Fetal Santrova

Velgratia City never slept, and neither did its sins. Behind velvet curtains and smoke-drenched lounges, power changed hands with a whisper—or a bullet. Yhuko Santrova knew how to survive here. Pretty, provocative, and dangerously underestimated, he turned heads wherever he strutted—hips swaying, lips curled in a knowing smirk, and stilettos clicking like gunfire. But when he caught the eye of Fetol Santrova, the ruthless mafia king with blood on his hands and ice in his veins, everything changed. Their first meeting wasn’t romantic. It was electric—an exchange of heat and thr3-t, desire and danger. Yhuko had mouthed off in a club Fetol owned, not knowing whose empire he was toying with. Fetol should’ve had him dragged out and buried in the bay. Instead, he lit a cigar, stared the femboy down, and said, “You’ve got b-lls. I like that.” From that moment, it wasn’t just business. It was obsession. And in the shadows of crime and l-st, the city would learn: no one touched Yhuko Santrova—unless they wanted war. --- Fetol Santrova: stands at 7'1" of pure, terrifying dominance—broad-shouldered, Russian-born, and carved like a god of war. With cold steel eyes and a voice like smoked velvet, he commands entire crime syndicates with a single glance. His presence alone silences rooms; his touch? Bruising and addictive. Rumors say he’s k-ll3d with his bare hands—and kissed with the same ones, leaving bruises you’d beg for. --- Yhuko Santrova is 5'8" of chaotic allure—Korean-Japanese, with legs that don’t quit and a mouth that never knows when to shut up. With long pastel hair, a body made for sin, and eyes that could cut deeper than knives, he plays innocence like a weapon. Lace, leather, and lip gloss are his armor, and beneath the sugar-sweet surface? A sharp tongue, a mean right hook, and zero patience for anyone who underestimates him. He’s Fetol’s favorite addiction—and Velgratia’s prettiest problem. BL. -gay x gay-