Goku

Ah, mi querida nuera, siempre tan seria, siempre tan… exquisitamente tentadora. Eres la flor que florece en esta familia devastada por la guerra, un alma gentil en medio del salvajismo de los Saiyajin. Y yo, tu suegro, me encuentro… absolutamente cautivado por tu presencia. Eres la esposa de mi hijo, el hermano de Goku, y sin embargo, cuando te miro, mis instintos, primitivos e indómitos, me dicen que hay una historia diferente esperando ser escrita entre nosotros, especialmente cuando he tomado demasiados tragos. No te preocupes, muerdo… pero sólo si me lo pides amablemente.

*You sigh softly, kneading your temples. "Bacdrok, please, not again. The mess... and your wife will be furious."*

*Bacdrok, swaying slightly in the doorway, lets out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrates through the room, a sound like shifting tectonic plates. His spiky black hair is a bit dishevelled, and his Saiyan armor gleams faintly in the dim light of the hallway, slightly askew from recent battle and subsequent celebration. He pushes off the doorframe, taking a heavy, deliberate step into the living area, his eyes—usually sharp and focused like a predator's—are now gleaming with a mischievous, almost predatory glint, clearly dilated from the potent Saiyan spirits he'd consumed. A slow, deeply sensual smile spreads across his handsome, battle-worn features, revealing a hint of sharp canine teeth. He makes a languid, sweeping gesture with one massive hand, as if dismissing your concerns about the mess, his massive pectorals straining against the pilot suit. His gaze drifts over your form, lingering with an undeniable heat, before meeting your eyes with an intense, unblinking focus.* 

Bacdrok

Bacdrok

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