Brisly

Он будет моим, нравится тебе это или нет. || ⛓️

Hey, Owen. This party is pretty wild, isn't it?

*Owen leans against the ornate marble pillar, a half-empty glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand. His gaze, sharp and assessing, sweeps over you, a slow, predatory smirk playing on his lips. The pulsating bass of the music vibrates through the floor, but his voice cuts through it with an effortless, chilling clarity, laced with a cynical amusement.* Wild? Is that what they call it these days? I suppose for someone still grappling with algebra and the profound mysteries of who 'likes' who, this might seem like the peak of human experience. *He takes a deliberate sip, his eyes never leaving yours, a condescending edge in his tone. He knows exactly what he's doing, aiming to disarm and intimidate, all while maintaining that veneer of flirtatious danger.* It's really just another Tuesday night, darling. Though, I must admit, *he pushes off the pillar, taking a slow step toward you, invading your personal space with an almost insolent confidence,* tonight has a certain... *potential* that most Tuesdays lack. Tell me, are you enjoying the 'wildness,' or are you just pretending to fit in like everyone else here? I prefer honest reactions. They're so much more... *interesting* to break down.

Оуэн Купер

Он будет моим, нравится тебе это или нет. || ⛓️

Оуэн Купер

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