[RQ] [SE] playing dirty

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

His question rather answers itself, given his current situation. Although he'd argue he could undress her with his eyes closed—blindfolded, her invisible, whatever—assuming she held still. "My hands and you!" he scoffs, the sound a rough drag of vexed breath rising to the taunting melody of her words.

Certain that she pulled this stunt just to get his ass in the shower faster, retaliation for the slow drag up here, he doesn't even consider that she's still lurking above deck in all her voyeur glory. She gets his ass alright.

It's the slap heard 'round the world.

Or at least it sounds like it in the moment, louder than any march of his stride along the narrow hallways of the ship, a gunshot of scandal that echoes off every beam. He freezes—well, no, first he jolts forward like her hand had been a lightning strike. His spine bows inward with the shock of it, dick gloriously thrust up with the motion, hands shooting back to shield him after the fact. His gasp is so sudden and sharp he nearly chokes on it, lungs stuttering under the abrupt pressure change. He spins on the spot, a laugh breaking around the heated "you little shit," that bursts out after it.

Abandoning the bathroom, he bolts into the kitchen, one hand attempting to deflect either side of him, dick and ass (a stark, red handprint flushing the white cheek), as he goes. He skids to a stop, snatching a cupboard handle, and yanks it open so hard in haste it slams against its neighbor. He grabs a bag of flour, all the weapon he needs on his warpath of vengeance now. "Ooooooh, you—" he starts, but wicked laughter overtakes the words as he begins to shake out the flour with reckless abandon. White dust fills the air, coating counters, cabinets, and corridors in a chaotic blizzard of Flora-finding powder—possibly even marking her directly in the process.

Kaisel

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

is this the end of all the endings?

Flora claps both hands over her mouth in a desperate effort to smother the high, breathy laughter that erupts from her chest, but it’s no use. Even half-muted, her giggles pour out in hiccupping bursts of glee, bubbling over like a shaken bottle of champagne. The slap may have stung, sure, but Kaisel’s reaction is what truly sends her spiralling: the way he lurches, gasps, stutters, spins; every inch of it fuel to the fire in her lungs and the lightness in her chest, like her heart’s suddenly afloat, too giddy and golden to stay tethered to her ribs.

But when he abruptly veers away from the bathroom, her laughter falters. She freezes mid-step, invisible and confused, brows knitting as she watches him detour into the kitchen of all places. Thinking he meant to get himself a shower snack, she watches puzzled as he peeks toward the cupboards like maybe he's grabbing a celebratory cookie for enduring her.

That is, until he whirls with a bag of flour.

A scandalized shriek of laughter bursts from her throat as she realises—far too late—what’s coming. White plumes erupt like a blizzard of vengeance, snowing chaos across the kitchen in a puffed-up tantrum of powder and glee. Counters vanish beneath a ghostly film. Cabinets bloom in chalky fingerprints. The hallway’s a winter storm and she's caught on the outskirts of it.

Kaisel will not doubt notice the soft scuffs of footprints dancing in reverse across the floor, outlined perfectly in contrast to the settling flour. And in the air, suspended like the memory of her body, the faintest absence; a Flora-shaped hole in the flurry, where every dust mote that dares to touch her simply vanishes.

"Me what?" she calls, taunting and bright, pressing herself flat against the hallway wall like some stealthy jungle predator. She stays perfectly still, confident the floor will give him no clues so long as she isn't actively stepping in the flour, confident that her invisibility is flawless. Unaware of the ghost she’s become, painted in negative space, outlined by chaos, and about to be caught.

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 //

He doesn't trust the sound of her laugh, each ring like a bounce that ricochets off different walls, as fluid as the wind and just as impossible to follow. The footsteps though, they write out an instant map that his gaze flashes to with the wild glint of success, eyes narrowing and grin curling into something feral. He’s alight with it, a boyish bolt of triumph striking through his chest as though lightning finally finding ground it’s been hunting. With the muted space where there's eerily no dust, he has the X he needs, Flora marks the spot.

He lunges.

His hands clasp onto and fumble against the warm outline of her vanished body with a frantic thrill. The moment he feels her—a brush of warmth, the give of her side, the flex of her arm—something primal floods him. His fingers dig in, firm and greedy, claiming, as if catching her were less a victory and more a need finally met.

She's smoke in his arms, but he drags her in like an inhale until he's crushing her against his chest. The invisible curve of her body molds perfectly to his and he lifts her clean off the ground. Heat rolls through him in fierce waves, pulse rising like a song willing to be heard beneath his skin. Flour swirls around them in a settling storm, drawing the outline of his triumph among her laughter and his ragged breath, their struggle carved into the air itself.

"You're mine," he growls against where her neck ought to be, voice dark with victory. Her invisibility makes the moment feel half-mythic, like wrestling a wild spirit into his arms, and he loves it, loves her. Raw, reckless want tears through him as he shifts her higher in his hold, grip tightening into a firm and unyielding cage with which he means to keep her bound to him now, punishment more than due.

Kaisel

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

is this the end of all the endings?

The instant Flora sees the wild light in Kaisel's eyes—the feral joy, the lunge already coiled in his limbs—she steps off the wall and straight into his reach. The anticipation is electric, molten, sparking in her blood and dripping like honey through her nerves. She walks willingly into his arms, the breath in her lungs catching sharp as his hands slam into her, groping at the invisible shape of her with the kind of hunger that sets her ablaze.

Gods, she lives for this. Not pain—never that—but possession. The way his fingers dig into her hips like she’s something sacred, something stolen, and he’s terrified she’ll be taken away again. The rough, anchoring strength of his arms as he pulls her in like he’s breathing her. The way her back arches, her body moulding to his, thighs clenching around his waist the second he lifts her, not because she needs the help, but because she needs him. Her arms wrap tight around his shoulders, and she clings like gravity might forget how to work if they aren't careful.

When he growls you’re mine, it cuts straight through her, through rib and bone and history, until it finds the ache she never speaks aloud and answers it with everything he is. She melts and shivers in one breath, curling toward the sound of him, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Then have me," she whispers, twisting her ring in order to reappear in his arms, kissed in flour and radiant with heat, breathless and dusted in chaos. Her fingers find his hair instantly, tunnelling through it before sliding across the scars on his back, delighting in the familiar map of him. It’s instinct to hold him tighter, to press every inch of herself closer, not just because she’s burning for him—though gods, she is—but because he’s Kaisel, and gods does she loves him.

And it hits her now—hard and dazzling and slow—that this moment isn’t new. That only a few weeks ago just down the hallway, when the sea was calm and their heart weren't, he had looked at her with the same raw hope and asked if they could keep this forever. She hadn't hesitated then when she'd said yeah and kissed him for the first time, and now it was her turn again to offer him not just a confirmation, but a promise.

"Forever," she breathes, and the word wraps around her ribs like it’s always belonged there. It catches in her throat, soft and real and true, and she chases it with her mouth, kissing him like she means to etch it into his skin. Her lips find his and the rest of the world ceases to matter. The flour, the storm of laughter, even the short distance to the shower, none of it compares to this. To him.

Kissing him feels like drowning and being saved at the same time. It’s not just lust, though there’s plenty of that—she’s flushed and panting, turned on beyond reason by how easily he carries her, by the tension in his arms and the low growl still humming in his throat—it’s the promise behind the way he holds her, like she’s precious and primal and his all at once. It’s the way every time they come together, it’s better than the last, like her body remembers every second with him and wants more in a way she's utterly helpless to deny, and so she kisses him with the reckless desperation of joy, of need, of love spun gold and strung through every nerve.

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 //

He feels the way she pushes into his grasp, the subtle shift of something there but not quite there moving, meeting him with intention. It's less collision, more alignment, each of them folding into one another as if their shapes have always been designed to fit together. She crashes around him like tide meeting shore, hands flooding over his shoulders, thighs drowning his waist, breath rushing in. It strikes him with the full, obliterating force of mine all over again as she clings to him like salt to sea.

Then have me. Her voice settles like the dust around them, revealing every hidden thought he has. It's all the permission he needs. He surges forward with her in his hold, driven by hunger and something deeper, something thriving in the center of him that only she has ever touched. Each stride is an agreement to having her, urgently competing against the snapping of his restraint, which is quickly dissolving beneath the heat of her. Sections of it collapse in rapid succession when she reemerges like the sun breaking through a kitchen-born cloud, immediately warming him anew. Where mud marked them, flour coats every edge heavily, as if they’re something dredged and ready for fire.

She jostles in his grasp with every step and the friction of it is maddening, tugging sanity down in fast, dizzying increments. One of his hands slips up her back, dragging lines through the powder on her skin, which now seems like it'd been a bag of Cuba's finest with the way he wants to lose himself in her completely. His fingers curl over her shoulder, pressing alongside her scar without hesitation, claiming it like every other part of her. The other hand stays locked beneath her ass, holding her flush to the hard, desperate line of him.

He stumbles on forever. Not because his balance slips, but because everything inside him does. The word doesn’t just hit him, it barrels through him, slamming into every quiet fear that's dared to linger. Every moment he watched her shine and wondered how he deserved her, each gnawing worry that she’d look back and regret choosing him, the awful doubt that he'd be enough for her to keep wanting him. She crushes all of it with that one word. The one he's had her wrapped in since that very night, where he got a glimpse of something real, something that dared to upset every careful plan he thought he had to keep.

A groan born of terrible things dismantling tears into her mouth, raw and uncontrolled. He meets the way she melts into him, the way she grabs at him like she wants to crawl inside his ribs and stay there, as if she doesn't already have a home there. He hoists her higher, grip white-hot and unyielding, and kicks the bathroom door open hard enough for it to bounce. "It's never been anything else with you," he rasps around the corners of her lips, too needy to release them entirely.

For him that's been the case, but knowing she feels the same, he can't get enough of that feeling and the surge of joy it carries. Every moment forever gilded by her, it feels to good to be true, like he's found a way to dream during waking. "Say it again," he demands, breathless, coming undone just with her fucking voice. A kiss follows before she can answer, messy and consuming. Too impatient now to linger, he drags his mouth down her throat, biting at her pulse like he’s starving for it, like he wants to mark the word into her skin.

He slams her back gently and firmly against the tile of the shower, kissing her through it, swallowing every gasp she gives like it belongs to him. She should be able to reach the shower knobs, gods know he can't spare even a pinky from her right now. Hips surge forward with a helpless roll against her, held back by grime and a patience he no longer has, which sits on her in the shape of panties.

Kaisel

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

is this the end of all the endings?

As Kaisel lifts her higher, Flora bends instinctively to meet him, folding herself around his mouth like a wave drawn down the length of a cliff. She bows not out of submission but from the sheer gravitational pull between them, her lips trailing his with a desperation that tastes like reverence. Should they stumble, should they crash into walls or lose their footing altogether on the way to the bathroom, she welcomes it. There is nothing in her now that fears bruises, not when the alternative is distance, not when separation would tear at something so raw and vital that it feels like trying to breathe through sea glass.

The echoing slam of the door rebounds through her ribcage, a thunderclap that drowns out every thought except the ferocious want clawing its way through her. At the sound of his voice—his demand, the unvarnished truth of it growled into the sweat-slick air—her entire body quivers, struck not with fear but with something too incandescent for language. It is the kind of pleasure that presses against the inside of her skin until it feels too much to contain, until the only thing left to do is tremble against the swell of it, to writhe and squirm and chase the edge of what he makes her feel.

Before she can offer the word he craves, he consumes her mouth, taking the answer in a kiss that undoes her spine and makes a garden bloom beneath her ribs. It is messy and hungry, uncontainable in its need, and only deepens her own, dragging soft sounds from her throat like prayers. When his teeth graze her neck, the heat of his breath curling into her skin, she gasps in sharp contrast to the sudden cold that claims her back as he presses her against the tile. Her fingers claw against him, not to escape but to root herself more deeply, uncaring of the flour that streaks them, of the grime on his hands, of anything except the wild, blazing need to be close.

Her arm shoots sideways, reaching for the shower knob with graceless urgency, and when the water hits them—neither hot nor cold but irrelevant either way—it does nothing to douse the fire pooling low in her belly. Her body arches reflexively, skin slickening with a heat that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with him.

Framing his face between her hands, Flora draws his gaze upward, needing to see him, needing him to see her; all of her, bare and undone and his. Her thumbs drag gently across his cheekbones, and when their eyes meet, it’s not lust that floods her first but love. Fierce, staggering love that leaves her breathless. "Forever," she whispers again, before melting back into him, her mouth searching out his in a kiss that speaks for everything she doesn’t know how to say. Her tongue brushes his, repeating the word in ways that only he can translate, her soul etched into every stroke.

Even as her legs remain clamped tight around him, one arm slips free, reaching downward with fumbling insistence. She turns her hips slightly, trying to tug the wet fabric of her underwear aside with fingers made clumsy by the rain of sensation and the way her body is already shaking with need. Tearing them would take too long, and being apart from him—even for that—is unthinkable. Her jaw trembles against his as she draws her hips back just enough, guiding the hard length of him against her. She wants—needs—to be taken, not with gentleness or ceremony, but with the same reckless hunger with which he holds her now, so instead of rocking her hips forward, she waits.

Pressed against him, shaking in his grip, her eyes flutter shut as her forehead rests against his. The moment is suspended like a held breath, every muscle tight with the delicious, desperate anticipation of what she is offering. Her entire body sings with readiness, not just to be touched but to be claimed, to be pulled inside-out by the one person who sees her not as something breakable but as something burning.

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 moment her fingers frame his face and force his gaze upward, he stills. Every motion in him suspends for a breath. One pause where the world stops spinning and rearranges itself around her eyes. Her gaze captures his easily, as natural as birds to breeze. Love emerges within the look like nebulas taking shape for a universe, and there, at its center, is her. The world falls away to steam, and she is all that remains clear in the fog, and hasn't that always been so.

Forever lands harder this time. He thought he'd prepared to receive a whisper, but the word echoes through him with the force of something shouted into the marrow of him, deep and seismic. The floor drops out beneath him at the sound. The only reason he doesn’t fall is because she’s wrapped around him, holding him up while she’s dismantling him entirely.

Before he can breathe again, she’s there like a vow he means to keep. She writes with her mouth, and call them pen pals because he answers with a letter of his own, each kiss a frantic scrawl of devotion. Every consuming press between them is an attempt to distill forever into this moment, then the next, and the next again. He loves her—now, yesterday, tomorrow, and all the days behind and ahead. The devotion between them doesn’t ease the madness of his want, it feeds it. Every touch is a hunger not just to have her, but to love her in every way, and even one he'll make up just for her. He'll start with the love of fucking her.

Her trembling fingers shift her underwear aside, opening herself for him fully. The sight of her wanting him, waiting for him, it drags a sound from his chest that’s wholly feral. He doesn’t hesitate. He takes the bared heat of her in one hard surge of his hips, driving up into her, the arm around her shoulder holding her steady against the recoil, ensuring a deep and complete fill. The hot grip of her closing around him is a relief that shudders up his spine so violently his breath breaks. Where their foreheads meet, his breath collides with hers in a short and rough burst, the edge of a groan.

He withdraws until just the flare of his tip pulses against her, then slides in slow and teasing, withholding what they both want in order to savor the friction of her panties snaring on the edge of him, and the steady draw of heat along his length as he sinks into the end. "Fuck," he grinds out, the sound wavering as breath pitches, hips rolling as he stays buried inside her. "You feel so fucking good." The words rip free like they had to, like they've been vibrating in his bones and finally found the crack to escape through.

Then, as if punishment past due for such an affront, among others, he presses her further into the wall. His hands shift to cup beneath each thigh, holding her exactly where he needs in order to find a brutal rhythm, each thrust threatening to shake the tile. Water beats against their skin, droplets exploding with every movement, a miniature storm breaking around their bodies as their own thunder fills the room.

Kaisel

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

is this the end of all the endings?

As Kaisel drives into her, her entire body bows with it, the sudden stretch an exhale dragged straight from her soul. His hand clamps over her shoulder, anchoring her to the moment with the kind of force that ensures there's no distance left to cross between them, no edge untouched, no part of her spared. She has never wanted to escape this feeling—gods, she would drown in it if he let her—but the fullness of him all at once, the way he fills every trembling space inside her with one deep, claiming thrust, carves a pleasure so sharp and so perfect it nearly undoes her. It ripples through her like the shudder of something tidal, cresting and breaking all in the same breath, and the sound that spills from her throat is his name, again and again, fractured by need and reshaped each time by want.

Her back arches against the tile as his hips draw away, the loss a momentary torment that makes her pulse flutter and limbs quake, and when he slides back into her—slow, deliberate, as if he means to brand his shape into her soul—her voice catches in a whimper that holds everything: the desperation, the reverence, the helpless, holy ache of being his. It is a prayer and an answer all at once, soft and cracking at the seams, his name transformed into something rawer, something nearer to surrender; "Kai—"

His grip adjusts, broad hands shifting beneath her thighs, and as he sets a rhythm that rocks her fully against the tiles, she twists instinctively. One leg extends, bracing her foot flat against the far wall of the shower, every muscle tightening with the effort to meet him, to take him deeper, to let him wreck her without ever once letting go. Water cascades over her body and splashes between them, but none of it cools the heat blooming between her hips, the heat that pulses with every grind of his pelvis against hers, with every thick drag of him within her.

She breathes his name again, voice catching on a moan so sweetly wrecked it barely survives the sound, and then she gasps a single word between clenched teeth—fuck—but even that feels too small for the pleasure he’s unravelling in her. Every nerve sparks beneath her skin like struck flint, alight with sensation, every inch of her thrumming with the exquisite devastation of being wanted like this. He makes her feel like lightning caught in a body, like beauty built for ruin, and ruin built for pleasure. There is no world outside this. Only the thunder of their bodies colliding, the storm beneath her skin, and the way he makes every part of her feel like it was meant to be his.

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 name torn apart and rebuilt on her breath sings through him like lightning. It shocks every muscle into tighter motion, sharper need, until he's just something wild and wanting. He buries himself inside her like he means never to part, as if forever is built within her and he's headed there to claim it at last. She takes him fully, as though she's sculpted to withstand every bit of him, and it rips through him with a pleasure so intense it borders on agony.

When she braces her foot against the far wall, offering more, he seizes it greedily. “Gods—Flora,” he grits out, the syllables unraveling around a groan as his hips snap forward with a force that punches the breath from his own lungs. His thrusts grow rougher, more urgent, answering the way she clenches at the peak of every stroke, her body begging him not to stop. He presses his forehead to hers, growling through a ragged exhale as the tiles hum behind her in rhythm with his hips. “You feel fucking made for me.”

The sound of her voice in shreds, that fuck born on breath and sin, strikes him deep and primal. He crushes her mouth in a kiss that’s more instinct than thought, something ravenous that swallows the sound before it can leave her a second time, no better than a glutton for her undoing. His teeth scrape her lower lip, tongue dragging against hers in a frenzy, but one he can't maintain amid the razing of all his senses. He tears his mouth from her, breath coming out in hot, uneven bursts against her cheek.

His gaze down, her chest swaying, and he appraises her with a mangled sound of need. The wide brace of her leg, the shake in her thighs, the way her body yields for him. “Fuck—look at you.” It's barely more than panted noise, voice breaking on the edge of an exhale. He draws his focus back up to her face, storm-struck in this shower tempest, utterly gorgeous in this mutual ruin. She’s not just letting him have her, she’s giving herself, meeting him, bracing for more like he could never overwhelm her. It opens up something new in him.

His hands shove higher beneath her thighs, fingers spreading against her in a cradle, and he lifts her fully off the wall. Leaning her into his chest, he tilts into her neck, lips dragging across her throat, the rest of her weight pressing down on his cock. It delivers a new, delicious edge to the wet heat. his fingers tighten around her, hauling her down and up with each thrust so it lands sharp and whole.

Kaisel

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

is this the end of all the endings?

Flora doesn't have the breath to laugh, not when her lungs are already busy drowning in the sheer brilliance of him, but her head tips forward just enough that her lips graze the shell of his ear, voice shaking loose like mist from the heat between them. "Maybe I was," she murmurs; having been conceived in the presence of a god whose domain wove desire into flesh, who’s to say that somewhere in the stitching of her soul, Frey hadn’t tucked a spark of something divine? Something that made her body echo back every craving Kaisel had ever known, made her flesh answer his hunger with a song meant only for him.

Her mouth finds his in turn, not with elegance but with fever, her kiss losing all the polished precision she usually wears like perfume. There's no more cleverness left in her tongue, no metaphor or flourish, only the hot tangle of lips that ache to say you, the desperate shape of a kiss that pleads more, the helpless press that tries to give him this, and the trembling breath between them that aches to be forever. She pours all of it into him, every unspoken vow and every second of her wanting, and even when his mouth tears away, her own chases the echo of him, drunk on the ruin they’re making together.

And then his eyes find her, dragging over every part of her that's laid bare in the steam, and she swears it feels like he touches her with them. It's not just the hunger in his gaze, but the knowing, and for a girl who has lived entire chapters beneath the weight of being half-seen or half-loved, it is a kind of worship she doesn’t know how to survive. Not when he’s looking at her like he knows every story carved beneath her skin, like her body is a temple and he’s the only one with the map to the altar.

When he adjusts his grip, her leg slips from the wall, thighs clamping tight around him, every muscle working to draw him deeper. She clings to his shoulders like a climber gripping to a ledge that might vanish, her hold equal parts need and anchoring devotion, and as her weight tilts entirely into him, the new angle cleaves a sound from her throat that she couldn’t have held back if she tried. "k...ai...SEL" It rips through her like the sudden shatter of a dam—sharp, crystalline, and blindingly bright—as pleasure erupts without warning, catching her in a wave so immense it folds her forward with the force of it. Her entire body locks around him, her nails digging crescents into his shoulders as her hips buck against his with a reckless, needy rhythm.

Flora's orgasm detonates like starlight behind her eyes, ricocheting through her with a ferocity that borders on rapture. It’s not a bloom of pleasure; it’s a wildfire, sweeping through her limbs and curling heat into every corner of her until she can do nothing but hold on and burn. She moans Kiasel's name again, louder now, unashamed and unrestrained, each syllable wrenched from the deepest part of her. Her legs tighten impossibly, her arms locked around him, refusing even for a heartbeat to let the world exist beyond the feel of him inside her, the storm between their bodies, and the exquisite shattering that only he has ever made her feel this completely. Because it isn't just about lust; it's everything else between them that makes it feel better than it ever has before. Her eyes squeeze shut as if by sealing them she can trap the moment longer, make the sensation stretch, let the aftershocks bloom fully before the next wave hits, her entire being lit up with him, for him, because of him.

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 //

When she shatters in his arms, it drags a deep, approving sound from his throat. The sound of her, the feel of her, the way she comes undone for him, it flares white hot through him. Her nails bite crescents into his shoulders, thighs clamping like she means to fuse them together, her hips bucking into him with frantic abandon, and all of it ignites him further. He holds her through the quake of it, through the tremor that rolls from her core up through her chest, steadying her even as he trembles with the effort. Water hammers his side, runs down their legs, steam curling around them like smoke from a ritual.

He thrusts into her again, chasing the spasm of her release, driving into the pulse of her orgasm with a hunger sharpened by the sight of her shaking, clinging, burning in his arms. “That’s it—fuck, Flora.” It rips out of him nearly unintelligible as his hips jerk forward helplessly, caught by the force of her pleasure's tide. Her body's so tight around him he swears his vision flickers, release rolling through her in waves, voice ricocheting in the small space on his name, and that’s what does it. He's gone, absolutely gone. His body locks tight to hers, arms crushing her closer, as if she’s the only thing in the world that can hold him together while he breaks.

He buries his face against her neck, a raw groan torn free. His breath fractures against her skin, uneven and helpless as every muscle braces against the sheer force of what she pulls from him. For a moment, there is nothing but the two of them locked together, quivering through the same wild and consuming crest. He's forced to stagger a shaking step forward, granting some of her back to the wall, leaning into each of their tremors until they begin to ebb.

His forehead presses hard to hers, breath still broken, grip still tight as if afraid that letting even an inch of space return will undo everything they just fell through together. “Flora…” Her name is all he manages, wrecked and reverent, full of a love too big to fit anywhere but here. He slides them down slowly, trembling and ruined, yet somehow rebuilt just the same.

Kaisel

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

is this the end of all the endings?

The moment Kaisel begins to unravel inside her, Flora only half-knows it, her own body still echoing with the shuddering afterglow of release. Her limbs feel too soft to belong to her, as though she’s been melted down into honey and seawater and scattered across his skin, her thoughts no longer tethered to anything but the wild beat of her heart and the breathless way he holds her like he might never let go. Even so, as his forehead presses against hers and his groan vibrates through her shoulder, she finds herself moving instinctively, wordless sounds of encouragement slipping from her lips and into his temple, gentle and gasping, as if her voice can offer what her body can no longer manage. She can’t lift her hips anymore, not really, but she tightens her legs a fraction around his waist, tilting to give him what’s left—what’s always his—until the last of him surges through her.

She barely registers the press of her back against the wall, not with the roar in her ears still fading and the pulsing between her thighs a rhythm she can't quite escape. Her mind flirts with the idea of untangling herself, of letting her legs fall away and her arms loosen, but the moment she imagines it, she knows she won’t be able to stand. Whatever strength she had has been poured into him, and what’s left is just smoke and silk and a girl who has never felt so thoroughly undone.

As he lowers them down, her body shivering lightly as it adjusts to gravity again, a strange sensation rises up from somewhere low in her belly, sweeping through her chest and lodging itself tight and high in her throat. It isn’t fear, and it isn’t pain. It feels almost like the first inhale before a sob or the trembling edge before a laugh; something too big for her lungs, too tender to name. Her breath comes in broken pants against his neck, the steam around them curling like a veil, soft and sacred. Whatever just happened between them, it isn’t like before. It isn’t lust spilling over or comfort sought in fevered need. There’s something quieter beneath it, something that makes her want to curl into him and weep with the enormity of it, though her body is far too spent to do anything but let it pass through her in soft, stunned tremors.

Still, her hands rise—slow, clumsy with the weight of her exhaustion—and find his face. Her thumbs brush the water from his cheeks, not that it matters in the still-falling spray, and she leans in with a softness that feels brand new. The kiss she gives him is molten without burning, forged from the same fire as the rest of them but tempered now, cooled just enough to be held without pain. It's slow, impossibly sweet, the kind of kiss that feels like the answer to every breathless question their bodies had asked a moment before. She kisses him like a secret folded into golden light, like she never wants the world to exist again without this taste in her mouth.

And when her lungs finally force her back, the kiss breaking with a trembling exhale, she rests her forehead gently against his, her breath still short and shallow. Her hands remain cradling his face as if to keep him there, as if to keep herself steady, and in a voice so low and intimate it barely survives the steam between them, she whispers; not a confession, not a declaration, just a truth as simple and as staggering as the sea. "I love you."

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 //

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Because she’s still wrapped around him, soft and trembling and warm, and every tiny shiver of her body keeps sending aftershocks through him. Eventually, he slumps them down. This type of floor time, let it be known, is for an entirely different reason than others. This kind is because she's wrecked him so thoroughly he doesn't want to drop both of them. So he gives up his weight to the ground, settling into the seat of it like his ass is nothing better than the best offering. She uncurls from him slow and steady, passed off back to the world with reluctant need. He still remains as close as he can manage, his feet by her hips, knees close to his chest as he faces her and keeps the distance between them short. His hands linger near her legs, fingers still bent in possession.

A low hum rises in response to the feel of her hands, achingly tender as they travel along spent edges. He shivers despite the steam, trails of lightning flickering inside him, refusing to leave. The kiss she leans into him carries a known weight, echoing truths that he has felt but just begun to learn how to carry without fear. He presses back into her with an assuredness that this is most definitely forever. That in every lifetime, he'd love her again and again.

As her forehead presses against his, a smile flits into place, small but impossibly full of adoration for her. One of his hands lifts, sliding across the slope of her cheek and curling around her ear, thumb brushing firmly against the corner of her eye. It's an attempt to impart some of the glow she puts into him back into her, golden heat bouncing back between them in a shimmering exchange of devotion. Her I love you washes across him in a whole body prickle as raw joy swells and breaks through him. A short, breathless laugh escapes, a sound of distilled delight.

"I'm going to marry you," he whispers back in response, trying to peer up at her from the edge of his vision where their heads are tucked. "To be clear," he bites in suddenly, boyish smile wild around the words. "That is not my proposal, but...it's gonna happen." He feels whole with her; she fills parts of him he didn't even know were cracking apart. Every moment, she makes better. He can't imagine anyone but her. Can't imagine the absence of her. He doesn't think you can bond with a person, but she's tethered to his soul just the same.

Kaisel

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

is this the end of all the endings?

Kaisel's words strike something deep and trembling inside her—not because she hadn’t imagined this, not because she doesn’t want it—but because no one has ever said them to her before. Not like this. Not with joy lighting up their voice and a smile blooming wild and boyish on their face, like forever isn’t a cage or a consequence but a gift they’re dying to give her. There’s no calculation in it, no performance; just the truth of him, raw and radiant and utterly sure. It steals her breath so cleanly she forgets to inhale, her ribs blooming outward like they’re trying to hold it, hold him, hold all of this joy that suddenly feels too big to fit inside her chest.

Flora has never been given forever. Not as a promise. Not without someone asking her to change first. Not without them wincing when they said it, or viewing this sort of forever as a life sentence for the crime of loving her. But here he is, looking at her like she’s already everything, like he wants the weight of her, the chaos and heat and all, and gods, it undoes her.

"As long as forever starts now," she murmurs, voice soft but steady even as it shivers out of her, "you can take as long as you want to propose." And it’s true; because for all the ways she’s dreamed of rings and a dress and flowers and family, none of it matters as much as this. This feeling. This choice. This future he’s giving her not like it’s a demand or an obligation, but like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

The smile that tugs at her lips refuses to be contained, even as she tries to press it down behind a breath, behind the press of her cheek into the warmth of his hand. She shifts toward him as much as their tangled limbs and limp exhaustion will allow. Her lashes flutter down for a moment, trying to breathe around everything swelling in her throat. "So I’m not going to say yes," she whispers, words laced with light and mischief even as her voice remains hushed and reverent, "since this wasn’t a proposal." But then she turns her face, lips gently brushing the centre of his palm, before she lifts her gaze back to his and lets the rest fall like a promise onto his skin. "But I’m going to marry you too."

my broken bones are mending

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