flora
The way speaks to her—earnest and unguarded and a little breathless with wanting—lands somewhere deep inside her, somewhere that still feels tender despite the ring on her finger and the vows already whispered beneath starlight. Married or not, the words pour from him like promises freshly forged, and she feels herself fizzing with it, champagne-bright affection rising through her veins until she almost laughs from the sheer effervescence of loving him. He looks at her like the world is something new and undiscovered, and somehow she is both the compass and the horizon, and it makes her chest ache in the sweetest way.
"And down to the bottom of the sea, too," she says, a crooked smile curling her mouth as her fingers trail lightly across his shoulder, knowing full well how bravely he faces most things and how carefully he regards the ocean.
Her expression softens, the mischief easing into something steadier as she cups his face again, thumb brushing along his cheek. "I do too," she says quietly but firmly. "Even if it isn’t perfect. Even if we try things and decide we hate them. I want to try them with you." There is no flippancy in her tone now, no armour, only deliberate sincerity. [asy]"I trust you completely. And I know I haven’t always respected when you weren’t comfortable with certain things, not the way I should have. But that’s changed. I promise it has." The words are not defensive; they are offered like something polished and placed carefully between them, something she wants him to know he can hold, because she has changed. It might have taken an argument or two longer than she would have liked, but with the paradigm-shifting of marrying him, there is nothing she won't yield to to make him feel safe and loved.
She leans forward until her nose brushes the tip of his, her breath mingling with his as her lashes dip and lift again. "It’s you and me," she murmurs, voice low and certain. "For forever, and then some." The phrase feels less like sentiment and more like fact the more she says it, as inevitable as tide and moon, and she presses her forehead to his for a heartbeat just to feel the shape of it settle.
Then the solemnity dissolves, because she is still herself, because love with her has always been threaded with play. Her fingertips flutter down his chest, light and curious, and a sly spark ignites in her eyes. "Now," she says, brows lifting as she rocks back just enough to look at him properly, "can I interest you in exploring in our shower?" She waggles her eyebrows with exaggerated innocence, laughter already threatening to spill free, because however grand their vows may sound, they are still two slightly dishevelled bodies on a couch who absolutely need to clean up.
"And down to the bottom of the sea, too," she says, a crooked smile curling her mouth as her fingers trail lightly across his shoulder, knowing full well how bravely he faces most things and how carefully he regards the ocean.
Her expression softens, the mischief easing into something steadier as she cups his face again, thumb brushing along his cheek. "I do too," she says quietly but firmly. "Even if it isn’t perfect. Even if we try things and decide we hate them. I want to try them with you." There is no flippancy in her tone now, no armour, only deliberate sincerity. [asy]"I trust you completely. And I know I haven’t always respected when you weren’t comfortable with certain things, not the way I should have. But that’s changed. I promise it has." The words are not defensive; they are offered like something polished and placed carefully between them, something she wants him to know he can hold, because she has changed. It might have taken an argument or two longer than she would have liked, but with the paradigm-shifting of marrying him, there is nothing she won't yield to to make him feel safe and loved.
She leans forward until her nose brushes the tip of his, her breath mingling with his as her lashes dip and lift again. "It’s you and me," she murmurs, voice low and certain. "For forever, and then some." The phrase feels less like sentiment and more like fact the more she says it, as inevitable as tide and moon, and she presses her forehead to his for a heartbeat just to feel the shape of it settle.
Then the solemnity dissolves, because she is still herself, because love with her has always been threaded with play. Her fingertips flutter down his chest, light and curious, and a sly spark ignites in her eyes. "Now," she says, brows lifting as she rocks back just enough to look at him properly, "can I interest you in exploring in our shower?" She waggles her eyebrows with exaggerated innocence, laughter already threatening to spill free, because however grand their vows may sound, they are still two slightly dishevelled bodies on a couch who absolutely need to clean up.
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
