this is why we can't have nice things, honey
Flora lifts her glass with a soft clink, wordlessly presenting it toward Danta like a queen demanding tribute. "Top me up, babes," she hums, even as her other foot stretches languidly toward him again, toes wiggling in smug demand for his continued worship. Her smile turns feline—indulgent and victorious—as Asta shivers beneath her fingertips. Her touch shifts from teasing to intent, massaging slow and firm into the scarred expanse of his back. She knows he can’t feel all of it, but that’s fine. She’s not doing it just for sensation, but to show that even the parts of him dulled by damage still matter and deserve attention
But then, of course, comes the part where the room shifts.
Their choked outbursts don’t faze her at first. She just hums, the sound low and steady as if she’s telling them the weather rather than dropping a grenade on their evening. "Mmhm," she confirms, nodding slowly as she traces another slow path down Asta’s spine. "Ever since I was cured, I can see who's infected." Her mouth tightens at the corners. "She’s been infected since at least the turn of the season. That’s the last time I saw her, and it was already there." Her fingers pause just slightly.
"Sorry to kill the mood."
But then, of course, comes the part where the room shifts.
Their choked outbursts don’t faze her at first. She just hums, the sound low and steady as if she’s telling them the weather rather than dropping a grenade on their evening. "Mmhm," she confirms, nodding slowly as she traces another slow path down Asta’s spine. "Ever since I was cured, I can see who's infected." Her mouth tightens at the corners. "She’s been infected since at least the turn of the season. That’s the last time I saw her, and it was already there." Her fingers pause just slightly.
"Sorry to kill the mood."
