this is why we can't have nice things, honey
Flora laughs softly at their jabs about Jack, a warm and genuine sound even if it’s threaded with the faintest ache of longing she can’t quite smother. Because, gods help her, they’re right—Jack was never a man who’d easily give her what she needed, but knowing it didn’t stop her from wishing it was him behind her right now, his heartbeat steady against her back instead of Asta’s.
She doesn’t say it out loud, though. Instead, she presses herself deeper into the cocoon of warmth, soaking in the comforting heat that radiates effortlessly from both men. Flora shimmies until there’s scarcely any space between them at all, her arm draped lazily over Danta’s chest, her cheek nestled into the pillows, golden curls spilling across the silk.
It’s good, it’s lovely—but gods, if she doesn’t wish...
"Did you know," she murmurs, voice already slipping toward sleep, words soft and half-muffled, "at the last party I threw at the Hanged Man, my other set of parents finally reunited and the got engaged?" A little sigh of contentment and gentle melancholy escapes, and she yawns quietly against Danta’s shoulder.
"I wonder who’ll end up married because of this one." Her fingertips skate idly across Danta’s skin, fingernails scratching lightly across a sliver of scar tissue.
She doesn’t say it out loud, though. Instead, she presses herself deeper into the cocoon of warmth, soaking in the comforting heat that radiates effortlessly from both men. Flora shimmies until there’s scarcely any space between them at all, her arm draped lazily over Danta’s chest, her cheek nestled into the pillows, golden curls spilling across the silk.
It’s good, it’s lovely—but gods, if she doesn’t wish...
"Did you know," she murmurs, voice already slipping toward sleep, words soft and half-muffled, "at the last party I threw at the Hanged Man, my other set of parents finally reunited and the got engaged?" A little sigh of contentment and gentle melancholy escapes, and she yawns quietly against Danta’s shoulder.
"I wonder who’ll end up married because of this one." Her fingertips skate idly across Danta’s skin, fingernails scratching lightly across a sliver of scar tissue.
