[RQ] [SE] playing dirty

is this the end of all the endings?

"Pookie?" Flora bursts out laughing, her head tipping back as the word rings through the thick, humid air. "That’s a new one." The grin that curls across her face is wicked and bright, but her chest warms beneath it. She’s never been one for pet names—Jack had called her love sparringly, soft and rare as sunrise—but Kaisel’s endearments always hit different. Each one feels like a golden thread looping between them, absurd and precious all at once. Like every silly name he tosses her way is just another sprinkle of gold dust scattered across something already shimmering.

Shifting sideways in the mud, Flora props herself up on her elbows, curls clinging to her shoulders, eyes glittering with mischief. "Well, obviously," she drawls when he announces his intent for a super massive dick. The first cold slap of mud against her has her sucking in a sharp hiss through her teeth, shoulders twitching from the shock. "Gods, that’s cold—" she mutters, laughing through it even as she watches her previous masterpiece start its slow, tragic descent down his chest.

"Oh no, no, no—" she mewls under her breath, leaning forward to cup one sagging mud breast in both hands as if she can hold it together through sheer willpower. For a second, it looks almost heroic, then it sloughs apart completely, and she groans in defeat. "Gravity comes for us all in the end," she laments with mock tragedy, giving the remaining sludge a fond farewell pat.

By the time Kai's finishing his new sculptural endeavour, Flora’s grin has returned, sharper and far more dangerous. She lifts her chin and bounces her brows salaciously at him, aqua eyes glinting. "So..." she begins, voice smooth as silk and just as teasing, "any desire to hop on board?" she glances down meaningfully at the mud monstrosity adorning her, "it could be a treatment offered at Spa de Wildering." The smirk that follows is pure, filthy invitation, her laughter caught somewhere between play and challenge as she runs her fingers along her new appendage. Because what better time to ask hey are you into butt stuff? than when your girlfriend has a giant cock of your own making between her legs. "Since you do have a birthday appointment coming up, if I remember correctly..."

my broken bones are mending

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //

His hands slide and pat his sculpture into place at her groin, gaze dipping from his work briefly with a loud, helpless laugh as she tries to keep his muddy honkers in place. "Gods, I can't wait until yours give me black eyes when you bend down too fast," because that's when I can use the eyepatch table he grins, effortlessly able to picture loving her through every stage of life, even if currently it feels like they'll be invincible and untouchable forever. Taking care of his knees? Pffft, they're nothing but steel and grease baby.

Naturally, he builds a massively erect penis for her, it's tip reaching well to her naval, because no one wants a flaccid chub to work with, not even in pretend. Ensuring adequate girth, a leftward lean, and a sprinkle of loose foliage for veins and hair, he lifts up his hands abruptly as if a teacher just yelled pencils down during a test. He fits his thumb and pointer finger to his chin in grave assessment of his completed work, nodding at it. His attention lifts to find her absolutely beaming with suggestive chaos, and all his seriousness crumbles away instantly, morning fog burned back by her sunlight.

He straddles over top her without hesitation, knees fitting around her hips, though he keeps his weight on his own legs, despite leaning back into a theatrically fake toss of his head as if she's giving it to him good. His laughter breaks the scene apart though, and he tips back down, hands falling on either side of his shoulder. "What could," he chuckles, eyes bright as they drift over her. "Mud dick treatments—we promise it'll boost your testosterone! Or, mud dick rides—we guarantee a dirty time!" He shakes his head, rejecting both with his extremely professional spa opinions. "The mud titties though...you could be on to something." For good measure, he dips his chest down onto hers, smearing the mud on both of them between their bodies.

"Is that right?" he asks mid-grind, popping back up. "Are you gonna paint my nails purple?"

Kaisel

// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //

is this the end of all the endings?

Flora snickers, shooting Kai a playful, imploring look from where she’s half-lounging in the mud. "Oh really? You think you’ll be on your knees in front of me that often when mine start to sag that much?" Her grin is quicksilver bright, but the warmth that rushes up through her at his words isn’t playful at all. For all the absurdity of the moment—the mud, the humidity, the wild laughter—it hits her right in the chest that he’s already talking about decades from now like it’s a given. Like forever is just another Tuesday; like loving her that long is inevitable. It steals her breath for a second, the sweetness of it hidden behind a smirk.

She watches him sculpt with one brow raised, chin tilted like a particularly discerning art critic. "Hmmmm," she hums, appraising the proud lean of her new anatomy before wrinkling her nose and smoothing down an especially aggressive vein with delicate precision.

When he straddles her, she half-expects him to crush his masterpiece, but he hovers—committed to the bit—miming his own exaggerated bliss, which only sends her into another fit of delighted laughter. "Oh yeah, you like that?" she manages between giggles, reaching up to grope at what’s left of his sagging mud-tit before leaning back again, bracing on her elbows. Her gaze drifts up to him through her lashes, wide open and full of unguarded affection, her grin softening into something that feels like sunlight made tangible.

"Sure, why not?" she says flirtatiously, voice low and lilting. "As long as it’s not the kind of mud that gets cold or hardens into a shell, I bet it’d feel as good going on as it does coming off." Whether he missed the quiet curiosity tucked into her words or just chose to dance past it, she lets it go easily., especially when he leans down, pressing his chest to hers, smearing what’s left of his muddy art across them both.

"Mmmmm," she hums against him, arching her back with a grin. "I guess mine could be bigger," she says of her own breasts, thrusting playfully up against him as if to imprint his creation onto herself and thus grow a cup size purely by muddy osmosis. When he pops back up, Flora grins fiendishly, aqua eyes glinting with mischief. "Yep!" she answers with glee. "And I might even get fancy and do some nail art—little dragons, gummy worms, maybe even some great big, girthy—" She cuts herself off mid-sentence, thrusting her mud-cock against him with a cackle. "—dicks!"

my broken bones are mending

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //

His unending smile is answer enough before his mouth works. "On my knees, on my back, sitting at the table, wherever they are, I'll be nearby." There's no lack of confidence on his part for that fact. He's certain whatever shape their knees are in, he'll somehow be in the path of a boob sway a time or two.

Climbing aboard her chocolate rocket to dramatize being railed, he can only immaturely laugh right along with her. It’s stupid, gloriously and helplessly stupid, and that’s exactly what he loves about it and about her. She doesn't pull away or tone him down, and she hasn't ever made him feel like he's too much. Instead, she meets him there, in the muck, laughter spilling brighter than the sunlight itself, and somehow turns the ridiculous into something golden. He'll have times where he should be less, and he'll trust in her then when she asks him to be, because it wouldn't be a request she makes lightly, as others have too often done.

Through the haze of laughter, mud streaked and magnificent, he knows without a doubt that she is what he’s always been looking for. Someone who doesn’t just let him be himself, but wants him that way. It softens him abruptly, and some of the wildness fades into just a glow, pausing to appreciate the view of her beneath him. As her voice drops low and suggestive again, he tilts his head, 'brows lifting with the effort to read between the lines she's pointing at. He just can't quite seem to find the place, especially since, as far as he knows, Spa de Wildering is just between them, no actual marketing needed. "You...want me to stick my dick in some mud??" Is about the best he can get out of it. "I mean, I guess." He shrugs, unsure what she'd get out of the whole thing, unless she likes the taste of mud and means to...?

Surging into the surefire mud titty idea, a laugh breaks around him as she collides harder with his chest to steal more mud. "No!" he exclaims, trying to swerve away from her. "Don't change them a bit! They're perfect as is." Of course, if they're talking about sizes, dick size can always go up...

He's nodding along to each item she lists off, such that when she proudly announces dicks, he'd have nodded along to that to at first. He doesn't have much choice in the matter except to shout as he's suddenly kicked off by all the new girth he provided her. He ends up sprawling onto his side near her shoulder, overtaken by laughter as he unwinds his legs from around her. His heel flops into the mess around them with a wet, loud, squelch. He glances sidelong at her, lips drawn into a mess of a smile. "You don't have to do anything for my birthday you know. I already have everything I want."

Kaisel

// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //

is this the end of all the endings?

Flora snorts under her breath, a grin tugging wide across her mud-streaked face. "Noooo, silly," she chides, tone thick with mock pity, like he’s the world’s sweetest but biggest idiot. "I want you to stick your dick in fancy spa mud." Whatever she’d been edging toward earlier—something half-suggestive about pegging or sensual spa-time experimentation—falls away as easily as laughter leaves her lips. It doesn’t matter. She’s confident they’ll talk about the things that matter when they need to, and besides, if she ever really did want to give him a mud dick treatment, she’s pretty sure he’d be game, (so long as his was the only dick involved, as she’d recently learned).

His emphatic protest about her tits being perfect sends her into another gale of laughter, head tipping back with delight. She hadn’t been fishing for a compliment, but the reassurance warms her all the same; apparently, she’s landed right in that Goldilocks zone of boob perfection in Kaisel's eyes, and she’ll take it.

When her thrust sends him tumbling forward, Flora’s laughter only grows louder, bright and sunlit as it rings through the dense jungle. She’s absolutely covered in mud now—skin, curls, clothes, all streaked and smudged—but she doesn’t care in the slightest. The humidity beads on her skin, the vines pulse faintly under her, and everything feels alive. Rolling halfway onto her side so she can keep him in her line of sight, she watches him with soft, amused affection. There’s something about the way his joy burns so freely that heals things inside her she thought were permanently bent out of shape. The cracks left by heartbreak, grief, and everything she’s endured seem to fit together better when he’s near, and doesn't think she'll ever be able to find the right words for what he’s done for her, for how much he means. But gods, it’s absurd that he thinks she’d do nothing for his birthday.

Raising an eyebrow mischievously, she lets a slow grin curl across her face. "Oh? So I should just throw away all the gummy worms and the ice-cream sundae bar I got, then?" she teases, voice syrup-sweet. She props herself up on one elbow, pretending to ponder it. "Well, if you’re sure. I guess I'll just throw away the limited edition hoodie I found, too." Her smirk widens as she pauses for effect. "It's one from when Remi ruled the Greatwood and Ronin ruled Stormbreak at the same time. I think it's called The Tragic Star-Crossed Lovers’ edition?"

my broken bones are mending

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //

She's trying to break him, he knows it. He knew it the moment that first 'brow kicked up, far too eager in its rise, nevermind the way devilry shapes itself against her mouth. He tries to hold firm, it's why he meets her stare word for word, as if proving he is impervious because he means it. Nothing, nada, zilch. He doesn't need it, doesn't want it, he's happy.

Each item she lists off though is like a new bullet wound, and the strike of them against his heart tilts him further and further back into his demise. He shakes his head back and forth with each round, a nope that becomes harder to accomplish the more she peppers him apart. Gummy worms, BANG! Icecream, pew pew, sundae, blam blam, b a r, boom! He's like a horror villain though, still standing, even if his lips have pressed in on each other in quiet reconsideration, gaze flashing with the physical effort to restrain himself from snapping beneath her ploy.

He can't though, he's just a man after all—when she says limited edition hoodie, his eyes widen. "Oh?" he attempts to feign indifference, a finger casually tracing through the mud between them. "SHUT UP!?" he gasps, fingers spreading across the mud as he leans towards her, gagged. "You do not have the Tragic Star-Crossed Lovers Sweatshirt????" It's a question and a wild accusation all at once. "You can't throw that away, that's like, a crime!" His voice curls in pitch with the outrage of the mere idea.

He surges and crawls over the distance to her, flinging the top of his body back over hers, his arm fitting around her side and behind her. "Do I need to take you to the jail???"

Kaisel

// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //

is this the end of all the endings?

Flora watches him unravel like she's admiring her masterpiece with unfettered, wicked delight. Every offering lands with visible damage—each treat, each word, hitting him square in the chest—and she can see the cracks forming in his resolve. It’s delicious, almost enough to make her cackle outright. For a moment she worries he might actually hold firm, and she’s already preparing to pull out the big guns—lingerie, maybe, or an enticing set of nude photos—when the mention of the limited-edition hoodie finally breaks him.

Pretending nonchalance, she gives the most casual shrug imaginable, flicking a bit of mud from her wrist like this is all terribly beneath her. "Yeah," she says breezily. "It even comes with a collectible card that's a hologram of them both together and apart."

When he gasps, outrage spilling out of him like he’s just witnessed a murder, Flora has approximately half a second to brace before he’s on her. His dramatic flop knocks the air from her lungs, earning a breathless "ooof!" as mud squelches beneath her, sliding warm against her sides. She blinks up at him through her curls, laughter bubbling up bright and unrestrained.

"Jail?" she echoes, raising a brow, aqua eyes glinting. She lazily loops a leg around his hips, voice dropping into a low, teasing drawl. "Babes, I’m the one with the keys to the jail. How exactly do you see that working?" Her grin turns slow and feline as she gives his hip a playful nudge with her knee. "And how did we go from I don't want anything for my birthday to i'll throw you in jail if you don't give me my present?"

my broken bones are mending

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //

She’d told him before that they had boxes of their old merch, but he’d only half believed it. If she had her hands on a Tragic Star-Crossed Lovers sweatshirt with the hologram card, she either paid an obscene amount to some other collector, or pilfered the mountain of gold her dads were sitting on, helplessly clueless to its worth. He doesn’t really care about its origins, though. Just that she knows the significance of it, and worse, dares to threaten discarding it. Unheard of, even in jest.

For once, he doesn’t rise to meet her laughter as he fits his body back against hers. This is a serious matter. "Jail," he declares, grave as a judge, mud dripping from his hair with the motion of his nod, smeared there from when she'd thrust him overtop her.

As her leg fits around him, he answers in turn. His hand shifts along the outside of her leg, fingers spreading, curling into her like instinct. The other arm bears his weight beside her, sinking into the slop of the ground without notice. All his focus is on her—the heat of her, that dare of her smile trying to undo him, the way the jungle veins around her and holds her like a known treasure. Even caked in mud, she’s devastating, and she knows it.

"First of all," he murmurs, lowering his head until his nose brushes hers. "Who says I couldn’t swipe those keys? Had to get creative all the times I used to sneak out as a kid." His grin curves, hovering near her mouth before he draws back just enough for his breath to ghost over her lips. "Second of all," his tone dips, smug and velvet-rough, a chuckle breaking against the edge of it, "who says I mean that jail?"

A slow, drawn-out tsk follows as his hand slides lower down her leg, grip tightening just enough to make his meaning clear. "Flora, this isn’t about presents anymore," he says, voice slow as syrup. "This is about crimes and punishments. Luckily for you..." his smile deepens, "it’s just a warning—for now."

Kaisel

// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //

is this the end of all the endings?

Flora’s delight blooms, lush and radiant as Kai's tone deepens and the play takes on that edge of gravity he so rarely wields. Whether he’s genuinely serious or just throwing himself into the performance, it doesn’t matter. It’s the kind of melodrama she lives for, the kind she so often stages herself, and gods if it isn’t delicious to see him wrapped up in it, giving it back to her with the same theatrical conviction she adores.

When he repeats jail in that grave, velvety tone and presses in closer, she swallows, partly to feign nervousness, partly because he looks unbearably hot doing it. The deep, molten hue of his eyes has gone darker still, and the rumble of his voice threads through her like heat. If they weren’t both slick with mud, she might have tried to bait him into a very different kind of game altogether.

Still, Flora lifts her chin in defiance, nose brushing his as she meets his intensity with mock hauteur. "Please," she murmurs, the laughter ghosting over her words, "I’m much more clever than your parents ever were." It’s meant to sound cool, smug, but when he leans down, lips barely grazing hers, the act cracks. Her body shifts instinctively beneath him, a breathy sound escaping her throat before she can catch it, a soft mmh that turns into a wicked little smile. "Oh, you have another jail in mind?" she teases, voice husky, eyes bright. "What, is this the part where I find out you’ve got some secret murder dungeon somewhere and that you're actually some sort of serial killer?" The Merch Murderer, maybe?

The vines beneath them pulse faintly, as though the jungle itself leans in to listen. Kai will feel the flex of her muscles under his hand, the ripple of tension and tease, her aqua eyes gleaming with that impossible blend of challenge and play. His voice wraps around her name like silk, and it draws colour to her cheeks, heat sparking along her skin. "Oh really?" she breathes, an eyebrow lifting as her grin curves sharp against his warning. "Well," she murmurs, hips shifting just enough to further smash down her mud penis against him, "I guess that means someone’s getting birthday presents after all."

my broken bones are mending

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //

The chuckle begins deep in his chest, rising into a slow roll from the edge of his lips where a smirk has just started to settle into place. "That is true," he admits of her cleverness, but it does little to drop his expression, least of all when she cracks into a familiar sound. It's small and faint and her grin tries to cover it, but he catches hold of it like he'd been waiting. "Guess I'll just have to keep upping my game," his voice lilts with all the effect of a shrug, entirely unimpressed by the challenge, or at least he's attempting to be. The flicker of his eyes across her betrays him though, the low light of something moving there sparking in the corners, a flare of appreciation for just how capable she can be.

His guise splinters for a moment as she yanks an honest laugh from him, all the dark heat he'd conjured as the sweatshirt reckoner fleeting beneath the golden hum of her conspiracy. "The only murder dungeon I have is my bed when your fine ass is on it." He's helpless to the wide stretch of his absurd smile at that, knowing it's entirely too much, but also unwilling to hold it back. He's half a mind to commit a murder right here even. Maybe for his birthday she could get him an enchanted mop that will clean them up in a flash if they're going to continually flirt in the dirt.

He buttons it up under an Mmhmm in delayed response to having another jail, but, alas, seems it won't be needed. Against the shift of her muscle beneath his hand he squeezes back in response with his grip, tilting down to press his lips against the line of her jaw after a burning glance is cast towards the mischief in her eyes. He delivers a sigh that's terribly dramatic about the inconvenience of accepting gifts, the sound humming muffled into her throat, a slow kiss smoothing it over in the same spot. "I suppose to keep your name clean I'll accept presents," he murmurs, the sound mangled by the smile and the press of it against her skin.

He shifts then, standing up a bit more on his arm to glance down at the mud dick prodding his side. "Gods," he breathes, fighting back a laugh. "I that what I feel like all the time?" He's certain she'd be a complete nuisance with one, which doesn't make him any less of one.

Kaisel

// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //

is this the end of all the endings?

Gods, his voice. It slides low and rough, like smoke curling around the edges of something fragile. Every word hums with that restrained heat—the kind that doesn’t need to burn to feel dangerous—and Flora feels it right down to the pit of her stomach. Normally, the tension between them would have already broken with a kiss by now, wild and breathless, but he holds steady, and that control only makes it worse. Or better. She can’t decide. Either way, her breath comes a little shallower for it, her pulse quick beneath her muddy skin as she tries to bait him further with the tilt of her chin and the challenge in her eyes.

His laugh—bright and easy—cuts clean through the heat like sunlight through water, and she bursts out laughing with him, a delighted sound that tangles their joy together. Nudging him with a mock-scolding shove, she snorts, "You wish." Then his lips brush her jaw, soft and lazy, his words rumbling against her skin, and her laughter catches, splintering into something quieter. The hum that slips from her is almost a moan, barely restrained. "Mmm. I’d rather dirty my name for better reasons than giving you presents," she murmurs, voice warm and teasing but softer now.

The spell breaks a moment later when he glances down, and Flora follows his gaze to the ridiculous sight of her mud cock prodding his side. Her laughter bursts free again, bright and buoyant as ever. "Sorta," she says through her grin. "Only yours usually gets harder the longer I feel it, not flatter." To demonstrate, she arches her hips up, pressing against him until the mud monstrosity slorps its way higher, the tip wobbling heroically above her belly button.

She glances up through her lashes, grin sharp and playful, drinking in the return of that boyish light on his face. "Speaking of things getting harder," she teases, lips curving crookedly, "we’re supposed to be collecting fruit for our RQ."

With a grin that promises trouble, she reaches down into her pocket—her fingers brushing a little too deliberately down the slope of his body as she does, purely by accident, of course—and pulls out a small whistle. "Watch this," she says with mock solemnity, flashing him a knowing look before placing it between her lips. The sound that follows is shrill and faint, barely audible above the jungle’s hum. When she lowers it again, her grin widens as she calls out into the thick, humid air, "Hey, jungle spirits? Any chance you could collect us a bunch of citrus fruit, please?"

---

Flora is using her Spirit Pact to have the spirits collect citrus fruit!

my broken bones are mending

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

At first, there’s only the faint stir of air; a sigh that threads through the heavy humidity like the jungle itself is waking up to listen. The vines nearest them twitch, leaves trembling in anticipation, and a soft rustling begins to build around the clearing. It’s not menacing, not quite; more like laughter caught in foliage. A moment later, a lime tumbles from nowhere, bouncing once in the mud beside Flora’s hip. Then another—an orange this time—lands near Kai’s knee with a wet plop. The sound multiplies, gentle thuds and soft splashes as fruit begins to appear in twos and threes, rolling from unseen hands or dropped from the canopy above. 

Soon they’re surrounded by little bursts of colour—citrus golds and greens shining bright against the murky earth—as if the jungle itself is amused by their ridiculousness and, for once, willing to play along.

RANDOM EVENT

// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //

He's inclined to ask what reasons she would dirty her name for, if only to prepare her cell in advance, but the laughter that sweeps them away at the insistence of her molded one-eyed cyclops disrupts all other thoughts. "I would hope it never gets flatter," he agrees swiftly, eyes widening as if the thought of it had never reached him before and he has a new horror to grapple with now. "I mostly meant the poking in the side." There's been a cuddle or two that had only intended to be innocent and cozy until Lil' Kai popped up between them in greeting. Her fault, really.

With the opportunity of payback at her disposal, her jungle python slithers up his side with another meaningful visit, some of it smearing along him in the process. "Eugh," he complains around a laugh, arching away from it as best he can. "I regret giving you this power now." Should have gone for a third boob.

Around the disbelieving grin at the wild way she's wielding her sword, his gaze lifts back to her, a 'brow arching at the lead of something becoming harder. Unfortunately it's nothing to do with him, not exactly, and he releases a low scoff in response. "You started this," he retorts cheekily, more than happy to let her reap what she sowed here. Though, the spread of mischief along her features doesn't suggest she has much mind for getting up to do said collecting, and the downward drift of her hand implies she is going to get to the other things that can be harder about all this.

His breath catches, anticipation coiling as her touch skims along his body, eager for that brush to find its way to his pants python. Instead, she draws up a whistle, and his trousers remain terribly abandoned. Confusion breaks across his expression and dissolves into an eyeroll that's so hefty it carries him right off her as well. "Very impressive," he drawls without sincerity as he gathers to his feet. In that moment, in the wake of lost expectations, she could have summoned Ludo in a ballgown for a dance competition and his sentiments would have remained the same.

He reaches down to help her up as the fruit rain begins around them, inspiring a low laugh at the absurdity of it all. "That is easier," he admits, glancing around at all the different colored citrus deposited for them. He grabs at the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head. He ties a knot at the bottom of it, holding open the neckline of his freshly fashioned bag, his backpack back on the ship. "You gather, I'll carry?" he offers.

Kaisel

// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //

is this the end of all the endings?

Flora laughs, the sound bubbling up light and bright as sunlight through the canopy. "No, it’s not like that at all," she says, grinning as she leans in close, voice dipping into something mock-menacing. "You’re way worse." The accusation comes wrapped in laughter, because gods, she means it lovingly, every chaotic, wonderful bit of it. As new as they still are, as golden and giddy as it feels between them, there hasn’t been a single time she’s minded saying an enthusiastic hello to Lil’ Kai, no matter the place or the hour. If the Sugartide weren’t moored so near—complete with a shower and an actual bed—she might be tempted to see if she couldn't collude with Lil Kai to try and preemptively stop any arguments Kaisel might have in their tracks.

When the spirits answer her whistle and the air stirs with a breeze thick enough to rustle fruit down from the trees, Flora can feel the disappointment rolling off him, almost as dense as the humidity around them. Her grin widens, eyes sparkling as she glances up at him. "We still have to juice all this fruit, remember?" Her lashes lower just a touch, gaze dark with mischief. "And we’ll need to be clean for that, so we don’t contaminate anything." The bounce of her eyebrows as she rolls onto her knees makes it painfully clear she means to test his focus on that part.

When Kaisel pulls off his shirt, Flora pauses mid-motion, lips parting slightly as her eyes trace the lines of him; skin slick and golden under the filtered light, muscles shifting with easy grace. It isn’t just the physical appeal of him, though it's never failed to steal her breath yet; it’s the way he can swing from ridiculous to responsible without ever losing the spark in his eyes. One moment he’s threatening her with jail time over merch, the next he’s quietly solving a problem. It hits her all at once, that warm, steady pulse of love beneath the laughter.

With a small, helpless sigh that comes out softer than she means it to, Flora nods. Instead of answering his offer, she just smiles; wide and bright and a little undone. "I love you," she says simply, the words slipping out with all the ease and certainty in the world as she deposits a handful of lemons into his shirt-bag.

my broken bones are mending

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3