yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
Flora weaves her way back through the masquerade crowd like someone walking out of a dream—or maybe a storm—with scratches blooming in faint red curves along her spine, the back of her gown tugged askew and just beginning to fray, her curls a tousled halo. Her lipstick had long since abandoned ship, smudged and fading like the memory of a kiss too good to be redone.
Still, Flora’s grin is bright and crooked and undeniably pleased as she slips up beside her friends, her chest still rising just a little too quickly to pass for casual. "Heeyyyyy," she breathes, as if she hadn’t just been thoroughly ruined against a tree not ten minutes ago. Without missing a beat, she tosses Nikandr a smirk. "I need our makeup bag, and you’re holding the mirror," she declares, flicking a piece of bark from her shoulder like it’s glitter and not proof of her sins.
Only then does she glance up—way up—to find Sunjata standing there, all ocean-warm and storm-shadow and unmistakably him. And okay, maybe walking up to your stepdad while clearly freshly fucked should be awkward, but Flora only has the grace to blink once at him before her grin deepens. He was the sex demigod, after all. If anyone got it, it was Sunny.
"Oh!" she gasps theatrically, catching sight of a discarded cup perched precariously on the edge of a barrel nearby. She grabs it, holds it up toward him with both hands like an offering. "Gods, please can I have some water." Her lashes flutter up at him, all faux-innocence and sweat-slick delight, even as her gaze sparkles with the last embers of something far more wicked.
Still, Flora’s grin is bright and crooked and undeniably pleased as she slips up beside her friends, her chest still rising just a little too quickly to pass for casual. "Heeyyyyy," she breathes, as if she hadn’t just been thoroughly ruined against a tree not ten minutes ago. Without missing a beat, she tosses Nikandr a smirk. "I need our makeup bag, and you’re holding the mirror," she declares, flicking a piece of bark from her shoulder like it’s glitter and not proof of her sins.
Only then does she glance up—way up—to find Sunjata standing there, all ocean-warm and storm-shadow and unmistakably him. And okay, maybe walking up to your stepdad while clearly freshly fucked should be awkward, but Flora only has the grace to blink once at him before her grin deepens. He was the sex demigod, after all. If anyone got it, it was Sunny.
"Oh!" she gasps theatrically, catching sight of a discarded cup perched precariously on the edge of a barrel nearby. She grabs it, holds it up toward him with both hands like an offering. "Gods, please can I have some water." Her lashes flutter up at him, all faux-innocence and sweat-slick delight, even as her gaze sparkles with the last embers of something far more wicked.
some real big things I still gotta figure out
