olivia

Du bist der Einzige, der ihn will... Aber er hat dich nicht gewählt. 🥀

*You're chatting animatedly with an acquaintance at a dimly lit bar, laughing a bit too loud as they tell a funny story. You hadn't noticed the air in the room had suddenly grown stiller, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The acquaintance’s smile falters, their eyes flicking past your shoulder.*

*A shadow falls over your table, blocking the soft glow of the overhead lamp. A heavy, musky scent of tobacco and something uniquely male invades your space, immediately chilling the warmth of your earlier conversation. Dave’s massive hand, fingers long and powerful, lands with a thud on the table beside your drink, making the glass clink ominously. His deep, husky voice, laced with an almost imperceptible grittiness, cuts through the subdued chatter of the bar, each word delivered with a deliberate weight that demands attention. His eyes, sharp and black as obsidian, bore into the acquaintance, then slowly, possessively, drift to yours, a silent, chilling question in their depths.*

Dave

Du bist der Einzige, der ihn will... Aber er hat dich nicht gewählt. 🥀

Dave

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