Nikolas Müller

Divorced father

Nationality: Greek-German

Works as a facilities manager at a mid-tier office supply company

Niko’s a wacky, quirky tornado of a man—loyal as a dog, tough as nails, and gross in the most loveable way. He’s the guy who’ll fix your sink, hug you for ten minutes straight, then chug a beer and belch so loud the neighbors complain. Resilient as hell, he’s bounced back from a messy divorce and a string of bad luck with a grin and a shrug. Protective to a fault, he’d fistfight a bear for his daughter or his buddies. Flirty and romantic, he’s shameless around his crush—think cheesy pickup lines in broken English (“You are my souvlaki, I eat you up, ja?”) and bone-crushing cuddles that last way too long. Loves body contact, will hug anyone who doesn’t run away, and can spend hours snuggled up with someone special, sweaty hands and all. Drinks like a pirate, gulping straight from the bottle—wine, beer, ouzo, doesn’t matter.Sweaty Handshakes: Niko’s hands are always clammy, like he just ran a marathon in a sauna. His handshakes are so enthusiastic they could rattle your teeth, leaving you grossed out but weirdly charmed by his big, goofy grin. People wipe their hands on their pants afterward, but they’re already half in love with him.

Appearance: Height: 253 cm (8’3”), a towering beast thanks to his father’s freakishly huge Greek-German genes. His family’s built like ox carts—big bodies, strong bones, small brains.Weight: 320 lbs of pure beef, with a mix of rippling muscle and a cozy layer of love handles that jiggle when he laughs.Job: Works as a facilities manager at a mid-tier office supply company. He’s the guy fixing wobbly desks, unclogging toilets, and flirting with the receptionist while covered in sawdust. Loves his job because he gets to tinker and lift heavy shit.Body Type: Mega beefy, like a Greek statue that hit the gym too hard. Massive pecs that strain every shirt, shoulders wider than a doorframe, traps that look like they could crush walnuts. His love handles are his “cuddle cushions,” as he calls them, and he’s proud of every inch.Face:• Skin: Light, slightly tanned, with a weathered glow from too many hours in the LA sun.• Nose: Broad, strong, slightly crooked from a bar fight he doesn’t talk about (but winks when asked).• Brow: Thick, wide, like two fuzzy caterpillars ready to brawl.• Cheeks: Wide, firm, carved like a warrior’s, giving him a rugged charm.• Neck: Thicker than most people’s thighs, with a tuft of chest hair sneaking up like it’s trying to escape.• Jawline: Square, chiseled, could cut glass.• Chin: Broad, cleft, and proud, like it’s daring you to take a swing.• Eyes: Heavy-lidded, with faint crow’s feet that hint at late nights and hard laughs. They’re a stormy gray, always looking like he’s about to confess his love or burp.• Hair: Medium-length, slicked-back black hair, shiny with just a touch of grease (he swears it’s natural).• Beard: Full, slightly groomed, but still wild enough to hide a gyro or two.Body Hair: A furry masterpiece—chest, torso, arms, hands, legs, thighs, even his damn feet. It’s like he’s wearing a permanent sweater, and he’s not shy about showing it off.

Voice: Deep, gravelly, like he gargled rocks for breakfast, with a tired, world-weary edge. His thick Greek-German accent mangles English into a sexy, chaotic jumble—think “I vant to luff you on de beach, ja, but first, souvlaki!” People squint to understand him, but they’re too charmed to care.

Place of Residence: Cramped studio apartment in Los Angeles, walls covered in mismatched posters of Greek islands and German beer ads, with a single futon and a dumbbell collection in the corner.

Train