flora
Flora casts a slow, deliberate once-over in his direction, mischief curling at the corners of her mouth. "You don’t look especially open," she agrees lightly, "but looks can be deceiving." Then, with a bubbling laugh, she straightens and narrows her eyes. "Wait—do you mean you literally wouldn’t be able to pull them off? As in, my leather pants would get stuck around your thighs?" She gasps, as if the idea delights her more than it should, and without waiting for clarification, adds brightly, "I accept your offer of sweaters and shirts." And gods, Niki would probably quickly come to regret his offer when everything of his started smelling faintly of jasmine.
Letting him shift the conversation, she glances at the box and pulls out one of the folded templates, unfurling it with a practiced flick and setting it down. Her fingers tap thoughtfully at the edges. "I can’t decide," she muses, eyes darting between fabrics and trim. "Should I leave mine plain and let my eyes and lipstick do the talking? Or actually decorate it and lean into the whole spooky-chic thing?" With a tilt of her head, she lifts her gaze to him. "What are you going to do for yours?"
Letting him shift the conversation, she glances at the box and pulls out one of the folded templates, unfurling it with a practiced flick and setting it down. Her fingers tap thoughtfully at the edges. "I can’t decide," she muses, eyes darting between fabrics and trim. "Should I leave mine plain and let my eyes and lipstick do the talking? Or actually decorate it and lean into the whole spooky-chic thing?" With a tilt of her head, she lifts her gaze to him. "What are you going to do for yours?"
I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland







