flora
Flora laughs and rolls her eyes, the sound warm and helplessly fond, head tipping back just enough to make the fish wobble again as she gives Kaseil a look steeped in dramatic skepticism. “"Oh right, of course," she says, humour curling around the words like a ribbon. "Honestly, I bet we could pull off just being Flora and Kaisel. So obnoxiously in love that nobody needs a last name to figure out what’s going on." The thought lingers for only a heartbeat before she leans in, brushing her nose against his, voice dropping into something softer, almost shy. "But I do want one," she admits, shoulders lifting again, smaller this time. "I want people to see our names written down somewhere and know. I want it to be obvious that I’m yours."
His hands settling at her hips feels like a punctuation mark, grounding and familiar, and she perches more securely in his lap without thinking about it, arms looping comfortably around his neck while her fingers trace along his hairline in slow, absent arcs. The confession that slips out next comes quieter, like she’s testing it in the air between them first. "I’m not sure you could," she says, meaning his claim of doing it better, cheeks rounding as the smile she’s trying to contain finally breaks free. "I’ve never been loved the way you love me." She leans in to kiss the faint crease beside his mouth, that soft place where his shyness always seems to gather, as if sealing the thought there before it can make her too overwhelmed.
She straightens again with a grin that’s all bright enthusiasm, nodding decisively at the idea of a spa day. "That would be perfect for them," she says. "They both love being pampered." When he suggests waiting a week or two, she nods so fast he can probably feel it, her body vibrating faintly in his hold as she bites at her lower lip to keep from bursting. "Two weeks," she agrees, breathless and giddy. "We can wait. I can wait." Even if it feels like her insides are fizzing, like she might lift clean off the couch if she lets herself think about telling everyone too hard.
The shift in him doesn’t escape her, though, the way his gaze steadies, the way he sinks deeper into the cushions, his hand at her side pacing her skin rather than roaming. Her brows knit together, a question already forming when he asks it, and the seriousness of it lands heavy enough that the laughter she might have answered it with never gets the chance. She stills, really looks at him, and answers without hesitation. "Yes," she says. "Absolutely." No qualifiers, no softening. Then, because honesty matters, she adds, slower, "There are things we could try. Things I’ve liked before, but right now? You've definitely never left me wanting."
Her gaze drops to her lap, a quiet chuckle slipping out that sounds more bashful than amused. "This is going to sound really stupid," she says, shaking her head as if bracing herself. "But I think you loving me just...makes everything better." A breathy laugh follows, nerves and truth tangled together. "I feel like we could have the most boring, vanilla sex imaginable and it would still feel incredible to me."
She reaches for one of his hands, drawing it away from her hip and up to her mouth, pressing a kiss into the pad of his fingertips. "I’ve definitely done some things," she says, voice quieter now, reflective rather than coy. "But a lot of it was about trying to please whoever I was with." Her smile curves faintly, something sad threading through it. "It always felt like I had to, in order to get them to stay, or want me, or..." When her eyes lift back to his, the difference is stark. "I don’t feel that way with you."
The smile that follows is sly, heat flickering back into it as she shifts her hips against him just enough to make the point before sobering again. "I do like pleasing you," she adds. "A lot." Then, more firmly, more earnestly, "But I don’t feel like I have to in order for you to want me." She presses her forehead into his palm, grounding herself there, voice muffled but sincere. "Does that make sense?"
His hands settling at her hips feels like a punctuation mark, grounding and familiar, and she perches more securely in his lap without thinking about it, arms looping comfortably around his neck while her fingers trace along his hairline in slow, absent arcs. The confession that slips out next comes quieter, like she’s testing it in the air between them first. "I’m not sure you could," she says, meaning his claim of doing it better, cheeks rounding as the smile she’s trying to contain finally breaks free. "I’ve never been loved the way you love me." She leans in to kiss the faint crease beside his mouth, that soft place where his shyness always seems to gather, as if sealing the thought there before it can make her too overwhelmed.
She straightens again with a grin that’s all bright enthusiasm, nodding decisively at the idea of a spa day. "That would be perfect for them," she says. "They both love being pampered." When he suggests waiting a week or two, she nods so fast he can probably feel it, her body vibrating faintly in his hold as she bites at her lower lip to keep from bursting. "Two weeks," she agrees, breathless and giddy. "We can wait. I can wait." Even if it feels like her insides are fizzing, like she might lift clean off the couch if she lets herself think about telling everyone too hard.
The shift in him doesn’t escape her, though, the way his gaze steadies, the way he sinks deeper into the cushions, his hand at her side pacing her skin rather than roaming. Her brows knit together, a question already forming when he asks it, and the seriousness of it lands heavy enough that the laughter she might have answered it with never gets the chance. She stills, really looks at him, and answers without hesitation. "Yes," she says. "Absolutely." No qualifiers, no softening. Then, because honesty matters, she adds, slower, "There are things we could try. Things I’ve liked before, but right now? You've definitely never left me wanting."
Her gaze drops to her lap, a quiet chuckle slipping out that sounds more bashful than amused. "This is going to sound really stupid," she says, shaking her head as if bracing herself. "But I think you loving me just...makes everything better." A breathy laugh follows, nerves and truth tangled together. "I feel like we could have the most boring, vanilla sex imaginable and it would still feel incredible to me."
She reaches for one of his hands, drawing it away from her hip and up to her mouth, pressing a kiss into the pad of his fingertips. "I’ve definitely done some things," she says, voice quieter now, reflective rather than coy. "But a lot of it was about trying to please whoever I was with." Her smile curves faintly, something sad threading through it. "It always felt like I had to, in order to get them to stay, or want me, or..." When her eyes lift back to his, the difference is stark. "I don’t feel that way with you."
The smile that follows is sly, heat flickering back into it as she shifts her hips against him just enough to make the point before sobering again. "I do like pleasing you," she adds. "A lot." Then, more firmly, more earnestly, "But I don’t feel like I have to in order for you to want me." She presses her forehead into his palm, grounding herself there, voice muffled but sincere. "Does that make sense?"
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
