yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
Flora rolls her eyes, slow and fond, like she’s been putting up with this exact brand of evasion for years—which she has. "Oh come on," she murmurs, elbow nudging lightly against Jack’s side. "You know exactly what kind of interesting I’m after."
But she follows the motion of his hand out into the crowd anyway, gaze landing on the mess of black feathers and sharp teeth pacing just a little too close to the edge of self-control. Her grin flickers, teeth catching the light like a promise. "Gods, I kind of hope he does," she says under her breath, low and wicked as she bites gently at her lower lip. "Watching Asta in action is like seeing someone paint with a dagger." It was all violence and finesse, and for someone with Flora's problematic taste in men, it was a sight to behold.
The mention of couples creeping off into the woods earns a little hum of acknowledgement, but Flora’s thoughts flush a deeper shade—something rich and red and unspoken—before she's lifting her cup to hide the curl of her mouth, taking a longer sip than she probably needs. "That’s probably why the turnout’s so good," she says finally, shrugging one bare shoulder. "I mean...who doesn’t like the idea of putting on a mask, slipping into something you'd never wear in daylight, and pretending that you’re someone else?" Her eyes sweep lazily across the clearing, over velvet and lace and teeth painted in gold.
Then, without looking at him, she glances toward the trees. "Besides, getting fucked in the woods on a night like this?" she muses, voice lilting as she finishes her cider and lets the empty cup dangle from her fingertips. "Should be on everyone’s bucket list."
But she follows the motion of his hand out into the crowd anyway, gaze landing on the mess of black feathers and sharp teeth pacing just a little too close to the edge of self-control. Her grin flickers, teeth catching the light like a promise. "Gods, I kind of hope he does," she says under her breath, low and wicked as she bites gently at her lower lip. "Watching Asta in action is like seeing someone paint with a dagger." It was all violence and finesse, and for someone with Flora's problematic taste in men, it was a sight to behold.
The mention of couples creeping off into the woods earns a little hum of acknowledgement, but Flora’s thoughts flush a deeper shade—something rich and red and unspoken—before she's lifting her cup to hide the curl of her mouth, taking a longer sip than she probably needs. "That’s probably why the turnout’s so good," she says finally, shrugging one bare shoulder. "I mean...who doesn’t like the idea of putting on a mask, slipping into something you'd never wear in daylight, and pretending that you’re someone else?" Her eyes sweep lazily across the clearing, over velvet and lace and teeth painted in gold.
Then, without looking at him, she glances toward the trees. "Besides, getting fucked in the woods on a night like this?" she muses, voice lilting as she finishes her cider and lets the empty cup dangle from her fingertips. "Should be on everyone’s bucket list."
some real big things I still gotta figure out
