Eatingyouryoung - Eat Your Young

screaming crying throwing up

so i watched everything everywhere all at once again yesterday and having seen the movie before made the line “you have unlimited potential because you’re so bad at everything,” which when I initially watched hit like a joke, wreck me. the idea that having hopes and dreams and hobbies that are half pursued isn’t wasted time rather proof that you yourself are limitless just. yeah. leave me be please.

How They Cuddle

A/n: Started this while I was stuck in traffic with a tornado warning going on. Later found out 4 touched down around me so basically God said I couldn't die until I posted this

Warnings: none, fluff, angst, semi serious? Talks of death, read with that in mind on Jake's part

Gn! Reader Masterlist

Steven

Tummy hugger

Doesn't matter the size, how hot it is inside, he will latch onto your waist and rest his head on your tummy

Prefers a bare tummy so he can feel your soft skin, but he's happy as long as he gets to hold you

And if you pet his head or play with his hair too? He's a goner

Those sleeping problems he has from time to time? Gone

Those night terrors that keep him up for hours? A thing of the past

He sleeps best when it's with you and when it's on your perfect, soft, warm tummy? He sleeps like a baby

There are, of course, nights where he's had a really bad day and he needs a bit more from you

Those are the nights where he'll ask you to lay on him

He wants to be surrounded by the thing he loves the most

And if you even try to say 'oh, I'll crush you!' he will forcibly pull you on top of him

"Yea right, you forget I was an avatar of Khonshu, love. I'm buff as fuck." He would mumble while burying his head in your hair or shoulder

It's not necessarily a lie, but it gets you to laugh

Pressure therapy is strong with this one

He has so many weighted blankets, it's ridiculous

And usually he doesn't use them now that he has you, but when there are days when you're not home or don't feel like cuddling, Steven will break out his massive pile of weighted blankets

It's honestly really cute seeing Steven all bundled up and only his head poking out of a mountain of blankets

Marc

Lays directly on top of you

Lowkey scared of crushing you so it takes a while for him to admit how he'd prefer to cuddle, but it happens eventually

Marc wants to protect you, you're the love of his life and he couldn't take it if he lost you

So he lays on you to be your shield

If anyone breaks into the apartment, which they probably wouldn't even make it past the front door before Marc absolutely destroys them, but if they do he's the first one they'll attack

And as long as you're safe, he's happy

It's a deeper reason than the others, but it's true

If he's had a bad day, it'll be different

He'll curl up into you, looking so small and vulnerable

He'll bury his face in your chest and hold onto you like you're his life line

Which you are

If you play with his hair and rub his back, maybe even hum to him, he'll pass out in no time

He feels safe in your arms and while he's not used to feeling so vulnerable, he feels like he can be with you

On the other hand, there are very rare nights where Marc will ask you to suffocate him

Not really, of course

He just needs the pressure of you laying on top of him to chase away his dark thoughts

Works every time

Not during nightmares though

Never try that during or after a nightmare

Marc will panic so hard, he might accidentally hurt you and he would rather die than do that to you

Jake

Jake is a little different than Steven and Marc

He doesn't have a preference of cuddles, as long as he can feel your skin somewhere on him, he's ok

It's not in a weird way though

If he can feel your skin, he can feel how warm you are and if he can feel how warm you are, he knows you're not dead

It's morbid, but he's seen so much and caused so much death so he's trying to reassure himself that you're not dead too

He'll have his hands under your shirt and resting on your hips, or hike your leg over his hip to feel your thighs, or sleep with his cheek pressed against your tummy

Anywhere is fair game to him as long as you're comfortable

But then there are nights where he would rather die than feel your skin

It's usually nights where he's had to kill quite a few people and while he usually handles death quite well, he has you now

He's learned to be something other than a tool for Khonshu and a shield for Marc and Steven

Those nights, he'll lay next to you and watch you breathe

The only part of you he touches is your wrist to feel your heart beat

Similar to Steven, he will ask you to occasionally lay on him, just so he can feel you pressed up against him

Not in a sexual way, though he's not ashamed to admit he would enjoy that, just in a way so he can feel a bit more of you than he normal would

And honestly, when as asks you to lay on him, it leads to some kind of make out session

Fell so hard for him in a theater this evening ❤️‍🔥

[ Supports me with Ko-fi ☕ ]

Miles “Who’s Morales?” Morales

i love it when spider people…..

prints + merch + commission info

hey love!

i was wonderin' if you can do a soft poe hc? your last request got me all soft. i just wanna see him & reader pining for one another, all fluff! thank you ᥫ᭡ 

hi dear! you got it :]

⭑ before he leaves for a fight/mission, he'll kiss your head and whisper reassurances that he'll be okay and that things will be alright. he'll also remind you of how much he loves you. when he's truly about to go, he gives you the tightest most loving hugs ever. he loves you more than anything in the galaxy.

⭑ he leaves sweet notes around where you guys are currently staying (you guys move around a lot due to the fight with the first order) for you to see when he's gone. you've found them on the bathroom mirror, on your blaster, in your shoes, really just everywhere. he wants to do what he can to make sure you feel loved while he's away.

⭑ he carved your guys' initials into your blaster before he gave it to you. he felt better knowing he was the one who gave it to you and that you'll be safe.

⭑ he's very possessive and loves kissing you when someone is eyeing you. you're his and he wants people to know that. he always holds your hand when you guys are out, he wants everyone to know you're taken, taken by him.

⭑ he loves cooking together, he's always down for trying new recipes when you guys have the time. he likes to come up behind you and tickle your sides (as long as you're not holding something sharp or hot) when you're not expecting it. he enjoys messing with you but it's never anything too serious.

⭑ he brings you up to finn and rey a lot, he will talk people's ears off going on about you. he's so proud that you're his.

⭑ if he hears that there's something you want, he'll do whatever he can to try to get you that thing. he loves seeing you happy and surprising you with thoughtful gifts.

⭑ big spoon alert! he's so protective over you and loves spooning you, he feels secure knowing you're safe in his arms.

⭑ when he's home, he cannot keep his hands off of you. he's constantly pulling you in for hugs, kissing you, massaging you, all of it. he's big on physical touch.

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ellie williams x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: sex toys

warnings: vaginal fingering, overstimulation

word count: 0.5k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

Your hand covered your eyes, a small whine escaping from your lips as Ellie slightly crooked her long fingers to hit that spot again, simultaneously holding the vibrator more firmly against your clit.

She could sense you were getting painfully close despite your attempts to wriggle away from the vibrator pressed against you.

"Come on, give it to me" she demanded, pressing the button on the side of the vibrator to increase the speed.

"Fuck– I can't," you croaked out as your legs shook from the stronger vibrations, every limb of your body feeling limp. You felt like you were melting into the mattress, all your energy having evaporated through your previous orgasms.

"Yeah you can. You're almost there" she raised an eyebrow as she looked up at you sinking the back of your head in the pillows, lewd squelching sounds of your juices every time she pumped her fingers in and out of you.

That packed vibrator you had found while on patrol was equally a blessing and a curse, and you should have known that that smug smile Ellie shot you when she found out it still had batteries that happened to work would lead you here, in this exact situation. 

Not that it wasn't pleasant, but Ellie wanted to make the most of that small object, and your multiple orgasms were the proof of that.

Your back started arching as she started drawing circles with the tip of the vibrator, biting down on her bottom lip as she drank in the sight of you being so sweaty and so damn wrecked because of her. Her gaze dropped back to your exhausted cunt, working to angle her expert fingers just right inside you.

You mouth dropped open in a strangled gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the pleasure from the vibrations on your clit and her fingers grazing that spongy spot inside of you expanded through your whole body like a warm liquid running through your veins, your heart rapidly thumping in your ribcage as she helped you ride out your high, keeping the same pace and same spot with her fingers and same pressure and pattern on your clit.

She withdrew when it seemingly became too much, your cunt softly twitching as you came down from your high once more, labored breaths and a breathy chuckle escaping your lips.

"One more?" she asked, challengingly cocking an eyebrow, holding up the small object still vibrating. 

You reached and squeezed her wrist in panic, quickly snatching the vibrator with your other hand from hers with the last ounce of strength left in you, earning a laugh from her.

"Okay. You did good" she muttered, leaning to leave a kiss at the inside of your thigh. "One last thing" she hovered over you, presenting her ring and middle finger to your face. You tilted your face up and took them in your mouth, sucking them clean and tasting your own juices, tongue wrapping around them.

"Good girl." she smirked as she withdrew her fingers from your mouth.

She brushed away the damp hair sticking to your forehead, making room to press a kiss there, your eyes closing from exhaustion.

—

don't forget to reblog, it helps a lot<3

Bad Knight, Good Knight

Pairing: Marc Spector x Fem!Reader (feat. Steven Grant)

Summary: Give Marc a certain look and he’ll give you his all. In the condition that you’re gonna be good.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Unprotected and rough p in v penetration, overstimulation, slight D/S dynamics, sir kink, creampie

A/N: I caught up on Moon Knight yesterday and who would’ve thought that it’d be Marc Spector to give me my groove back LMFAO thanks @soldatspet and @bemine-bucky for the push 😘😘😘

MAIN MASTERLIST

“You have got to stop giving me those eyes in the middle of a job.”

You felt Marc trail closely behind you as you both stepped inside the elevator of an old motel. Unable to help yourself from smirking, you bit down on your lip as you turned around.

“What eyes?” You innocently asked, blinking up at Marc while slightly tilting your head to the side.

The soft yet low grunt that Marc made was almost inaudible. He rolled his eyes before towering you, making you walk backwards until you felt the cold wall of the elevator against your bare shoulders.

“Those eyes,” Marc hoarsely whispered as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning your cheek as he teasingly nosed your skin. “…the kind of look you give me when you want to get fucked.” He said, pulling back just to take in your look.

He hasn’t even laid a finger on you and yet your eyes were already so glassy. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you breathed, your mouth parted and lips glistening.

“That what you want?” Marc asked, his tone teasing as he tipped your chin up with his fingers.

You merely nodded, whining softly when you felt Marc’s knee slot in between your legs to tease your mound.

“Want me to fuck this cunt until you’re begging for me to stop?” He asked again, this time moving his knee back and forth to rub at your aching pussy.

Marc didn’t even let you answer because the way you were arching your back against the wall was enough to let him know how much you needed him to use you. He took a step back from you and smirked in amusement when you whined at the loss of contact.

“Tell me you’re gonna be good.” He demanded, voice louder and firmer this time around.

You panted and almost sagged against the wall, your need to feel his cock almost rendering you weak in the knees.

“I’m gonna be good.” You whispered.

Marc snickered, “Louder, princess.”

You groaned, “Gonna be good for you, Marc!” You exclaimed just as when the elevator reached your floor.

A satisfied smile tugged at Marc’s lips as the doors slid open behind him, “As soon as you step out, you’ll only do what I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

-

“Is my princess getting tired? Thought you were gonna be good?” Marc asked, the patronizing tone of his voice giving you a new sense of vigor to keep going.

He had already fucked an orgasm out of you as soon as the both of you reached the motel room, but of course, Marc was an overachiever. One climax wasn’t enough for him, he needed more so he sat on a chair and had you straddle him, with your hands tied behind your back.

“‘’m not tired…” you panted, slowly getting your rhythm back as you bounced on his cock

Marc chuckled as he watched you with lidded eyes, so desperate to please him like the good girl you said you were. He licked his lips as he looked at your tits bouncing with every movement.

“You’re gonna have to try harder, princess. I fucked you good earlier, didn’t I? Made your pussy cum so hard it had your eyes rolling back to your head. If you want another reward you’re gonna have to ride my cock better.” He mocked, gripping your neck with both of his large hands to pull you closer for a messy kiss.

You moaned against his mouth, feeling his tongue slip into yours. He kissed you roughly, slightly canting his hips upwards before he completely stilled in his seat again.

“Go on, princess. Ride me harder, you can do it.” He encouraged before letting you go and leaning back against the chair to watch you.

Taking in a sharp inhale, you ignored the way your thighs were burning and sped up your pace. You kept your gaze on Marc as you rode his cock, sometimes sliding back and forth instead of bouncing up and down.

Marc’s face scrunched into pleasure when your pussy clenched around his throbbing cock, parting his mouth to let out a soft grunt.

Moans continued to spill out of you; the girth of his cock stretching your cunt out deliciously. There was a slight sting to it but god, you loved the pain.

And you loved how Marc was looking at you like a predator eyeing his prey.

Sweat trickled down both your bodies, mixing together with your wetness that was pooling at the base of Marc’s cock.

“That’s it, fucking my cock so well. Good girl.” Marc praised, opening his legs wider and pushing your thighs even farther apart.

You keened when you felt the tip of his cock hit your cervix when you slammed down on him, your body trembling at the surge of pleasure that coursed through your veins.

Marc choked out a chuckle, “That hit the spot, princess? Felt your cunt clench around me tightly. Squeezing me so fucking good, getting me all wet from your juices.” He said.

“Marc, please…” you whimpered, feeling that familiar tightness in your abdomen.

“What does my princess want?” Marc asked, brushing your hair away from your face.

You swallowed hard and tried to keep your eyes open, “Touch me, please. Wanna cum so bad.” You moaned, rolling your hips against his harder and faster— needier.

Marc hummed before cupping your face with one hand and holding your waist with the other. He held back from touching you that when you felt the roughness of his palm against your skin, you almost felt like your entire body was burning.

“Need my help to get you off, huh? Can’t cum without me touching you?” Marc teased again, running his thumb along your lower lip.

You nodded, “Yes, sir. Please, please. Need you to touch me, need you to make me cum.” You sputtered out your words.

Marc grunted and shoved two of his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to suck on them before he reached down between your bodies to rub on your bundle of nerves.

The action made you moan out loud and your legs quiver from the pleasure. Tears welled in your eyes as you neared your release.

Marc knew your body perfectly, he knew the little cues it would give each time you were about to explode. He firmly planted his feet on the ground and gripped your waist tighter before finally thrusting his hips up to meet yours.

The pleasure from Marc’s cock fucking into you and his fingers rubbing at your clit was overwhelmingly good, so good that made your entire body tremble as you finally came.

A silent scream left your mouth, your nails digging into the palms as you tried to hold onto something but to no avail. The restraints had already left marks on your wrists but you couldn’t care less because you were too focused on how his cock kept on fucking into you to prolong your orgasm.

Tears tainted your cheeks as you went limp and fell against Marc’s sweaty chest, your body jolting from aftershocks as his cock slowed down from slipping in and out of your abused cunt.

You might have lost your consciousness because when you opened your eyes, your wrists were no longer tied behind you and Marc was soothingly rubbing your back while whispering praises into your ear.

“You back?” He laughed as you straightened up to look at him.

His face was red sweaty, with some of his curls sticking onto his damp forehead. You breathily chuckled as you kissed him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

“You still gonna be good for me?” Marc whispered against your mouth as he stood up from the chair, hoisting you up with him.

You squealed at this sudden movement, feeling his hard cock continue to throb inside of your swollen pussy.

“I asked you a question, princess. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Marc warned as he walked to the bed.

You nodded and kissed him again, “Yes, sir.” You responded.

“Good.” Marc said and wordlessly dropped you on the bed, manhandling you and roughly turning you around before kneeling behind you.

He lifted your ass up and pressed down on your nape, pushing your face against the mattress as he slid his cock back inside of you with no prior warning.

You cried out at the friction, your pussy absolutely overstimulated and begging to breathe. But you’d do anything for Marc Spector, so you took in every thrust no matter how abused your cunt felt.

His grunts and groans filled the air as he fucked you to his liking, landing a spank on your ass every now and then. Your fingers gripped the sheets tightly, your toes curling from the tension slowly pooling in your abdomen yet again.

Two climaxes in and yet your body was begging for more despite the exhaustion.

“God, your pussy’s so fucking tight. So fucking greedy for my cock, aren’t you?” Marc said, thumbing your puckered hole.

“Mhmm!” You hummed, arching your back even deeper.

Marc slapped your ass again before squeezing it playfully, “Could feel you getting close again, can you cum again for me?” He asked, gripping your waist tightly.

You nodded as you drooled on the sheets; your eyelids fluttered as you neared your third orgasm, you were already incoherent and babbling— just the way Marc wanted.

He loved it when he’d fuck you dumb like this. You were so helpless and so willing to surrender everything to him.

Marc lifted his knee up and planted his foot on the bed to find a better angle before he fucked you relentlessly, barely pulling his cock out of your cunt.

You cried his name out like a prayer, cumming hard after one particular thrust that had you seeing stars. Marc groaned out loud when your pussy clenched around his cock, pushing him to his own orgasm.

Marc bent down to press kisses along your spine as he spilled inside of you, his warm release filling you up to the brim.

His sweaty chest was pressed against your back as he pressed a kiss behind your ear, “Did so good for me, princess.” He whispered, allowing your pussy’s contractions to milk his cock until the last drop.

“Hold it in for me?” He whispered as he straightened his back, pulling his softening cock out from your pussy.

Following Marc’s instruction, you clenched hard to keep all of his release inside of you as you caught your breath. Keeping your ass up in the air, you sighed in comfort when Marc started caressing your ass.

“Let go, princess.” He said.

You relaxed your entire body and allowed Marc’s cum to spill out of your cunt. You whined at the feeling of it dripping down the insides of your thighs.

“Beautiful.” Marc praised, landing a gentle spank on your ass as he watched his release continue to drip out of your puffy pussy.

He licked his lips and gently helped you lay down on your back. He crawled over you and smiled proudly, “God, you’re gorgeous. You satisfied now?” He teased, pressing the tip of his nose against yours.

You chuckled and forced your eyes to open despite the exhaustion, “Hmm yeah. Thank you, sir.” You whispered, slowly feeling yourself doze off.

You still heard Marc praising you, making you smile before you completely succumbed to sleep.

-

The shaking of the floor and the loud noise of the tracks as a train passed by woke you up. You were still slightly annoyed that the motel Marc chose to laylow in was near the railway. However, memories from the previous day quickly changed your mood despite the noise.

Your body was sore all over, especially in between your legs. Shifting on the bed, you realized that you were in one of Marc’s shirts already. He must have helped you clean up last night while you were dead asleep.

Smiling, you turned to the other side and was met with Marc’s face, peacefully asleep. Carefully, you reached over to fix a stray curl away from his face.

Marc stirred and scrunched his nose making you laugh, “‘’m sorry, did I wake you?” You softly asked when he opened his eyes.

His eyes met your eyes and it didn’t take him more than a second to let out a scream as he jolted out of bed. You panicked and jumped out as well, asking Marc what was wrong.

“Who are you?! Where am I?!” Marc exclaimed fearfully, eyes wide and seemingly disoriented.

His accent changed too.

“Calm down, Marc. It’s just me.” You coaxed.

Marc’s shocked expression was immediately replaced by that of worry. His shoulders visibly relax as he sat back down on the bed, rubbing his face with his hand.

“Oh no, oh no.” He murmured to himself, “Not again.” He added before realizing that he was merely clad in a pair of boxers.

Marc hurriedly covered himself up with the blanket. His sudden change of demeanor made you realize what was going on.

You cautiously approached the bed and sat down, allowing some space in between the two of you.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Marc continued to talk to himself.

Steven, rather.

“It’s okay, Steven.” You said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Steven turned to you quickly, “You…you know me?” He asked incredulously.

You nodded, “Steven Grant.” You said.

“Marc told you…about me?” He asked again, still unable to believe.

“He mentioned you a couple of times. Steven…with a V.” You explained.

You’d known about Steven for quite a while now, it was something that Marc thought he needed you to know. With the kind of relationship you two had, it was important that you knew about these things.

It left you quite confused at first and to be honest, you didn’t understand Marc’s situation. He was patient enough to explain everything to you and after a while, you felt like you already knew Steven.

Now that you finally met him, it felt surreal but nothing’s really changed with how you felt about Steven’s existence— he really was a lovely lad.

Steven let out a sigh, “I must apologize, I must have frightened you.” He said, finally calming down.

You laughed and shook your head, “It’s alright. I figured I’d meet you one day, just didn’t expect it’d be right after…” you trailed, feeling your face heat up.

Steven was quick to understand what you meant and felt just as awkward. There was a pause for a brief moment before he cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you—“ he trailed, squinting as if he was recalling whether Marc had told him your name.

You quickly introduced yourself and extended your arm for a handshake, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” You said.

Steven glanced down at your hand and noticed the marks on your wrists, “Oh my, you’re hurt.” He worriedly said, mindlessly taking your arm to take a close look at it.

You felt your body heat up even more, “No, don’t worry. Those are…” you said, figuring out how to tell Steven where those marks came from.

“Marc and I…last night…” you stammered.

You saw the embarrassment in Steven’s eyes the very moment he caught your drift, “Ohhh, oh. Must have been a fun night.” He said and immediately regretted his cheeky remark.

You laughed and nodded, “It was indeed a fun night.” You affirmed.

The awkward atmosphere turned lighter thankfully. Steven glanced at you again, “Did Marc…take good care of you after?” He carefully asked.

Your eyes softened up as you looked at Steven. You smiled and nodded, “He did. Thank you for asking, Steven. He did leave me quite hungry though.” You admitted.

Steven chuckled, “Well then, I should get Marc back.” He said, preparing to stand up until you stopped him.

“Why don’t we get breakfast together, Steven with a V?” You asked with amusement.

“Marc did tell me that I’d have to get to know you at one point. Perhaps we can do that over coffee?” You hopefully asked.

You could see the gears in Steven’s head turning before he looked down and scratched at his neck, “I’m not sure Marc would like that.” He said.

Smiling, you stood up and grabbed his shirt on the floor before handing it over to him.

“Marc was right about you, Steven with a V. You worry too much.” You said with a slight chuckle, “I’m absolutely sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Rose - Oneshot

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Jonathan wants to say you came into his life like a flower, but it feels too fickle, too unlasting. Instead, he thinks, you grew like a rose bush for him.

A/N: The Jonathan Levy era is here folks. Keep in mind this was written after watching only the first two episodes of the show. I am completely ignoring Jonathan's second wife and his cheating.

I don't own photos or characters. Divider from @firefly-graphics

Ava’s head is lying on your stomach. You’re lying on your back, your head in Jonathan’s lap. He’s against the headboard, trying to find the courage in himself to fully wake up Ava, and break your drowsy state. This is no way for the three of you to sleep tonight, there’s not even a pillow behind his back, and you’re surely going to freeze, just in a pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts. 

You’re actually matching with him, pulling off the plain grey cotton better than he ever could. His book is long forgotten to the side, the sun having set a few minutes ago, all his will to get any more reading done that evening lost to the wind. There was a movie playing on his laptop, one that you’d set up for Ava. A movie Jonathan had paused when he saw his daughter asleep, your eyes hazy and struggling to stay open. 

The lights had remained on, a half-hope of his that he’d finish his chapter and tuck his daughter into bed before drifting off himself in your arms. He knows now that that was a foolish hope. There’s no sight prettier than the softness of you in his arms, his daughter in yours, both of you in his. He feels strong, indestructible. Wants to take the two of you and let no harm ever come to you again, be it at the expense of his own safety. There’s a bubbling need for him to protect. Feral and unknown. You’d scoff at him if he ever told you this, tell him that his old man is showing and they don’t do things like that anymore, but he wants to think it all the same. 

He lets his fingers follow your hairline, down to the curve of your jaw. The movements make you catch his eye and he’s filled with instant regret for even drawing a drop of your attention towards him like this. 

You smile at him and let your eyes droop to half-shut again 

Unlike Mira, who’d come into his life like a twenty-year hurricane, and left just as abruptly, you come into his life like you’d always been there. In many ways you’d had. Had been introduced as the daughter of his PhD supervisor, graduating with your Bachelor’s the same week he had stuttered his way through and promptly threw up after his field of study exam. 

He wants to say you came into his life like a flower, but it feels too fickle, too unlasting. Instead, he thinks, you grew like a rose bush for him. When you had blossomed out for him in love, he knew, that this wasn’t a storm he had to ride out, one that would inevitably end for better or for worse, but that with a little care, a little attention and love, your adoration for him, your rose bush would be a permanent fixture in his life. 

Your seed had taken root quietly. For many years, as he drifts in and out of your life, helping you secure a position with a supervisor for a graduate degree, visiting your mother every once in a while, smiling at you, when you shyly bring in a tray of coffee cups and sit quietly all through the afternoons he’s spent in your living room, you furrow your way into his chest. 

Though you don’t make a sound, barely talk to him for the first year of his acquaintance with you, you’re working. Growing a myriad of roots, a complex maze that only you alone can make your way through. You do it so subtly, like the gentle flutter of your eyelashes. Always there but never noticed. 

By the time you burst up in a little sprout, a promise of what is to come, it’s too late for Jonathan to weed you out. You’ve reached deep inside his chest and with your roots, you tug at heartstrings he didn’t know he had. You’re walking across the stage to receive your degree, when he notices you for you. Feels his heart quiver in a concerning way, thinks he’s hallucinated hearing your name called out, booming over the cathedral where the ceremony is held. But you’re very real. There’s an earthy, grounded freshness to you, an aura hanging around your body that Jonathan hadn’t noticed until then. It draws him in, leaves him thirsty for more as he hungrily drinks the sight of you, as your traditional academic robes billow with every step. 

When you were graduating, he was steps away from becoming an instructor, his post-doc in its final stages. Tenure was almost on the tip of his tongue, if he kept his contacts, if his cards were played right. He just had to get to and then through associate professorship. Ava had just arrived, had disrupted his mind and his sleep schedule, had taken over the entire house with a seemingly never-ending load of laundry filled with baby onesies, toys scattered across the living room, a milk bottle always drying alongside all the rest of their dishes.

Needless to say, there was a lot on his plate. He shouldn’t have even been at the ceremony that day had it not been for the promise of the cocktail hour afterwards. But he was and his relationship with you changes irredeemably.

You don’t belong in his life, really. You’re…nobody to him, at least, you should be. The daughter of a mentor who supported him during one of the hardest periods of his life. The daughter of a mentor whom he gave a favour to and put in a good word with the department head, who had sat in on his defence. Jonathan really could just chalk you up to an acquaintance, had it not been for the way your seedling had made its home in his chest. 

So, he runs to the campus floral shop, booming with business and buys you a mismatched bunch of flowers from the ones left over. He taps your shoulder and pulls you, beaming, away from all your friends. Your mother, he knows, is away in Europe at a conference, will be back next week and will celebrate privately with you. He’s tongue-tied as he congratulates you, his fingers have turned into knots as he struggles to hand you the flowers. 

As a child you’ve probably been to so many of these you were most likely bored out of your mind through the commencement ceremony. Still, Jonathan thinks you deserve flowers. Knows that you’re fond of brushing past the big events of your life as if they were just another day, a day not worth noting in the album of your life as your eyes are already drifting on towards new adventures. He tries that day, to make you slow down, to breathe deeper, smile wider, take in the world around you without any responsibilities on your shoulders. 

He also gives you his number, tells you to stay in touch and let him know if you ever decide to return to the dark world of academia. You laugh and give him a mysterious smile, not a yes or no. You don’t let him dwell too long on your smile, on the sudden glint in your eyes, before you ask him how Ava is doing, where her mother’s health is at, post-partum. 

At the end, right before you’re pulled away again, he asks you for a hug and he’s oddly sentimental about the whole thing. It’s not like you were a child when he met you, but he’s seen you grow, has seen you take on the challenges of graduate school head-on and come out triumphant at the end of each one, if a little bruised or scarred. So, it does feel like the end of an era. The end of his time as a student, and a gaping, wild unknown territory of teaching, research, supervision in store for him. 

Jonathan knows better than to ask you what you plan to do with the fancy piece of paper in your hands. Knows you must be sick of the question by now and that today was one of those rare days that was supposed to be reserved for only the present, the breaths between minutes. 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts when he sees your eyes blink slowly, as if there’s molasses dripping from your eyelashes, drying stickily. You glance down at Ava, and he sees you brush the hair away from her face gently, tucking it behind her ear, and placing your hand over her eyes, so the frown can fade away from her otherwise smooth skin.

Reaching over, he dims the lights, and it feels like the room is lit by candles only. 

Really, it’s just electricity, probably some horribly inefficient light bulbs that were killing baby pandas all over the world. He knows you’d like to light candles instead, knows you prefer natural light, and nice, comforting smells. When he had hugged you that day at graduation, you smelled like the citrus candle at the grocery market. 

You don’t smell like it anymore though. Because you’d given up candles for him. For his inflamed, damaged lungs that struggled with the stale air of his favourite lecture hall. The one with the high ceiling windows, the seemingly never ending amount of chalk close to the blackboard, the projector always working. 

Over the years, as he secures tenure and Ava grows up, your sprout grows, fresh green branches hardening into delicate twigs, jagged edges of leaves springing up in every available corner. But there are no flower buds yet.

You meet him for coffee, rant about the job market to him, appalled at how you could have two, top-notch degrees, stellar references, and several first-author publications, and still not manage to land an interview. He listens, hums and shows his support, tries to rack his mind for any of his friends who took a master-out and went into industry instead who could maybe line something up for you. 

He takes you to museums and art galleries, to street food stalls afterwards and buys you greasy foods that don’t rest well with his stomach. Invites you over for dinner, watches fondly as you talk with his wife, play with his daughter. Comes to your apartment in turn, and meets your mismatched group of friends that you love fiercely and proudly. Considers himself blessed that he’s considered part of them, part of the people you deem worthy of your attention, your time, your cooking and wine. 

His marriage becomes strained. He texts you more, sets up coffee, lunches and walks in the park with you more and more. Your chatter, your fresh, still hopeful outlook on life breathes air into his lungs, new life into his soul. He finds he can forget the growing pit in his stomach when he’s with you, the terrifying fear that if things don’t work out with Mira, if they don’t figure out how to heal, leaving Mira and being left by her is going to tear him to bits. 

Instead, he laughs until he has to reach for his inhaler at your eerily accurate impressions of your shared acquaintances at the university. He tries new food with you and watches foreign films that are poorly translated through the subtitles. Exchanges books and gets into heated arguments, pushes you to use and maintain the skills you learned while writing your thesis as he vehemently stands his ground on the other side of the debate. 

Six months after you graduate, you secure a job, and a well-paying salary, with a workweek that ends Friday evening, no ifs ands buts or doubts about it. Of course you would. Jonathan had no doubt about it. And if he’s honest with himself, on a Saturday evening cooped up in his office with a stack of essays to grade, he’s jealous of you. 

The day he takes you to see that new space documentary at the movies, he gets a taste of a line you’ve never crossed with him. A line you’ve surely crossed with all your friends, except him. He notices that day that you’ve always kept him at an arm’s length away, that your friendship with him was different than his friendship with you. 

And, fuck, does it hurt, does he hate how it makes his stomach twist. 

Jonathan had just juggled the popcorn and the tickets, handing them over to the boy to be ripped when he felt you stall, stiffening up beside him. You don’t mention anything and he doesn’t ask. Just like how he never mentions Mira anymore and you never ask. You keep your conversation, your questions and attention, for little Ava. 

But, instead of following him to the last door on the right, you stop at the third door to your left. You tell him you want to watch a movie instead, a cheap thing, with a cheap budget and mediocre acting at best. He wants to say that? You sure? But your eyes are glinting and he doesn’t want to prod. 

Of course, the film is, objectively, terrible. You’re the only ones in the theatre so it doesn’t matter if he pokes fun, mocks the acting, goes discretely silent at the sex scene that really, shows too much. He’s grateful that you don’t notice how he blushes, how he wants to melt into a literal puddle on the floor. You’d surely think he’s an old fart, if it seems like he can’t handle a little full frontal nudity. 

But you’re too astute of an observator, can pick up on the cues of his body better than he can, and you nudge him and with a little flick of your head, let him know that it’s ok to leave. 

You notice how he blushed, how he wanted to melt into a literal puddle on the floor. You don’t care though. You don’t think he’s an old fart, and instead, walk behind him and throw popcorn at the back of his head until he looks at you with a glare. 

That’s when it happens. 

He hears your name called across the theatre, a rush of people piling out of one of the doors. 

Mile-wide grin, square-set shoulders and clean-shaven. The man waves you down, and Jonathan doesn’t know where he wants to look at that moment. He follows behind you, the greasy bag of his popcorn brushing against the side of his pants and surely leaving stains behind. 

This is Jonathan. He remembers you saying, turning towards him with a smile that has the promise of an apology behind it. Jonathan reaches forward and gives the so far unidentified man a handshake, maybe a little firmer than necessary. A family friend, we go way back. 

Awkward would be one way to describe the way you talk with your ex. At least from your perspective, it really is awkward. Gauche, maladroit. It makes his skin crawl to see the way you look at him, the way you dig your nails into your palm. You hand over sugary-sweet smiles that Jonathan can see right through. It’s the synthetic sweetness of maraschino cherries, the taste of the fruit underneath, subtle and addicting, drowned out through chemicals and fructose corn syrup. High in calories, low in nutrients. 

But Mr. Patagonia jacket doesn’t seem to mind this, thinks that the encounter has gone wonderfully, since he confirms with you if you still have his number and asks you to text him, for coffee or dinner sometime. 

It hits Jonathan then, that the nauseating feeling crawling up his throat isn’t the popcorn. 

You’ve never talked to him about this stuff. People with whom you wanted to be closer to than just friends, with whom you’ve wanted to cross that line with. It occurs to him that never, not once, have you ever shut down plans with him because you had a date. It was always that there was something at work, something at home, you were just too tired. 

He’s not sure why it bothers him so much. You’re allowed to dictate your relationship with him, and matters of the hearts are intensely private affairs, not to be divulged with just anyone. So, it shouldn’t bother him. Surely, he doesn’t have the right to demand you divulge your love life to him, and he’s not going to even attempt to go there. 

But, though he tells himself to calm the fuck down, he’s still bothered. Bothered by the fact that he’s never even met one of your partners. Ever. Not in passing, not in the evenings he’s spent at your house and the ones you’ve spent at his. You’ve always opened the door by yourself, grinning wide as you welcome him inside, and in turn, you’ve always come alone, with a bottle of wine. 

Sorry about that. My ex. 

Jonathan, still deep in thought, hums and muses that he seemed like a nice guy. He says it only out of politeness. He didn’t care for the guy the minute he gestured over for you to come over and didn’t tell you to stay put so he could come towards the two of you. 

His eyes fall on you as he watches for a reaction to his words. Nothing. You don’t twitch an eyebrow or bat a lash. You make a low noise at the back of your throat and say that when he wants to be, he can be a nice guy. 

“Hey, you,” your voice is raspy, quiet with the fear of waking up the girl curled into your body. It draws him out of his thoughts and makes him acutely aware that he’s been staring at the wall ahead of him with a horrible kink in his neck. He takes a deep breath and straightens up, his back cracking. 

He peers down and it feels like he’s looking at two stars. “We can’t sleep like this,” he says just as quietly as you. All the other girls never loved Ava as much as you did, some didn’t even like her at all, had fled at the break of dawn from his bed when they saw the toys strewn across the living room. It makes his heart warm to see the way she’s fallen asleep on you now, how much she must trust you. “Ava’s gotta get to bed.” 

You’re going to ask for five more minutes, and Jonathan already knows he’s going to give you ten. 

“Five more minutes?” Your free hand comes to hold his, and you bend your head awkwardly to give Ava a kiss. “She’s so warm. Wanna stay like this forever.” 

It was about six months after he finalised the divorce that Jonathan dared something beyond the friendly touches he normally gave you. In turn, you’d sit closer beside him when you were on his couch, pressed the length of your thigh against his and made his heart beat two times faster. Three months later, he kisses you for the first time. 

He’s sitting on the floor with you in your apartment, hours into what should have been just one round of Dutch Blitz, when it happens. You’re glowing, triumphant and content with the rush of your latest win, when Jonathan realises that the only thing he wants in that moment is to feel your lips against his. Realises that he hasn’t felt a need this strong ever in his life. 

He murmurs your name, catches your attention from the glass of wine you’re topping up for him, and you smile and give him a wink. 

He pushes the cards between the two of you to the side and stands up on his knees, though they protest in old age. He’s mirroring the way you are now, and his hand comes to wrap around your waist, something he’s never done before, not like this. Not with the lights dimmed, soft music in the background and his heart beating the way it is. He hears the faint clink of the wine bottle hitting the glass tabletop, as your eyes fall on him and everything drowns out except for you. 

It feels like he’s moving purely on instinct, not an ounce of logic is behind his actions. All his thoughts are you. The aching, soul-burning desire he has for you to be his. You’ve drawn closer to him, and right now you’re looking up at him through your eyelashes. He asks you if it would be alright if he kissed you, if it would be something you liked. 

You brush the tip of your nose against his, repeating the action with your lips. Tantalisingly, as if daring him to do it, you tell him, demand him to kiss you. And he does. His lungs burn and he knows that this is it for him. That the feelings he holds for you are beyond love and adoration. They’re beyond words. They existed at the beginning of the universe, at the beginning of time. 

Jonathan, in that moment, feels both the chest-crushing pressure of nothingness of before the universe, and the sudden breath in, the moment where nothing changes into now, the beginning of time and life itself, all in your arms. His knees are killing him, and he thinks he’s a little hazy-headed from the alcohol, but nothing’s ever felt this right as it does now. 

He doesn’t think that he’s indestructible, that the world can bring him any harm. He is the world, the rivers and mountains, galaxies and stars and atoms and everything in between. He breathes life into beings and takes it away in the blink of his eye, in the soft caress of your hands against his neck. 

Being in your arms, holding you like he is now, is a solace, a safe haven for him from which he never wants to stray from. His Garden of Eden, his paradise on Earth, his home. A home that he’ll never have the temptation of running from. Why would he? 

Your rose bush blooms for him at that moment, takes his breath away. The seemingly inconspicuous, leafy bush, neither fruit tree nor weed, blossoms into love. If it was possible to ignore the space you had taken up in his body, it’s impossible now. He can’t see unless he’s looking at you, the flower you’ve grown into under the care of his hand, his friendship, his life. He knows that nothing else in his life will be worth as much as you are. 

He’s stumbled upon an underwater cave of riches, of luxuries never seen before on land, and instead of ripping them from their home, into harsh light and to be battered over by greedy hands, he’ll make his home here. Will let the saltwater flow into his lungs, give his last breath away to the ocean, and never leave again. 

In short, Jonathan realises that he loves you, that he’s loved you for some time now, and will never love anyone else other than you. 

He’s not sure how to tell you all this. The sudden tornado of feelings you cause in his chest. So, instead, he pulls away, breathless, only to push his forehead against yours, to let his hands underneath your shirt and trace the knuckles of your spinal cord. 

Kissing you wasn't an impulse at all. He wasn’t acting to fulfil a need, no matter how burning or life-threatening. Kissing you was pure logical decision-making. It was the next rational step in his relationship with you. It was like the exhale of his lungs after the inhale, the inhale to follow after the exhale. There was no second-guessing, no impulsive heat-of-the-moment movements, breathing was never like that, and kissing you would never be like that either.

You tell him, eyes glowing and filled with love, that you did like it, how he kissed you, and wouldn’t mind it if he did it again sometime. 

He sits back, and pulls you with him into his arms. His back comes to rest at the edge of the loveseat behind him, his legs fall to either side of your body as his arms wrap around your shoulders. 

He’s never letting you go. 

“Ok, baby,” his hand comes to soothe over the side of your head. It’s been fifteen minutes and it’s high time that everyone gets to bed. “Honey, I’m going to take Ava to bed, alright?” Your eyes are fluttering, and he takes the pillow closest to him and prepares it right beside his leg. As he slips out from underneath you, you barely feel it, as your head falls onto the pillow seconds later. 

He walks around and presses a kiss to his daughter’s temple before he gathers her in his arms. She’s half-awake, her voice slurred and dripping with sleep. When he asks her if she’s brushed her teeth, she tells him yes, that you helped her to do so, before the movie. 

Jonathan falls a little more in love with you at that moment. For the common sense you had, for the way you could perceive what would happen once the three of you were cuddled up in bed, for the care you extend to his daughter as if she were your own. 

Once Ava’s tucked in, sung to, kissed and loved, her night light turned on, he comes back to your shared room. He manages to catch you coming out of the bathroom, little flecks of water darkening the grey of your shirt. 

“Sorry,” he feels shy with you suddenly, and shoves his hands into his pockets like a little bird tucking its head underneath its wing. You smile at him and walk towards him, your arms fall around his waist and smile up at him. He loves you. 

“For what?” You press your nose against the side of his neck, briefly bite his skin, but change your mind halfway through and kiss over the spot instead. 

He shrugs, “Waking you up.”

“It’s ok,” your hands come to the nape of his neck and you pull him down towards you. Your lips are breaths away from his. “I’ll thank you in the morning when I don’t have a kink in my back.” 

The next rational decision is to kiss you. The world wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t. It took Jonathan a while to get used to the feelings that would rush through him when he kissed you. At first, he naively thought that they would stop after a while. Now, two years after that kiss, he still feels it, just as intense, just as life-changing as the first time. The only thing that’s changed now is that he knows that he has to prepare for them. Ground his feet, take in a deep breath, so he’s not as thrown off as he was that night. 

Now, he pulls your leg to rest on the side of his hip, his other hand comes and rests on your upper thigh. You jump into his arms and he walks you over towards the bed, lays you down and hovers over you, his weight resting on his forearms right beside his head. 

Jonathan loves you. 

“I love you,” you murmur, threading your hands through his hair. 

Jonathan smiles. 

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