flora
Flora feels herself settling even before she realises she’s doing it, the way her body always seems to recognize Kaisel's reach before her mind catches up, easing into the familiar geometry of them tangled together on the couch like this is the most natural shape she’s ever known. There’s no grabby urgency to it, no edge of neediness or possession, just the quiet certainty that this is where she fits, that some part of her is always reaching for some part of him, the way roots find water without ever needing to be told where to grow. His hand on her leg anchors her, and instead of resisting it she lets herself sink into the contact, warmth pooling low and steady in her chest as her thoughts spiral happily around the fact that even after a fight, even after sharp words and flared tempers, they always end up here, laughing, touching, choosing each other again without hesitation.
Her grin comes quick and wicked at his teasing, brows lifting as she reaches up to flick the metal rim of the pasta strainer perched on his head, the soft ting of it punctuating her whisper as she leans in conspiratorially. "Oh, I would absolutely bring the punch," she murmurs with mock menace, eyes bright and daring.
His enthusiasm catches her off guard, enough that she flinches a fraction before delight breaks clean across her face, surprise melting instantly into amusement as he rattles off name ideas with breathless energy. "Saltmade," she repeats, nose wrinkling dramatically as if she’s tasted something awful, tongue sticking out in exaggerated disgust before she laughs and shakes her head. "Ewwuh." She pauses, her mouth tilting as she considers the rest of it. "I dunno...since neither of us actually speaks the travelling tongue, I don’t really want to borrow from it." She hums, thoughtful but smiling, unwilling to stamp out his excitement entirely. "Maybe we just...think about it?"
The way his grip tightens on her leg makes her lips twitch, a smile she doesn’t bother hiding now, because she loves him like this, animated and earnest, touching her as if it’s instinct rather than intention. She hooks her leg more firmly around him and shifts without asking, sliding fully into his lap. An arm slips around his shoulders, her forehead nearly brushing his as she leans in, voice dropping into something fond and private. "You already do all of that," she tells him, soft but certain, the words pressed close between them. Still, she beams, because she knows what he means, and it lands exactly where it should.
At the mention of Danta and Asta, she chuckles, the sound warm and unguarded as she leans back just enough to look at him. "Pretty sure, yeah," she says. "While you were out on patrol, I distinctly heard moaning followed by the word fiancé several times, so." A shrug, casual and amused. "They haven’t come out of their room since that I've seen, so I’m calling that a yes on both counts."
Her grin comes quick and wicked at his teasing, brows lifting as she reaches up to flick the metal rim of the pasta strainer perched on his head, the soft ting of it punctuating her whisper as she leans in conspiratorially. "Oh, I would absolutely bring the punch," she murmurs with mock menace, eyes bright and daring.
His enthusiasm catches her off guard, enough that she flinches a fraction before delight breaks clean across her face, surprise melting instantly into amusement as he rattles off name ideas with breathless energy. "Saltmade," she repeats, nose wrinkling dramatically as if she’s tasted something awful, tongue sticking out in exaggerated disgust before she laughs and shakes her head. "Ewwuh." She pauses, her mouth tilting as she considers the rest of it. "I dunno...since neither of us actually speaks the travelling tongue, I don’t really want to borrow from it." She hums, thoughtful but smiling, unwilling to stamp out his excitement entirely. "Maybe we just...think about it?"
The way his grip tightens on her leg makes her lips twitch, a smile she doesn’t bother hiding now, because she loves him like this, animated and earnest, touching her as if it’s instinct rather than intention. She hooks her leg more firmly around him and shifts without asking, sliding fully into his lap. An arm slips around his shoulders, her forehead nearly brushing his as she leans in, voice dropping into something fond and private. "You already do all of that," she tells him, soft but certain, the words pressed close between them. Still, she beams, because she knows what he means, and it lands exactly where it should.
At the mention of Danta and Asta, she chuckles, the sound warm and unguarded as she leans back just enough to look at him. "Pretty sure, yeah," she says. "While you were out on patrol, I distinctly heard moaning followed by the word fiancé several times, so." A shrug, casual and amused. "They haven’t come out of their room since that I've seen, so I’m calling that a yes on both counts."
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart
you're either falling in love or falling apart
