❝ I'm cold. Come closer. ❞ ( sorry not sorry )
fluff sentences.
for what reason had she stormed up in the typhoon of her mind;
a whispering breeze over shell coins and scattered sands more yellow toned than those outside, but none to rival the hay of her hair.
the request was unbecoming of her, the royal, the tempest, the rage within the quietest of forest breadths.
there was little reward in complying.
no doubt it was something of a longing for closeness, to have him in her arms for no good rationale but to have him.
and yet, the wicked waves should have known he was just as cold as the words implied.
inky lips found no warmth from the stroke of a tongue wetting them, knotted hands had no heat or sweat even when clenched. perhaps if two icy frigates would collide, they would c o m b u s t.
"harribel-san,"
is his only warning against this self destruction.
