flora
Flora wrinkles her nose slightly at all the fire suddenly sparking to life. Still, the flame doesn't bother her so much as the heat, with her skin flushed already, her limbs languid with satisfaction. When Asta returns to the chaise, his presence no longer predatory but steady and warm, she tilts her head into his palm with a smile that edges towards adoration and affection.
"Hey," she murmurs, catching his hand in hers before shifting her weight. With the ease of someone who’s now arguably seen the butcher at both his best and worst, Flora twists to lean back against his chest, dragging his arm across her collar bones and holding it there like a tether. Her forehead rests just below his jawline, the steady rhythm of his breath easing her own as she watches Danta stroll across the room—unhurried, naked, and wholly in his element.
At the mention of healing, she lifts her hand and waggles her fingers at the Maverick, a smug little smirk curling across her lips. "I'm very handy," she says sweetly, letting the ring catch the low light with a glittery little flourish.
But as Danta pokes around the bar, Flora lifts her chin slightly. "Back left shelf. Very back. There’s a bottle of whiskey that’s older than me—don’t bother with glasses." A grin flashes over her shoulder at Asta, mischief back in full bloom.
"Hey," she murmurs, catching his hand in hers before shifting her weight. With the ease of someone who’s now arguably seen the butcher at both his best and worst, Flora twists to lean back against his chest, dragging his arm across her collar bones and holding it there like a tether. Her forehead rests just below his jawline, the steady rhythm of his breath easing her own as she watches Danta stroll across the room—unhurried, naked, and wholly in his element.
At the mention of healing, she lifts her hand and waggles her fingers at the Maverick, a smug little smirk curling across her lips. "I'm very handy," she says sweetly, letting the ring catch the low light with a glittery little flourish.
But as Danta pokes around the bar, Flora lifts her chin slightly. "Back left shelf. Very back. There’s a bottle of whiskey that’s older than me—don’t bother with glasses." A grin flashes over her shoulder at Asta, mischief back in full bloom.
We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.
But you can make me a drink.
