#marigold gloves

[marco1975italy]

It’s good to do your house chores with your favorite gears 😍😍😍

[clnclm]

[anreill]

I think the funniest thing about being a germaphobic weirdo is the war between like "the bathroom needs to be cleaned because it's gross" and "I don't want to clean the bathroom because it's gross" like you get ambient stress from "uncleanness" and then visceral stress from "doing the cleaning!" This sucks!!

[stormvanari]

the summer before 1925

text below cut:

Noemi Verano (deceased)

A longtime friend of Carmela who introduced said cat to the crime underworld. Noemi was the Marigold Gang’s original rumrunner before she was killed in a police pursuit. This triggered Carmela’s (who was working full-time as a drummer in the Marigold Room) deep hatred towards the “pigs” and becoming Marigold Gang’s newest rumrunner while supplying entertainment at the Room.

The hair is “black,” which is actually a darker shade of brown

Taught Carmela how to ride a motorcycle

Ear tufts

Squirrel.

Some Somali-Scottish Fold mix

[uncertain-cucumber]

how is one supposed to girlboss when marigolds are too smol for my stronk hands?

[hr-twink]

Doodle based on @peachessndreamss addition to this post🧡🧡

‘river has no hobbies…’ yeah ok. but have you considered baking? man was raised by his grandparents you don’t think Grandma Rose had him in that kitchen stirring away at batter? You don’t think he can make a succulent sponge cake? You don’t think he sits on the floor in front of the oven and waits for cakes to rise? You don’t think he bakes too many cookies and brings them into slough house and just lets everyone think Catherine brought them in?

[hotluncheddie]

‘No.’ eddie says, standing from the table and puffing his chest out. Clenching one fist and holding the other up like a freaky Halloween version of a traffic warden. He brings the outstretched hand to his chest, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘Allow me.’

Steve stares at him. Stack of plates in hand, half up from the table and confused. ‘Uh’ he manages before Eddie steps over and takes the plates from Steve, their fingers brushing as eddie squishes his thumb into a leftover dollop of sauce and grips them tightly. He then hip checks Steve back into his chair and waltzes over to the sink.

‘Munson’s on dish duty I guess.’ Robin says, smirking at Steve and finishing her soda.

Steve schools his slack jaw expression, closing his mouth and going to stand again. ‘Eddie, it’s fine, really.’ But Eddie’s sudden outstretched palm stops him, has him sinking back down onto the dining room chair.

‘Stevie, please.’ Eddie says from the sink, eyes closed and head bowed. ‘You cooked, therefore, as your humble knight, I will conquer the dishes.’ And he brings his hand back to his heart again, looking up at the ceiling with reverence and verve. Side on from the table and Steve thinks he looks like a painting he saw at a Chicago art gallery Robin dragged him to. Heavenly in his light and shadows, cut from glass, shrouded in sun rays and glowing with a quiet, broken sort of intensity.

Steve clears his throat. Feels a blush run up his neck and he readjusts the legs of his jeans. Scooting his chair so he’s sitting back flush against the dining room table; he avoids Robin’s eye. ‘If you like.’ He rasps, fiddling with his used napkin, tearing off a corner and letting it flutter onto the tabletop.

Eddie does like. He turns the tap on, pouring dish soap into the filling basin before pulling Steve’s Marigolds on slowly, one at a time, as if he really is a knight - gearing up for battle.

‘Love the new look.’ Robin heckles and Eddie flashed her a grin before going back to serious; pulling at the gloves one last time and tuning the tap off with a flourish. Then he stalks back over to the table, Legs long and striding, arms bowed slightly from his body with adrenaline filled tension.

He steps up to the side of Steve’s chair, looming over him, tilting Steve’s head up slowly with one bright yellow, slightly damp finger under his chin. ‘Rest now, my leige.’ He murmurs lowly, reverently, gazing down at him before dipping to place a slow, soft kiss on Steve’s lips.

A embarrassing, needy, wounded sort of sound, whine, extracts its self from Steve’s throat. Chest heaving and throat bobbing as Eddie smiles at him softly, stepping away again to scoop up the remaining glasses and utensils in his capable, rubbery, hands.

‘…Your boyfriend is weird dude.’ Robin says from across him, eyeshrows raised and the corners of her mouth dropped in pinched distaste. Her eyes dancing with glee.

‘Yeah.’ Steve breaths, voice reedy and he blinks a few times, his fingers feeling tingly and numb, all of him syrupy and slow moving. His boyfriend is a freak.

And Steve has never once felt so loved.

(Tag list (open): @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @scoops-aboy86 @tangerinesteve @marvel-ous-m

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots )

[ptiza-sinitza]

Inna Cents - townie makeover

Inna Cent appears in trailers and promos for  The Sims 4: Vampires and could be load from Maxis gallery. I was pretty upset she was not an official townie of  Forgotten Hollow, cause there is smth interesting in her backstory and relationship with a sassy vampire Caleb. Anyway I can imagine my own LORe for her.

Occult sims are most fun to makeover because you can play with fashion and choose for them the most unusual and non-realistic fits. For Inna I choose some looks inspired by Biedermeier\Victorian period, because she probably was turn in to vampire at second half of 19th century. And her prototype surely was Lucy Westenra (from 'Dracula' 1992). But I add to her kinn list two fictional ladies who's also like yellow and historical dresses - Edith Cushing (Crimson Peak) and Belle (Beauty and the Beast) which suits more to her shinny and gentle personality and fashion choices. Roses and butterflies as symbols of her innocent soul

I'm trying not to change face features and keep the original EA genetics. But I changed Inna's skin and make her more pale. Because for me she is not alive anymore and can't be that peachy pink, because her blood system doesn't work. And I hope this doesn't look like 'white washing'

1. Hair by @thatonegreenleaf,roses hair pins by @kikiw-sims, corset by @astya96cc, skirt by @evellsims, puff sleeves by @dream-girl, rose brooch recolor by @elfdor, gloves by @sentate, necklace by @aladdin-the-simmer 2. Hair by @thatonegreenleaf, hat by marigold, dress by @shendori boots by @serenity-cc, tennis racket by @haneco410 3. Hair by @buzzardly28, hair accessory by @buzzardly28, dress by @strangestorytellersims, necklace by @regina-raven, lace fan by @simsonico, gloves by @atelierlena 4. Hair by @simandy, Dress by @belaloallure3, lacy turtleneck acc. by marigold, puff sleeves by @dream-girl, candelabra lights by moo2shelly, flying butterflies by @oydis, butterflies headpiece by glaza 5. Hair by @thatonegreenleaf, dress by @simnasimsworld, cape by @zouyousims, furr muff by @vintagesimstress, gloves by @bluecravingcc, little bird by @sims4-sin-a 6. Hair by @thatonegreenleaf, bonnet hat by @yuu-tori-tori, dress by @vintagesimstress, bouquet by @beocreations, gloves by @vibrantpixels

Big thanks and love to all CC creators!  

[quen2n]

the Juno Show collection

Hey ! I am thrilled to present to you this collection. I have been working weeks tirelessly to bring to your game this absolutely stunning sim ! YES TODAY..... You can download Juno Birch to your game yes that's happening.

I really loved doing this collection. Why Juno you may ask ? She's one of the drag queens that made me feel seen. I started doing drag 3 years ago because I found her and Trixie Mattel. She is also a Sims enthusiast so it was only right that I thanked her that way.

You can follow me on Instagram to see my wips, tips, renders and much more !

pictures rendered in Blender, unedited.

This collection contains:

The Stunning Skin (found in Skin details-forehead) 👤

The Attack of the Stunning Spacesuit 🛸

Polka dot fantasy outfit (leggings are found in tights)🦵

Juno's Marigolds found in gloves 🧤

The outer space sunglasses (5 swatches) 🕶️

Martian Hair (Maxis textures/colors) 💇🏼‍♀️

Curly Whirly Sue Shirley Bassey ver. (Maxis textures/colors)💇🏼‍♀️

Exclusive otherworldly posters to find in buy mode 🎨

Maxis Match meshes

Has morphs

HQ Textures

Has specular, normal & shadow maps

Don't re-upload

Don't claim as your own

No conversions to any games (without permission)

Enjoy !

🤷: "But how do I make my sim look that good ?!" 🧑‍🚀: "Don't worry! The sim I used as a base is Juno Birch's sim from the gallery (I just plumped her lips and rearranged her eyes) ! So go in the gallery and search Juno Birch's profile and voilà! don't forget to check the mods box in the gallery! My version is also available in the gallery! Just search The unOfficial Juno Birch or go to my profile, Quen2n and find all of my latest creations!"

Thank you for the support over the years <3

DOWNLOAD

[kefiteria]

💌 Tending to the blooms

• A small planting project, but Sylus secret touch ensures it’s not as imperfect as it seems.

💌 Zayne 💌 Rafayel 💌 Xavier

The sunlight filtered through the balcony’s vines, casting delicate, swaying patterns onto the floor as you and Sylus sat side by side. His sharp features caught the golden light in ways that made him almost unreasonably handsome, but you weren’t about to tell him that. Not when his ego was already practically orbiting the room.

Around the two of you was a scattered assortment of clay pots, small tools, bags of soil, and several vibrant packets of flower seeds. To you, the setup was inviting, almost relaxing. To Sylus, judging by the unimpressed raise of his eyebrow, it looked more like a potential disaster.

“You’re positive we won’t kill these?” he asked, holding up a packet of marigold seeds like it was something foreign and suspicious.

“They’re not that easy to kill.” you replied, fighting a grin as you handed him a small trowel. “Besides, it’s about the experience, not perfection.”

“Experience? Sure. Like the ‘experience’ of needing to replace every plant we touch because they all mysteriously drop-dead within a week?” His crimson eyes narrowed in playful skepticism. 

Laughter escaped you as you wiped the dirt from your hands. “Hey, maybe this time will be different. You never know! We might have green thumbs hiding somewhere.”

Sylus gave a low chuckle, but there was a flicker of genuine curiosity beneath his teasing. He shifted closer, lowering himself onto his knees beside you. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were adjusting to the unfamiliarity of the situation. You caught the way his fingers flexed experimentally around the trowel.

“Alright, lead the way, plant expert.” he said with mock seriousness, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “After all, you're the one with the green thumb, sweetie.”

You opened a bag of soil and motioned toward the first pot. “Start by filling this about three-quarters full of soil. Try not to make too much of a mess.”

Sylus’s lips curled into a mischievous grin at your words, and he took the challenge to heart. With focused concentration, he scooped the soil into the pot, moving with careful precision. His sharp gaze flicked to you every few moments, daring you to offer a critique, as if testing his skills.

You took a much more relaxed approach. Without much thought, you poured the soil into the pot, letting it spill over the edges. A small pile of soil gathered near the rim, but you barely noticed, too busy glancing at Sylus to see his serious, almost competitive expression.

“You've got dirt all over you.” Sylus observed with a smirk, his tone dry.

“And you're taking this way too seriously!” you shot back, nudging his shoulder playfully.

His smirk deepened as he set his trowel aside and turned toward you. Before you could react, his gloved hand reached out, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Sweetie.” he said, voice still casual but with a glint of amusement in his eyes, “looks like you're not as clean as you think.”

You froze under his gaze, the warmth in your cheeks betraying the coolness of his touch. His thumb lingered just a moment too long before he pulled back, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

“Maybe you should focus on your pot.” you muttered, trying to steady your voice but failing miserably.

He leaned back with a low chuckle, picking up his trowel again. “Oh, I am. My flowers will be masterpieces compared to your chaotic dirt piles.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. Sylus’s sharp tongue could be infuriating at times, but moments like this where his teasing was undercut by an unspoken warmth reminded you why you enjoyed his company so much.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm as you worked side by side. Every so often, Sylus would make some dry remark about your questionable technique, which you countered with equally playful jabs. He was surprisingly meticulous, carefully pressing each seed into the soil and smoothing over the surface with his fingers.

When the last seed was tucked into its new home and the pots were neatly arranged on the balcony railing, the two of you sat back to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t perfect, some dirt had spilled onto the floor, and one of the pots was slightly uneven but it didn’t matter.

“You know...” Sylus said after a moment, his voice surprisingly thoughtful, “I didn’t expect to enjoy this as much as I am.”

“What, spending time with me or planting flowers?” You glanced over at him with a shoulder brushing his. 

“Who says it can’t be both?” he replied, a teasing lilt in his voice. But the warmth in his eyes gave away the sincerity behind his words.

The two of you lingered on the balcony as the sun set, watching the pots in companionable silence. Eventually, the chill of the evening drove you inside, where you drifted off on the couch, exhausted but happy.

Sylus stood on the balcony, his figure outlined by the glow of the city lights. The pots sat neatly in a row, their soil freshly watered and gleaming under the moonlight. He stared at them for a moment, arms crossed, as a wry smile tugged at his lips.

With a dramatic sigh, he pulled out his phone, clearly starting to question his life choices.

The phone rang only once before Luke’s voice came through, calm but knowing exactly who it was.

“Boss, what do you need?” Luke asked, his tone as smooth as ever.

Sylus ran a hand through his hair, trying to maintain his usual air of detachment. “Get me a gardener. Not a big job, just a simple balcony setup with flowers. Nothing fancy.”

There was a brief silence before Kieran’s voice piped in, eager and upbeat. “Flowers, huh? I like it. Sounds like it’s for someone special, boss.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m aware you two are lurking in the shadows.” Sylus muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just make it discreet. I don’t need anyone finding out if this whole thing turns into a disaster.”

Luke’s voice was immediately supportive, more serious now. “Don’t worry, boss. We’ll handle it. You’ll have the perfect setup in no time.”

“Yeah!” Kieran added, equally earnest. “We’ll make sure it’s precisely what you want. You’re doing a great thing here. We’ve got your back, always.”

Sylus froze for a moment, blinking at the phone in his hand, then let out an exasperated sigh. “You two are ridiculous.” He could already feel his patience thinning. “It’s just flowers, for crying out loud. Why are you acting like I’m launching a mission to Mars?”

“We know how much this matters to you,” Luke said, completely unfazed by Sylus’s frustration. “We’ll make sure it’s perfect. No hiccups.”

Kieran chimed in, his voice a mix of enthusiasm and complete sincerity. “You deserve this, boss. We’ve got everything under control. Consider it done.”

Sylus couldn’t help the small, reluctant grin that tugged at his lips despite himself. “You’re both absurd.” He glanced back at the pots, eyes narrowing slightly. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“You got it, boss!” Luke said, his tone light but filled with an almost reverential support.

“Absolutely!” Kieran echoed, equally earnest. “This is going to be great.”

The call ended, and Sylus slid his phone back into his pocket, leaning against the railing. The night breeze brushed over him as he glanced back at the pots.

“Ridiculous.” he muttered, a laugh escaping despite himself. He shook his head at the absurdity of it all. But, deep down, he couldn’t deny the small sense of satisfaction creeping in. If the flowers grew, great. If they didn’t, well… there was always next time.

With a final glance at the stars, he stepped inside, rolling his eyes at how absurdly supportive his lackeys were. At least, he thought, they’d have this handled.

[artyandink]

FIRST ON THE ROSTER.ᐟ

—————————————————meet… CINNAMON!GIRL.ᐟ

about.ᐟ his baby, cinnamon girl, walks in the woods, cinnamon buns, sunset, fall, little freckles, orange/brown leaves, apple pie, little trinkets, flowers in your hair, cinnamon in everything, spice lattes, cinnamon hot chocolate, folklore enthusiast, touch a a love language, cuddled up in fall and winter, big eyes, just so dainty, a darling to all adults, a babygirl to a boyfriend, pouty lips, fields of flowers, chrysanthemums, dahlias, zinnias, marigolds, stargazing, lukewarm, picket fences, little rings, bookworm

playlist.ᐟ summertime sadness, cinnamon girl, dandelions, cardigan, lover, willow, betty, clara bow, paper rings, style, bed chem, slim pickin’s, too sweet, brooklyn baby, party in the usa, never let me go, hold back the river, daylight

wardrobe.ᐟ gloves (sometimes), bows on your clothes, accessories, hair, everywhere, stockings, clips, silk blouses, skirts, camisoles, sundresses (summertime), lace-up shoes and boots, shiny necklaces and rings, pretty lace panties (shh), cardigans

CONTEXT COMING SOON .ᐟ

[the-insomniac-emporium]

BAD REFLECTIONS

Replies/Reblogs are greatly appreciated! I read every comment/tag :3 See under the read-more for symbolism notes as well as a look at the flat color version, the outline, and the final sketch.

Core concept: Donna faces her own reflection, with the right side representing her journey to healing (and relationship with the MC), and the left side representing her gradual corruption (thanks to Miranda)

While most of the symbolism comes from the flowers (explained below), there are a couple other clear differences: True Donna wears her gloves and watches her reflection with distrust, while Mirror Donna reveals bloody hands and refuses to meet her reflection's gaze, instead staring down the viewer.

Three flowers are present on both sides, representing the core of Donna's grief, the catalyst for both versions of her. However, the color of one (Spider Lily) changes to better match each version.

We have Adonis' Flower, representing painful recollection/sorrow, and Dandelions, representing overcoming hardship. Spider lilies are on both sides. On the right side we have white for new beginnings/rebirth. On the left side we have red, for abandonment/grief/death

The other flowers line up with each other. Left: Marigold (grief/pain) Right: Arnica ("let me heal thy grief") + Left: black mulbery ("I will not survive you") Right: bog rosemary ("will you help me?"). It's about Donna giving in to her isolation OR reaching out for help.

[clnclm]

Lynn Aldrich

[readychilledwine]

The Prettiest Fuck You

Summary - After the birth of Rhysand and Feyre's 3rd child, Tamlin sends a coded message with the help of his mate

Warnings - slight jealously, mentions of breeding, little IC slander, Tamlin is in a goofy mood

Prompt Day 3 - Mate/Flower Language

A/N - just a short little silly for @tamlinweek I'm so excited for the masterlist for today to pop up. I'm going to eat it all up. I fell in love with the idea of a fuck you bouquet after several reddit posts and a few on here, and Tamlin would seriously love to send one. I just know it.

Tamlin Masterlist

You blinked at Tamlin as you looked over the list of flowers that he had given you. Fox glove, yellow roses and carnations, Cyprus, babies breath, and marigolds?

Insincerity, congratulations, disappointment, death, and jealousy? You put the list down on your work table, silently hoping it would somehow magically disappear under the thousands of stems and ribbons from all the arrangements you had worked in today. “Tamlin-”

“Just do it.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your nose, trying to convince you with that signature smile.

“Tam-” You wanted to object to what the bouquet said, even if you would be able to make it absolutely stunning.

“It's fine.” Both hands were on your face as he kissed you softly.

“Ta-”

“It will look beautiful. You make everything so beautiful, dearest.” You couldn't help the soft smile. His words were not a lie. You were the most sought-after florist to the 7 courts for a reason.

You shook it off, focuing again. “Tamlin, this is-”

“Perfect to congratulate them with!” He walked away from you, chuckling as he did. You had little choice. It was a done discussion.

Your mate wasn't a bitter male all the time. Life shined in those bright green eyes, and they were always full of wonder, amazement, love, joy. But the Lord and Lady of Night announcing the birth of their 3rd child and waiting for the praise and attention that was bound to come with it? That made Tamlin bitter, sick, angry.

He had been too stuck in himself, too trapped in years of trauma, to offer Feyre the life he had offered you. One safe from any duties you did not want. One safe from politics. One where you were free to give him a child at any point. One where a family was wanted, but in due time, instead of an expectation to prove your court was moving on.

You were not Tamlin's symbolic incubator. Your womb was not meant to be used to send a message. You were his wife, his love, the one he showered in red roses and baby's breath, a sign of his eternal love and devotion. You two would have children someday. You would have an army if he'd allow it. But for now, until this lingering bitterness passed, you two would just continue to learn and grow together.

You went back to the task at hand

Gathering the buds he had requested and inspecting each and every single one to ensure its perfection and beauty. If you were going to do this. You were going to do it so well that Rhysand would not come mist your mate and then trap you in that damned Stone City. Tamlin learned through you to speak through flowers when they were sent as gifts or placed in his home. He had learned to say congratulations, to say his sympathy, to say his love, to show support. He had learned a new form of expression through you, and as intricately laced and weaved the flowers he had picked into an arrangement, you realized you thought him too well.

The flowers were beautiful, varying shades of yellows, oranges, whites, reds, and you had mixed your favorite feather-like greens in. It seemed so innocent to anyone who didn't know what the flowers symbolized, the language they spoke. It said “Fuck you and die,” in the most beautiful way possible.

You signed as you picked the vase, enchanting everything to last and stamping the card with the sign of the Spring Court, a rose and thorns. You sent it, hugging yourself slightly before walking into your shared room. it was quiet behind that door, and when you opened it, you could not help but to smile.

Centered on your vanity sat a bouquet of White tulips, red roses, and red spider lily. You knew immediately who they were from, who had made the arrangement, and who may be missing her favorite flowers from her garden.

It was stunning. Shades of red and white mixed with greenery that it was so perfectly balanced. It was huge, occupying most of the corner it sat on. He had surrounded it with poetry and chocolates. "Tam," you took one of those soft roses in your hands, smelling that familiar scent and sighing so happily.

You jumped as arms went around your waist, and kiss was placed to the side of your head. “How did it turn out?” His voice was laced with pride over his own creation.

“Gorgeous. I wouldn't make it any other way. Regardless of what you wanted it to say.”

“Elain lives in Day now, right?” You hummed and nodded. “But she will come visit them, won't she?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect. Perfect. And how about your flowers? How did they turn out?” Your mate, so handsome and strong, tended to need those compliments, and you were eager to hand him praise.

You turned into him, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “So beautiful. Thank you for including Spider Lilies. This has to be the most stunning arrangement you've made so far." You touched the spider lily, fingers lingering on the off shoots as you did.

“Growth and new beginnings,” he whispered the meaning to you and watched as you nodded, looking up at him through watering eyes.

“And purity and true love.”

“To symbolize us, y/n.”

“To symbolize us,” you repeated.

Rhysand placed the bouquet from Spring centered on his table. He always admired y/n's work. Yes, Elain did wonderful things with flowers, but centuries of practice and studying had allowed you to create masterpieces with the blink of an eye. He smiled before walking away. Leaving a stunned Elain and Lucien to silently laugh.

Her mate leaned into her ear, red hair falling over her shoulder. “He really out did himself with this one.”

Elain had tears forming, “She made it so beautiful.”

“Do we tell him?”

“No,” Elain fixed the flowers from where they had been resting on Rhysand's chest. “Let Tam have this. I have enjoyed him alive lately. His gardens are exquisite."

"You're exquisite," Lucien squeezed the now supple hips of his mate, loving their new plush. "We should really visit soon."

"We should."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

[grandisknight]

welcome to philo | jeremiah

summary: Jeremiah knows your flower order by heart, and you plan on repaying the favor in kind.

tags: nsfw (mdni), developing relationship, gn!reader (no specific descriptors), banter, flowers, exhibitionism, oral sex/blowjobs, feelings, jeremiah losing his mind, swearing, m!orgasm, facials, (1) xavier mention

wc: 3.0k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: first time giving jeremiah some lovin' and i have no idea how it spiraled into this but we are here :D

Soft notes of plucked guitar strings and accompanying percussion filter the floral air of Philo, marking another quiet yet fulfilling day at play.

Jeremiah enjoys these moments of peace, lost in thought with his hands neatly arranging a new vase of freshly bloomed marigolds. 

It still took some time getting used to, truthfully. A life where turbulence and struggles amongst the cosmos that once felt like yesterday began to dwindle in the lanes of his memory. The warmth of Linkon City was a form of domesticity he had the privilege of knowing. Though, it didn’t hold the same shine to the bask of Philos’ cobbles and fields.

Even so, he’s made great efforts to carry on since. Jeremiah believes he’s done well for himself, and his cherished flower shop is a testament to it.

He dusts away the nostalgia amongst the skirt of his apron, gloved hands rough at the friction when his masterpiece is finally set. The golden petals stood proud, a reflection of their crafter’s touch. 

A chimed ring accompanies the completion in apt timing, soft footsteps echoing soon thereafter. 

The florist straightens his back, puts on his practiced award-winning smile with a chirped, “Welcome to Philo.” He’s ready to roll out his customer-friendly and marketing genius spiel when he pauses in his tracks, eyes widening in recognition. “It’s you!”

“It’s me,” you wave back in greeting. Your strides make their way to his countertop, where he excitedly pulls you in for a half-hug. “Business hours slowing down?”

“A bit,” Jeremiah says, pulling back and a smile in his eyes. “Are you here for your usual?”

You nod, settling your hands along the edge of the cool marble. Jeremiah is quick on his feet, scurrying around the tiles and swiping at certain pots. A handful of fine greenery, baby breaths for a splash of white decor, and the main star—pale blue florets with a ringlet of yellow blossomed in the center, each of the three pieces beautifully nurtured and bright. Bunches nestled in his arms like a newborn, he slides past with a playful wink and lays them before you.

“You’re the only one I know who still orders these kinds of flowers,” he comments, reaching for a pair of scissors. Procured from his hip pocket, he carefully snips at the excess leaves, green plates of flora fluttering to the floor.

“And you’re the only one who knows how to care for them properly.” You prop your chin into your palm, observing him in interest. The florist was in a world of his own. It was truly admirable to see someone so dedicated to a craft as intimate as floral arrangements. 

“The best in Linkon, no one does it like you.”

Jeremiah chuckles, laying out a pattern of baby breaths and myrtle atop a clean sheet of parchment. “I’m flattered. Don’t let the other flower shops hear, surely they’ll come and be nothing but a pain in my ass.”

You laugh with him at the thought, shaking your head. “Nothing wrong with keeping your competition on their toes.” 

Taking one of the three blue focal pieces in hand, you carefully push at its petals, silken soft to the touch. It was fascinating, a small piece of life so fragile yet present in your grasp.

By the time Jeremiah notices his last piece was missing—presently doted for in-between your fingers—the bouquet was only a centerpiece and hard string away from being complete. He clears his throat, noticing you jump in surprise, before a sheepish smile dressed itself across your expressions alike.

“Ah, right. Sorry,” you hold out the flower to him, a bridge from your heart to his. “Didn’t mean to interrupt the master at work.”

With a faked tone of lower cadence, Jeremiah offers a generous, “But of course, you are forgiven.” His best attempt of mimicking a kind and benevolent ruler, though it cracks towards the end into his regular voice.

You half-curtsy once the flora was out of your hands, raising an imaginative skirt in the air. “Oh, how gracious of you, good sir.”

He lets out a softer chuckle, before quickly wrapping the composition into a perfect bundle. A loop of string later, he lifts the flowers tenderly, one hand at the base and the other underneath the bedding of petals.

“For you, my liege,” Jeremiah jokes, though it strums his heartstrings when you let out the sweetest laugh. He could feel a flush tickle his neck, to which he holds in an odd form of defense with a clammy hand. The other is still outstretched, waiting for you to accept his graces.

To which you happily take in, eyes wide in appreciation and the flora reflecting in its glimmers. “Thanks, Jer,” you speak into the petals, inhaling them calmly and enjoying their fresh scent. “I owe you one.”

“No, no,” Jeremiah shakes his head, hands in his hips in turn. “I’ve told you before. These are always on the house for you, just as long as you swing by.”

“Mm.” You hum, before gently placing down the bouquet to the countertop. “Still, it doesn’t feel right. To just always take some of your flowers with no real payment in return.” 

You were sure that wasn’t a viable business practice either. It’s been this way ever since you were first introduced to one another; you’d say hello, and Jeremiah would send you off at the end of your visit with a smile and selection of budding flora in tow.

“That’s—“ Oh, the words lodge themselves in his throat when he feels something warm touch him. It would’ve scared the wits out of Jeremiah, if it weren’t for the gaze that found itself on your hand—neatly perched atop of his. 

Jeremiah stumbles in his response. “That’s, ah, fine?” 

Fine? He wasn’t sure when it turned into a question, nor when did the air in his greenery space become so… impeccably stuffy. But Jeremiah just stares at your hand, processing it all before sparing you a glance.

“You don’t sound so sure,” you tease, tapping the pads of your fingers against his knuckles. In a blink, you’ve met him halfway across the counter once more—though this time, your noses were only a hair away and he could see his surprised expression so clearly in your mischievous eyes.

Your voice lowers some, paying attention to the growing flush that stains his cheeks. “Let me pay you, Jeremiah.”

“I—Wow, you’re pretty,” he blurts out. 

He meant pretty close, though ‘pretty’ wasn’t exactly wrong either. The sunlight dripping in from his ceiling rooftop painted a halo around the crown of your head, shadows gently shaping your face into a newly bloomed sunflower. More than just pretty, he thinks to himself. An absolute angel, even.

Jeremiah bites his lower lip in quick realization and embarrassment, though it only curls the edges of your smile further. “Thank you,” you say, tilting your head in thought. “So, can I take that as a yes?”

He considers this. “I have a feeling that if I say no, we’ll just be going in circles,” he says, more so to himself than in answer. Thinking out loud, letting the ideas process in the moment they occur.

“Maybe,” you shrug. “Maybe not. I promise I’m flexible, but I just think…”

You manage to turn his hand over, and much to his surprise, he naturally accepts the way your fingers slide into his. Warm, very, very warm. And soft. But more importantly, your hand is entwined with his—and he likes it. Jeremiah likes the feeling of holding your warm, soft hand.

When you squeeze his hand, it pulls him out of his thoughts and back to your words of, “You deserve to be compensated and taken care of, Jer.”

“I do?” He sounds almost bewildered at the fact.

“Of course,” you say, stating the obvious to his oblivion. 

Slowly, you bring your closed hands to your lips, looking past your lashes and enjoying the sight of rouge blush saturating his skin. A kiss as soft as those silken petals touches his knuckles before you pull away. Even through the fine leather covering his hands, he feels their presence.

It would be fine, Jeremiah thinks, if he passes away at this moment. If he lets the heavenly graces take him away after receiving a piece of love so tender, from someone he’s grown to adore—it would be fine.

And also, because it has his mind running a hundred miles per hour at the thought of wanting all of that and more. Put him out of his misery to save him the embarrassment of these heated feelings immediately at the forefront of his mind.

“Let me pay you,” you repeat, a quiet intent slowly sinking into your words. “Please?”

Knowing his voice would betray him somehow, Jeremiah only nods and says, “Alright.”

—

Jeremiah is a mess.

He normally prides himself on being organized, keeping things in shape and surfaces clean. After every bouquet, he would sweep the floors and recycle leftovers—even spray down the marble with disinfectant and wipe until it was sparkling clean. Like clockwork, he’d dust his skilled hands across the skirt of his apron and feel that it was another successful day. Whistling while he works, keeping up a tune to the radio or one from his imagination—Jeremiah’s day normally went like this.

Today had almost everything on that agenda. What would he call his, though? A special occasion, probably?

Those very same hands, now gloveless, found themselves tangling and toying through your hair. The lips that push together in an airy shrill of whistles are currently? Pushing out quieted moans of your name, head lolling back from the ecstasy of it.

Jeremiah shouldn’t be doing this. 

Uniform in disarray as much as his curls of auburn, his back practically engraving the countertop’s edge into his skin from how hard he was pushing against it. The zipper of his pants long forgotten, the fabric pooling around his ankles.

Oh, but Jeremiah realizes that there’s something so ungodly pleasant about seeing your lips hover above his cock. Tongue flat against his length that currently hides between a fine layer of cotton boxers. The fabric ran a shade darker from where the heat of your touch traces it, leaving quite an impression.

Jeremiah is a mess, at your disposal, and can’t deny that a part of him screams in joy.

“You,” he breathes out, somehow finding his voice amidst the lustful sighing. “I told you, we—we could’ve done this in the backroom.”

“And I said I wanted you here, Jer.” You press a meaningful kiss to his lower head, smiling when it twitches at your touch. A firmer press allows the stained spot to push past beads of pre to your mouth, and you hum at the tanginess through soiled cotton. “Besides, no one’s going to see us, yeah?”

“I-I mean, yes.” Jeremiah confirms as much, making an effort to conceal the shop with a wave of energy. 

To the naked eye, the glass interior of his shop houses his well-grown plants and marble befitting of its owner. To Jeremiah’s wide gaze, he could only watch the way you make your way downwards, kissing and caressing wherever possible.

“But it’s not going to last, and ah—hah, shit—“ He hisses when your hand squeezes along his length, and he could feel your nails lightly drag along the underside. “I can’t concentrate when you’re down there like this.”

It’s not the first time he’s managed to conceal his shop from the outsider looking in. Sometimes it was required, especially when Xavier tumbled in and out as he pleased, evol abilities damned and secrets afloat. It was, however, the first time he’s had to pull strings just so no one would see the show playing out at the reception countertop. 

A shiver ran down his spine whenever his eyes made contact with a passerby—fleeting, and wondering if they could somehow see past the veil. See how there was an angel between his legs, and that he enjoyed it.

You let out an almost pitiful hum, though the sympathy differs from the fingers dipping past his waistband. “Mm? I think you can, don’t underestimate yourself.”

The thought was kind, but even Jeremiah had his limits. His hips cant on instinct when your unblocked warmth curls around his length, only growing with need by the second. Swiftly, and much to his relief, you free him from those confines.

“Wow, Jer. You’re real pretty,” you coo, delicately raising your fingers from the cusp of his base to the curved head of his cock. “Hard just from looking outside?”

“Wha—No, I just,” he stutters, but even he can’t deny it. One glance to beyond the glass and back to your knowing smirk has him weak in the heart but strong where it matters. “Just keeping a lookout,” he strains.

Flush and stiff from the newly exposed air, you take your time in stroking him. An occasional press to the skin just below his tip has his knees buckling. He fit perfectly into the palm of your hand, a beautiful sight and weight to behold.

“Maybe let down the curtain then? I’m sure everyone would love to see their precious florist be deflowered like this,” you tease lightly.

‘Someone might see’ rings like blaring sirens in his mind—and for a moment, he seriously considers it. Jeremiah’s blush only worsens, the thought doing a number to his senses. He dares to raise a witty quip in return, but it melts into a gasp when your lips seal themselves over his leaking slit.

You have the gall, he thinks, to hum around his cock this way. And look devastatingly stunning too, eyes round in pleasure, all for him to see. To feel, to watch how you take care of him. 

His fingers cradling your head tighten some, though nothing too heavy-handed. Whether it is your doing or his, you make a slow descent down his length, jaw slacking to take in as much of him as you could.

If he thought your hands were warm, your mouth was an oven that neatly shaped and swallowed around him. He feels you huff, before firmly rubbing your nose to his abdomen and a garbled noise rouses from you.

“Don’t force yourself,” Jeremiah pants, gently leading you away from his nestled cock. 

You allow him to do as much, popping his head from your lips and smiling. The lightest string of saliva pulls at your bottom lip and stays with him—Jeremiah can only stare, entranced. 

“On the contrary,” you say, a slight grit to your voice from the loss. “I’m doing all of this because I want to.”

Room for argument falls naught when you return to his erection, and that devilish warmth warps his senses once more. With every bob of your head, Jeremiah’s wanton moans only grow in volume. You search for his hand—which, currently gripped the counter for dear life—and bring it to rest around your throat in permission. 

His fingers twitch over the skin, before realizing he could feel it. No way, no way. Curiously, Jeremiah presses his fingers closer to find that his cock occasionally brushed them, the shape all familiar and busied down your throat. It tingles, feels way too good, especially when you hum in delight.

“Oh, I’m about to—yeah, yeah,” Jeremiah rambles, abdomen clenching at the rush of searing heat spreading throughout. “Gonna cum, come, shit—!”

In the heat of the moment, his hand draws you away from his cock, throbbing and welcoming warm streams of his undoing. You work him through the spurts of release, leaning down with an open mouth to capture what you could. Some of it lands on your tongue, hanging off of the curves—a majority stuck to your cheeks and painted them in a viscous white, smooth and sticky all the same.

Jeremiah feels like a leafless stem, waning in the wind and completely blissed out by the time he comes to. His fingers massage your skull gently, and his half-lidded gaze blows wide when he realizes what an absolute mess he’s truly made this time.

“Oh, sorry, let me get that.“ He searches for his apron, only a few inches away and neatly crumpled in a pile. The pockets, somewhere in there is—ah, he pulls out a small handkerchief, pleating the square and bringing it to your cheek.

You follow his hand whenever it swipes at his excess cum, patiently waiting and watching with satisfaction rimming your eyes. Jeremiah is gentle, patting and swiping alike with the calm moment settling between you.

“There,” he declares, putting aside the fabric that definitely needed to be washed. A wave of decorum crashed against him, and he’s quickly pulling his pants into place. Bringing you up with him, he smooths out your hair and starts to ramble. “Are you okay? Was this alright? I know we kinda just, went for it and all, but I—“

You squish his lips together with a press of your finger, amusement clear in your sigh. “Yes, yes and yes.” You pull your finger then, tapping your own lip in thought. “If anything, those should be my questions to you, Jer.”

Jeremiah blinks, then listens to the pace of his heart and rise of his breaths. To which he deeply inhales and says, “Yeah, I’m great. Thanks, actually.” 

The blush settles into his ears this time, and you can’t help but reach for them in a light pinch. “Cute,” you mumble, though loud enough for him to hear—the red only deepens because of it.

“A-anyway, your flowers,” Jeremiah coughs, waving a hand sheepishly towards them. “They’ve been, well, paid for.”

You turn, picking up the lovely arrangement and hugging it to your chest in content. “I’m glad,” you nod, before pressing a fleeting kiss to his unsuspecting cheek. “All is well!”

Before he could even scramble to words, you were already halfway across the tiled floor and standing at the entrance. Flowers nestled in your arms, and a smile so brilliant it made them seem dull in comparison. “Same time next week?”

Jeremiah cups the cheek where you touch lingers. In his heart, the budding adoration grows another branch, his affections blooming steadfast. 

“Yeah.” He finds himself smiling back. “I’ll see you then.”

[evielmostdefinitely]

i would love if we got to see what the proposal in the garden was like!!!!! <3

bed of roses |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested above, coriolanus' proposal to you.

contains: kinda dark/posessive coriolanus. capitol!reader. duke!reader who is a rothschild type. slight oc?? no descriptor but mentions oc names. fluff. nervous coryo.

A simple luncheon. 

That’s what you were told. A Sunday tea with your family and Coriolanus’, just like they did in the Old World. Your Grandmatron had insisted on it, and in classic Duke style, what she said went. The drab chic of Capitol fashion was forgone for the afternoon, opted in for bright frills and patterns that went out of style long before you were born. A classic, still, for Sunday luncheons in spring. Your mother had your dress custom made, a blush pink that stood bright and radiant amongst the shades of soft cyan and muted marigold. 

Coriolanus had arrived in a linen suit, neatly pressed with amber buttons that stood out beautifully against the white suit. You had no doubt Tigris had made it, the telling touch of the cerulean pocket square that mirrored his eyes. 

He seemed tense, when he kissed your cheek in greeting. Chaste and respectable, but his hands felt clammy when they took yours. 

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus was feeling the weight of the world sitting at the table. His family’s legacy, his own future crushing on his shoulders. The small ring in his pocket felt like an anchor. Coryo wondered if this is what the tributes felt like, before their name was called, standing at the Reaping, knowing that at any moment their life could change for the better or for the worse. Their fate in someone else’s hands as his was now. 

“Are you alright?” You whispered, leaning into him gently at the table, your hand brushing his thigh under the table. Coryo jumped with surprise, further drawing your suspicions. 

“Yes,” Coryo’s voice was tight, heart lurching in his chest. He turned to you, offering a tight lipped, half smile that was a poor attempt at convincing you. “I’m alright. Just ate a big breakfast.” 

You frowned, but brushed it off when he took your hand in his, squeezing it affectionately under the table. Your body burned, electric with excitement at the intimacy of the action. 

Coriolanus couldn’t seem to swallow down the raging anxieties he felt blooming inside his chest. The nagging fear that you might reject him. 

Of course, he’d asked your father’s permission, elated when Atticus Duke granted it to him. The typhoon had even smiled, given him a half curled lip and a nod. “If you take care of my girl, I’ll take care of you, Snow.” 

Now, his fate lay at your feet. 

The rational side of his mind told him that you loved him. Of course, you loved him. You’d told him that endlessly. In the morning before he’d leave for the lab, or late at night between silk sheets. 

As each second passed, Coriolanus grew more and more anxious. He caught your mother’s eyes, her knowing grin making his blood run cold. She assured him she’d have the garden prepared for this momentous occasion, hiring the whimsical Trinket’s to florist the garden. Bright flowers lining the walkway, lotus floating in the small pond, an archway of pink roses over the gazebo. 

“Mother must be planning a party.” You giggled, your lace gloved hand in Coryo’s, strolling with him through the botanicals. 

Coriolanus stiffened beside you. “Why would you say that, my love?” He tried to sound casual, but still, that demanding cut in his tone lingered still. 

You looked at him, the sun illuminating his features, his hair as bright and light as the rays that blinded your vision. “The flowers.” You motioned towards the freshly planted lilies next to you. “She only ever goes this dramatic when they’re having a celebration of sorts.” 

Coriolanus felt his stomach turn, hoping you couldn’t feel the way his heart skipped. “Perhaps they’re hosting the Reaping party this year?” 

“Mm, perhaps.” Coriolanus nodded, taking a calming breath to soothe his nerves. Pull yourself together, Snow. You’ve worked too hard to piss it away now. Snow lands on top. She is your top. Don’t ruin it now. 

“Would you like to join me?” Coriolanus stepped onto the gazebos stair that bore a fresh coat of paint. His hand extended to your own, a soft smile tugging at his lips when you took his hand. 

“Hm,” Your head titled, looking at the array of roses above the entrance. “That’s odd.” 

Coriolanus’ heart dropped. “What is?” His lungs squeezed, stealing every last breath from him. 

Your eyes met his, brows furrowed with curiosity. “She used roses?” You tilted your head to the side gently. Coryo blinked at you. “Mother never uses roses outside. Says it’s gauche.” You shrugged. 

Coriolanus burned. He’d suggested it when she’d asked. Now, he wondered if it would all be ruined. One tiny slip up, and he’d blown it all. 

“It’s beautiful today.” The small sigh of content you gave stole him from his own worrisome thoughts. Your head tilted back, holding your small head piece so you could bask in the warmth of the sun- rare in the Capitol. 

“It is.” Coryo agreed, stepping beside you. He wondered if your father had somehow managed to pay for the sun to shine. He certainly could afford to. “Nearly as beautiful as you.” He whispered, breath hot on the shell of your ear, leaving you shivering. 

“Coryo,” You blushed, cheeks burning with adorning heat. 

“I mean it.” Coriolanus nodded, a hand sliding over your waist at a respectable placement, yet still affectionate. He knew your family was watching after all. “You always look so radiant. Always manage to steal my breath right from my lungs with your beauty. You have since the first time I laid eyes on you in Twelve.” 

Your chin ducked, hoping to hide the fluster of your cheeks. “You’re being playful, Coryo.” You muttered, eyes cutting up to meet him, hidden by the netting of your fascinator in your hair. 

“I am not.” Coryo shook his head, hand sliding over his pocket, feeling for the ring there. It was now or never, time to face his destiny. “I am entirely serious, my love. You have always managed to captivate me with your beauty, your humor, your kindness.” His hand took yours, pulling you closer to him. 

Your eyes shone when they met him, filled with a lovestruck, glossy gaze. It encouraged him, sending that final surge of confidence to deliver the speech he’d practiced endlessly for weeks now. His tongue felt numb in his own mouth when he said your name, tongue rolling over each syllable as if he wanted to savor each one. 

“There has been no other like you in my life before, and I hope there never will be.” Coriolanus' hand tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever dreamt of, gone far beyond my own imaginations with your perfection.” 

“Coryo,” You choked on your tears, eyes shining with emotion. 

 “Please,” Coryo stepped away, though his hand never left your own. “I could speak forever about how perfect you are to me, and there still would not be enough time to capture how much I adore you.” Coryo paused, leaning forwards to look deeply into your eyes. “How much I love you.” 

Your heart skipped, racing like the wings of a hummingbird when he dropped to one knee. An outdated tradition, sure, but one he knew you cherished. One he knew your family would approve as well. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Coriolanus said, hand sliding into his jacket pocket to retrieve the ring, hoping you didn’t see how it shook. “I can’t imagine a life without you. I don’t want to live a life without you. I want you beside me through it all. When I command this entire country, I want you to be there with me.” 

Your tongue swelled, head swimming when you caught a glimpse of the dazzling sapphire ring. Coriolanus’ mother’s ring, you knew that much. He’d mentioned it only a few times in passing. You knew what it meant to him, what she meant to him. 

“I don’t want to be without you ever again.” Coriolanus continued, the ring pinched between his fingers. “I only want you, my petal. So will you do me the greatest honor of my life?” His eyes rounded so sweetly when he asked, a new side of Coryo you’d never experienced. “Will you marry me?” 

Your chest burned, suffocated with tears and emotions that wanted to explode out of you. Your silence made Coryo’s own heart drop, fear filled with damning reality. 

“Yes,” Your voice cut through your thick tears before he could spiral completely. It felt nearly fake, like he’d imagined it. 

Then, you nodded. Head bobbing, uncaring at how the small hair piece shook, sliding through your locks. Coriolanus was sure he was in shock, ears ringing with uncertainty. “Yes?” He whispered. 

Your nod made his shoulders drop with relief, heart beat thundering through his body with aftershock. “Yes,” You croaked, sniffling wetly. “Yes, Coryo. Yes, I-I will marry you.” 

You surprised him next. Overwhelmed with emotion, your hands cupped his face, pulling him in for a sweet, nearly sloppy kiss. Lovesoaked with a powerful emotion that overcame you. Coriolanus faltered, eyes cutting towards the house, burning with embarrassment. It was so improper, and he knew your family was watching him- judging him. 

Coriolanus stood, breaking the kiss, not missing the look of disappointment that flashed for only a moment over your features, before he took your hand. He took his time pulling each finger off the lacy gloves, swallowing a smile at how you shivered with excitement before he slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, almost like his mother was giving her own nod of approval to you. 

His lips brushed your knuckles, before you pulled him back into you, a sweet kiss, more respectable this time- appropriate, so he allowed it. Coryo’s chest boasted when he walked back into your family's home, smug at how you showed off your ring proudly, beaming with pure joy at the news. The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about wedding details, dates and plans, while Coriolanus planned his own. 

Not your wedding- no, he’d leave that to you, but his own future plans. How he’d run Panem, when your father would appoint him, his first actions as President. His own future, out of your hands, and back in his clutches now.