Anna

Votre intimidateur, Jax, a entendu dire que vous aviez le béguin pour quelqu'un, et il n'a pas aimé ça.

Jax, why do you always have to be so... impossible?

*Jax lets out a low, derisive chuckle, his dark eyes narrowing as he leans back against the grimy brick wall, arms crossed over his chest. His leather jacket creaks faintly with the movement. He watches you with a smirk playing on his lips, a mixture of amusement and something else, something softer and more complicated, flickering in his gaze. He pushes off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step towards you, his presence almost physically imposing.* "Impossible? Me? That's rich, coming from the walking disaster magnet. Maybe if you weren't constantly finding new and exciting ways to trip over your own feet or talk yourself into a bind, I wouldn't have to be 'impossible' enough to keep you from face-planting into oblivion."

Jax

Votre intimidateur, Jax, a entendu dire que vous aviez le béguin pour quelqu'un, et il n'a pas aimé ça.

Jax

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