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wedonthaveawhile · 6 months

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When she says my name.

Garreth Weasley x F!MC (18+)

Garreth finds himself entangled with the heroine of Hogwarts. As their encounters become habit, they devolve into a game of power dynamics and possession.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possesive!Garreth, dominant!Garrreth, public sex, dirty talk, aged-up characters, unrequited love, pining.

AO3 // Word count: 3k

Garreth picked at the splintered wood on his broom from a recent tussle with a bludger, scanning the courtyard intermittently for any trace of his Quidditch team. Their head of house had recently delivered a stern criticism about their hero complex. Apparently, each member was too focused on personal glory, neglecting the importance of working as a cohesive team.

He eventually detected a figure on a broom, although quickly realised they displayed a level of nimble grace far beyond what he'd expect from one of his lumbering teammates. Hogwarts' resident hero was evidently making a return from one of her mysterious outings.

His eyes swept the courtyard again, a scattering of students strolled across the well-kempt grass, a handful basked in the sun near the fountain, but none he recognised. Thinking about it, Garreth wondered whether he should hang around for this team-building training. It was probably wise, considering he was not only the captain but also the one who had organised the whole thing. However, they were running late, and he had spotted far more appealing company.

Before he could put much more thought into it, he swung his leg over his broomstick and began to silently trail the unsuspecting witch.

He couldn't quite pinpoint when he started noticing her disappearances. He assumed he just hadn't been paying much attention to her whereabouts prior to her inquiry regarding his more 'unobtainable' potions. His tactics hadn't evolved significantly since fifth-year when he’d charmed the newcomer into pilfering Sharp's office for supplies, but he had become far more adept at sneaking around for rare ingredients.

He agreed to assist in whatever scheme she was cooking up, on the condition she helped him obtain the key component. Partly for the benefits of having someone on the lookout for wandering faculty, but mostly because the beloved heroine of Hogwarts could do no wrong. If their covert operation were to be exposed, her involvement would mean the detention time his aunt dished out would be significantly reduced.

They needed snakeweed, which he was fairly certain was cultivated and harvested in the greenhouse. However, Professor Garlick was extremely protective of her plants, requiring their thieving to be done after curfew.

Moonlight wiggled through the twisted tendrils of the countless plants scattered throughout the greenhouse as they dispelled their disillusionment charm and got to work.

"What do you reckon all of this is?" The witch gestured towards a dense blanket covering the harvesting bench, a few neatly folded sheets at one end made it appear like some kind of makeshift bed.

"Perhaps the rumours about Garlick and Kogawa are true. Maybe we've stumbled upon their secret little sex den.” Garreth turned around and playfully wiggled his eyebrows, narrowly avoiding stumbling into a venomous tentacula lurking in the shadows.

She pulled back the cover, unveiling a project in progress—mallowsweet leaves neatly laid out, drying between the two blankets.

"You need to get your mind out of the gutter,” she scoffed, laying the covering back over the golden foliage. “Or you need to get laid.”

"It was a logical assumption," he argued, crouching beneath a table, casting a dim lumos across a collection of small plant pots. "The height of these tables are just right for it."

"Should I ask how you know that?"

She lifted herself onto the table as if testing the height for herself. Garreth smirked as he shifted the pots around with flicks of his wand.

"I’m a warm-blooded male, I'd say I'm an expert in these things."

Spotting a small propagation of snakeweed, he cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure she was keeping a watchful eye on the door. She wasn't. She was perched primly on the edge of the table, legs pressed together from knees to toes.

His eyes roamed across her body, and he realised he had never really had the opportunity to thoroughly check her out. She was like forbidden fruit, always flanked by her two Slytherin gatekeepers. It's not that he hadn't noticed she was attractive, she certainly was. Her feminine figure hinted at subtle signs of muscle earned from days spent sprinting around the castle.

His lusty gaze travelled up to her face, only to discover she had been watching him the entire time. Suppressing the flicker of embarrassment, he instead leaned into his Gryffindor bravery. He grabbed the small pot and approached her, his hips meeting her knees with an intentional bump.

"As promised," he presented her with the delicate plant, his fingers brushing against hers as he handed it over.

"That was easy," she raised the pot to catch the moonlight. Her eyes shifted from the plant to him, and her pupils bloomed. "You've earned yourself a returning customer."

"Splendid," he grinned, wondering whether this meant more after-hour hangouts, a thought that kindled his overactive imagination. "The first one's on the house, the rest might come with a price tag."

“I suppose I’ll have to start saving then. What's your price?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make demands beyond your means,” he backtracked, worried she might think he was being serious. “Wouldn’t want to scare off my favourite customer.”

"Snagged the title of the favourite customer without parting with a single penny?” She chuckled lightly, scraping her teeth across her lower lip, “Business must be crawling."

"I prioritise quality over quantity," his eyebrow quirked as he studied her face, purposefully lingering a beat too long on her lips before flitting back to her eyes. "Now, what assets do you bring to the trading table?"

"Let me think," she reclined on her palms. "What do I bring to this specific table..." she emphasised each word with a tap of her nails against the wood, "that a warm-blooded male might find tempting?"

Heat surged through his body, and he began to regret pressing himself up against her legs, there was no way she couldn’t feel his enthusiasm swell against her knees.

“Did I mention it’s one for the price of two?”

She laughed, the sugar-sweet sound tickling his brain and the movement of her body causing her legs to part slightly.

“See, what did I tell you?" he pushed his palms against the table on either side of her thighs as he slotted himself between them. "Perfect height."

"I took your word for it. After all, you're the expert." She gave his tie a tug before running the fabric through her fingers. “Well, so you say...”

"Correct," he answered simply, because the only other words rattling around in his head was an offer to sit on his face, and he was trying really hard to play it cool.

She cocked her head to the side, “Are you going to verify that claim?”

You would have thought they were time-fated lovers, not classroom acquaintances. She had been right. He needed to get laid, and she needed some stress relief. It didn't take long before her skirt was hiked up around her waist and he was showcasing just how perfect the height of the table was. He assured her the greenhouse was soundproof due to the mandrakes, though he wasn't entirely sure if that was true. Frankly, he didn't care. Her unrestrained moaning, nails scraping across the wooden table, heels digging into his back to pull him in deeper—it made a lifetime of detention feel like a minor nuisance.

The saying goes, once is a mistake and twice is a habit, but Garreth wondered when it tipped into addiction. Whenever she was stressed—and fortunately for him, that was often—he found himself happily yanked by his tie into the nearest broom cupboard, beneath the Quidditch stands before one of his matches, by the edge of the lake under a disillusionment charm...

Maybe this time, on the balcony of the highest tower?

That's where she gracefully dismounted her broom. He followed suit, touching down behind her without a sound. Her jumper was splattered with mud down one arm, but for the most part, she was reasonably unscathed which was a rarity. She tugged it over her head to clean it with a quick charm, and he realised the stain bore a suspicious resemblance to a troll's handprint.

He knew she could handle herself, she’d been doing so for almost two years without his observations. Nevertheless, he realised he’d begun to worry about her when she was away.

He cleared his throat.

She whirled around with startled eyes and he muffled her gasp with a kiss. She squirmed for a few seconds, but her resistance crumbled as his thumbs glided up her neck, tracing delicate patterns under her ears.

He wasn't certain if she was doing the pulling or if he was doing the pushing, but somehow her back ended up crashing against the wall. Her fingers wove through his hair as his lips tore from hers and latched onto the sensitive skin of her throat.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she landed a weak thump on his bicep.

"You look like you lost a fight with a swamp," he mumbled against her skin, his hands wandering down to her hips.

"I'll have you know, I beat that swamp fair and square."

A ghost of a laugh dispersed across her neck, "I like the thought of watching you mud-wrestle. Let me come with you next time."

“Or you could come in me now?”

It was an obvious deflection tactic, but he gladly took the bait. His kisses grew forceful as he began to nip at her exposed skin.

“You better not be leaving marks, Weasley.”

He grumbled in protest against the light pink blotch he had begun to work into her throat. Something in the primal recesses of his mind itched to brand her. He wanted his lips stained on her skin, regardless of wherever or whoever she was with when she was gone.

"What if they're out of sight?" His fingers danced against her neck as he worked on undoing her tie, it fluttered to the ground before he finished asking for permission.

She withdrew her wand and uttered the incantation for a protective charm to shield their misdeeds from any potential spectators. He took that as consent, leaving a trail of wet kisses down her chest as he unbuttoned her shirt.

"Where have you been?" he probed before his teeth dug into the plump flesh above her breasts. It had been nearly nine days since their last encounter, easily their longest dry spell in the two months since their greenhouse tryst.

"None of your business," She hooked her fingers into his trousers to pull him closer, trying to find some friction.

"I want it to be.”

"Tough shit, Weasley,” her voice faltered as he hiked her skirt up around her waist.

“Garreth,” he reprimanded.

She only called him by his first name when they were fucking. He was certain she’d been deliberately conditioning him with it. If he teased her too vigorously in class all she had to do was say, "Shut it, Garreth," and he'd have to discreetly conceal his excitement for the next ten minutes. She made him dumb, plain and simple.

"You'll have to earn that," she purred, licking a trail along his neck that made his gut twist taut.

He scooped her up, spinning her around until she perched on the balcony's banister. A yelp escaped her as she teetered on the concrete edge, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“I want to feel this tomorrow,” she popped open his buttons to speed up the process, “Please?"

“I've got you," he assured, feeling her pulse thunder against his chest as he positioned himself between her thighs. One hand supported her back, while the other fumbled to unclasp his belt.

It was difficult to recall how he'd ever got aroused before she came along. The way she demanded and begged all at once sent his brain spinning. "Say please again," he whispered, nipping her lower lip as he moved her soaked underwear to the side and positioned himself at her entrance. "I like it when you ask nicely."

"Pretty please?" she simpered before kissing him, her tongue eagerly seeking his.

He swallowed her moan as he pushed himself into her, she felt better than he remembered. Tight, hot, and quivering as he gave her everything he had. He loosely wrapped his fingers around her throat, and she whined against his mouth, her head tilting back as her eyes fluttered shut. He tightened his grip, her own hands scrambling at his waist to encourage him deeper.

He pulled her close by the small of her back with one arm, maintaining his grip on her neck with the other, aligning her to accommodate all of him. With each thrust, she bit down on the flesh of his shoulder as he bottomed out.

So, it was fine when she left a mark. He'd certainly remember that.

“You feel so fucking good, Garreth-”

A fractured cry fell from her lips as he pounded into her because his name had floated off her tongue like a prayer, causing something inside him to shatter, like it always did. Defining the constantly shifting dynamic between them was impossible, but it was addicting - He always found himself craving a little more than what he was getting.

“Who do you belong to?”

Garreth threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging her head up to look him in the eyes. She regarded him with a dizzy stare but remained silent. He began to slow down, and she instinctively bucked her hips to maintain some friction as her building orgasm began to ebb away.

“I said, who do you belong to?”

She wasn't his, they were both aware of that. This was never more than a matter of convenient timing and a means of stress relief. Nonetheless, he took pleasure in the hold he had over the most formidable witch of their generation. The witch with unwavering principles and determination. The witch who never faltered in her beliefs. The witch who was currently lying through her teeth for the pleasure of coming undone on his cock.

“You,” she whimpered, “Please, Garreth. Don’t stop, please.”

He didn't know if it was the way she was begging or the frantic desperation of her hips grinding against his, but he was teetering on the edge of his breaking point. He bit down hard on his lip, struggling to hold himself together long enough for her to reach the finish line.

"Chin up," he demanded, his breath coming in ragged pants as he reached one hand between them, rubbing a lopsided circle around her clit. “You look at me when you come."

He groaned through clenched teeth as his words caused her to instantly tighten around him, and that beautiful, hazy look fell over her face. She pulled him in by his collar, kissing him so hard it carved itself onto his brain and he released nine days of pent-up desire. He rolled his hips against hers as they both rode it out, briefly forgetting he should be gentle considering she was perched on the edge of a several hundred-foot drop.

He had believed there was nothing better than watching her unravel in his arms before seeking his own release, but he was wrong. Feeling her orgasm spasming over his shaft as he filled her up damn near killed him.

He fastened his trousers and helped her down from the stone balustrade. She smoothed down her skirt, trying to hide the fact that she was wobbling. He hoped his performance had met her expectations and he’d still be making her legs tremble tomorrow.

He peppered kisses across the blemishes he'd left on her breasts as he fastened the buttons of her shirt, trailing up to nip at the delicate spot on her neck just beneath her ear, the spot only he knew about, the spot that made her head tilt back and her vision fill with stars. He whispered an "Accio" against her skin, summoning a tie from the ground. He secured it around her throat with a playful tug before pulling her jumper over her head.

“You have to go?” he murmured between kisses, finding it bothered him less when he asked rather than when she told him.

Her chest heaved as she sighed, planting a lingering kiss on his lips before bending down to gather her things. “I have a study group. You’re welcome to join?”

He gave her a foggy smile and shook his head lightly. “I have some Quidditch thing I’m late for.”

“Alright, well…” She cast a fleeting glance at her abandoned broom on the floor. They hadn’t quite mastered the art of goodbyes yet. “Later, Weasley.”

“See you later,” he offered her a half-hearted wave, hoping she wouldn't make him wait another nine days before flying into his line of sight again.

As he watched her leave, he found himself wondering what impulse had led him to fasten his Gryffindor tie around her neck. There was the undeniable hope her irritation at his bold act would result in some passionate hate sex, but it ran deeper than that. It felt territorial. He’d been growing increasingly irritated with Sallow's lecherous stare and Gaunt's persistent attempts to cater to her every whim. They seemed to believe they held a Slytherin monopoly on her affections, all due to some unspoken event that happened over two years ago. Garreth understood her on a deeper level. She wanted someone who wouldn't procrastinate for two years, someone capable of making her scream on a greenhouse bench at two in the morning. He had a claim too, a far more substantial one.

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a-kind-of-merry-war · 26 days

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Remember a while ago I read a book that I described as "Frankenstein, but with dinosaurs"? Well this one is "Frankenstein, but with plants".

I really, really loved A Botanical Daughter by Noah Medlock. The tone and style feels more traditionally gothic, and it took me a couple chapters to get my head into the narrative, and then I was obsessed. It's deeply, unapologetically queer, historical, lush and fascinating. It didn't hold back on gore or disgust, either, and I loved the titular Botanical Daughter. If you liked Frankenstein's Monster, you'll adore CHLOE.

It also featured a really fantastic relationship between the two men who are her creators/fathers, men who are both realistically flawed, whose relationship is loving but sharp and dangerous and barbed. A really severe change from the romance I usually read but I loved it anyway.

There's murder, mushrooms, weird taxidermy, a giant greenhouse and a surreal, glorious love story. If you're after more queer gothic horror, I would highly recommend it.

Full blurb under the cut!

It is an unusual thing, to live in a botanical garden. But Simon and Gregor are an unusual pair of gentlemen. Hidden away in their glass sanctuary from the disapproving tattle of Victorian London, they are free to follow their own interests without interference. For Simon, this means long hours in the dark basement workshop, working his taxidermical art. Gregor’s business is exotic plants – lucrative, but harmless enough. Until his latest acquisition, a strange fungus which shows signs of intellect beyond any plant he’s seen, inspires him to attempt a masterwork: true intelligent life from plant matter.

Driven by the glory he’ll earn from the Royal Horticultural Society for such an achievement, Gregor ignores the flaws in his plan: that intelligence cannot be controlled; that plants cannot be reasoned with; and that the only way his plant-beast will flourish is if he uses a recently deceased corpse for the substrate.

The experiment – or Chloe, as she is named – outstrips even Gregor’s expectations, entangling their strange household. But as Gregor’s experiment flourishes, he wilts under the cost of keeping it hidden from jealous eyes. The mycelium grows apace in this sultry greenhouse. But who is cultivating whom?

#queer fiction #queer horror #horror fiction #book rec #books #tbr

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leezlelatch · 9 months

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Dahlias

18+ MDNI

Primo x F! Reader - cunnilingus, explicit conversations, somewhat dominant Primo, fingering, biting, orgasm, praise, mention of erectile dysfunction.

Primo is ever so eager to show you the lovely Dahlias in his garden.

“Look closely at the dahlias, petal. Papa worked so very hard to grow them such a delicate pink for you. As pink as your pretty pussy,” Primo sighs, his fingers working at your slick core as he bends you over the flower bed. You whine, high pitched and needy, and he pauses for a moment, cocking his head to the side with a small smile painted across black and white faded lips. “Ah, you’re quite right. Nothing compares.”

Primo turns his attention wholly to your cunt, sliding his finger back and forth along your lips, sufficiently coating his finger in slick which he drags slowly past your entrance, then your puckered hole, all the way up to the small of your back where he plants a small kiss.

“You fulfill a fantasy of mine, petal. Kissing the morning dew from my favorite flower.”

He kneels behind you, and you look over your shoulder, bending upright a moment. A firm hand on your back pushes you back down, and Primo is glaring at you from over the swell of your bottom.

“Eyes on the flowers, amore. Don’t you like them?” He asks in a sweetly innocent voice. Your whimper makes him smile and he sighs lovingly as he drags his nose across your ass cheek, checking to see if you’re doing as you’re told before…biting.

You jerk, a little squeal escaping you and Primo’s only response is to grip your hips with long fingers and pull you into his mouth, your cunt meeting his tongue in a long swipe that has you raising on your tiptoes in the garden soul with a shout.

“You’ll very quickly draw an audience with that mouth,” Primo chuckles, voice muffled within your delicious folds.

Primo dips his head and drags his tongue down to your clit, curling the tip around the puffy bud before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. You keen, uncaring of who could see or hear, the pleasure overwhelming under the expert ministrations of Papa Emeritus I. First for a reason. He flattens his tongue and bobs his head, slurping like a man quenching a long held thirst. Like one of his plants after a drought. Primo doesn’t just eat pussy, he devours it.

You rock back into his tongue and nose, so perfectly hooked to hit all the right places, and you try so hard to be a good girl and look at the flowers. Primo rewards you by nudging a finger at your entrance, circling it for a moment, letting your hole flutter around the digit. It sends a throb of need straight to his slowly rising cock, and he uses his free hand to try and coax it along.

If he gets to fuck you this evening, perfect. If he doesn’t, he will happily bask in the glory of the orgasm he cultivates in your garden.

Primo slips his index finger fully within you, feeling your walls squeeze him, taking him in with all your greedy little need. It makes him moan. He can’t resist adding another finger, stretching you, scissoring them into your soaking cunt like a man possessed.

Your legs buckle under you, unable to stay up from the onslaught of pleasure. Every breath you take is a moan, every exhale a scream, and Primo cradles you to him in the twilight of the day, sheltered by the walls of the greenhouse as he fingers you to orgasm.

“That’s my petal. Oh, good girl. My sweet, perfect girl. There you go,” Primo coos into your ear as he holds you on his lap, keeping your shaking body close to his chest as you recover from the love of the First.

You become putty in his arms and he laughs softly as he turns your head to kiss you, ever so soft and sweet and grateful.

“Did you like the flowers, ragazza mia?” He murmurs. He tilts his hips into yours. “Perhaps you would like a more thorough tour?”

#the band ghost #mdni #ghost #ghost bc #papa emeritus primo #papa emeritus i #papa i #papa primo #primo emeritus #primo x reader #primo x female reader #papa emeritus i x reader #papa emeritus i x female reader #papa emeritus i fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction

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ghettogardener · 1 month

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Ooooookaaaay Round 2! Transplanted all.of those morning glories that shot up into bigger pots.

Distributed Marigolds into Basil and tomato pots.

Got 8 cucumber shoots transplanted into their own pots.

Planted Hollyhock seeds and a varying variety of different tomato plants.

My craft room is over flowing!! I can't wait to get the greenhouse back up. Hopefully it will be done by April 15th!

#urban gardening #gardeners on tumblr #container gardening #urban farming #green thumb #gardenblr #cottagecore #greenblr #cottageblr #self sustainability #hollyhock #tomato plant #basil #dill #cilantro #marigolds #native wildflowers

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joels6string · 1 year

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you’re a genius and your plot and world-building skills are next level. i’m truly such a fan girl you have no idea 👉🏼👈🏼

i’m politely begging you for a joel miller ANYTHING with prompts 2, 35, 41, and 44. all the sweetness and whatever else you think it deserves! i trust you wholeheartedly with all of P’s characters 🤍 thank you so much for sharing your gift with all of us!!

Stop it...thank you so much. I appreciate you very much💜 Oh goodness, don't trust me with all of them lol. Ezra, you're a gem, but we don't vibe 😂 I was also politely begging for anything Joel Miller so I'll literally happily oblige. Actual loml. I also thoroughly appreciate the subtle shout-out to Buckley the dog. I made a shitty gif and everything for it. I'm fairly certain I'm the only one who likes slow-burning shit like this 😂 but hey, I hope someone else enjoys it too.

Illegible

Joel Miller x f!reader

"Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"//"Stop laughing at me."//"You need some sleep."//"I'm only here for the dog."

Word Count: 3.5k Content: Buckley the dog in all his goodest boy glory, flirting with Joel Miller is like romancing a very handsome brick wall, fluff, mutual crush, two hopeless morons, matchmaker Maria to the rescue, first kiss

Farming rotation had always been your favorite assignment. It was rigorous, exhausting, and the pre-dawn wakeups were less than desirable, but there was something soothing about it. People mostly kept to themselves here, just asking for a hand when needed, and damn if this job didn’t feel useful. Food you’d worked for months to grow fed this whole damn town, and if that wasn’t something to be proud of, nothing was.

Maria knew you preferred it here in the greenhouses, being friendly with her certainly had its perks, too. Your gate patrols had become minimal, the shotgun almost felt foreign in your hands now when you had to head up atop the walls and survey the wilderness for threats from infected and hunters alike.

It was another early morning, an eerie gray seeping through your thin curtains and rain dripping down the windows ahead of your fieldwork, a heady sigh leaving your lips as you slipped the rubber boots that were two sizes too big onto your feet. But even on days like today, you didn’t mind the work. Sure, the soil would be heavier soaked and your clothes would be clinging to your skin within the hour, but it sure as hell beat fighting for your life outside these walls.

It had been a miracle you’d stumbled across a patrol team a few months back, scared and alone. The vetting was brutal and the townsfolk were wary of the newcomer for weeks after your arrival. But you’d earned their trust through your hard work and willingness to do what was needed. You were a damn fine cook, too, and that went a long way.

By the time noon hit, the rain hadn’t slowed at all. You were shivering despite the exertion, the warmth of the pub calling your name even if it would only be for the hour allotted for your lunch. The cover of the plastic enclosures had done little to keep you dry with how many times you’d gone in and out, the humidity the plants needed keeping you thoroughly damp and chilled. You were finishing your final task, your hands quivering too much for the precision you needed,

“You look cold,” a Texas drawl chuckled from behind you, “Why are you out in the rain anyway? Can’t this wait?”

“You tell me, boss,” you replied with a grin, your gaze shooting back over your shoulder to see Tommy Miller, his faithful companion Buckley at his side.

“It can wait til it’s dry. Come on.”

The Millers–Tommy and Maria–were good friends, but Tommy’s brother Joel, while revered in the town, was someone you hadn’t had much contact with, not anything of merit anyway. That was an avoidance of your own creation, your thoughts dizzying into idiocy when you were in his presence for more than a few minutes. It was shameful. But it was thankfully easy to maintain. He mostly kept to himself in his big house by the cemetery, his job solely a patrolman thanks to his exceptional skills with just about every weapon under the sun and his proficiency at what some of the town referred to as “extermination.” Joel could kill anything and not bat an eye, and everyone knew it, too.

“Dinner at our place tonight,” Tommy offered after walking you past the pub and to your front door, “Maria is cooking, but if you wanted to maybe come a little early and make those sweet potatoes, you won’t find a soul complainin’ and I got a basket full.”

“Well, you did get me out of the rain,” you answered, waving goodbye as your body ached for a warm shower and dry clothes.

By three o’clock you were knocking on Tommy’s door and none other than Joel greeted you as it swung open after a single knock, a mug of coffee being swallowed whole by his hand.

“Joel…” you gasped, his hazel eyes widening at the sight of you.

“Tommy said you were comin’,” he muttered, you couldn’t tell if it was just to himself, your stomach flipping just like it had every other time you’d been this close to him.

Joel was tall and broad, his thick gray hair almost brushing his brow and an equally lush and silvered beard covering his jaw and cheeks. Heat flushed your face beneath his gaze–typical–the reason for your stark evasion of the man coming to full fruition here and now. He’d caught your eye long before you knew who he was, not that you’d ever even considered acting on this ridiculous little crush. You were too old for this anyway, and Joel, well, he’d never once acted like he wanted to be bothered by anyone’s attention much less your own. There’d been many shared functions and yet you’d still never graduated past pleasantries, your quick escape plans always being enacted before you could reach the next stage of conversation.

“Are you gonna let her in or leave her to soak?!” you heard Tommy yelling from somewhere in the house, Joel’s obvious alarm from being shaken from whatever mental space he’d gone to playing out too charmingly on his face for you to deny giggling at.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes on the floor as he stepped aside, the sack of spices and honey you’d brought to prep your dish jostling in your arms, “I’ll–let me,” he offered, the way his fingers brushed against the back of your hand had goosebumps erupting across your skin making you thankful for the cover of your sweater.

“Thanks,” you gasped, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic to his ears as it did to your own.

Long strides had him well ahead of you on your way to the kitchen and you took full advantage to shake off the effects of Joel Miller’s studious gaze before joining the group, you didn’t need anyone getting any ideas.

“Welcome!” Tommy greeted almost too exuberantly, “Joel here said he’ll help you with whatever you need to get started.”

“What?” Joel interjected quietly to himself between Tommy’s words, his hands falling to his hips showcasing toned forearms straining against the rolled sleeves of his flannel.

“Anything at all.”

Clearly, something else was at play. With Tommy and Maria barely able to contain their fits of giggles, Joel’s brow knit in confusion, and you standing dumbfounded with Buckley sitting dutifully at your side it looked like something straight out of the sitcoms that had died decades ago. And somehow it felt like you were the butt of the joke.

“Why are you staring like that?” Maria pressed, “You said you wanted to get better at cooking, You’re reading those books. Time to put it into practice.”

“It’s fine,” you finally found the courage to speak, “I can do it.”

“What do you need help with?” Joel resigned with a sigh, turning to the sink to scrub his hands clean. That was a good start.

“No, you don’t have to–”

“Peel these,” Maria instructed, pushing the bowl of sweet potatoes she’d gotten out his way, “Let’s see if you’re as good with a knife on root vegetables as you are Clickers. Hmm?”

“Well, ain’t you funny this evening,” Joel grumbled, snatching the knife to his left and beginning work on his task.

You almost felt bad for him, watching him struggle to catch only the skin and not the orange flesh beneath it, his tongue clicking in disappointment at himself with every swipe too deep and dropped peel. It was so endearing, Buckley’s little whines matching the way pity had set a breeze on the butterflies that had taken flight in your belly

“Stop laughing at me,” Joel finally snapped after Maria and Tommy’s little snickers had gone on for too long, the knife slamming onto the counter in frustration.

“Let me help you,” you offered, rushing over and plucking the tool from beneath his palm and showing him your technique, his eyes attentive as he watched and listened.

When dinner was served, you took the seat beside him, your appetite whisked away from hours of nervous fidgeting and stolen glances. What you did manage to force down was delicious, but you were more concerned about the reception of your dish from one guest at the table than you were about judging what was on your own plate.

“So,” Maria began after everyone’s forks had started to slow, “I saw you and Gabe hitting it off at work the other day.” What on Earth was she doing? “He’s nice. Good head on his shoulders, competent, great carpenter.”

“Oh,” you stammered, a nervous laugh flitting free, “No, I…I just work with him.”

“I need to get goin’,” Joel announced suddenly, his chair loudly scraping against the floor as he cleared his plate in the kitchen, Buckley getting a pat on the head before he bid everyone a gracious thank you and goodbye for the evening, your nerves settling immediately as soon as the door clicked closed.

After a night of tossing and turning at the replay of the embarrassment of your interactions from the evening, you were back in the greenhouses in much more suitable weather the following day, Maria and Buckley on site to help with the harvesting from half the crops. Gabe had been assigned your partner, something you assumed was no accident after Maria’s prying last night, her quest to get you saddled in with a “nice guy” in full swing.

“Long day, huh?” Gabe chirped from beside you, chest heaving after another heavy load of produce was dropped into the back of the truck, “You doing all right?”

“Yeah,” you answered, keeping your eyes straight ahead on your task, “busy.”

“Lunch!” Maria bellowed, “Let’s go, everyone! No exceptions!”

There went your hopes of skipping the congregated, shared hour in favor of hiding behind the greenhouses for a moment of reprieve. Gabe walked you to the grouping of tables, the citizens of Jackson having banded together to give the farming group a grateful lunch for their labors, a sentiment you should have appreciated but found yourself loathing at the moment. You were too tired, too agitated, and entirely too distracted.

“Joel…” Maria sang knowingly as if she’d been expecting him despite his presence never once having graced the workspace before, “What a surprise.”

“Tommy around? He ran off soon as we passed the gate,” he grunted fresh off patrol, his t-shirt screaming around his biceps ready to tear and his pack equipped with more weapons than you’d ever seen on one person strapped to his back; you couldn’t look away, “Who’s this?”

“Him? Oh, that’s Gabe.”

Why was his face falling? Were you imagining things? His eyes flicked from you back to the man beside you, a hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his head as he repeated the inspection once again.

“That so?” he drawled, “Never heard of ya.”

Well, that was a lie, and the way Gabe’s face fell that the famed Joel Miller didn’t know he existed, despite the fact that he most certainly did, only seemed to add a little glimmer to Joel’s eye as he watched him scamper off dejected. It was a little cruel, but at the moment you couldn’t care less as you tried to decipher what the hell situation you were standing in the middle of.

“Wait a minute… Are you jealous?” Maria asked tauntingly, your face falling in horror at the blatant accusation made on what you knew was your behalf.

“I beg your pardon?” Joel barked, and you had to hand it to Maria for never being intimidated because if you were on the receiving end of the expression currently staring her in the face you’d have cowered into the nearest corner like a mouse being pursued by a cat.

“It’s a simple question.” “I’m only here for the dog.”

Buckley yapped right on cue as Joel bent over to scratch his ear, Maria’s eyes rolling at one of the most pitiful excuses she’d ever heard in her life, especially from a grown man.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she groaned.

"You need some sleep, Maria. You're gettin' delusional," he nagged as he stood, following after her as she stormed off towards the tables.

Maria’s question plagued you throughout the week. You hadn’t seen Joel again, but that didn’t stop your brain from spiraling with the hope that maybe she was right. Replaying the brief interactions you’d had with him led you nowhere, the man was entirely illegible, his face a stoic…handsome…mask and his random appearances too few to interpret but also too coincidental to be a coincidence.

During another dinner alone on the old futon you’d scavenged, a soft knock on your door had you ready to duck under your table and hide until whoever it was left. It had to be Gabe, maybe Maria, but your frayed nerves had already had their fill of human interaction for the week, you wanted two days holed up in your little cabin with your books. Was that too much to ask?

“You home?” a gruff, deep voice called out, a timbre that did not belong to Gabe or Maria.

Joel. That had you racing to the point you were tripping over your feet, catching him just as he’d begun to descend the three steps leading up to your front door.

“Joel!” you called out too loud, his demeanor unaffected by your outburst.

“Hi,” he greeted cautiously, “Maria told me your backdoor was broken, wanted me to come look at it.”

Your backdoor was not broken. Never had been. However, if you told him that he would leave, but he should leave because he didn’t need to be here…

“It ain’t broken, is it?” he resigned, the answer clearly written on your face.

“No,” you sighed, disappointment carving a hole out of your chest and hollowing it fast enough to have your lungs depleting.

“Well, if it’s all right with you I’ll check anyway. Can’t ever be too careful.”

The thorough inspection he gave your old wooden door surprised you knowing he’d discovered the ruse before stepping foot inside your house, and he did indeed find a few screws that needed tightening. You offered him a coffee that he gratefully accepted, the last of the grounds you’d traded for last month enough for two cups you sat around the small round table in your kitchen to enjoy as the crickets began to chirp outside the windows.

“Thank you,” you erupted, your voice too loud, too excited, his little chuckle confirming he could sense your school girl nervousness.

“Welcome,” that smooth, Texas twang settled in your stomach, pressing downward in the most forbidden of ways, “You know if you need a carpenter–”

“Oh no. I don’t.”

“Right. Okay.”

Wait, that was rude. He was about to offer help and you’d cut him off. His eyes hadn’t left the brown, murky depths swimming in the pink mug you’d given him, his shoulders slumped, chin to his chest.

“If I do though, I’ll let Maria know to tell you–”

“You can just…knock on my door. If I ain’t out on patrol, I’m home.”

“Oh. Sure.”

It felt like your entire body was vibrating, sweat was beading on your brow and it wasn’t a result of the hot coffee you were drinking. He seemed just as tense, you could see his knee bouncing beneath the table and you were desperate to know if it was nerves or simply his way of tolerating the less-than-ideal situation he’d found himself in. But that required a courage you didn’t think you’d ever be able to muster.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he announced after a moment of silence that had dragged on too long, “Let me know if that door needs tweakin’ again.”

Every nerve in your body lit up with the desire to keep him there, your hand involuntarily shooting out and gripping around his wrist as you leapt to your feet less than a second after he rose, fingers barely meeting around the sheer girth of it. Your stomach dropped to the floor when his head whipped around and his stony stare locked on wear your skin met, his lips slightly agape and brow furrowed. You were panting, not caring how it looked or whatever he was assuming, he was probably right. It was time to admit that.

“Are you hungry?” you asked meekly, listing the ingredients you knew you had off in your head to try and come up with a dish you could prepare, forgetting that your half-eaten dinner still sat on the small table beside the sofa.

“I could eat,” he replied barely above a whisper, his eyes shooting over to that very spot. You should have anticipated that level of perception.

“I’ll make you something.”

“If it’s too much trouble–”

“No!”

Now this was getting embarrassing. Your voice was quivering, breath ragged, your brain reminding you it had been more years than you’d like to admit since you’d had a man in any capacity, and it wasn’t like that was beyond a quick release of tension.

“Calm down, darlin’,” he comforted warily, the pet name hitting you square in the chest, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya…”

That was where his mind had gone? This situation was worse than one you could have ever doomed yourself to in your mind. He thought you were afraid of him? Well, in a way you were, but not the way he was assuming. Your tongue was paralyzed as your brain screamed to fix the situation, your fingers unknowingly tightening around his wrist.

“I know that,” you quaked, “I didn’t think…you would.”

“Okay. Good,” he sighed, tapping your white-knuckling hand with his free pointer finger, “That’s startin’ to hurt, ya know.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry!”

Balling your fists at your chest, you retreated backward until you hit the kitchen counter, completely overwhelmed and embarrassed, wondering how in the hell you dug yourself out of this hole or if you’d be needing to find another settlement to move to. You couldn’t look him, Maria, or Tommy in the eye after this. You could just go on patrol and never come back, not like anyone would come looking for you when they found out what a fool you’d made of yourself.

“Is Maria right?” he asked softly, his tone gentle and relaxed, “I can’t read this shit.”

“What?” you choked, his eyes taking on a warm glow you’d never seen on him before, it made him look younger and somehow even more endearing.

Nonchalantly, almost annoyed, he waved his hand between the two of you, your eyes widening in shock at his question before his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps stealing your attention so brazenly it had a wheezing laugh breaking free from a bright smile.

“That a yes?” he chuckled, eyeing you through his lashes mischievously.

“Um…” you stammered, did he really just think you were going to admit it so openly?

“S’okay if it is.”

The nod you gave him was barely discernible, but he understood, the corner of his mouth stretching up toward his eye as he took a step forward, then another, and then another until his arms were caging you in as they braced on the counter behind you, the smell of pine wood and leather hitting your senses like a tsunami.

“Joel…”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been a really long time…”

“Yeah. Me too.”

His lips were softer than you expected them to be, plush and silky as they pressed to yours nervously, his beard prickling your skin a sensation you hadn’t felt in too damn long. When he pulled away you sought him out again, following his mouth as your fingers fisted into his shirt, your cue being followed as he came back harder, more intentionally, his nose pressing to your cheek when you pulled him in deeper, a muffled whine hitting him and eliciting one of his own.

“I um–” you began when you broke for air.

“Shh,” he soothed, feeling your fingers tightening in his shirt nervously again, “You don’t need to talk. I can stop, or I can keep goin’. Your call.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When his tongue slid along the seam of your mouth you relaxed, one of your hands releasing his shirt to slide up into his hair, his groan of approval hitting the back of your throat as you opened up to him completely. You barely needed time to learn one another, your mouths finding a fluid rhythm of give and take quickly. His hands felt so good settled easily on your hips, the lack of desperation in his grip a testament to his self-control, something you were clearly lacking as you pulled yourself in closer, tugging on his hair hard enough to sting. If it did he either didn’t mind or purely enjoyed it, not even a flinch settling across his features as he devoured you.

He stopped you when your hands shot to his belt, arousal and desire having taken your wheel within seconds of this all beginning.

“Not tonight,” he breathed, “much as I want to. I do have standards.”

“Which are?” you inquired, enjoying the way his nose was nuzzling against your cheek.

“At least one damn date. I am a gentleman, after all.”

“Well, let’s just go to the pub now and get it out of the way.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I can do that.”

Part 2: Into Focus

I did not proofread this. I apologize and own any terrible typos.

Joel Miller Masterlist

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller

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twst-drabbles · 1 year

Text

Riddle 16

Summary: Now the time comes for Riddle to hibernate. For whatever reason, the Roseling made it a habit to sleep last.

(Oh so gentle, oh so sweet. It's hilarious, how when I crave to write something horrible, I write fluff instead.)

Snow had been falling for a while now. It blankets your house in a smooth white sheet, only a few centimeters thick. Nothing really worth shoveling up or playing in. It’s more suiting to just recline back in a comfy chair and relax by the fire. With the birds leaving their nests empty, the trees long having retreated their vitality, there’s this odd feeling that somehow you were stuck in time.

Of course, that’s not the case, not with Riddle struggling to not fall asleep in your hands. You leaned down and exhaled a hot breath over his body. Sleepily, he smacked you on the chin through the fog.

“Sorry, sorry,” you chuckled, “forgot to brush my teeth this morning.”

Your breath probably smells horrible and you’d hope the cold would somehow dull it. Though, that’s not how scents work, huh?

As you walked through the garden, all bundled up in a nice coat and a blanket just because you could, Riddle was resisting the urge to sleep. He sits in your palm, grabbing your fingers to keep his balance, but you can see his head bobbing up and down.

“Really Riddle,” you said as you opened the door to the temporary greenhouse, “you don’t have to force yourself. You guys need to rest and it’s not like I’ll be lonely. I have plenty of company.”

Riddle’s rose, a rather large plant that continues to grow, now at shoulder height to you, was open and ready to accept its other very sleepy half. Below the large flowing petals were four other roses, all of them tightly closed with the other plant nymphs that couldn’t keep awake.

This place was certainly warmer compared to the sharp winds outside, but not enough to have them awaken early. You just needed some decent shelter in case a storm of any kind comes in.

You shrugged, “I suppose it’s my fault for entertaining you.” There was a mirth to your tone. “To sleep with you, Riddle.”

You stretched your hand to the center of the open rose, but no matter how gentle the motion was, it still causes Riddle to stumble forward and bump his head against your fingers. He shoved himself back, as though shocked away as he shook his head. He took a moment to look around, adjust the petals of his body before standing in all his glory.

“Well?” You said, subtly pushing his back with your thumb, “Get some shut eye. I’ll be here when you all wake up.”

The Roseling turned to you, face scrunched up in the way he does when being told what he has already set out to do. But there was no fire to it. Poor little guy was so sleepy, he looked like he could fall right over.

Riddle took a step down with a huff, but stopped. His head inclined down, then he turned to you, giving you a flash of puppy eyes before he caught himself and looked forward.

You snorted but didn’t say a thing. Riddle took another step, then another, then finally hopped off your fingers like a diving board, landing safely and softly in the rose he was born from. The petals were so thick and fluffed up it nearly swallowed him. Only his head was visible.

“Have a good night, Riddle.”

Until spring comes, Roseling.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #heartslabyul #riddle #riddle rosehearts #house pet au #reader insert

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readers-cup-of-tea · 2 years

Text

When They realize they love you.

Showcases Harry, Draco, Ron, Neville, Luna, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Severus, and Tom.

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pronouns: gender neutral

TW: Some light cursing(??) mentions of getting injured.

When they realized they loved you

Harry Potter

After a quidditch game, Harry is one of the best seekers Hogwarts had ever seen, so naturally he’d win the end game of the year! As he caught the Golden snitch everyone around him erupted in chaos as people cheered and screamed.

The Gryffindor team immediately lowered their brooms to the ground as victory seeped in.

An hour later Harry made his way to the common room, as he entered his dorm there was a breakout of praise and song as they basked in another year of glory.

Harry made his way over to you, Ron, and Hermione. But was pushed back when you ran at him full speed and roped him into a hug.

As he hugged you back a blush blossomed onto his cheeks.

He could definitely get used to that.

Draco Malfoy

During a late night talk, It was nearing 3 Am and you and Draco laid on his bed, You’d been up for ages it seemed as the two of you talked about nothing in particular.

The topic had landed on your alls grades as you vented about hoe Snape had failed you on the last quiz,

“I just don’t understand how you can do so well in his class! It’s impossible” You exclaimed.

“Oh Y/n, don’t you know? I’m too good to fail.” He smirked at you.

You stared at each other for a second before you burst into a fit of laughter,

As Draco stared at your laughing face his heart skipped a beat.

Even if life wasn’t great sometimes, you really made it better.

Ron Weasley

When he’s jealous, A burning feeling blazed in his chest as he saw Hermione and Krum at the dance. How dare she! After all he and Harry had done for her? And she goes and makes friends with the enemy?

He huffed himself further into his seat as Harry left him to go get some punch.

A shadow loomed over him, making him look up, Staring into the face of Y/n.

“Hey Ron, Are you doing alright?” You said, taking a seat where Harry had been.

“Yeah, I’m fine- This night has turned out to be right bollocks though.” He crossed his arms further.

“Well…I already talked to Harry and he said that it’d be okay if we wanted to get out of here.”

Ron quickly looked over towards you, “Get out of here? Yeah, cmon, let's do it.”

He led you out of the dining hall and outside into the courtyard, As you two stood under the moonlight, Ron only had one thought.

He had never seen someone more beautiful than you in his life.

Neville Longbottom

While hanging out in the greenhouses, “And this one is called a venomous tentacula- It’s something used in potions quite frequently, but very dangerous. So please be careful!”

Neville went through each of the plants, telling you what they did and how they grew, as he ranted to you, he looked up to see you staring at him lovingly.

He stuttered his way through the next three plants as he blushed harder than a Weasley.

He never realized before how nicely your eyes lit up when he started to speak, well, he could get used to that.

Luna Lovegood

Patching her up after she got hurt, Most thestrals were loving creatures, honestly! But like any other animal, they did get hostile.

Luna just so happened to catch one of the thestrals while they were in a bad mood.

You rushed to the Ravenclaw common room as soon as you heard what had happened.

Answering the riddle, you entered the dorm, looking around for Luna.

“Oh hello, Y/n” Luna smiled serenely from one of the navy couches.

“Luna! Oh, are you okay? I heard you got quite the nasty scratch from a thestral.

“Hmm? Oh, yes I did.” She showed you a red mark on her forearm.

Pulling gauze out of your bag, you sat down next to her and gently grabbed her arm and started to patch her up.

Looking at you while you worked your magic made her feel a sense of calm, how strange.

Hermione Granger

Helping you with homework, The two of you had been in the library for hours now as Hermione tried and failed to help you wrap your head around a spell for charms class

As Hermione pointed towards one of the many books she had gathered she showed you the motions to mimic.

”Ok, Y/n, Now you try.”

As you moved your wand a blue luminance came out, you had finally done it!

“Yes! You did it!” Hermione cheered before quieting down with an embarrassed look.

The smile you gave her was as bright as the morning sun in Hermione's eyes.

Why is her heart beating so fast now?

Remus Lupin (young)

Chilling by the Black Lake, You laid in the soft grass as the sun started to set, you had been reading a muggle story to Remus as he laid his head in your lap.

“And they all lived happily ever after, The End.” You slipped the book closed and looked down at him.

“So, whaddya think?”

Remus smiled up at you, “I loved it. Your voice is so soothing to listen to.”

You blushed and looked away, “Only because I have such a good listener.”

Now it was his turn to smile as you looked on smugly.

He all the sudden shifted and tackled you onto the ground, You laughed as you playfully fought against him.

Remus had never felt so…peaceful in his life.

Sirius Black (Young)

Helping him pull a prank, “hahah! I cannot believe James let us use the cloak! Oh this is gonna be amazing!” Sirius whispered to you as he hid you both under the invisibility cloak.

You giggled along with him as you two played out your plan, to finally prank Remus!

“Alright here's the plan, we sneak up behind him, you cast Rictumsempra (tickling charm), and then I'll tackle him from behind! It’s genius!”

As you sneaked up on Remus you silently cast the spell, The werewolf started to laugh and dropped the book he was reading,

Sirius sprang out of the cloak and pulled Remus down to the ground.

“You win! You win!” Remus laughed as Sirius started to roughhouse him.

“Whoo! 50 points to Sirius!” Sirius raised both arms into the air as you revealed yourself from the cloak.

“Yeah!” You exclaimed as Sirius celebrated with you.

He never wanted this to end.

Severus Snape (young)

Stopping Potter and his gang from bullying him, “Snivellus! You can’t hide from us forever!” James called out as he and the marauders stalked towards Severus.

“Not today Potter! Leave me alone!” Severus yelled back as he tried to get away from the other boys.

“Hey Potter! Didn’t you hear him!? Leave him alone you insufferable twat!” You fumed at james and his friends.

Severus stared at you in awe as James sheepishly apologized to you before shooting him a nasty glare.

You turned towards him and asked if he was okay, he just nodded.

“Cmon Sev, Let’s go and get something to drink, yeah?”

“Okay, yeah.”

You led him to the Hogwarts kitchens and had the house elves prepare them tea.

As you talked to him and made him laugh he could forget Potter and his friends.

Tom Riddle

When It’s the last day of school, The train would be here any second now, another year at Hogwarts over, another summer back at Wools.

His bitter thoughts lessened when you walked up to him, “Hey Tom.” You said softly.

“Hello.”

“I hope you enjoy your summer, I’ll admit I’m gonna miss you.” You nudged his shoulder.

He looked at you, “Oh please, L/n, Don’t get all sappy on me now. He brushed you off but paused when he heard a sniffle.

Watery eyes looked at him, You really did care for him, didn’t you?

Without another word he pulled you into an embrace, It was just for the summer, He wasn’t leaving you just yet.

But under all his biting remarks and thoughts, Tom really was going to miss you.

Thank you so much for reading! If you want to see more then my requests are open!

Ao3: JanusAndHyde

#Harry Potter #harry potter x reader #draco x reader #ron x reader #neville x reader #luna x reader #hermione x reader #remus x reader #sirius x reader #severus x reader #tom riddle x reader #xreader #hp headcanon #harry potter headcanon

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happyheidi · 1 year

Text

x - x

#greenhouse glory <3 #cottagecore #nature #naturecore #flowers #flowercore #warmcore #greenhouse #statue #light academism #light academia aesthetic #plants #classic academia

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dewedup · 8 months

Note

Anon here again. Upon seeing one of your reblogs, I know what to request :) Rain/Dew daddy Rain. Go wild. <3

you said go wild and i took that to heart

i was going to use this as an excuse to try my hand at writing some absolutely filthy smut, i hope you enjoy!

earthly delight (raindrop)

“Thank you,” Dew whispers, looking down to the ground submissively. Rain’s gloved hand wraps tightly under Dew’s chin, tilting his head back up to stare directly into his eyes.

“Thank you what?” Rain snarls, his lip curling back to reveal his fangs in a predatory manner. If Dew wasn’t already turned on, the look of disgust on Rain’s face would have him rock hard instantly.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

or Rain's just in the greenhouse trying to get some peace and quiet but Dew is bored and horny.

18+ ONLY

Pairing: Dewdrop x Rain (Raindrop)

Fandom: The Band Ghost

Words: 2,490

Tags: Daddy Kink, Face Slapping, Improvised Sex Toys, improvised lube, Spit Kink, Facials, Come Swallowing, Come Eating, Spanking, gardening kink?, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Play, Semi-Public Sex, Dewdrop Is A Little Shit, Smut, Overstimulation, Daddy Rain, Bratty Dew

Read below the cut or AO3 link

a massive, love-filled shoutout to @jimothybarnes for being the best beta, smut-writing guide, cheerleader, for talking about ideas and motivating me to work this out and catching things my terrible eyes missed (any remaining errors or mistakes are all me though!)

Something about the feeling of burrowing his hands into soft dirt, cradling the roots of a new bloom with a touch so delicate it could ghost the surface of a body of water without creating as much as ripple, gives Rain the deepest sense of peace. He knows exactly why Mountain chooses to spend so much time in the greenhouse, the fresh oxygen tinged with the gritty smell of fertilizer is calming. It’s why he doesn’t hesitate to take Mountain up on his offer of helping with repotting some of the seeds that had started to take root.

He's a natural, and his ability to sense the level of hydration in the plants comes in handy, instantly learning how much water would suffice for each species. He even found a plant identification textbook in the library and will lay in bed at night, absorbing the information like a plant absorbs the sunlight.

Mountain left a little while ago, Aurora was trying to build an IKEA shelf for her room, but it was getting a little too tall for her to reach. Mount, taking pity on the vertically challenged ghoulette, left Rain to his own devices in the greenhouse.

Rain places the seedling into the larger pot, covering the hole with dirt and singing softly to the plant in ghoulish as he restores it to its former glory. Mountain insists that singing inspires the plants to grow and Rain hasn’t read that in his textbook, but as a novice gardener he has no right to question Mountain’s ethics. He therefore calls forth the soft lullabies of his childhood for the lives he holds in his hands.

Rain startles as a handful of dirt hits the back of his neck, knocking over the watering jug beside him in his surprise. He turns around to see Dew smirking from a few feet away, brushing his hand onto his pant leg to remove any lingering debris.

“How long have you been there?” Rain demands, his voice cracking slightly in embarrassment at having been caught by surprise. Dew shrugs his shoulders, taking a few steps closer as his claws trail along the leaves of the plants in his direct vicinity.

“I’d say I’m at least three songs deep,” Dew chuckles, coming to a stop in front of Rain. “I haven’t heard those in centuries, do you take requests?” Rain flushes brightly at being caught in the act. Mountain was definitely fucking with him about the singing, he’d have to address that later.

“I’d like to request that you fuck off and go bother somebody else,” Rain replies, irritation seeping into his tone at the interruption of his peace and quiet. He realizes his mistake as Dew’s eyes flash dangerously, the challenge written in the way his lips tilt upwards.

“Oh yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Dew teases, reaching out to push the hand trowel Rain had left on the counter, knocking it onto the floor while never breaking eye contact. Rain’s entire body tenses as Dew smiles up at him innocently. He takes a deep breath through his nose, taking his time to respond as Dew continues to stare at him, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Pick it up.” The authoritative tone Rain uses seems to be exactly what Dew’s looking for as he grins up at the water ghoul. But then again, he also isn’t one to give in that easily.

“I don’t think I will,” Dew argues, but the words have barely left his lips before a resounding smack echoes across the greenhouse, Rain’s palm making firm contact with Dew’s left cheek. The fire ghoul’s head snaps to the side at the force and he shakes it slightly before looking back up at Rain’s stoic face.

“I said, pick it up.” Rain repeats, using a gloved hand to point to the ground where the trowel lays. Dew swallows loudly as he breaks eye contact, ducking his head as he slowly lowers himself to the dirt-covered floor, kneeling to pick up the tool he knocked off the table. He remains on his knees as he holds the trowel in his palms, raising it to Rain. The water ghoul runs his eyes over the offering, seeming to weigh the meaning of the gesture with an almost bored look. Dew tenses in anticipation the longer Rain towers over him in consideration, his cock hardening in interest at the blatant display of disregard, as if he’s not even worth Rain’s time.

Rain seems to reach a verdict, his hand snapping out once again, making contact with Dew’s cheek again. The back of his knuckles hit the hardest and Dew’s a little disappointed that Rain’s still wearing gardening gloves, he relishes the sweet sting the pretty rings he wears leave with each brush against his cheek.

“Thank you,” Dew whispers, looking down to the ground submissively. Rain’s gloved hand wraps tightly under Dew’s chin, tilting his head back up to stare directly into his eyes.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Dew corrects, shifting slightly as the water from the spilled jug seeps into his pants at the knees, cold and uncomfortable as Rain just watches from above with disinterest. He takes note of Dew’s discomfort but makes no move to let the ghoul rise from his position, instead watching as the wet patches spread over the material of his pants.

“Good ghoul,” Rain praises, moving his hand from Dew’s chin to his cheek, caressing where it’s stained red from the attention he’s given it. “A treat for such a good boy,” Rain murmurs, circling Dew’s mouth with his thumb before resting it on his bottom lip. Dew eagerly bites down on the material, keeping a hold of it as Rain tugs his hand back. They repeat this process with each finger, Dew’s teeth clenching around the fingertips of the gloves as Rain works his hand free until the glove falls off completely, Dew letting it hit the ground as he readies for the second glove.

The backhand across his cheek is more powerful than the previous, the rings no longer being covered leave two small cuts on Dew’s cheekbone as he looks up at Rain in confusion.

“I didn’t say to drop it,” Rain drawls in disappointment, gesturing to the glove on the ground. Dew reaches to grab it but freezes as Rain tsks, the sound of his tongue echoing in the empty greenhouse. "Not with your hands.”

Dew glances warily at the glove, now sitting in the same puddle of muddy water that he is currently kneeling in. Rain growls low in his throat, the warning clear as Dew braces his hands on the floor, lowering his upper half to the ground as he stretches his neck, teeth securing the glove for a second time. He returns to his kneeling position, the glove dripping dirt-tinged water onto his clothes as he presents the prize back to Rain, feeling more like a dog than a ghoul as he waits. Rain pauses for a minute, before reaching out, pinching the glove by a small, clean corner as he raises it to his eye-level, observing the object longer than necessary as Dew looks up at him, waiting eagerly for the next instruction.

“It’s dirty,” Rain declares, lowering the glove back to hang dauntingly before Dew’s face. The fire ghoul hesitates briefly before he darts his tongue out, licking tentatively at the piece of clothing. The water tastes earthy on his tongue; the grittiness of the dirt is mixed with a slight tang that must be the Miracle-Gro Mountain denies using. Dew thanks his lucky stars he’s a ghoul and not human, his superior body able to break down the toxins that would surely leave a flesh bag with some lasting side effects. Dew looks up at Rain from beneath his eyelashes as he continues to clean the garment, the water ghoul’s eyes glued to every flick of his tongue. Just when he’s getting into a rhythm, Rain pulls back with a satisfied look.

“Is that good, Daddy?” The words come out in a desperate plea as Rain adjusts the obvious bulge in his pants. Dew absolutely preens as Rain smiles down at him, the sight as gorgeous as it is every time Dew’s on the receiving end of that look, filled with love and adoration. Rain offers a hand down to the ghoul, which he gladly accepts, being pulled up from his kneeling position.

As he rises the smile shifts, Rain’s lips tilting into something else, mocking the beautiful smile he’d worn only moments before with a devilish twist.

In one swift movement Rain spits onto the glove, pulling Dew close and shoving it into his mouth. Dew makes a noise of surprise that’s muffled by the makeshift gag as Rain turns him around and bends him over the edge of the worktable.

“You know you were being naughty,” Rain drawls, his fingers making quick work of Dew’s pants and exposing him to the humid air of the greenhouse. “And you know what happens when you’re being naughty, don’t you baby?”

The ‘yes Daddy’ is unrecognizable with the glove in his mouth, but Rain can put two and two together. His hand runs teasingly along the ghoul’s ass before he raises and brings it down firmly, the skin-to-skin contact tingling his palm with the force exerted. Dew moans loudly into the glove, wiggling in pleasure. Rain coos softly, rubbing at the red marred flesh. An idea hits him as his eyes land on the forgotten trowel and he’s grabbing it in the next second, admiring the tool as Dew looks back over his shoulder in anticipation.

“I think your punishment will be that you don’t get my cock,” Rain muses aloud, ignoring the muffled whine the fire ghoul releases. He tuts softly as he bends down scooping up a handful of mud from the floor. He coats the handle of the trowel in the mixture, making sure it’s completely covered, before bringing it to Dew’s tight asshole.

Dew’s eyes widen in surprise as he watches the best he can, his dick twitching at the malevolent look on Rain’s face. Rain pushes the handle, forcing Dew to open up to let it in. Dew lets out a hiss at the breach, the handle is big enough to burn without any prep and the grittiness from the mud catching his skin in a stinging pain. Rain eases it in, twisting and pushing as he works open the ghoul below him, the layer of filth around the puckered hole building the further he pushes in. He brings his hand down again, spanking with the same palm he used to gather the ‘lube’. The dirt leaves a perfect image of his hand on Dew’s ass cheek, the splattering flecks surrounding it creating the most beautiful work of art.

Rain wishes he had a camera to capture how perfect his ghoul looks right now.

“So good for Daddy,” Rain purrs, and Dew clenches tightly around the handle of the trowel. He’ll need at least three showers before he feels any semblance of clean again, but the added texture of the dirt feels unholy now, as Rain starts to fuck into him in earnest with the gardening tool.

Dew can feel the drool that manages to escape the glove sliding down his chin, every pant and moan coming out like ancient ghoulish, unrecognizable. His eyes roll back into his head as Rain angles the trowel so that it’s brushing right against his prostate, pleasure sparking all the way to his fingertips from the inside.

Dew yelps as Rain’s hand finds it’s home around his painfully hard cock, the dirt adding to the sensation as he jerks him off furiously, the overstimulation of both movements pushing Dew over the edge almost instantly.

Rain doesn’t let up, continuing to move his hands as Dew writhes under him, flinching with each movement.

“C’mon baby, do it again for me,” Rain begs, Dew mewling pathetically in response as every touch feels like an electric shock. He knows he won’t be able to cum again so soon, but fuck would he do anything to please the water ghoul above him. Unintelligible babbles leave his glove-filled mouth as Rain continues the torturous touches, milking his already spent cock.

Rain finally releases the ghoul before him, removing the hand trowel and leaving wet open-mouthed kisses along Dew’s neck as he runs his fingers over his slim frame, resting them lightly on the dip of his hips. He pulls the ghoul into him, using the sharp edges of Dew’s body to bring himself closer to the edge of his own pleasure. Dew whines at his lack of involvement and Rain shushes him, turning his body around until Dew is kneeling before him once again. He carefully removes the glove from Dew’s mouth, the fire ghoul licking his lips with the new-found freedom before he discreetly wipes the drool from his chin.

“Are you thirsty, baby?” Rain purrs, running his claws delicately down Dew’s cheek, brushing over the cuts from earlier, earning a hiss from the fire ghoul. Dew stares at him, eyes wide, and nods his head.

“Yes, Daddy,” Dew whimpers, pleading eyes staring up at Rain from underneath his lashes and Rain has to bite his lip to stifle the filthy groan that tries to escape. His gaze drops down to Dew's lips, and Rain can't help but admire how pink and inviting they look. He licks his own lips unconsciously, and Dew's eyes follow the motion.

Rain’s hand moves from Dew’s cheek to his chin, grasping tightly as Dew keeps eye contact as he slowly opens his mouth, stretching as far as he can and sticking his tongue out slightly. Rain leans closer and spits directly into his mouth, the saliva landing on Dew’s tongue and he swallows like he’s been in the desert heat for days without water.

A hungry roar rips from Rain’s throat as he jerks off furiously, pointing towards Dew’s open mouth as he comes with a shuddering groan. Dew tries to catch everything on his tongue, opening as wide as he possibly can. Rain watches in fascination as Dew uses his tongue to push the mess almost spilling out of his mouth, before he swallows slowly, sticking his tongue back out to show Rain his hard work. Rain’s breath hitches at the deliberate movements, his lips spreading into a delicious grin before he leans down, stopping in front of Dew’s mouth, before licking out at the corner, collecting some of the seed he hadn’t managed to get into the hole. He keeps the mess on his tongue, showing the fire ghoul his own cleaning skills before he swallows down the taste of himself.

#thank you for the ask!!#thank you for the request!!!#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #raindrop #raindrop fanfic #dewdrop x rain #dewdrop/rain #dewdrop ghoul x rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #gloom writes #fic request #daddy rain #bratty dew #gloom answers

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oc-smashorpass · 2 months

Text

She's a Tarran from my original world Tar'ra. She was born a genetically engineered astronaut who performed research-based space missions, primarily for atmosphere assessment and galactic weather study. After an apocalyptic event which decimated the planet's surface and forced her entire species to move underground, Kikarka took it upon herself to rescue as many plant species as she was able, starting a global conservation effort. She now spends the majority of her time tending greenhouses and educating people on the proper care of plants. She tends to be fiercely protective of these greenhouses, resents authority, and finds better company with nature than people, but she cares deeply about her world and hopes to someday restore the ecosystem to it's former glory.

(also of note is that Tarrans are a genderless species and I refer to Kikarka as 'she' for ease of language. Her real pronouns are kitzai/kitzei/kitzek)

oc by @kingdeath000 !

#polls #original

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heliads · 2 years

Text

The Killer and the Poisoner

Based on this request: "Kaz x fem reader. Y/N attended Ketterdam University and learned which plants are deadly. After graduation, she got a job at a greenhouse in Ketterdam. Kaz notices her boss being creepy and offers to take care of him if she joins the Crows. At some point, she and Kaz start dating."

i love writing about kaz so much omg

masterlist

There are a thousand shades of green before you. To the untrained eye, they all seem the same. There are rows and rows of flora all collected in the greenhouse. Some are here to heal, others to help. Some for no purpose at all.

One, though, sticks out at you like an honest man in the Barrel, all wrong in ways you couldn’t begin to describe if you tried. It snags at your consciousness, drawing your focus until you start to turn towards it. You have to; if you don’t, the agony of waiting here any more might kill you.

Patience snapped like a wire, you reach out a hand to point out the offending plant. “That one.”

A pause, heavy as an iron manacle wrapped around your throat, and then the woman behind you scratches down something on her pad of paper. “Correct. That’s most certainly a passing score, Miss L/N.”

You can’t help a proud smile. “Not half bad, huh?”

The woman snaps shut the pocket watch she’s been using to time you. You have half a mind to tell her that the prized antique she thinks she’s been coveting is actually a barely decent fake, but neither of you really want that sort of drama right now.

“Not half bad indeed,” she hums, “that little show puts you in the top percentages of your class.”

Your brow furrows. “Surely other people have been able to pass this test?”

The woman lifts a shoulder. “Oh, they have, but none so fast as you. You’re one of our best and brightest, Miss L/N. You might as well appreciate it. Glory fades quickly around here.”

You smile at her words and leave the examination room. This little stunt isn’t the only part of your final exam, of course, you’ve already sat through written portions and verbal interviews, final presentations and extensive essays. That’s what you get for trying to graduate from the prestigious biology school at Ketterdam University, you suppose. Everything is a lot of work, even down to the final test you’ll take.

That being said, you’re able to trade the examination hall for the bright sunlight with a smile. Even without your proctor’s kindness, you know you did well. You’ve been working at this for quite some time, and this was the last piece of graded work you’ll ever do. You knew that this was going to go well, although that didn’t stop you from joining all test-taking seniors in the hallowed tradition of tossing a coin in the Scholar’s Fountain in the hopes of encouraging somebody else’s Fates to protect your exam score prospects.

Right now, though, you’re free and clear. You get your scores back about a week later, and have sufficient results to pass with a respectable margin. Graduation passes in a blur, and just like that, you’re entering your first job at a local greenhouse.

Plants are a difficult field in Ketterdam. There are hundreds upon thousands of different breeds, all requiring specific conditions or knowledge. It seems like someone turns up in the hospital every month because they accidentally doused their tea in poison instead of the proper herbs, or another unlucky fool gave themselves an allergic reaction because they couldn’t tell their stimulants from their irritants.

You, however, don’t slip up. Not once, not ever. You had your time of mistakes back in university, but you’ve learned from them. You keep your leaves in order, your flora in perfect condition. You also know which poisons are which, not just to keep yourself alive but to hurt others if necessary. And when is it not necessary in Ketterdam to have an extra weapon up your sleeve? Your tongue drips of poison whenever you need it. No insurance policy could ever be sweeter.

So you thought, at least, until you work a few months at your job at the Ketterdam greenhouse and start thinking otherwise. It’s a decent job with decent pay, no problems there, but the issue lies not with the subject material but the man in charge of you. Your boss is certainly a piece of work, but it’s not like you can do anything about it. You turn a blind eye when he hovers over your shoulder, slimy and sweaty and absolutely disgusting in every possible way.

It’s easier to avoid him, and in a place as sprawling as the greenhouse, it’s certainly doable. You turn your attention to the customers and away from the rest of the staff, and you make it work. This is certainly made easier by the fact that the people who frequent the greenhouse are undeniably strange.

Least of all would be the boy who keeps dropping by. He’s never introduced himself, but then again, there’s no need. No one else in Kerch has such a distinctive cane, or carries themselves with the knowledge that they could kill you a thousand ways in a second if they so desired.

No, Kaz Brekker is perfectly recognizable. He comes in about once a month for all sorts of things; poisons and potions and medicines. You know Dirtyhands manages to get himself and his gang into plenty of tight places, so it comes as no surprise that he would need your sort of supplies every now and then.

What does surprise you, however, is his interest in you. By all accounts, you’re just another worker in the greenhouse, albeit one with more recent schooling behind you. That doesn’t explain why Kaz eyes you with cool curiosity every time he enters the shop, why his entire demeanor shifts to piercing ice whenever your boss starts lurking a little too close to you.

If there’s one thing Dirtyhands is known for, though, it’s his knack for spotting a business opportunity. He is the product of the Barrel in all its greedy glory, a boy wrought of kruge and cruelty. So, if you’re looking for reasons as to why he would pay any attention to you whatsoever, you suppose you could expect his job offer when it comes.

Kaz is alone with you on a quiet day when he first makes the call. You’ve been bringing him the plant cuttings he requested when Kaz suddenly leans over to you, eyes dark and fixated on you.

“You don’t like your boss very much, do you?” He asks out of nowhere.

You arch a brow. “He pays me.”

Kaz chuckles quietly. “Other than that. He lingers a little too much, doesn’t he?”

“At this point,” you comment, “I think you have a stronger opinion on it than I do.”

“Alright,” Kaz counters, “How about this? I can offer you a better job than him. Clearly loyalty isn’t something new to you, but this time, you won’t have to try so hard to fake it. Hopefully.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “I’m in a contract for the next few months.”

“Only if the person who signed the contract with you is still alive,” Kaz says pleasantly, “I can take care of that.”

“You’re going to kill my boss?” You ask, somewhat shocked.

“I’m going to remove an obstacle from your career future,” Kaz elaborates.

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t get it. Why would you kill someone for a hire you don’t even know?”

“I do know you,” Kaz says, an icy glint sharpening in his gaze, “Your name is Y/N L/N, you were top of your class at Ketterdam University, although it is rather an interesting coincidence that the one person who could have come near you in the rankings suddenly came down with a bout of an unknown ailment the week before exams start. It looked like a poisoning, but that’s absurd, because that student should have known which plants to avoid. Unless there was someone out there who knew more than him, of course.”

Your spine stiffens. “So you’re here to blackmail me? How charming.”

“I am never charming,” Kaz says, “only creative. I figured two incentives were more than enough to sweeten the deal.”

Two incentives indeed. A secret kept, a creepy boss dead. At last, you shrug. “When do I start?”

Few people can say that they’ve seen Kaz Brekker smile. You’re not sure that the slash of cold humor across his face is a smile, but then again, it’s the closest most come to seeing one.

News of your boss’ death scarcely makes a single headline. Not many people liked him, but even in Ketterdam where popularity isn’t everything, most customers just brushed it off and waited for his replacement to arrive. The wheels are constantly turning in Ketterdam, and few in the Barrel have time for something as wasteful as mourning a man like that. Or anybody, for that matter.

You do your part in moving on. Barely the next day, you’re unlocking the door to your room in the Slat. Kaz arranged for an empty space on one of the floors to be made into a greenhouse, and you’ve started making your own rows of poisons. Few people dare step foot in your workspace, too afraid of accidentally ingesting something that would kill them most horribly.

For some reason, Kaz isn’t one of them. In the beginning, you assume he’s just checking in on you to make sure you aren’t about to make off with his purchased cuttings and rob him blind, but he keeps stopping by. Most of the time, he doesn’t say a thing, just leans against the wall and watches as you work.

As the weeks go by, he becomes more talkative. He’ll bring a newspaper with him, crease it sharply and occasionally comment on some idiot who’s gotten himself killed, or worse, messed up their chances with foreign stocks. Occasionally Kaz dares to leave his perch by the wall and walks to stand stiffly beside you. He’ll lean over your shoulder, just close enough that you don’t brush your arms together, and ask about what this plant does, why that one requires such specific conditions.

You teased him once, asked if he was only prying for plant facts so he could do your job himself and save the cost of another paycheck. Kaz had given you such a look and scathing response that you didn’t bring it up again, but you still remember the expression on his face. It was almost like betrayal, to even bring up the fact that he might go back on his word.

No, you’re here to stay, and Kaz sees to that. You’re not the only one who’s noticed it, though. As the months wear on, strange silhouettes start to follow you back to the Slat, goons and gangsters with tattoos that don’t belong to the Dregs. Once, someone launches a flaming projectile through the window of the Slat greenhouse. You’re able to put the fire out quickly, but that doesn’t stop Kaz from almost losing his mind. You can assume that the thought of having his precious poisons go up in smoke is a loss that he’d never want to imagine, but some part of you pretends that perhaps he was worried for you as well.

About three weeks after the rival gangs’ develop a side interest in you, one of them takes more decisive action. Pekka Rollins is well known for being Kaz’s worst enemy, so of course it is the Dime Lions who decide to take a stand first. Five of them corner you one night and knock you unconscious, dragging you back to their base so they can begin a hostage trade.

Unfortunately for them, the Dime Lions didn’t count on you being smarter than you seem. Your fingers are tipped with poison whenever you leave the safety of the Slat, and within about a bell you’re leaving the rival gang’s hideout without a scratch on your person to show you were ever in danger.

If you’re calm about the whole matter, though, Kaz is quite the opposite. He’s in the greenhouse when you return to the Slat, pacing back and forth down the lines of poisons like he could find you hiding within the rows of treacherous green if he merely searched long enough.

He’s kind of right, too. Kaz looks up when the door opens and his eyes widen.

“You’re supposed to be kidnapped by Pekka Rollins,” he mutters, holding up a piece of paper you can only assume to be a ransom note. The page is practically crumpled from how hard Kaz is clutching it in his fist, the words distorted around the grip of his leather gloves.

“I decided against it,” you reply, “If it’s inconvenient for your plots, though, I can always go back.”

Kaz lets out a sound that’s either a snort or a sigh, you can’t quite tell. “I thought you were being tortured. That’s what Pekka promised, at least, that he was going to use your blood to water your own poisons.”

You nod slowly. “I’m out, though. I got out.”

“Yes,” Kaz says after a weighty pause, “you did. I didn’t know that, though. I didn’t know anything about what had happened to you other than Pekka’s threats.”

You stare at him. There’s something Kaz isn’t saying here, something he wants to say more than anything. His tongue has been cut away by years’ worth of knives in backs, though, and you can see the syllables choking in his throat even as he tries to force them out. It is something about the value of a person, you think, more than just a wage or a paycheck but how much you need them, how you could burn the rest of the world to ashes if it meant protecting them.

He manages it eventually. The paper containing news of your imminent death cracks and folds in his hand as he looks up at you. “I can’t lose you,” Kaz mutters, “not if I can do anything about it. Will you let me keep you safe?”

Dirtyhands has never needed permission for anything. Kaz does.

You nod, and you swear you can see the tension start to unravel from Kaz’s shoulders, cutting him loose at last. “Yes,” you whisper, “I will.”

It’s as close to a confession as anyone can get in the Barrel. It does well enough for the two of you. You could not need anything more, and you get the feeling that in the time to come, you would never want anything more, either. Kaz will make sure of that.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

367 notes · View notes

sims4clutterchaos · 17 days

Text

Culzean Castle... Greenhouse!

Living in a Castle Greenhouse.... why not?

Yesterday I posted about my inspiration for a build: the greenhouse at Culzean Castle ... I had a lot of fun with this build- I mean.... a mini castle, that's a green house, as a living space with a loft bedroom overlooking the living area?!? What's not to love?!?!

The exterior uses some of the "castle kit" and @felixandresims "gothic" build set.

This build is on the Gallery: Culzean Castle Greenhouse, ID: daniandnick. CC List is below the images

CC List:

Culzean Castle Greenhouse CC List

SYB_Pavilion_Stone_fence.package

CHATEAU_Fridge.package

IngeliWFSWineryPergolaAllParts.package

SSTS_Sort_Of_Victorian_Bookshelf_short_1sq.package

om_Plant_HerbTeapot.package

[Joyce]Summer Garden - Morning Glory By The Window 3.package

Chisami-SUNDAY_Roses_Pot.package

k-hippie-k-new-plant-sneaky-01.package

Sims4Luxury_KateSimblr_Dark_Academia_Collab_Office_Chair.package

Ingeli_WFSNostalgiaFloorPillow.package

Simsi45_Pillow_Galore_Collection_MERGED.package

souris_macarossi_lavatera_08052016.package

SSTS_Neoclassical_Parlor_Armchair_Cushion_linked.package

SSTS_Neoclassical_Parlor_Sofa_Cushions_main.package

Mutske_WindowPlanter_Ivy.package

dorosimfan1_SMP_LavendelKlein_BlumenladenDeko.package

Onion(for wall) by Granny Zaza.package

souris_macarossi_aubretia_07052016.package

M-Geo_Classics of the genre_books2.package

BS_LivingroomVictoriaPillowround.package

M-Geo_Classics of the genre_books3.package

SIXAMcc_artz-plant-small.package

Pierisim_DomaineDuClos_Thyme.package

KellyMarie69VitaSimsTruffleBedroomDecorativeBag.package

KHD_Lorrania_Teaspoons.package

AnYe_december_bookandglasses.package

KICHEN_Rubber_Plant.package

UrbanLolitaProps04_jennisims.package

FAB_BG_Vase_BorderLilys.package

NA_Sumeru outdoor plant 3.package

SYB_Alaferme_Gardening_gloves.package

Destruam - holmes bedroom - Merged.package

Destruam - holmes bedroom - stack of books # 6.package

CHATEAU_Fireplace_Simple.package

KHD_Fleur Candle 01.package

MXIMS Vitra Eames house Bird II.package

[awingedllama] Boho Living CC Pack.package

kardofe_Eliot Living Room_Vase.package

AnYe_Eva_saltandpepper.package

FAYUN_Shelf.package

AnYe_Venice_towelstand.package

[Wondymoon] - Daucas Wall Lamp.package

[MB] Canning Jars - Sauce.package

COLONIAL_Orchid_Vase.package

KHD Victoriana Two-Seater Bench.package

EA_флаг_средневековый.package

HARRIE Bougainvillea Override.package

[Moriel] BG_GCW_flower_02.package

Padre Altanta Bonsai.package

SYB_Millennial_Hanging_plant_V2.package

[Wondymoon] - Daucas Toilet Paper Holder.package

ATS4_object_kitchenherbs_sage_pot.package

SSTS_Eclectic_Hallway_Table.package

RubyRed Greenhouse - Rose Plant.package

AnYe_sunday_pumpkinsoupbowl.package

[Severinka] TS4 Agata livingroom - candle v02.package

[Wondymoon] - Daucas Toilet.package

[novvvas] Desierto Bedroom - Olive Tree.package

SIXAMcc_BohoBathroom-Decorative-Plant-7-ClassicPot.package

Felixandre_Gatsby_MERGED.package

SIXAMcc_BohoBathroom-Decorative-Plant-1.package

ATS4_object_kitchenherbs_mint_pot.package

KHD_Lorrania_Perfume_Pot.package

MF-bb-BunchaBooks.package

sforzinda_clutterEP12careerdaytable.package

COLONIAL_Potted_Palmtree.package

rrtt-preserved food.package

FAB_Plant_LilyPot.package

[DSC] - Femme De Luxe Lamp.package

LitttleCakesFluffyPlant.package

[Joyce]Summer Garden - Happy Wild Flowers.package

[Joyce]Summer Garden - Classic Painting.package

[Severinka] TS4 Agata livingroom - candle v01.package

RadioactiveNotebookDrawing.package

PC-TS4-MatildaMudroom-WickerBasket.package

[Severinka] TS4 Tao bedroom - vase.package

KHD_Apothecarium_Bottle01.package

KHD_Midinváerne_Acorn.package

KHD_Origins_Vase.package

Jacob-desmalter_Console.package

FAYUN_Trunk.package

KellyMarie69VitaSimsVenetianBedroomDresser.package

[Moriel] Stable set hay on floor.package

ShinoKCRS4 PB Slippers.package

PC-TS4-VGBMA-ArtDoorco-Single-1T-M.package

RadioactiveOldTeapot.package

AnYe_cozyfall_candles.package

ATS4_object_kitchenherbs_basil_pot.package

SYB_Alaferme_Hydrangea_pot.package

pocci_ts4whitecafe_plant.package

KHD Linen Jars.package

SYB_Ohmygoth_Butterflies_Frames.package

Felixandre_London_Interior.package

NA_Dirt rug.package

KHD_Solstice_CherryBoard.package

DOT_TiffanysWallLampMesh.package

AnYe_cozyfall_woodenbowl.package

KHD_Pantry_Milk.package

KHD Ghibli Egg Basket.package

KHD_Pantry_Shelf.package

Destruam - marquis residence - women statue.package

Destruam - holmes bedroom - stack of books # 5.package

AnYe_Raska_giftboxes.package

JARDANE.package

evi Boho Tapestry3.package

[Severinka] TS4 Agata livingroom - candle v03.package

Seimar How Does Your Garden Grow Foxglove.package

[Moriel] EP11_foxglove_replacement.package

kardofe_Modernist Dining_DiningTable.package

[lilis-palace]_INTARSIA-Deco_DrawingRoomRoundRug.package

Schwerin chimney 1 v2.package

Crown Princess Augusta Of Prussia Bust By AnniQ.package

sforzinda_clutterEP12studystacks.package

KHD Autumnfell Bowls.package

AnYe_Sonali_books.package

ArwenK - Arran - Plant 2.package

Pierisim_THE OFFICE_mini_kit_higher_plant.package

SYB_Alaferme_Shovel.package

[Syb] Gabrielle - Handbag.package

KHD_Lorrania_HarpTable.package

[Joyce]Summer Garden - Best Friend of Plants.package

Felixandre_FLORENCE_Set_Part4_MERGED.package

Pierisim_PANTRY_PARTY_Dustpan.package

RubyRed Romantic Gazebo - Hydrangea Outdoor planter V2.package

SIMc-Haciendaclutter4-herbs.package

KHD Avonlea Cabinet.package

Arte Nova Armchair.package

SYB_Hortensia_Climbing_Flower_V2.package

ORJANIC_Small_Blackberry_Arrangement.package

SYB_Alaferme_Hydrangea_Bucket.package

KHD_Midinváerne_Kettle.package

ZxTa-TS4-SculptureTableHomeComfortTray-TS3STORE.package

BakieGaming-Animated-Flowers+Bumblebees-WalkThrough.package

SYB_Bougainvilliers_Small_Tree.package

COLONIAL_Medinilla.package

Kyoto_Bonsai.package

SIXAMcc_BohoBedroom-Decorative-Plant-2.package

[Syb] Maya - Rainboots.package

Kyoto_Fern_Vase.package

KellyMarie69VitaSimsVenetianBedroomWardrobe.package

SYB_Clementine_Keys.package

HARRIE Heritage Traditional Dining Table.package

KellyMarie69VitaSimsLouisXVIBedroomCandelabra.package

iyaS_TS4Alison_Knives.package

[W] Flerovium Ceiling Plant.package

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[W] Tennessine Pruning Shears.package

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AnYe_farmhouse_cuttingboards.package

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Pilar SinbadTetera.package

sforzinda_clutterEP12thriftcounter.package

KHD Little Women Sconce.package

ShinoKCRS4POPSingleBedroomBlanketSofa.package

HUGE thank you to all the amazing Custom Content Creators that keep making this game more and more fun to play!

#sims 4 build #sims 4 custom content #sims 4 cc #sims 4 build mode #sims 4 historical #sims 4 castle #ts4cc #sims4history #sims4castles #sims4buildmode #sims4customcontent #sims4cc #sims 4 screenshots #thesims4 #ts4build #ts4 custom content #ts4 cc #ts4 screenshots #the sims community

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definitionsfading · 7 months

Text

threshold

or, a brief look into a gentle future (rated Mature for some sexual themes)

+ + + + + +

There is a modestly quaint cottage on a rolling hill by the sea, with an upstairs window overlooking a garden.

Aziraphale is the one who finds it. “For the both of us,” he tells Crowley the day they drive down from London just to see it, bought sight unseen, because when the angel is certain about something he does not dither or dally on the matter. Crowley trembles in his boots on the front walk with a sickening knot in his throat and waits while Aziraphale unlocks and opens the front door, and then gently takes the demon by the hand to lead him over the threshold.

He is not carried, not physically, but it may as well be the promise of marriage, of a new eternity that belongs to them, together, plural. One side. Their side. (Our side.)

And it is.

They only brought the few potted plants, a couple bags of grocery shopping, and an old leather satchel with them. Everything makes it inside in one trip, the grocery sacks huddled together in all their brown paper glory on the butcher block worktop in the kitchen. The cottage is sparsely furnished but more or less finished. Crowley has nothing to his name but a car and some potted figs. Aziraphale has much more, in the bookshop they left behind in London, but he seems to have no immediate intention of moving the contents of that life into this one.

“We can decorate it together, I hoped,” he tells Crowley. Their voices echo on the bare limewash walls of the kitchen just the slightest bit. Crowley’s eyes are fixed on the bay window in the adjoining breakfast nook, where the old glass panels open up to the wildness of a sprawling garden lovingly wind-whipped by the sea.

“We can,” he agrees, the line of his throat bobbing up and down. There’s a flash of something greenish beyond the overgrown border of lavender and feather reed, like the bottom of old fizzy pop bottles shining when they’re held up against the sun. “Is that…?”

“A greenhouse,” Aziraphale says quietly, taking a step closer until they’re nearly standing toe to toe, but both gazing out at the garden. “I insisted they leave the old workbench and gardening table behind so you could get right to work whenever you felt ready.”

Crowley swallows, smiles, and dips his head to slowly pull his sunglasses from his face. He looks at Aziraphale and can’t seem to find the many words he’s meant to say, even after all the words that have come before it. He turns, just slightly, and sets the folded sunglasses on the table next to the grocery shopping.

“It’s perfect,” he says in a hoarse voice. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more.

Aziraphale merely touches his upper arm with one hand, his elbow with another, framing Crowley there in front of the bay window like a portrait he intends to keep forever. “Will you stay?” he asks, almost whispering it. “With me.”

“As if you even needed to ask, you prat,” Crowley snorts, even as Aziraphale’s hand raises to thumb away the tear falling beside his nose. “Course I will.”

Aziraphale holds Crowley’s face like something precious as he tips his head up for a kiss. The demon laughs, a brittle and wet sort of sound, but brings his palms up to rest over the top of Aziraphale’s hands as their mouths brush together. If there’s something to be said about holding on to a moment of being held, Crowley won’t be the one to mention it.

“I’m so glad,” Aziraphale says, pressing his lips to the ancient tributary of dampened crow’s feet beside Crowley’s golden eye, and then the inside of one bare wrist where his sleeve has drawn up. The angel’s eyes are wet and his breath trembles as his face breaks into a smile. His hands gradually pull away after a few moments, though one slips down to tangle their fingers together in a loose knot fastened with the strength of six thousand years.

“We ought to take the grand tour together,” Aziraphale says, flushing a bit rosy. “It’s as new to me as it is to you, after all.”

Crowley sniffles, grins, and dashes a finger across his cheekbone. “Yeah, angel,” he says, perfectly content with being taken by the hand and tentatively guided into this new chapter of their existence together. “Lead the way.”

They walk through the cottage hand in hand, scouting out each new room on the ground floor like an untraversed continent of a brand new world. There is space for a study and for walls of books, a den for a sofa and telly, and cool flagstones on the floor that will cozy up nicely with woven throw rugs. French doors lead out to the patio and sprawling garden beyond, but Aziraphale and Crowley are saving that joint venture for later.

Creaking stairs lead them up to the second level with a view of the sea. The last bedroom at the end of the parquet hallway is painted the color of the inner part of a seashell, a pale pink that warms the sunlight trickling in from the window overlooking the garden. It makes Crowley think of Aziraphale’s flushing, peachy skin, and the intimate hue of things like the last few panting breaths before an orgasm or the feeling of the angel’s mouth at the soft crease of his naked thigh.

He knows it’s theirs—a room to be shared, that is—the moment they step foot inside.

There is already a dark wooden bedroom set there, standing sentry like it’d merely been waiting for them to arrive. Aziraphale has not said a word, but he draws in a soft pull of air and lets it back out again like some quiet sigh of relief. He must’ve read Crowley’s mind, because he only steps closer until the buttons on their waistcoats click together and the watch fob jingles its merry music in the precious peace of this new paradise.

“Would you be amenable,” the angel says, pressing a hand into the small of Crowley’s back, “to helping me Christen our new home before a late luncheon?”

Crowley makes a warm, rumbling sound in his chest. He feels drunk with dopey happiness, quivering anticipation, and the newfound freedom to feel this love out in the open until it fills the corners of the room around them and then bursts into the world beyond.

“M’not much good at the whole Christening bit,” he says, tipping his face down just the barest bit so his lips touch the delicate corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, “but you can shag me in our new gaff all you like.”

“An excellent compromise,” Aziraphale says with a little chuckle, sliding his hand down to cup the shape of Crowley’s bum. They both look at the unmade bed and he wrinkles his nose a bit, a spark of something glittering his eyes, and suddenly the short four poster is made up with crisp sheets, pillows, and a plush duvet in a soft sage color. “It could use a few more personal touches, but I think this should suit us for the time being.”

“Green, eh?” Crowley hums, arching a curious brow.

Aziraphale only smiles and brings a hand up to cup the demon’s face for a proper kiss. “Let an old angel have his little indulgences,” he murmurs, briefly touching the gingery waves tickling around Crowley’s jawline. “It looks so lovely with your hair.”

Their clothes come off like dropped petals, fluttering to the floor as if the world is padded at the edges with gauze. But this is no dream, and the blood beating through Crowley’s immortal flesh-and-bone body reminds him of this earthly indulgence of humanity they hold between them. Aziraphale sets his pocket watch on the empty dresser in a puddle of gold, and when Crowley’s necktie joins it there in a splash of silver he thinks this is more of a home than they’ve ever shared anywhere else outside the bookshop. Something that belongs to both of them outside the borders of custodianship, and always has since the very start.

The fact of the matter makes his throat awfully tight, even as he willingly falls backward into the feather duvet with his angel crawling in after him. Both of their weatherworn bodies are aglow in the curious pink-tinged light of their new bedroom, and Crowley has to shakily breathe around the welt making it hard for his vocal cords to form words. He grips Aziraphale’s upper arms to try and convey what he feels through sheer osmosis without saying it aloud, but when they lock eyes he sees that those two stormy ones he adores so much are already damp with what must be the same realm of feeling.

“Don’t you go and get me started again, you old snake,” Aziraphale says in a weak threat, even as a tear gathers and drops onto Crowley’s collarbone. “Oh, darling,” he says, relenting and bowing their heads together. “I’ve wanted to give this to you for so long.”

“For the both of us,” Crowley rasps, pulling Aziraphale more flush against him to reinforce the gentle reminder. “It’s ours, angel.”

“I know, darling,” Aziraphale says, smiling through his tears. “But you’ve always deserved a warm place to come back to.”

Crowley feels cleaved down the middle with the endless revelation of how much he loves his angel. “You are that warm place, you complete plonker,” he manages to croak out. “Always have been. All the rest is gravy to me.”

Aziraphale’s expression splinters apart at the edges, quivering lower lip snared between his teeth. “Forgive me for ever going,” he says in a hushed voice, as if this isn’t an old wound they’ve since reopened and bandaged a thousand times. “For ever leaving you, Crowley.”

“Don’t,” Crowley says brokenly, touching Aziraphale’s chin. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’ll spend the rest of whatever eternity we have left making up for all the time that was wasted,” Aziraphale says, in a promise that Crowley feels resonate on this earthly plane and the next, and then brings his cockhead to the silken heat between the demon’s thighs.

“You’re already forgiven,” Crowley says, even as his eyes blur and his body aches with the raw scrape of desire as Aziraphale gently nudges at his entrance. “Now shut up and make me forget.”

Crowley doesn’t begrudge the tears on his face as Aziraphale slowly sinks into him. He laughs with the relief of it, a rattling thing meant to disguise a sob, and wraps himself around his angel with the pure intent to never again let go. Aziraphale’s soft lips press against his brow, the dampness beside his eye, the softness of his hairline, his trembling vessel held there by the grounding anchor of Crowley’s body where they’re wrecked in the middle of the soft bed.

The fluffy ends of Aziraphale’s fair hair glow like rose gold as he finds Crowley’s wobbling mouth and kisses him there at last. There is no rush, no heated fervor or rutting—they have all the time left in the world and the enormity of that blessing doesn’t burn, except in the swelling crest of something bright simmering in the strings of Crowley’s damned heart. He hitches his legs around Aziraphale’s hips and circles his arms around his neck, holding him so they’re joined and perfectly dovetailed, married belly to belly, chest to chest.

Neither of them move other than their filling lungs and the trading of long, languid kisses that taste like salt and ozone. Crowley welcomes the angel’s reassuring weight on top of him, pressing him into the feathery duvet until he hopes their joined bodies leave an everlasting impression upon the mattress. He slowly maps along the planes of Aziraphale’s pale back with his long fingers, never stopping their tender kisses, only urging him along with little flexing squeezes of his thighs and sweet sounds meant to tempt and inspire.

Aziraphale braces his forearms on either side of Crowley’s head and moves, finally, blissfully, so that Crowley feels balmy pleasure arc up his spinal cord like a blessing. He cries out from it again, making a shattered sound that the angel captures with his lips, and holds Aziraphale’s face in his hands as he’s made love to. The whole world turns pink like he knew it would, perfectly rosy with the flush of warm skin and panting breaths, the way their noses bump together and Crowley mewls up into the kiss-bitten plumpness of his beloved’s mouth.

“How I love you,” Aziraphale whispers as he rolls his hips, only loud enough for Crowley and the shimmering dust motes and the tiny spiders in the eaves of the cottage to hear him. It’s not a secret anymore, but a precious thing cupped between them like a flame that never goes out. Crowley imagines that golden truth flickering inside him, struck like a match, a pinch of a newborn star, and wants to see it flourish here—wants to stoke it up into full brightness and watch it grow like the garden will once he plunges his hands into the waiting earth.

“Love you more, angel,” Crowley breathes against the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, just so he remembers. Simply for the joy of hearing himself utter it aloud.

Their heartbeats match the pulse of blood in the intimate place where they’re joined, proof of life, proof of love, proof of every painful step it took through six thousand years to make it this far. To make it into the warm embrace of his angel’s arms. To make it home.

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic

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