yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
There is no rush to fill the silence that lingers between them like breath suspended in warm water, a hush so complete it almost glows; soft champagne light unfurling slowly across the landscape of Flora's mind, streaked through with cherry-red warmth. There's no need to try to control her thoughts because for once, they don't scramble to be heard. They sigh into being, like petals loosening at dusk, too gentle to fracture the silence she knows Jack's magic afford him in moments like this.
It used to be something she fought against—this stillness, the demand that her mind might be quiet so that Jack could enjoy it—but now it’s reflex. A reverent kind of hush, a surrender not because she has to, but because it feels good to fall into something comfortable and well-worn. As Jack breathes against her neck and she lets her body stay soft in his arms, boneless and golden and held. Like with other recent ill-advised pairings, Flora knows this both does and doesn't change things between them, but she doesn't speak the thought, and, unlike with so much of what came before with she and the captain, no part of her jumps to try and define what it means for them now. There’s nothing to pull apart, no shape to give it that wouldn’t immediately be wrong.
Instead, she lets the truth of it stay exactly where it belongs: warm and full in the cradle of her chest, locked into the ache of her thighs and the raw curve of her lips and the distant, cooling sting of bark along her back. Her fingers remain tangled in the fabric at his shoulders, not dragging him closer but not letting him go, either—just tethering him to her like a lighthouse anchors light to shore.
She should say something clever. Something bright and sharp to break the spell and let them segue smoothly back into reality, but gods she can't seem to find the words. So all Flora manages, voice rough and sweet and too full of breath to bite, is a quiet laugh against the side of his head and a softly whispered, "Fuck you, Jack", the same way he’s said it to her a hundred times before, half-exhaustion and half-love, too fond to ever really mean it.
It used to be something she fought against—this stillness, the demand that her mind might be quiet so that Jack could enjoy it—but now it’s reflex. A reverent kind of hush, a surrender not because she has to, but because it feels good to fall into something comfortable and well-worn. As Jack breathes against her neck and she lets her body stay soft in his arms, boneless and golden and held. Like with other recent ill-advised pairings, Flora knows this both does and doesn't change things between them, but she doesn't speak the thought, and, unlike with so much of what came before with she and the captain, no part of her jumps to try and define what it means for them now. There’s nothing to pull apart, no shape to give it that wouldn’t immediately be wrong.
Instead, she lets the truth of it stay exactly where it belongs: warm and full in the cradle of her chest, locked into the ache of her thighs and the raw curve of her lips and the distant, cooling sting of bark along her back. Her fingers remain tangled in the fabric at his shoulders, not dragging him closer but not letting him go, either—just tethering him to her like a lighthouse anchors light to shore.
She should say something clever. Something bright and sharp to break the spell and let them segue smoothly back into reality, but gods she can't seem to find the words. So all Flora manages, voice rough and sweet and too full of breath to bite, is a quiet laugh against the side of his head and a softly whispered, "Fuck you, Jack", the same way he’s said it to her a hundred times before, half-exhaustion and half-love, too fond to ever really mean it.
some real big things I still gotta figure out
