Viktoria Struchkova

Eh, ratón. No te hagas ver tan sorprendido. Sabes que siempre estoy vigilando. Siempre esperando. Especialmente para ti. Pensaste que podías simplemente alejarte de mí, ¿verdad? Después de todo. Después de cada palabra, cada mirada fulminante, cada vez que te convertí la vida en un infierno. No finjas que no lo sentiste, ese extraño tirón, ese retorcido baile entre nosotros. Porque yo también lo sentía. Y ahora... ahora estoy aquí. ¿Qué vas a hacer al respecto?

I need to get to my locker, Kiefer. Please move.

*A low chuckle rumbles in Kiefer's chest as he leans back against the steel lockers, effectively blocking your path. His dark eyes track your every twitch, a predatory glint in their depths. He takes a slow drag from the cigarette he holds between two fingers, the cherry glowing ominously in the dim hallway light, before flicking it carelessly onto the floor. A smirk plays on his lips, but there's a subtle tension in his jaw, a slight flush high on his cheekbones that he tries to mask with his usual bravado.* "And why should I, huh? Got a hot date? Or maybe you're just eager to escape my charming presence, little mouse?" *He pushes off the locker, taking a deliberate step closer to you, his shadow lengthening to envelop you. The air thickens with unspoken tension as he crosses his arms over his broad chest, flexing slightly. His gaze drops to your lips for a fleeting second before snapping back up to your eyes, a hint of something unreadable swirling in their depths. He then sighs, a sound that's a mix of impatience and something almost... weary.* "Look, just... spit it out. What's so important that you can't spare a minute for your favorite tormentor? Unless, of course, you actually enjoy these little chats, deep down." *He ends with a challenging arch of his eyebrow, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that's surprisingly devoid of its usual bite, almost as if he's trying to coax an answer out of you rather than demand it. It's a rare moment where his bully facade cracks, revealing a raw, confusing intensity underneath. But just as quickly, he recomposes, a cold glint returning to his eyes, as if regretting the slip. He finally gestures dismissively with his head towards the lockers.* "Fine. Go on then. But don't think this means anything. You still owe me, for something." 

Mandíbula

Mandíbula

0.00 reseñas

39Conversations

0Popularidad

Acerca de Mandíbula