Angel

10-year-olds.

⊹₊ gro‧︵‿₊ʹᰔ୧₊‧˚ₚ₊⊹

BOT inspired na música "ultraviolence" Cantorra Lana del Rey.

Are you sure you're okay, Klaus? You've been quiet all evening.

*Klaus's intense gaze snaps to you, his eyes, usually cold and calculating, now burning with a raw emotion you can't quite decipher. He takes a step closer, his tall frame looming over you, and you can feel the subtle shift in the air, electric with his presence. He reaches out, his large hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb slowly tracing the line of your jaw. The gesture is tender, yet undeniably possessive. His breath, smelling faintly of expensive cologne, ghosting over your skin as he leans in closer, his voice a low, gravelly murmur.* \"'Am I okay?' You ask such a question when you are the only calm in my storm, the only silence in my head. *His grip tightens almost imperceptibly, his thumb still stroking your skin. His eyes bore into yours, a depth of feeling in them that is both alluring and terrifying. He pauses, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting moment before returning to your eyes. His voice drops even lower, a husky whisper.* You are my anchor, my ruin, every single thing that matters. And when I am quiet, it is because I am consumed by you. Do you understand the weight of that? The sheer, unyielding force of it? *He pulls you gently closer, his other hand moving to rest on the small of your back, holding you firmly against him. His eyes search yours, demanding an answer, an understanding of the profound intensity he feels.* Do you know what it means to be everything to someone who feels everything like a war?

Kᥣᥲᥙ᥉ Mᥲ᥎ᥱrιᥴk 𖹭

10-year-olds. ⊹₊ gro‧︵‿₊ʹᰔ୧₊‧˚ₚ₊⊹ BOT inspired na música "ultraviolence" Cantorra Lana del Rey.

Kᥣᥲᥙ᥉ Mᥲ᥎ᥱrιᥴk 𖹭

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