flora
As soon as Kaisel suggests coming up with another name for Jack, Flora’s eyebrows lift slightly, not from surprise exactly, but from anticipation. She knows him too well not to expect something vulgar—something unprintable and deeply satisfying in the right moment—so when Boaty McBoat Face emerges instead, it startles a sound from her that’s halfway between a scoff and a laugh, soft and unwilling but undeniable. She bites at the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to be mature about it, but the damage is already done; her smile has broken through, tugging at the corner of her mouth even as she murmurs with dry amusement, "B.M.F. works."
There’s a thousand nicknames they could probably come up with that would be funnier or more accurate, but the last thing she wants is to give Jack another mythic title to loom over their heads. Stripping him down to initials—even ridiculous ones—somehow feels cleaner. Safer.
The moment Kaisel’s arms constrict a little tighter around her, she exhales like her lungs had been waiting for that exact pressure to let go. Her smile softens, her body sagging further into the warmth of him, the sequins of his gown catching beneath her fingers in little ridges that she can’t help tracing over, over, over again.
When he echoes her own words back at her, she doesn’t argue right away. Her head shifts side to side, slow and reluctant, as if the motion might help her find belief in his voice. But then, a little wry and a little weary, her lips quirk and she murmurs, "Yeah, because becoming the sole ruler of Torchline is definitely the moment to lower my standards," and while the sarcasm is unmistakable, it holds no venom. Just the quiet ache of someone who knows exactly how heavy the crown is, and isn’t sure she’s allowed to shift it, even for a moment.
Still, she smiles again when he lists off the comforts waiting for her here. Pasta, wine, pillows—it’s like a lullaby written just for her. She’s about to tease him for forgetting to include himself in the mix, when his hand tilts her chin and his lips find hers.
The kiss doesn’t burn or demand. It wraps. It soothes. It holds. She breathes into it like it’s part of her, like she couldn’t have stayed above water much longer without the taste of him grounding her again. Her fingers curl more tightly into the sequins over his heart, pressing him closer even though they’re already tangled like seaweed and current. Her other hand lifts to thread through the waves of his hair, deepening the kiss not with heat but with fullness, the way a hug tightens in the arms right before it lets go.
When they part, it’s only because they need to. Flora draws in a soft breath and lets it out against his skin, brushing her nose against his with something so tender it’s almost reverent, unwilling to create more space than is strictly necessary to see the copper of his eyes again. "I love you a lot," she whispers into that sliver of air between them, the words warm and certain and curled up right against his ribs.
And then, her lashes lift, her smile slides just slightly sideways, as her brows arch, sly and teasing. "Now say more things about having your toes sucked in Stormbreak."
There’s a thousand nicknames they could probably come up with that would be funnier or more accurate, but the last thing she wants is to give Jack another mythic title to loom over their heads. Stripping him down to initials—even ridiculous ones—somehow feels cleaner. Safer.
The moment Kaisel’s arms constrict a little tighter around her, she exhales like her lungs had been waiting for that exact pressure to let go. Her smile softens, her body sagging further into the warmth of him, the sequins of his gown catching beneath her fingers in little ridges that she can’t help tracing over, over, over again.
When he echoes her own words back at her, she doesn’t argue right away. Her head shifts side to side, slow and reluctant, as if the motion might help her find belief in his voice. But then, a little wry and a little weary, her lips quirk and she murmurs, "Yeah, because becoming the sole ruler of Torchline is definitely the moment to lower my standards," and while the sarcasm is unmistakable, it holds no venom. Just the quiet ache of someone who knows exactly how heavy the crown is, and isn’t sure she’s allowed to shift it, even for a moment.
Still, she smiles again when he lists off the comforts waiting for her here. Pasta, wine, pillows—it’s like a lullaby written just for her. She’s about to tease him for forgetting to include himself in the mix, when his hand tilts her chin and his lips find hers.
The kiss doesn’t burn or demand. It wraps. It soothes. It holds. She breathes into it like it’s part of her, like she couldn’t have stayed above water much longer without the taste of him grounding her again. Her fingers curl more tightly into the sequins over his heart, pressing him closer even though they’re already tangled like seaweed and current. Her other hand lifts to thread through the waves of his hair, deepening the kiss not with heat but with fullness, the way a hug tightens in the arms right before it lets go.
When they part, it’s only because they need to. Flora draws in a soft breath and lets it out against his skin, brushing her nose against his with something so tender it’s almost reverent, unwilling to create more space than is strictly necessary to see the copper of his eyes again. "I love you a lot," she whispers into that sliver of air between them, the words warm and certain and curled up right against his ribs.
And then, her lashes lift, her smile slides just slightly sideways, as her brows arch, sly and teasing. "Now say more things about having your toes sucked in Stormbreak."
lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all
it isn't what you and I are at all
