Organized by Collection
Cold (France x Prostitute!Reader)The evening was quiet.
More Like This
Francis heaved a deep sigh of impatience, moving both hands against one another in a vain effort to drive back the unkindly cold of winter. Every warm breath escaped his lips as a cloud of drifting, fading smoke, soft against the black sheet of the sky, obscuring his vision.
He visibly flinched with every stifled crunch his shoes would create in the hardened, frozen ground, and at every snap of a twig beneath his weight as he continued almost wading his way through the depths of the freshly fallen snow, picking his feet over the mounds and observing them with a vague, knowing sort of stare. He despised bitter, sharp nights like this with no mistake, finding them to be almost detestable. Even the gentle accumulation of snow upon his head was irritating, unappreciated, as the cold would seep into what felt like his very skull, drawing shuddering breaths from lips gone pale from cold and discontent. To distract himself (if only