Flora
As Kaisel dares to defy her demand for surrender, Flora lifts her chin with dangerous elegance, the corner of her mouth curling into a smirk that spells certain doom. Her voice drips with mock-sweetness, the kind of theatrical cruelty reserved for villains poised to activate the laser—smooth and smug, all menace dressed in honey. "Ahh," she purrs, stretching the syllable with delight, "so you’ve chosen death, then." She barely has time to enjoy the villainous flourish of it before he drops. Straight to his knees.
"What the fu—" is all she manages before she’s snatched, flung up and over his shoulder like a sack of rebellious flour.
"KAISEL!" she screeches, legs kicking in a flurry, more bird than queen now, rattling like a parrot locked and shaken in a cage. Her palms slap against his back for balance or punishment—unclear which—as her ass becomes the battlefield, each smack punctuated with her increasingly outraged shrieks. "Oh? Besides get you in TROUBLE?"
Well. Two could play that game.
Her fingers dart low like striking vipers, slipping down the back of his pants with wicked purpose. She finds her prize—the waistband of his underwear—and yanks. A full, merciless, textbook wedgie, drawn up with all the righteous fury of a woman wronged and a queen dethroned. Her laughter peals out like bells over a battlefield, victorious and entirely unrepentant.
"That’s for manhandling your queen, you toad."
"What the fu—" is all she manages before she’s snatched, flung up and over his shoulder like a sack of rebellious flour.
"KAISEL!" she screeches, legs kicking in a flurry, more bird than queen now, rattling like a parrot locked and shaken in a cage. Her palms slap against his back for balance or punishment—unclear which—as her ass becomes the battlefield, each smack punctuated with her increasingly outraged shrieks. "Oh? Besides get you in TROUBLE?"
Well. Two could play that game.
Her fingers dart low like striking vipers, slipping down the back of his pants with wicked purpose. She finds her prize—the waistband of his underwear—and yanks. A full, merciless, textbook wedgie, drawn up with all the righteous fury of a woman wronged and a queen dethroned. Her laughter peals out like bells over a battlefield, victorious and entirely unrepentant.
"That’s for manhandling your queen, you toad."
I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
Code stolen from Queen Sky
