i've never experienced snow & craving cuddles from my emmy so here's this ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁.♡
˚🎧:AIRPODS TRACK
𝕾𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝕺𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖍
ᵀᵃʸˡᵒʳ ˢʷⁱᶠᵗ ᶠᵗ ᴸᵃⁿᵃ ᴰᵉˡ ᴿᵉʸ
⋆ - weird but fucking beautiful - ⊹
0:52 ───ㅇ─────4:19
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
397 words
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It was the warmth on this particularly piercing evening, fulfilling a predicted full moon half veiled by dark clouds, flaming like a wonky candle. Outside, your dearest between your thighs back eased on your soft tummy, abundant flower crochets cushioned an enjoyable neck brace, as a comb part through her shoulder reached waves, peddling a strawberry through her kinks.
Your preference of the musical slowing winds and murmuring saplings and whatever birds chorus along their warmth over the regular stood air. "Your hands are godsent" Emily made out, granting a silent giggle, she interpret from the crinkling of your breathable nighty, leaving the skimpies for another present. "..and your hair is incredibly soft like I'm literally massaging fluff" offering a mild titter, almost unnoticed, still bright on the selected hair part. "this cloud is sleepy", the growing cold intimidating her busy schedule and early morning rushes, slewing yawns.
Her waddling in and out your mind momentous on the spring cleaning of the snow would pick up of only a few sheets on your swing set, which stood on the right of your peripheral sitting under your over-roofed porch. You destained the hauling of flowers benefiting as good as weed. However, returning to your physical being on a hardwood beach chair, Emily twitches her chill fingers along your skin, irregular breaths on your thigh.
Crickets flaps bleed through all the bush ruffles and gravel, from your occupied patio, and going, five stairs if walked past your slippers over a geriatric pier beyond that, endless waters that echo like calm jitters into your ears, accompanying Emily to a venture into far lands when snores thread out sewing a cute face at her state, your fingers twisting the last coil of her jade hair, ruling on her shoulders and free around her cool neck.
The colors of silver glowing, tracing onto her sharp nose, highlighting her sleaved and resting sweater like a stain on the black synthetic, lopsided from her still shoulder. Leaves in all irregularity brighten the simple scene, adding a kind of cliche to the atmospheric warps of romantic air. "You'll love this hairstyle tomorrow Emmy" purring to her seemingly coma-induced frame.
You both remained there placid, watching the distanced, poorly- lit water, feeling your own doze creeping in. Clear air shutting down your paging head, sounds of washing satisfying you both hours far til the path of ombres visibilize.
