. And who would drag you into the dark with him.

Again.

And again.

And again.