Flora
Flora's heart skips like it’s forgotten its rhythm entirely, then barrels ahead with enough force to steal her breath. She’s held her nerve through countless confessions—flirtations, admissions, even heartbreak—but this, this moment, this look on Kaisel’s face, robs her of every last defence. The joy that spreads across his face is so real and raw it hits her like a tidal surge, flooding her chest with something golden and dizzying.
And then he’s kissing her; not with hunger or urgency, but with a depth that knocks the breath from her lungs. There’s no heat to it, no frenzied spark, only the kind of slow, boundless warmth that melts through bone and settles in the marrow. It’s all affection, all reverence, as though he’s trying to pour his love into her with nothing but the press of his mouth, sealing it between them like a vow. And she feels it. Every bit of it.
The way he says her name is like a prayer, and gods, when he adds Grace—not only does it remind her that she owes him a hammock lesson, but about all the joy and laughter he brings into her life—something bright and uncontainable breaks loose in her. She laughs against his mouth, unguarded and radiant, the sound bubbling up like sunlight off seawater, like something too golden to keep. It spills between them, lighting her from the inside out, and she swears her heart is going to burst with how good it feels to be seen like this, held like this, loved like this. There’s no sadness tucked beneath it, no ache hiding in the corners. Just joy. Just him.
She’s only ever said those words to one other person. And with Jack, it had hung between them like a chain; something heavy, something he was forced to bear and tolerate. She’d loved him anyway, too much, too long, but her words had never been returned, not like this. Not with light and wonder and arms that wrap around her like they’re never letting go.
Her nose brushes his in the quiet that follows, her smile too big to tame, and her fingers twitch where they’re cradled in his, curling tighter as if anchoring herself to the moment.
The suggestion of sleep alone pulls a yawn from her she doesn’t manage to stifle, muffling it instead against his chest with a sheepish sound that turns into a soft kiss pressed to the warm skin there. "You make a compelling argument," she mumbles, lips still half-against him. There’s no protest in her, not now, not for anything. Just the thick warmth of contentment winding through her like silk.
She shifts easily into the curve of his body, a sigh catching in her throat as she fits herself snugly against him. Her hand reaches for his arm, draping it back around her like a blanket made of muscle and affection, and once it’s settled across her middle, she holds it there, fingers drawing small circles into his wrist. Her body radiates ease, her heartbeat no longer racing, only steady and full.
"I really like this," she murmurs, voice already soft with sleep and honey. Him. This.
And then he’s kissing her; not with hunger or urgency, but with a depth that knocks the breath from her lungs. There’s no heat to it, no frenzied spark, only the kind of slow, boundless warmth that melts through bone and settles in the marrow. It’s all affection, all reverence, as though he’s trying to pour his love into her with nothing but the press of his mouth, sealing it between them like a vow. And she feels it. Every bit of it.
The way he says her name is like a prayer, and gods, when he adds Grace—not only does it remind her that she owes him a hammock lesson, but about all the joy and laughter he brings into her life—something bright and uncontainable breaks loose in her. She laughs against his mouth, unguarded and radiant, the sound bubbling up like sunlight off seawater, like something too golden to keep. It spills between them, lighting her from the inside out, and she swears her heart is going to burst with how good it feels to be seen like this, held like this, loved like this. There’s no sadness tucked beneath it, no ache hiding in the corners. Just joy. Just him.
She’s only ever said those words to one other person. And with Jack, it had hung between them like a chain; something heavy, something he was forced to bear and tolerate. She’d loved him anyway, too much, too long, but her words had never been returned, not like this. Not with light and wonder and arms that wrap around her like they’re never letting go.
Her nose brushes his in the quiet that follows, her smile too big to tame, and her fingers twitch where they’re cradled in his, curling tighter as if anchoring herself to the moment.
The suggestion of sleep alone pulls a yawn from her she doesn’t manage to stifle, muffling it instead against his chest with a sheepish sound that turns into a soft kiss pressed to the warm skin there. "You make a compelling argument," she mumbles, lips still half-against him. There’s no protest in her, not now, not for anything. Just the thick warmth of contentment winding through her like silk.
She shifts easily into the curve of his body, a sigh catching in her throat as she fits herself snugly against him. Her hand reaches for his arm, draping it back around her like a blanket made of muscle and affection, and once it’s settled across her middle, she holds it there, fingers drawing small circles into his wrist. Her body radiates ease, her heartbeat no longer racing, only steady and full.
"I really like this," she murmurs, voice already soft with sleep and honey. Him. This.
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
