#in bloom

[vladymir555nyeto]

Red angel's trumpet (Brugmansia sanguinea).

[huariqueje]

In Bloom - Jordan Casteel , 2022.

American , b. 1989 -

Oil on canvas ,  198.12 x 229.24 cm. 78 x 90.25 in.

[inkflowergarden]

A season of rapid growth and expansion is upon us🌸💮🍀🌼✨

[indigrassy]

Quarter tulip

[kimlion1313]

Fall mums

Plainville, CT - Oct 24

[not-with-you-but-of-you]

NIRVANA In Bloom (1992) dir. Kevin Kerslake

[anafremo]

[earthlyangelbby]

In Bloom

NSFW Eddie x Plus size!reader(Tulip) Words: 4.9k CW: Lots of kissing, grinding, dirty talk, mutual masturbation

Also if you haven't read the other two chapters reader's nickname is Tulip. Though he uses many later on. Chapter 2

Paisley is probably the biggest fan of you and Eddie. When you told her about the kiss and how Steve had walked in right in the middle of it she screamed. Loudly. Which was terrifying, because it was after midnight and your RA had already done rounds. But you couldn't really blame her. Eddie had waited out the storm with you, the two of you wrapped up in something so tender and new, and then once the roads were passable, he'd driven you back to your dorm. He walked you to the door like always. It wasn't just the kiss still buzzing on your lips or the softness in his voice when he said goodnight it was the way he made you feel lighter just by standing next to you. Girly in a way that wasn't about lace or makeup, but about being seen. He looked at you like you were the prettiest girl around, and somehow, you believed him.

Paisley practically bounced on her bed, a tube of cherry lip balm rolling forgotten off the edge of her desk. "Okay, but how did you feel? Like right after it happened?" she asked, her eyes wide with expectation.

You hesitated, hugging your knees to your chest. The memory was still so fresh it felt like a secret blooming in your chest. "I don't know. I felt... dizzy. Warm. Like everything in the world had gone quiet except for him," you said, voice low. "And kind of scared too. But the good kind. The kind that means something big is happening."

Paisley squealed again, flopping onto her stomach. "God, you have to marry him. Wait. Get this. I have class with Steve. And Robin. Tuesday-Thursday psych lab. Isn't that wild?"

"Small world," you said, the corner of your mouth twitching up in a smile. "Really small."

"And now you're, like, dating his roommate. Which means I know people who know people. I'm basically famous."

You laughed and fiddled with the edge of your sleeve. "We're not, like, official or anything," you murmured. "I don't know. I don't want to freak him out."

Paisley scoffed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it dramatically. "Yeah, because six weeks of dorm door-frame flirting followed by kissing sessions makes it totally just a thing friends do."

She had a way of making your meanest and most insecure thoughts sound totally stupid.

The next few lessons with Eddie were normal. Well, not exactly normal. They were flirty. He was like a schoolboy, all infatuated with you, and you were with him too, in the way that you could be. He was definitely more open to flirting now, more relaxed in the way his knee brushed yours under the desk or his fingers lingered just a beat too long when helping adjust your grip. And his hands. God. Even when innocent, sent a shiver of want down your spine.

But it was more than physical. Eddie had this way of being sweet to you that felt like something sacred. The way he looked at you, remembered the smallest details, always made space for your feelings without needing a reason. He made you feel safe, seen, treasured like you mattered in ways you weren’t used to. And yet, under all that softness, the wanting lived. Fierce and full-bodied. You needed him sometimes, so badly it made your skin buzz.

Still, Eddie always seemed to know when things were getting too hot, too close to crossing that invisible line. He never said as much, but he'd pull back gently, steer things back to playful or innocent before the heat could spill over. Like he was protecting you. Not just your body, but something deeper. It made you ache in ways you didn’t know how to explain. Because even when the guilt crept in, whispering that wanting was too much or too fast, part of you still longed for more. And the worst part? You didn’t know how to ask for it.

For a few lessons you'd been working on playing Going to California - Led Zeppelin and, for the first time, you played it perfectly all the way through. You didn't even look up when you finished, heart racing until you felt his fingers touch your chin.

"Hey," Eddie murmured, tilting your face toward him. His thumb skimmed your jaw. "That was perfect."

And then he kissed you. Just like that. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was now.

"You're getting really good at that, Tulip," he said with a grin.

You blinked. "At what?"

He smirked. "I'll let you decide."

Another lesson, while you were lost in the rhythm of the chords, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips brushed your cheek, and his voice was soft, reverent.

"You look really beautiful when you play," he said.

Your fingers fumbled over the frets. "That's not fair," you said, trying to laugh off the heat rising to your cheeks.

"What's not?" he asked, tilting his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Saying stuff like that while I'm trying to concentrate."

He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, smug as anything. "Guess you'll just have to get used to it."

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After lessons, you two no longer walked back to your dorm. On Mondays, it had become a little ritual you'd walk together to his van. The way he opened the door for you made your heart stutter every time.

He'd drive slowly up the winding road into the woods, windows down just enough for the spring air to mingle with the music playing low in the background. You'd talk about anything and everything, favorite bands, dumb college stuff, random stories while the space between you buzzed with all the things left unspoken.

Somewhere between a teasing comment and the way his eyes held yours, the world would narrow until your lips met. Full-blown making out, soft and urgent all at once. Maybe a little dry grinding that made your skin tingle.

One night, he leaned back in the driver's seat and patted his lap with a lazy grin. "C'mere," he said, voice thick and low. "Wanna see you up close."

You hesitated, biting your lip. "Are you sure?" you asked quietly. "I don't wanna crush—"

"Yes, I'm sure," he cut in, his voice firm and fond all at once. "C'mere, my pretty little lady."

Your heart flipped, and despite the nerves coiling in your stomach, you moved to straddle him. Your knees pressed into the worn cushions of the seat, hands on his shoulders for balance. His hands settled on your hips like they'd always belonged there.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he murmured against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time. More certain.

The heat built fast. His jeans were rough against your inner thighs, and the pressure of his hardness beneath you sent a jolt through your whole body. Through the thin fabric of your underwear and the stretch of your dress, it was all so much too much, almost. Each little grind sent sparks racing up your spine, and you couldn't help the soft, shaky breath that escaped your lips.

You'd never felt anything like it before. It was intense and overwhelming and dizzying in the best way, and you weren't sure if you wanted to pull away or get impossibly closer.

When he finally pulled away, breathless but grinning, he leaned over and whispered some excuse about why he needed to see you again soon. And that it was getting late. Eddie seemed to be serious about taking things slow no matter how heated it would get between you two.

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Fridays were different. After lessons, you'd walk straight to his van and then back to his house. Sometimes the place was buzzing with Robin, Nancy, Steve, and Gareth. Everyone was just hanging out, laughing, and joking. It was fun in a different way, casual and light, like a little escape from everything else.

Last Friday, Steve invited you to his family's cabin for spring break. It's a cozy, slightly wild place by the lake they've visited for years. Since Eddie's leaving early in the morning, he suggested you stay over tonight instead of heading back to your dorm. That's how you ended up alone with him at the house, the cabin trip ahead and a quiet, new kind of excitement hanging between you. Everyone else left that afternoon, but Eddie had work and your lesson.

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Somewhere between the third movie and the haze of popcorn and candy, you ended up curled together on the couch, Eddie's head in your lap, your fingers lazily threading through his hair. He hummed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut every now and then like a cat soaking up the sun. His hand rested lightly on your thigh, his thumb drawing slow, idle circles that made your skin feel electric.

The movie was some cheesy slasher flick classic camp horror where the next couple to die had to have sex. The scene sent a sudden thrill through you, and you stopped playing in his hair without realizing it. Eddie's eyes flicked up, catching the change. It was the way the girl moaned, the way the guy looked at her with that desperate hunger that stirred something unexpected inside you.

Eddie grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief as he lifted his head from your lap. "Whoa, someone's suddenly very into the movie."

You narrowed your eyes. "Oh, please. Don't start."

He raised a brow, clearly enjoying himself. "What? You're not feeling a little… frisky?"

You huffed and crossed your arms. "Fine. Yeah. Maybe I am a little. Happy now?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well damn, didn't think you'd fold that fast."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth gave you away. "Okay, okay. Shut up."

Eddie nudged your knee, grin getting wider. "Alright, spill it. What was it about that scene that got your full attention?"

You blinked. "What, now you want me to psychoanalyze my feelings about horror movie sex scenes?"

He smirked. "Hey, I'm just curious. Was it the moan? The look in the guy's eyes? The whole 'we're about to die, so let's get it on' thing?"

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Maybe it was all of that. Or maybe I just liked the idea that when things get scary, you grab onto the person you want."

Eddie sat up suddenly, throwing a dramatic glance over his shoulder like someone might really be creeping down the hall. "Well, in that case.” Eddie screamed in a hushed tone, “Tulip! There's a killer on the loose, get over here!" He threw his arms open, grinning like a maniac.

You snorted, your face flushing as you hesitated. "Eddie…"

"What?" he said, wiggling his fingers. "You just said you liked that kind of thing. I'm doing this for you."

You gave him a look but crawled into his lap anyway, settling awkwardly against him with your hands clutching his shirt. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet," he said, letting his arms close around your waist, "here you are. Choosing me when things get a little scary."

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back a smile. "I hate how charming you think you are."

"Don't lie," he whispered, resting his chin on your shoulder. "You love it."

Your heartbeat a little faster, but you didn't pull away. "Maybe just a little."

His breath was warm against your neck, and you could feel the faintest smile still playing on his lips. One of his hands skimmed lightly up your back, fingers trailing a little too slow to be innocent.

"Y'know," he murmured, voice low, "this would be the part where they'd cut to something steamy."

You snorted softly, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in your belly. "You mean right before the killer jumps out and ruins everything?"

He chuckled. "Exactly. Classic third act move. Just when things get good..."

"...boom gore and screaming," you finished, turning your head slightly toward him. "So really, we’re doing this all wrong."

"Or," he said, voice darker now, closer, "we’re doing it just right… and the third act hasn’t hit yet."

You pulled back slightly to look at him, intending to say something smart, something to brush it off but the way he was looking at you made your words dry up in your throat.

His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, just once.

He leaned in, kissing you slowly like he wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere. Like he was savoring it. You melted into it, fingers curling into his shirt. He deepened the kiss gradually, pulling you closer to his lap, and you could feel the warmth spreading from your chest all the way down.

Your hands moved on their own first over his chest, then down to his sides, fingers dragging lightly over the hem of his shirt. You felt his breath hitch, his grip on your waist tightening just a little as he kissed you harder. Your hands slipped beneath the edge of his shirt, palms resting against warm skin, and he made a soft sound against your mouth, like he wasn't expecting that but loved it.

He answered you with his own touch, one hand gripping your thigh through the fabric of your dress, slow and steady, the other anchoring at the small of your back. The action alone sent little sparks through you, heat pooling low in your belly.

The kiss turned deeper, needier, but still laced with something gentle. His nose brushed yours, his lips never far even when you both paused to breathe. You could feel how hard he was beneath you, the firm pressure of his jeans nudging against your inner thighs as you rocked slightly without thinking.

You whimpered softly, embarrassed at how good the friction felt through your underwear. Eddie broke the kiss to breathe against your neck, chuckling low. "Careful, sweetheart. You're really testing my self-control, Tulip," he murmured. "Makes me wonder if you're the real danger here."

But he didn't stop you. If anything, he kissed you again and deeper, with that same blend of sweet and hot, like he was just as caught up in you as you were in him.

When he finally pulled away, he was smiling softly, a little breathless. "You're kinda irresistible, you know that?"

You hid your face in his neck, cheeks burning. "You're not supposed to say stuff like that."

"Says who?"

You didn't answer. You just kissed him again. Your hands sliding up his chest, fingers threading into his hair. Eddie groans softly, and his hands get bolder, one gliding just under the hem of your dress, his thumb only rubbing circles on your thigh while pulling you even tighter against him. The friction makes you gasp.

His mouth leaves yours only to trail kisses down your jaw, your neck, just to the edge of your collarbone. You can't stop the way your hips shift, chasing more of that delicious pressure. Your breath comes in short bursts, needy little whines slipping out before you can stop them.

You rock your hips again, just to feel him. The friction of his jeans against your underwear is overwhelming in the best way blunt pressure, nothing too precise, but God, it's enough to make your head swim. You grip his shoulders for balance, and his hands tighten on your waist.

Eddie's breath starts to tremble. You can feel it in the way his chest rises, in the little stuttering exhale against your collarbone. His head tips back slightly to look at you, eyes heavy-lidded and dark.

You moan, quiet, but raw and real.

"Yeah?" he says against your lips, cocky and breathless. "That feel good?"

You nod, cheeks flushed. You know what he feels under your thigh. The hard line of him pressing up through his jeans. You've been avoiding it. Not anymore.

His hand slides up, fingers brushing the hem of your dress. He doesn't go under it not yet but he rests his palm on your bare thigh. "You're killin' me in this dress, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Been thinkin' about it since the second you walked in."

"You said it was cute," you whisper, breathless.

"It is cute. But also? Makes me wanna be real fucking rude."

Your whole body prickles. You press your forehead to his, trying to laugh it off. But you're squirming now. The heat's been building for what feels like hours. You didn't wear tights, didn't even think about how exposed you'd be, but now you feel how easy it would be to hike the dress up a little more, shift your hips just right, feel him…

So you do. You grind against him. Once. Twice. Your breath hitches. He groans and tightens his hold on your hips.

"Oh my god," you whisper. You can't stop. "Eddie—"

"Fuck, baby. I know." His voice drops to a husky whisper, thick with need and barely contained desire.

The way he says it makes your face burn, but not in a bad way. In a more, please way.

You cling tighter to him, rocking just barely. You're soaked. You can feel it. Your panties are useless now, and every time you move, the ache sharpens.

It's too much and not enough at the same time. You're wet. Aching. Not ready to go all the way but not ready to stop either.

You lean in, breath trembling as you whisper, "I want something."

Eddie goes very still. Looking up at you with those dark brown eyes.

"Yeah?" His voice is gentle but low. A little hoarse. He brushes your hair back behind your ear. "Tell me what you want, sweet girl."

Your throat tightens. You want to. You don't know how.

"I don't want to go all the way," you murmur, already bracing for him to get annoyed or disappointed. "But I can't— I just feel so—"

You stop. Your face is burning. Your thighs are shaking.

But Eddie doesn't pull back. Doesn't even blink.

Instead, his thumb brushes softly over your soft hip. "Wanna do something together, then? You and me?"

Your breath catches. You feel like your heart skips a full beat.

"…What do you mean?"

He watches you. His voice dips into something almost reverent. "I mean… you touch yourself, I touch myself. Across from each other. Nothing you're not ready for. Just… let ourselves feel good."

You're stunned by how much that idea makes your stomach flutter. It's terrifying and hot and intimate in a way you didn't expect.

You nod before you can stop yourself. "mhm."

His eyes search yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I.. like that idea."

And something about the way he exhales like he was barely holding on. It made you feel powerful. Like maybe you're not the only one who's desperate here.

"I want to see you," you whisper.

His breath catches. "Jesus Christ," he murmurs. "Yeah?" he says again, barely above a whisper. "You wanna watch me, sweetheart?"

You nod, your breath catching. You feel fragile and fire-hot all at once. "I want to see you. I want to."

"Okay." His voice is wrecked. Gentle. Focused. "Okay. Fuck."

The air feels tight with the weight of what you're about to do. You smooth your skirt down, then up. Higher. It's terrifying and electric, the exposure. Your panties are soaked. You're trembling a little.

"You don't have to rush," Eddie says softly. "Just start slow. Go as far as you want, yeah?"

You nod again. "Will you… do it too?"

He undoes the button of his jeans, and your mouth goes dry. He hasn't pulled himself out yet. Just cups himself through his boxers, and the way his eyes drag down your legs as you shift gives you goosebumps.

"You're so fucking hot," he says. "You know that?"

You don't know how to answer. Your fingers tremble as they move down your belly. You slip your hand under your panties, and when your fingers brush over your clit, you shiver hard.

"Good girl," he breathes. "Just like that."

You make a soft sound in the back of your throat. It feels better than it ever has before because he's watching you. Because you're watching him.

He pulls himself free, and your eyes widen in surprise. One thing to imagine, another entirely to see. A bead of precum glistens at the tip, which is a soft shade of pink. He sways it slightly, teasing, as his hands remain wrapped around it. It is devastatingly hot.

"Jesus," you whisper. You can't stop staring.

He grins, flushed and breathless already. "That a compliment?"

You nod dumbly. "It's… you're hot."

His breath hitches like the words struck him right in the chest. He starts stroking himself, slow, deliberate, and never breaks eye contact.

"Show me how you touch yourself, baby," he says, voice hoarse. "I wanna see how bad you need it."

Your fingers move again, this time with purpose. It's hard to breathe. Your thighs tense. You arch just a little as you circle slowly and firmly.

"That's it," he says, eyes locked on your hand. "Fuck, you're killing me. So fucking sexy, Tulip. Do you know what that does to me? Watching you lose yourself like that?"

You whimper.

His free hand fists in the cushion, like he's holding himself back. "Say something," he urges, rough and needy. "Tell me how it feels."

"It feels good," you gasp. "Better with you watching."

He groans and jerks harder, eyes flicking between your parted lips and the place where your hand is buried under your dress. "Yeah? You like me watching you get off, sweetheart?"

"Yes. God, yes. Eddie" you breathe out.

"God," he breathes. "Oh my angel, You make the prettiest sounds. You don't even know."

You blink at him through the haze. "I… I don't sound weird?"

He lets out a breathless, wrecked laugh. "Weird? Tulip, you sound so hot, it's killing me. Like– fuck. I could cum just listening to you."

Your face burns, but something inside you flutters at the praise. You move your fingers again, a little bolder, circling just the way he said. He sees your hips twitch, sees you chase it, and his jaw drops.

"That's it, my sweet girl. You feel good?"

You nod hard. "So good. I didn't think it could feel like this."

He's pumping himself now, slow but firm, and his voice roughens. "That's 'cause you're letting me see you. You're letting yourself feel it. Fuck, you're gorgeous."

His cheeks are flushed, curls messy, chest rising fast. You want to tell him how beautiful he is, but it comes out in a gasp: "You look… so good. Like that."

Eddie growls an honest, undone sound and tightens his grip. "Fuck. Tulip, you have no idea what you do to me."

You shift a little, thighs trembling as your pleasure starts to build fast again. You pant through it, a little dizzy, overwhelmed in the best way.

"You're so sexy when you touch yourself," he says. "You're making me lose my damn mind."

"I want you to cum," you whisper all breathy and ruined. "I wanna watch."

His head tips back with a low, wrecked laugh. "Say that again."

"I want to see you cum," you say, a little braver now. "Please, Eddie."

He strokes faster. "Fuck. You're a dream." You whimper, and he breathes, "Look at me. Keep looking."

You're panting now. Pleasure coils tight in your stomach. You can't believe you're doing this open and bare and seen. But you've never felt more wanted.

"You close?" he asks, voice breaking.

"Almost."

"I wanna hear you. Let it out. Let me see what I do to you."

Your body shudders. You moan, soft and open, rocking against your own hand.

"That's it, pretty girl," he pants. "Cum for me. Show me."

Your thighs quake as it hits you hard and fast. You cry out his name, your back arching, your hand slowing. You ride it out, mouth open, gasping for air.

When your eyes flutter open, he's still watching you, flushed and wild. It takes only another second of your dazed gaze on him before he groans and finishes too, his hips jerking, hand tight on himself, lips parted in stunned bliss. Hot, thick streams of cum shoot out, splattering messily across his stomach, and dribbles as he catches his breath.

You both sit there, spent and panting, watching the storm flicker through the window behind you.

No one speaks for a long moment.

Then Eddie laughs softly. "Jesus Christ, Tulip."

You breathe out a dazed laugh too, face flushed, body glowing. "Yeah."

"I don't think I've ever done anything that hot in my whole life," he says finally, voice low and hoarse. "You're… Jesus, Tulip."

You smile shyly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And for the record?" He leans his head back against the couch, eyes half-lidded. "You don't even know how fucking sexy you are. It's criminal. You should be arrested."

You laugh, dazed and loose-limbed. "By you?"

"Oh, absolutely," he says. "Cuffed and kissed and made to repeat those pretty noises for hours."

You bury your face in your hands and laugh harder. He just grins and watches you like he never wants to look at anything else.

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You're curled up in his bed afterward, limbs tangled, skin cooling against the storm-warmed air. His fingers trace lazy circles into the meat of your hip. Every now and then, he leans in to kiss your shoulder, like he can't quite help himself.

You feel warm. Content. But beneath the quiet, something hums inside you, nervous and ever so persistent.

You shift a little, enough to catch his eye. "Eddie?"

He kisses your forehead without hesitation. "Yeah, my sweetheart?"

You chew your lip, the question tangling in your chest. "I just… I don't know. I've never had this before. I've never had you. And I feel so good with you and now we've done all this and I just…"

He lifts his head to look at you more clearly.

"Are you my boyfriend?"

He freezes.

Then he pulls back slightly not away, but to see your face better. His brows knit like the question hurts a little.

"Wait. Are you serious?" His voice is quiet, but it carries weight.

You falter. "I didn't want to assume. You're just… you're so good-looking and confident, and I'm—"

His hand slides up your jaw, gentle but firm.

"My sweet angel," he says, voice low. "I wouldn't be kissing you like that… saying those things… if I wasn't yours." His eyes are dark and steady on yours. "If I didn't want to be yours."

The silence stretches, heavy with meaning.

"You are," you whisper. "Mine?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah. I have been. Since you looked up at me in that practice room like I was someone worth trusting. I've been gone for you since then."

You smile, small and shy. "Okay. Good. 'Cause I don't want this to be something I only get to do once."

He kisses you, hand cradling your face like you're breakable but he knows you're not.

"No chance, pretty girl," he murmurs. "You've got me."

And when you bury your face in his chest, letting out the breath you didn't know you'd been holding, his arms tighten around you like he'll never let you go. You peek up at him again, your voice soft but teasing. “Eddie… when did you learn to talk like that?”

He quirks an eyebrow, nose nudging your temple. “Like what?”

“Like how you did earlier,” you murmur, cheeks going warm at just the memory. “All that sweet, filthy stuff. The way you said my name, the way you–”

He chuckles low, pulling you a little closer. “Oh, that.”

You nod, trying not to smile too hard. “Yeah. That.” Eddie’s grin turns smug, but there’s affection in it. “Guess I just say what I feel.” You pause, then grin slyly.

“And when you called me your angel… I didn’t think angels did that.”

He chuckles low, pulling you a little closer. “Well, angels sing,” he says, voice playful. “And you were making pretty sounds.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you bury your face in his shoulder, embarrassed. “You sounded like a romance novel crossed with a porno.”

“That a complaint?” he teases, brushing his thumb over your cheek again.

You shake your head, grinning now. “No. Just… surprised, I guess.”

He tilts your chin to look at him, playful but honest. “Surprised I think you're the sexiest thing alive? Surprised I wanna worship every inch of you every time you let me touch you?”

You try to laugh, but it comes out breathy. “God. There it is again.”

Eddie leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Better get used to it, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I’m not gonna shut up about you anytime soon.”

Eddie pulls you closer, his arms settling around you like a shield. His lips brush a gentle kiss on your temple, soft and warm. “We better get some sleep,” he murmurs. “Long drive in the morning.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest. “Goodnight, Eddie. Sweet dreams”

He chuckles quietly. “Sleep tight, Tulip. I'm not sure it can get much sweeter than this”

Thanks for reading! comment or dm for taglist :) What do you hope happens at Steve's cabin for spring break? Taglist: @paleidiot @ali-r3n @ilovecowboysyouknowthat @spookybabey @exploding-bonbon @am0iur @taniamunson @emxxblog @api0calisse @twihard08 @shadowhunty @abirdinthehouse @jeangeniex @3rd-conchord @micheledawn1975

[vladymir555nyeto]

Copper Globemallow 🌸 (Sphaeralcea angustifolia)

[wiley-treehouse-gardens]

Aeonium lilypad starting to bloom!

[fleshoffruit]

in bloom

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Clematis - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Clematis (Clematis) - Meaning: Ingenuity, cleverness

Summary: Anthony's lover comes up with a way to see him after the ball.

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Word Count: 1504

Warnings: SMUT, probably poorly written cunnilingus (F receiving), reader has female anatomy, Regency era gender politics, Anthony loves giving head

Day 15 and not sure how I feel about this one. Getting it in under the wire, it's almost midnight where I'm at. I just want a man to come in through my window and eat my 😼 okay???

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated! ❤️

If this was how Anthony Bridgerton kissed, you couldn’t imagine how else he could make you feel. His lips were firm against yours, but gentle, coaxing, his large hands tracing down your neck and along the line of your decollete which made your breath hitch. 

Part of the intoxication was the danger of the situation — you were the daughter of an Earl, a respectable lady of the Ton, and if you were discovered with Anthony Bridgerton’s hands and lips all over you, you would be ruined. 

You broke the kiss, needing an influx of air or you would surely faint. Anthony rested his forehead against yours. 

“I need you,” you breathed out, “Anthony, I need you.” 

He ran a delicate finger down your chest, “Not here, dearest.” 

“Then where? When?” You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as you pressed your pliant body against his firm one. 

He sighed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “If only I could whisk you away from here without drawing suspicion.” 

An idea came to mind — it was risky, but if he agreed you could continue feeling like you were on fire, and oh, how you wanted to burn. 

“Come to my home, tonight,” you whispered, gasping a little as his lips pressed against your neck, licking over your jeweled necklace. “There’s a trellis just under my window, you can climb right up.” 

“You wish for me to defile you in your own bedroom?” Anthony growled against your neck, “Naughty girl.” 

He agreed to the plan nonetheless, and you straightened yourself before heading back to your parents, claiming a headache and asking for the carriage. 

“But dear, you haven’t danced with Lord Hollingsworth yet!” your Mama declared, having selected the oh-so-boring yet oh-so-available man as your best hope for marriage at the beginning of the season. 

“Now, now Cecelia,” your Papa chimed in, “if the girl is unwell we shan’t force her to dance. I’ll call the carriage, dears, you two gather your things and say your goodbyes.” He nodded at you and ducked away, eager to get home as usual. 

From across the ballroom, you caught Anthony’s eye and nodded slightly. He winked, sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. He was to give you ninety minutes to make sure your parents were asleep, then scale your trellis like a hero in a romantic novel. 

Immediately upon your return home, you excused yourself upstairs. Your maid helped you undress, but you dismissed her quickly, claiming you could handle taking the pins out of your hair on your own. Over the next hour, you listened as your father retired to his study and your mother to her bedroom. 

Once you were sure your parents were in for the night, you placed a candle in your window — his signal that the coast was clear. Unable to remain still, you started pacing your room. Would he show up or leave you twisting in the wind like this? 

Only a few minutes of pacing later a knock came from your window. You dashed over, unlatching it and moving the candle for Anthony to pull himself up. He did so athletically, like letting a tiger into your bedroom. When he was inside, you closed the window and he was on you in a heartbeat, hot kisses along the back of your neck while his hands slid around your waist. 

Your hand came up to grip the back of his head, your fingers lacing through his silken hair. You pressed back against him, turning your head to meet his lips with your own. He tasted like whiskey and sin. He spun you around in his grasp and tugged you close to him by your hips. 

You gasped as you felt his cock pressing into your lower tummy — he was large. For a moment you hesitated, wondering how something so large would fit inside you, but Anthony’s insistent grip on your hips turned into him grabbing handfuls of your nightgown and pulling the cool silk up, up, up. 

“You came,” you gasped breathlessly.

“You didn’t think I would? Tsk, tsk,” he joked, clicking his tongue at you. “My dear, now that I’ve had a taste, I cannot get enough.” 

He emphasized his point by kissing your lips once again, licking his tongue into your mouth. You responded with a soft moan, which only seemed to spur him on. 

Before you knew what was happening, Anthony had tossed you back onto your bed and was  crawling over you, bringing the hem of your nightgown with him. Your breath hitched as you felt his warm, large fingers tracing trails of fire up your legs, teasing your wetness through your undergarments. 

“May I taste you,” he asked, and you moaned your response which prompted him to stop his fingers only an inch from where you needed him most. Opening your eyes, you looked down at him and whined. He rose to meet your lips with his. “I need you to remain quiet, otherwise I will stop. And we don’t want that, sweet one, do we?” 

Anything. Anything he wanted as long as he kept touching you. When he saw you nod, he hooked a finger beneath your gusset and ripped it, baring your wetness to him. With eyes dark as obsidian in the light of the single candle burning, he gazed up at you with such heat as you had never known. 

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, then licked a long stripe into you, sending a lightning bolt up your spine. His lips curled around your clit and you shuddered. A moan threatened to slip past your lips but you clamped your hand over your mouth to stop it. The noise was caught in your throat, fluttering like a canary in a cage. 

Anthony hummed a, “good girl,” against you, making you clench around nothing. 

You moved your hands, making an effort to keep your tone low, “More, please!”

You felt him smirk against you before he redoubled his efforts, this time breaching your entrance with a thick finger. Moaning at the intrusion, Anthony took this as an invitation to add another finger, stretching you deliciously. 

You were close, so close, his fingers pumping and hitting a spot within you that you couldn’t reach, his tongue flicking against your clit. Each movement made the knot in your lower tummy tighten, threatening to snap at any moment. 

“Anthony, please,” you whined, unable to control your volume.

He slowed his fingers and removed his mouth from you. “Quiet,” he hissed, “Or do you wish for your parents to find me here?” 

Unconsciously, you clenched around his fingers. The danger of being caught added something you couldn’t name to the situation. Anthony smiled. “Mmm, does my sweet want to get caught?” He teased, and you clenched again, “I think she does. Such a wanton little strumpet, tempting me into a dark corner to kiss me, then inviting me to her bedchambers in the middle of the night, and squeezing my fingers at the thought of someone coming in…”

His words, said in his tantalizing baritone, were pushing you closer and closer to the edge. If only he would put his mouth to better use and—

As if reading your mind, his lips landed back on your clit and his fingers picked up their pace once more, again finding the spot within you that made you see stars with every pass. 

You clamped your hands over your mouth again and moaned his name, which only spurred him on. He drove into you, his tongue and lips reciting an ode against you, dedicating it to you and your pleasure. Having the entire focus of this season’s most eligible bachelor was intoxicating to say the least — and inevitably what pushed you straight into your climax. 

You writhed against him, held in place by his strong forearm as he worked you through your orgasm, the aftershocks lasting much longer than they normally did. Anthony remained between your legs and cleaned up every drop of your release before withdrawing. 

The clock in the hall chimed thrice. Anthony joined you when you reached for him, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You let your hand drift to the front of his trousers, palming his length until he guided your wrist away. 

“As much as I wish for it, I have an early appointment and must be on my way.” 

You pouted up at him, but he placed a sweet kiss to your forehead before slipping off the end of your bed with a promise to see you again soon. 

You watched as he made his way back down the trellis. When he got to the bottom, he blew you a kiss before disappearing into the dark Mayfair night.

The early appointment Anthony had, you would find out later, was to meet with your father. He asked for your hand that afternoon. And, knowing what awaited you in your marital bed, you happily said yes.

[chaoticdesertdweller]

Anna Seed Art

[indigrassy]

Fiddle in a tree

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: My sweet pathetic man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You clasp your hands in your lap as the car radio buzzes. You’re thankful for the noise as you don’t have much to say. Uncle Morris is nice, always helpful, but you just don’t know what to say. It doesn’t bode well for the day ahead. He’s just driving you to the farm, then you’ll face the real challenge. 

You watch the fields pass. Horses shake flies away with their long manes, cows chew on grass, and crops sway in the wind. It’s peaceful; pastoral as one of your books might describe it. It’s much nicer than staring at the same fading and peeling walls every minute of every day. 

Uncle Morris turns the car and slows the wheels. He squints up at the farmhouse then taps his phone, mounted on the dashboard. He grumbles. 

“Think I got your aunt’s instructions right,” he says. 

“This looks like it,” you assure him. You recognise the painted decoration hung on one of the pillars; a sheep in a crown of flowers. Adorable in an absurd sort of way. 

“Hm, alright. You got everything, kiddo?” He asks. 

He still calls you that despite your age. You suppose he still remembers that quiet little girl who used to hide behind her hands. You probably haven’t changed that much. You still feel just as terrified. 

“Yes, thank you,” you say as you undo your seat belt. 

“Anytime,” he chimes. “I’ll be back in the afternoon to get you. Your aunt’s got one of her club meetings after work.” 

“Okay,” you nod and open the door. 

You get out and step back. You wave at him as he reverses and veers around. He drives off and you take a breath. You grip the handles of your lunch bag. Aunt Beverly bought it for you; purple checkers on white. She also got you a new pair of gardening gloves with sunflowers on them. You brought those in case. 

“Hey,” Cole’s voice startles you as you stare after the rolling speck of your uncle’s car. 

You face him and give another tiny wave. He smiles. He’s always so happy. 

“You’re early,” he says. 

“I...am?” You croak. 

“No worries, better early than late,” he comes down the steps of the porch. “What’s that?” 

He points to your hand. You lift your hand slightly. “My lunch.” 

“Oh. You didn’t have to do all that. Ma left some food in the fridge for us,” he says. 

“Um, sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says.  

“Okay. I’m sorry. I mean--” you stammer, the sweat trickling down your nape.  

At the market, it was you and Cole and all those strangers. Now it’s really just you and him. You wish Aunt Beverly was here. She always knows what to say. 

“You want some coffee or something before we get started?” He offers. 

You shake your head. 

“Tea?” 

“No thank you.” 

“Well, it gets really hot so we’ll get you some water.” He gestures you closer. “Let’s go put that in the fridge.” 

You near him and he waits until you’re up the steps and next to him before he moves. He wears a short-sleeved flannel shirt, unbuttoned to show his ribbed white tank beneath. He turns and opens the door, holding it for you as you enter. You stop inside and he nearly bowls you over. He touches your hip as he slips around. 

“Oop, almost knocked you over,” he says. 

You blanch and put your hand where his had been. He’s not bothered. He didn’t mean to. You shouldn’t be. 

“Here, let me take that,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Everything okay?” He asks you give him the bag. 

You look up the staircase, “don’t wanna wake your mom or anyone.” 

“Oh, she’s gone. Out of town. Went up to see her sister. Dad too.” 

You don’t say anything even as the panic surges through you. The thought, the reality, of being out here all by yourself with just him, in the middle of nowhere... Cole hasn’t hurt you. He’s helped you. You need to stop being so... you. You need to get over it. 

You look down as he goes down to the kitchen. You stay on the mat. You rub the back of your hand where the scar is. The fridge liner sucks as it opens and closes then a drawer slides out. His footfalls thump again and he appears. 

There’s something in his hand as he approaches. He holds out the baby blue cloth. 

“Thought you could use this. Tie it around your head. For the sweat,” he explains. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“It’s simple work,” he points you back out the door. “I’m sure you know how to plant.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“And prune?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll have to show you what to look out for. The rot and all that,” he follows out across the porch. You feel heat along your lower back, like he might touch you again. 

“Right,” you go down the steps. It comforts you when he talks about the flowers. That’s something you know about. 

Like last time, he takes you to the greenhouse. The sun gleams off the glass panels. He opens the door and you enter the stolid building. You tie the bandana around your head, knotting it tight. 

He leads you down the table near the right wall and he stops you by a table of jars. 

“These things always sell well. The novelty of it.” He reaches for a mason jar already filled with dirt and a cluster of petunias. “I try to do a little of each. The bee balm sells well since it attracts humming birds.” He turns the jar. “Tie a ribbon around the top...” he touches the little bow there. “You can use twine too.” 

You nod. You’re not sure you’ll be very good at that part.  

“People like stuff they can reuse, you know?” 

You frown as you fixate on the tidy bow. You lean forward to examine the tails, exactly the same length as each other. You can try. 

“Here, I’ll show you how,” he says. He takes an empty jar. “Jar, fill it with soil, pick your flower.” He works with certainty, “transfer.” He delicately moves the periwinkle over and packs the dirt with his fingertips. His hands are much bigger than yours but precise. “The ribbon... sometimes it’s easier to do that first.” 

He bends down and narrows his sights at the ribbon as he weaves it around and expertly loops it into itself. The bow is just as perfect as the first. You hold back another grimace. 

“Um... okay.” 

“You do one,” he dusts of his hands. “Come on, you can do it.” 

You look at the table, then him, and back to the table. You slowly drag over and empty jar. You add a little soil, like he did, then choose some marigolds. You do your best to pack down the dirt; not to tight. You focus on the work, trying not to think too much about him watching you. 

You get to the last part. The ribbon. You fumble it then manage to get it around the short neck. You struggle to loop it and when you finally do get it to catch, the bow is lopsided and twisted. You step back and throw your hands up. 

“I... I can’t--” 

“It’s okay. It takes practice,” he assures you. “You can try again.” 

You shake your head. 

“I can’t.” 

“It’s really not a big deal.” 

“Can you do it? I can plant them and... you could do the bows.” 

He gives a thoughtful hum, “that works for me.” 

You move closer to the table. You take another jar. He bends to fix the ribbon you contorted. The simple task of rehoming the flowers is easy. It makes being here a little less jarring. 

You hand off the second jar and start a third. The swear streams on your neck and the bandana dampens with your scalp. The humidity inside the greenhouse is made worse by that without. 

You keep a tempo. You pass on the jars, he decorates them with a ribbon and a tag. You wonder how he does all this by himself.  

He backs up and you glance over curiously. He unbuttons his flannel shirt and strips it off. The white tank clings to his sweaty skin. You can almost see the fabric. You avert your gaze, trying not to notice how your own tee shirt sticks.  

He comes back to the table. Your eyes stray again. This time you notice his bicep and how thick it is. He must be strong. Very strong. 

Thinking about it, your hands begin to shake. The thought is not only scary but forbidden. You shouldn’t think about what he looks like. 

A jar slips from your grasp towards the edge of the table. You try to save it but can’t, too flustered to do more but help it in its ruin. It smashes on the ground before your feet and the dirt and petals explode across the floor. 

You back up and bring your hands to your mouth. They smell like soil and pollen. You bat your lashes as Cole straightens and looks at you. You whimper. 

“I’m so sorry. So so sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, sweetie. Are you--” 

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you babble and push your shoulders up as you tuck your chin down. You put out a hand. “I didn’t mean to break it. Please.” 

“Woah, it’s alright. I’m not mad.” He says. 

You suck in a breath and let it out with a shudder. Your eyes sting but you keep the tears inside. You put your hands to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pounds behind your ears. 

“You’re-- not?” You ask. 

“No,” he half-laughs. “Accidents happen. Oh gosh, you know how many of these things I’ve broken?” 

He bends and picks up the bigger shards. “You should back up though. I don’t want you getting cut, okay?” 

“No, I can help,” you squat down and grab for the glass. The slice makes you hiss and recoil. 

“Hey,” Cole says again. “Oh my god,” he drops the glass carefully cradled in his hands. “Oh no, you’re cut.” 

You look down at your hand. There’s a gash across your palm. Your brain buzzes and your skin tingle. You’re no stranger to the sight of blood. Not your own, at least. 

He grabs your hand and reaches for his shirt. He wraps it around to stymie the flow as you whine. He’s touching you. He’s touching you and it hurts. But it’s not his fault. You cut yourself. 

“Ow,” you gasp as he squeezes. 

“I’m sorry,” he tugs you away from the table. “It’s pretty bad. We gotta get it cleaned up.” 

“Oh, uh... oh.” You sputter dumbly, dizzy as muffled voices nip in your head. 

“Are you squeamish? You gonna faint?” He asks with concern as he reaches the door and feels behind him for the handle. 

“N-no,” you wisp. 

He drags you outside and turns you toward the house. He keeps a hold of your hand and his other arm hooks over your shoulders. He marches you up toward the farmhouse. Your legs are stiff and your steps heavy. 

You blink and suddenly your inside. Your vision speckles and clears. It’s like you just lost minutes. You watch him lift the wadded dishtowel and check your hand. 

“Nothing I can’t fix,” he says. “But I’m a bit iffy with blood myself. Still, watched Ma fix me up a few times.” 

“Cole,” you garble. “I’m very sorry.” 

“Please, stop. Don't be sorry.” He says and takes your other hand. “I need you to keep pressure on this while I get the first aid kit.” He clings to you, squeezing until you do the same. “Can you do that for me?” 

You nod. He huffs. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back, alright?” 

He grips your shoulders and you flinch. You just dip your chin down again and again. Your hand barely hurts as the sensation of his touch singes across your skin. The fire spreads and consumes you even as he lets go. 

You lower your head and sink on the stool. You already messed this up. Aunt Bev is going to be so mad. Is she finally going to see what you really are?