is this the end of all the endings?
Flora’s brows shoot up at the mention of skinny-dipping, the expression pure Kombucha girl energy. That had been ridiculously hot, right up until things had gone sideways. Her eyebrows promptly crash back down, though, the mere mention of Sunjata earning him a look sharp enough to slice fruit without a knife. "Warmerrrr," she purrs instead, voice a slow, sultry drawl that deepens as he moves through his list. By the time he lands on hose each other off, her grin is wicked; when he finally says shower, she lets out a pleased hum. "Oh my gods what a great idea babes," she says, like it was entirely his idea.
But it’s his grin—open and boyish and so him—that really undoes her. The sight of it floods her with warmth so real it feels like something blooming in her chest. With Jack, love had always been heavy, a chain he wore like proof of his own restraint. He’d once told her loving her made him feel weaker. But with Kaisel? It’s the opposite. Her love doesn’t seem to diminish him—it lights him up. Makes him grin like that. Makes her think that maybe her love could be a freedom instead of a weight, and gods, seeing what her words do to him—seeing how they land—has her stomach somersaulting with butterflies.
Her grin spreads wide and bright as he starts collecting fruit with all the enthusiasm of a kid on a treasure hunt. "Very impressive," she teases, voice rich with affection as she watches him add to his makeshift bag. Reaching down, she plucks up two citrus fruits of her own—bright yellow and perfectly round—and rises to her feet. Holding them up in front of her chest like absurd golden breasts, she beams at him, eyes dancing. "But tell me—" she purrs, bouncing her “fruit tits” with exaggerated pride, "—can you walk and carry all those things at once?"
But it’s his grin—open and boyish and so him—that really undoes her. The sight of it floods her with warmth so real it feels like something blooming in her chest. With Jack, love had always been heavy, a chain he wore like proof of his own restraint. He’d once told her loving her made him feel weaker. But with Kaisel? It’s the opposite. Her love doesn’t seem to diminish him—it lights him up. Makes him grin like that. Makes her think that maybe her love could be a freedom instead of a weight, and gods, seeing what her words do to him—seeing how they land—has her stomach somersaulting with butterflies.
Her grin spreads wide and bright as he starts collecting fruit with all the enthusiasm of a kid on a treasure hunt. "Very impressive," she teases, voice rich with affection as she watches him add to his makeshift bag. Reaching down, she plucks up two citrus fruits of her own—bright yellow and perfectly round—and rises to her feet. Holding them up in front of her chest like absurd golden breasts, she beams at him, eyes dancing. "But tell me—" she purrs, bouncing her “fruit tits” with exaggerated pride, "—can you walk and carry all those things at once?"
my broken bones are mending
