#citrus is complicated

[gentlygenderqueer]

#citrus anime #citrus manga #citrus #citrus review #citrus video essay #video essay #anime video essay #anime review #yuri anime #Yuri manga #Yuri video essay #Yuri review #Yuri history #class s #class s history #citrus analysis #Youtube #GL #girls love #citrus is complicated #the most controversial yuri #gentlygenderqueer

[arsenicxarcana]

honestly i think they missed a huge opportunity with lucio's route. i'm gay and he's hot so of course i voted smash but if they hadn't tried going for redemption and instead just wholly leaned into his villainy? he would have so many more simps. he wasn't written to be a zuko; he was written to be an irredeemable son of a bitch with great legs 💙

now see this is where I'm apparently not on the same train bc like

you can see in nadias route, he has the capacity to know when he fucked up (or at least, he knows when he should join the winning team)

hes not 100% evil bc that's boring

flat villainy is boring!! it would probably just be like trying to kiss Vulgora

however due to the limitations of the medium they would never be able to do him justice bc if you want him to be less of a cunt it will take a LOT of time to unlearn patterns of behavior that's gotten him what he's wanted for decades, domestication is gradual and difficult and messy and he will still never be a "good person" at the end of it so mc has to be prepared for that

tho they definitely could have tried harder to preserve his cuntishness in upright, I refuse to consign him to yet another "person using him for their own gain" relationship just to see him be more of a little bitch

mostly it's like if you have the choice to give him something different, why would you take the exact same path literally everyone/thing in his life has ever done? why do u want it to be business as usual? bc its easy? he's used to it? probably expects it at this point?

tho to be fair, that's a relationship

fucking him can take place at any point in his timeline other than Plague (unless you're valerius) or ghost if you're stricter on how much he can be solid

#the arcana #lucio #citrus flavored #me over here in my he's not as complicated as I want him to be but doing it anyway corner

[mumblelard]

happy pomelo day imaginary constructs

#may all your ancestral citrus cultivars be true #kitchen tables #tacosaurs #tattooed chairs #tired groans #snowclones #snow blind #summer for winter is the new breakfast for dinner #pomelos #thunderdomes #i am taking another step off the path soon and the feelings are complicated #i want to be a turtle when i grow up #delirium of the endless #end of message

[osmiabee]

Just discovered that gin + fanta fucks *severely* which might be the most mid to late 20's sentence I've ever said but I'm right! I'm right!!!

#aging tumblr populace etc etc but like.............. it bangs?! #the sweet and citrus pair really well with the herbal gin flavours to the point of it just being a very pleasant and lovely evening drink!! #im having a nice and lovely time actually!!! #love that im a gnt girlie hate that im a gnt girlie its complicated i contain multitudes

[yankeeclytemnestra]

i way overloaded my sandwich but its so good

#leftover rotisserie chicken + sauted onion with really good citrus vinegar from the farmers market + heirloom cherry tomatoes #also from the farmers market + a little mozzarella toasted on a brioche bun with garlic aioli #then some halloumi #i just remembered that i meant to add mint #anyway i love making overly complicated sandwiches

[ghostofcitrus]

u even just ... don't know if ur gay or bi lol

#i dont actually care THAT much causs i have a long term BF #buttt its a bit awk when ppl ask me and im like “gay or bi or ya know” #like i go back and forth. i can see myself with a woman sometimes but i think id just be happier with a man #but idk ! #i think i am bi with a heavy preference towards men #but i legit dont wanna commit to that lol #eh idk #im glad ive adopted a much more idc mindset towards it #yet i am still posting this so who knows #oh bein trans i think is the complicating factor tbh. sometimes i Dislike this lmao. often- really #im more posting dor thr ~community vibes ~ cause i gave no friends really lmao #citrus speaks #lgbt #gay #bi #queer

[anipgarden]

Adding To or Starting a Garden

AKA, the beginning of the Plants-Related section of this series.

This is my third post in a series I’ll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps! 

Got an area of lawn you’d like to convert to a wildlife haven? An area you can stick some hanging baskets in? Want to know how your garden of tomatoes and zucchinis is already putting in a lot of work? This is the section for you!

It would be dumb of me to not acknowledge that the act of gardening can come with a lot of costs. Buying seeds, buying plants, buying soil, raised bed materials, mulch, etc. … it can all get a bit daunting, let’s be honest! But there’s quite a few ways to get seeds and plants for free or extremely cheap, which I’ll be addressing in this section! The next section will be all about addressing the other Costs in gardening and how to mitigate or eliminate them entirely.

Also, do keep in mind; there’s no need to try and convert a whole area from lawn to garden or unused to garden at once. In fact, it could actually be extremely beneficial to do it a little at a time--maybe four or five square feet to start out.

Front Lawn (or Managing Principles)

If you live in a place where you’re required to have a grass turf lawn (HOA’s come to mind…), try replacing it with native grasses instead! You could even possibly use a low-growing ground cover plant like clover to a similar effect! Reseeding/replacing an entire lawn can be a big upfront cost, but even just letting the lawn be a little messy and tall helps. If the lawn gets patchy, leave the bare spots for a little while and something different will likely pop up! Pioneer species will fill the gaps and provide benefits to other plants around them, support animals, and more! If you want to take the guesswork out of it, you could always research what the pioneer species are in your area and plant the ones you like most. 

Obtaining Seeds for Cheap or Free

The cheapest way to start a garden is by far via seeds. However, seeds can be a bit complicated to grow, and some sources make them… way overpriced. Fortunately there are ways to get seeds for little to no cost! 

Some places sell seeds for as low as a dollar, 50 cents, or 25 cents! The packets may not have a lot of seeds, but it’s definitely a good start for a low budget! I’ve personally bought cheap seed packets at Walmart--the Ferry-Morse and Burpee brands are not what we’re looking for here. Typically the cheaper ones I’ve found are American Seed (which is owned by Green Garden Products, which also owns Ferry-Morse, Livingston Seed, McKenzie Seed, and Seeds of Change. Do with that information what you will), but they’re rarely stocked near the Ferry-Morse ones in the Formal Gardening Section. I’ve most often found them on end caps near the gardening section, so you may have to weave through a few aisles to find them, but once you do there’s an array of flower and vegetable seeds to select from! Alternatively, I’ve found seeds at Dollar Tree sold 2 or 4 for a dollar in Spring as part of their seasonal product; however, when they’re out of stock, they’re typically out of stock for the year. Try to check them out early in the year!

Otherwise, other seed companies like Urban Farmer or Botanical Interests will often have semi-frequent sales in spring and fall, when people are stocking up on seeds--joining their email lists can help you be the first to know when a good sale is going on!

Some foods from grocery stores will provide seeds that you can use in the garden as well. I’ve had the most luck with store-bought bagged beans, peppers, and tomatoes. Some people have had luck with watermelons, apples, citrus, squash, and more. Do keep in mind that you likely won’t get the same variety of fruit/vegetable as the one you bought--the resulting plant may look different and taste different.

Give it a shot! Pick some beans you like--if they don't grow well, at least you can eat the rest!

If you live in the US, food-producing live plants, bare roots, and seeds can often be purchased with SNAP benefits. But what does growing fruits, veggies, and herbs have to do with boosting biodiversity? While food crops aren’t typically native, they still provide valuable shelter for native insects. Some plants even have intricate relationships with native fauna--like the squash bee, a solitary bee which exclusively pollinates cucurbits like pumpkins, squash, and zucchini. And we get to benefit more directly as well! If you’re planting a diverse range of foods in your garden (as opposed to the swaths of single-plant farms that typically produce what’s sent to grocery stores), you’re supporting high levels of biodiversity by providing a variety of plants for creatures to live and hunt around.

Most of the time, when we think of boosting biodiversity with a garden, we think of a colorful flower garden teeming with pollinator species. However, if we’re striving to use native species, it can be a bit difficult to find some species in stores. I can say from experience that trying to find any wildflower seeds other than butterfly weed, purple coneflowers, and black-eyed-susans is… challenging, if you limit yourself to stores like Walmart, Home Depot, and Lowe’s. You might occasionally get lucky with an ACE Hardware or a local nursery, but even then sometimes it can be hard to track down who in your area is selling what--let alone if you live in an area where no one really is selling native plants or their seeds. Not to mention, even once you find a local or online store selling the seeds you want, they can sometimes cost a pretty penny. So what do you do?

If you have the option to, consider gathering native seeds yourself! Get good at identifying the native flora and fauna--or at least, a few target plants and their lookalikes--and get ready to go! Learn where they tend to grow, when they’ll be seeding, etc. Try to identify the plant before it goes to seed (for most plants, it's easiest to identify when flowering), then check back regularly to gather seeds. Typically, if I want to learn how to collect seed from a specific plant, I just search it on Google or YouTube--oftentimes, I'm lead to the GrowItBuildIt Youtube page, so it may be a helpful resource for you as well! Of course, make sure to leave plenty of seed behind so the wild population can repopulate, and seed can feed other creatures in the area. A good rule of thumb is to take no more than 1/3rd of what's available.

Buying seed in bulk is an option if you can afford the upfront cost. Try teaming up with a few friends to buy some bulk seeds and split them amongst yourselves--you’ll get tons of seed! Prairie Moon is a popular site that'll sell seeds by the pound if you can afford the price--though they're in the US, and I believe they focus on Midwest and East Coast natives.

If you want to cheat the system, don’t buy bulk sunflower seeds--buy bags of sunflower seeds being sold as birdseed. They’re typically all black oil sunflower seeds, but they’ll sprout, and they’re fairly cheap for the amount you get!

However, beware generic wildflower seed mixes! Many brands like to sell wildflower seed mixes in big box stores like Home Depot, Target, or even Dollar Tree, but they’ll often include flowers that aren’t native or possibly even invasive in your region! Before you make any purchases, double check to make sure the contained seeds won’t do more harm than good! A quality source of native seeds will provide English and Latin names for all seeds included, and will be native to the region or at least non-invasive. 

See this? I don't trust this.

There’s a good handful of programs online that’ll send you free seeds if you’re planning to start a native habitat project! Poke around online and see what you can find; you might get lucky! The best time to start looking for these is fall and winter, I find--by early spring, many of them are either done or beginning to wind down... though some also start up in spring. Ultimately--just check regularly! You never know what you can find!

Other Ways to Get Plants

Don’t want to start from seed? That’s fair! You can try cuttings! Just be sure not to take too much of the plant while you do so. Make sure you’ve gotten a few leaf nodes on your cutting, and cut any flowers you may have gotten. Make sure to leave some blooms and foliage on the original plant for the creatures in the current habitat--you don’t want to destroy one habitat to make another in your garden. There’s tons of methods of rooting cuttings, many of which have different efficacy rates for different plants, but that’s a topic for another post.

If you find seedlings growing in a place where they won’t be able to sustain themselves long-term, or are in danger of being destroyed, consider relocating them! You may be able to gently dig up and transplant the seedling to your garden. Don’t do this if they’re in a place where they can easily survive--ideally, you’ll be taking plants from sidewalk cracks, heavily maintained public gardens, roadsides, etc. Do be careful while doing this--ensure your safety first!  

You’re totally allowed to join gardening communities like clubs, facebook groups, and more before you’ve even put a trowel to the dirt. These are great places to learn information and advice! Many gardeners are more than happy to help out a new gardener, and will eagerly provide seeds, cuttings, or even baby plants! Talk to some people about your gardening journey and what you’re hoping to do, and you just might find some kindred spirits--or at least get more people interested in the topic! 

Seed and plant giveaways and trades happen all the time in gardening clubs, as well as online! Just poke around and see what you can find! Some are explicitly trades, meaning you’re expected to send something in return, but once you get your feet on the ground with some plant knowledge you’ll be stellar! You may be able to explain you’re just starting out, and someone may send you seeds without expecting a trade, but I’d suggest trying giveaways first. 

Poke around online and see if there’s a local chapter of your state’s native plant society. From there, you’ll likely be able to find a calendar of events--many of them will host plant sales in the spring, with a bunch of native plant seedlings ripe for the pickings if you can make it out and have some money to spare! Fair warning, though, you’ll want to get there early if you can. If they say they’re starting at 10, try to get there by 9:45. Year after year, there’s always record turnout, and they sell out of plants faster than ever. Just trust me on this. I’ve been let down; hopefully you won’t have to be.

Some libraries are beginning to host seed libraries! Check around and see if your library has one! Ideally, the system works best if you also have seeds to contribute in return, but if you’re just starting out I’m sure they won’t mind you taking some seeds! Just consider saving some seeds to contribute in the future and pay it forward. If your library doesn’t have a seed library? Consider asking if they’d be willing to start one! Community interest is a great way to get the ball rolling on projects like these, but they’ll only know the community is interested if the community tells them they’re interested!

Volunteer to Garden for/with Someone Else

Maybe someone in your area wants to garden, but is struggling to find the time/energy. Many elderly people who used to garden simply can’t anymore but still would like a garden. Other people may love to have a helping hand in their garden. You might even find a few people in your area interested in renting and sharing a community garden plot with others, so they don't have to handle it all on their own! They may be interested in increasing biodiversity right now, or may be willing to if it’s brought up to them. You might be just the kind of person someone needs! Since it won't be your garden, you’ll likely need a bit of permission and collaboration to get anything in particular going, but it’s worth a shot and a way to maybe even make friends! 

Again, your mileage may vary with some of these. You may not know where there's a bunch of wildflowers growing in your area, or maybe your local library doesn't have a free seed library. That's okay! Do what you're able to, find what you can find, get what you can get! And there's never any shame with starting small--in fact, starting small can make the project easier to manage and expand when you're able!

That's the end of this post! My next post is gonna be about ways to start growing plants cheaply--low cost seed starting set ups, essentially. There's a lot of good options, many of which I've used myself even! Until then, I hope this advice is helpful! Feel free to reply with any questions, success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in!

#biodiversity #solarpunk #gardening #outdoor gardening #growing from seed #ani rambles #out of queue #the biodiversity saga #i will be honest I have never flat out approached people to offer to help them garden #HOWEVER. People HAVE approached ME asking ME to help THEM with/plan THEIR garden #granted it was after I'd been gardening for a good few years. and its mostly family or family friends but yknow #people would be like 'oh wanna help me with my veggie garden?' even before I tried growing vegetables #i don't think the library near me has a seed library but you just wait until i. get the courage. to go to the library regularly. #i've seen people also make their own little seed library structures kinda like a little free library but like #i dont think my neighborhood is about that life. #if any of yall have those though it could be a great resource! also send pics because I love seeing them #not to say that this post should become a giant seed trade but if it did become that i would be the opposite of mad #if there's any typos blame my sister shes got the hotel room at like 60-something degrees and I am FREEZING #welp time to shut up now bye

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for leaving an unflushable poo in someone's toilet? ....This one is gross. Sorry.

I have diverticulitis, which is... a bathroom issue. They thought it was Crohn's for a long time, and many incompetent doctors + health complications later, they found out I had an enormous abscess and a golfball-sized fistula growing inside my colon. As you can imagine, this comes with a plethora of issues I am too embarrassed to divulge in their entirety.

This event happened before I had the abscess surgically removed, so I was mid 20s at the time. A friend set me up with this guy I had met once before at a party (J). It was practically a blind date. Things went well and we went back to his house.

Then it happened.

The gurgling. The pain. I told him I needed to go to the bathroom. As luck would have it, this was the WORST bathroom emergency I have ever had in my entire life. I shat more than I have ever shat. I was worried parts of my body would escape out of me and I would somehow reverse-hungry-caterpillar myself into nothingness.

I spent so long doing the deed and trying to clean it up, it must have been around 2 full hours, and we were both reasonably drunk - so when I went to peek my head in the living room, he was asleep. I tried again to plunge this beast back from whence it came. I was crying. It's quite funny in hindsight but as you can imagine, easily one of the worst humiliations I have ever endured. At one point, I had my HAND and FOREARM down this guy's toilet trying to set free the freakish poobaby I had just conceived in his otherwise impeccable loo (a fancy one with BUTTONS instead of a flush handle!). I even took the top off the toilet and tried to... hand-pump the water, I guess? Desperation.

I finally gave up. The whole room stank like sulfur and purse-sized citrus bodyspray so I cracked the window and cleaned up the best I could. I realized that it was, at this point, best left to a professional plumber, or perhaps an exorcist. I was younger and embarrassed and opted to go home, leaving nothing but a foul scent trail and a very small note (Later referred to by my friends as the Ghost Shitter Calling Card) written on a toilet paper square that said "oops" because I guess I thought that would be funny and maybe soften the blow. It was decidedly Not Funny, however, and to my surprise, he never made me foot the plumbing bill, but he did politely tell me that he was uninterested in going out again. Not that I blame him.

Lots of crying and shame later, and after getting my issues fixed via surgery, I am now wondering if there was a better course of action here. My friends do love this story but some of them have mentioned they would be LIVID if somebody did that to them. I know I am probably the asshole for leaving it like that. I really did try my best, and I do believe any people on here with less-than-ladylike health issues will at least partially understand what it's like, and what I was thinking at the time.

TLDR I clogged my date's toilet and left it like that since he fell asleep. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #unsanitary cw

[elryuse]

yandere ceo minji x secretary y/n ft. hanni???

A CEO Stole my Boyfriend

YANDERE CEO MINJI X MALE READER X HANNI

The jasmine first appeared subtly, a fleeting whiff that brushed past my nose as Y/n leaned in for a kiss. It was a foreign scent, not the familiar citrus and vanilla of my own perfume, but a heady, floral aroma that lingered long after he pulled away.

"What's that smell?" I asked, wrinkling my nose playfully.

Y/n, usually unflappable, stumbled over his words. "Uh, I, uh... must've walked by a new air freshener at the office."

His cheeks flushed a tell-tale pink, and a tiny seed of doubt sprouted in my gut. It was a flimsy excuse, but I chose to believe him. After all, Minji, our CEO, was notorious for pushing her employees to handle her eccentric demands. Extra-long hours and experimental air fresheners seemed par for the course.

But the scent persisted, clinging to Y/n's clothes like a secret memory. It coincided with the creeping changes in his behavior. Long hours at the office morphed into disappearing weekends, punctuated by terse phone calls and hurried excuses. The man known for his boundless energy and infectious smile seemed perpetually drained, a dark circle blossoming under his usually bright eyes.

"Work stress, huh?" I said one evening, trying to sound casual as I traced a finger along his furrowed brow.

Y/n flinched, his smile strained. "Yeah, just a rough patch. Minji's got us all jumping through hoops lately."

"Well, tell her to take it easy on you," I said, my voice tight with a growing unease I couldn't quite place. "You deserve a break."

He offered a weak smile. "I will. Maybe we can finally take that Napa Valley trip after all."

The anticipation crackled between us, a promise whispered under stolen kisses and shared dreams. Then, the announcement. Minji, her perfectly manicured nails tapping a staccato rhythm on the conference table, declared a "critical business trip" to LA. Y/n was needed, she proclaimed, urgency lacing her voice.

The air in the room went cold. "But what about our trip?" I blurted out, unable to contain the tremor in my voice.

Minji's eyes, usually calculating, flickered with something akin to amusement. "Oh, the Napa trip? I'm sure you two can reschedule. This, however," she said, her gaze lingering possessively on Y/n, "can't wait."

That night, as Y/n packed a meager overnight bag, the jasmine scent overwhelmed me. It clung to his clothes, a tangible reminder of the secret life he seemed to be leading. My voice, usually brimming with love, faltered as I asked, "Something's wrong, Y/n. Tell me."

He met my gaze, the usual warmth replaced by a flicker of panic. "It's just work, Hanni. Nothing to worry about."

"Is it, though?" I pressed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Because lately, it feels like there's a whole lot you're not telling me."

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. "It's complicated, okay? Just trust me, this trip is important."

But trust, that fragile thread that bound us together, began to fray at the edges. The following weeks were an agonizing ballet of deceit. Calls became scarce, filled with awkward silences and fabricated stories about "unexpected board meetings" that stretched late into the night. The Napa Valley trip became a painful memory, a cruel promise unfulfilled.

One evening, as Y/n hurried off to another "late-night meeting," my suspicions reached a boiling point. "Where are you really going, Y/n?" I demanded, my voice laced with a newfound steel.

He hesitated, the jasmine scent swirling around him like a poisonous fog. "It's... work, Hanni. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt.

Just then, Minji's voice, dripping with saccharine sweetness, echoed from the doorway. "Don't worry, Hanni. Y/n's just helping me with a little... late-night brainstorming session." Her eyes, cold and calculating, met mine for a fleeting moment before flickering back to Y/n. "We wouldn't want the company to suffer because of a little weekend getaway, would we now, darling?"

Y/n flinched at the pet name, a flicker of something akin to disgust crossing his face before it was quickly masked by forced compliance. "Of course not, Minji," he mumbled, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

Minji's smile widened, the tips of her perfectly manicured nails glinting under the harsh office lights. It was a smile that promised both reward and punishment, depending on who she was addressing. Her gaze, previously cold, softened slightly as it landed on Y/n. "Excellent. Now, shall we get going, darling?" she purred, her voice dripping with a possessiveness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Y/n offered a weak nod and mumbled a goodbye as he scurried past me, the jasmine scent clinging to him like a shroud. The air grew thick with a suffocating silence as the door clicked shut behind him. Minji's smile, once playful, morphed into a predatory smirk as she turned her icy gaze towards me.

"So," she drawled, her voice taking on a mocking tone, "worried your little weekend getaway plans got foiled?"

My throat tightened, the words catching in my chest. Fear, cold and primal, coiled in my stomach. Minji wasn't just our CEO; she was a force of nature, a hurricane with a designer wardrobe. Witnessing her manipulate Y/n with such ease sent shivers down my spine.

"It's not a 'little' getaway," I managed to force out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Minji scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. "Oh please, darling. Don't tell me you and Y/n actually have anything exciting planned. Movie night and takeout for the hundredth time? Sounds thrilling." Her words were laced with a cruel amusement, each syllable designed to tear down the fragile image of our relationship.

Tears pricked at my eyes, blurring the already distorted image of Minji reflected in the glass wall behind her. Maybe she was right. Our relationship, while comfortable, lacked the spark she seemed to be dangling in front of Y/n. But to expose our vulnerabilities in front of this woman, this predator, felt like signing a death warrant.

Before I could muster a retort, Minji glided closer, her smile morphing into something sinister. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped a haunting rhythm on the glass wall beside me. "You see, Hanni," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, "Y/n craves excitement. He craves a challenge. Does takeout and Netflix offer that?"

I flinched at the venom in her voice, the way she spoke of Y/n as if he were a prize she'd already claimed. "We have a connection you wouldn't understand," I choked out, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semblance of power.

Minji threw her head back and laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed in the empty office. "Oh, honey," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "The connection you have is about as exciting as watching paint dry. Trust me, Y/n deserves more. He deserves someone who can match his brilliance, someone who thrives on the same energy he does."

"And who might that be?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

The smile on Minji's face widened, revealing a glimpse of something sharp and predatory beneath the veneer. "Why, me, of course," she purred, leaning in so close that I could smell the cloying sweetness of her jasmine perfume. "Y/n and I," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we understand each other. We push each other. We're a perfect storm, darling. And let me tell you," she added, her eyes glinting with a chilling possessiveness, "he much prefers the view from here."

A strangled sob escaped my lips, tears streaming down my face. Her words were a brutal assault, stripping away the years of shared laughter, quiet nights in, and whispered dreams. In her warped reality, the comfortable love we shared was nothing compared to the thrilling chaos she offered.

Minji, seemingly satisfied with the devastation she'd wrought, straightened her designer blouse and adjusted her diamond necklace. "Well, this has been delightful," she purred, her voice saccharine once more. "But duty calls. Enjoy your… quiet evening, Hanni."

As she turned to leave, she paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on me with a malicious glint. "Oh, and one more thing," she said, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Don't even think about trying to get in my way. Y/n belongs to me now."

With that, she swept past me, leaving behind a trail of toxic sweetness and a suffocating silence.I collapsed into the nearest chair, the sobs racking my body morphing into a broken, tearful mess. The woman I loved, the man I thought I knew, both seemed to be slipping through my fingers, stolen by a predator who thrived on manipulation and control. The future I'd envisioned, a future filled with shared dreams and laughter, lay shattered at my feet, replaced by a chilling uncertainty that promised nothing but heartache.

Hours bled into one another, the silence of the apartment deafening. Every creak of the floorboard sent a jolt of fear through me, every rustle of leaves outside my window sounded like approaching footsteps. Finally, the sound of the key turning in the lock shattered the silence.

Y/n stumbled in, his face etched with exhaustion. The jasmine scent, once overwhelming, was now faint, barely clinging to him. Relief, a sweet and unexpected sensation, flooded my chest. But before I could speak, he sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

"Y/n" I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying.

He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and weary. "Hey," he croaked, his voice strained. "Sorry I'm late. Minji kept me swamped with work."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Work, huh?" The word tasted like ash in my mouth.

He sighed, a deep, weary sound. "Look, Hanni, about the trip…"

"Forget the trip," I whispered, cutting him off. "What's going on, Y/n? Who is she?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering around the room before settling on me. "It's complicated," he began, then stopped, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. "She... she needs me, Hanni. For the company, I mean."

The lie, flimsy and transparent, hung heavy in the air. "Needs you how?" I pressed, my voice trembling.

Y/n winced, as if the truth pained him. "Look," he said, his voice low, "there's a big deal in the works, and Minji... she wants a public image boost. Apparently, being seen with a successful, 'happily engaged' partner is part of the strategy."

My stomach lurched. Engaged? The word echoed in the room, a cruel mockery of our crumbling relationship.

"Engaged?" I choked out, the word a foreign sound on my tongue.

"It's fake, Hanni," he said hurriedly, reaching for my hand. "Just a show for a month, to close the deal. Then everything goes back to normal. I promise."

His touch, usually a source of comfort, felt foreign now. Doubt gnawed at me, a persistent, unwelcome guest. "A month?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. "A month of pretending to be in love with her, while I sit here alone, wondering if you'll even come home at night?"

Tears welled up in his eyes, mirroring the ones staining my cheeks. "Hanni, please. You have to trust me. This is about our future, ours. If I lose this deal, we both lose our jobs. You know how ruthless Minji can be."

His words held a chilling truth. Minji wasn't above playing dirty, and the thought of losing everything, our relationship and our careers, sent a fresh wave of terror through me.

Y/n cupped my face, his touch gentle but his eyes filled with a desperation that mirrored my own. "This is just temporary, Hanni. I love you. You know that, don't you?"

I searched his eyes, desperately seeking the truth. "Yes," I whispered, my voice thick with tears. "But what if this 'temporary' situation changes something? What if..."

"There are no ifs, Hanni," he insisted, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hand. "We'll get through this. Together."

His words offered a fragile comfort, a lifeline in a storm of uncertainty. But as I looked into his exhausted eyes, a flicker of doubt remained. Could our love survive a month-long performance of fake love with a manipulative predator? The answer, like the future itself, remained shrouded in a chilling uncertainty.

Tears streamed down my face, blurring the image of Y/n cupping my cheeks. His voice, raw with emotion, echoed in my ears. "This is just temporary, Hanni. I love you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," I whispered, clinging to his words like a lifeline. The terror of losing him, of losing everything, receded replaced by a fragile trust. "We'll get through this. Together."

He pulled me into a tight embrace, his body trembling against mine. In that moment, our love felt like a shield against the encroaching darkness. But unbeknownst to me, the darkness had already taken root.

Across town, in a luxurious hotel suite overlooking the city, Minji watched the news report with a triumphant smile. Y/n, his face pale and drawn, stood beside her, a hand awkwardly resting on her waist as they announced their "engagement" to the world. The image was perfect – the epitome of power couple success.

But behind the carefully crafted facade, a different story unfolded. Moments before the cameras rolled, Minji's demeanor had shifted from playful CEO to a cold, calculating predator. A glint of madness flickered in her eyes as she brandished a small, silver pistol, the weight of it chilling in Y/n's hand.

"See, darling," she purred, her voice laced with a dangerous sweetness, "sometimes a little incentive goes a long way. After all, I wouldn't want anything to happen to your precious Hanni, would we?"

The world spun around Y/n. The image of Hanni's tear-streaked face, filled with a love that knew nothing of the storm brewing around them, flashed in his mind. The gun felt foreign in his hand, a grotesque symbol of the twisted game he was forced to play.

Terror choked him, a cold, metallic taste in his mouth. He knew then, with a chilling certainty, that Minji wasn't bluffing. This wasn't just about a business deal or a public image boost; this was about possession, about claiming him as her own twisted trophy.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the image of the predator before him. "You can't do this," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

Minji's smile widened, devoid of warmth. "Oh, but darling," she cooed, leaning in close, the scent of her jasmine perfume thick and cloying, "I already have."

With a cruel laugh that echoed in the opulent room, Minji shoved the gun back into his hand. "Now come along, fiancé," she purred, her voice dripping with a venomous possessiveness, "the world awaits its new power couple."

Y/n, his heart a lead weight in his chest, allowed himself to be led, a puppet on the strings of a madman's twisted game. As they stepped out into the blinding glare of the cameras, his smile felt like a lie, a mask hiding the terror that gnawed at his soul. He was trapped, a pawn in a deadly game, forced to play along for the sake of the woman he loved, oblivious to the darkness that now hung over their future.

As Y/n and Minji entered the office hand-in-hand, a wave of unexpected chaos greeted them. Gone was the usual quiet hum of productivity; instead, the air crackled with a manic energy. Cheers erupted from cubicles, confetti rained down from the ceiling, and streamers, a tacky explosion of colors, adorned the walls. Managers, usually stoic figures of authority, popped champagne bottles, their faces flushed with something more potent than bubbly.

Hanni, who had been anxiously waiting by the entrance, felt a cold dread seep into her bones. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the cacophony of celebration. She watched, paralyzed by a horrifying realization, as her co-workers, oblivious to the truth, showered congratulations on the "happy couple."

Minji, her smile stretched wide and predatory, reveled in the attention. Y/n, on the other hand, seemed like a ghost amidst the pandemonium. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes filled with a haunted emptiness.

One of the managers, a normally reserved woman named Sarah, approached them, a bottle of champagne clutched in her hand. "Congratulations, you two! We're all so thrilled!" she gushed, spraying them both with a liberal dose of bubbly.

Y/n offered a weak smile, the clinking of the glass against his shaking hand the only sound he managed. Minji, however, took center stage. She draped her arm possessively around Y/n's waist, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"Thank you, Sarah! We're so happy to share our news with everyone." Her gaze, sharp and calculating, flickered towards Hanni who stood frozen by the door. A cruel smile played on her lips as she leaned in close to Y/n, her voice barely a whisper.

"Now," she purred, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent, "how about you seal the deal with a kiss for your fiancee?"

Y/n flinched, his body recoiling at the touch of her lips. But trapped in his web of lies, he had no choice. He turned towards Hanni, his eyes filled with a silent apology, and leaned in. The kiss, devoid of any passion, was a grotesque parody of intimacy played out for a cheering audience.

Hanni's world shattered. The man she loved, the future they had planned, all felt like a cruel illusion. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the scene before her. The cheers, the congratulations, the celebratory atmosphere – it all felt like a twisted nightmare.

Through the haze of her heartbreak, she saw Minji's triumphant smirk. It was a victory dance on the ruins of her love, a chilling reminder of the predator who had snatched away her happiness.

Grief and a cold fury warred within her. She wouldn't let Minji win. She had to find a way to expose the truth, to save Y/n from the monster he was now entangled with. But how? In the midst of the celebratory chaos, a desperate plan began to form in her mind. She had to act fast, before it was too late.

Hanni stumbled back as the cheers died down, the taste of champagne metallic on her tongue. The office, once a familiar space, now felt like a gilded cage, the air thick with the stench of Minji's victory. Y/n stood beside her, his face an emotionless mask, a heartbreaking reflection of the love they once shared.

"Congratulations are in order, wouldn't you agree, Hanni?" Minji purred, her voice dripping with false sympathy. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped a cruel rhythm against a champagne flute.

Tears welled up in Hanni's eyes, blurring the image of the celebrating crowd. Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow, but the thought of losing Y/n altogether was an unbearable prospect. She had to play along.

"Y-yes," Hanni stammered, forcing a watery smile. "Congratulations to you both."

Y/n's gaze flickered towards her, a flicker of pain crossing his features before being quickly masked by a practiced smile. "It's for the best, Hanni. You understand, don't you?"

Her heart ached, but a new resolve hardened her voice. "Yes, Y/n," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "If this is what makes you happy, then I… I support you."

A slow smile spread across Minji's face. This was the reaction she'd craved, the sweet surrender of a rival. "Oh, Hanni, darling," she cooed, leaning in close. The jasmine perfume was almost intoxicating, a heady mix of power and danger.

"There's always room for one more in this little game," Minji continued, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Perhaps you could be Our devoted… Pet. A loyal friend, always by Our side, wouldn't that be delightful?"

The suggestion was repugnant, a twisted mockery of their love. But the thought of being near Y/n, even under these humiliating circumstances, was a lifeline in a storm of despair.

Swallowing her pride, Hanni offered a weak nod. "Yes, Minji. I would… I would love to be your P-pet."

A triumphant glint sparked in Minji's eyes. "Excellent!" she declared, clapping her hands together. "Then this calls for a toast! To new beginnings, and a very happy… unconventional family!"

The champagne flute felt heavy in Hanni's hand as she clinked it against Minji's. This wasn't the future she'd envisioned, but it was the only way she could see Y/n again. She had become a pawn in a twisted game, a pet to appease a predator. But within the confines of this gilded cage, a spark of defiance flickered. She would bide her time, gather evidence of Minji's threats and manipulations. One day, she would expose the truth and reclaim her love, even if it meant playing the part of the devoted companion for a while longer. The game had just begun, and Hanni, though forced to her knees, was far from broken.

#minji #minji newjeans #newjeans minji #hanni #newjeans hanni #hanni newjeans #pham hanni #kim minji #newjeans #kpop #yandere x reader #yandere roleplay #yandere blog #yandere stories #love triangle #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #apreciation post #update #yandere

[yikesharringrove]

@thediktatortot sent me some song recommendations with specific harringrove-coded lyrics and I decided I wanted to write something for as many different ones as I have the juice, because I was genuinely inspired and thank you thank you friend for the recommends!

-

First Song: Lemon Boy by Cavetown

“It’s actually pretty easy being nice to a bitter boy like him, so I got myself a citrus friend.”

-

Here’s the thing about Billy Hargrove:

He’s simple. 

Everyone (all the girls) think he’s this complicated thing. This person with a million different layers and a million different faces. And, Steve guesses, that’s sorta true. 

But really, he’s kinda easy to understand. 

He needs kindness. 

There’s not much more to it than that. 

And sure, maybe the why is where the layers come in. He needs kindness because he never gets any blah, blah, blah. 

But at the end of the day, a few nice things, and he’s loyal forever. 

Steve figured it out kind of accidentally. 

Because Billy forgot his textbook in American History, and they sit alphabetically by last name in that class, and so, Steve kinda nudged his book over so that Billy could look on and wouldn’t lose any participation points that day for not being able to answer questions and read when the teacher asked, and so, it was one tiny nice thing. 

Okay, maybe it was more than one tiny nice thing. 

Because it was a chain of tiny nice things. 

Starting with the textbook, and finishing with Steve sucking Billy off in the backseat of the Camaro to “blow off some steam”.

After the textbook, came the apology. 

Half-assed, for sure, and written in scribbly, smudgy handwriting. Not signed, but clear who it’s from. 

Sorry for messing you up like that.

Steve returned it with his own note, dropped pointedly on Billy’s desk in class. 

Sorry for being weird. I promise nothing shady was going on with your sister. I get it though. No hard feelings.

Billy glanced at Steve through his lashes, and Steve was a little disappointed that Billy hadn’t forgotten his history textbook. 

The next nice thing was a coffee. 

Because Steve made himself coffee and a breakfast sandwich on the mornings he decided he didn’t care if he was late to school. 

He was driving to school, listening to an old mixtape he found at the bottom of his glovebox, and he saw Billy. Head bent low, walking along the side of the road. 

HIs hands were in his pockets, and the line of his shoulders was tense. He was all but stomping, and the clear aura of pissed off somehow didn’t deter Steve from pulling along next to him, reaching over to roll down the passenger side window. 

“Hargrove! You want a ride.”

The stomping stopped, but Billy gave no other indication that he had heard Steve. 

The BMW’s engine idled. 

“C’mon, man. It’s like three more miles to school. Lemme drive you.”

When Billy turned to get into the car, Steve was why he was keeping his head down and his shoulders around his ears. 

He had a big black shiner, a bruise covering his whole left eye. 

He sat low in the passenger seat, cranking the window back up. 

“Looks nasty.”

Billy only grunted in response.

“Car in the shop?”

Billy snorted. 

“My dad took my keys.”

Ah. 

Probably clocked him in the face, too. 

Steve’s no stranger to it, even if his dad’s more of a smacker than a puncher. He also had a weird realization that Billy’s dad must be left-handed, like Billy himself. 

Steve took his coffee out of the cup holder, passing it to Billy. 

“You look like you need this more than I do.”

The next nice thing was kinda the one that pushed them over the line. 

Over the line from acquaintances that once beat each other up to actual sort of friends. 

It was also not a nice thing Steve did.

It was one Billy did.

And Steve wasn't even there to witness it.

All he saw was the blue green bruising on Tommy H.'s jaw.

"When are you gonna learn, Tommy. Don't pick fights you can't win."

Tommy nearly snarled at Steve from the bleachers, catching himself last minute before he made a seen in front of the entire P.E. class.

Steve only smirked, and took his seat in front of Tommy.

The coach stood in front of the bored class, explaining that they'd be running laps today.

It's what they did whenever he was too hungover to actually make them so anything.

But it's fine. Steve's always been a good runner, and it means he doesn't have to think about anything or talk to anyone while he went.

He tensed when he felt Tommy lean forward behind him, getting in close to murmur in Steve's ear.

"Found yourself a new attack dog, huh, Stevie? Hargrove nearly knocked my teeth out when I called you a pussy. You givin' it up for him, too?"

"Careful, Buddy. You sound jealous."

Tommy snorted and leaned back, but Steve's gut was rolling.

Billy had taken down Tommy for saying something shitty behind Steve's back.

It made Steve's face hot.

Billy showed up twenty minutes late to P.E. He gave Coach a note, and started his laps with the rest of the class.

Steve slowed his pace to get next to him.

Billy's knuckled were a little bruised, and he had a scratch mark on his neck.

Tommy did always fight dirty.

"Heard you gave it to Tommy."

"He deserved it." Billy kept his eyes forward, his pace steady.

"Yeah. He's a toolbag."

They jogged in silence.

Steve opened his mouth to ask something, when Billy piped up.

"Are we, like, friends?"

"I think so. Unless you make a habit of beating the shit out of people for calling your non-friends pussies."

Steve caught Billy's eye and grinned. Billy's smile was reluctant and small, but Steve liked it.

"Last to finish ten laps owes the winner a milkshake." Steve clapped Billy on the back, and took off, easily weaving through the gaggle of junior girls walking in front of them.

"Harrington, you bastard!"

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #yikes writes #past stommy #hope you like it! my writing style has changed so much lately and this one really made me realize it

[katieaki]

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! There is a summary of the first part, here, the second part, here, and the third part, here. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also now a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

Read it for free on my patreon and vote on what happens next! Excerpt below the cut.

She wasn’t so soothed and medicated that she didn’t thrash in panic when someone woke her by covering her eyes with one hand and gripping her injured arm firmly above the elbow with the other.

“Easy, dude, it’s just me,” Artie said.

“What—“

 “I have a surprise for you,” she said. 

She released Lou’s arm and, still covering her eyes, helped her to her feet. The hand over Lou’s eyes smelled strongly of citrus. Lou had no concept of where she was as Artie led her along. She hadn’t been particularly present as they were making camp and the white noise of the river, the weed, and her lingering sleep disoriented her worse. She reached out and gripped Artie’s belt and the top of her jeans at her hip for stability.

“I made you dinner,” Artie said. “For your birthday. A birthday dinner. Belated. A belated birthday dinner. It’s a regular dinner, too, but, if we just think about it like a birthday dinner, it can be a birthday dinner— a little party. You don’t have to be too festive, I know you’re tired—“

“For gods’ sake, just let her see already!” Holliday interrupted, pushing Artie’s hand away from Lou’s face. 

“Hey, come on, man,” Artie said, disappointed. 

#Wasteland Pony Express #katieakipresentsthewasteland #original fiction #original content #oc #Lou #Louetta Primrose #lesbian fiction #interactive fiction #choose your own adventure #queer western #western romance #lgbtq fiction #choose your own path #cyoa #Artie #Reckoning Tehachapi #Holliday #Holliday Bell #wasteland pony express update

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 6.7k (🤡🤡🤡)

chapter summary: You go on a date with Tommy Miller.

warnings: angst (mild?? a lot happens this chapter), tension, joel being joel, both brother's being on edge, misunderstandings

Chapter Six || Chapter Eight

It’s 5 AM when you tiptoe into the kitchen, hesitantly flicking the lights on .

The quiet of the early morning is broken as the kitchen buzzes alive. Picing up a glass from the cupboard. You pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You hate orange juice. Always have. You despise the aftertaste, but you risk the nausea you’ll get and drink it with large, loud gulps. 

You need to talk to Joel. 

Tommy's voice lingers in your mind, haunting and distant. He sounded so out of it, almost like he was afraid of something. You wanted to ask him what was going on, ask him if he was in any kind of trouble. But you answered him with silence. Normally, you would’ve pried for more information but the weight of his question stunned you.

You couldn’t say anything to Tommy. How could you? 

This…thing with Joel. There’s something there. You can’t be making it all up.

The mere thought of Joel sends shivers down your spine, a sensation that creeps along your skin like a ghostly caress. You can't deny the reality of it all, the stolen glances, the gentle touches that linger just a second too long. It's a feeling you've only ever encountered in the pages of a novel or the strokes of a painting, a visceral need to be close to him that consumes your thoughts.

And that’s why you need to have everything out in the open. 

Your stomach twists into knots as you fill your glass with water. What if you have been imagining things? Perhaps your own grief and loneliness have turned a harmless connection into something more, something that isn't real. You don’t know. It wouldn't be the first time; you thinking there was something else when in truth it was nothing but friendship or less than that. 

The uncertainty gnaws at you, chipping away at your confidence and leaving you questioning everything.

You take a sip of water. The taste of citrus lingers on your tongue. With a grimace, you spit into the sink and wipe the sweat from your brow. Sweat clings to your skin. You feel sick. It’s 5 AM. When does Joel wake up again? Seven? Eight? 

Should you go to his room? 

Placing the glass in the sink, you head back upstairs. You'll just have to bide your time until you hear the sound of his footsteps, and then you'll make your move. Shouldn’t be hard with how wound up you are. 

You inhale the heady scent of coffee. But no matter how many inhales you take, you can’t concentrate. Every time you’re finished with an order, you don’t miss the disappointed looks of the customers as they look down to their cups and see the latte art you made. It’s definitely not your best work; your swans are misshapen, and your tulips look more like blobs than delicate flowers.

Of course, you overslept. 

You saw none of the Millers that morning. No Sarah, no Tommy, and, most importantly, no Joel. 

He did leave you a blueberry muffin on the kitchen counter though, and coffee. Which you ate on the way to work, a goofy smile on your lips.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Olivia chides, taking a piece of apple pie to serve. 

“Just tired.” 

“Well, that’s an obvious lie.” 

The conversation grinds to a halt. Olivia serves an older woman her slice of pie and you hand her a cup of black coffee. She turns to you as the customer leaves, a scowl deeply etched into her otherwise round features. 

“Tell me what’s bothering you. Nightmares again?” 

“No…nothing like that,” you pick up your stashed latte and bring it to your lips. You take two quick sips before hiding it away again. “Tommy asked me out.” 

“Oh?” she gasps, clearly excited on your behalf. Which is the opposite of what you’re feeling. “The younger Miller? He’s cute. What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” 

“What do you mean nothing?” 

You grind the heel of your palm against your forehead, the heat already prickling at your skin. The words overwhelm you, yet all you want to do is express yourself. Olivia shakes her head. With a breathless laugh, she reaches over to squeeze your hand.

“Please don’t tell me you just hung up on him?” 

“Oh god no!” you answer with a huff. Funnily enough the accusation calms your racing mind. “I just said I’d think about it. He said he understood.” 

“Well…I guess that’s better than hanging up on him—I think. Why the hesitation? Is it Joel?” 

“That obvious?” 

“Not really. Just the best friend privilege.” she grins. “So what are you gonna do?” 

“I wanted to talk to Joel this morning but the entire family was gone before I could see him.” your shoulders drop. “Maybe it’s better I don’t say anything. What good will it do anyway? He has a girlfriend.” 

“That’s true, but you did say their relationship wasn’t all that serious. So who knows.” she taps her forefinger against the corner of her jaw. “My question is…do you actually like Tommy? If Joel wasn’t a thing, would you want to date him? Because if your answer is still no, I don’t think you really need to think about it.” 

She's right. If you have no interest in dating Tommy, regardless of Joel, then entertaining the thought is pointless.

You spend the rest of the day pondering the question. You continue to serve the incoming rush, your hand becoming more steady with every pour. The rich hue of the dark roast coffee reminds you of Tommy - a kind, dependable person who's been there for you through thick and thin. He has a way of making you laugh, and when he gets too close, your heart skips a beat. He always knows how to make you feel better, no matter what.

If Joel wasn’t his brother—if you felt nothing for Joel—would you want to date him? 

Yes. Your answer would be yes. 

Your eyes flit to the glass doors in panic. Gray clouds hover aimlessly in the sky, lighting strikes, the sound of thunder following. Normally you’d smile, turn to Olivia, and say how happy you are to see rain. Your muses always seem to dance aimlessly under the heavy pour. 

But today. Today it feels ominous. 

Heavy drops start to strike the windows, more people seek shelter in the small coffee shop. Orders come pouring in; Mochas, Lattes, Espressos. You welcome the workload, your fingers working faster than your mind. It’s a pleasant shift in energy. 

During your lunch break, you sneak a peek at your phone. 

> TOMMY: 

> Sorry about calling you so late last night. 

You stand frozen, eyes glued to the screen. Another message pops up before you can answer the first. 

> TOMMY: 

> But my question still stands. I meant it (just saying in case you thought I was drunk or soemthing I wasn’t.)

You smile at the typo. You think about making a joke, a weak attempt to lighten the tension you can feel cracking through the screen. You decide against it. And briefly, you think about not answering at all. With a frown, you shake your head. That would be just mean. 

Some fucked up part of you wonders if Tommy told Joel. Would the older Miller brother be jealous? Would he see it as a missed opportunity? It's an irrational train of thought, but you can't bring yourself to believe that the tension between you and Joel is just in your head.

You never thought of yourself as desirable. Hell, you barely had a proper boyfriend before all of this. A sick sense of power twists in your gut. It’s nice to be wanted. 

You start to type.

> YOU: 

> It’s okay. I was awake anyway… It’s a busy day at the coffee shop. I’ll let you know tonight.

Staring at the unsent message, you begin to think not answering at all might’ve been better. You should be honest with him. Tell him that there’s someone else. Even if you misread Joel, that still doesn’t give you the right to date Tommy as a consolation prize. 

You delete the text and write something more honest instead. 

> YOU: 

> It’s okay. I was awake anyway… I don’t think I can Tommy sor

Your fingers hover aimlessly over the keyboard. Saying no via text just seems like a shitty thing to do. You look up at Olivia, who checks her nails and adjusts her apron with a small pout. Boredom never sat well with her, and with all the customers happily sipping their coffees and biting into their pastries, there isn't much to do.

Your gaze drops back to the screen. You don’t want to string him along, but you also don’t want to reject him with a shitty text. 

So you decide to mix the two answers together. 

> YOU: 

> How about we talk tomorrow face to face? I think I can explain myself better that way

You let out a frustrated groan. This was just a no in disguise. 

Fuck it. 

You delete your answer and shove the phone back into your bag. You’ll just get back to him later. He knows you’re working today. He knows that you’re stressed about the power still not being back on in your house.  

You fidget with the hem of your apron. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. The last thing you want is to hurt him. 

Joel side-eyes his younger brother as he drops the phone onto his lap. His leg bobs nervously, his knuckles white from where he holds the steering wheel. Tommy’s been on edge all day. He’s been particularly snappy towards Joel and nearly cut his entire damn hand off. Joel’s not the best at addressing his worries. He’s definitely not good at it like his brother, who seems to have a natural capability to make people feel better. 

He’s seen it play out god knows how many times. He’s seen the way the tension would drain away from your body at something Tommy would say. Joel hates the toxicity rolling in his gut. He really needs to talk to you—about Tommy, about himself, about everything. 

The truck rounds the corner and Asha’s apartment comes into view. 

The inside of Joel’s mouth is like sandpaper. He wants to ask Tommy what's been bothering him all day, but the words seem to stick in his mouth like glue. Tommy's eyes dart from the road to his phone, checking it for the umpteenth time today.

“You waitin’ for a call or somethin’?” Joel forces a weak smile, he’s highly aware that it probably doesn’t look as smooth as it does in his head. Tommy raises an eyebrow and stuffs the phone into his pocket. He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. 

“Nah, it’s nothin’ important. Don’t worry about it.” the truck comes to a slow halt, the tires squeaking under the weight of the vehicle. “I couldn’t sleep last night that’s why I’m a bit all over the place.” 

“A’right then.” 

Joel knows Tommy’s lying, but he also knows that if he presses for more information it’ll backfire. He looks up to Asha’s apartment instead. He doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the truck. 

“What are you waitin’ for, get out old man.” Tommy teases, a small grin playing on his lips. Joel feels like he can breathe again, the playful tone of his brother a gentle shove for him to go on with his plan. He takes a deep breath and opens the door. 

“See you t’morrow, Tommy.” 

“See ya. Take it easy.” 

With that, he’s off. Joel stares until the truck turns the corner. His heart is restless, beating too fast and straining his breath. The apartment complex looms over him. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to have the “talk”. He wants to go home, have a cup of coffee, and, preferably, talk to you. 

He does manage to take a step forward seconds later. Joel didn’t raise himself to be a coward. Asha would understand, they had some great moments together but both of them knew that this relationship didn’t have a solid enough ground for them to keep walking on. 

Asha buzzes him in and Joel climbs the stairs, every step heavier then the last. When he arrives, the door to Asha’s apartment is already open, light pouring out into the dark hall. 

“Hey there,” Asha greets him, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest. “Looks like you had a shit day.” 

“Uh…somethin’ like that.” 

He’s not a fan of the way she’s staring him down. Her gaze is piercing, slowly moving up his body and remaining glued to his face. A small smile touches her red lips. 

“You want to come inside or do this here?” 

“Asha,” Joel warns, his tone dropping. She hugs herself tighter, averting his gaze.

“Sorry, I know you hate me being a know it all.” she shakes her head, arms dropping to her sides. “I don’t mean to get defensive. I knew it was going to happen, I just…I don’t really know what I was expecting.” 

Joel closes the distance, and he reaches up, cradling her face with two hands. Asha’s smile never wavers as she leans into his touch. Her lips find the curve of his thumb, pressing a kiss into his skin. 

“We had fun didn’t we?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

Joel smiles. “That we did,” his mouth finds the crown of her head, his lips move against her skin. “I’m happy we met. If you ever need anythin’ don’t hesitate to call.” 

Her sudden burst of laughter makes him feel lightheaded. Joel pulls away, hands dropping to her hips. She playfully smacks his shoulder, rolling her big eyes at him. 

“Yeah, you better believe I’ll give you a call if my table breaks down.” Before he can come up with a quip of his own, her lips touch his cheek. She smells like cherries. “See you around, Joel Miller.”  

The sky now clear but the pavement still wet, your boots make a squishing sound with each step, echoing through the silence of the afternoon. You love the wide street, trees on each side, leaves rustling with the wind. The rain clouds had cleared up, leaving a lovely crispness in the air. Gray clouds now a muted white, you look up. You take in the rainbow of the sky, orange hues mix with the pinks. A beautiful harmony of color. 

Your heart thrums loudly in your chest. Every step brings you closer to him.

To Joel. 

Finally, after a day of hoping and dreaming, you’ll finally see what reality has to offer. In the distance you see Joel working on the garden. His shirt stretches taut over the expanse of his broad shoulders, the fabric damp with sweat where it clings to the curve of his spine. The muscles in his arms flex as he tends to the plants, the veins visible beneath his skin. 

The closer you get, the louder the grunts and huffs become. Your cheeks warm at the sound; your imagination taking you places that it shouldn’t go. Not yet, at least. 

“Hey, there neighbor,” you call out, opening the gate. “Lovely to see you actually giving the flowers the attention they deserve.” 

You stand next to him and he stills, planting the sharp end of the small shovel into the dirt. Your hold your breath at the sight of him slowly lifting his gaze. The corners of his lips turn up in a small smile, his gaze soft. Your pulse quickens. You have his full, undivided attention. 

Pulling away your gaze, you fall next to him, crossing your legs as you stare at the flowers ready to go into the ground. 

“They ain’t the only ones I’ve failed to give attention to,” he mutters, his eyes dropping to your lips. You don’t see it, not clearly, but you feel it. A scorching hot iron against the sensitive skin. You hear him swallow. “How’s your day been?” 

“Uh…busy. I—” 

Suddenly, you turn to him, slightly taken aback when you catch Joel’s gaze already fixed on you. You breathe heavily through your nose, your nostrils flare. Every muscle is taut over your bone, begging you to stretch and release the tension. 

Joel, on the other hand, looks relaxed, like he’s finally let the world drop away from his shoulders. 

As if on cue, you both begin to speak simultaneously, each blurting out, "I need to tell you something."

You both burst into giggles, unable to contain the nervous energy that crackles between you. Joel offers a gentle smile and a slight nod of his head. "You go first," he says, gesturing with his hand.

The warm afternoon sun casts a soft glow on the colorful flowers Joel had been planting in the garden beds just moments before. Their sweet fragrance fills the air, mingling with the fresh scent of the earth. You take a deep breath. 

"Okay," you say, smile wavering. Your mouth goes dry when he stares at you with wide, expectant eyes. Your stomach clenching, you shake your head, trying to calm your fried nerves. “Okay, okay— The thing is…well…Tommy asked me out.” 

“He…” Joel blinks, eyes dropping to where the small shovel is buried. “He asked you out?” 

“Yes but–” 

“I’m happy for you two, that’s good.” 

You watch him wide-eyed as he speaks, his words tumbling out in a rush. Your eyes flicker to the frantic rise and fall of his chest, the sharp movements of his hands. There's something unsteady about him now, something off-kilter. It sends shivers down your spine, makes your heart race in your chest.

“No, wait.” you attempt to place a hand to slow him down but he jerks away. Like he’s been burned. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t…I didn’t say yes.” 

He huffs, refusing to look at you. “Did you say no?” 

“I didn’t…I didn’t really give him an answer yet—I actually wanted to talk to you first.” 

“Why? You want my blessin’ or somethin’?” 

“Joel!” you finally snap, your chest heaving. “Can you just—fuck. Can you just listen?”

Your sudden outburst seems to do the trick but he’s still not looking at you. The afternoon wind blows cold between you. The flowers softly moving with the breeze. His knuckles turn white around the handle of the shovel. You’ve seen him mad before, but that anger was never directed at you. It makes you fumble with your words, not really knowing how to defuse the situation. Even if you frequently entertained the thought of something unspoken lingering between the two of you, he has Asha. You’re not even sure what you’re expecting now. This was a mistake, you shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. 

“I just wanted to say that…I think,” you let out a sigh. “I know this might seem sudden, or maybe even a bit unwanted, but I have—” 

Joel cuts you off with a sharp turn of his head. You were right. He’s angry. 

“You should go out with him.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“My brother…” he shakes his head, finally dropping the darned shovel. With a furrow, he stares into the hole he made. Both figuratively and literally. “He’s a good man, tries to be one, at least. He’ll take care of you. Help you. You’ll never find anyone like him, someone that will love you with every fiber of his being. You deserve that. You deserve to be happy and supported.” 

“But–” 

“Nothing else matters.” he leans forward. Fingers touching your chin, Joel forces you to look at him. Really look at him. You only see your frightened expression reflecting back at you in his eyes. His voice cracks when he speaks again. “He’s my brother, sweet tea.” 

You part your lips and he interrupts again, shaking his head. 

“You’ll be happy. You’ll be close.” 

It almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself rather than you. As if this is the only way. The right way. Tears flood your lashline and as they threaten to spill, you quickly turn away. If he noticed, he doesn’t say anything. 

Waves of emotions come crashing through, cresting like a tide, it swallows you whole. Your mind is screaming—screeching—at you to head inside, pack everything and return to your lightless home. Fuck. You’re a joke. He doesn’t care about you, not in the way that you’ve been hoping for. Your stomach churns, and your chest caves in. Lungs having trouble breathing. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be on the verge of confessing your feelings to him. He doesn’t want your burden. He doesn’t want you. 

You’ll be close—what the fuck does that even mean? 

"Fine," you answer through gritted teeth, forcing yourself to stand up despite the dizziness and disorientation that overwhelms you. You try to ignore the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach as you choke out, "Thanks for your blessing."

Bitterness seeps through every word, dripping with venom and resentment. The taste of bile rises in your throat as you turn away from him, leaving him there among his unplanted flowers. The colors seem to fade and dim, robbed of their vibrancy and life. Even the sky above seems to lose its luster, the once-beautiful colors now muted and tasteless.

A butterfly follows you into the house.

It’s the next day, and by some miracle, you managed to steer clear away from Joel in his own goddamn house. It’s been easy actually. When Sarah asked why you weren’t joining them for lunch, you simply said you had a breakthrough and had to paint. Which was a big fat lie but what else could you have said? In all honesty, your muses have never been more asleep. 

The clock on your bedside table clicks menacingly. It’s about 7 PM, meaning that you have to get ready soon for your date with Tommy. 

Honestly, you have half the mind to call and cancel but you can’t do that to him. Besides, there’s no harm in going out. Perhaps some alone time together is just what you need to ignite the spark that’s missing.

You try not to be petty, but you're still angry with Joel. Maybe it's irrational, but you can't help the hot flush of resentment that prickles beneath your skin. As you enter the bathroom, you purposefully leave the door open, relishing in the small act of rebellion. You turn on the music, scrolling through the radio channels until you find the perfect song to fit your mood. "Take On Me" by A-ha begins to flood through the cheap speakers, a classic '80s hit that you can't resist.

Whenever he passes the doorway, you feel his eyes on you, even though you don't turn to look. You can sense the weight of his gaze, the tension between you thick and charged with unspoken words. You adjust your skirt, tugging it down a bit, but you know it's a futile effort. The material slides up again as soon as you start walking, baring more of your legs than you intended.

You can't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction at his obvious discomfort. 

“Wow, you look amazing.” 

You jerk away from the mirror, your fingers barely an inch away from your hair where you were trying to fix it. You see Sarah standing at the door, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“You going on a date?” she wiggles her eyebrows, which prompts the playful roll of your eyes. 

“Something like that,” you answer, smiling. She’s holding a sketchbook. “Did you want to show me something?” 

“Uh, yeah but I can show it to you later if you’re busy.” 

“I’m never busy for you,” you answer, grinning. “Come on, show me.” 

Before she does, Sarah calls out for her father, which makes your blood bubble underneath you nails. Your breath catches in your throat, and in an attempt to distract yourself, you reach for Sarah's sketchbook, flipping through the pages. 

Despite Joel's overwhelming presence by your side, you find solace in the fluid dance of Sarah's art on the pages before you, momentarily forgetting the weight on your shoulders.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the intricate details of her drawings. The lines are delicate and precise, each stroke carefully placed to capture the essence of the natural world. You can see the subtle variations in the shading, the way the light falls on the leaves of the trees, the way the petals of the flowers seem to dance in the breeze.

You lean in closer, unable to tear your eyes away from the page. The texture of the paper under your fingertips is rough, but the drawings are so precise and detailed that it feels like you could reach out and touch the leaves, feel the rough bark of the trees.

Joel leans closer and your elbows touch, he’s just as stunned as you are.

“Holy shit,” Joel mutters, eyes moving to Sarah. “Baby, these are amazing. Is there anythin’ you can’t do?” 

“Nope!” she grins, taking the sketchbook back. Your hands feel naked without the inked paper, a sudden chill washing over you. “But I can’t take all the credit. I had a great teacher.” 

It takes you a moment to realize that Sarah’s talking about you. Both Millers' gazes fall upon you, waiting for you to respond. You shift from one lef to another. A nervous laughter bubbles in the back of your throat and you shake your head. 

“This is all you. I simply gave you a couple of tips, you’re a natural.” 

“If you two inflate my ego any further I think I might float away,” she answers, laughing at her own joke. “Anyway, I’m off. The Adlers insisted I come over.” 

Joel gives Sarah’s head a gentle pat before she leaves, the teen leans into her father’s touch, smiling to the widest. She waves you off, “Have fun on your date.” 

Joel's jaw tightens, grinding with tension after she leaves and he fixes you a stern look. You expect him to leave, but against his better judgment, he decides to stay. He watches you, his darkened gaze taking in your short skirt and low-cut blouse. It’s his form of self-inflicted torture. 

Joel moves right behind you, observing as you put on your lipstick. You  see his reflection in the mirror. His eyes a heavyweight lingering on your skin, a tingle running down your spine. You push the thoughts away. He’d made himself perfectly clear yesterday. 

You can't help but think about how unfair it all is. He had no right to be mad, especially when he's the one who told you to go out with Tommy. And yet, here he is, scowling at you through the mirror. 

Your gaze meets his, and you can see the wheels turning in his head.

"You look great," he grunts, his voice low.

You watch his reflection getting closer, your heart racing in your chest. Your breath catches in your throat, body aching for his touch. His eyes are on your lips. 

"You think so?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nods, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes. "Yeah, I do."

Joel watches you like a hawk through the reflection, his hands hovering an inch away from your waist. You’re abundantly aware that this might be a breaking point for him. He’s not touching you, but he’s not exactly not touching you either. 

He takes a deep inhale, and on the exhale, his hot breath fans your neck. “You smell good too.” 

A shiver runs down your spine as his warmth lingers. Your body responds to his presence. An itch that you just can’t seem to reach. You want to lean in, feel the firmness of his chest against your own. You want him to touch you, feel those calloused hands you admire so much trailing down your skin, finding purchase above your sex— 

His arms drop to his sides, and he takes a slow step back. Every movement strained. 

Another shudder overwhelms you. You’ll be close, is what he’d said the day before. Now that your frustrations have dwindled, you’re starting to think maybe what he’s doing is more sacrificial rather than an attempt to get rid of you, or to push you away. You swallow thickly, the knot in your throat making it impossible to say anything. 

From his reflection, it almost looks like he’s about to say something. Maybe he was going to take back what he said. Maybe he was going to let you admit what you’ve been feeling all this time. Maybe he’s going to allow you to tell him; It’s you Joel. It’s always been you. 

But he doesn’t say a word. He chews the inside of his bottom lip and just on cue, a loud honk echoes into the night. Tommy. Both of you turn to stare out the window. Both of you seeing the little headlights of the familiar truck. 

Joel’s eyes drop to the granite floor, face contorting with regret and shame. 

“Have fun.” he says, disappearing into the hall. 

The drive to the 360 Overlook is a silent one. The truck winds its way up the narrow road that leads to the top of the hill. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the trees and the occasional glimpse of the view beyond.

When you reach the top of the hill, Tommy parks the truck and you both step out, taking in the chilly night air. The night sky stretches out before you like a vast canvas, illuminated by the shimmering stars above. The air is cool and crisp. You pull your jacket a little tighter around you, a subtle shiver overtaking you. But Tommy seems unfazed by the chill, and he lays out a soft blanket on the ground.

Taking in the view, you feel as though you're standing at the edge of the world. The lights of Austin stretch out before you. Like a galaxy of stars come to life. The cityscape glimmers and shimmers in the darkness, the buildings, and landmarks standing out against the inky blackness of the night.

The Colorado River winds its way through the heart of the city, its surface reflecting the dazzling lights. You can see the cars moving like tiny dots on the highways, their headlights glowing like fireflies in the distance. The downtown skyline rises up like a glittering jewel, its sharp edges cutting through the sky.

Beyond the city, the rolling hills and forests of Texas stretch out as far as the eye can see. The stars above seem to twinkle brighter here, free from the light pollution of the city. The sky is a deep, velvety black, and you can make out constellations you never knew existed.

“You never been to the Overlook before?” Tommy grins, taking his place next to you. You both lean back against the front of the truck, your shoulders brushing as you settle down. 

“How’d you know?” 

He points at you, gently tapping your nose. In a surprise, you blink twice, a tad too fast, and smile. “From the way you’re lookin’ at the view, sweetheart.” 

“It is a very pretty view.” you smile, turning your gaze back to the horizon. “I always loved staring at the city lights. It’s always so bright.” 

Tommy opens the bottle of wine with a pop, and answers between clenched teeth. “I assumed you’d be a more nature-lovin’ type of gal.” 

“I am. Which is why I love them. They look like stars but on earth. Like stars casted away from the sky.” 

“Like fallen angels?” 

You nod, your mind scattered. Your body still tingles from where Joel almost touched you, and now you’re with his younger brother. Drinking wine and talking about fallen stars. 

“I guess this is a bit awkward for both of us,” he mutters, taking a sip. “Sorry about that.” 

You feel his fingers on your chin, slowly turning your gaze to meet his own. A small smile blossoms on his lips, slightly red from the wine. “But let me say that you look gorgeous tonight.”

“Y-You too.” 

“Me too?” he barks out a laugh as he throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. “I couldn’t be half as gorgeous as you. You’re shining brighter than the stars above.” 

“Very smooth,” you tease, welcoming the normalcy of the banter with open arms. “I bet you say that to all your dates.” 

“No, I don’t. And I usually take them to bars.” 

“This answers a lot of questions.” 

“Does it now?” he cocks an eyebrow, eyes tinged with amusement. “And what questions might those be?” 

You grin and playfully shove him in the shoulder. “Why you’re still single, for starters.” 

You don’t expect the following silence. You part your lips, an apology already forming in your head but he beats you to it. 

“It’s hard to let people in,” he sighs, voice almost drowned out by the rustling of leaves. “Ever since I came back…you’re the only person that makes me comfortable in me bein’ me. If that makes sense. I feel broken. And well,” he swallows, your feel the twitch of his fingers above your shoulder. “I’m gonna sound a bit of an asshole but you also bein’–” 

“Broken?” you absent-mindedly complete his train of thought, and he nods. 

“It made me want to know you. It made it easier. And after knowing you, it made me want to pull you between my arms and never let go.” a smile ghosts over his lips. “I enjoyed bein’ the one you came to when you needed someone.” 

You look at him baffled, furrowing your brows. “Why the past tense?” 

“Well, I’m not really the one you come to anymore now am I?” he’s still smiling, but now it only unnerves you. You suck in a breath. “You go to Joel.” 

“Tommy…” panic flares underneath the surface. Does he know? 

“I understand why. He’s a natural caretaker, has been takin’ care of my ass ever since.” a breathy chuckle escapes him. “He’s good at it. And to be fair, I haven’t really been returnin’ the trust you’ve given me. Haven’t been exactly openin’ up. It’s just hard for me to talk.” 

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” 

“Good, because that’s not what I’m tryin’ to give,” his gaze meets yours, a crease deep between his brows. He looks like Joel when he’s like this. “I don’t want to explain myself. I want to tell you about myself. I want you to know me. I want you to see the fucked up parts of me.” 

You’re speechless, your lips parting and closing in a daze. Tommy’s not looking at you. It’s almost like he’s afraid. You never thought of him as fucked up. How could you when he was the one constantly lifting you up? Making you laugh whenever you were drowning in your head. He’s been a light ever since he made himself an essential part of your life. Your cheeks burn as you realize you never actually realized he was having troubles of his own. You’ve been a bad friend. 

An image of Joel gazing at you through the mirror’s reflection flashes before your eyes, shortening your breath. 

You’ve been a really bad friend. 

“Tommy,” you say, placing a hand over his knee. He turns to you and you squeeze, encouraging him. “I’ve never seen you as a fuck up. You’re not a fuck up. I’m sorry I haven’t realized you’ve been struggling, but I’m here now. I’m here to listen.” 

He’s staring at you with hope. Your heart breaks when confronted with the emotion, your hand feeling like fire above his knee. You exhale a shaky breath. Tommy’s lips part, a faint curl at the edges as the words flood all the way to the tip of his tongue. 

You both jump when your phone buzzes.

“Fuck, sorry,” you murmur, pulling it out. You try not to think how relieved you are at the distraction. Cold sweat clings to your skin, but when you see who the text is from, a contrasting warmth spreads in your chest. 

> JOEL: 

> Electricity is fixed. Thought you might wanna know.

“Who is it?” Tommy asks, nuzzling closer. You mention it’s Joel and you don’t miss the way he grimaces, a subtle roll to his eyes. “Of course it is,” he grumbles, covering your phone with his palm, he pushes it down to your lap. “What does he want?” 

“He’s letting me know the lights are back on,” you answer, smiling. “Finally.” 

But before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his arms, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss. Tommy sucks the air from your lungs, licking your bottom lip and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. You’re stunned. Your one hand still lingers on his knee, and the other instinctively dives into his soft curls. 

The kiss is desperate and urgent as if he’s trying to convey everything he’s feeling through it. Your body stills when you feel it. It’s good, very good, and it feels like you’re walking on air, but it’s not the same for him. It’s more to him than it is to you. It’s him letting you know that he’s not here to play games. He wants you. Every fucked up part of it. 

You’re the one to pull away. His lips leaving a bittersweet taste on your skin. Tommy rests his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I was going to kiss you that day,” he rasps, taking you by surprise. 

It takes you a moment to remember what he’s talking about; the moment in the kitchen, him leaning in seemingly for an intimate kiss but kissing your cheek instead. You don’t say a word, the only noise coming from you the gasp that parts your lips. His gaze drops to them, his tongue swiping over his own. 

“I was—but…but you looked so fuckin’ scared I couldn’t. I hated seeing you like that.” he meets your gaze, looking almost frustrated. “And here it is again. You lookin’ like a fuckin’ dear in headlights. Scared. Just tell me if you don’t want me. Tell me you just want to be friends. I’m okay with that as long as you’re honest with me.”

This is it. He’s giving you an out. After everything, he’s still looking after you and your well-being. Joel was right, you would be happy with Tommy. Perhaps even happier than you would be with Joel. 

But you just can’t. 

Even if Joel never becomes an option, your heart isn’t in the right place for you to date Tommy. 

“I’m sorry,” you answer, voice shaking and tears blurring your vision. You can’t breathe. “I care for you. I really do, and I meant every word that I said but I just—I can’t. I don’t feel the same.” 

The first tear slips and you find yourself being pulled into his chest, strong arms caging you in. Without thinking you bury your face into him, taking deep breaths. He smells like pine trees with a hint of sweetness. Your fingers dig into his shirt, stretching the fabric as you pull him closer. His hands stroke your back, the warmth of them calming your raging heart. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers and you feel the soft press of his chin above your head. “It’s okay. I’m not…I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. You don’t need to feel the same as me. I only want you to be happy, and if us staying friends does the trick, I’ll happily fulfill that role.” 

You look up, tear streaks glistening under the city lights. 

“You still want to be friends?” you ask, your voice shaking more than you preferred. 

“Fuck, ‘course, I do.” his arms tighten around you. “I’m a big boy you know, I’m not gonna throw a tantrum just because you don’t wanna date me.” 

He smiles at your soft chuckle. Tommy cradles your face with both hands and kisses your eyes, thumbs moving in circles. 

“Thank you,” you answer, your voice low. 

Tommy pulls away from you slightly, his hands still resting on your cheeks as he studies your face. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and it's both comforting and unsettling at the same time. But all that disappears when he smiles. 

“You’re welcome, sunshine.” 

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of his cologne, and for a moment, everything feels okay. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #stay in bed

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— flufftober (day 13) —

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, talks of pregnancy complications

Prompt: Hot Chocolate (alt2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

@flufftober || flufftober masterlist

Can be read with Day One

Halloween had barely begun and you had already picked out the perfect tree and bought new sets of ornaments to match your new house decoration for the Holidays. Candles burned and flickered on the walls as you went around the tree, humming to yourself.

It was not time to start decorating. It was too early for you to even put up red stockings, but you did anyway. You were way too early, but you needed something to do. The bedrest that had been prescribed to you was annoying and it let Bucky nag you to sit down without having to make up an excuse.

Being fairly enough energetic at seven months pregnant, you were more likely than not to be found roaming the halls of your home and finding everything and anything to keep yourself preoccupied.

Before it was an issue, it had given Bucky time to hole up in his study to finish up his brief meetings with Sam about the Young Avengers Initiative without having to entertain your boredness. He would come out later to the light citrus smell of cleaning spray and the newly released scent of baked goods.

Though, now, he was scared to death about seeing you up on your feet after a long discussion with Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner about your pregnancy. With the super-soldier serum baby growing in your average human body, it was hard for them to dictate the next steps. They had instantly told you to take lots of rest and eating more than usual would be considered normal.

That was all they knew.

It was all Bucky needed to hear to start becoming more and more protective as the bump grew with the baby. You started glowing with your pregnancy and he found another reason to love you everyday.

He could, however, do without you standing on a ladder to try and secure the star on the tip of the tree. Much less when he had gone out for groceries and a quick drink with Sam on the outskirts of the little town you two had picked to settle in. He froze for just a moment when you went on your goddamn tiptoes to reach further and higher. His heart was pounding and he forced his feet to move.

“Sweets, Y/N, sweetheart.” He exhaled deeply when your heels were back on the step. His hands grasped the metal bars of the short ladder and he looked up at you, willing his heart to slow down from its thundering state. “You can’t—sweets, I love you, I really do. But, couldn’t you wait?”

You grinned down at him, sickeningly sweetly which meant he had fucked up somehow.

“I would have waited,” you started, lowering yourself gently to sit on the step with your feet grazing his thigh now. “But you kept saying you were busy.”

He racked his brain and remembered the few times you had asked him to put up the Christmas tree and all the other decoration that you ordered while seated on his lap in his study.

“In a few days, sweets.”

“Soon.”

“Once Halloween is over.”

“I’ll do it soon, sweets.”

He had good reasons, but those promises had led up to you on a ladder while he was gone out. If you had missed a step, if the ladder had slipped, if you had been climbing down and something happened, he wouldn’t have known. He would have found you on the ground and never would he have forgiven himself for any of it.

“Sweets, get down,” Bucky all but ordered. His voice, as harsh as it was, was somehow just as gentle. Soft and low toned. He had never raised his voice at you and never would. He was better than that. But, god, his biggest nightmare could have been reality today.

Your face lost its smile and your hands went to your bump. Something in his face must have told you exactly what he was thinking about because then you were holding his shoulders and squeezing them lightly as you climbed down slowly and carefully. Once your feet were on the ground, solid hardwood ground, you cupped his face.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, scratching his cheekbone lightly. “We’re okay, James.” The use of his first name released a sigh from his lips. It was your way of saying that what you said was true and real. His shoulders sagged and his eyes fluttered close with your warmth. He felt your forehead press onto his and a light kiss was dropped on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against your lips.

You smiled.

“Me, too. I should have waited. I know you would have done it. I’m sorry for the scare.”

His eyes opened and watched another grin appear on your face.

“So, want some hot chocolate?”

He laughed and nodded. For now, he would let you get away with it. Later, when you were taking another nap or a long bath, he would finish the tree and put up the rest of the decorations.

#flufftober 2023 #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #day 13 #prompt alt 2 #marvel cinematic universe #mcu x reader #mcu x y/n #mcu x you #marvel #marvel mcu #bucky barnes x y/n #avenger x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes x y/n #james barnes x you #bucky barnes #james barnes #james bucky barnes #x reader #x y/n #x you #james buchanan bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

[kcrossvine-art]

Γεια σας! Here we are at the Penultimate Redwall Recipe we're going to cover, and this ones a two-fer as most of the drinks are. Today from the Redwall Cookbook we're covering both Applesnow and Mossflower Mulled Cider!

(you can also find the original recipe at the bottom if you’d like to follow along)-

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to an Applesnow?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Sauce apple (such as McIntosh or Cortland)

Ground cinnamon

Sugar

Eggwhite

AND, “well, what goes in to an Mossflower Mulled Cider?” YOU MIGHT ASK

2 cups apple cider

3 tablespoons sugar

4 cloves

1 cinnamon stick

Pinch ground allspice

2 slices lime or lemon

Applesnow is essentially applesauce but fancy-ed with the egg, you can cook more or less time for various applesauce consistencies, the time this recipe gives will have it be less mushy (or not cooked at all…).

AND, “what does each taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Theyre both very simple dishes that pack a lot of flavor!

Applesnow is definitely best served chilled

Eggwhites, when beaten enough, have a good texture to them (youll need to beat them until theyre soft-firm peaks!!! Don't underbeat them!!)

Though the taste of eggwhites on the applesauce is….. Acquired. I did not like it, it tasted too savory/breakfasty

the cider is sweet and smooth, buttery

citrus adds a really nice tang to balance out the more complicated flavors

The english have some damn weird desserts

. doubled allspice amount in applesnow . doubled cinammon/cloves amount in cider

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From deciding to make both to having both completed and ready to eat, id say it took about an hour- most of this was me double checking recipes and waiting for my electric stovetop to heat haha.

Applesnow is a fascinating concept- you dont often see egg whites alone used in end results. It doesnt have a strong flavor on its own but the texture is very satisfying because its layered with the applesauce, and the applesauce is delicious because its spiced. Measure with your heart on that also. But whipping egg whites is quite a bit of work and i think i wouldve personally liked this better with vanilla bean icecream? Making it closer to a sundae than Applesnow.

The Mossflower Mulled Cider makes about one large glass, so id recommend making the recipe in a larger quantity just given how long it takes for spices to incorporate. Also, try to shoot for a tall saucepan! I made mine in the same pot i use for pasta and had it been just a wee bit shorter on the walls it wouldve been impossible to stir enough for the sugar to incorporate.

Really excited to get to the last redwall recipe next review! I have some closing thoughts on the book and hopefully it wont take me too long to come out with it. Thank you all so much for reading along this far, it really does mean a lot to me how much folks have enjoyed this series and seeing people save recipes for cooking later :')

I give Applesnow an 8/10, and Mossflower Mulled Cider a 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.)

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Applesnow Ingredients:

1 large sauce apple (such as McIntosh or Cortland), peeled, cored, and thinly sliced

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon (optional)

Sugar (or other sweetener), to taste

1 egg white (see Note)

NOTE: Raw Egg Whites For most healthy people, the risk of salmonella food poisoning from a fresh egg white is small. To minimize this risk, use the egg white directly from the refrigerator and serve immediately, or, to avoid all risk, substitute powdered egg whites. Follow package directions to reconstitute the equivalent of one white.

Method:

Place the apple slices in a saucepan with the cinnamon, if using, and add 2 tablespoons ofwater. Bring to a boil over medium heat, then cover the pan, reduce the heat, and simmer until the apple goes mushy, 5 to 10 minutes.

Transfer the apple mush to a bowl, add the sugar, and beat until smooth. Let cool.

Just before serving, beat the egg white in a mixer until stiff. Fold the egg white into the apple and serve.

Mossflower Mulled Cider Ingredients:

2 cups apple cider

3 tablespoons sugar

4 cloves

1 cinnamon stick

Pinch ground allspice

2 slices lime or lemon

Method:

In a saucepan over medium heat, combine the cider, sugar, cloves, cinnamon and allspice and stir together until the sugar has dissolved. Continue to heat until the cider reaches a boil.

Take the pan off the heat, cover it, and let sit for 10 to 15 minutes. Strain out the whole spices and serve warm, garnished with a lime or lemon slice

#cross cooks redwall #food recipe #digital art #redwall

[blueywrites]

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, smut, group play, mmf, oral (f & m receiving), fingering (v), p in v, dirty talk, praise kink

chapter five: bejeweled (15k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the song for this chapter is #16.

And when I meet the band

They ask "Do you have a man?"

I can still say "I don't remember"

Bejeweled — Taylor Swift

Differences Between Butterflies and Moths

July 11th, 2019 — Australian Butterfly Sanctuary

Although both of these fluttering insects come under the classification Lepidoptera, they possess many differences that classify them as a butterfly or a moth.

Wing Position: One of the most obvious differences between butterflies and moths is their resting wing position. Moths rest with their wings open, whereas butterflies tend to rest with their wings closed. However, many butterflies "sun bake" with their wings open. This allows them to attract more sunlight.

Nocturnal vs. Diurnal: Butterflies are active during the day (diurnal), whereas moths are active at night (nocturnal).

Pupae: In the metamorphism from caterpillar to butterfly, caterpillars spin a pupa consisting of hardened protein. On the other hand, moth caterpillars form a soft silk pupa, which is known as a cocoon.

General Appearance: Widely speaking, moths tend to be stockier and have furry bodies, whereas butterflies are smooth and lean.

Colour: In general, moths tend to be duller and less vibrant in colour, with less intricate and striking patterns. Although this is a generalised rule, some moths, such as the Madagascan Sunset Moth are incredibly striking.

–

Frizzy curls, blonde waves, floppy bangs. Citrus, smoke, and a puff of expensive perfume. Blue and hazel and brown. Sighs or moans, breathy or hoarse, stifled in throats or muffled against skin. Smooth— from one to the other and back again. Easy, leisurely exchanges. As near to effortless as it could be.

In the weeks following your first time with penetrative sex, group play has become open and fluid. Chrissy with Steve, you with Eddie, you with Steve, Chrissy with Eddie— you rotate positions and shift combinations of people with ease. It seems almost natural to feel Chrissy's lips on your neck while you kiss Steve, to wrap your fingers around Eddie's length as he licks Chrissy. You eagerly anticipate Friday nights, letting the promise of mutual pleasure carry you through your long work days at the pediatrician's office. 

And you hadn't felt the sour bite of jealousy since that first time, either. You suppose you must be getting used to seeing Steve having sex with Chrissy, which is quite a relief. You didn't want to have to deal with those feelings escalating, dreading how it would impact your friendship with her and your group sex arrangement.

You and Chrissy have fallen into an easy rhythm when playing with your men. Sometimes you'll begin by cuddling with each other, giggling over something stupid one of them has said or a Tiktok video she'd sent you earlier that day. Sometimes you'll kiss Steve until you feel the brush of her waves against your cheek, and then you'll happily relinquish his mouth to find a different pair of plush lips instead. Sometimes you'll blow them, sucking Eddie's thick length for as long as you feel like until you pop off him to taste your boyfriend instead, letting Chrissy's lips take your place. Or you and Chrissy will work one of them together, tongues brushing as you lick-lick-lick at their heads until their cum paints two pairs of flushed lips, or perhaps your breasts when Chrissy pushes them together with dainty fingers. 

Sometimes you'll kiss her, tasting her sweet mouth as you lay side-by-side with Eddie and Steve's faces buried between your legs. You'll swallow her moans, and she'll swallow yours, eyes hazy and skin damp as your boyfriends press their cocks inside you, happy to have someone's mouth on yours while you're being fucked. You don't directly pleasure one another, and neither do Steve and Eddie pleasure each other— it's a mutually agreed upon though unspoken boundary that none of you feel the need to cross. But you delight in Chrissy's pleasure and she in yours. And once, when she'd been splayed across your bed, waves hanging off the edge as Steve fed his cock into her mouth upside down and Eddie pumped his fingers inside her, you'd gone so far as to suck on her pert nipples, aroused by the sight of her being filled. She'd squirmed until she came, so quickly that time, keening around Steve's length. You hadn't minded because you knew she'd do the same; in fact, she'd seemed eager when Steve asked if you wanted to take her place afterward. But you'd never given an upside-down blowjob before, and it seemed incredibly intimidating after watching her. Plus, with everyone's attention on you, you knew you'd both be pressured to cum and probably unable to do so. You hadn't faked an orgasm since that one time with Eddie, and you didn't want to do it ever again. If it happened, it happened, and that would be great, but you just… didn't want to falsify your pleasure anymore. It was a small miracle that Steve hadn't noticed and confronted you about it, but you weren't going to question your luck.

This Friday night is a temperate evening in late April. The lingering bite of winter has passed, and your windows are thrown open, letting a mild breeze tickle your damp skin as Steve's tongue dips softly into your mouth. The ambient sounds of the city below— the low rush of vehicles, a distant horn, the echo of laughter and shouts from people mosying by— mix with the sound of Chrissy's airy moans as she straddles Eddie's cock, rocking on him, sharp hips cradled by his hands. Indirectly, you can feel her moving through the rhythmic push of Eddie's body as he lays flat on the bed. You can feel it because his nose is repeatedly nudging against your clit. You pull from Steve's mouth to lick your palm, returning to smoothly stroking his length, humming as Eddie's hot tongue dips inside you while you sit on his face.

Before group play, you'd been very self-conscious about this position despite Steve's enthusiastic propositions over the years. You'd been overly concerned with the size of your thighs, worried you would smother him with your weight. And despite his assurances that he'd be fine, that he wanted you to be on top of him, you couldn't get over your insecurity enough to enjoy it the few times you'd relented. But, slowly, you were becoming more comfortable with your body and with yourself. You'd become less hesitant to try something new, despite still being nowhere near as uninhibited as Chrissy is. Though you don't especially love the way she talks dirty, you do admire that she has the confidence to do it, and you find yourself sometimes trying to emulate her, if not in words, then at least in spirit. The first step to that, you'd decided, is to not automatically say no to positions you'd previously shied from.

And, oh, are you glad you hadn't said no to this. It's quite delicious to experience all of these sensations at once: Steve's long hard cock in your hand, slick with your spit; his full lips on yours, all minty and crisp; and Eddie's eager mouth on your pussy, broad tongue working you from clit to entrance. Couple that with the knowledge of the others' pleasure— the twitching of Steve's hips into your grip, the filthy murmuring of Chrissy behind you, the rumble of Eddie's groan against your slick flesh— and all the unrelenting stimuli combine until your belly begins to tighten, cinders sparking to flame. You moan against Steve's lips as Eddie tilts his chin, relishing the rasp of his stubble as it contrasts with the slick fire of his tongue now lapping at your clit. Your hand moves faster on the cock in your grasp, and Steve's breath deepens as your other hand joins the first, twisting as he thrusts forward into your strokes. Instinctually, without much thought, you begin to circle your hips, lightly grinding your pussy against Eddie's mouth. You whimper as Steve grasps your breasts, kneading them while you chase that building feeling inside you; your breath quickens with excitement and anticipation when Eddie moans, the sound hoarse and muffled into your wet heat, vibrations increasing your desire. "Mmm," you hum, a little crease forming in your brow as your hands drag along Steve's cock, pleasure running thick and sticky through your veins. It buzzes like alcohol, but headier, sweeter; not yet enough to get you to your pinnacle, but enough to make you feel really fucking good.

The sudden rasp of a calloused hand on your hip has your breath catching; you feel it snake up your side, dragging a slow trail of fire up your damp skin. The tenderness of the touch, the way it supports you as you rock your hips— instantly, the tension in your belly increases, and you start to move faster. Eddie moans again, fingers tightening against your waist, and you know that it's because he can feel you growing more excited. His eagerness fuels yours, and soon you're panting, lips pulling from Steve's as you focus on the sensation of Eddie's mouth on you. When you feel Steve's lips at your jaw, you realize that your grip has slackened, that your strokes have grown slower; you reengage your efforts, working Steve faster until you feel Eddie wiggle his face underneath you, lips searching for and then finding your clit.

You whimper as pleasure flares when Eddie sucks gently on your clit, breath shuddering as his fingers rasp tenderly over your waist, beginning to drag back down your side. Struck with worry that his touch might leave you, one hand leaves Steve to reach for him. You find his hand quickly, lightly caressing those limber fingers and ruddy knuckles in a silent plea for them to stay. You sigh as Eddie weaves his fingers with yours, his grip snug and steady as your hands press against your waist. You're burning with pleasure, muscles tightening, but as you join hands, you feel something else wash over you. The feeling is lush and verdant, blooming from that point of contact, but you aren't quite sure what it is.

"Hey," Steve murmurs, and your eyes open, darting over his face almost with surprise. He kisses you, warm and gentle, and your lashes flutter as he draws away. "Can we switch positions?"

"Really?" you ask, voice soft, neutral despite the brief flash of disappointment you feel. Unconsciously, your fingers tighten around Eddie's.

"Yeah," Steve replies, and you register the heat in his stare, the slight roughness to his voice from being worked up. "Yeah, baby, I can't wait anymore. I need to be inside you." 

Despite your brief disappointment, you pulse as Steve voices his desire for you. "Okay, babe," you reply, kissing him before you lift one leg over to kneel to the side of Eddie's head. When you glance down at his face, you're struck hard by the sight of him: dark curls splayed across your duvet; brown eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, dark with desire; inked chest rising and falling as he pants, still rocked slightly by Chrissy's body; and, most of all, Eddie's lips, swollen and pink and glistening, chin wet from the slick of your pussy. 

The sight is so erotic that you can't help but duck to him immediately, cupping his jaw as you capture those lips in a hungry kiss.

Eddie moans quietly into your mouth as you descend on him, and he tastes like smoke and spice and salty musk from the flavor of you on his lips. Your tongues brush lightly at first, but the wet heat of Eddie's mouth has you needing more almost instantly. You deepen the kiss, lips smacking, tongue seeking; one of Eddie's hands finds your jaw and the other cradles the nape of your neck as he kisses you harder, pressing up into you, also wanting more. You feel a light touch on the crown of your head, and it's not Eddie; you realize it must be Steve, stroking your hair as you and Eddie devour each other.

That slight rhythmic rocking of Eddie's body ceases; you hear a light huff and draw back from Eddie, eyes gazing into his for a moment until you glance down his body to see Chrissy sitting motionless on his lap, bow lips pursed, blue eyes clouded with a hint of petulance. 

Steve's hand leaves your head. "Don't worry, honey," he soothes her, full lips crooked with a grin. "I'll take care of you, too."

Through your weeks of playing together, you'd noticed that Chrissy has a quirk: despite her typically bubbly nature, she seems to need at least one person paying attention to her at all times. It doesn't seem to matter whether that be you, Steve, or Eddie. As long as at least one of you is watching, touching, talking to, or pleasuring her— in the case of the guys— she is full of powdery-soft sweetness, bright eyes, and eager smiles. But if Chrissy feels that she's being overlooked, she'll make her displeasure known, usually by pouting or sulking until someone coaxes her back into contentment. Or, occasionally, she'll insert herself into the action to ensure she gets the attention she wants. Still, she never gets huffy or snappy, and she's otherwise so kind that it's easy to accept this quirk of hers. 

Plus, the way you're rearranging right now… it's pretty ideal.

You find yourself arranged upon two pillows, one under your head and one under your butt. You glance past the valley of your breasts and soft stomach to see Steve kneeling between your spread legs; you widen them as he nudges closer, your calf hooking behind Chrissy as she kisses him. Her fingers play in the hair on Steve's chest as he guides his cock to your entrance. You hear Chrissy suck in a quick breath as Steve's hand disappears from your view, presumably to finger her while he fucks you. 

It requires flexibility, deftness, and concentration, but Steve has already proven himself worthy of the task. He clearly takes pride in pleasing you both simultaneously, showing off his skills to you and Chrissy— and Eddie, to an extent, you suppose. You know Steve loves the way Chrissy praises him over his sexual prowess as much as he loves her talking dirty to him, and his resulting effort certainly benefits both of you.

Your eyes are drawn to pale thighs dusted with sparse hair as Eddie kneels beside your head, and they drag over the length of his thick cock as it bobs sideways over your face, skin slick and deeply, appealingly pink at the tip. As you feel one of Steve's hands grip your thigh and the warm press of his length against your entrance, your eyes flick to warm brown darkened to amber as Eddie stares down at you. This specific position is one you haven't tried yet, but you are nearly squirming with your desire to; your pussy is wet and throbbing, sensitive from Eddie's eager licking and the anticipation of Steve fucking you while you lavish Eddie's cock with your mouth.

You stick out your tongue, hips shifting as Eddie nudges closer to you. You reach up, fingers wrapping lightly around his base to keep him steady. And then, you lick a thick stripe up the underside of Eddie's cock as Steve presses inside you.

You moan into that first delicious stretch, chin tipping up, tongue wet and pink and supple as it drags across Eddie's length while Steve's long cock sinks deep into your pussy. You hear Steve groan as you envelop him, and Chrissy hums, moaning breathily as he starts to work you both. Steve begins to set an even rhythm— not slow, but not too fast or hard, just enough to jostle you slightly as you take Eddie into your mouth. He's hot as you lave him with your tongue, and you register a musky taste as Chrissy says cheekily, "Can you taste me on his cock?" 

"Mmm," you hum absently, eyes locked on Eddie's face framed by dark wild curls as those plush lips part in a slight groan; you relish his reaction as your sound vibrates against his sensitive head. You bob to take him deeper, sucking slightly harder as you watch him bite his lip. The angle is a little awkward, though it doesn't make you less enthusiastic as Eddie starts to move his hips with the rhythm of your head— gently, lightly, just enough for you to reward him by slipping the hand around his base downwards to cup his balls. You know he likes that, and you're pleased when his teeth release his lip so he can grin down at you.

Distantly, you hear Chrissy speak again, though this time, it's not directed at you. "You're quite the multitasker, Steve. I'm impressed. Stretching me open so well while you fuck her little cunt." As Steve hums in approval, you change the angle of your head, lightly kneading Eddie's balls as he thrusts lazily into your cheek. Fire smolders low at the feeling of Steve's cock in your pussy and Eddie's in your mouth. You moan, a slight, breathy sound, tongue playing against Eddie's length as you watch him reach for your face, dark eyes intent as his calloused thumb gently swipes at the corner of your mouth and chin to wipe away your spit for you. And you feel it again— that verdant, lush feeling that spread when he held your hand. As it blooms down to your belly, the moth wings flutter, beating a frenzy while Steve starts to fuck you faster, cock reaching deeper, hips pounding harder against your spread thighs.

You pull off Eddie then, fingers stroking over his length slick with your spit; you work him with your hand as you lick along his underside. And you really fucking love this— you love the way your body is shaking with the force of Steve's thrusts as you play with Eddie's cock, as you hear that smoky voice groan when you lick down to Eddie's balls, sucking one and then the other into your mouth. It's your fantasy come to life, and you whimper, pleasure flaring as you realize it, face flushing down your neck to your chest as your body rocks. You can hear Steve and Chrissy exchanging filthy words, but you register it only distantly as your breasts bounce with the force of Steve's pounding. You whimper again, muffled around Eddie's balls, the sound stuttering as Steve fucks you. 

"Shit." The sighed word is louder by proximity but said more quietly than Steve and Chrissy. You realize then that your eyes are closed, and they flutter open as you release Eddie's balls to lick up his cock again, moaning breathily until you realize he's staring intently at your bouncing breasts. 

You hadn't really been thinking about what your body looked like until you now register the intensity of Eddie's stare, and you feel a flash of insecurity. Your breasts aren't small and perky like Chrissy's; when you get pounded like this, they shake and jiggle, and so, to an extent, do your soft stomach, your thighs, and your ass. You haven't retracted your tongue, but your expression starts to crumple into hesitance until Eddie husks, "Fuck, sweetheart, you have no idea how gorgeous you look right now." He's muttering quietly, smoke voice rough with desire. 

Your belly flutters at the praise, at the fact that Eddie has chosen to speak so quietly. Because it means that he's only really interested in you hearing him. Not that it's a secret, or that he doesn't want the others to hear him, but that he only really cares that you receive his words. Pleasure twists, burning hotter as you lick up and down his length again before wrapping your lips firmly around his head. He exhales sharply, like a sigh of appreciation. "Christ." 

And as you feel the way Eddie's words affect you, always desirous for more of Eddie's reactions, too… caught in the pleasure of this moment taken straight from your deepest fantasies… noticing how Steve and Chrissy are still talking to one another, and thus distracted…

And with that tendril of green peeking through the earth at the bottom of you…

You decide to try something. You decide to tell Eddie the truth.

You pull off his head, replacing your mouth with your hand to keep stimulating him. And you murmur against his heated skin, voice soft and stuttering with the impact of Steve's hips. "I really like sucking your cock, Eddie."

As you see how his brown eyes widen and deepen, eyebrows jumping in surprised pleasure to hear you talking to him, you get the reaction you desire. "Yeah?" That smoke voice is nearly a purr, deep and sensual, sinking into the pit of your belly to smolder there. "You like it?"

"Mmm-hmm," you confirm, staring up at him as you lick his slit. You keep stroking him intently as you think about what you want to say next. And you feel a little shy, but Eddie's looking at you with such heat that you add, voice barely more than a whisper, "I want you to finish in my mouth."

Your eyes stay locked on Eddie's face, hips squirming as he murmurs back, "Of course, sweet girl. I'll give you all my cum."

"Mmm," you moan, pleasure flaring as you burn hotter, brighter at his promise and his praise. A little louder, you say, "I wanna swallow it." 

"Oh, fuck," Eddie groans, head tilting back as his hips jerk forward against your lips. And it's like as soon as you've voiced it, you need it— you need to taste the salty tang of his warm seed in your mouth, to see the flush of his cheeks, to hear the sound of his voice as you bring him to completion. 

You move your hand faster, lifting your head so you can bob on Eddie's length, taking him as deep as you can from this angle as Steve keeps fucking you evenly—

And then Steve's hips impact you hard, jolting your body as he groans deep in his throat. His rhythm stutters as he twitches inside you, pressing deep as he fills your pussy with his cum. But Eddie is fully in your mouth, and you didn't realize Steve was about to cum, so your teeth scrape against Eddie's sensitive head. 

You hear him hiss as he winces, and you pull off him immediately, brow crumpling in remorse. "I'm sorry!" 

The guilt fades as Eddie cups your head, calloused fingers gentle as his thumb rubs soothingly against your cheek. "No, it's okay," he says quietly. "I'm fine." You make a small sound as you lean into his touch. 

Steve is pulling out of you, but you're cupping your smaller hand over Eddie's, turning your face and kissing his palm softly. Steve is pressing Chrissy down to the bed, but Eddie is watching you, sighing as you take him back into your mouth. Steve is telling Chrissy how unbelievably sexy she is, but you're looking up at Eddie's plush lips as they part in pleasure, the pleasure you're giving him. Chrissy is moaning, high, feminine, and loud as she gushes around Steve's fingers, but Eddie's dark eyes don't leave yours, not once, not even for a second.

And as Eddie starts to twitch in your mouth— as his brow creases, dark eyes now desperate, hips rocking forward, pale quartz chest heaving under inked armor— you release him from your lips, gripping him tightly as you drag your fist over his thick length, over that spongy head flushed a deep pink, and you ask, "Will you cum for me, Eddie?"

Eddie moans, tight and high. "Fuck, yes—"

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to catch the first hot rope of Eddie's cum as his mouth falls open, and the sound he makes shoots straight down to zing into your pussy. Your thighs tighten, Steve's release squishing between your legs as you watch Eddie reach completion. You devour every second of his orgasm— the way his eyes scrunch shut, the pink flush of his cheeks and how it spreads down his neck; the way he grips the headboard, ruddy knuckles turning white as you continue to stroke him; the way he moans out his release, long and tight, hoarse and high, uncontrolled as he paints your tongue, your lips, your chin. You feel a thrill at the indulgence of it: cum in your pussy that leaks sticky between your thighs, cum on your face that drips warm and thick onto your breasts. 

Heat coils and pools low as Eddie's brown eyes blink open, hazy and sated. You lick him off your lips as he looks down at you. His eyes widen, and he seems almost awed as he sees the state you're in: hair mussed, lips flushed and swollen, a mess of his cum on your skin. But you don't feel the need to hide under the weight of his stare; instead, you take his head into your mouth, cleaning the salty tang from his slit. And when you do that, Eddie makes the most delicious sound. It's tiny, slight, but you hear it nonetheless: his lips press tight, his brow creases, and Eddie whimpers. 

He sounds pitiful, nearly pathetic, and as you register it, two things happen.

One, fluttering moth's wings burst instantly in your belly, beating up to your ribcage, trapped behind it as you release his tip with a gasp. 

And two, you see it again: that pink on Eddie's black and white, spreading as he holds your gaze, looking almost like he wants to glance away, but he can't. That blush isn't heat from his arousal; it's not sex flush. It doesn't look exactly like embarrassment, either. It's something else. Something that reminds you of the gentleness you sometimes see in his eyes.

Thin arms wrap around Eddie's shoulders, hugging him from the side as Chrissy happily nuzzles his cheek. Her strawberry-blonde waves are touseled, but they still look silky when she turns her head to glance down at you. "Oh, you already came? I wanted to watch." Chrissy sounds disappointed until her gaze dips lower. Her eyes brighten then, arms tightening around Eddie's shoulders as he glances at her. "Ooh, you really made a mess of her pretty tits, didn't you? You're so sexy, baby!" She smiles, and you watch Eddie crook a grin back as the mattress bounces on your other side.

Steve flops down next to you, sighing contentedly as he runs a hand through his damp bangs. "Damn, that was really fucking good—" He glances at you then, brows shooting up. "Oh, shit, babe, you're a mess."

There isn't any judgment in his voice, just surprise as his eyes dart over your chin and breasts; before you can respond, Eddie jumps in. "I can get her a towel," he offers quickly, and you glance up to see his hands on Chrissy's arms, pulling them from around his shoulders as she pouts. 

"Nah, man, it's fine. I got it." Steve's reply is easy and casual, and he flashes you a grin before he gets up. Though you'd all learned quickly that towels in bed were a must, the one you had prepared has been thoroughly saturated by the intensity of Chrissy's squirting orgasm.

The soft smacking of lips draws your eyes automatically, though they dart away from the sight of Eddie and Chrissy kissing as you watch the bathroom doorway instead, waiting for Steve to return as the cum begins to cool on your skin. 

He reemerges soon enough, hazel eyes fond as he brings you the towel. Your gaze drags over powerful shoulders, a solid torso, the thick brown hair on his chest almost furlike before it trails down his belly to end in a neat trim around his now-soft length. The mattress dips again with Steve's weight, and you're appreciative as he wipes you gently with the towel— first your lips and chin, then your breasts, and then between your legs. 

"Thank you," you say, smiling softly as Steve drops a kiss to your bent knee before propping himself up on an elbow beside you. You feel a shift behind you as Eddie and Chrissy leave the bed, presumably to go clean themselves up. 

You draw your fingers through Steve's bangs, smile growing as they flop back into his eyes again. "No problem, babe," he says warmly. 

But when Steve pecks you briefly on the lips, settling his head against his pillow with a contented sigh, you find your hand automatically reaching behind you, searching along the duvet. You're looking for the man who'd knelt before you, for those pale thighs dusted with sparse hair, forgetting for a moment that he's already gone.

-

It's been quite a while since you've stepped foot into the old cinema on Fourth and Main, but it seems nothing has changed in your absence. The carpet is still that dingy pattern from the mid-nineties, the air smells of age and synthetic butter, and they still have those oversized cardboard cut-outs displayed near the entrance. You beam as you see the ones depicting two giant blue people, pulling Steve eagerly along as he chuckles at you. Standing in front of the pair of giant blue people is a pair of regular-sized people in their casual best: a metalhead swathed all in black— sweatshirt, ripped jeans and all— and a former cheerleader adorned in soft pastels, complete with fuzzy slippers and a chic oversized sweater. You're all dressed a little warmer than the weather requires in anticipation of the frigid air conditioning the theater always seems to be pumping, regardless of the time of year. 

Your thick cardigan flops loosely against your thighs as you bound over to them, eyes darting from one face to the other: from Eddie's eager brown eyes and bright grin to Chrissy's baby blues and fond smile, bow lips only slightly pinched as you stop in front of them. Her displeasure has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the movie you're going to see; she doesn't share the same love of fantasy you and Eddie do. But Avatar: The Way of Water is the first big fantasy movie that's graced the big screen in what feels like forever. You'd been awash with childish wonder in the age of Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Lord of the Rings , and this release conjures an echo of that feeling. You're buzzing with that same youthful exuberance you'd felt seeing those films as a kid, and you see that same energy echoed in the frenetic bouncing of Eddie's knee, the edge to his manic grin.

"Hi!" You chirp, throwing your arms around Chrissy first, scrunching your shoulders as she squeezes you back.

"Hey!" She smiles wider at you, eyes extra blue with fondness as you release her to hug Eddie next. You can feel his excitement in the way he squeezes you tighter than usual, and your back bends with the force of his lean. You chuckle against his hood, and he only lets you go once you pat his back to ask for mercy. Steve joins you in greeting your friends as you ask if they've been waiting long.

"No, we basically just got here," Chrissy says with a light sigh. Her voice is wheedling as she throws out one last-ditch attempt: "Are we sure we don't wanna see Megan instead? It's playing at the same time; it would be so easy to switch since we haven't gotten the tickets yet…."

Eddie looks pained as he shifts on his feet, eyes locked on Chrissy's face, which is now puppy-dog soft in an effort to coax him. "Babe,” he says imploringly, “we’ve already talked about this, and we agreed…."

Chrissy pouts up at him, adding another chink in his resolve with her sweet voice. "It did better on Rotten Tomatoes, too." 

Eddie looks helplessly around at the rest of you, relinquishing the decision to you and Steve in his silence. Your shoulders fall; you knew Chrissy didn't want to see this movie, but you hadn't realized she was so vehemently opposed. And you know Steve isn't really interested in it either. He's basically in the same boat as Chrissy— just going along with it because he knows it's something you want to see.

Though your eagerness begins to edge into disappointment, you feel yourself already swaying with the invisible pressure of their preferences. You open your mouth to relent, but Steve answers first. "Yeah, but it still did well, and I've heard good things from people at the office," he says, relaxed and casual. "The first one was a huge hit. I think it's worth checking out."

At Steve's resistance, you see Chrissy resign herself. "Okay, fine," she says through a final, heavier sigh before looking up at her boyfriend. "Can we take a selfie with the blue people, at least?"

"Of course," Eddie says quickly. As they take their photo, you wrap your arm around Steve's, smiling against his sleeve as you feel him lean into the press of your cheek. You're grateful that he'd stuck up for your choice even though you know he'd probably rather see Megan too. You communicate it silently in the softness of your eyes as you look up into Steve's boyishly handsome face, and you feel a gentle flutter as he smiles back at you, full lips stretching in a crooked grin.

"Okay," Chrissy says, and her expensive perfume wafts over you as she draws closer. You release Steve as she asks, "Can you guys go get the tickets?"

"And the snacks?" you add, shooting a hopeful glance at Steve as Eddie flanks him. 

"'Course," your boyfriend replies, and together, you and Chrissy watch them lope away. You let her pull you toward a bench near the wall to wait. 

"Help me pick a filter!" You lean in as she holds her phone between you, opening up the Instagram editor. The picture is a low-angle selfie with Jake and Neytiri in the background; Chrissy is winking, and Eddie has his tongue stuck out in that characteristic way of his. A tiny fond smile tugs at your lips as you watch the shadows of his face transform, changing in depth and hue while Chrissy tests the different filters. "What about this one?" she asks, angling the phone to you at the same time that a text-message notification appears at the top of her screen. It's a message from her mom.

And you aren't trying to look, but your eyes are drawn to it automatically, scanning the text before Chrissy can dismiss it with a hasty swipe. "I've had it with you, Christine. You just do whatever the hell you want. You have some nerve using us and our money and still—

It's over in a second, but you're left reeling with the unintended intrusion. Your eyes dart to find Chrissy blinking rapidly, expression blank. Sympathy pangs high in your chest, aching in your throat. "Are you okay?" you ask quietly. You watch her chin twitch, and then Chrissy's smiling at you with those bow lips, revealing charming, slightly crooked teeth beyond.

"Of course! It's— I'm fine," she replies quickly, eyebrows tugged into an exaggeration of brightness, a mask she's wearing to convince you. But Chrissy's blue eyes are too expressive, and you know her too well now. She can't conceal the dimness there.

You consider asking her again or making an attempt at comforting her. But you abandon the thought quickly— you don't know the situation, and she's never spoken about her parents with you, so any attempts would come off clumsy at best. You nod, conjuring a small smile, but you don't feel right doing nothing, pretending it hadn't happened. So you reach out for her hand where it's fisted on her leggings. It's a silent show of support, a gentle overture that you hope helps.

After a moment, Chrissy loosens her fist, turning her hand and weaving her fingers through yours to squeeze you tightly. And you feel fondness bloom to mix with the sympathy when you look at her face again and see the relief, the gratefulness there. "I think that's a good choice," you tell her, nodding your chin toward the filter she's chosen.

"Me, too," Chrissy says warmly, pulling her fingers gently from yours so she can add a caption and post it to her story. She occupies the rest of the time showing you her Instagram photos, and you coo and fawn over them, knowing she's using it as a distraction from her earlier sadness. There are some of her and Eddie, some depicting herself in yoga poses, some with her and a group of girls you don't recognize in various locations— a winery, a farm in the fall, and a countless variety of bars. "This one is my favorite," she tells you happily, tapping on a photo of an aggressively-sleek electric guitar, shining red and slung around her body. Her hip is cocked with attitude, dainty fingers thrown high in a 'rock on' gesture, face scrunched with her tongue poking out. 

"It's super cute," you say, noting that others seem to agree; the post has more interaction than many of the others, though they all have dozens of likes, some approaching hundreds. 

The guys rejoin you then, and you eagerly accept the cup Steve passes to you. He has a large bucket of popcorn wedged under his other arm. "Cherry coke?" you confirm, grinning as he huffs familiarly. 

"Duh," Steve says playfully, and Eddie nudges him with his elbow.

"C'mon," Eddie says through his teeth, which are already clamped around a cherry-red Twizzler. "Chris's leaving us in the dust." You lean around Steve to see her leading the way into theater number three; she spins around when she notices you haven't followed, painted fingers working open her miniature bag of Skittles.

You trot after Steve as he follows Eddie, and Eddie follows Chrissy. You're soon plunged into dimness, surrounded by the rustling of other moviegoers hushed under the pre-movie reel depicting some actor interview. You realize then, as you gaze at Steve's back, that you want to voice your thankfulness for what he'd done for you. You draw close, fingers brushing against his wrist as his hand swings back; when he notices, he glances over his shoulder at you, hazel eyes warm as he wraps his hand around yours. 

"Thank you," you murmur, pausing at the end of the aisle to lift on your toes and kiss Steve's cheek. 

Steve seems pleased but confused. "For the snacks?" 

"No. Well, yes," you chuckle. "But no. For sticking up for the movie. I know you didn't really want to see it."

His face softens then, eyes alight with the glow of the movie screen. "Of course," he replies fondly, kissing your forehead. You smile big, shuffling eagerly after him as he sits next to Eddie. You flop into your own rickety seat, depositing your cherry coke into the arm holder as you wiggle, trying to find a comfortable position. The cushions are worn near threadbare, but you're too excited for what's coming to care.

Your excitement bursts out as you lean forward, looking across at your companions to tell them eagerly, "So I read this crazy thing about the first Avatar movie the other day. Apparently, James Cameron spent, like, millions and millions of dollars creating a soundtrack because he wanted it to sound like nothing anyone had ever heard before, with new time signatures and stuff. But then, because they were so successful at making it sound alien, Cameron decided it was too strange to include in the movie. So they scrapped the original soundtrack and made a more traditional one that they thought audiences would like better."

Steve nods slowly, like he doesn't entirely know what you're talking about but is impressed with your knowledge. "Shit," Eddie says, "that's—"

Chrissy leans forward. "That sounds super weird. I bet no one would've seen it if they kept it."

You shrug, replying lightly, "Yeah, I think that was the whole idea around changing it."

"That would've been cool, though." Eddie bites off the end of his Twizzler, chewing as he waves it in the air. "Like, here's this film that Cameron'd been waiting to make for years since the technology wasn't good enough to actually do it before 2009. So it's ground-breaking with its visual effects and also with it's fuckin' weird-ass soundtrack?" He grins. "Would've been a pretty ballsy move if they'd gone through with it."

"I guess." Chrissy tilts her head before pushing back, though her voice is without bite. "But when people go to the movies, they expect a certain thing. They want to actually enjoy their experience. So to do something totally unexpected…." Her eyes brighten as she thinks of an example. "Oh! It'd be like if you went to a Yung Gravy concert and this guy—" she motions to Eddie with her nose scrunched up, "came out. Huge letdown."

As Chrissy motioned to him, your eyes had darted to Eddie's face. So you see the split-second right before he smirks that it changes. It's minuscule, a minute twitching of his muscles, the briefest flash of something behind his eyes. And the theater may be dim, but you know what you saw.

Eddie chuckles dryly. "Yes, Chris, we're all fully aware you hate metal."

"Well, I'm just saying…" she defends, eyes darting around the group before landing on you. "You know what I mean, right, y/n? Not what I paid for!"

You know she's waiting for an answer, eyes locked expectantly on you. You swallow, only one split-second to decide how to respond: say what you really think or say what she wants to hear.

What you want to say is, No. I don't know what you mean, Chrissy. Can't you see you've hurt him? You thrum with your desire to push back, pressure building in your chest as your words beat against your breast, wanting to escape. But under the weight of Chrissy's bright blue gaze, those words stick in your throat, and you can't quite bring yourself to look into her face and argue so directly with her. Still, as your eyes dart to wild curls, the pale quartz of Eddie's blank face, and the dark ink of his eyes, neither can you bring yourself to agree with her.

So you don't say anything.

There's a long beat of uncomfortable silence before Steve interjects, joking to try to break the tension. "She can't relate— put her Spotify on random lately, and you'll hear T-Swift and Sleep Token one after the other." 

Chrissy wrinkles her nose. "Who?" 

Steve chuckles once, a little awkward. "Nevermind." 

Chrissy shrugs, unbothered as she pops a handful of Skittles into her mouth. 

The lights dim fully then, fading slowly into darkness as the first trailer begins. You feel the vague thrum of pressure behind your ribcage fade, the wrinkle eventually smoothing from between your brows as you watch it. You find yourself distracted, however, as you hear in the murmured, nearly one-sided conversation Eddie is having with Steve, how he's bemoaning that Lord of the Rings was the last good fantasy movie franchise.

"What about Harry Potter?" Steve and Eddie glance at you as you lean over Steve's lap, conscientious about keeping your voice down, so you don't disturb everyone around you. 

Eddie scoffs. "What about it? In no way does it compare to Lord of the Rings. They're not even in the same league." His voice is louder than yours, and you narrow your eyes, dropping your volume pointedly.

"Well, are you counting The Hobbit as part of the franchise? 'Cause those movies are total trash in comparison. I mean, I'll be the first to admit that the original trilogy is a masterpiece—"

"See?" Eddie interjects, triumph in the crook of his lips.

"But," you add, punctuating the word with a pointed finger, " The Hobbit trilogy totally falls short. Drags the whole ship down with it. It bombed so bad that I'd argue it's almost an equalizer."

Eddie sighs sharply, tugging on his dark curls as he leans further over Steve's lap toward you. You ignore how Steve is beginning to look disgruntled as you both crowd into his space; you're too invested in the argument to care. "I mean, look, the problem with The Hobbit is—"

"Dude." Steve's whisper is harsh with exasperation as he eyes Eddie. "I don't wanna be stuck in the middle of this the whole movie. Just switch seats with me." 

Steve and Eddie stare at each other for a second before Eddie shrugs, unfolding himself awkwardly so he and Steve can maneuver around each other. Your bucket seat shudders as Eddie falls into the chair beside yours, leaning intently over the armrest as if he'd never been interrupted. "The problem with those movies is, The Hobbit is a children's book. So not only is there less plot, there's also a lot more, like…" he waves his hands around as he speaks, "whimsy in it. And they kind of leaned into that whimsy, but they didn't go far enough. They were still trying to make it epic, so tonally, it was just a confused mess."

You nod eagerly as he speaks, eyes locked on bright brown. "No, I totally agree with you on that. They also never should've stretched it to three movies. Should've kept it to two at the most."

Eddie grins crookedly, rubbing his fingers together in front of his face as he leans back in his seat. "It's all about the money, darlin'. That's all it's ever about."

You huff a chuckle. "Yeah, really." 

You lapse into silence for a moment, but when you look at Eddie again, you're reminded of that brief flash of hurt you'd seen on his face earlier. He seems fine now, but it's needling at you: the insistent desire to check on him.

"Hey," you say quietly, and he glances at you curiously. "Um… are you okay?" His face goes blank, and you rush to explain, "I just mean, I thought that maybe… when Chrissy said—"

His brow crinkles immediately. "Uh, yeah," he replies, cutting you off, words whip-sharp— not harsh, not angry, but decisive. Dismissive. He chuckles once, looking perplexed as he glances away at the screen. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"

You blink at him, a little taken aback by his change in demeanor. "Okay," you say, voice small, nearly regretful to have said anything. 

Silence settles between you, and you realize that you haven't been paying attention to the last two trailers. You take a sip of cherry coke, sweet fizz bursting on your tongue as you turn your eyes to the screen, watching until you hear that smoky voice murmuring close by. 

"You know, I've got a tattoo of Sting." He's leaning casually back in the seat, twirling the end of his uneaten Twizzler-half as he watches the screen. "That's Frodo's elven blade," he adds when you remain silent, brown eyes flashing briefly toward you. They're gentle now, almost rueful, and you recognize the comment for what it is. Not quite an apology, but certainly an olive branch.

"I know what Sting is," you say, smiling as you draw his attention with your reply. "And I'm not surprised. You have, like, a bajillion tattoos."

Mischief suddenly fills Eddie's face. "Where do you think it is?"

You eye him, taking a cue from the sudden glint in his expression. "Probably on your ass," you say baldly.

Eddie barks a sudden laugh, harsh and loud, and the sound draws the irritated gazes of nearly everyone in your immediate vicinity. You shush him frantically, hand fisting in the soft material of his hoodie as you lean in. "Shut up!" You hiss, but there's no malice in it; laughter curls at your lips, begging to be released, and you see the mirth on Eddie's face as he ducks closer to you, dark curls tickling your cheek. 

His reply is a whisper tinged with suppressed chuckles, quieter than you've ever heard him to compensate for his outburst. "Don't you think you would've noticed by now if I had a tattoo on my ass?"

You snort, whispering wryly back, "I don't spend all my time staring at your ass, Eddie."

His eyes are wide and innocent. "Oh, you don't? That's too bad."

You know it's bait, but curiosity wins out. "Why's that?"

"'Cause that would've made us even since I spend a good deal of my time staring at your ass." 

Eddie smirks charmingly as he flusters you; you feel your cheeks heat, flush prickling insistently under his wolfish stare. You release his hoodie, leaning back as you resist the urge to squirm with the sudden flare of moth wings. He seems content to let you go, tipping up his chin, looking rather pleased with himself when you sneak a quick glance at him.

A slow, dawning comprehension comes upon you as your eyes run over his profile. You realize that Eddie's black— his sharpness, his wit, his wolfish smiles, the leather and chains and ink he cloaks himself in— are almost like a guard, an armor he wears to keep his gentle white from showing. Still, that gentleness can't help but peek through sometimes. Because you think, at his core, Eddie is a genuinely kind and caring man. You think there's a softness to him that he seems to want to keep hidden.

It makes you wonder why he feels he needs to do that.

Your ruminations are interrupted by the jaunty little 'silence your phones' clip that signals the movie is about to start. You snuggle down into your seat, eyes rapt on the screen as the opening scene begins.

The experience is precisely what you'd hoped for: visually stunning, delightfully nostalgic, an opportunity to re-experience that sense of childhood wonder that so often becomes lost in adulthood. And Eddie proves himself a delightful seat partner. You can see why Steve had eagerly switched places with him since you know most people would likely find Eddie's running commentary irritating, but his boyish excitement is so adorable that you don't mind. You glare at him playfully when he steals sips of your cherry coke, pretending to pout until you feel your cheek poked by the end of a Twizzler he offers in recompense.

"Damn," Eddie murmurs close, conscientiously quiet now that the movie has begun, and you resist a shiver as his warm breath puffs against your ear. "Those are some impressive dreads. Maybe I should get dreads."

You huff amusedly, eyebrow crooked skeptically as you glance at him. Your breath catches with how close his face is— close enough to count every long eyelash that frames those eyes, the most beautiful shade of brown you've ever seen. You gather yourself to reply, "No, Eddie. No dreadlocks."

His eyes dance, darting between yours as his plush pink lips pull into a crooked grin. "What," he whispers, "don't think I could pull it off?"

You swallow thickly, moth wings fluttering as he stares at you so intently from such a close distance. This certainly isn't the first time you've been this close to Eddie— you've kissed him countless times in your apartment. But this is different. You're in public, sitting in a crowded movie theater, so the setting is, objectively, less intimate than laying side-by-side on your king-sized bed. But maybe that's what makes it feel so intimate— that you aren't here to swing with him and Chrissy and Steve, to engage in daring acts of sexual debauchery. You're here to do something totally commonplace: watch a movie you'd been looking forward to seeing. One that you're now experiencing together with him.

"Nope," you whisper back, grinning so he knows you're teasing. Your eyes scan Eddie's disheveled curls, and impulsively, you tug on one as you add playfully, "Plus, I think the eighties mullet suits you."

When he doesn't reply, your eyes dart from the lock of hair in your grasp to his face, and you find him with his lips twisted against a broad grin, one cheek dimpled charmingly, brown eyes bright. Wings flutter again and the feeling is intense enough that you have to look away. 

Avatar: The Way of Water has a run time of one hundred and ninety-two minutes. That's just over three hours. And during the course of those three hours, as you see the wonder overtake Eddie's face as the light from the screen plays across his pale quartz skin, feeling that same sense of wonder inside yourself; as you sip your drink, passing the cup to him and accepting Twizzlers without a second thought; as Eddie smiles at you when your darting eyes catch, and you smile automatically back, something continues to grow at the very bottom of you. That tendril of green sprouts taller, straightening as it reaches for the light that shines in beautiful brown eyes. With each tiny brush of those callused fingers, leaves begin to bud, unfurling soft and fragile. Collecting that brightness, using it to feed your roots, to nourish you, so that you can grow strong. 

So that you can finally thrive.

Suddenly, you want to lift the armrest that divides you and press yourself against Eddie's side, to burrow into the plush softness of his thick hoodie. You want Eddie to wrap his arm around you, to hold you close, to envelop you in his warmth, in his scent, in the smoke of his voice. You want to stroke your fingers along the back of his hand, to feel the roughness there and the smooth metal of his rings. You want to bury your face in the crook of his neck, to shove your nose against the musk of his skin, to feel the tickle of his curls against your cheek. 

A poignant yearning fills you as you want, you want, you want—

"Want some popcorn?" 

There's a bucket half-filled with popcorn hovering over Eddie's lap, and your eyes dart to hazel and a swoop of artfully-disheveled bangs. Mutely, you shake your head as Eddie takes a handful, shoving it in his mouth as your boyfriend settles back into his seat. You watch dainty fingers dip into the bucket, the sway of Chrissy's strawberry-blonde hair as she leans forward, blue eyes locked on the screen as she absently presses popcorn past those bow lips.

A pang of annoyance curdles in your stomach; a thought blooms, sudden and violent.

You wish Steve and Chrissy weren't here. You wish it was just you and Eddie.

Almost as soon as it comes, that pang of annoyance leaves you; you balk at the thought immediately. You lift your head from Eddie's shoulder to glance again at Steve— Steve, your boyfriend of three years, who'd fought for you to see this movie even as he yawns widely now, eyes dull with boredom. What's wrong with you? How could you think that? The sticky tar of sinking guilt weighs on you, and you settle back into your seat, retreating from Eddie's warmth. 

He glances at you briefly, but you avoid his gaze, eyes locked instead on the screen. But you aren't really absorbing anything, caught up in the sudden realization that, in the course of these two months of group play, double dates, and late-night texting, something has finally caught up with you. 

You have a crush on Eddie. 

The realization twists you up in its grip, unable to be ignored now that you've acknowledged it. And when the theater lights finally rise, conflict rages within you, tumbling with the thick guilt and the flutters you can't help but feel when Eddie's hand brushes incidentally against the small of your back as you leave the theater.

You school your face into neutrality as you wrap your arm around Steve's, clinging to him tightly as soon as he's discarded the empty bucket of popcorn. You paste on a smile as you say goodbye to Chrissy, guilt panging at the soft kindness in her eyes as she acknowledges, "That was actually better than I thought it would be! I'm glad we went."

"Yeah, I liked it," Eddie says, plush lips crooked with a grin. 

"Good," Chrissy says, warm and fond as she smiles up into his face.

You hug her tight, and though you hold on for a beat too long, she just sighs against you contentedly, none the wiser that the strength of your embrace is due to that oozing sense of guilt inside. You're both dreading and longing for Eddie's goodbye hug as you lightly wrap your arms around his shoulders. Despite yourself, you relish the contact as his arms close around you, warm hands rubbing briskly along your back, and your neutral expression crumples as you feel his lips press briefly against the side of your hair. You barely manage to school your face again before pulling away, flashing a quick smile as you decisively take your boyfriend's hand.

And as you leave the theater with Steve, you glance back only once at the man dressed all in black, watching him lope away until the urge to retreat from the sight overtakes you.

The sticky tar of guilt spreads within. It shades your growth, oozing down into the earth at the bottom of you, trying its best to wither your roots.

-

The thing about the human psyche is that it'll do whatever it can to protect and preserve its sense of self. Humans cannot live forever with guilt; it must be resolved somehow. And, in your case, your guilt will do one of two things.

It may smother that fledgling growth inside you. In that case, your feelings for Eddie will weaken until they finally wilt away. Or you will tell Steve that you no longer want to swing with Eddie and Chrissy, thus nipping the problem directly in the bud.

Yet there’s still the other possibility: that your growth may survive, too sturdy to be smothered by that oozing tar. In that case, you will reason that Steve is happy— happier than you've seen him since he'd gotten that promotion at work over a year ago. You will reason that you've both gained two close friends, good friends who are good people, whose company enriches your lives. You will reason that you are mature enough to separate feelings and lust, to compartmentalize so that all of you can continue enjoying your sexual encounters together— the same way you'd controlled those feelings of jealousy. And you will not reason this, but somewhere, deep down, you will know it: that being close to Eddie feels too good for you to stop. 

Your leaves are delicate, and that green stem has just uncurled. But your roots are deep, long-nourished by light and ink-black charcoal. 

It takes startlingly little time for the tar of your guilt to dry and crumble to dust.

-

It's another Friday night, not long after your trip to the movies. You're crowded around the tiny bar table, head swimming from the celebratory shots you'd taken with the other girls— two of Chrissy's friends, who'd come with you all for drinks after the charity fundraiser Chrissy had helped organize for the yoga studio she teaches at. One of them is telling a story, something about the results of the rose ceremony from this week's Bachelor episode. You're trying to listen, but your eyes can't stop flicking to black and white. You burn for the moment you will finally leave this place, for when four pairs of feet will shuffle through your front door, kicking off shoes and tugging off clothes on the way to the bedroom.

You've never seen Eddie dressed like this before, and you must admit, it's doing something to you.

He's still wearing those tight black jeans, the wallet chain, and the dark boots he's so partial to, but his shirt is uncharacteristically formal. It's a white button down, worn untucked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, two buttons now popped at the collar to reveal a peek of that dark body armor across his chest. The ink snakes down his forearms, tendons stark as they run below the leather bracelet strapped around his wrist. Your gaze trails across ruddy knuckles, chunky silver rings, and those limber fingers that run along the edge of his whiskey glass, silently reminding you just what he can do with them.

And then there's his hair.

You've seen Eddie's curls frizzy with rain, damp with sweat, loose around his shoulders, gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck. But you've never seen him with a ponytail— hair scraped back along his skull, curls a thick cascade, short pieces dusting his sharp jaw, the silver of his earrings winking at you in the light. He looks utterly delectable.

Fuck, you want to devour him.

It's such sweet relief when you finally agree to call it a night and burst from the bar's front doors. This early May evening may be mild, but it's still enough to cool your burning cheeks as you stumble to your Uber, crammed into the back seat with Chrissy and Eddie as Steve takes shotgun. Giggles abound— from you and Chrissy, not so much Eddie— during the short trip back home, warm and resonant like the alcohol crawling through your veins. 

You suppose you've had more shots than you'd realized.

Car turns to elevator turns to hallway, and then you're home, staggering through the threshold as you shed your heels, practically vibrating with anticipation as the others join you. 

And then there's the bed, with its soft duvet and fluffy pillows begging you to sink into them. You're dragging your dress over your head as the mattress dips and more bodies join yours, and you emerge from the fabric to see Chrissy in her black bra and thong, Steve dressed down to his furry chest and tight blue jeans, and Eddie in his loose green boxers, limber fingers working the buttons of that white shirt open. 

You shuffle closer, burning anticipation settling to a comfortable simmer now that you're all finally alone together. You smile fondly as you wrap one arm around Chrissy's back, leaning in as her dainty fingers find your waist. Her mouth is sharp with alcohol as you open your lips, pink tongues darting teasingly, equally interested in tasting one another as you are in putting on an enticing show for your men. You smile into the kiss as you hear their groans, and Chrissy's hands trail tantalizingly over your waist, cupping your breasts over your bra. She pushes them together, pulling her mouth from yours so you can press your cheeks close, gazing heavy-lidded over at your men. 

They're both down to underwear, lean pale quartz beside tanned solidity, lounging comfortably back against your pillows as they watch you. Eddie's arm is slung casually around Steve's shoulders, hair freed from the ponytail now as Steve's temple leans against his, one leg bent, the other hanging off the bed. You and Chrissy continue to gaze at them, cheeks nuzzling, her hands kneading your breasts until your boyfriends glance at each other, knowing what you want.

You suck on your bottom lip as you watch Eddie and Steve kiss, muffling a moan in your throat as their mouths open wide, tongues dipping inside, strong jaws working as their faces press close. They know you and Chrissy love watching them kiss, and they oblige you easily now, reaping the benefits of how worked up you both get from the sight. Chrissy's hand leaves one of your breasts to turn your chin, kissing you again for a little while as you listen to the soft smacking of Eddie and Steve's lips. You're still hazy with alcohol, drunk on wine, tequila, and the low rumble of masculine moans that shoots straight down to throb in your pussy. Your desire quickly grows insistent, burning low in your belly; as you squirm with it, thighs tightening to try to bring relief, Chrissy nips your lower lip cheekily before letting you go. 

You turn intent eyes to the men before you, to the columns of their necks that seem to beg for your mouth to nip and suck and mark them up with pretty bruises. You have two choices. You could choose the tanned one, nape dusted by the touseled brown waves of Steve's hair, solid and powerful. He's right in front of you; all you'd need to do is shift forward on your knees, and you'd reach him. Or, you could choose the pale neck, framed by Eddie's long dark curls, angular and corded. He's farther away; you'd need to cross in front of Chrissy to reach him.

The choice is simple.

Eyes locked on pale quartz, you clamber sloppily past Chrissy's folded legs and drape yourself across Eddie's chest to reach his neck. The first contact of your lips against that warm column has you sighing in relief, trailing open-mouthed kisses up to that spot just beneath his ear. You can feel Eddie's jaw working as he keeps kissing Steve while you suck on his throat, and when you nip him playfully, you relish the moan that rumbles low in his throat, vibrating against your lips. Insistently, you work him until he finally breaks away from your boyfriend; as soon as his mouth is free, you're swooping in, capturing kiss-swollen lips, swallowing his moan as he opens for you to dip inside. 

Eddie always tastes a little spicy, no matter what else has been in his mouth— alcohol, Twizzlers, Steve's tongue. It's this tantalizing flavor that you now associate with Eddie, and you search for it with your own tongue, kissing him deeply until he's wrapping his arms around you. More uninhibited than usual, thanks to those tequila shots, you feel a flash of mischievousness, acting on the impulse before you can think better of it; you tip to the left, dragging Eddie down flat onto the bed with you. You feel him chuckle into your mouth, and your lips curl in a smile, legs tangling with his as soon as you're both sideways, pressing close to the heat of his skin.

Eddie leans eagerly into your kiss, one arm trapped underneath you, the other trailing lightly over your back. You reach behind you to snatch him by the wrist, nearly straining a muscle in your haste to unwrap his arm from around you; boldly, you drag his hand down, pressing his fingers against your pussy over your panties. 

He breaks the kiss then, plush pink lips crooked with a sensual grin as he murmurs low, "Eager tonight, are we?"

"Mm—" you whimper at the heat in his smoky voice, the light flush that already stains his cheeks. You lean toward his ear, and his lips brush your sensitive neck as you whisper your drunken admission. "You looked sexy in that shirt. With your hair tied up."

Eddie's breath puffs against your throat, and you tip your chin, leaning into the warmth of his lips as he murmurs, "Don't think I didn't see you watchin' me all night, sweet girl."

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you giggle, biting your lip as his mouth presses to your neck, kissing softly, teasing you with the tip of his tongue. "Mm," you whimper again, wedging your hand beneath the waistband of his loose boxers. Your fingers brush the dense hair there, caressing it lightly as Eddie's hand dips into your panties. As one of his fingers presses between your folds to seek your clit, you grasp him, pulling until he pops from the fabric, head brushing red-hot against your abdomen. You stroke him once, then again as his finger teasingly circles your clit, catching the cinders in your belly aflame.

You press your hips into his touch, seeking more, but Eddie's finger retreats, brown eyes dancing with his tease as he goes back to touching you lightly. Well, two can play at that game. You nudge your nose against Eddie's, fingertips trailing to his tip, smiling slowly as you draw one fingernail feather-light across his slit.

His reaction is immediate— Eddie groans, his chest rumbling against yours as he bucks into your touch. You gasp as his finger dips abruptly lower, firm and decisive, hooking into your entrance without warning. It's a teaser for later, a little appetizer compared to the delicious stretch of Eddie's thick cock, but you hum nonetheless, pleased to be touched by him. 

Eddie moves his finger, pressing as deeply as possible from this angle. "You know you make me crazy when you do that," he murmurs quietly against your lips. 

"That's kinda the point," you tease, voice breathy as he continues to finger you. 

Eddie's manic smile lights his brown eyes from the inside. "Mmm," he hums approvingly before kissing you hard, tongue stroking yours as you moan into his mouth. You work each other for a while until you feel the bed shift beside you, considerable movements that draw your attention. You peer over Eddie to see that Chrissy and Steve are rearranging themselves: Steve's now lying flat, hazel eyes wide and eager as Chrissy crawls down his body. His hands find her hips as she ducks her head, taking him into her mouth as her pussy descends on his lips. 

Eddie glances over his shoulder briefly, pale neck stretching and inviting your lips. You nose beyond the curtain of his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his throat. When his chin nudges gently against your brow, and his hand finds your cheek, you sigh, leaning into his touch as he draws back to look at you.

"Hey," he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear, "would you wanna try being on top? Would you like that?"

You blink, fighting your instinctual answer: no, you would not like that. It's a lot of work to squat and move that way for very long; your legs always start burning almost immediately, it seems. Plus, you feel very exposed on top, like your partner can see every jiggle. Your gaze darts between Eddie's calm brown eyes; you're torn between the desire to reject the idea outright and your slowly-burgeoning openness. 

Eddie seems to sense your hesitation as his face, which was already soft, softens even further before he presses a sweet kiss to your lips. His thumb rubs against your jaw, soothing you. "You don't have to say yes," he says, low and reassuring. "But when you're on top, you can go as fast or slow as you want. You can grind down on me. You'll be in control; it'll make it feel good for you."

You'd never thought about it that way before. Still, you hesitate, admitting, "I don't know if I can squat for that long."

Eddie's eyebrows crinkle, and you aren't sure if it's in confusion or sympathy. "You don't have to squat, sweetheart," he whispers. "You can just sit on me." 

You blink again, cheeks pinking. "Oh." It's a little embarrassing that you'd never thought of that, but Eddie's face is free of judgment as he waits patiently for your answer. And you suppose, with that clarified, that there's no real drawback if Eddie's to be believed. As fast or slow as you want, riding Eddie's thick cock… you feel a tingle as you think about it, pussy pulsing around his finger that's still inside you. You watch him lick his bottom lip as he feels it, and your excitement increases.

You're already near to accepting when Eddie adds, finger stroking you gently inside, "And I'll let you know when I'm about to cum so you can pull off me."

You imagine Eddie flushed beneath you, husky voice tight as he stares into your eyes and tells you, 'I'm gonna cum, sweetheart—'

A thrill races through you, and you can't suppress your whimper as those moth wings flutter wildly at the thought. Eddie's arm underneath you tightens, lips finding yours before you can answer. You moan into his eager mouth, and Eddie kisses you breathless until you pull away to gasp, "Yeah— yes. I wanna be on top."

His eyes brighten, and he kisses you one last time before dragging your panties from your hips. You work his boxers down, wiggling to assist him as you both chuckle, your mutual hastiness more of a hindrance than anything. Your bra follows, and soon enough, you're both bare; Eddie lays down flat on your bed, guiding you to sling a leg over his narrow hips.

You register the wet sounds beside you, glancing briefly to see Chrissy's head bobbing between Steve's legs and Steve's hands squeezing her ass as he eats her out. But your gaze quickly returns to the man beneath you: dark curls splayed against your duvet, eyes warmed to deep amber, pupils blown wide as you reach behind you, fingers searching blindly for his cock. You hold it up straight, squirming to find the right angle, and you watch Eddie swallow thickly once his head notches between your supple folds. His hands settle on your hips, raspy and warm as you take a deep breath.

And then you begin to lower down onto him.

Over the many weeks, you've grown used to the tight press of Eddie's cock, shorter but thicker than Steve's. Still, this angle renders that delicious slide even more intense, and you clamp your lips against a desperate whimper as you feel him stretch you open. His thumbs brush light circles against your lower belly to encourage you as you sink onto him. "Just go slow, sweetheart." Eddie's voice is hoarse but soft with concern as you engulf him, and you sigh, wings fluttering as you obey; you pause until the pinch fades. And then you sink down, and down, and down until you're flush with the dark snatch of curls at the base of his cock, which press deliciously against your swollen clit.

Eddie's inked chest rises and falls, head tipping back as you take him to the hilt. "Just move when you're ready," he says.

But Eddie doesn't know you're already ready.

You move your hips experimentally, breath catching as his thick length shifts inside you. His hands encourage your movements, kneading your hips as you test out what you like— rocking back and forth, making small circles, lifting up slightly to fall back onto him. Eddie provides gentle guidance until you discover what works best: a quick shifting of your hips, angled to press against your front wall, with just a bit of lift to feel the slide of his hot thickness within you. Your movements grow bolder, more confident— longer, faster motions that pique your pleasure. And you hear that low rumbling moan again as Eddie's plush lips part, dark eyes like liquid heat as he watches you. "That's it, pretty girl," he murmurs, and his smoky praise coils tight in your belly, stoking both your desire and those fluttering wings. 

Normally, being pinned with such an intent stare while you're on top— unable to keep your breasts from bouncing, nowhere to hide how your stomach is soft and your thighs are bigger than your partner's— would overwhelm you with self-consciousness. But Eddie's looking up at you with such desire that, in this moment, you feel as pretty as he says you are. 

Eddie's next comment is considerably less smooth. "Christ, your tits are just—" Eddie exhales sharply as if in disbelief, and his lips tilt in a goofy grin.

You quirk a brow, prompting him dryly. "Just what?" 

"Just, like… shit, I dunno. I just wanna bury my face in 'em." Eddie drags his hands up your body to cup your breasts, squeezing lightly before squishing them together. 

He watches how they move in his grip with such awestruck delight that you can't help but laugh, hips slowing as you're overcome with your amusement when he wobbles them playfully. "You laughin' at me, y/n?" Eddie huffs, though his eyes glint with mirth.

"No." You blink at him innocently, but you can't help yourself. A tiny smirk spreads as you say, more sensually, "I'm fucking you."

Eddie's eyes go wide, darkening immediately. "Hmm," he hums, hoarse and low with approval. He grins wolfishly, murmuring, "Yeah, you fuckin' are."

Your pussy pulses as you inhale his words, letting them fill you, rich and heady. Your hips move faster on Eddie's thick length, and you bite your lip when his thumbs brush over your nipples, flicking lightly, sparking pleasure that flares into flame inside you. You'd already realized that Eddie is vocal in bed— well, he's vocal all the time, really. But not only is he often humming, and moaning, and groaning out his pleasure; he also enjoys talking to you, watching the way his words affect you, how they build your pleasure. And you're learning that your words can do the same for him— that it's not just your body that can elicit the reactions you desire in Eddie.

And you want that now— to talk to Eddie the way he talks to you, to bring him pleasure through the silky caress of your voice. You glance to your right as you rock on Eddie's lap, feeling a little hesitant with Steve and Chrissy right next to you, especially Chrissy, who always seems to know exactly what she wants to say. But they're moaning into one another's skin, mouths occupied, bodies rocking in pleasure, eyes closed as they lavish one another. They seem adequately distracted— like they're too caught up in their own activity to notice what you're saying. And as you look down at Eddie again, your desire to increase his pleasure allows you to push past your hesitance.

You swallow, chewing on your lip as you consider what to say. When you finally decide, your voice is a little timid, but you're proud it doesn't shake. "Am I making you feel good?"

Eddie's husky groan is instant. "Yeah, sweet girl. You feel so good." 

You whimper as his response coils your pleasure tighter, making you burn hotter. You watch his head tip back to reveal the pale cords of his neck, plush lips parted, the rise of his chest deepening as he hears your sound; he drags his hands back down your body, clutching at your hips, hot fingers pressing into your flesh. Yes. You sigh, brow creased pleadingly as you stare down at Eddie, needing more of his reactions.

You're a little less timid now. "Mmm. You like being inside me?"

Eddie's fingers tighten even further; his voice is suddenly tight too. "Shit, yeah, I fuckin' like it." 

As he clutches you, you feel his legs shift beneath you, and your eyes widen in alarm, perch suddenly unsteady. But then his hips are thrusting, matching your rhythm, the quick drag—slide—lift—fall that now presses his cock deliciously harder into your pussy. You whimper again; pleasure flares as you glance behind you to see that Eddie has planted his feet so he can fuck up into you. He holds you securely, and you relax into his support, letting the flames build as you move together.

Your breath comes quick, pleasure twisting with the anticipation of what you will tell him next. Your voice is silky as your words flow from your lips. "I'm so wet. You make me so wet." 

Eddie groans, deep and low in his chest at your admission. And it's true— you can feel your slickness increasing, his cock gliding more easily as you fall heavily down onto him, clit dragging against his coarse dark curls. You're growing hot, muscles beginning to tighten with fatigue, but you barely notice— you just want to keep chasing Eddie's reactions and the feeling that's just starting to tingle low in your belly.

Your voice almost doesn't sound like you— it's breathy, airy as you caress him with more of your silk. "I wanna be a good girl for you." 

"Fuck—" Eddie grunts, words tumbling from his lips like they're racing to reach you as quickly as they can. "You're so good for me, sweetheart. Shit, that's it, you're taking me so well."

You're both moving faster now; Eddie's hips are slapping against your ass, and your breasts are bouncing, but you aren't thinking about that at all. All you're thinking about is how the press of his thick cock increases that tingle and brightens the flame within you. Genuinely, without trying, you say, "Feels so good, don't stop—"

Eddie's hands shift on your hips, grabbing tighter as he fucks up into you a little harder; you moan, chest heaving with deep breaths. And as that tingling grows more insistent, you want something to hold onto, to anchor you. So you clutch at Eddie's hands, wedging your thumbs underneath his palms, holding on tight to him. Eddie moans as he looks up at you, face flushed, bangs sweat-damp and beautifully soft against his forehead. You whimper, skin heating, tingling pleasure swelling in your belly, building gradually toward that familiar precipice you've only ever reached alone. And if Eddie would just keep moving like this, looking like this, doing exactly this, for just a little longer…

There's no affectation in your voice now— you're just raw, just genuinely needy for him. 

"Please," you beg, "please, don't stop, Eddie—"

"Oh shit, fuck—!"

And that's the only warning you get before Eddie starts to cum.

You gasp as you watch his brow pinch; his mouth falls open as the cords of his neck stretch, and his hips press up into you tightly, no longer moving. And as you feel Eddie's dick twitch violently inside you, you burst with wings that beat up through your belly to your chest, fluttering so wildly you're left reeling. 

You don't make any attempt to move off of him. You can't. You're frozen, rapt, attention honed to the feeling of Eddie's hips collapsing to the bed underneath you, to the way his muscles quiver with his release, to the noises he makes as you instinctively grind down on him, to the warm flood of the seed he fills you with. Eddie whimpers and moans, tight and high, and you don't realize it, but you're whimpering, too— crying out your yearning in a sound that approaches harmony.

The moment is just as breathtaking, just as captivating as you'd imagined it would be.

 When the twitching of Eddie's cock finally stills inside you, you're both left silent, breathing heavily, hands still nearly intertwined against your hips as you stare at one another wide-eyed. Your sexual pleasure has begun to fade, but it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is how Eddie is looking at you, how you're looking back at him. Hesitant. Tentative. 

Pink on black and white. Green from the bottom of you.

"Dude—!" The harshness, especially after the almost spell-like silence that had settled between you and Eddie, makes you jerk with surprise, adrenaline spiking in your chest. Your stomach swoops as you register Steve's face— nostrils flared, brow snarled low over thunderous hazel eyes locked on his friend. "What the actual fuck?"

Your eyes dart between them, wincing as Eddie's face blanches and his eyes go so wide as they meet your boyfriend’s gaze. "I—I'm sorry," he stammers, wrenching his hands from under yours as if he's been burned. "Fuck, I'm—" The pale of his face slowly fills with bright, furious red. "Shit—"  

Eddie drags his palms harshly over his face, shoulders scrunching toward his ears. "I'm so embarrassed," he muffles into his hands, leaving them there as if in a futile desire to hide. Your heart is hammering, panging with compassion for Eddie's distress just as much as it's thundering with the oppressive tension of this moment. Steve is so angry— angrier than you've seen him in a long time. Maybe ever. Because there were only two rules— two rules that you'd all sworn never to break. 

And Eddie has, very flagrantly, broken one. 

You look at Steve, wide eyes pleading, voice soft. "It's okay, Steve," you say, trying to diffuse the tension. "He didn't mean to. It was just an accident." 

Steve glances at you but doesn't reply, lip twitching as his gaze quickly flicks back to his friend. 

Eddie finally pulls his hands from his face. His bangs are mussed, brown eyes heavy with remorse as they dart almost reluctantly to Steve. Voice hoarse, cracked. Sincere. "I'm so sorry—"

"Yeah, you said that," Steve snaps, and your insides twist into knots at the uncharacteristic edge in his typically-smooth voice, the tension in his brow, the hardness of his handsome face. 

After a moment, Steve exhales harshly, both hands carding roughly through his hair; you can tell he's struggling with himself, fighting to keep under control. And as you're washed with the radiating force of his ire, feeling helpless to ease the situation, your chin begins to tremble; you avert your eyes as they sting with the sudden prick of tears. 

You know it's not your fault, not really. But you can't help but think that if you'd just gotten off when you felt Eddie start to cum, just moved, just done something— all of this could've been avoided.

The mattress dips beside you, and a soft arm wraps around your back. "Don't be mad, Steve," a powdery-soft voice says, calm and mild. A tender hand runs over your hair, soothing the sting of your tears before they can fall.

Steve sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face as Eddie had. He looks at you then, expression no longer hard, staring silently for a moment before he speaks. "It's fine," he says, voice utterly devoid of feeling. "Just go get cleaned up."

Not wanting to linger for even one more second, you hastily pull off Eddie's still-hard length, and Chrissy releases you as you clamber off the bed. You bite your lip as you retreat into the bathroom, feeling Eddie's cum trickle down your leg, still warm.

The closed door buffers you from the coldness of your bedroom, allowing you space to process what just happened— Steve's fury, Eddie's embarrassment, and most of all, the feeling that had bloomed within you when Eddie filled you with his release. You retrieve a towel, carefully wiping yourself, eyes avoiding the sticky mess that smears the cloth. When you examine your feelings, you're left feeling torn. Because you're acutely aware that Steve's upset, and his distress upsets you. But you're also acutely aware that the way you'd felt when Eddie came inside you was unmistakable.

You'd loved it. You'd loved every single second of it.

You clean yourself thoroughly, wavering for a while, hesitant to emerge and find that the situation has devolved in your absence. It's been quiet— no yelling, which is a good sign, but you can't be sure. Still, eventually, you can't delay it anymore, so you crack the door, chewing on your bottom lip as you emerge.

Steve is alone, sitting on the end of your bed, still naked. His head is bowed, but he glances up when he hears the bathroom door creak open. Tension releases when you see Steve's hazel eyes are now clear as he stands to meet you halfway. When he enfolds you in a soft embrace, you lean into him, brow pinching.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"No," Steve says firmly, arms tightening, holding you securely. "I'm sorry, y/n. You didn't do anything wrong. I know it was an accident. It happens." You release a shaky breath as his broad palm finds the back of your head, stroking slowly as he murmurs against your forehead. "I'm not mad at you," he says quietly, and the reassurance brings sweet relief.

Still, you have to ask; your voice is small when you do. "Are you mad at Eddie?"

Steve's answer comes slower this time. "No," he says eventually, almost begrudging, yet still honest.

You release the rest of your breath, hugging him tighter. "I love you," you say, muffled to the fur of his chest. 

You feel Steve's cheek against the top of your head. His voice isn't muffled, but it's quieter than yours. "Love you, too."

–

Your phone always buzzes past midnight, usually closer to one most days. But tonight, when it does, it's only half past eleven.

You've just come out of the shower, skin scrubbed free of sweat and cum, steam hanging heavy as you comb the tangles from your hair. The bzz-bzz against the bathroom counter immediately draws your eye, and your heart thumps at the name on your screen. There's no message text— just a tiny colored box that loops through a two-second animation.

You pull the towel tighter around your damp body and swipe the message open.

It's a gif, which is already entirely out of the norm for Eddie. But what makes you stare, face contorting slowly in a combination of deep incredulity and begrudging amusement, is that the gif depicts one of your favorite artists in her early years: Taylor Swift, donning black glasses as she holds her hand-drawn sign up to the windowpane with a little lopsided pout. The sign says 'Sorry' with a frowny face.

As Taylor pouts at you again and again, you bite back a hysterical giggle. It's the most utterly absurd 'apologies for cumming inside you when I wasn't allowed to' message that you could imagine— not that you have any experience on the matter. 

And, honestly? It's kind of perfect.

Your lips pull into a broad, eye-crinkling grin as you tap-tap-tap your message back. 'Here is your penance. You must listen to this in its entirety and render your verdict,' you write, sending the link for Bejeweled— the most anti-Eddie song you can think of from Taylor's newest album.

You go back to untangling your hair after you send it, already formulating your reply as you anticipate hearing back from him almost instantly, figuring he won't actually listen to it. But you have time to moisturize your face and arms before you hear your phone buzz again.

You swipe hastily with a knuckle, too impatient to wipe off your hands. Your eyes scan the message, and you huff, shaking your head as you read it. 'Catchy as fuck. I like the part where she says 'diamonds in my eyes' real slow on the offbeat.' And he's given it five diamond emojis out of five.

You're torn between amusement and sympathy at the over-generosity of his rating. You wipe off your fingers so you can reply. 'I know in truth that song burned your poor bard ears. But I appreciate your earnest appeal for my sympathy.'

You keep your phone in your hands, watching the dots linger on the screen for a long time before it finally comes through. 'You got me. I really am sorry, y/n. Hope Steve isn't mad at you.'

'He's not,' you assure Eddie. 'I asked him and he said he's not mad at you either. He knows it was an accident.'

'Thanks.' There's a pause, and then, 'Hope you're not mad at me, either.' Moth wings flutter, and you bite your thumbnail as you stare at the message for a moment before replying. 

'It's really okay.' You pause before you hit send, twisting your lips against a smile as you add, 'Kind of flattering, actually.'

Eddie's response makes you giggle. 'Quit teasing me. You're gonna make me blush.' He's made it too easy; you can't resist.

'You mean again?' you ask, adding a winky face.

An 'ugh' follows— all caps, punctuated with a period. You beam with delight, typing out your laughter before conceding. 'Sorry, couldn't resist. Okay, going to bed now. Night!'

You set down the phone to brush your teeth, glancing as it buzzes one final time. But you look back, eyes lingering once you register Eddie's final message. 'Sleep well, sweet girl.' You can nearly hear him say it; can nearly feel the rasp of his hand on your cheek as his smoke whispers against your skin. 

And as you snuggle down into your bed that night, your mind conjures the ghost of curls that brush your cheek, kissing you softly as you peacefully succumb to sleep.

#TKYM #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #chrissy cunningham

[gatheredfates]

ALAICE DEVERAUX

Nicknames: Not applicable. Age: Twenty-one. Nameday: Twenty-Seventh Sun of the First Astral Moon (apparently I gave her my birthday, so that might change!) Race: Duskwight Elezen. Gender: Cis female. Orientation: Straight? Profession: Lady of the House of Deveraux and Dubois, last remaining survivor after the Dragonsong War; apprentice baker and occasional confidant to Firelight Trading Company.

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: A light blue, leaning more into teal. She tends to style it in loose curls around her shoulders. Eyes: She is heterochromatic! One eye is teal, the other is a steel grey. Skin: Pale with a silvery undertone; it tends to reflect whatever light hits it, rather than possessing it's own distinct colour. Tattoos/Scars: None of any note.

FAMILY

Parents: Lord and Lady Deveraux, dead by Alaice's sixteenth year. It is said that Lord Deveraux attempted to defend his wife from the dragons before he was engulfed in flames. No remains of her mother have been found. Siblings: Not applicable. Grandparents: Not applicable, more unfortunate souls lost to the war. In-Laws and Others: Alaice has a child from her first marriage, a daughter called Alyna. Her husband, Draeir Dubois, died under mysterious circumstances in the months preceding the Ishgardian/Dragon peace treaty, bringing no end of speculation from gentry and smallfolk alike. Some suspect his desire to expand his house beyond Foundation's spires drew ire from the High Houses and he was made an example of. Others suspect a more... intimate cause. Without a murder weapon or obvious intent, none can deduce a proper suspect.

She is particularly close to @riftdancing's Siyoh Mari who, whilst not understanding a lick of Ishgardian gossip, will happily entertain the confusion over a cup of tea as Alaice dramatizes. This leagues better than Elandervier who told her she'd 'rather chew on a voidsent's ass' and leaves at the very mention of anything to do with the city. She has an extremely complicated relationship with the other Elezen due to their mutual upbringings, trauma and reconciliation.

When Firelight is conducting business in Ishgard, she can be seen at its patriarch's side helping him navigate the intricacies of the city. Pets: Unless you count the many birds that have taken residence in her gardens, not applicable.

SKILLS

Abilities: Alaice is ice-aspected to a dangerous degree, and it's an element she has always tried to keep under wraps for fear of heresy and expulsion from the Holy See. As a result, the magic is unpredictable and emerges as a by-product of extreme situations/emotions. Only a select few people know she possesses such an ability. Hobbies: Like all ladies of her standing, Alaice was given a proper education including tutelage in deportment; music, song and dance; needlework and painting — among other gentle pursuits. She has a particular affinity for bird watching and, in the advent of her husband's death, has sunk herself readily into her little business as a baker.

TRAITS

Most positive trait: Alaice possesses a remarkable capacity for trust despite her confinement and husband's abuse. Worst negative trait: Her naïvety. As a woman constricted by the societal expectations of Ishgardian women, Alaice knows scarce little about the world around her — or even Ishgard proper. It is something she is working constantly to undo.

LIKES

Colours: Blue, white, silver, gold and shades of brown. However, given Ishgard's proclivity to the cold, any colour that can break through the sheen of snow is a welcomed addition in her eyes. Smells: Anything floral and/or citrus. These are not necessarily smells she will wear, but remind her of a time before the Calamity when the climate of Ishgard was better suited. She's also partial to vanilla, almond and loves the smell of rain. Textures: Knitted wool and smooth glass (or ice, though she tries not to think too much about it), the gentle prick of pine and the grooves in wood and stone. Drinks: Champagne, white wine and mead. She's also discovering some enjoyment of red wine, stay tuned if she gets more extreme!

OTHER DETAILS

Smokes: Rarely. She smoked recreationally after her parents died, a sort of 'dare' from the other ladies in her company, and took it up in secret as a way to release anxiety in the early days of her marriage — away from the prying eyes of her husband. Alaice quit after becoming pregnant with Alyna and hasn't taken it back up due to associating it with those negative experiences. Drinks: Semi-regularly. Much like smoking, she quit entirely when she got pregnant and tends to only partake as a social nicety. She can acknowledge where she was falling into unhealthy patterns when she was married and tries not to go back to those places. Drugs: Not applicable. Mount Issuance: Not applicable. Alaice was fed on the indoctrination by her husband that is not a lady's place to traverse, but that men should come to her. If she is needed for Firelight Business she will be escorted by their couriers, but she has no vehicle of her own. Been Arrested: No. Being a suspect was traumatic enough. Why would she kill her lord husband?

Tagged by: @eriyu — at least for this one! I'm going to try and do one character per tag. Tagging: @thefreelanceangel, @hythlodaes, @piyopikamika, @sealrock, @thevikingwoman & @yloiseconeillants! If you'd like a chance of being tagged, you can like my permanent interaction call here!

#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea speaks #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 : alaice #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea answers things #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — character answers / memes #look how cute she looks in the screenshot my little BABY #i have so many more to do from the tags #so #i'll be here all day SDFKJGHSDF