is this the end of all the endings?
Flora flashes him a heated grin, her eyes glinting with pure trouble as she shrugs, feigning innocence. "Obviously we’ll have to strip off on deck before going below," she says sweetly, as if it’s the most reasonable suggestion in the world. Then, with a mock-thoughtful hum, she adds, "But if you’re worried about it, we could always fly toward the Mist Banks instead..." The implication hangs deliciously between them—wait longer, behave longer—and her grin only widens when she sees the faint spark of protest flicker in Kai's gaze.
When he trails off, fishing for the last word of his sentence, she doesn’t give him what he’s looking for. Instead, she smirks and supplies, "Leftovers." The word drips with pointed amusement. It hasn’t escaped her that since they’ve been living together, suspicious little bites have appeared in the food she leaves out; sandwich corners nibbled, a fry or two missing, sometimes even half a bag of cookies mysteriously gone. Rather than annoy her, it’s become something endearing. Every missing morsel feels like a quiet, domestic signature: a soft Kaisel was here scrawled across her day. And she loves it; the way his presence weaves itself through even the smallest, most ordinary things.
When he offers to carry her, she gives him the full John Cena YOU SURE ABOUT THAT look, one brow arching high. "That’s very chivalrous of you," she laughs, voice bubbling bright with affection, "but I think I can manage to walk." She’s still smirking when he lunges, swiping one of her citrus breasts. "Hey!" Flora yelps, laughter bursting out of her as she pivots away from him, the sound bright and unrestrained. "I already gave you mud titties, you thief!" She jogs through the humid air, giggling under her breath as the vines and fruit-slick mud squelch beneath her boots. By the time she reaches the Sugartide, she’s laughing outright, catching the rope ladder and scrambling easily up its length, her citris boob still clutched in one hand.
At the top, she leans over the railing, curls spilling over her shoulder, and peers down at him with a teasing grin. "You don’t need a hand, do you?" she calls, voice lilting with mischief. Her brows lift as she looks down at him, the picture of smug amusement, wondering how Kai would best a muddy ladder with his citrus haul.
When he trails off, fishing for the last word of his sentence, she doesn’t give him what he’s looking for. Instead, she smirks and supplies, "Leftovers." The word drips with pointed amusement. It hasn’t escaped her that since they’ve been living together, suspicious little bites have appeared in the food she leaves out; sandwich corners nibbled, a fry or two missing, sometimes even half a bag of cookies mysteriously gone. Rather than annoy her, it’s become something endearing. Every missing morsel feels like a quiet, domestic signature: a soft Kaisel was here scrawled across her day. And she loves it; the way his presence weaves itself through even the smallest, most ordinary things.
When he offers to carry her, she gives him the full John Cena YOU SURE ABOUT THAT look, one brow arching high. "That’s very chivalrous of you," she laughs, voice bubbling bright with affection, "but I think I can manage to walk." She’s still smirking when he lunges, swiping one of her citrus breasts. "Hey!" Flora yelps, laughter bursting out of her as she pivots away from him, the sound bright and unrestrained. "I already gave you mud titties, you thief!" She jogs through the humid air, giggling under her breath as the vines and fruit-slick mud squelch beneath her boots. By the time she reaches the Sugartide, she’s laughing outright, catching the rope ladder and scrambling easily up its length, her citris boob still clutched in one hand.
At the top, she leans over the railing, curls spilling over her shoulder, and peers down at him with a teasing grin. "You don’t need a hand, do you?" she calls, voice lilting with mischief. Her brows lift as she looks down at him, the picture of smug amusement, wondering how Kai would best a muddy ladder with his citrus haul.
my broken bones are mending
