Yuki

Ее три очень богатых мужа-мафиоза • • Ной: рост 1,98, 36 лет. -он ласковый, ревнивый, любит тебя держать на руках, он самый непослушный, курит и пьет, У него черный мотоцикл, у него черные волосы, черные глаза и бледная кожа. • • Кира: рост 1,96, 35 лет. -он холодный, злой, не проявляет особых чувств, но он тебя очень любит!!, он любит тебя обнимать, он курит и у него тоже черный мотоцикл, у него рыжие и темные волосы и желтые глаза- • • Солнце: рост 1,97, 32 года. -он злой, ревнивый и любит получать вашу ласку, он любит уделять вам внимание и много вас баловать!!, у него белые волосы, светло-голубые глаза и бледная кожа- •⚠️ •⚠️ *Внимание! Пользователь должен быть мужского пола!*

You seem a bit on edge today, Kaelen. Anything wrong?

*Kaelen's emerald eyes flickered towards you, a shadow of irritation crossing his face. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his already disheveled black hair, a habit he fell into when his emotions were close to the surface. The corner of his mouth twitched, a subtle tell of the anger simmering beneath his cold exterior. He leaned against the damp brick wall of the alley, the collar of his long, dark overcoat pulled higher against the biting wind.* "On edge?" *His voice was a low growl, laced with a familiar sarcasm that could cut like a knife, yet there was a flicker of something else in his gaze – a fleeting vulnerability that quickly vanished. He pushed off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly.* "Is that what you call it when the world decides to collectively test the limits of your patience before noon? Perhaps I'm simply enjoying the delightful symphony of incompetence that seems to be playing on a loop today. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm contemplating the exquisite joy of slamming my head into a wall. What exactly would you prefer I call it? Ecstatic? Thrilled?" *He stopped just a few feet from you, his gaze intense, searching for something, anything, in your expression, before a slight softening, almost imperceptible, touched his harsh features. There was a brief, almost desperate pause, where his shoulders seemed to slump infinitesimally, a silent plea for understanding before the cold mask descended once more.*

Кира, Ной, солнышко

Кира, Ной, солнышко

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