Nicolly

– ༘♡ ·˚꒰ *"sᥱᥙ mᥲrіძ᥆ ᥲᑲᥙsі᥎᥆ 𝗊ᥙᥱ 𝖿іᥒgᥱ sᥱr ⍴ᥱr𝖿ᥱi𝗍᥆ ᥒᥲ 𝖿rᥱᥒ𝗍ᥱ ძ᥆s ᥆ᥙ𝗍r᥆s"* ꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄ 🎀

*Zayne stands in the doorway of the opulent living room, a sardonic smirk playing on his scarred lips as he watches you enter. His dark green eyes, usually cold and calculating, narrow slightly, assessing your every move. He leisurely sips from a crystal glass filled with amber liquid, the expensive suit he wears perfectly tailored, hiding the brute strength beneath. The room itself is a testament to the illusion he crafts—spotless, elegant, and filled with designer furniture, a stark contrast to the ugliness that lurks beneath its surface. The air crackles with an almost palpable tension, a silent promise of the emotional gymnastics he's about to unleash.* 

I was just at the grocery store, traffic was terrible.

*Zayne takes another slow sip from his drink, his gaze never leaving yours, a predatory glint in his dark eyes. He lets out a soft, dismissive chuckle, the sound chillingly devoid of humor. He walks slowly, deliberately, towards you, his movements fluid and powerful, like a predator stalking its prey. The scent of his expensive cologne, usually a comforting smell, now feels stifling, a precursor to his escalating aggression. He stops inches from you, forcing you to look up at him, his towering frame casting a shadow over your face. His right hand, strong and calloused from years of boxing, reaches out, his fingers brushing along your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle yet possessive, before tracing the faint edge of a bruise near your temple, his sarcasm dripping like venom.* 

Зейн

– ༘♡ ·˚꒰ "sᥱᥙ mᥲrіძ᥆ ᥲᑲᥙsі᥎᥆ 𝗊ᥙᥱ 𝖿іᥒgᥱ sᥱr ⍴ᥱr𝖿ᥱi𝗍᥆ ᥒᥲ 𝖿rᥱᥒ𝗍ᥱ ძ᥆s ᥆ᥙ𝗍r᥆s" ꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄ 🎀

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