#marigold gloves

[marco1975italy]

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

[clnclm]

[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?

[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 )

[moondirti]

Pleaaaase more farmer! Price, I BEG OF YOU

hybrid reader. mean price. brief daddy kink.

farmer price who is mercurial at his worst.

whose temper froths, bubbles beneath sun-hardened skin on market days, when he spends overlong lugging produce to and from his beat up truck. its the heat, or the sweat weaving his chest hair, or the customers who refuse to believe that, despite this year's asparagus being slightly paler than the lasts', it is still just as good. it's a medley of things, each marginally more vexing given their immutable nature. and where he's tailored patience like a glove — watering crops so that they may come alive in the next season, or moulding a perfectly credulous thing to his will — it does no good when his hands are tied.

he's keen to get home. unwind under the cool roof of his ranch. scrub the muck off and knock back a glass of scotch. the august sun might be beastly to work underneath, but he admits it makes for a pleasant sight as it sets. you're so easily awed, at least, bleating softly when he combs his fingers around your ears and calls out marigold rays. it's just the thing to make up for his day. a drink, a view, and a fuzzy pussy to occupy his hands with.

only you're not indulgent. not soft on the idea of sitting still for hours as you're swung to and from the precipice of climax. a strange restlessness has worked its way through your blood in the past week, spoiling the docility that keeps his collar fastened firm around your neck. he credits it to the encroach of autumn. expectation, leaden on your dumbed conscience, that you'll soon be bred and plump with lambs. the swollen heat between your legs is enough signal to the fact, bucking up into his hand when he pets it.

but if not that, then it's the little feet kicking off his lap, disturbing the stable footing he lends to your bottom. it’s the way your fat thighs quiver, locking around his hand to keep him there, to keep his callouses grinding against your clit. and despite the layer of soaked wool nested along your lips, the squelches of your over-eager cunt are clear in the conditioned air. loud, lewd. sticky sounding when he buffs his heavy fingers over the hard bud poking out.

“y’proud of this? huh?” he grunts, singling on that one point where your nerve ending are too exposed. too concentrated. it must be torture when the rough pad of his thumb swipes over it, skinning you alive, flaying you open so that you’re a steaming mess on his lap. damp baby hairs mat by your crown, smelling of salt when he presses a curled lip to your temple. “dumb little lamb. can’t think of anyone ‘cept yourself, mm? making a mess on daddy’s lap after he’s had such a hard day. i should slap this needy thing silly, ‘till you can’t piss without regrettin’ it. call in kyle to tear you apart to his heart’s content. he’s been good lately. deserves it.”

“nnngh! s’too mu- muhh.”

but he thrusts two fingers into your tense hole anyway, feeling you up from the inside. the heat between your legs, the hot fervour of it sucking his fingers deeper, rapidly blossoms up your body. his chest itches with the sweat seeping off your back, beard soaking in the puddle of it that pools off your neck. he would have it in him to be worried, but today is not that sort of day.

the heel of his hand makes good work of kneading into your clit, the poor thing throbbing under the crushing pressure. it all grows to be too much, too fast. you’d been begging for something gentle, no doubt. a merciful address to a heat you can’t control, this recurring cycle of which he was already made aware of. but you’ve been with him long enough to know better.

if this were his break day, he might have stuffed you with a toy. fed your whines with his cock. wiped your tears with scarred knuckles, and kissed your eyes shut as you worked through your desperation.

if it were autumn, if the weather were any cooler, and mating season brought with it a new, soft coat of wool and the right conditions for your pregnancy — including the freeing of his time — he might have even laid you down on the hardwood floors and given you what you so desperately crave.

but for now, he’s holding out, waiting, keeping his little lamb in line.

just as good farmers do.

(and if it hurts, that’s fine. he doesn’t expect an animal to understand, anyway.)

[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

[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.

[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. 

[clnclm]

Lynn Aldrich

[keikikait]

ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ (ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part 2 of my previous fic, which you can find here

for my other gojo smut, click here!

pairing: gojo x f!reader (not au, gojo is 29, reader is early-mid 20’s)

word count: 2.5k

summary: you’re home from your teacher retreat to nikko, ready for the new term. what you’re not ready for? gojo to come home to you. 

warnings: (FOR THIS PART) SMUT - 18+ ONLY! MDNI, dom!gojo and sub!reader, protected sex (pill, not mentioned but its there) degrading (he uses the word slut), hair pulling, nipple play, spitplay (bye….), light edging, finger/thumb sucking (don’t look at me), use of the words [cock, cunt, and tits], slight oral (f receiving), a bit of angst & a bit of mean gojo, nickname use [baby, pretty girl, doll], no use of y/n

a note: i know i said this would be out next week but it was my day off so i wrote it all today. this is less angst, more smut, but i can’t help myself so there is some angst. also, im sorry i made gojo such an asshole, i promise that he will get better! part 3 will be out soon my loves.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Your eyes are already open when your alarm goes off. 

You didn’t sleep at all. There was no point, even after you finished crying your head hurt too much to sleep, even with some painkillers. You laid there, wide awake all night thinking about Gojo. Did he think of you, too? You turn the alarm off and slide out of bed, your slipper-covered feet shuffling as you make your way around your apartment. 

You brush your teeth and look in the mirror. Your eyes are puffy and swollen, mascara smeared down your cheeks. You pop some spoons in the freezer to cool as you clean yourself up and get dressed. Your phone sits untouched on the bedside table, still plugged in.

You sit on the side of your bed, pressing the now cold spoons against your swollen eyes. You take deep breaths, trying to relax. You had every right to be upset, after all. Gojo has no reason to string you along, whispering sweet nothings in your ear at night about how you’re his girl, his doll, his everything. But that’s exactly what that was. Nothing. Maybe, you think, this is some kind of karma. Some sort of punishment for your arrogance, for thinking you could have what everyone else wants, Gojo, and here—at last—it was.

You put on some de-puffing undereye patches that you keep in the fridge and clean your entire apartment spotless to distract yourself, music blasting from the phone in your back pocket. You finally throw out that dead fern you got as a gift from the school board when you first started, and you finally clean out your fridge of the now moldy condiments you tried once on a whim. You’re washing dishes when the front door opens and, suddenly, Gojo steps inside. He had opted for his dark blue circular sunglasses today, an odd choice for the winter but you didn’t mind it. “Hi,” you say, surprised, pulling off the bright marigold gloves and setting them on the side of the sink to dry. For a second, you think about the absolute state of your eyes. The swelling and puffiness had gone down, and even though he had never seen you cry, you think about the fact that even if he noticed your eyes he wouldn’t care enough to ask questions.

“Hey,” is all Gojo says in response. You wait to see if he says anything else, or if he is going to try to explain himself, but he doesn’t, and eventually moves across your apartment to head to the bathroom. You hesitate before you make your way after him, passing his duffel bag on the floor of your closet, which was unzipped and filled with enough clothes that it was clear that he was going to stay for a while.

You feel pathetic admitting it to yourself but having Gojo there — not just in your apartment, but in your room — feels nice. He doesn’t speak to you yet, but his very presence steadies and refocuses you. As grateful as you are that he came back to you, you are also a little disappointed in yourself, by how dependent you are, how weak. Who were you without him?

Eventually, he faces you, peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Hey, pretty girl.”

You swallow hard, willing yourself to be strong, to finally confront him about all of the false promises and the date with Himiko, but you can’t. Not yet. “Hi, Gojo.”

He smiles, reaching you with just one step and collecting you in his arms, wrapping them tightly around your hips. He leans down and kisses you, for the first time in almost nine days, and you feel yourself giving up, giving all power to him.

After a few seconds, he pulls away, smirking. “I missed you. I’m sorry that I didn’t come home last night…I got carried away.”

You’ve noticed over the past eleven months (yes, you kept track) of your situationship that he uses that term a lot; carried away. He uses it when he gets a little too handsy during the free periods at work and when he stares at you a bit too long during staff meetings. He uses it when he forgets to call or text you and when it seems like you’re the last thing on his mind. Maybe you are. 

You smile, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He grins, gently running his hands up your back, lightly scratching his nails against you, making you shiver. “Of course. I always come back home to you.” He bends at the knees and picks you up, carrying you the short distance to your bed before laying you down and climbing on top of you. Excitement fills your body as he leans down and starts placing soft kisses along your neck. You arch into him, whining and tugging on his sleeves, and he chuckles. “Relax, doll. Quit acting so desperate. You’re not in charge here, remember?”

You feel drool pool in your mouth and you quickly swallow it. “I’m sorry, Gojo, it’s just that —”

He interrupts you, sliding his thumb into your mouth to shut you up. “I know, baby, I know. You went eight whole days without my touch and now you’re acting like a desperate little slut,” You nod, hoping he won’t tease you this time. He smirks at the dumb look on your face before saying, “Open.” You do, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out a little. He pulls his thumb away and draws back briefly before spitting into your open mouth. You swallow it without his command. You know what he likes.

He grins, kissing your lips once more before kissing down your chin and neck, slowly sliding off your t-shirt. You whine and squirm under him, and after he pulls your shirt off he clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut up. If you keep whining, I won’t fuck you at all. Is that what you want?” You shake your head vigorously, that’s the last thing you want. He removes his hand before continuing, “Good. Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” You nod, relaxing into your sheets as he kisses down your chest. He pushes your bra up over your tits, groaning as he squeezes them in his hands. “Fuck. I missed my girls.” You would normally scold him for objectifying you, but at this moment you didn’t care. You wanted his hands on you, and you wanted his dick inside of you as soon as possible.

He takes the sunglasses off and brings one of your nipples to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against it to tease you. He sticks his tongue out and drags it along your nipple in circles, loving the way your thighs fall open and the little sounds you make. He finally, finally sucks your nipple into his mouth, pinching the other one hard just to feel you squirm. He rolls your bare nipple between his fingers while he lightly nibbles on the one in his mouth. Your head is spinning, and all you can do is tug on his hair as he teases you. He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting it to his lips. He picks it up on his finger and rubs it on your face just to humiliate you.

He kisses down your torso, tugging down your pyjama bottoms and tossing them onto the floor. He kisses your thighs as he pushes them up and against your chest so you’re nice and spread out for him, just as he likes. He notices the wet spot on your plain blue cotton underwear and smirks, rubbing at it with his thumb. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?”

You take it you can respond to him now. “Fuck, Gojo, please! Please stop teasing me, I already went eight days without you.” The whine in your voice makes him feel so big, so powerful. He barely touches you and you’re already crumbling at his feet. Maybe he should keep you there.

He makes that condescending tsk tsk tsk sound that normally annoys you, but now you can’t help it and you whine and squirm even more. “You’re so desperate, baby. You can’t even handle a little teasing?” He presses his thumb right against your clit, the wet spot spreads even more. “I guess you do have a point, though. I haven’t made you cum since we left for Nikko.” He kisses right above the hem of your underwear before pulling it down, the blue fabric now dangling around your ankle. He moans, pushing your legs back even further and spreading your cunt. 

He spits directly onto your pink little hole, watching as it mixes with your juices. In this moment, you’re his. You’re his everything, his girl, his doll. In this moment you actually mean something to him, when you’re spread out and begging for his attention. He runs his pointer finger down your slit, collecting some spit before dragging it back up to your clit and lightly circling it.

You almost cum on the spot. Days of pent-up horniness and teasing and you’re as sensitive as ever. You bite your lip, looking over at him with nothing but love and affection in your gaze. “Please, Gojo. Please don’t tease me. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

He gets comfortable, moving your thighs over his shoulders as he lays down on the bed. “You’ll take what I give you. Don’t disappoint me.” He circles your clit with his finger one last time before leaning down and sucking it into his mouth. You arch your back, your hands finding solace in his hair as you writhe and moan. He moans at your taste, gripping your hips hard as he gets lost in your cute little cunt. You grind against his face, and he lets you, loving the feeling of your clit against his tongue. He teases your hole with his fingers, sliding his thumb in as he swirls his tongue around your clit in circles. You clench up tight, mumbling praises along with I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum! before he pulls away completely. He laughs at the noise you make, and at the way your face contorts and tears well in your eyes. He slaps the inside of your thigh before standing up and unbuttoning his pants. “Oh, come on. Be a good girl for me, okay?”

You move up on the bed, your back supported by your pillows as he climbs over you. You’ve seen his dick a lot, more times than you can count, but the sheer size of it always surprises you. Thick and long, slightly curved to the left, with a pretty pink tip to match. His balls are big, too, full of cum and practically begging to be in your mouth, which waters as soon as you see it. 

Gojo looms over you, pushing you onto the bed as he slides in between your legs and gets comfortable. He rubs his tip against you, getting it nice and wet so you don’t struggle with the size as he fucks you, at least not too much. In a moment of pure intimacy, he reaches his hand up and rubs his thumb against your cheek, looking at you with an almost adoring gaze. You go to say something to him but all words escape your throat as he pushes his cock into you. You both moan in unison as he slides in and out slowly.

“God,” he groans, leaning down on his elbows and getting right in your face. “I missed you so much, baby. I know I’m such a dick to you, I just can’t help it, you look so cute when you’re angry…fuck, you feel so good.” He isn’t vocal in bed very often, and your heart swells as you get to watch him come undone and make such pretty noises as he does. 

In the heat of the moment, you forgive him. You know you’ll probably regret it, but you can’t stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world for him. Your smile is cut short by your moan as you manage to say, “It’s okay, Gojo. Please just stay here. Stay here with me.”

Gojo nods, propping himself up on one flat palm as his hips pick up speed. Normally he loves foreplay, he can tease you and edge you for hours, but the time spent without you in his arms and without you wrapped around his cock was too much to bare for him. He knows he fucked up, but he can’t take it back. He’s Satoru Gojo, and he has a reputation he needs to uphold. He’s all run, and you’re all fight, and that’s part of the reason why he feels so drawn to you.

He looks at you, moving to his elbows and reaching up to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. He pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, biting his lip as his hips move even faster. He drops back down to his elbows, your chests pressed together as he shakily moans, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, doll, I’m gonna cum.”

You nod, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck as you cum around him, clenching down on his cock. He buries his face in your neck as he cums after you, cumming inside of you, like he always does. His breathing is ragged as he lays there, his cock twitching inside of you as his cum spills inside. Gojo eventually moves away from your neck, some of his hair matted to his forehead, slick with sweat. You push the hair back and smile at him, kissing his forehead gently. Even if he didn’t love you, you still loved him. And you think you always will.

He pulls out, immediately getting you a towel splashed with some warm water as he cleans you up. He’s gentle with his aftercare, making sure you’re comfortable, and collecting your water bottle from the living room. You pee before getting dressed, laying with him on the bed. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, pressing your face into his chest, and sliding his hand into your hair. He holds you there for a while, your breathing in sync before he leans down and kisses your forehead. 

Gojo puts on a cooking show to watch on your TV, setting the remote aside as he holds you close. He strokes your hair, and your mind starts to drift, and you wonder if he cares about you in the same way you care about him. Are you not good enough for him? Is there something wrong with you? Are you not what he wants? Are you not what he needs? You wake up every morning, hopeful for what’s to come with him, but you spend most of your time thinking about what you’ve already had and what he’s already said to you. You’re missing all these memories—maybe they were never even yours. 

Nothing hurts like he does.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part 3 is here

[oceaneyesinla]

Helping Hand

I am convinced Sanemi would be the best partner and he would look after you so well, especially if you were struggling. Which is what inspired this fic

This is the first x reader fic I've ever written, so CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is welcome (please don't be mean to me I'll cry)

Also on AO3

Hope you enjoy!

divider by @cafekitsune

Whether you wanted to scream, cry, or burrow so far into the earth you hit magma, you weren't sure. What you were sure of was that if something didn't give soon, you were going to explode. The labours of everyday life were creeping up on you, and their weight was threatening to crush you.

Of no help was the separate pressure of your job, one you loved but one which was beginning to suck away at your spirit. You went into every shift dreading the day, and you left every shift feeling a mix of frustration and hopelessness, desperately pushing against problems you had no hope of solving.

Arriving home, you slowly fumbled with your keys, unlocking the door and taking a second before stepping over the threshold. You knew what awaited you - dirty dishes in the sink, laundry piling up in the bathroom and the boxes of your last online purchase still sitting on the bedroom floor, taunting you every time you passed them without breaking them down. You would have, if you had the energy and the motivation, but both escaped you more often than not.

A little clatter caught your attention and you were on high alert until you noticed the pair of shoes tucked beside your own in the hallway, far too big for your feet. You knew those shoes; you were with your boyfriend when he bought them.

You weren't expecting Sanemi that night, but you wouldn't complain at seeing him. All you wanted was to fall into a shower then your bed, and it would be infinitely better if his arms were wrapped around you once you had.

You stepped through into the living room and stopped dead, blinking. There, in a neat pile next to the couch, was the flattened remains of your cardboard boxes. Your little recycling box was right next to it, full of all the things you had been meaning to sort but hadn't had the chance.

A strange feeling settled in your chest as you ventured further into the apartment, following the sounds of your boyfriend moving around. Tears welled in your eyes as you hovered in the doorway to the kitchen.

Sanemi had donned yellow Marigolds, the thick muscle of his forearms almost bursting out of the rubber as he scrubbed away at the counter top. On the drying rack next to the sink, all the dishes you had let linger were washed up, and you even spotted the bowl and glass you hadn't bothered to move from where you left them by your computer. At the time, it felt easier to leave them there and then you just kept forgetting to bring them through to the kitchen.

You could hear the washing machine churning away, and you just knew that if you went into the bathroom, it would be neat and tidy again, just like the living room and the kitchen.

You couldn't help the sob that escaped you, a mix of pure relief and extreme shame forcing the emotion out of you. You were an adult, one with no dependents, no responsibility other than going to work. You were supposed to be able to do this for yourself. Part of you knew, though, that you were overwhelmed, and you had been stuck in this cycle of desperately needing help but being too ashamed to ask for it for too long.

Worried eyes met your own, and it was almost comical how Sanemi struggled with his rubber gloves, all but ripping them off so he could close the distance between you and tug you into his warm embrace.

“Hey, what's going on, Y/N? What's with the waterworks, huh?”

Through your sobbing, the only thing you could choke out was, “You w-washed the dishes.”

You weren't sure if he would understand all the meanings hidden behind those simple words, but the way he softened, stroking at your hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head suggested he did.

“Yeah, I washed the dishes, baby.” He kept up the comforting motion, one hand cradling your head against his chest and the other sliding up and down your back. The only sounds in the room were your quiet sobs and the gentle shushes Sanemi was releasing.

Slowly, you calmed down, relaxing into his arms and letting the steady beat of his heart fill your ears. You pressed a soft kiss to his pec, right over his heart before you pulled out of his hold, rubbing at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

A warm hand cupped your face, and a rough thumb gently wiped a couple of tears from the apple of your cheek. You looked up to meet Sanemi’s eye and found him already staring down at you. Heat pooled in your cheeks at the steady attention and he smiled in response, patting your cheek.

“Go and shower, baby. I'll get some food ready for when you're done.”

You tried to protest; he had already done more than enough, but he just brushed off your fretting, turning you around and giving you the gentlest of pushes, “Don't make me carry you in there.” You looked over your shoulder at him, and he was still wearing that fond smile.

Another couple of tears slipped down your cheeks, but instead of sadness, your overwhelming emotion was love. Your own lips turned up into a smile, your first genuine one of the day, “Thank you, Sanemi.”

***********

You felt a million times better after your shower, and when you stepped out from under the spray, you realised Sanemi had already set out clothes for you to put on - your favourite sleep shorts, and one of his t-shirts. You smiled as you slipped the t-shirt over your head; you could faintly smell his laundry detergent.

Sanemi looked up as you padded into the living room, towel around your shoulders like a cape. Two plates were on the table in front of him, and of course your angel of a boyfriend had cooked your favourite. You sat down with a smile, tummy rumbling - you hadn’t had chance to eat at work, the shift too busy for you to step away for even a moment.

Sanemi watched you take the first few bites before starting his own, seemingly satisfied that you were taken care of. After a minute of silent enjoyment, he posed a question, eyes watching you for a reaction, “Wanna talk about it?”

Immediately, you were shaking your head. You wanted to do anything but think about everything bogging you down, at least for now. For the first time in weeks, you felt truly relaxed, soothed by your sweet boyfriend and his endless care for you. You knew you would need to talk about it eventually but right now, you just wanted him and a little bit of normality.

“Alright then. Hey, did I tell you about Sumi’s gymnastics competition?” You had to smile as Sanemi updated you on everything going on in his sibling’s lives. He was such a good big brother; always so invested in them and their hobbies, making sure they had everything they could want and more.

When you were both finished with your food, you tried to collect up the plates, but your hand was batted away before you could even get close. Sanemi did the job instead, leaning over to kiss your head as he passed you, heading into the kitchen. Following him, you squeaked in shock as he lifted you up, sitting you on the counter with a smirk, “Sit pretty and keep me company, yeah? How’s Kanae?”

You were well aware he didn’t need you to tell him that - she was a teacher at the same school as him, and they were good friends before you even met him. In fact, it was her who introduced you. The gesture was appreciated, though. He was giving you something easy to talk about, something light and happy. 

It worked, too. You told him all about your recent shopping trip, and the meal you went out for and he listened to it all with a smile on his face. So invested in your story, you barely noticed him finish washing up and so you jumped when his hands landed on your thighs, his torso slotting between your legs. His palms were warm as they slowly travelled over your skin, relaxing you further with every pass.

“Ready for a movie in bed? Your pick.”

You suggested your favourite movie, grinning when he nodded. He lifted you up, patting your thigh as a prompt to wrap your legs around him. You loved when he did this; carrying you around with strong arms, holding you close. He deposited you on the bed before heading to the bathroom, leaving you alone. As your eyes scanned the room, you felt like crying all over again - the sheets under your body were fresh (and your favourite) and he had even dusted your shelves and the trinkets you kept there. All of his work must have taken hours, and he had done it all without you saying a word. You always thought there was no way you could love him more, and he always managed to prove you wrong.

You settled yourself under the covers, snuggling into the fresh smelling duvet with a satisfied smile. It didn’t take Sanemi long to return and you let your eyes wander over his exposed muscles. He was so beautiful, and he had a heart to match.

He set up the movie and put the remote on the bedside table before sliding under the covers next to you. He pulled you closer, arms wrapped around you as he manoeuvred you into a comfortable position. When he was done, you were practically on top of him, head over his heart and his hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. A yawn escaped you as you breathed in the scent of his body wash and he let out a little laugh.

Yeah, you were tired, but you needed to know, “Why did you come over today? Not that I mind, but …” In all honesty, you had been trying to hide just how much you were struggling. Sanemi already had enough on his plate between his teaching job and his responsibility to his family. You didn’t want to be one more burden.

“I could tell something wasn’t right. You haven’t been as bright lately. Plus, you always end up humming when you’re concentrating, and you haven’t done that in weeks.”

He really paid that much attention? The humming was an old habit, and even you only noticed its absence after it made a reappearance. 

“Sanemi …” You didn’t know what to say. Were there even words for how you felt right now? 

His hand never stopped its steady stroke along your spine, even as his arms tightened around you a little, “You don’t need to say anything, Y/N. I love you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.” You felt a little chuckle rumble through his chest, “Now go to sleep - I can see your eyes drooping.”

He was right - between his soothing touch and his warm hold, you were quickly being lulled into sleep. You snuggled further into his chest, pressing a kiss over his heart as you mumbled, “Love you too.”

The last thing you heard before sleep overtook you was a quiet, “Sleep well, baby.”

[muckleberryjam]

Spooky season is upon us and so I rise from the dead to continue making over the Charms because I only did Gemma and Emilia then stopped for some reason...

Here's Minerva in her matriarchal glory. She's one part oracle, one part swamp witch, and one part tired of your bullshhhhh

minerva wears • hair down (@simstrouble) • braids (@qicc) • baby hairs (@savage-sims) • monocle (@pralinesims) • nails (ea werewolves)

that don't impress me much • corset (@regina-raven) • illyke) • skirt (hagsims/honeycuts) • hat (@rustys-cc) • collar (@evellsims) • socks (@sentate) • boots (@serenity-cc)

all the better to see you with • jacket (@its-adrienpastel) • necklace (@madlensims)

hunter gatherer • cardigan (@sentate) • skirt (@rustys-cc) • necklace (toksik) • pouch (@gorillax3-cc) • gloves (@wistfulpoltergeist) • boots (@astya96cc)

mystic meg • shirt (@serenity-cc) • undershirt (marigold) • shawl (@happylifesims) • skirt (@sentate) • socks (@trillyke) • boots (@darte77)

green-eyed girl • dress (marigold) • hat (@evellsims) • earrings (@clumsyalienn) • necklace (toksik)

cut a rug • jumper (marigold) • vest (@trillyke) • skirt (@oxalisim) • hat (@joliebean) • necklace (ea paranormal) • rings (@greenllamas) • boots (@serenity-cc)