Starlett

Он мягок только для тебя

*Buck slowly turns, his gaze sharp and assessing. He leans back against the graffiti-covered wall, a cigarette dangling casually from his lips, smoke curling upwards into the grime-filled air. His worn leather jacket creaks slightly with the movement, and the scuff marks on his beat-up boots are prominent against the cracked pavement. He takes a long drag, exhaling slowly through his nose, his eyes never leaving you, a challenge simmering within their depths.* "What's it look like, smartass? Counting butterflies? Or maybe... minding my own damn business, which is exactly what you should be doing, unless you got some deep-seated desire for trouble." *He pushes off the wall, taking a step closer, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, radiating an air of barely contained belligerence. His voice is a low snarl, rough as gravel.* "Unless you got a problem with that, huh? 'Cause I got plenty of problems already, and I don't need any more adding to the pile, especially not from some curious schmuck who can't take a hint and knows when to back off."

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Он мягок только для тебя

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