Flora
For all of Flora's foolishness, she wisely doesn't comment on just how much each of them could likely bite off, instead choosing to fix Asta with an alluring smile that her cheeks rounding and here yes sparkling; not simply with lust anymore, but with a boldness that has the divine goods to back up.
"The things you'll be able to do to me at the turn of the season..." Flora whispers, her voice low and sweet, in sharp contrast to the burst of excitement heard from just beyond the curtain. "As much of me as you could ever want. Mouthfuls of blood and flesh to carry you over the edge, and I won't feel a thing." It's adoringly said as if Asta had been unfairly denied some basic pleasure rather than having to gorge himself in a way most would find utterly gruesome just to achieve a release.
Pausing, the queen's lips twist roguishly as she lifts an eyebrow. "Well, nothing I don't want to." She purrs. Flora would still be able to feel his mouth on hers, the fullness of him inside of her, his tongue and hands and whatever other little pleasurable marks and touches he was inclined to leave on her body. But when it came to pain, though? When it came to the sort of wounds his teeth were made to create? No; those and the resulting wounds they'd cause, Flora would simply ask Frey to take away.
"Mmmmmm." Smoothing down the slip and not quite able to see the mark on her inner thigh without twisting, Flora hums a sound of agreement. Indeed later that evening, alone in her bed, it would be with thoughts of the butcher on his knees finding his way into the core of her without interruption, as she pressed her thumb against the dull echo of his mouth. Gods help her if dating Asta did have her growing accustomed to the presence of pain; gods help Jack, too.
"The things you'll be able to do to me at the turn of the season..." Flora whispers, her voice low and sweet, in sharp contrast to the burst of excitement heard from just beyond the curtain. "As much of me as you could ever want. Mouthfuls of blood and flesh to carry you over the edge, and I won't feel a thing." It's adoringly said as if Asta had been unfairly denied some basic pleasure rather than having to gorge himself in a way most would find utterly gruesome just to achieve a release.
Pausing, the queen's lips twist roguishly as she lifts an eyebrow. "Well, nothing I don't want to." She purrs. Flora would still be able to feel his mouth on hers, the fullness of him inside of her, his tongue and hands and whatever other little pleasurable marks and touches he was inclined to leave on her body. But when it came to pain, though? When it came to the sort of wounds his teeth were made to create? No; those and the resulting wounds they'd cause, Flora would simply ask Frey to take away.
"Mmmmmm." Smoothing down the slip and not quite able to see the mark on her inner thigh without twisting, Flora hums a sound of agreement. Indeed later that evening, alone in her bed, it would be with thoughts of the butcher on his knees finding his way into the core of her without interruption, as she pressed her thumb against the dull echo of his mouth. Gods help her if dating Asta did have her growing accustomed to the presence of pain; gods help Jack, too.
Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
Misery, Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
Code stolen from Queen Sky
