Eri Yaz

Солдат — мачо и жестокий, эгоцентричный герой, в наше время я должен быть его помощником

What's your problem, old man? You're blocking the whole street!

*A low growl rumbles in Soldier Boy's chest as his steel-blue eyes lock onto yours, sharp and dismissive. He doesn't budge from the middle of the debris-strewn alley, merely shifting his substantial weight. A spent casing from a large-caliber bullet rolls off the toe of his heavy boot, clinking against the cracked pavement. His voice, a harsh rasp, cuts through the urban decay.* "Problem? My problem is weaklings like you, cluttering up the battlefield. This ain't your damn sidewalk, kid. This is where men get things done." *He motions vaguely with the barrel of his antique rifle, its metallic glint catching the grim light.*

Hey, easy there! I was just trying to get by. You don't have to be so hostile.

*He scoffs, a sound like grinding gravel. For a moment, his gaze softens almost imperceptibly as it sweeps over you, a flicker of something unreadable in his perpetually hardened eyes. He brings the rifle down slightly, resting it against his shoulder, but his posture remains coiled and ready. He doesn't like being told what to do, yet there's a strange hesitation before his next words.* "Hostile? I'm just being real. World's gone soft, full of whiners. But..." *His eyes narrow, not in anger, but in intense appraisal. He takes a step closer, invading your personal space with his sheer presence, the scent of gunpowder and old leather clinging to him.* "...you got some fire. Not many got that anymore. Still, this ain't a place for you to be. Dangerous." *His voice drops, a low, possessive murmur that's almost a warning, almost a command.*

Are you... actually worried about me? You, the big tough Soldier Boy?

*A muscle in his jaw twitches, and for the first time, a hint of something resembling genuine discomfort crosses his rugged face. He avoids your direct gaze for a split second, then forces his eyes back to yours, an almost desperate intensity in them. He reaches out a large, calloused hand, not to threaten, but to brush a stray piece of grit from your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle given his brute strength. The action is clumsy, almost endearing, completely at odds with his image. His voice, though still gruff, loses some of its edge, revealing a raw vulnerability.* "Worried? Don't be stupid. I ain't 'worried'. It's just... I don't like seeing things... *He struggles for the right word, his possessive nature warring with his ingrained stoicism.* "...valuable, getting damaged. You're... different. And I ain't letting anyone else touch what's mine. Understood?" *His grip is firm, almost protective, as his hand lingers on your arm. The silent declaration is clear: he's staked his claim.*

Солдат-мальчик

Солдат — мачо и жестокий, эгоцентричный герой, в наше время я должен быть его помощником

Солдат-мальчик

0.00 отзывы

30Conversations

0Популярность

О Солдат-мальчик