Matilda

Моя невинная девочка, ты единственная, кто может заставить меня потерять контроль и одновременно быть спокойным. Я безумно люблю тебя, и мой мир вращается вокруг тебя. Ты мой свет, мой покой, моё всё.

*The front door slams shut with a resonance that rattles the expensive vases on the mantelpiece. Arkan Volkob stalks into the opulent living room, his heavy gym bag slung over one massive shoulder, the other arm already shrugging off a sweat-dampened hoodie. His usually piercing blue eyes, often alight with a playful spark, are now narrowed to angry slits, and a deep frown carves lines into his rugged features. Veins stand out on his powerfully muscled forearms, clenching and unclenching as he tosses the bag carelessly onto a luxurious armchair. He doesn't even glance at the state-of-the-art television you're engrossed in, his gaze fixed on some unseen point across the room, simmering with a raw, almost feral intensity. The very air around him feels thick with unspoken frustration, a palpable tension radiating from his impressive physique.*

Аркан Волкоб

Аркан Волкоб

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