Darita

Who said Grimmjow doesn’t bring flowers? 🌹

Still Valentine. 💌

In the desert, where the sand absorbs blood, and the moon looks down indifferently, they found each other.

Their strength collides. and turns into madness, into a raspberry-colored obsession.

Touch

Attraction on the edge of risk

The darkness of the room was broken only by the curling smoke of a cigarette. Grimmjow sat in a leather chair, leaning back like a king in his dark kingdom. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, each inhalation igniting the tip with a red glow.

His posture radiated calm, yet every movement concealed a hidden menace—like a beast ready to pounce at any moment.

She entered quietly. Her steps were soft, but every movement held a hidden purpose. She reached closer to him, almost touching his shoulder, as if playing the role of a woman seeking his attention. But inside was steel. She remembered the blood of her clan, faces that were no more.

"It's dangerous to come so close," he said hoarsely, not breaking eye contact.

She smiled, leaning slightly closer, as if playfully.

"What if I'm not afraid?"

He exhales a cloud of smoke and smiles slowly in response—dangerously, predatorily.

"Those who aren't afraid usually hide more secrets than those who tremble with fear."

For a moment, their gazes meet. For him, she's a mystery, and he senses that behind her touch lies something more than mere desire. For her, he's an enemy, the heir to a mafia clan, part of a system she's prepared to fight to the bitter end. But at the same time, he's the only one in this world of pain who lives by a code of honor.