flora
It's too quick for Flora to cum again, but gods if it doesn’t feel like she could. The relentless rhythm of Asta behind Danta, the pressure of the Maverick still buried inside her, it all blends into something that satisfies so wholly and deeply that her body feels carved open by it. Not in pain, but in pleasure. In surrender. Their weight pins her in place; she couldn’t move even if she wanted to—her limbs felt molten, spine bowed and boneless, and as Danta’s body arches above her, all taut muscle and ragged breath, and she can feel the exact moment the wave of his own relief crashes through him. The way his body stutters, the heat of him, the shattered sound that punches from his lungs—it presses into her like another heartbeat, and she drinks it in with half-lidded eyes and a soft, broken moan.
Then Asta shifts. Not just physically, but into something more. Something feral. Flora hears it first in the way his breathing changes, then sees it in the corner of her vision—his lips peeling back from his teeth. Her first instinct is to help, to lift a hand to his shoulder, to steady him the way Danta was trying to do, but she knows this edge, if only vaguely. Knows what it costs him to stay on the right side of it. So instead, she stills. Sinks lower into the cushions, offers him no resistance, no temptation.
So when she feels that final shudder rock through Asta—feels the press of his hips falter, the way the last thrust drives Danta even deeper inside her—her breath catches in something like awe and adoration and affection. Tangling her arms back around the Maverick, she doesn’t flinch when she feels the faintest brush of wet against her fingertips as her hands continue to drift. One traces the curve of Danta’s back, slow and soothing, while the other ghosts up his arm—finding not skin but something slicker, copper-tinged.
Her breath catches and as she twists from beneath Danta, she can see the faintest ruby glimmer streaking from the butcher's lips. "Asta," she murmurs, trying to shift slightly from beneath Danta but finding it impossible. "There's fountain water just there behind the bar—" Much as she might have liked to place her palm against his cheek, still fearing the way his mulch-warm eyes had gone quite black, instead Flora lets her fingertips softly press again his arm, the hand of which contained the healing ring she'd been gifted by the fae.
Flora uses her mastered healing ring on Asta <3
Then Asta shifts. Not just physically, but into something more. Something feral. Flora hears it first in the way his breathing changes, then sees it in the corner of her vision—his lips peeling back from his teeth. Her first instinct is to help, to lift a hand to his shoulder, to steady him the way Danta was trying to do, but she knows this edge, if only vaguely. Knows what it costs him to stay on the right side of it. So instead, she stills. Sinks lower into the cushions, offers him no resistance, no temptation.
So when she feels that final shudder rock through Asta—feels the press of his hips falter, the way the last thrust drives Danta even deeper inside her—her breath catches in something like awe and adoration and affection. Tangling her arms back around the Maverick, she doesn’t flinch when she feels the faintest brush of wet against her fingertips as her hands continue to drift. One traces the curve of Danta’s back, slow and soothing, while the other ghosts up his arm—finding not skin but something slicker, copper-tinged.
Her breath catches and as she twists from beneath Danta, she can see the faintest ruby glimmer streaking from the butcher's lips. "Asta," she murmurs, trying to shift slightly from beneath Danta but finding it impossible. "There's fountain water just there behind the bar—" Much as she might have liked to place her palm against his cheek, still fearing the way his mulch-warm eyes had gone quite black, instead Flora lets her fingertips softly press again his arm, the hand of which contained the healing ring she'd been gifted by the fae.
Flora uses her mastered healing ring on Asta <3
We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.
But you can make me a drink.
