#five treasures dish

[aiainight]

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[whereflowerswenttodie]

will you remember my name when the sun comes up?

[ft. gojo satoru] [angst]

ten months ago, your doctor had diagnosed you with early onset dementia, ten months later you've begun to forget aspects of your life you'd wanted to cherish.

or gojo satoru spends the night worrying if you will still be his wife when the morning comes around.

content warning: dementia, angst, miscarriage.

word count: 2.6k

The moonlight bounces off your skin, illuminating the curves of your sleeping figure in a yellow-tinted glow. The scene is reminiscent of most nights when he stayed up gazing at your sleeping face after hours of making you his. The night is silent today, the air is hotter too; he cannot tell if it's the heat of the summer air that is suffocating him or if the fear of your possibly doomed future is choking him to a premature death.

He looks at your face, peaceful, as you snore through the night, your eyebrows twitching here and there. He wonders what dreams you might be having tonight. Gojo likes looking at you; it is probably his favorite thing to do, and he enjoys it the most. Your resting face brings him joy, hope, and with deep shame and guilt, it also brings him happiness. An almost nostalgic feeling strikes him as he gazes at your sleeping form. Your expressions in the moment fall in such contrast with the mask you wear during the day, one of helpless confusion and anguish that it baffles him and makes him want to break down, scream and claw his heart out to cease the empty feeling that takes over his existence.

He remembers, with utter vividness, your face the first time he saw you. Looking more beautiful than anyone he had ever laid eyes on, you were cladded in a pink summer dress — you later told him was your favorite (he had followed through with buying you a dozen of those dresses you liked to wear so much in the first month of your relationship, albeit with resistance and scoldings from you.) — you were buying pastries in the streets of Harajuku. A hearty chuckle ignites from him at the memory, lucid as if it were last week when he had met you.

It was a Wednesday, he remembers, boring as every other day of the week. Gojo thinks he had been bored after Geto had forsaken him in Shinjuku, but your presence had brought with itself euphoria that he loved to indulge and drown in.

You had bought the very last of his favorite mochi, Kikufuku. Well no, let’s let him correct himself over here, you had bought all but one Kikufuku, and Gojo Satoru — true to the nature and entitlement that came with being the only Gojo Satoru — had tried to jestly dispute with you over the ownership of the said dessert. But one look at your puzzled face and his tantrum was forgotten. He had physically felt his annoyance melting away as his heart skipped one too many beats.

And God he remembers you, yeah? He does. Ever the sweet you, who had felt terrible for having bought the very last of his treasured Kikufuku, so you had offered two of your five pieces to him. Your brows furrowed in confusion and sadness at having to give away your portion of the dish, and for the very first time in his life, he had refused to accept his favorite mochi. But you had insisted, not taking no for an answer, it was your first salary you had told him. You said you didn’t want to make anyone sad by your first purchase.

“Please take them, please?” your sweet voice had reverberated through the crowded streets. He doesn’t think your voice was loud, but he remembers it being saccharine, akin to bells tinkling at a shrine, but bells he would want to wake up to every morning, bells he would want to lull him to sleep every night.

You had looked up at him with the most adorable puppy-eyes he had ever witnessed, little Megumi’s supposedly threatening face had fallen in surrender to that look. Oh he sounds captivated by you, and he swears by his six eyes, that had frozen in on your face for moments too long, far too many times, that he was and he will always be.

At the end, Satoru had relented, but he had asked convinced you to enjoy those with him at the end of the street. And unbeknownst to him, he had spent another two hours just chatting up with you. This was the happiest he had been in months, years even. You did not ask him to stop talking, or to keep his voice low. No, in fact you had been excited, not like the random women he met at the bars on rare nights, not even like–

Oh, you reminded him of Suguru at that moment. Talking to you felt nostalgic, he felt at peace the same way he did with Suguru, his one and only. His best friend. He can still recall the guilt that had engulfed him in that moment, the fear of possibly replacing Suguru with a non-sorcerer, the kind his best friend hated. And it all sounded too impractical, too reckless, he needed to pull back. To cower away from your touch. He wanted to, but you had been too captivating, too addictive.

He would have pulled away, would have left you to become another faceless woman he had met, would have let you become a memory bound to be forgotten, but you–

“So is this a date?” you blurt out. Satoru knows the words are thoughtless, spoken in the spur of the moment, he can see you recoiling, he six eyes can perceive the fear of possible commitment clouding your senses, “Oh my God, that was so–”

“Only if you promise to go on a second one with me,” he cuts you off, his own offer an impulse, just as reckless as yours.

Those dates turned into a hundred more and then a series of events that led to today, where you lied in his bed, as his lovely wife. And tomorrow you might not remember him, your husband.

He remembers all your dates, your smile, the first time you met the kids, how gracefully you had made his almost family your own. His six eyes remember you far better than you remember yourself–

Gojo chokes at the thought. The pain is unbearable for him, the fear of oblivion takes up the space next to him in the form of his own wife.

Gojo Satoru has been hailed as the strongest in this world, nobody has ever surpassed his strength, he can vaguely recall Jogo’s words to him before he was sealed on that fateful night.

“Is there anything you cannot do, Gojo Satoru?”

He feels like a maniac wanting to laugh at the words of an arrogant curse, one he could have easily squashed. He is the strongest after all, there is nothing he cannot do.

He knows he tampered the balance of the world when he was born. He also knows that within this universe among curses and sorcerers: he is all alone. The honored one. The man nearest to the glory of God. Gojo Satoru knows the world better than most do, and yet as he looks at your sleeping face, he cannot even reassure himself if his wife of seven years will remember him next week or next morning.

He wants to pray.

But who does a God prays to listen to his pleas?

Gojo Satoru doesn’t know if he’s a God or an undefeated monster.

But who ever prays for the devil to be forgiven for his sins had he committed an act of treachery?

Gojo Satoru cannot make his wife remember him if she forgets him, and the fear keeps him up every night.

It is very lonely at the top, and he fears come tomorrow and he might forever sleep in isolation, albeit beside the one he cherishes and worships like the goddess of the mightiest glory.

Life was not supposed to be difficult, not like this, it was supposed to be simpler. You were supposed to be sleeping with him beside you, and Satoru was supposed to be less anguished.

You were supposed to have twins. Crying in the room beside yours, keeping the two of you up at night, he had promised you he would be the one changing diapers, because in the initial stages of your relationship you had playfully told him a baby would require changing diapers so you didn’t want a kid.

And no, they weren’t a part of your family planning, Megumi and Tsumiki were enough. But they came, and you learned to love them, a welcoming thought. He did too, but he feared for you, you were weak and they were the children of the strongest.

You were six months into your pregnancy, when you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen, you tried calling him while he was stuck fighting a special grade. He got off to see the twenty-four missed calls from you, and seven from an unknown number. He tried calling back to you, his heart getting heavier with fear and anxiety as he got sent to voicemail, one that you recorded with him screaming in the background. He dialed the unknown number, the words of the woman on the other line still scare him just as much.

Gojo Satoru has only ever felt fear thrice in his life: once when Toji Fushiguro killed him for the first time, the second followed with the exit of Geto Suguru, and the third came as a curse in the form of his said best friend appearing in front of him to seal him into that cursed box, all while he thought about you.

Yet none of them could’ve compared to that moment when he heard those fateful words for the first time, you had been into a life threatening accident, everything that followed after it was a blur.

“Your kids did not make it,” the doctors told him they had passed away much before the accident, that your car collided with a tree and toppled over from the possible shock of that incident.

Gojo had tried his hardest to restrain himself from cursing his unborn children, you would want better, he had told himself and he still does to this day.

The relief that followed him as the doctor informed him that you will soon wake up was only partially taken over by the grief of losing his unborn children. And he wishes to curse himself for it still, but he cannot as he looks back at your sleeping face.

The signs were unnoticeable at the beginning, they started out slow, with small things.

You didn’t remember where you kept Megumi’s uniform (he lived at the dorm), but you had both shrugged it off at the time.

You couldn’t remember where you had kept the flour in the cabinet (Satoru cooked), you both shrugged it off again as a possible confusion in case you had tried cooking without letting him know, you didn’t even think about it.

But then you started to forget the names of his coworkers. You couldn’t recognise Utahime, you had both once, a long time ago bonded over teasing him about the silly, little schoolboy crush that he used to harbor for her in his high school years. An information that was passed to you by Shoko. Utahime was one of your closest friends before the incident.

Then you forgot where your bedroom was in the house you both shared together, and he remembers watching your lips quiver and he told you that you will see the doctor in the morning.

And he remembers the doctor breaking the news to you, two days later, you had early on-set dementia caused by your head injury.

And he remembers–

God, he too wants to forget, there’s so much he’d like to forget, like the look on your face as you realize you might lose your memories in the way you had not planned to. Who even makes plans for a possible dementia?

He remembers watching you lose yourself time and time again. Moments where you would gaze into an abyss not being able to remember where you were, instances when you would look into the mirror and try to recognise yourself.

Nobody had ever watched him weep. But that first night when you weren’t able to remember you were both married, he had left your shared bed after you had fallen into a deep slumber, and had spent about thirty minutes crying in the shower of his guest bedroom.

He wailed. He screamed. He punched his tiled wall until he bled, and he didn’t heal the wound, You had asked him how he got it in the morning and he lied to you that he slipped. You didn’t remember his infinity. You probably hadn’t for a long time. You possibly also forgot about his reversed curse technique.

He wishes his RCT could heal your brain injury.

He looks back at your sleeping form again, and a familiar grief pools into his heart as he realizes you will one day lose all cognitive function, that one day he might lose you to this illness.

“She has about eight years to live before she will most likely forget basic functions like eating, sleeping, or even–”

“What are you trying to imply?” he cuts off the doctor, very rudely one must mention.

“I am just saying that she might lose her life to this.”

The doctor’s words haunt his mind, keeping him awake at night. As does his fear that tomorrow you might not be able to recognise him anymore.

He shudders as the memory, fresh from the morning, seeps into his head. You didn’t remember your–

“Where are the kids?” you ask him, perturbed and frazzled as if you had spent hours looking for something important. A lost memory, another unfamiliar instance.

“Megumi is at the dorm–” he speaks, vision hazy with sleep.

“I’m not talking about them, I am asking you where my– our babies went,” he felt his heart drop in that moment, because in another such moment he had held you as you sat on the hospital bed, wailing and screaming for your babies.

“Baby…” he begins, his own voice soft with grief, one that is much different than your own. How many times will he have to break your heart before it is too broken to ever heal?

“Yes?” you speak, confusion clear through your voice, as your face wears that same mask of pain and puzzlement.

“They didn’t make it,” he tells you once more, as he scoops you in his arm, in order to save himself from watching you die all over again. He goes through the pain of it all once again, as do you. But only one of you remembers.

It’s only ever just one of you grieving the loss of life, a tragedy always gone unforgiven.

He remembers the promise you made him to always be with him on the day before your wedding vows.

But, a promise is a promise until one of you forgets.

He looks at the clock beside him, 6:49 AM, he can only hope that when you wake up this morning you’ll remember who he is. That the diary you keep will help you never forget him.

He needs you to remember him, he doesn’t think he can survive a day where you do not know him. It is a necessity. You are his light, and you have slowly been shutting the door to your embrace close on him, you can barely see him trembling in this darkness that you leave him in anymore. He does not want to be left alone, but he knows that once you leave him alone, he will still be visiting the grave of the love that the two of you shared; one where you had thrown away all your memories, if only to look down at the forest of your remains or perhaps to find you running across the field with all that you once cherished.

a/n: idk why i wrote this. this wasn't proofread, because we die like everyone in jjk, and also because my adhd-suffering-self could no longer keep up with this, and i really wanted to go back to writing houses without fathers.

@nanamis-baker had a sneak peak!

credits: @/benkeibear, @/firefly-graphics.

[hellishjoel]

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.  You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Welcome to hell. 

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside. 

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner. 

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant. 

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers. 

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine. 

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You. 

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons. 

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off. 

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together. 

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot. 

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself.  But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of. 

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie. 

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk. 

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly. 

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout. 

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face. 

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist. 

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that. 

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other. 

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot. 

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit. 

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later. 

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump. 

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight. 

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look. 

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms. 

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers. 

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance. 

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile. 

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you. 

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up. 

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip. 

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign. 

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one. 

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift. 

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion. 

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig. 

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs. 

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it. 

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’. 

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop. 

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.” 

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner. 

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back. 

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife. 

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front. 

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a  large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots. 

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral. 

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest. 

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more. 

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try. 

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features. 

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent. 

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed. 

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it. 

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact. 

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”. 

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now. 

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter. 

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked… 

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead. 

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor. 

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze. 

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs. 

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot. 

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him. 

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.” 

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses. 

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction. 

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!” 

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation. 

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex. 

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice. 

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation. 

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted.  Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s. 

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter. 

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter. 

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace. 

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name. 

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet. 

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar. 

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured. 

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum. 

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway. 

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.” 

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion.  You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.” 

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs. 

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.” 

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief. 

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.” 

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,  you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here. 

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight. 

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform. 

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake. 

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday.  Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting. 

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long. 

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley. 

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better. 

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze. 

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause. 

“So, you want me to go back inside?” 

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground. 

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you. 

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips. 

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch. 

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off. 

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his. 

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about. 

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. 

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those. 

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good. 

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing. 

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him. 

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head. 

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him. 

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options. 

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times. 

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows. 

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room. 

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.  

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick. 

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large. 

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch. 

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny. 

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.” 

The two of you moaned in unison. 

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none. 

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly. 

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons. 

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours. 

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do. 

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall. 

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back. 

He grumbles something. 

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face. 

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath. 

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil. 

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing. 

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent. 

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan. 

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm. 

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings. 

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock. 

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him. 

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms. 

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie. 

‘M not doin’ anything. 

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments. 

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into. 

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork. 

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face. 

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time. 

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own. 

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week. 

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early. 

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one. 

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables. 

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands. 

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?” 

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.” 

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear. 

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence. 

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.” 

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk.  “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?” 

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.” 

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while. 

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too. 

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner. 

---

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[maeofthenoldor]

As Tolkien often observed; “names often generate a story” and always nearly contributed or suggested something of the nature or personality of the character, thing or place that has been named. Yet the most intriguing name he has created in my opinion, is the main protagonist of “The Hobbit” Bilbo Baggins who is the hero of the classic tale, and despite being seen as such, his name holds interesting and contradicting connotations. For Baggins suggests harmless, humble and well- contented characters (though with criminal undertones!) Yet the name Bilbo suggests an individual who is sharp, intelligent and even dangerous….

The family name of Bilbo is  “Baggins” which derives from a double source-the English Somerset surname Bagg, which means “moneybag” or “wealthy.” The term “Baggins" itself means “afternoon tea or snack between meals” and at first is appropriate in describing our well off  hobbit. Initially he is presented as a mildly comic, home-loving, upper middle class “gentle hobbit” who seems harmless and composed enough, if given to some annoyance. He is mostly concerned with his mothers dishes, doilies, domestic comforts and food. However, once recruited by Thorin and his Company, we see the respectable gentle hobbit reveal his true colours- he is an excellent and highly skilled burglar.

Tolkien has maintained that his tales are often inspired by names and words from the real world, and indeed, in the jargon of the nineteenth-and early twentieth century criminal underworld there were a cluster of names around the term “bag” and forms of theft. “To bag” means to capture, to acquire, or to steal. “A baggage man” is an outlaw who carries off the loot and a “bagman” is the man who collects and distributes gold on the behalf of others by dishonest means or purposes.

His surname not only characterises himself, but also plots out the narrative for the story. For in the hobbit we discover Baggins is hired by Dwarves to bag the Arkenstone. He then becomes the baggage man who carries off the loot. When he realises Thorin has fallen under the gold sickness, he becomes the bagman and is dishonest to the newly crowned king, distributing the Arkenstone to Thrandruil and Bard. After the Battle Of The Five Armies he hands out the treasure to those who are rightfully in need of it, and thus ends him being the bagman.

Another aspect of Bilbo Baggins character can be revealed by the analysis of his first name. The word “Bilbo” entered the English language in the late sixteenth century as a name for a short and deadly piercing sword of the kind once made in the Spanish port city of Bilbao where the name derives from. This is an excellent description of Bilbo's elvish sword (often called a letter opener) named “Sting.” Found in the troll hoard, Bilbo's “bilbo” can pierce through any animal hide that would break any other sword. In The Hobbit however, it is the hero's sharp wit rather than his sword that gives Bilbo his sharpness. Bilbo's well-honed wits allow him to survive the journey and to trick monsters, a dragon  and to get himself out of bad situations. 

When we put these two names together as Bilbo Baggins, we fully understand the two aspects of his character, showing someone who is dangerously witty, but ultimately good and humble to a fault. If we want to dig deeper into how these names also affected the events of the Lord Of The Rings, one has to look no further than Frodo Baggins.

 Along with the Baggins family name, further “baggage” is passed on to Bilbo's nephew and heir, Frodo Baggins who in the context of the one ring is a link to another underworld occupation; the bagger or the bag thief. This bagger or bag thief has nothing to do with baggage, but is derived from the French word bauge, meaning “ring.” A bagger then, is a thief who specialises in stealing rings by seizing a victim's hand and stripping off its rings. It had common usage in Britain's criminal underworld between 1890 to 1940. The Baggins name holds the idea and plot for both The Hobbit and Lord Of The Rings. For Bilbo's skill as a burglar, one might say that in the perspective of outsiders, the Baggins baggers of Bag End, Bilbo and Frodo, are naturally born ring thieves.

[fili-urzudel]

Hello!! Could you do 14, 15 and 31 with Fili? Romantic or platonic, up to you. Thank you 💜

13. Sitting together

14. Handholding

15. Sharing a blanket (potentially violent)

31. Stargazing

This combination is classic and oh-so-fluffy, and with my favorite Dwarf to boot! I went ahead and added another prompt as well.

Everyone lives AU, because there is no other ending in my mind.

BTW I'm sick :( but I'm going to try to get at least one other prompt request out this week

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Moonrise - Fíli Durin x Reader

The Durin's Day festival was always fun, but it was all the more spectacular in the newly reclaimed Erebor.

"The first autumn equinox since the mountain was reclaimed, can you believe it?" Fíli said with a bright smile, looking with pride at the crisscrossing bridges and vaulted ceilings of the entrance to the mountain. There was still plenty of work to be done, to be sure, but its improvement was impressive regardless.

"And in a couple days, the anniversary of when it was reclaimed," you nodded in agreement. "A few months after that, the anniversary of the first time you walked around by yourself."

"Hush, I'm trying to enjoy this," Fíli gave you a fake scowl, unconsciously probing the scar hidden beneath his tunic.

You changed directions. "Of course, my Prince," you teased. "You look very nice today."

You meant it. His hair was freshly washed, the slightly damp strands frizzing out in the cool morning air. Each bead was carefully placed, a few decorative gold ones added in place of a crown. His tunic was a smooth yet understated silk underneath his leather vest and wool coat. Every detail was precisely placed, the burnt oranges and browns blending seamlessly. He had clearly been seen to with the utmost care. He looked like royalty, even without the royal garb. Most importantly, he was healthy.

His smile softened, his cheeks turning a bit pink under his mustache. "Thank you," he glanced to the ground before looking back up at you. "And you're beautiful as ever."

You blushed deeper than him, unused to compliments. You plucked at the placket of your own wool coat, dyed a deep woad blue. It was your favorite. "Thank you," you said, choosing for once to believe him. "What duties do you have today?"

"None, surprisingly," Fíli breathed. "Thorin's let me have a break, so I can enjoy the first festival in our new home right alongside you." Something about that little word, our, set your heart ablaze. "You want to stick with me?"

"If you'll have me," he smiled again. That smile was impossible to resist.

"Of course I will."

Erebor had been steadily growing over the past year, but that day, it seemed more alive than ever. The market squares were full, overflowing into the wide side streets. Jewelry, blades, shields, ceramics, sculptures--anything made out of earth or in forges were certainly found somewhere in the expansive space. The Ereborian dwarves' tentative friendship with the Men of Dale caused new, less traditional stands to pop up as well: flower stalls, street food vendors featuring fish dishes, and clothing and homeware shops full of bolts of linen. The mountain had only dwarves—and Bilbo—in its halls, a presently rare occurrence, and so you were all free to speak Khuzdul, the sharp sounds ringing pleasantly in your ears.

The two of you strolled as quickly as possible through all the markets had to offer, determined not to miss the afternoon's performances. You exercised exemplary self-restraint, only stopping at one of every five stalls that caught your eye.

"No," became a very popular word as well, what with resisting Fíli's unceasing offers to purchase anything you liked.

"Well, if you will not spend any of your share of the treasure, I must spend some of mine and relieve what must be the terrible, stifling boredom of your living quarters, my friend," he teased, mustache beads swinging from side to side.

"I will have no prince wasting his money on me."

"Oh, it's never a waste if it's you," Fíli told you surely.

There he went again, saying things that made your palms sweat and your cheeks flush. "You're too kind."

Fíli smirked at the way you diverted your gaze. "Well, if I cannot buy you a rug, at least allow me to buy you lunch," he gestured to a permanent restaurant on the corner that was swarmed with dwarrow.

You couldn't help a smile at that. "Hot stew?" You asked, referring to the almost overpoweringly spicy meat-and-potato stew that was a dwarven classic. Benron's was your favorite.

"As hot as you like, of course," He agreed, guiding you forward with a gentle hand on your back.

The stew made your eyes stream in the best way, and you pulled Fíli out of the restaurant scarcely once he was finished eating. "We have to find good seats!" You reasoned as he raised an eyebrow, still wiping his mouth.

"You do realize that Thorin has the best seats, and by extension, we do as well?"

"Right," you said. You had forgotten. Somehow, none of the Durins were royalty in your mind. They were still your traveling companions, dirt poor and looked at as crazy.

"Still, it is sort of nice to take a seat before everyone starts filtering in and it gets too loud," Fíli reassured you. "After you."

The grand presentation began with a song to the mountain. In the ancient tradition, singing was a way to ask the mountain to reveal its secrets, a careful gathering of tones that would uncover its nature.

This song, however, was made more to please the ears of the listener. It was a song of thanks, of hardly believing that this mountain was once again the shelter for her people. You tried your best to control the tears that rose to your eyes.

Fíli leaned over, bumping your shoulder with his. You gave a small smile that he returned, and you could see in his eyes that he was thinking of all that it took to get there.

"We did it," you whispered.

"Yeah, we did."

The opening songs were followed by traditional dances, a speed-forging competition, and a few spars. You cheered on the brothers as they fought each other, with a healthy dose of brotherly teasing. Fíli let his little brother win, or so he told you. The look on Kíli's face was more than worth it. You congratulated him and let them both clean up as you headed to the gates.

The gates were still open, cool air pouring into the mountain as the sun dropped in the sky.

Dale was dimmer than usual—the city was empty. The men were lining the edge of the water with candles. This equinox now also marked the anniversary of the fall of Laketown and many of their loved ones. The dwarves tried their best to be respectful of their vigil.

You leaned against the wall and watched. You hoped they found peace and remembered to enjoy their new lives. Bard, standing at the back of the group, turned around. He caught your eye and nodded.

"Come with me, I think we should see something," Fíli's low whisper startled you from your reverie, and his hand wrapping around yours even more so.

"Where are we going?" You asked, not that it mattered. With his hand in yours, you'd probably follow him anywhere.

He led you on a trek around the front of the mountain, the setting sun turning everything orange and making his hair appear as flames as you went.

Caught in the daze of bliss, it took you a while to notice what was draped over his other arm. "Wait, is that—I told you not to buy that!"

It was the woven blanket you had noticed earlier, the tapestry depicting sunrays falling through a thick forest of firs. "And what if I bought this for myself? I have uses for it."

"Then it's alright, I suppose."

"You can keep it once I'm done with it, though."

"Sly fox."

"Coin pincher."

"Seriously, though, where are we going?" You asked.

Fíli smiled at you. "A certain very large staircase."

You gasped. "Leading to a secret doorway?"

"The very same. I figured, since we were both trying to help Kili, erm, not die, we missed the excitement, and now we can see it for ourselves."

"That's extraordinarily thoughtful of you."

"Eh, I'd say averagely thoughtful at best," Fíli shrugged.

"Perfectly suitable for me," you told him.

"Good."

The achingly long trip up the staircase was rewarded with a very nice sight: another, less decorative blanket spread across the stone, a couple flat pillows, and three lanterns, already lit and ready to face the darkness.

"When did you find time to do this?" You asked Fíli, grinning from ear to ear.

"I have my ways," he said mysteriously. "And help."

"That's where Bofur, Bilbo, and Dori disappeared to," you observed. "I see. Well, it's very sweet of all of you."

"I'm glad you think so," Fíli said, still holding your hand as he guided you to sit on the blanket with him.

The stairs had taken longer than anticipated, so the sun was already almost gone. You quieted as you realized how close the time was. The two of you watched in quiet admiration as the moon rose, bright and perfect, into the sky, before you turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of the door.

You gasped. "There it is!" The moonrise revealed the shape of a perfectly hidden keyhole. "That is very neat, indeed."

"Mmhm," Fíli agreed. "Beautiful." The keyhole was not what he thought was beautiful. He wasn't actually looking at the door at all, but rather you, and the way the moonlight reflected off every spectacular detail of your face.

He had never known quite when he started to feel this way, only that he didn't in the Blue Mountains, when he barely knew you, and he did now.

You turned your gaze from the keyhole once the wonder had made a comfortable space in your heart, and looked to the stars, all too aware of how close Fíli was.

You read out the constellations to yourself in the comfortable silence, assuming the prince was doing the same. You then heard him shift.

"Lay with me," Fíli offered, and you turned around in record time, cheeks blazing and eyes wide.

"What?"

He was already lying down with his head on one of the pillows. "To watch the stars more comfortably."

"Alright," you said, voice quiet. You scooted down until you could lay your head on the other pillow, before changing your mind. You decided to take a risk and settle your head on his chest instead.

"Is this alright?" You asked immediately. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable in this situation.

"Of course it is," he said softly, his arm raising to hold your waist. "I enjoy being close to you."

It wasn't quite a grand confession, but it was good enough for your heart to begin hammering in your chest. "I enjoy being close to you, too."

[lathalea]

Wild Strawberries

Moodboard by @linasofia 😍

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x f!OC Warnings: smut, pure smut, so help me Mahal Rating: E (18+)

Summary: Several years after Erebor is reclaimed, Thorin decides to celebrate his beloved wife's birthday... and is very enthusiastic about it. A/N: This story is a birthday gift for @legolasbadass from Linasofia and yours truly. Once again HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LB! 🎉🎁🎈

You can find this fic on AO3.

Khuzdul: Bunnelê - my treasure of treasures

Leaving the northmost spur of the Lonely Mountain behind him, Thorin entered the forest at its foot. The lush, dark emerald sea of pine trees surrounded him; each of them at least as tall as two grown Men—their rapid growth being the result of the magic the elves of the Woodland Realm bestowed upon this land in exchange for goods only Erebor could provide them with. It was a bright summer day and the sun speckled the undergrowth of the forest with gold, as if someone scattered countless coins across it. A small smile curved up Thorin’s lips at the recollection of that very profitable agreement with the Elves and the role his clever wife played in hammering it out a couple of years ago. Anila… Ah, his sweet Anila and her talent of finding useful information in ancient tomes and musty treaties. Then, her cunning negotiation tactics side-blinded the Sylvan negotiator, driving every single clause home. The precedent she found—dating five hundred years ago—was instrumental in cornering the Elves and making them agree to their conditions. There was nothing better than the taste of flawless victory… especially if followed by a private but intense celebration that took place in his marital bed. 

Taking in a deep breath, Thorin allowed himself to close his eyes and feel the tension leave his body. Being the king of a prosperous Dwarvish kingdom was a great privilege, but also a sizable burden; one that could have felt almost unbearable at times—if not for the assistance of his royal consort. Thank Mahal for the ancient tradition that required the king to take a wife. At first, this was to be an arranged marriage but one day spent in Anila’s company when they met for the first time, a year after Erebor was reclaimed, was enough for Thorin to know this would be an union of both hearts and minds.

Today was a special day: his wife’s birthday. Thorin’s most trusted companions and aides were working deep in the mountain, at the shore of the underground lake, preparing the celebrations for the evening: there were hundreds of candles to be lit and put onto minuscule boats that would float on the lake; countless flowers to decorate the caverns; dozens of dishes to be served, music and dances to be planned, and many other surprise attractions to be planned. Thorin’s task was to divert Anila’s attention until it was time for the celebrations—and diverting his lovely wife’s attention happened to be one of his favourite pastimes.

And so he found himself on the forest path, with a full picnic basket in his hand, on his way to Anila’s favourite hideout. From time to time, she would disappear with a thick roll of parchments and a quill and then return hours later with a mysterious smile on her face and ink-stained fingers. Thorin would take her hand into his, place an ardent kiss over her knuckles and ask what she had been up to. The smile on her delicious lips would widen, she would hide that roll of parchments behind her back, rise up on her tiptoes, peck his cheek, and murmur into his ear, “It is a secret of the state, my king.” The sultry tones in her voice would make his blood sing in his veins—that was a clear invitation to flirt, and with Anila, that game two of them played often ended with their clothes scattered all around, and them panting, their bodies entangled, in the most unusual places of the Mountain.

That was his Anila, an incandescent mix of fire and tenderness.

Today, she mysteriously disappeared before he woke, and now he was finally on her trail. He took a few more steps ahead among the brambles, careful not to make any noise, when he saw a familiar silhouette sitting on a blanket. It was Anila; her back was turned towards him, but he would recognize the dress she wore, one of her favourites, and the silky waves of her beautiful hair everywhere, dark as smoky quartz, the braids that adorned it, and the marriage beads with the sigil of his house he offered her over the marriage anvil on the day of their wedding. Her hair was side-swept to the right, uncovering the column of her neck, and Thorin licked his lips at the sight, wanting to press them against that smooth skin and taste it.

Later, he scolded himself. He was on a mission, after all.

After slowly placing the basket on the ground, he soundlessly kneeled inches behind her. Whatever Anila was doing, she was clearly focused, so much so that she did not notice his approach. Only when his hands covered her eyes from behind, she squeaked in surprise.

“Guess who…” Thorin murmured straight into her ear, his voice low and sensual. He was very much aware of the effect his voice had on her and he was determined to make a good use of it today.

“Thorin…! You scared me!” she chuckled, looking anything but frightened. Anila turned her face back towards him, taking his hands into hers and lowering them onto her lap. He still held her in an embrace and did not plan to let her go.

“Have I?” He lifted his eyebrow in amusement, moving his lips closer to hers. “May I remedy it somehow?”

Anila blinked, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“That would depend on the remedy, my king,” she offered.

He brushed his lips oh-so-lightly against hers. They were as soft as he remembered, and she smelled like those blue flowers he never remembered the name of, so sweet and innocent, like the break of a new day. When she held her breath as their lips joined for a few heartbeats, a sign that he had her full attention, Thorin deepened the kiss with as much tenderness as he could muster, his hand delving into her cascading hair, until he felt her body pressing against him in anticipation for more. A large part of him wanted to continue, coaxed by her dizzying closeness and that little sigh she gave, but he needed to follow his plan. It was his wife’s birthday and this day needed to be perfect—just like her.

He moved back slightly, giving her cheek a slight caress with his fingertips and trying to ignore the wave of arousal he felt looking at her slightly swollen lips, like fresh raspberries, her shining eyes, and her heaving bosom. She wore a green dress, one of her favourites, that happened to be one of his favourite garments of hers as well due to a generously revealing neckline. Mahal, this plan of his was more difficult to carry out than he thought. He was supposed to be the one offering distraction, not the other way around.

“I brought the remedy with me, my queen,” he hummed, placing the heavy basket between them and sitting down beside it. It contained the best delicacies the royal kitchens had to offer.

“A lunch?” she peeked under the colourfully embroidered piece of cloth that covered the basket. “It smells lovely.”

“I cannot allow my wife to starve, can I?” Thorin replied, taking in the way she looked at that moment—with a playful smile and golden specks of sun kissing her face, one of them dancing at the tip of her nose. He wondered whether his plan of having a romantic midday meal with his wife would be ruined if he was to kiss that very spot now.

“You are a very attentive husband. Let us eat, then!” Anila decided, putting away a stack of parchments from her lap to the side. Her fingers were stained with ink.

“May I ask what you were working on?” Thorin said, taking out all kinds of food from the basket. Freshly baked bread, three kinds of cheese straight from Dale, white radishes, a jar of honey, hazelnuts and a bottle of good wine from his private cellar.

“You may,” Anila reached for the bread. “But I will not tell you. Not yet, at least. It is not yet finished.”

“So it is as I feared. You are writing a memoir of our scandalous marriage,” Thorin crunched on a radish with gusto.

He adored making her laugh and the way her laughter found its way to her eyes.

“I doubt Erebor is ready for such a read,” she uttered between giggles. “Besides, technically speaking, the events pertaining to our marriage are a state secret and therefore cannot be made public.”

“Perhaps it is for the best. I do not think I would be happy if our whole kingdom would know of my wife’s talents,” he cast her a meaningful glance. “I would rather keep to myself the things you can do with your… ouch!”

A piece of bread hit him right in the middle of his chest as Anila cleared her throat loudly.

“... brilliant mind. I meant your brilliant mind!” Thorin explained, trying to make his words sound as sincere as he could.

“Truly? Is that what you are thinking about at this very moment?” she teased.

“What else? I am still in awe about the way you handled those envoys from Minas Tirith,” Thorin hoped he looked like an embodiment of innocence at the moment.

“Oh? Remind me?” Anila tilted her head and gracefully licked her honey-covered fingers. It made Thorin swallow hard. That vixen. She knew very well what she was doing to him, but he was going to be strong and so he continued this charade.

“That expression of shock on their faces when they understood they would be discussing matters of state with a woman! And the realisation that you completely outwitted them!” Thorin could not help himself but chuckle at the memory.

“Ah yes, I seem to remember something along these lines,” she admitted, lazily taking another bite of bread and looking into his eyes. A drop of honey landed on her shapely bosom, making Thorin lick his lips as it glistened in the sun.

“And so you should, bunnelê. You used their greatest weakness against them marvellously. I will never understand why the People of Men underestimate their women so,” he reached out to take her hand and placed a kiss on it. Not over the knuckles, oh no, his lips found the centre of her palm and pressed against her skin. She smelled like flowers in bloom and tasted like honey. Despite the food they ate, his hunger was far from satiated.

“Cultural differences, my love,” Anila replied, cupping his bearded jaw before freeing her hand from his. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers brushing against his beard. “One of our greatest assets when dealing with Men.”

“Exactly as I said, brilliant mind,” he gave her a playful smirk that coaxed a silvery burst of laughter from Anila.

This atmosphere—and their mutual teasing—reigned throughout the whole meal, accompanied by the twittering of the forest birds and gentle rustling of trees. You are a lucky Dwarf, thought Thorin, enjoying the feeling of content, laying on his side, his body weight resting on his elbow as he admired the sight in front of him. A beautiful day spent with a companion who is not only beautiful but also smart… to the point of putting your willpower to a test with her merciless teasing. And she happens to be your wife. Just look at her, the way the summer breeze plays with her hair, the way she takes a sip of wine, her sensual lips wrapping over the edge of her cup, or the way her fingers seem to dance in the air as she explains something about that newest decree on mining safety. And the way she speaks your name, with so much feeling and softness in her eyes. Is she not perfect? The true queen of your heart?

Thorin would never put these thoughts into words, of course. His wife would surely think him ridiculously mawkish and overly sentimental. The king of the Khazad of the Lonely Mountain should be anything but ridiculous. The best course of action was to keep such maudlin thoughts to himself.

“I think a dessert is in order,” he decided after a few more moments of his reverie.

“A dessert? I feel so full, I do not think I can eat even a bit more,” Anila sighed.

Thorin simply said, “Wild strawberries.”

“What?” she gasped.

He placed a small woven basket in front of her, its contents covered with peppermint leaves.

“How…? This forest is too young for wild strawberries…” she whispered to herself, removing the leaves and seeing small, oblong ruby-red shapes laid out in layers. “They smell delicious. It has to be magic!”

“Try one and see for yourself,” Thorin gave her a triumphant smile. Surprising his wife was something he never had enough of. Perhaps it was also partially because of the enthusiastic way she showed their gratitude, but even a king could be self-indulgent from time to time, he decided.

“A rider from the Woodland Realm brought them at the break of dawn,” he divulged his secret, admiring the way his wife put one of the berries into her mouth. She closed her eyes and hummed approvingly.

“You asked King Thranduil for a handful of the first wild strawberries of the season?” she then asked.

“Aye.”

“And he agreed?”

“Aye.”

“And sent a messenger to you in the middle of the night?”

“As you can see,” he pointed at the berries in front of them.

“Are you truly telling me you had a peaceful conversation with Thranduil during which you agreed on something? Without shouting and cursing each other’s ancestors five generations back? I think I will go with the ‘magic’ explanation,” Anila shook her head, but Thorin noticed the sparks of laughter in her eyes.

“I did not say there was no shouting involved,” he humoured her.

“If you say so,” she chuckled and took another berry. “Mmmm… They are very sweet. Have you tasted them yet?”

Thorin shook his head.

Without a word, she put the berry into his mouth and let him close his lips over her lingering fingers a moment before she retreated them.

“Very sweet indeed,” he admitted, still feeling her caress against his skin. “Just like you.”

Now it was his turn to take a berry and offer it to Anila. Her lips opened a bit and she gently took it between her lips, the tip of her tongue brushing against his fingertips. A wave of heat passed through him, a multitude of thoughts flooded his mind, but not a single one of them was mawkish.

Before he had a chance to react, she put another berry into his mouth and sealed it with hers. A low purr escaped him when their lips met, her kiss even sweeter than the fruit, and he tasted her to his heart’s content. There was tenderness and gentleness in that kiss, but the song of her supple lips dancing against his spoke of fire kindling inside her—and in his mind, Thorin agreed that it was time for another kind of distraction. He covered her cheeks with a myriad of feather-light kisses, whispering words of adoration into her ear as her fingers ran through his hair, caressing his scalp, eliciting a groan of pleasure out of him. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, revelling in the way she responded to him, their bodies pressed against each other, their lips on fire. Then his lips traced a smooth trail along the line of her jaw, and found the way to her neck. Each of his kisses aimed at claiming her skin, every single inch of it. She tilted her head back invitingly and he continued his explorations, his lips finding the sensitive spot below her ear, and then adorning that place at the juncture of her neck and shoulder with kisses, precisely the way she liked it. When she rewarded him with a moan, he felt her body tremble in anticipation. Thorin was still hungry, hungry for her, even hungrier than before, and he refused to restrict himself any longer. Not on a day like this. 

He lay her on the blanket, her eyes shining, her cheeks slightly flushed, the round peaks of her breasts rising and falling, her hair scattered around her head, glowing in the sun like a halo or richly veined marble, and he found himself in need of stealing yet another kiss.

“Anila,” he murmured, “you are breathtaking.”

She did not reply—busy with stealing a kiss from him this time and wrapping her arms around his neck—while his hand travelled down until he felt that round, supple softness under his palm and the warmth that seeped through the thin fabric of her gown. He played with the idea of simply ripping her bodice—her whole gown—apart and feasting on her naked body until dusk and beyond… and then wrapping her in his cloak and smuggling her back into the mountain for a long and eventful bath, the birthday celebrations be damned, but this tempting plan had to wait. Instead, he gave her breast a gentle squeeze and proceeded to undo the front of her bodice while his lips slipped down her neck and found the sweet spot on her left breast that tasted like honey.

“The High Council…” Anila gasped as his tongue swirled over her skin and then his lips closed over the spot again. “That meeting tomorrow… They will be scandalized when they see that hickey, my love…”

“We both know they will not say a word about it,” he chuckled. “Just as it happened last month, remember?”

“I forget what a clever strategist you are. Yes, I remember, Master Finulv was speechless, Balin pretended not to notice anything, and you could barely keep awake during that council meeting. That high collar doublet suited you very well, by the way,” she admitted, helping herself to the buttons of his tunic.

“It was my attempt at covering the proof of my wife’s fiery temperament,” he smirked, observing Anila’s nimble fingers at work. “I do not think I was successful. Master Bragi did not dare to lift his gaze from his notes even once.”

His wife’s only response was a chuckle just before she covered his lips with hers.

Among the kisses and caresses generously bestowed upon each other, among their whispers and sighs, they eagerly shed most of their clothes. Thorin gave out a satisfied hum, admiring Anila’s sun-speckled skin, the alluring curves of her body glowing as if imbued with the light of thousands of Ereborean diamonds. He was certain there were words that could describe this vision of ethereal beauty before him, but he could not find any. 

“My king seems to be lost in thoughts,” he heard her say playfully. “Allow me to help you.”

Anila lowered herself in front of him and her hands started roaming his body, releasing him from his trousers. Her kisses burning a bold path on his lower abdomen, and he found himself unable to take his eyes off her; of her nimble fingers wrapping around his already hardened manhood; of her hair like silk between his fingers, of her lovely lips that closed over his tip, of her sultry gaze, of the soft heat he was delving into, of her palm that…

“Anila… Mahal…” His wife knew him so well and she knew exactly what would please him, but today was not about him. “Allow me to take care of you first.”

“I was under the impression that you were in the mood for dessert,” she looked up at him innocently, licking her lips. Vixen. Merciless vixen. And he wanted more of her.

“Oh yes, I do,” he smiled, moving towards her.

“A dessert…” she gave out a chuckle when his lips greedily closed over her nipple, lavishing it with attention. Between the gentle nibbles and soft kisses scattered over her rosy peaks, among her sighs and his praising murmurs, his hands painted devout patterns along her body, in an act of physical worship. Thorin did not wish to stop; he craved to cover all off her body with his kisses, to bedeck it with his caresses, to offer his queen endless ecstasy. He wanted to offer her as much pleasure as he could and revel in her rapture. Soon she was stretched beneath him, pleading for more, her fingers entangled with his hair as his tongue drew spirals around her navel, his lips covered the softness of her lower belly, his hands caressed the roundness of her hips.

When his kisses finally moved to her thighs, and his hot breath skimmed the mound between them, Anila whispered, “Have mercy...”

“What do you wish for, my queen?” He lifted his gaze to her face, her eyes hooded with pleasure, her lips slightly parted, her breathing fast, her fingers playing with her nipple. What a beguiling view it was.

“I want you to please me, Thorin,” she whispered, parting her legs slightly. This was the only invitation he needed.

“Your word is my command,” he replied. Settling himself between her legs, he cupped her bottom, enjoying its round firmness. It fit perfectly in his large hands and he lifted her slightly. Anila moaned in delight when he eagerly buried his mouth between her thighs, his beard brushing against them. She writhed beneath him as he showered her most intimate places with kisses and caresses that brought her the most pleasure. His tongue explored the folds of her womanhood. The taste of her arousal made him even harder than before, made him dizzy with desire for her, but that had to wait. Now he was intent on pleasing her this way and so his lips found the most sensitive point on her body, tenderly tugging on the silky bud, and then started sucking on it. He heard her whimpers, her incoherent mewling spurring him on, and he continued his ministrations, pleasing his queen. 

He gripped her thighs firmly when his tongue sank rhythmically into her, evoking waves of elation, one after another, each of them stronger than the previous one. Thorin recognized the signs all too well, and he drove her further and further, among the heights of pleasure, bringing her closer towards the very peak of ecstasy with every caress. Purring into her flesh, he caressed her swollen nub with his thumb, feeling how she arched against him as waves of pleasure sent tremors of ecstasy through her body, and he relentlessly kept on taking her even higher until her blissful moans and praises echoed through the forest. He stopped only after Anila went completely limp beneath him, one of her hands letting go of the fistful of the blanket. 

Thorin moved up towards her, pressing his lips to her shoulder, and then brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Her eyes were shut, her face flushed, her long eyelashes casting small shadows on her cheeks, beads of sweat covering her forehead. His caress caused a small smile to bloom on her lips, but her eyelids remained closed.

“Is my queen pleased?”

“A little bit…” she muttered, smiling still. “But I wouldn’t mind a second… no, that would be a third course.”

“Insatiable woman,” he whispered teasingly, kissing her collarbone. His fingers busied themselves in lining out the shapes of her breasts and unhurriedly following the curves of her ribs. Then his tongue joined in, exploring new, exciting paths on her body, each of them punctuated by her moan. Mahal was a great architect indeed, creating such wonders as this woman beside him. Compared with the elegant lines of her body, he felt like a block of unhewn stone; and yet when she lay so close against him, it felt as if they were made from the same piece of rock. Perhaps the Creator put all of his energy into making Thorin’s life companion perfect and decided it was enough. In fact, she was more than he could ever hope for. Absent-mindedly, he took Anila’s hand into his and placed a tender kiss onto her wrist.

Anila gave out a content sigh and opened her eyes, oblivious to his thoughts.

“Insatiable? It is because you have spoiled me rotten,” she stated. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, coaxing him closer to her, and when she closed the distance between their lips, he hummed approvingly. A new fire woke in her and there was hunger in her kiss, the same hunger that had been wreaking havoc through his body since the moment he saw her alone in this place. Her hip brushed against his erect member and he let out a low growl-like moan. Patience was not one of his virtues.

Anila found his hand and placed it over her breasts.

“Make love to me, Thorin,” the words were simple, but the timbre of her voice brought a much deeper meaning with them. And the desire in her eyes met with tenderness in her gaze.

“My queen,” he murmured, offering her an affectionate kiss, the softness of her lips giving him a promise he was eager to see fulfilled.

His kisses were careful, measured, and yet thorough, each of them aiming at telling her things he was unable to say with words. One of his hands caressed her body, eliciting sweet little sighs from her, until it found the secret trail that led his fingers to the treasure she hid between her legs. The moans that filled his ears in response to his feather-light caresses sounded like music.

“Is this to your liking, my queen?” he asked while his fingers explored her boldly, dancing in circles around all her sensitive spots and enticing even more moans from her. This, combined with feeling how aroused she still was, caused his manhood to throb even more in anticipation. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself.

“You know it is very much to my liking,” she admitted, bestowing a smile upon him. “But I need more.”

Thorin could not stop himself any longer. Taking his manhood in his hand, he growled with arousal, feeling her wetness against him. Anila tilted her hips, offering herself to him and he cast her a satisfied look, devouring her with his gaze. It was not long before he pressed his tip to the heat of her core. An unhurried thrust of his hips brought him home, his torments rewarded at last. He lowered himself over her and repeated the movement, studying her face as she bit her teeth into her lower lip.

“Yes, Thorin, more,” she whispered, taking deep breaths. 

As he covered her body with his, Anila seemed so small under him, almost fragile, and yet she was perfect. He knew he needed to be gentle with her at first, and he did that gladly, anticipating the bliss that awaited them both. He could feel how snug she was around him, how an occasional tremble of pleasure came from deep within her as he carefully moved another inch forward.

As her body accommodated to his hardness, he gave another slow thrust, filling her completely. Her breath hitched and she welcomed him with a small cry of pleasure.

“My lovely, lovely Anila,” Thorin whispered, unmoving, his lips brushing against her forehead, his thumb running across her cheek. He knew his size was a challenge for her, but every single time she took him in with passionate eagerness that multiplied his arousal. “We fit so well together, do we not?”

“We do,” her melodic, dreamy voice reached him, her breath wafting against his sensitive earlobe. “I don’t think I will be able to let you go.”

With these teasing words, she wrapped her legs around him, lifting her hips slightly. That made him burrow himself even deeper into the dewy paradise of her womanhood.

“Then don’t,” he rasped out. “We can stay like this for as long as you like. Only say a word, my queen.”

“Then take all the time in the world with me,” she decided.

And so he did. With his movements slow and measured, his eyes remained on her face, revelling in the growing signs of ecstasy he noticed. Anila, his wife, his queen, deserved all he could give her—and more. Her first (or rather third) peak of ecstasy came soon, just after he changed the pace, murmuring seductive promises into her ear. Her lengthy moan rang out in the air as her body trembled with ecstasy. It took all of his resolve not to follow her over the edge at that very moment, but Thorin denied himself that pleasure. He was not finished with her, there was more he wanted to give. He paused, cradling her face in his hands, placing a tender kiss on her burning hot lips, waiting for her to recover, but Anila’s affectionate gaze once again rested on him as she asked for more.

Soon he found himself finding the perfect rhythm, sinking inside her for what seemed forever. As he drowned in Anila’s eyes, their moans intertwined, celebrating the union of their bodies. They were drifting away together on the sea of their shared passion. Every thrust was a promise of endless joy Thorin would offer her, every caress was imbued with his adoration, echoed by his whispers until they came together as one. She clung to him, responding to his every move, her nails sinking in his back, driving him forward, demanding more, and he gave it to her in a series of rapid thrusts, the waves of their bliss growing higher to finally wash over them in pure rapture.

***

“Happy birthday, sweet Anila,” he murmured as he rolled on his back, his arm wrapped around her, but she only hummed something incoherent in response and cuddled up closer to him under the clear blue sky above.

They remained in a sweet, languid embrace for an eternity—or perhaps minutes—Anila’s head resting on Thorin’s chest, her arm limp across his stomach, her hair scattered across his body, his nose full of her flowery scent. Their breaths evened out and the only sounds around them came from the birds in the trees and he found himself drifting off to sleep.

“Thorin…” Anila breathed into his skin after a longer while. 

“Hmmm?” He opened one eye reluctantly.

“You are as wild as these berries,” she pointed towards the forgotten fruits, now scattered among the grass.

“Am I?” He hummed into her hair.

“I think I will have to personally thank King Thranduil for your fervour,” she replied with a smirk.

“Don’t you dare, wife… unless you’d like to be spanked,” Thorin protested.

She chuckled and he felt her hand travelling down his abdomen, “Is that a promise, my king?”

“Insatiable woman,” he managed to say before her lips stopped him from talking for a very long time. For perhaps all the time in the world.

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[kthecutest]

hi yūka! i hope you're doing fine ♡ could i request a headcanon about husband!k? soft and hard thoughts if possible 🤭 thank you!

·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙　Husband ! Kei　.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　‪♡　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .

Pairing : Husband!k x Wife!f!reader Genre : SFW & NSFW (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ 🥕 A/N ೃ⁀➷ New Year gift for my lovelies ₊˚⊹♡

⋆——————✧◦♚◦✧——————⋆

Soft Thoughts °𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

Morning Routines : First of all, let’s start with morning routines. Before you both decided to tie the knot, Ej always warned you, “Gurlie, if you get married to this man, the job of waking him in the morning – it’s yours now” and well you never took it seriously. Until now that is, “Kei! C’mon! wake uppp! Your manager is blowing up the phoneee!!!” your yelling is doing barely any damage to your half-asleep husband who’s still squirming and fidgeting around in his bed. “Honey.. five more..” – “no no! No five more! Wake uppp you sleepy head!” Probably would have to drag Kei’s huge frame straight out of bed and push him into the bathroom, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth.

Clingy Texts : And then there’s the ‘sending you texts 24/7’ phrase that your husband has started since your dating days. You’re on your laptop, not that you’re focused or anything but obviously! You cannot focus at all – when your phone’s notis kept blowing up non-stop. And you know who it is – no hints needed – “Babyy, have you had your lunch? – Kei” – “Hun, how’s the work going? Missinggg you – Kei” And you can’t even complain honestly cuz he’s just the absolute sweetest to the point that you’d melt just looking at Kei’s messages. No matter how busy he is, he always texts you, and no matter how busy you are, you check and reply to his messages without being annoyed even for a bit. Your husband may not be the most expressive when in the eyes of the public, but you know more than anyone else how much this man treasures you.

Back from Work : Then, there’s the clingy big baby phase of Kei as soon as he gets back home and gets to cling onto his wife. “Loveee! Guess who’s back!”, you’re already waiting at the front door with your arms out, ready to give your beloved husband a warm welcoming hug. Kei would run into your arms immediately even picking you up into the air with his arms alone at times cuz your huge husband just can’t control his strength. “Eww.. you better take a shower before you come to bed”, obviously you were holding back your laughter trying to act tough and strict with him especially when he gives you those puppy doe eyes. “Awwe I see I see my baby doesn’t like me being sweaty, butttt….” – “buttt…?” – “You’re coming with me AHA!”, yeet, up you go on his shoulder and you bet you’re gonna have to spend at least an hour in the shower again with this big puppy boi who can’t even shower on his own alone without his wife. “Yah!!! Kei! Ughhh!!”, Kei chuckled at your attempt of whines and complaints – I mean after all, if you really hate the idea, why would you wait for him every late evening without taking a shower, obviouslyyy just so you could join him in the shower, mhm mhm definitely can’t be coincidence.

Cooking : Next thing that comes to mind is …. FOOD. Kei just has everything to do with food; it’s either him cooking for you or you’re both in the kitchen with him nagging at your every failed attempt to make a proper dish. Obviously, you knew you could never compete to this mans and his cooking skills. Kei has been a brilliant chef his whole life basically, “At this point, I can’t tell if you’re the wife or I am”, your husband looks at you with a ‘I’m so done’ face. “Hey! No need with the flexs sir, ughhh just how do you make thissss?!!”, Ke would complain, but of course if there was to be someone who would run to your assist in a span of mini-seconds, that’s gotta be him.

Healthy Food : Anddd right, let’s not forget, Kei over here is a fricking DIETISIAN. This mans has been doing researches on healthy food since high school alright, and now that he’s sharing his cozy home with the love of his life, that means…. Shared salad bowls.. yea.. “Love- I know you like being healthy and all, and I know you care for me, buttttt can’t we get fried chicken instead, c’mon plsssss”, your sparkly doe eyes would work in any situation – except this one. “Uh huh, right, nope, hun salads are healthy for you and you’re gonna have it alright, end of discussion”, a salad bowl arrives in front of you available for instant consumption. Your husband just won’tttt let you off when it comes to healthy food mhm.

Exercise : There’s also the other half of the ‘keep his wife healthy’ agenda for Kei, because no matter how busy this poor mans can get, he would drag you out to take a jog with him in the park either in the morning (which rarely happens cuz he cannot wake himself up) and often in the evenings. You’re the type of be on your laptop all day; which your husband does NOT like at all, cuz he wants you to be active and healthy just like him. You’d whine and complain to stay at home cuz you’re too lazy to touch the grass and fresh air outside but it won’t make much of a difference when Kei yeets you up his shoulder and carried your struggling frame out the house. During the jog, you’d even look at Kei with widened eyes like ‘how tf is this mans still jogging faster than you effortlessly after a long day at work!?!?’ – Kei and his monster stamina is just built different.

Dates : You both barely ever get any free moments to go on a full-on date and all, but that doesn’t stop you two from arranging small dates in every given opportunity. Mostly, it’d probably be something like star gazing. It’s 10 p.m.; Kei’s only gotten back home just now, guess he was pulling a longer shift today at the practice room but you’re a bit surprised to find a wide grin plastered across his face instead of his normal whiny and clingy self. “Babe, there’s something I gotta show you”, his tone is excited like no other and he’s practically almost dragging you out the front door, in a rush, at this point. And then you two would end up at a small high-land hill in a pretty quiet park, who would have known, there’s already a cropped picnic blanket set up with a few snacks and cozy blanket. Kei looked at you with a look of nervousness, obviously it wasn’t an actual picnic or a star gaze experience or anything- but poor Kei didn’t have the time to go all out. And well, you notice it. “Baby, it’s amazing! Ah!! I’m so happy!”, giving him a warm reassuring hug. Kei would probably even tear up from your gesture but would end up sniffling and acting all big and touch like “I- I’m not crying! You are.” – with a pout. Gosh who could ever hate him, he’s too precious. You  both would spend the rest of the night tighter, under a night sky full of stars, would probably trace the constellations until you both fell asleep to each other’s voices.

Competition : Whether it’s just a small card game or a game you two have chosen at an arcade, this mans will NOT give in, Kei is probably the most competitive person you’ve seen, and wife or not, mans have no intention to give up his position of first place. You’ll only ever get a small chance of taking the win if you could whine and plead with puppy eyes for the first place from your husband. Obviously, he wouldn’t be passing the thrown in just a few pleads but once you started sniffling, you know for a fact his character’s gonna break. Kei just can’t watch you get hurt in any way or form even worse if it’s coming from him. This factor also adds on to how gentle he would treat his wife when competing against you in games.

Cuddles : Cuddles are random between you two. It could be anywhere, anytime, anyhow. You could literally be busy in the kitchen, cooking up a storm for a plate of dinner, your beloved husband who rushed back home from work early would give you a backhug. “K?! Aish, you should have alerted me love~” You pouted complaining as you kept your hands busy. “Aww but surprises are more fun~” He whined back in response, nuzzling his head on your nape, his hands tightly wrapped around your waist and torso. Sometimes, if it’s not for the case of surprises, it’d be a warm cozy hug you two share on the couch while something plays on the TV or you working on your laptop with a clingy kangaroo stuck to you.

Kisses : Kisses are mostly just friendly pecks on the lips, accompanied by cozy cuddles. Though, sometimes it does get heated pretty quickly, tongues slipping through lips, teeth clashing and all but if you two wanted to put a stop to the situation from escalating, then you could. You and K aren’t some high-school love birds no more and are properly wedded couple so you each are aware of your own self-control. But of course, K always have the upper-hands and at times, your teases would do no damage to him but his teases would get you all riled up.

Hard Thoughts °‪♡⭒๋࣭ ⭑⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

Kitchen counter : LINK

Visitation hours : LINK

Stress Relief : LINK

Breeding hours : LINK

⋆——————✧◦♚◦✧——————⋆

[blueiskewl]

‘Unusual’ and ‘Unique’ Treasures Found in Woman’s 1,300-Year-Old Grave in England

More than 1,300 years ago, a young woman was buried in England — along with various medieval treasures. Now, a year after discovering the ancient grave, experts have unearthed another “unique” artifact from the site.

Archaeologists discovered an “extremely delicate, large silver and gold cross backed with wood,” according to a Dec. 12 news release from the Museum of London Archaeology. The cross was described as an “unusual item,” and it was found in a grave dating between 630 and 670 A.D.

The cross was first identified with an X-ray image, experts said. Then, archaeologists conducted micro-excavations by removing “whole blocks of soil” from the site before examining them in a controlled lab.

Lab excavations revealed the artifact, which is a central cross “decorated with a smaller gold cross,” according to officials. It has five garnets, one large and four smaller, and at the end of each arm is a small circular silver cross with garnet and gold at the center.

Experts said the cross resembles other crosses found in “high status female burials” from around the same time, indicating that the woman in the grave could have “held a very special position within the Christian community.”

“Seeing the central gold and garnet clasp cleaned up is breath-taking,” Simon Mortimer, an archaeology consultant, said in the museum’s news release. “The key is now to reassemble all of the evidence that was buried on that day with this lady – to understand the full significance of who she was, where she was from and how she came to be here and why. Those answers will rewrite our understanding of early Medieval Northamptonshire.”

Archaeologists are now working to determine whether the coins on the necklace were original Roman coins or if they were imitations made as part of the necklace, they said.

The original excavation also revealed several teeth fragments, but officials said further investigations at the site have uncovered more bones, which will give more insight into the deceased.

Since last year, osteologists have discovered “the upper part of a femur, part of the pelvic bone, some vertebrae and part of a hand and wrist,” the museum said. The bones were preserved because they were covered by a “crushed copper dish placed within the grave.”

Early analysis of the skeletal remains indicate that the deceased was likely a young woman, but further tests will be conducted to determine more details, according to experts.

Harpole is in Northamptonshire, which is approximately 70 mile northwest of London.

By Moira Ritter.

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - February 2023. Goodness, this month has been busy. But it is still Feb here so I’m taking it! Please enjoy the below :)

I Can Give You the Constellations by skoosiepants (1/1 | 9K | Teen)

“I’m just going to pretend this isn’t happening. I’m going to close my eyes, and when I open them again, I’ll be back on Atlantis, sleeping in my tiny bunk, eating reconstituted potatoes and putting googly eyes on rocks to freak out Jared.”

Or—

How Captain Derek Hale and Dr. Stiles Stilinski keep managing to save each other’s lives…in space!

5 Times Stiles Said I Love You and 1 Time He Meant It by literaryoblivion (1/1 | 3K | Teen)

Five times Stiles told Derek he loved him, and one time he meant it. (I mean title's pretty self-explanatory right?)

My Friend Thinks You're Cute by fairytalesandfolklore (1/1 | 2K | Teen)

A Sterek College AU And that's when Stiles sees him, standing in the middle of the crowd, swathed in a black leather jacket, eyes alight as he flashes Stiles the most dazzlingly perfect smile. Derek The Music Major. The guy Stiles has had a massive crush on ever since they shared a class together in Stiles's freshman year. The guy who went on to graduate later that spring and leave town to go on tour with his band. The guy who composed such beautiful music that it made Stiles fall even more stupidly in love with him when he happened upon one of his live performances on YouTube the following summer. The guy who wrote the lyrics to the song he’s currently up on stage singing motherfucking karaoke to. Derek Hale, Beacon Hills sweetheart, local legend, and international rising star.

you can wear my sweater (if i can have your heart) by elisela (1/1 | 12K | Teen)

“It’s fine,” Stiles says, but he stops at the bottom of the porch when Derek closes a hand around his elbow. His scent is evening out, mellowing from humiliation to embarrassment, and his heart skips a few beats when Derek touches him. “Really, I misread everything. Jordan said—” he stops, again, and Derek has to stop himself from asking because what Jordan said isn’t the most pressing issue.

“I thought you were joking,” he says, keeping Stiles’ arm still even as he starts to pull away. “Whatever Jordan said, he didn’t tell me. You’ve been teasing me for weeks, I didn’t think this was any different.”

Stiles turns to face him, and this time when he pulls his arm back, Derek lets go. “I’ve been asking you out for weeks,” he says, a thin trace of amusement through the resignation in his voice. “It’s fine, dude, just a misunderstanding. I’ll stop.”

We belong to the light (we belong to the thunder) by GreyHaven (1/1 | 3K | Explicit)

Stiles doesn't want to hurt Derek. Except when he really really does. And who better to hurt than a werewolf who will heal from anything he dishes out?

Not all treasure is silver and gold by princecharmingwinks (10/10 | 26K | Mature | Yes, this is mine!)

Captain Derek Hale is on a mission and he needs a fearless crew. His betrothed has been kidnapped, his family lives in exile and he harbours a dangerous secret. Enter Lady Erica Reyes, the perfect Quartermaster to join the crew. Erica has her own reasons for needing to escape her seaside town. An abusive father with a suggested 'arrangement' has forced her to create her own future.

A Derek and Erica friendship on the high seas, all in the name of love and family. Because not all treasure is silver and gold.

how to court a werewolf by graveltotempo (1/1 | 6K | General)

Stiles accidentally begins a courtship with Derek. Wary at first, the werewolf accepts, and Stiles ticks off all the boxes of a traditional Hale werewolf courting - oblivious to the whole thing.

Because of course he is.

Peter thinks the entire thing is hilarious.

Cora thinks that they deserve each other.

(spoiler alert: they do)

you could be the one that i love by whenwordsmakesense (1/1 | 2K | Teen)

It’s a good time in Beacon Hills.

Stiles thinks so, right until the moment he’s on his fifth bite of burger and his dad’s staring down his own.

“You know, son, one day you are gonna have to make your boyfriend meet me.”

Stiles chokes on his burger.

Dessert's on Me by halcyon1993 (1/1 | 4K | Explicit)

Derek comes home to find Stiles baking in nothing but an apron.

Re-edited 2nd February 2022.

Soulsick by theroguesgambit (1/1 | 3K | Teen)

Derek loathes this idiot of a soulmate, whoever they are. For not coming to Stiles’ call, for being too useless do just to this one simple thing, for failing Stiles, proving how utterly unworthy they are before they’ve ever met him. -- Stiles is cursed with a disease that will eventually destroy his soul unless his soulmate helps strengthen it. The pack performs a ritual to call his soulmate to his side. But days pass and no one appears...

Maybe they're already here?

princecharmingwinks special mention (Derek has some extremely hot lines in this! hot damn! And I love him so protective and Stiles is so smitten)

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos (1/1 | 18K | Explicit)

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now."

~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

It was my birthday this month and it feels appropriate that I slipped in my big big pirate fic ;) See you all next week!

[fadingdaggerr]

Hey my lovely wondering if I could request a Melissa x teacher reader fic where maybe the reader is at dinner with Melissa’s mum. And the reader and Mel have been together for a long ish time and mels mum asks if they have Any plans for marriage and before the reader can say anything Mel says “probably not ,I’ve done it before” and then that night maybe the reader brings up the fact she’s never been married unlike Melissa and maybe it resorts in a fight and the reader calling Mel selfish anf she storms out and then the next day Mel and reader go to work and Mel pulls the reader outside and appologises and maybe they say they will do a small wedding. Tysm ❤️

picking petals

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: based on the request above! i made very slight changes mostly in wording but i tried by best to stay true to the prompt :)

warnings: insecurity/self-doubt (both mel and r), verbal fighting

translations: mio bambino (my child), qual è il suo nome (what is her name), è una sorpresa (it’s a surprise), tesoro (treasure/darling)

note: this was my first ever request which was super cool <3 very honored to be trusted with y’all’s brainrot. i hope i did this justice and thank u so much for asking

giorgia schemmenti was a tough nut to crack. the first two years you were with melissa, you were close to panic before every family dinner, sure your girlfriend’s mother hated you. melissa had probably spent a collective hundred hours convincing you her mother didn’t hate you, she’s just italian baby. it wasn’t until giorgia schemmenti herself gave you first pick at the famous homemade cannolis over cousin vinny did you know you were part of the schemmenti family. five years and countless family dinners later, and she was still hovering the tray in front of you first. the greatest change? that was when she started greeting you at the door with a mio bambino! and kisses to each cheek, the same way she did for melissa and kristin marie.

and this dinner was just the same, except for the extra kiss on the cheek for bringing the ‘good chianti.’ carmine, tony, and vinny left early to catch the end of a soccer game. kristin marie left promptly dessert, as she always did. it was always down to you and melissa, always staying to clean the dishes and kitchen together. giorgia would discuss the latest gossip about people at the church melissa went to as a child.

“oh! melissa you won’t believe this, that girl… qual è il suo nome… the one who used to have that awful nose ring?” giorgia blurts out, then glares at the both of you for giggling at her nose ring comment.

“elena mancini?” melissa answers through a laugh.

“yes, yes, elena. she just got married last week, isn’t that wonderful?” melissa just nods and hums in agreement, letting her mother continue, “they’re leaving for their honeymoon and he apparently won’t tell her where they’re going, è una sorpresa!”

“that’s sweet,” you say as you wipe down the counter.

melissa weighs in, “sounds a little serial killer-y to me. mystery vacation? hell no.” you laugh at her comment, giorgia on the other hand, does not. instead, she turns in her chair to directly face melissa, staring at her intently.

“you don’t get to make fun of other people’s honeymoons until you finally marry this one,” giorgia points a well manicured finger at you, “and go on your own.”

“ma!” melissa rolls her eyes and mutters, “like i’d ever do that again. worked out real well the first time.”

you can hear your heart shatter inside your rib cage at her words. melissa didn’t want to marry you. she’d said so many things over the last five years that made you so sure she wanted forever with you, the same you wanted with her. but apparently, you were wrong. fine.

you decide to not react as much as you can. you place the last of the dishes in the cupboard while melissa and her mother bicker, but you’re hardly listening. it all sounded like white noise, buzzing behind the high pitch heart break you felt.

for the first time, you were glad to be leaving giorgia’s home. you numbly pressed a kiss to her cheek with a ciao, before walking out the door to the car, not waiting for melissa. when melissa had gotten in the car, she grabbed your hand as she always does. she frowns when you don’t immediately bring it to your lips and kiss her knuckles a few times. the car ride home is silent. the only noise is the low volume of the radio and wind passing the car.

—

you slip your shoes off at the door and hang your jacket before wordlessly walking upstairs. you head to the bathroom to wash your face, hoping the cold water would soothe your pain. walking into the bedroom, you see melissa sitting on the bed with an indifferent look on her face. you just walk to the closet and pull out sleep shorts and a long sleeve, changing facing away from her still.

“tesoro?” melissa breaks the silence. you only hum in response. “are you okay? you’re being very quiet.”

“i’m fine, melissa,” you answer.

she stands up, “bull. you never call me melissa, unless we’re at work. what’s going through your head right now?”

you feel her arms wrap around your middle, her chin sitting on your shoulder. it’s so gentle, so loving. she’s so soft with you, it’s a side of no one else gets or sees. it’s so loving in fact, it makes you realize she didn’t know her words hurt you, that they were dissecting your heart while hers beat steadily against your back.

pulling out from her touch, you turn and look at her now frowning face, “do you even want this?” you gesture between the two of you.

her eyebrows turned upwards, “what do you mean baby?”

“what you said at your mothers,” she looks a little lost, “like you’d ever do that again? cause it worked so well the first time? that’s what you have to say about the very thought of marrying me?”

melissa’s face drops from a concerned frown, to a defensive, stern look. she crosses her arms as she starts, “i didn’t say it was about marrying you.”

your brow tenses, “who else would you marry, melissa? if you’ve had an expiration date of our relationship in mind, you coulda fucking shared it!”

she steps closer to you, “there is no expiration date! all i said was i didn’t want to get god damn married, that’s all!”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, “i’m not demanding marriage! but is the idea of us being married so off putting?”

“you know i love you, you know that,” she needs you to know.

“that’s not an answer, melissa,” your eyes were welling with tears, and it was taking all your strength to not let them fall.

“it wasn’t about marrying you,” she repeats, you can tell she wants to say more, but she doesn’t.

“melissa, your mother was specifically talking about you marrying me,” you’re exasperated at this point. melissa’s face dropped. she ran the conversation with her mother over in her head. giorgia had said until you finally marry this one and pointed straight at your perfect face. and melissa said that.

she watches you walk past her, the second she registers you’ve left the room, she immediately follows. a oversized grey zip up is already covering you, your shorts just barely peaking out the bottom. you’re angrily shoving your feet into your sneakers, not taking the time to tie them. the jingling of your keys masks her heart beating rapidly.

“i love you, melissa. with every cell in my body, down to the last atom. i don’t need a legal document or a big wedding to prove that,” you can nearly look at her, not with the big tears welling in her eyes, “take some time to think about how i might also have thoughts about our relationship, not just you. i’m going to gregory’s, i’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

with that, you’re out the front door and walking to your car. she watches your pull out of your driveway. melissa stands there for a while before moving to on the couch. she stares at the black screen of the tv in hopes she’ll eventually falls asleep.

you arrive at gregory’s apartment building, and sit in the parking lot before texting him that you’re about to come up and you’ll explain later. grabbing your bag of spare work clothes from the trunk, you head in. when the elevator opens, gregory is already there, ready and waiting to give you a tight hug.

—

barbara howard is a very smart woman. so when she sees your car in the parking lot, and not just melissa’s, she knows something this wrong. in the break room, barbara is greeted by gregory while you stay quiet next to him, stirring your coffee with a blank look on your face. gregory only gives her a small shake of the head, deterring her from asking you about your mood.

your eyes move to the clock above the door, melissa would be here soon. you usually drove and walked in together, hand in hand. with a deep breath, you get up and walk to your classroom to prep in solitude. barbara noticed the time and your actions, and may the good lord have mercy on melissa when she finally gets her hands on her.

except when melissa arrived, she was in a similar state to you, withdrawn and quiet. everyone keeps an extra few inches of distance between them and the red head, nearly sighing in relief when she leaves to her own classroom with fast steps and no goodbye.

when melissa’s kids are off at gym, she stops outside your classroom. she watches you interact with the kids, helping them with the science project posters. you had pieces of tape hanging from your fingers and a frog sticker on your cheek, it made melissa’s heart ache. you’d been so excited to teach the fourth graders about adaptions in animals, practically skipping to the art store for poster board and glitter glue. now your smile wasn’t even reaching your eyes. melissa knew she was to blame.

melissa turns to leave and is immediately greeted with the gregory staring her down in the hall. he mouths talk before backing into janine’s classroom. she was at least glad that gregory wouldn’t spread this information like beads on linoleum, it would already be on the news if were janine.

at lunch, she’s dragged by the elbow by none other than barbara howard. “what did you do?” barbara asks as she shuts the door to her classroom.

“who said i did anything?” melissa says too quickly.

“your face! the fact that your little admirer can’t even look at you! what happened, melissa ann? i want the truth,” business barbara was in session.

melissa sighs and admits defeat, “i fucked up so bad, barb. ma was talking about this chick’s surprise honeymoon, i said it sounded like a death wish and ma told i can’t make fun until the two of us got married and went on our own.”

barbara can already feel what’s coming, “and what did you say, melissa?”

“might’ve said ‘like i’d ever do that again, didn’t work the last time.’ somethin’ like that,” melissa looks at her hands the entire time she speaks, not able to meet barbara’s eyes.

good thing too, because barbara howard was in what can only be known as utter disappointment. she knew melissa wanted nothing more than a life with you, but she also knew why she had restraints. but in the decades she’d known her best friend, barbara had never seen her happier than when she was with you. melissa’s words shocked barbara to the core.

“i know you’re scared and hurt from your marriage with joe, melissa. but do you honestly think that little sweetheart down the hall doesn’t know that either?”

melissa keeps playing with her hands, “no…”

“or that maybe, just maybe, you want that future just as much and that’s what’s scaring you?” barbara asks, despite knowing that’s exactly what’s going on, even if melissa didn’t know it yet.

melissa blinks rapidly as she takes in barbara’s words. marrying you didn’t sound all that bad. the idea of being introduced as your wife made butterflies dance in her stomach. to have matching rings and to see one on your hand, knowing she placed it there with a promise to love you until the last star burned out. she wanted that, she knew that now.

“fuck…” melissa sighs, her hands covering her face with shame. barbara says nothing else, just wraps melissa in a comforting hug.

—

by the end of the school day, your ability to keep a pleasant facade was deteriorating. you were stone faced while sweeping your classroom in silence, a ridiculous amount of glitter and strips of paper littered the floor. if you’d been wearing your earbuds like you usually do, you wouldn’t have heard footsteps approaching your classroom. but you did, and you knew who it was. your classroom door shut and you turned to melissa.

“can we talk?” she says, unsure.

leaning the broom then yourself again one of the tables, you nod and gesture for her to continue.

“i’m so sorry, tesoro. i shouldn’t have said what i did, i wasn’t thinking of your feelings about it, only my own,” she started, hoping you’d let her in.

you purse your lips, “and your feelings are…?”

she steps towards you, placing shaking hands on your shoulders, “i’m terrified. last time it was so incredibly painful and i’m scared of that happening again,” her hands cup your face, “but i’m not scared that it would happen with you. god, forever with you sounds like heaven.”

your hands come up to her wrists, resting them there, “i don’t want to rush you, melissa. and i don’t need a crazy ass wedding. hell, i’d go to city hall in sweatpants and a grateful dead shirt if that’s what you wanted.”

“what if… what if down the road you realize this was a mistake? that you want someone else?” melissa’s voice is so small it almost hurts.

you grip on her arm tightens slightly, “there’s never been anyone else i’ve wanted as much as you, and there will never be anyone else. you’re it for me schemmenti, capiche?”

your eyes looking into hers, your voice, the grip on her arms, it’s all too much for melissa to handle. she pulls you forward, kissing you with all the love she has in her. your hands drop from her arms to her hips, holding onto her for dear life. when her tongue moves to trace your bottom lip, you reluctantly pull away, realizing you’re still in the school.

“i love you,” melissa says quietly, “and i want nothing more than to marry you.”

melissa watches your face turn into a big, goofy smile. her heart jumps, having barely seen as a raised brow from you all day. your grip on her hips tightens as you pull her a little closer, “yeah?”

she smiles, “yeah. but no sweats in city hall though, and no big, fat wedding that’ll blow our eardrums with the combined power of my family and yours.”

it’s your turn to press a kiss to her lips, quick and sweet. “as long as you’re the one saying ‘i do,’ i couldn’t care less where we are or who’s there,” another kiss to her lips, a bit longer this time.

her thumbs stroke the apples of your cheeks gently. god, she loved you. and by some miracle, you loved her just as much. even when she was bullheaded and stuck in her own head, you loved her so much you wanted to marry her. it had taken this whole ordeal to realize the two of you were married in every way except literally. anniversaries, flowers on random days, split bills, kisses good morning, kisses good night, ‘our house,’ ‘my mel.’ she should’ve seen it earlier, but she saw it now.

as if you can sense her thoughts, you press a kiss to her temple, “let’s go home.”

the night ended with an empty bottle of wine and melissa asleep on top of you on the couch. one of your rings on her left hand and one of her on yours, acting as make shift engagement rings, promising your heart to hers and hers to yours.

as always, feedback is appreciated and i hope y’all liked this. love ya

title comes from the ‘they love me, they love me not’ thing where you pick off flower petals, in case anyone was curious

[natashasnoodle]

Daydreamer | Robin Buckley x Reader

Masterlist | R.B Masterlist

Words: 7.7k

Summary: A fluffy lengthy slow burn thanks to useless socially awkward lesbians :) Both you and Robin are the only ones in your group project willing to put in the effort to get the job done.

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Looking around the hallways of your High School made you want to cry most of the time. It was far too early in the day for anyone to be functioning, and yet you had to bear witness to people apparently trying to reproduce against their lockers at seven in the morning, alongside people roughhousing just to prove that they pack a punch, and of course the popular girl cliques who decided to sing an entire concert together even though their voices sounded like a bag of cats dying.

The moral of the story is, High School wasn't your favourite.

Five days out of the week in which you attended school, you would always go home and dream of the days after graduation. Everyone always told you that High School would be the best days of your life and that you should treasure them.

At that, your eyes always widened. This was the best? Boy, that was a kick in the teeth.

Though you were sure that that didn't apply to everyone. Everyone in the world couldn't possibly think that their school days were their best days. It just wasn't possible. With certainty, you thought that you would be part of that percentage.

Freedom was all that you wanted. You wanted the freedom to choose what you wanted to do.

Sure, being stuck in a 9-5 didn't exactly scream freedom. But school most certainly didn't either. Yes, you would have bills to pay and a house to upkeep, as well as keeping yourself alive, but you wanted the time that came with finishing work for the day.

Currently, your schedule consisted of waking up at an ungodly hour for school, returning home and having a power nap, finishing homework and revising, sleeping, and then repeating. Your hobbies dwindled to the point where when people asked you about yourself you truly had no clue what to say.

Reading used to be a giant part of your life. Getting immersed in the web of tales spun by the great minds of the world always held your mind captive. Though when homework and exams took over, you just felt no motivation to pick up the pages anymore. Still, whenever someone asked what you liked to do outside of school you would always say reading, even if you hadn't properly picked up a book that was outside of your syllabus for at least two years.

Just because you hadn't been able to read properly in years thanks to the greedy hands of societal pressures didn't mean that it wasn't an activity that you enjoyed. So, you weren't completely lying.

Once school was over and you could do your 9-5, you imagined that you would be able to pick up a good work-life balance if you selected the right job that didn't stomp on you with overtime. Imagining driving home, cooking up one of your favourite dishes then settling down with a good book or doing some scrapbooking after a hard day's work always puts a smile on your face.

It gave you hope, and you just hoped that it wasn't all completely false.

Plan B was working freelance out of a van that you would somehow scrape enough money together to purchase. Maybe you could be one of those people that always showed up to markets on random fields with a selection of books and trinkets that people go wild for so that it looks like they don't buy everything from 'the man'.

You would never admit to being one of those people. It is perfectly harmless in thinking that buying a mini globe from a market is better than from your local store. It helped you feel slightly more cultured than you actually are.

The visions that you concocted for later in life may have been a clear sign that you were somewhat of a homebody, which is true. You were. But occasionally you allowed someone to enter your perfectly planned out evening.

She didn't have a face, but you knew that future you were devoted to this woman that you would potentially partner up with in life. A warm feeling spread through your chest when you allowed yourself to daydream about getting home from work to see your wife, cooking together and rambling about your days before settling down with some hot chocolates and a board game.

Getting lost in these daydreams was what kept you going through the build-up of waiting for your first classes of the day. A reminder that being here wasn't forever, and if you manifested it enough then the good things that you want in life will happen for you.

Hopefully.

It didn't seem too unrealistic.

Again, hopefully.

"Hey". Your body shuddered as your eyes zoned in on the hand clicking its fingers in front of your face. A laugh came from beside you as you frowned and sucked on your teeth as you turned to your friend, Jen, trying to get your attention.

Pushing your backpack straps further up your shoulders from their fallen position you gave her a fake smile, only earning the all too familiar eye roll. "You were in your own little world again don't get huffy with me you gimp". As you were about to reply, she grabbed your bag handle and began guiding you towards the classroom that you shared for first period.

Unfortunately, she was dragging you behind her backwards, causing you to stumble and almost lose your footing far too many times for your liking during your short time of being kidnapped on your journey to hell. "I can walk on my own you know", you grunted out, but with a small smile as she shoved you through the classroom door.

"Oh I know, it's just more fun this way", she smirked whilst walking past you and sitting down in her seat all prim and proper.

That was the main difference between you and Jen. She seemed to take school a lot more seriously than you did. Not that you didn't work to get the grades that you needed, how could you graduate and move on if you were flunking everything? That wasn't the issue.

She just had a better outlook on the school system than you did. Making sure to properly do her hair every morning, and buying all of the stationery items that she saw, mostly to help with the organisation of due dates. You simply wrote stuff down and hoped that you'd still remember your new essay submission day after washing your hands an hour later.

Another thing about Jen is she seemed to actively pay attention in every class, with her notebooks getting full to the brim with the way that she could take copious amounts of information down with her pen at lightning speed. You don't know how she did it, she was honestly Superwoman when it came to school.

On the other hand, you dragged your feet across the floor as you yanked your bag off your back, holding the worn-down fabric handles loosely with one arm before dropping it on the floor carelessly as you slumped in your own seat, one over from Jen's.

For a few seconds, you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, getting ready for your insanely boring psychology class. The subject itself wasn't too boring, it was something that you enjoyed doing, hence picking the subject. But the drawling voice of your elderly teacher droning on at the front of the class, plus the way he gave you assignment after assignment really put a downer on the way you viewed the subject.

You needed to pass it though, so you worked hard when you needed to. Mostly when cramming with revision at home, during class you felt no need to listen to him. His method of teaching was 'death by textbook' anyway, inputting no new narrative into his classes. You thought that his entire class was stupid.

Once more, your body shuddered as you jumped. The bell had rung, and class had started.

Eyes snapping open, you trained your attention to the front, knowing that you would only be able to do so for five minutes anyway. "Good morning class", Mr Watts stood straight at the front of the class, wearing his usual disgusting mustard suit with weird patterned elbow patches on.

Almost instantly your eyes glazed over. The next hour and a half was going to be long.

The table was much better at holding your attention than whatever the man at the front was saying, and judging from the way your subconscious picked up on the way people robotically changed the pages of their textbook at the same time, the death by textbook method was still in full swing.

Fab.

You were expecting to be able to get through the next hour and a half of uninterrupted daydreaming like you normally did through Mr Watts' psychology class, though this time around something horrifying caught your attention.

The very words that are enough to put any student into an early grave.

Ones that make people want to tear their notebooks in half with their bare teeth.

"Group project".

With your head snapping up so fast, next to you Jen almost jumped out of her seat, not used to seeing you moving during most of your classes. Though the collective groan around the room covered up her embarrassment.

Letting out a large puff of air from your lips like a pufferfish, you slowly nodded your head as you tried to get through the five stages of grief about this project within the next thirty seconds. A group task would probably be okay. They have proved to be hellish in the past but as long as you could choose the people in the group then-

"And I shall be assigning the group members", Mr Watts continued. Pain rang through your forehead as you allowed your face to drop harshly onto the desk in front of you.

"Ow", you mumbled and rubbed the fresh mark that was smack bang in the middle of your head, all the while hearing Jen snort next to you at your idiocracy.

You didn't get why she was so smug in the moment, she may excel in being able to get through the average school day, but she hated group projects as much as the next guy. Especially when she couldn't be put with you. Yes, in class you paid no attention, but you were still very smart considering and weren't one of those people in groups who did no work but claimed the hard-earned grades.

Nope, you were both going to have to deal with whoever you were assigned to.

The wait was hellish. Your heart was beating in your chest as the names slowly dwindled down. Each and every time someone you liked was called your anxiety rose. The numbers were so small now and almost everyone left you knew for a fact did no work in these things.

Then Jen's name was called without yours. You shot each other apologetic looks as she got up and moved over to her group across the other side of the room, you watching longingly whilst still waiting for your name.

When it finally happened you think you must have aged ten years. It was honestly astounding how slow this man could get through a simple task. "Y/n Y/l/n". Your face scrunched up with a wince as you awaited the next names. Praying with everything within you that you got at least one person who would work with you and not leave you picking up all of the pieces.

"Michelle Coleman". Oh no. The scrunch of your face deepened if that was actually possible. She spent all of the class looking into her pocket mirror.

"Alan Howell". Good lord, he spent all of the class looking at Michelle Coleman.

"And Robin Buckley". A head tilt by you accompanied this name. Robin. Your heart thrummed in your chest as you comprehended her being in the group. Robin was someone who you had not had the pleasure of speaking to properly other than in passing but was someone who when you did pass in the halls it was an effort to look away from.

Much like you, she was someone that didn't get much attention from those in school, she stuck with her small circle as you did. She wasn't noticed often. But you noticed her.

But because you had never seen her pay you any ounce of attention back, you didn't bother with trying to speak to her. It was just some silly hallway infatuation. Not even a crush in your opinion. You didn't know her, she didn't know you. Simple as that.

The prospect of having to actually talk to her properly was still daunting to you though. Getting out of your seat to make your way over to Michelle and Alan, who didn't even think about getting up to go to you or Robin, you dragged your feet again.

Sure, getting to know someone else in the class who had piqued your attention sounded fun, scary but fun. Though working with Michelle and Alan came with their own set of obstacles. It was a fact that they wouldn't do any work, there wasn't any point in questioning it.

A few moments after you sat at the desks in front of theirs, after receiving a minimal response in return, Robin placed herself in the empty seat next to you, offering you a small yet warm smile. She got the same dry response from the other two, giving her a visible divot in between her eyebrows as she concluded that those two would be the problem in the group too.

So, after a small sigh, she turned her full attention to you, who was already zoned out and staring at a table. She released an even bigger sigh. You were notorious for not listening during classes, but she was still holding out hope that out of the three she was lumped with that you would be her saving grace.

Clearing her throat awkwardly she spoke, "So... it's Y/n, right?". Being snapped out of your daze you peered up to see her expectedly staring at you.

"Yeah", you chuckled awkwardly and tried to sit up straighter, "And you're Robin", you nodded.

With a laugh she confirmed that it was in fact her name and pursed her lips before continuing, "Do you have a preference on the study topic?".

Study topic? Right, this was a group project after all. Grimacing, you looked over to the board and noticed Robin huffing slightly. This was not a great first impression that you were making, only solidifying her fears that you would dump all of the work on her. Which was not the case, you simply just tripped when the race gunshot went off and need a few seconds to unscramble yourself.

Social cognition or social identity. You shrugged.

"It's up to you, both are interesting topics. Social cognitive theory is so interesting, being able to read how other people read other people like a textbook. Plus seeing how we all fit into the machine of society with how we interpret that 'textbook'. As for social identity, well similarly it's like having an inside scoop on that machine, but from within us based on that textbook. The internal versus external battle", your eyes widened as you realised that you had been talking her ear off. You really did love psychology, just not the class.

"Uh... sorry I'm rambling now, but yeah it's up to you both are- both are pretty cool", you shrugged with nonchalant energy, trying to play off the embarrassment. But when your eyes met Robin's you saw them sparkle with a smile.

Yeah, she wouldn't be abandoned with this project.

"No, no it's okay. I mean I agree they're both super interesting, I'm stumped on what to pick too", her brows furrowed as she looked towards the other two of the group, who were just disgustingly and shamelessly flirting in hushed tones, ignoring the fact that there was a project going on altogether.

Your lips quirked to the side, wanting to take initiative to start cracking on with the work considering there was still 45 minutes of class left, you took a gamble "Cognition?".

She tilted her head ever so slightly it was almost unnoticeable as she cracked a grin, "Sure, is that good with you two?", Robin turned to the others who frowned and looked at each other as though you were the crap on the bottom of their shoes before going back to their own conversation. "Yeah, I think it's good with them", Robin turned back to you with an eye roll, this time moving herself to fully face you, completely ignoring those on the tables behind.

You couldn't help but let out a small giggle, even through the annoyance of your project team. "You think?", you quipped in return, basking in the raspy laugh let out by the girl next to you.

It was nice. It wasn't as though you thought Robin would ever be hard to talk to from the times you had seen her in classes, but talking to anyone new is nerve-wracking. It was a fresh break from some of the other people in school who act all holier than thou. Alan and Michelle being exhibit A.

But of course you got distracted again. This time by her. She intrigued you. "How about we focus on how schemas develop, you know, how they're acquired?", she voiced, only to you this time.

Back in the land of reality you nodded, "Sounds good". Making a mental note to really try and stop getting lost in your own head, you pulled a physical notebook out of your bag. One that had seen almost no action of pen to paper, earning a somewhat judgemental look. "Do you ever do any work?", she queried with teasing undertones whilst beginning to sketch up a spider diagram.

"It's all up here", your finger harshly prodded your temple a few times to prove your point as you started writing down the titles of some journals you had read during any late-night study cramming sessions you had. Within moments you had managed to write down a variety of papers written by psychologists and their poor et al friends.

Impressed, she copied down the titles and put them into the relevant spider diagram sections. "See, not just a hatstand", you fake bragged.

"Okay genius, you can remember names, let's see how well you can put a project together though", she returned, clearly trying to add in her own bragging. The next half an hour was spent working well as a small team, without your other members. A plan was composed on milestones to complete the project within the month, it was a big one. A bohemoth of a project. Thanks Mr Watts.

A bunch of facts and figures were also dotted around the pages you had both created, so that you wouldn't forget them later and go through the annoying motions of knowing that you had forgotten something, but not remembering what it was. That was the worst.

Then the end of class bell rung, with Alan and Michelle hightailing it out of the room before you could get a word in edgeways. "Right", you slowly nodded at the now empty seats, sharing an eyeroll with Robin as you packed your bags.

"So, you have my address now".

"I do?", you frowned, you had no idea where Robin lived.

She laughed, making your frown increase, "Yeah, it's at the top of your journal page, in your book", she gestured her head towards your bag perched on the desk, and your mouth opened in an 'o' shape as you nodded. "How on Earth did you not notice me leaning across to write that?".

"Not a clue man".

Another shrug, "Anyway, if you wanted to make an early start on it, you could come over tonight? If you want, you don't have to, my Mom's making some burgers tonight so it's not like I'd let you starve, and Mom won't mind", now it was Robin's turn to start awkwardly rambling. It was sweet.

"Hey, I'd love to", you gently and quickly placed a hand on her arm to reassure her before shouldering your backpack, "What time?".

"Like 6? We can eat then study?". Sounded like a good plan, so you happily agreed before bidding her farewell and making your way over to Jen who was waiting at the door, with a smirk.

"What do you want?", you asked in monotone, walking beside her to your next class.

She simply turned to you with a smirk for a few seconds before answering, frustrating you to no end with her usual antics, "I don't want anything, just noticed that you and Robin got on like a house on fire during that class".

You turned to her confused when you reached your lockers, Jen always had to go to her locker between every class thanks to all of the supplies she brought. Every time you got a good look in her locker you could have sworn that she could supply an entire army of students. "We just talked, Jen, it was an average interaction", you justified whilst mindlessly taking her bag so that she could organise her locker shelf.

"I've been in plenty of group projects with her, sure she participates, but she doesn't talk any more than she needs to. She spoke to you". You huffed, heat rising to your cheeks at her implications, causing Jen to give you a somewhat sympathetic head tilt when she looked up. "I'm sorry I'm just pointing out the obvious. Anyway, I'm guessing it's just gonna be you two doing the work?", Jen moved the conversation along slightly.

"Yeah, I can't see them doing anything. But I'm going to Robin's for burgers and a study session tonight so we'll get the work done, even with the lack of help".

Jen's eyes widened and you groaned in frustration, having inadvertently gotten back onto and proved her point. "You're having dinner with her?".

"Burgers", you corrected, as if it made any difference.

It didn't.

An odd squeaking sound fell out of your friend's mouth, one that you had never heard before. It caused you to take a step back, to which she quickly dragged you back to your original position. "You are having dinner with her?".

You fumbled on your words, which was really not helping your case, "I mean technically but-". That was all that you needed to say for Jen to start freaking out and rambling about how you two had better not be one of those oblivious pairings where she was forced to scheme in order to get you together. Though she did admit that it sounded fun, she wasn't sure if she had the time.

With firmness you assured her that it wouldn't be the case as there wasn't a pairing to scheme for in the first place, to which she just scoffed before taking her bag back into her possession. Sometimes Jen confused the everliving hell out of you. But you gotta love her. She always has your best interests at heart.

---

"Robin!", Mrs Buckley yelled from the front door where you stood awkwardly on the outside waiting to be let in, right on time for 6pm. Within seconds you heard scrambling motions upstairs before hearing the speedy, rhythmic thuds of someone sprinting down the stairs. It wasn't long before you saw a flustered Robin Buckley appear next to her mother, looking a bit out of breath.

Your head tilted to the side as you took in her appearance. She looked slightly stressed?

"Your friend is here", her Mom spoke with a smile before presumably moving back into the kitchen, where she was before you pressed the doorbell.

"Gathered that, thank you Mom", was Robin's reply, earning a small shake of the head from her Mom as she walked away. "So, you can come in", she opened the door wider, giving you space to enter and remove your shoes, awkwardly placing them by the door, not quite sure where to put them as there were no others nearby. "Oh yeah, you can just leave them there", Robin smiled delicately, sensing your apprehension.

"Cool", you grinned and looked around the hallway. It seemed to be a small house, but one that was cosy, and full of character. There were lots of trinkets hanging from the walls, including a collection of spoons made from various metals.

The corners of your lips tugged up as you stared at them. "Oh yeah, my Dad found them a while back, always insists on having them by the front door for some reason", Robin shrugged, "Anyway, dinner should be ready in five, do you wanna put your bag in my room?".

After nodding, the two of you walked up the stairs and you placed your backpack full of your minimal study supplies at the bottom of her bed, safe for after dinner. "Nice room", you looked around, seeing the Blondie and Bowie posters, mixed with some floral paintings and shelves full of books.

"Nothing special", Robin followed your gaze, though you disagreed with her. It was a cool room, and like the rest of the house seemed cosy.

The next few moments were rather awkward, you were awkward anyway with being in someone's house who you'd barely spoken to before, and Robin like you was awkward by nature. Luckily, you were saved by her parents calling you both down to dinner.

You followed closely behind Robin on the way to the kitchen, having no clue where to go and feeling slightly out of place. Graciously you accepted the tasty-looking burger from Mrs Buckley and placed yourself opposite Robin on their small, circular kitchen table, considering it was the only empty placemat left.

She offered you a friendly smile before tucking into her meal, with you following suit after putting a generous amount of ketchup over your food. It was far too much, you were aware, but it wasn't harming anyone. Can't have a burger with no ketchup.

Robin failed at holding back a teasing smile at seeing how you handled your condiments, causing you to tap her foot under the table. Very soon after she managed to wallop your shin rather hard with her foot, forcing a grunt out of your chest right in the middle of a silent moment, with Robin's eyes widening.

Great.

"You okay dear?", Robin's Mom placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, concern lacing her features.

"Yeah, I'm all good", you let out a fake cough, "Just went down the wrong way is all". She moved her hand onto your back and began lightly patting, ensuring that you weren't going to choke to death in the middle of her kitchen and handed you some water before everything went back to normal, and the occasional small talk was resumed.

Robin's Dad was very interested to hear about your plans for the psychology project and was glad to see that she had made friends with someone just as eager in the group, due to having to listen to his daughter complain about everyone for 70% of her school projects.

You smiled knowing that the 30% she didn't have to complain about was because of Jen.

Robin's Mom was just glad that she wasn't being 'an anti-social hermit', receiving an embarrassed glare from her daughter that made you laugh, forcing the glare's attention to change to you.

---

"I am not an anti-social hermit", Robin clarified once you entered her room again, and you let out a harsh laugh before opening your bag.

"You read all of those?", you gestured to her books with a lazy flick of your head, with a mumbled 'yes' in response. "Then I think I'm going to have to disagree", you perched yourself down on her rug cross-legged clutching your notebook to your chest.

She quickly sat down next to you and eyed you curiously, making you feel like you were shrinking on the spot. Having no idea why she seemed to be staring into your soul, you pursed your lips before she spoke. "You don't think it's a bad thing?", laced with insecurity.

"No, why would I?".

She shrugged, "Most people think it is, my mother included", Robin simply said, no malice in her words, just purely believing that it was fact. A frown flitted over your face once more, being someone who preferred their own company wasn't a bad thing, so long as you weren't isolating yourself to an unhealthy degree.

"I mean, I'm the same. I like just being in my own space, doing my own thing". She considered your words for a moment and nodded before grabbing her own notebook, promptly opening it up to the pages that she created earlier.

The rest of the evening was spent compiling your notes on the topic onto one big sheet of paper, most of your information coming from your head and not physical notes, and sharing tender smiles whenever eye contact was made.

Okay, maybe Jen was right.

Damn it Jen.

On your walk home it gave you time to think. You were genuinely excited to go to Robin's the following afternoon, as it was a weekend, to continue the project, which is something that you rarely felt. Even with those you have known for years you usually want a day of socially recharging, especially on the weekend. Yet here you were wishing for the next day.

Robin seemed equally as enthusiastic that you wanted to stick to the plan of meeting regularly for at least two weeks to get the work done with plenty of time to spare. Considering her similar outlook on social life, you were left pondering if she felt the same way you did.

She did.

You were easy to get along with, someone who was finally on the same wavelength. Now, she loved her friends dearly, she really did, but occasionally there was an energy clash that left her social battery feeling low for a few days. But with you she was eager to see you again as soon as you stepped foot outside her door to begin your journey back to your own humble abode.

Throughout the night she just thought that you brought a sense of calm, the way that you spoke softly but with confidence, how you also appreciated the comfortable silences and didn't feel the need to constantly fill them, casually checking in if she was okay whilst trying to wrap her head around some harder parts of the topic. It was nice.

You were nice.

If only you had both not been so oblivious to the way you noticed each other in the halls sooner.

---

The following day went without a hitch. As did the next few study sessions over the following weeks held at either yours or Robin's. There had been quite a few dinners, mostly made by Robin's Mom as yours had the tendency to overcook and simultaneously undercook a dish. In order to survive a family meal at your house you had to have been acclimatised to it since infancy.

After many burgers and delicious casseroles had been digested, the two of you would work well into the late hours of the night, forgetting that you were actually doing schoolwork due to enjoying the topic and the company so much. It felt like just hanging out with a truly good friend, no academic validation and societal pressures attached.

Though you did feel the pressure to act like a normal human being whenever Robin touched your hand to get your attention. Pair that with Robin looking like she was contemplating something during accidental touches, it made you slightly paranoid. But the rest of the time was the most stress-free you had ever been, so you coped with it.

Due to working so late into the night half of the time, and not wanting to say goodbye quite yet, there had been a few instances where you spent the night at her place, considering it was usually hers you were at late thanks to the dinners.

The night would be spent polishing off the project that had quickly become something you were both incredibly proud of, and once you were sufficiently tired from the work the activities switched between browsing her impressive collection of books, to which she let you borrow a few - bringing back the flame of your adoration of reading - and watching movies in the background whilst talking late into the night.

Robin had swiftly become your go-to person.

For the longest time you lived in your own little bubble, rarely letting anyone into the world that you had created to get through life. But somehow she had burst her way in. And you loved it.

The anonymous person in the visions of your future were starting to get a face.

Of course, whenever you showed up to school at Robin's side after an impromptu sleepover donning one of her jackets thanks to you not having any spare clothes, Jen had a whole lot of words to say about it.

She would wait for you and Robin to say your goodbyes and for her to join her friends, which took forever in Jen's opinion, and then she would bombard you with questions. Mentioning that it looked like you were doing the walk of shame. You responded each time by telling her that she was being ridiculous.

Deep down, you knew that she wasn't.

Sitting in class draped in Robin's clothing made you feel warm. Clutching the fabric in your hands a small smile rested on your face, even with Mr Watts' droning occurring in the background. You were on cloud nine.

You hadn't even noticed the way that Robin had a similar dopey smile on her face whenever she looked towards the desks in front of her and saw the back of you, her favourite jacket on your back.

---

The day of the project submission came and went far too quickly. You added the names of the other two members, begrudgingly earning them a grade, and the two of you handed over the giant booklet of information that you had synethesised. Glancing at each other with solemn looks, you sat back at your desks, knowing that you didn't have an excuse to constantly hang out with Robin anymore.

Yes, you had become good friends, but you were unsure if she wanted the same friendship as you. The one where you could just rock up to each others houses when you were bored, ones that wanted to spend nearly everyday together. Or if she just wanted to be more casual. Hanging out every now and then, checking in on each other if you pass in the hallways.

After the last few weeks that you had of many dinners and hangouts together, you hoped that she wished for the former too, but you were too socially awkward to check. So, you just assumed it was going to be the more casual friendship, and allowed yourself time to wallow for the rest of the day.

You weren't even sure at that point if you wanted to just be friends with Robin.

Sure, you had always admired her from afar, having always seemed like a nice and down to Earth person, and after getting to know her you wanted to be around her more, and got flustered at minimal actions. But that didn't mean-

Oh.

Oh.

You snapped out of your thoughts, once again looking like you were daydreaming in class. The norm. But this time instead of drifting back into your own little land like you usually did when you heard the teacher still incessantly talking at the class, your eyes were wide as you stared ahead. For once, looking like you were paying attention.

In actuality, panic was surging through you.

The remainder of the class went by agonisingly, painfully slow. Contemplating every part of the new conundrum that you were experiencing. You wanted to see Robin tonight, for the last few weeks you had seen her after school everyday, you suspected that if you stopped today you might get withdrawal symptoms. But again, the first major issue, you didn't know if Robin wanted the same, or if she was going to take this as a welcome break away from you.

Just the thought of her thinking that made your throat close and your chest constrict.

The second major issue was that you didn't even know if Robin was gay. Like you, if she was she probably had to keep it concealed thanks to Hawkins being Hawkins, so it wasn't as though you could casually waltz up to her and ask, putting both you and her at risk.

The third major issue was that even if she liked women, who was to say she liked you? Being oblivious to social cues really did have their downsides. When together you noticed the little quirks she had around you, the lingering looks, making an excuse for her hand to brush yours. However, Robin's Mom would also describe you as an anti-social hermit, so you had no clue how to properly interpret those actions.

You were a very smart person, and for once, you were stumped.

Which brings on the fourth major issue. Now that you knew, how in God's name were you supposed to tell her? To confess this giant Earth shattering confession to her?

Well the answer was simple.

You wouldn't.

Not yet at least, you wanted to ponder it. Sit on it for an unnecessarily long time until you were either forced to play your cards, or the problem disappeared completely. That is one of the best ways to go about life you thought, and so you sat there satisfied with your decision, ignoring the gnawing feeling in the back of your mind, letting you know that you were being a complete and utter idiot as you sat watching the clock tick, ready to move onto your next lesson.

---

Jen had once again started the topic of Robin whilst you were trying to peacefully eat your sandwich at lunch time. "Would you give it a rest?", you exasperated after painfully swallowing a hunk of sandwich that wasn't quite chewed enough yet, making you gracefully wretch before downing some water.

You hadn't choked to death.

"That was attractive", Jen laughed.

"Whatever", you grumbled, about to take another bite of your lunch, but once again interrupted by your best friend, who definitely knew how to pester a person.

"She's looking at you". With a sigh you turned to Jen, sending her a disapproving look for teasing you in this way, but when she gestured across to the other side of the cafeteria subtly with her eyes, you caved and looked. Lo and behold the person who had been plaguing your mind was indeed looking at you.

When you eyes locked, hers widened and she quickly looked down to her own food, beginning to awkwardly prod it with a fork before letting out a faux-laugh, faking participation in her groups conversation.

With a gulp you turned back to Jen who was wearing a knowing smirk. "Whatever", you again grumbled, not being able to contain the tiniest of smiles that graced your features.

"They grow up so fast", Jen mocked and wiped away a fake tear, leading to you repeating the same look of disapproval, one that you wore oh so very often these days.

---

Sitting at your desk at home, you couldn't concentrate. At all.

Work was piling up, and due to your nature of procrastinating you had left all of your work until last minute, which usually managed to kick your ass into gear to get the work done. But that night you were struggling.

It all just felt so empty.

You hadn't sat alone in your room to do work for almost four weeks, having had Robin over or you at hers doing the project and also getting some other classwork done. Usually, you would revel in the silence, other than some music quietly playing in the back so that you could peacefully get on with your work.

But tonight, it felt as though there was a void. An uncomfortable one.

A solid forty minutes passed of you chewing on the end of your pen like a hamster and shuffling around in your chair, with only three sentences of your essay written before you admitted defeat.

Waving the white flag, you stood abruptly, almost falling over as you lurched across your room to grab your old tattered shoes. Without even bothering to untie the laces you slipped them on, wiggling your feet around for a few seconds to get them on properly, and you bolted out the door, down the hall and towards the exit.

"I'm heading out!", you yelled into the open hallway, hoping that your Mom heard it as you rushed out into the chilly air of the night. You winced when the door accidentally slammed in your rush, knowing that your Mom would not be the most appreciative of that, and began your brisk walk, knowing that you would not be able to run all of the way to your destination without giving yourself a collapsed lung.

Robin's was only fifteen minutes away if you walked quickly, you kept thinking to yourself, keeping your gaze locked onto the pavement whilst walking, knowing that with the speed that you were going, you would definitely trip over a crooked slab or some random pebble.

What you hadn't been expecting was to bump into a person who was walking with just as much speed as you were, also not looking ahead. Groans came from both you and the stranger as you hit each other with a lot of momentum.

Instinct kicked in a split second after your brain had comprehended what was going on, and thank the heavens it did considering that person was about to fall backward onto the pavement at full force. Swiftly, you grabbed their arm and pulled them into you, keeping them upright.

"I am so sorry, I wasn't looking wh-", you began spluttering out as you regained your own balance, only to be interrupted by an all too familiar raspy voice.

"Y/n?".

"Robin?", looking up you saw the very person who was the centre of your mission. "What are you doing out here?", you queried, considering you were still rather close to your house, and Robin lived in the other direction.

She cleared her throat, an awkward energy hanging around the air as she awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck, both of you noticing how close you still were to each other but neither of you daring to take any step backwards. "I wanted to see you".

Blinking a few times, your mind froze. Having expected Robin to not want to hang out with you as much outside of school anymore, it was like your brain had gone static at hearing that it was the opposite. "I was on my way to see you too", you laughed, "Guess we met halfway".

"Yeah, I guess we did", she smiled softly, gently scanning your features. You were standing so close to each other. "So, um...", she trailed off, tugging on the bottom of her jacket.

"Um?", you smirked as she stifled a laugh.

A moment of silence passed, neither of you knowing how to go about what you were feeling. Truly useless.

"I need to tell you something", you both blurted out at the same time, wincing at interrupting each other. "Sorry!", again you spoke at once. Shaking your head you urged her to speak first, though she was hesitant, she put on a smile. One that gave you butterflies.

"I don't even know what to say... I just- I missed you, even though we literally hung out last night, and saw each other at school, I really missed you. I've never met someone that makes me wanna spend 24/7 with them".

"I know exactly what you mean", you breathed out, butterflies racing in your stomach as you stared up at her.

"You do?".

"Yeah, you're amazing".

She swallowed thickly, the nerves building up as her lips parted, both of you staring at each other like there was nothing else in the world. She entranced you, the delicate way her freckles dusted over her nose, how her eyes stared at you with devotion, how you could feel her breath on your face, keeping you warm in the cold night.

You got lost in your thoughts again.

Whispering, Robin brought you back to reality, "Can I kiss you?". Your entire world froze and flipped upside down within a nanosecond. Heart thrumming uncontrollably in your chest, you nodded far too enthusiastically. Ordinarily you would have cringed at yourself, but before you could read too much into the overthinking and self loathing, Robin leant down and her lips were on yours, and her hands gently reached out to touch your waist.

It was clunky at first, you weren't sure how to stand, and all too quickly she pulled back, her eyes shining more than you had ever seen them shine. You couldn't help it, you leaned in again, which she eagerly accepted.

If it was possible, you would have stayed there forever. Being connected to Robin like this made you feel complete, made you feel whole. The empty feeling from earlier was gone, and now you were simply full to the brim with joy, which was unfortunately the reason that you couldn't stay like that forever.

When you starting smiling against her lips, Robin's own face broke out into a grin and she placed her forehead against yours, not wanting to let go of you just yet.

The next minute was spent smiling and staring into each others eyes, resembling an awful romantic movie that you would probably spend your entire life avoiding. But in the moment, you finally understood them.

"We have an essay due tomorrow", Robin started with a smirk.

"Indeed we do".

Her lips quirked to the side in thought, "Wanna get your stuff and head back to mine for the night? It feels empty without you", she snaked her arms around you, managing to hold you closer, which you hadn't thought possible.

"Absolutely", you gave her a quick peck, laughing at how she whined when you moved back too quickly for her liking, and started the short journey back to your house, trying not to think about how you needed to tell Jen that she was right.

As always, Jen was right. 

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

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

Taglist: @fxckmiup @itsdoni @rob1nbuckl3ys

[rossmacdonaldsgf]

just pure fluff of ross after playing a sold out show at the o2.

ross x reader

no warnings.

you don’t think you’ll ever forget the feeling of watching thousands of people scream, cry and love a band that is so deeply connected to your being. the very songs reverberating throughout the arena filled with people, were the songs you watched being formed. you were there from the beginning, you watched them change, you watched hairs become grey, songs gain more feelings and you saw the way that people looked at them change. of course, the band had a large wire of displeasure tethered to them, perhaps they’ll never escape it but, their followers, their people, were so loyal and loving. they loved and were loved retrospectively. from your bubble of pride, you watched the world float by in a mixture of songs with lyrics that you definitely shouldn’t be screaming so wholeheartedly. your pride, joy and love, did what he does best upon that very stage in london, his emotions were difficult to read, he was a 6”4 big friendly giant. intimidating but pure. the years you’ve spent enclosed in your bubble of love enabled you with what felt like the ability to recognise what he was thinking no matter what, and you knew he, like the rest of his adored band, felt nothing but glee. this tour was life changing, starting at their very best and ending at most definitely still at the their very best. But with age comes knowledge, and you know deep down everyone recognises that age puts a large barrier in the things we love most. it isolates us away from being able to do the things we love the most. you weren’t as young as what you used to be. they, weren’t as young as what they used to be. so each show, each crowd, each mesmerising performance, was so special. life is unpredictable. for this band especially, the unpredictability of life presented its ugly face in times they wanted it to be hidden. so now, with no naivety to the challenges life can present, they treasure each special moment as they grow older together, for, who knows how long the 1975 will still be at their very best.

the aftermath of shows were exhilarating, each show ending differently to the last, each crowd having a special story. the band walks off stage, an aura of joy cascading off them, they each have their own separate traditions, which in the past few years have been altered and changed. matty, now infatuated with gabriette, makes a point to speak to her, wether it be calling or texting, family was always important to him. george takes five minutes to relax from the high that is performing, if he can, he’ll call charli, if not, he’ll lay on a sofa, eyes closed, most definitely playing back what just happened so it never slips from his mind. adam, finds carly, his safe space and love, they’re quiet encased in a world of serenity. with nothing but the noise of matty rambling about something unimportant, ross always finds you, each day changes depending on the others mood, but for now, you take his hair out the bun, knowing the agonising feeling of restriction must be elevating the headache that comes with the after show blues. he allows you to massage, your fingers gently untangling the nots, your touch soft, featherlight, like if you touch him, he’ll break. when that’s finished, you hug, it’s a long, ‘im proud of you hug’ that speaks more than words, he allows himself to show a vulnerability that he only shows with you, a soft, sweet smile resting on his lips. he’ll take your hand and quietly whisper, ‘let’s go’, he bids farewell to the guys, hugging them and talking about how great the show was. you take the short walk to the tour bus, his arm protectively around your shoulder, allowing you to feel the heat radiating of his chest. when back in the safety of the bus, he showers, letting the water loosen his muscles and clear his mind. while he showers, you cook, a simple dish, nothing too fancy for the late night dinner. just some pasta with sauce and cheese, a favourite that provides endless comfort. during dinner you talk about anything but the show, you talk about an upcoming party you’ll be hosting. you talk about the cat you’re planning to adopt after tour finishes, you talk about anything but his work and for a moment, life seems normal and serene. you both clean up, you tell ross that it’s fine, he can go relax, but, ever the gentleman he insists, so you wash he dries. a cringy 2000s movie plays quietly in the background, with both of you in comfier clothes, his arms wrap around you, pulling you towards him so your practically covering him like a blanket. on days like this, he doesn’t want to talk, just soak in your presence and allow himself to love and be loved, your fingers trace his face, his nose, lips, eyebrows, beard, before finally kissing him. the silence is usually interrupted by matty making his presence very know ‘ do you two ever stop bloody snogging’, with his apparent arrival, ross decides it’s too late to deal with him, and you go to his bunk. your not sure how long it is till you fall asleep, his embrace warm and comforting. when you feel yourself drifting, you feel his lips touch your forehead and a loving whisper, ‘i love you’. you’re too far asleep to say it back but you know he knows, he knows with everything you do for him, cooking, cleaning, taking care of him, travelling around the world with him. god your so in love with him it hurts, he’s your person and nothing seems bad when you are together.

[littlestarlost]

eve, in the garden (an avatrice ficlet)

Ava is generally fascinated by all the things Beatrice does, but it’s all the fruit that finally sends her over the edge. 

Beatrice, who slices her apples into perfect sixteenths and peels mandarins while keeping the skin in one piece. 

Beatrice, who always rests the strawberry against her lips before taking a bite, as if in reverent prayer. 

(It’s a look Ava has only seen when they're in the throes of passion, and when Bea eats strawberries.)

Beatrice, who eats green grapes by peeling the skin off first, using only her teeth and tongue. 

(Ava makes herself come just by grinding her thighs together, panting hot into the corner of the pillow so Beatrice won’t wake up.)

Beatrice only buys things when they’re in season, so it isn’t until the first nip of October that she brings home a pomegranate. She actually brings home five—only one of which is going into the chutney she wants to try, but they were on sale—and as Ava helps put away the groceries she can’t help but drift towards them. Spending twelve years unable to feel has made her a glutton for novelty, even to this day; the chance to feel something new is still a shining golden treasure. Her sensory-hungry hands are immediately drawn to the pomegranate’s taut flesh, the healthy weight of it in her palm, the way something gives just a little under the surface when she applies the slightest pressure. 

“How do you eat these?” Ava asks, her mouth already watering for some reason. “Is the skin good? Can I just go full apple, or this another rambutan situation?” 

Beatrice laughs, her joy like pealing bells on a Saint’s day. “Not quite, but there is kind of a trick to them. Would you like me to show you?” 

Ava nods. “Yes, please,” she says, voice low. She can’t help herself when Beatrice shows her things. 

They have to finish putting the groceries away first—Beatrice, as always, is an edging queen—and then Ava has to do the dishes she left in the sink from this morning. But eventually things are to Beatrice’s liking (Ava would do a million dishes just to see that specific calm smile), and they stand together by the sink: Beatrice filling a bowl with lukewarm water, and Ava with her chin planted on her hands like a brat. 

“Watch this,” Beatrice flashes the tiniest smirk, twirling a paring knife between her fingers before stabbing it into the top of the pomegranate, cutting a neat circle around the calyx and removing it as casually as she might kill a man with her bare hands. “Now, do you see the white pith inside, in between the seeds? You have to peel that off, and it’s often easiest to do in water, like so.” She slices a few straight lines down the pomegranate before submerging it in the bowl and cracking it open like a spine, which sends a delightful shiver down Ava’s own back. 

In Beatrice’s hands, everything becomes holy. The water bath is a baptism, the squirt of juice blooming blood-red like a temple crowned with thorns; the pith floats to the surface like clouds as the arils sink to the bottom of the bowl. They don’t pop out of the pomegranate easily; Beatrice has to coax them off the pith, her thumb stroking the seeds until they submit. She pulls up a handful—tiny seeds, once held in bondage and now freed, pearly pink and nearly translucent around the edges. The water runs through her fingers in rivulets. 

“Here,” Beatrice breathes, as if speaking too loud might shatter the moment. She takes an aril from her cupped palm and raises it to Ava’s lips, her fingers lingering as Ava’s tongue darts out to receive it. “Close your eyes.” 

Ava obeys, eyelashes fluttering as she bites down on the tiny seed. There’s a burst of tart-sweet juice on her tongue, a gentle crunch—refreshing and intriguing and gone far too soon. 

“Delicious,” she groans with pleasure.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Hey! I'm looking for some good canon compliant married!klaine fics, and was hoping you had some recs!

Here are some. I've read the first one, which is lovely. The next four have been reviewed previously by Lynne, and i have added them to my "to read" list.

Also, don't forget the Daddies!klaine tag for fun with their children!

Enjoy! ~Jen

Snapshots by @borogroves

August 27, 2044. They say a picture paints a thousand words… and Kurt and Blaine have a whole scrapbook.

~~~~~

I remember when we first met By @tnystrk3000

Inspired by #42 of 101 Ways to Say I Love You by emswritingprompts on Tumblr: "I remember when we first met."

Summary: During their wedding reception, Kurt and Blaine find a moment alone to reflect on where they started and are now. They sit outside, looking at the stars, as they talk about their journey.

Takes place during season 6 episode 8, the only difference is that it’s nighttime.

~~~~~

daydreaming my life away (would you come along with me?) by anderhummel (em_a)

Sometimes Kurt feels like he and Blaine are moving too fast, hurtling headfirst into the unknown where their relationship is bound to end in a fiery crash and broken hearts.

But then Blaine flashes a smile at him, or shoots him an exasperated look behind Rachel's back, or hooks his pinky into Kurt's belt loop as they're walking down the hallway, or—really, sometimes Blaine breathes and Kurt knows, deep in his bones, that he has never been more sure of anything in his life.

* * *

A collection of times throughout Kurt and Blaine's relationship that they discuss their futures.

~~~~~

5 Times: Darling, Just Kiss Me Slow by InsightfulInsomniac

Five types of kisses that Kurt and Blaine share in their domestic moments of early marriage. Wholesome, sweet early married Klaine with a few guest appearances along the way from Burt and Carole.

Aka my five favorite kiss ideas from a kiss prompt list I found a long time ago.

~~~~~

New York Ever After by @gleefulpoppet

Upon their return to New York, Kurt and Blaine create an extraordinary life curated from thousands of ordinary moments noticed, appreciated, and treasured. [AKA The Klaine Glee spinoff we all wanted: date nights, doing the dishes, showers before work, fits of giggles, lazy couch kisses, and more.]

Canon compliant through the entirety of season 6. Each chapter will be self-contained—no cliffhangers or abandoned story issues to worry about.

~~~~~

Honeymoon Holidays by @flowerfan2  

Kurt and Blaine’s first winter holidays together as a married couple fall so quickly after their wedding that sometimes they almost seem like a continuation of their honeymoon.  But not always.  A story in the “Season 7” series that looks at events in the early married life of Kurt and Blaine.

~~~

The Boys of Summerby neverhaveieverbooks

Kurt and Blaine’s first summer in New York after they get married. It’s easy. It’s hard. It’s perfectly imperfect. A summer tale in 12 chapters. Canon-compliant. This story technically takes place within the middle of episode 6 x 13, after Nationals, and before they return to McKinley for their visit in the fall.

Written for the Klaine Summer Challenge 2016 on tumblr.

~~~~~

The Bluebird as She Singsby @lovetheblazer

Eleven months in the journey Kurt and Blaine take to become parents, from Rachel offering to be their surrogate through the birth. Klaine reaction fic for “Dreams Come True” with background St. Berry.

~~~~~

My Wish for Youby Iris Kane

Picking up after the series finale; this story takes place sometime between 2015 and 2020 when Rachel agrees to be Kurt and Blaine surrogate, this is what I think might have happened. (Some rewrites and adjustments to this story; if you’re confused about the direction the story is going please reread)

~~~~~

It’s Bittersweet, Babyby InsightfulInsomniac

When packing up their things to move into their first place as an officially married couple, Blaine finds Kurt’s engagement ring in his former sock drawer, sparking many emotions and memories between the two of them.

But as loving, secure husbands do, they talk it out together.

~~~~~

A year in the Life by @darriness

Formally titled Fic A Day 2018.

I wrote 365 fics (one a day) based on a word that was randomly generated every day.

~~~~~

Wednesday By @spaceorphan18

Just an average day in the life of Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, and their baby Katie.

~~~~~

The Chaperone By pracitcalamenda

When a class mom pulls out at the last minute, Kurt fills in as a chaperone for Blaine's second grade class trip. Turns out that "Mr. Anderson" is quite popular with the moms and Kurt doesn't bother to mention that Blaine's his boyfriend.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

summary: when an apollo camper falls for an aphrodite camper, heart-shaped cough drops and haikus written with glitter gel pens aren't too far behind. word count: 6815 words a/n: it started as a simple headcanon. apollo's kid falling for aphrodite's. i told a few friends on discord about it, and they ate the idea up so much, i knew i had to write something about them. this story is about two ocs, but you'll see a few familiar faces in here too, and if you're paying close enough attention to context clues, you can figure out where eva and kodi's story fits in within the pjo timeline. taglist: @poptart-cat-78 @fynn-arcana @babsbabbles @laughingphoenixleader {if you’d like to be added to my halfblood 5&1 taglist/pjo taglist, let me know!}

also on ao3!

five times it paid to know an apollo boy (and one time being an aphrodite girl paid off too)

~eva's first summer~

 Eva wasn't surprised that, in a camp with archery, flying pegasi, and lava in the dish pit as well as on the climbing wall, she'd gotten herself hurt within her first week at Camp Half-Blood. 

 But, although she hadn't sat down and considered all the possible injuries available to her at Camp, if she had, getting a papercut while opening a chocolate bar for s'mores wouldn't've exactly made the list.

 And yet, even in the dim lighting of the camp's bonfire, she could see very clearly the scratch on her thumb.

 "That kind of injury takes some serious skill," someone said.

 She couldn't see his face in the low lighting by the bonfire, but she saw him hold something out to her.

 "Need a band-aid?"

 "Thanks," Eva said. She took it from him and unwrapped it.

 By the time the bandage was around her thumb, the stranger had disappeared into the crowd, and she shoved the wrapping into her pocket.

 She'd almost forgotten that moment had happened by the time she got back to her cabin. But now that she looked at it in the light, she saw that the band-aid was a shade of hot pink— her favorite color, and the same color as the accessories she'd worn with her Camp Half-Blood t-shirt that day.

~eva's first summer~

 When Eva was a little girl, she always looked forward to Valentine's Day. It made more sense now, looking back on it after her demigod diagnosis, why her decorated shoebox mailbox was always filled to the brim with heart-shaped lollipops, tiny treasures, and cards with cartoon character puns on them. Of course Aphrodite's daughter would attract a lot of attention from her classmates.

 Not long after she settled into camp, she realized Cabin 10 was one giant Valentine's shoebox.  Eva was used to coming back to the cabin each evening and seeing her sisters' bunks surrounded by flowers and chocolates and her brothers' bunks cluttered with assorted candies and letters that smelled like perfume. As long as there were Aphrodite kids who treasured cheap attempts to buy their affection, there would be kids from the other cabins more than willing to oblige them.

 But Eva didn't get gifts like that, at least, not as much as her siblings. She spent a lot of that first summer reminding herself that she was still the youngest in the cabin, and that her time to shine would come soon enough.

 In the meantime, though, she'd just have to get used to all the flowers. She had just the luck of having a bunk next to Silena— kind-hearted, beautiful Silena, who could scarcely glance in a boy's direction without him falling for her. Eva soon found out that where there were boys falling for you, there were flowers, and where there were flowers, there were allergies, and she figured the best way to dispel the issue quietly was to stop by Cabin 7.

 A normal camp would have a camp nurse, maybe a nurse's assistant on staff, and wouldn't be much more than a phone call away from the nearest hospital. Camp Half-Blood's medical treatments pretty much amounted to "tell someone at Cabin 7 what's wrong, and if they can't patch you up, well, there's not much a mortal doctor could do for you anyways."

~💘~

 As Eva approached the cabin, she noticed there were several chains by the door, each one with a different label underneath.

 "PULL FOR URGENT EMERGENCY"

 "PULL FOR IMPALEMENT"

 "PULL FOR PRANK-RELATED INJURY"

 "PULL FOR WALK-IN CONSULTATION"

 That last one sounded the most like what she needed, so she pulled that chain and heard a chime go off in the cabin.

 "I'll be out in a second," a voice said, and a moment later the door opened to a blonde boy, not much older than Eva, whose eyes widened when he saw her.

 "Oh my gosh, are you alright?" he asked, with so much concern on his face she might as well have been actively on fire.

 "Yeah," Eva wrinkled her nose, "just a slight problem I was hoping someone could help me with."

 "Oh, good," he said, "I, uh, what can I do for you?"

 She hesitated a moment, not sure what would happen if word got out that Aphrodite's new daughter was allergic to flowers.

 "Can you keep a secret?"

 "Anything for you," he said, then coughed so hard Eva thought that he might need a doctor, "I mean, uh, of course."

 "I found out I'm allergic to flowers," Eva whispered, "and Drew said that if I wake her up with my coughing one more time, I'm gonna be the one who needs beauty sleep."

 "That's perfect!" the boy said.

 "My allergy is perfect?" Eva asked.

 "No, no," he said, "I have just the thing. Don't go away!"

 He scurried back into the cabin, and about a minute later he came back with a bottle and a cloth pouch.

 "These will help the allergy," he handed her the bottle, "take one each night before bed, and you should be cough free. But, just in case!' 

 He handed her the pouch as well and she opened it to see several heart shaped lollipops.

 "What are these?"

 "Newest breakthrough in Cabin 7 medicine," he said, "making your own blend of cough drops is almost a rite of passage, but I've turned the science into an art form."

 Eva held one up and sniffed it. "You made cough drops into lollipops?"

 "Yeah," he said.

 "Why?"

 "Why not?"

 They stood in silence for an awkward moment.

 "I gotta go," Eva said, "but thanks for everything."

 "You're welcome," he said.

 She walked away, slightly confused and highly appreciative, though the whole of the moment was soon lost in the hubbub of demigod adventures.

~eva's second summer~

 The biggest problem with being a child of Aphrodite is that your skill set usually boils down to "distraction." Another unfortunate truth is that sometimes "distraction" boils down to "do the hard part and run through the woods so that someone else can get the glory for your actions."

 Unfortunately for Eva, this was one of those times.

 All of Red Team had been hopeful for their own chance to shine when Clarisse announced that she wouldn't be going directly for the flag this time. She claimed it was a solid strategy for her and a couple of her siblings to divert the enemy's attention, so she volunteered to take patrol up along the lake instead of in the woods as usual.

 However, this shuffling of the troops meant that Eva and a couple of the other Aphrodite campers were on a new mission: distract the enemy while the remaining Ares campers rush the Blue Team's flag.

 Things had gone pretty much according to plan there. A few of the Apollo kids had been guarding the flag, and more than half of them had abandoned their post to chase down the Red Team's distraction.

 But although the chase was part of the plan, Eva hoped the boy running after her would just give up already. She wasn't sure how much more of it she could take right now.

 As the forest passed by around her, she glanced over her shoulder— just long enough to see her pursuer's determined smile— then looked back ahead of her, in just enough time to notice the tree root in front of her, but without enough time to avoid tripping on it.

 She landed with her hands in front of her, the wind knocked out of her for a moment.

 "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," his voice behind her said, "are you okay?"

 Eva pushed herself up a little and turned her head to see the boy who'd been chasing her, now with a concerned look on his face.

 She wanted to make a clever remark and then run past her enemy and make her escape, but as she tried to push herself up further, she realized the pain in her knees and chin, and especially her hands.

 "I'm alright," she huffed, sitting up and looking at her hands, both of them brushburned and dirt stained, and one having a decent sized cut.

 "No you're not," he said, and knelt down in front of her, "you're bleeding in five different places."

 "I'll be fine," Eva said.

 "At least let me take a look at it. Apollo's my father, I…."

 "I know," Eva said, "and you'll take me back to Blue Team's jail as a wounded prisoner."

 A drop of blood fell onto Eva's shirt, and it took her a few seconds to realize where it had come from. She touched a sticky spot on her chin, then looked at her fingers to see a streak of red and brown.

 "Capture the Flag isn't my concern right now," he said, taking off his helmet to reveal a familiar face, with a mop of fair blonde hair that would've looked even lighter if it wasn't so sweaty, paired the warmest brown eyes Eva'd ever seen— the boy who'd given her the cough drops and allergy pills last summer, "let me patch you up, and I'll give you a fifteen second head start."

 "I guess that sounds like a deal," Eva said. She was supposed to be the distraction anyways, and this camper wouldn't be after her teammates if he was occupied with her instead.

 "Good," he said. He'd already taken off his chestplate as well, and he pulled a knife out of a holster at his side.

 "What are you doing?" Eva asked.

 "Emergency bandages," he said, cutting a strip off the bottom of his shirt, "maybe this'll convince Annabeth to let us bring more first aid supplies next time. She says they only slow us down," he cut another chunk of the fabric off his shirt, "but this would go a lot faster if I didn't have to tear apart my wardrobe to do it."

 "You don't have to."

 "Nonsense," he said, pouring some water from his canteen onto one of the cloths, "you wouldn't've tripped if I hadn't been chasing you. May I?"

 She nodded as he took her right hand and dabbed her open palm with the wet cloth. She tried not to wince too much.

 "Sorry," he said, "I wish I had something better to clean this out with."

 "No need to apologize."

 Once her hand was clean, he wrapped a strip of the fabric around it, and tied it tightly.

 "Here," he said, handing her the wet cloth, "wipe up that cut on your chin, then apply pressure to stop the bleeding."

 She followed his instructions as best she could as he cut off another chunk of his shirt and wet it.

 "You know a lot about first aid," Eva said.

 He smiled a little as he took her other hand and dappled off the dirt.

 "I'm not the best of my siblings," he said, "but I do what I can."

 Eva knew all about struggling to be the best, having consigned herself at this point to the fact that she wouldn't even be third best among her siblings for a very long time.

 "I'm Eva," she said.

 "Evangeline Blythe," he nodded, "I know. This is your second summer, right?"

 "That's what it says on my necklace," Eva said, glancing at the single clay bead on the string around her neck.

 He held up his own necklace with two beads on it. "Then I guess this is my third. I'm Kodi Archer."

 "I remember you from last summer," Eva said.

 "You do?" Kodi asked.

 "You gave me something for my allergies," she said.

 "Glad to make an impression," he said, cleaning the spots of dirt off her scratched-but-not-actively-bleeding knees, "that's also not the first time we met."

 "It's not?"

 "I'm just sorry I didn't have any hot pink bandages on me this time."

 "That was you?" Eva asked, recalling the bonfire and the perfectly accessorized band-aid.

 "Yeah," he said.

 Kodi looked back up at her, a smile on his face as their eyes met for half a moment. His eyes then shifted, however, to the cloth she had pressed against her chin.

 "Let's see what I can do for that chin," he said, his hand brushing against hers as he took the cloth from her.

 She hardly noticed the sting of the wet cloth on her cut as he tilted her chin up with his other hand, giving her a better view of his face in the golden lighting of the sun, warming his eyes to an even richer hue. He hadn't been this nice to look at last summer, but he'd apparently grown into his nose, and his height, and some confidence had no-doubt come with it, all of which paid off nicely together.

 Her gaze was drawn away when she heard a sound in the distance: the blaring of a horn, signifying the end of the game. Kodi stopped a moment as well, looking up as though trying to see where it came from.

 "That's a relief," he smiled.

 "Who do you think won?" 

 "Doesn't matter," Kodi said, "I'm just glad I didn't have to explain to Luke and Annabeth why I was stopping to help you and would've given you a head start instead of taking you prisoner."

 "At least you don't have to report to Clarisse," Eva offered.

 "I don't envy you on that one," Kodi said, dabbing away the last of the blood on her chin, "now, keep applying pressure, and stop by Cabin 7 to get it looked at once you get back by the main camp, okay?"

 Eva rolled her eyes.

 "At least grab yourself a couple real bandages?"

 "Do they have hot pink ones?" Eva smiled

 "If you tell them I sent you," Kodi smiled back, resheathing his knife. "Now, do you think you can walk with your knees all scraped up?"

 "I think so," she said, trying to stand up off the ground.

 "Here," Kodi jumped to his feet, then held a hand out to Eva, who gladly took it and let him help stand her up.

 "Thanks for everything." Eva said, taking a couple steps with minimum difficulty.

 "All in a day's work," he said.

 In the distance, they heard quite a ruckus.

 "What's that?" Eva asked.

 "Sounds like some commotion over at canoe lake," Kodi said, "probably nothing important."

~eva's third summer~

 Eva had no idea where the haikus were coming from.

 It started one day at dinner, when she got up to make her offering to Aphrodite, and came back to find a three-by-five index card on her napkin. One one side was her name— Evangeline, not Eva— written with a smudged pink glitter gel pen. The other side had three lines written on it.

 She stayed at the table after most of the other campers had left, when it was a little quieter and easier to focus on the words scribbled on the notecard:

 "if the sun should rise

 and see the way your face shines

 it would be ashamed"

 That was it. The only other thing on the card was a heart, near her name, a classic Valentine's heart with an arrow through it, and a scribbled line near the top corner that looked like something you'd do to get the ink in a pen flowing.

 By now, Eva was used to this kind of stuff. Toward the end of last summer, a couple of the Demeter boys started competing to win her affection, and she found her bunk surrounded each day with fresh flowers (which, of course, led to frequent trips to Cabin 7 for allergy medication and a weekly supply of heart-shaped "cough-pops," as Kodi had branded them.) It wasn't uncommon for the Hermes kids to slip candy bars into her pockets and backpacks for her to find later. One of the Ares kids had dedicated an arm-wrestling victory to her, and one of Mr. D's boys had just about run out of elaborate pickup lines to use on her.

 Being well-acquainted with this kind of stuff by now, Eva slipped the poem into her backpack and went on with her evening.

~💘~

 That night before bed, she pulled the notecard out of her backpack, only to discover a second notecard with it. Her name was written on this one as well, with the same arrow-struck heart next to it, but there were two marks in the corner, and the glittering ink on the other side read:

 "your smile is like the

 dripping of nectar, like a

 lump of ambrosia"

 It was a pity that whoever wrote the poem wasn't there to see her read it, because they would've seen another one of her smiles as she read it.

 She stacked both notes together neatly, and was about to set them on her nightstand, when she realized there was a third notecard already there. The unlined side, once again, bore her name and and the same kind of heart, this time with three marks in the corner, and a haiku that read:

 "your laugh is a song

 that i've always known without

 knowing all the words"

 Eva couldn't help but laugh just a little as she read it, then stacked all three notes on her nightstand and went to bed.

~💘~

 As they tidied up the cabin the next morning, Eva smiled with a newfound confidence. There's always something special about having an admirer, but even more deliciously romantic about a secret admirer, one who writes you poems and tells you the sun doesn't hold a candle to you.

 "Is there an Evangeline in this cabin?"Aurora, one of the first-year campers, asked.

 "Yeah, that would be me." Eva sighed. Her dad had always said he gave her the name because it was a beautiful name, and she was his beautiful daughter, but she'd never been a fan of the impromptu Disney karaoke sessions she'd see whenever she introduced herself by it. "Eva" suited her much better.

 "Someone left you a note," Aurora said, holding up a three-by-five card.

 "Where?" Eva asked, walking over to her.

 "Tacked onto the door," the girl said, "I found it while I was sweeping."

 Before Eva could get to her, one of their older brothers, Mitchell, grabbed the note and read it out loud.

 "'You are a poem, and I am just the reader,'' he read, slowly, his tone slightly mocking, "'I've mem'rized your words.' What a piece of…."

 "None of your business," Eva snapped, taking the note from him and looking it over carefully, noting the lines in the corner and familiar handwriting. A favorite pastime of the Aphrodite kids was making fun of the horrible attempts at poetry the other kids would write for them, but for some reason the mockery of this one seemed out of place.

 "Relax, Eva," Drew said, "tell me, who's this new beau, Evangeline?"

 "I don't know," Eva said, calming down a little in spite of her anger.

 "Someone from Apollo's cabin," another guy said, looking over Eva's shoulder.

 "You don't know that," Eva shrugged. Several Apollo campers came to mind.

 "Well, it is a poorly written haiku," Mitchell said.

 "And there's that arrow through the heart," he said.

 "Who do you think it is?" Aurora asked.

 "I don't know," Eva shrugged, "but it's not the first one, either."

 Now that the whole cabin was invested in this story, she showed her siblings the other three notecards and told them where she found them, as they laughed at the words comparing her to ambrosia and singalongs.

 "Those are some hard-to-get-to places to sneak a poem into undetected," Mitchell said.

 "Could be a Hermes kid, then," Lacy suggested.

 That didn't seem right, but Eva couldn't say why.

 "Could be anyone," Silena said, "but for now, let's finish getting the cleaned up and head to breakfast. Just because those Posiedon boys are gonna lose at cabin clean up again doesn't mean we shouldn't try to win."

 And with that, the campers got back to work.

~💘~

 Within a week, Eva had found five more notes in various pockets of her backpack, one at her seat at almost every meal, one on her nightstand each night and her cabin door in the morning, and three in her shorts' pockets (and how they got there without her noticing, she didn't want to know.) Each of them came with her name and a heart pierced with an arrow, a series of strikes up in the corner (which she soon realized were tally marks, the highest one up to twenty-nine so far, though a few in between were missing,) and a haiku, likening her to arrows, celestial bodies, anything beautiful you could think of (except, strangely enough, flowers,) and an assortment of diseases and ailments. Any time she found one, her nearby brothers and sisters would gather around and giggle and gawk over the attempts at romance.

 Eva, however, treasured every one of these notes in her heart. With each note she found, her secret admirer became even more of a point of interest. At the end of that week, her curiosity got the better of her, and she hatched a plan involving a stakeout out front of her cabin. Whoever was hiding these notes came every night to leave them on the door, and tonight she'd catch the cupid culprit in the act.

~💘~

 It was nearly midnight, and her tiredness had almost caught up with her as she crouched behind a flowering shrub outside the cabin.

 Suddenly, she heard the sound of someone coming, and perked up to watch. This part required the most secrecy. If they heard her, no doubt they'd come up with some alibi that didn't involve haikus and thumb tacks. She'd have to catch them in the act. Quietly as she could, she watched as a figure approached the door, stuck something to it, and started to walk away.

 Quickly, Eva shone her flashlight at the note, just to check that it was indeed another three-by-five with her glittering name on it, then turned the light on the intruder.

 "Going somewhere?" she asked.

 He looked like he was gonna jump out of his skin, but instead turned back around to face her. She recognized him as one of the Stoll brothers from Hermes' cabin, but even in better lighting she wouldn't be able to tell you which one.

 "You've been writing me haikus?" Eva asked.

 "Oh no," he said, his hands over his head in a way that made Eva feel like she was some kind of cop. "I'm just the delivery boy."

 "You're running errands?" Eva asked.

 "Half-Blood's gotta make a living," he said, "and I'm just using the skills dad gave me."

 Hermes was a master of sneakery and delivery, and there was a reason the Stoll brothers were the heads of his children. Every demigod knew that if you want something done sneaky and you want it done right, you turn to the Stoll brothers.

 Every camper also knew that they could both be easily bought.

 "Who put you up to this?" Eva asked.

 "My 'client' paid a high price for my silence," he said.

 "Oh?" Eva asked, "and how high a price would I have to pay for the opposite?" 

 "I'm not a sellout," Stoll said, "even among thieves and pickpockets, there is honor."

 "Such a shame," Eva smiled, smugly, knowing she had a bargaining chip worth much more than money, "because that means I won't have to tell my lovely sisters that you were part of this 'secret admirer' plot."

 "Why should that matter?" he asked.

 "They haven't been able to stop talking about it," Eva said, "someone being so clever and sneaky in the name of love. They always go crazy for guys in touch with their romantic side."

 "Really?"

 "Oh, sure," Eva said, "If they found out you were involved with this, oh, they'd be all over you."

 "They would?" he asked, his voice weak.

 "And of course," Eva said, knowing exactly how to seal the deal, "the best thing about attracting my sisters' attention? Being a child of Aphrodite pretty much guarantees more candy than you'll ever be able to eat, more than enough to share with such a daring romantic soul as your own.."

 "Any peanut m&ms?" he asked.

 Though they were a favorite slip-into-your-pocket candy from the Hermes kids, the Aphrodite kids seldom appreciated them. However, there was no one at camp who loved them more than Connor Stoll, who'd burn a pack of them for his father on the regular, and that gave Eva a pretty good hunch who she was talking to.

 "Too many to eat," she said, "it's a shame, really."

 "What's a shame?"

 "Oh, you know," Eva said, "the fact that you'd rather keep your silence than attract the interests of a dozen beautiful girls with a lifetime supply of chocolate."

 Eva turned, with a smile on her face, knowing she'd made an offer he couldn't refuse.

 "Do you promise you won't tell him I told you?" Stoll asked.

 She turned back to him.

 "The only person who'll know about this conversation is my siblings, who will get to hear about how wonderfully romantic the great Connor Stoll is."

 He smiled, so Eva assumed she had guessed properly as to which brother it was.

 "I don't know," he said, with a wink, "Kodi paid a good price to tell me not to tell you."

 "Kodi?" Eva asked, "Kodi Archer?"

 Aside from her trips to Cabin 7 for allergy pills, cough-pops, and brightly colored band-aids, she hadn't spoken much to Kodi since the Capture the Flag game at the start of last summer. She'd attracted the attention of a lot of guys last year, and even more this year, so a lot of her attention-seekers fell through the cracks. She couldn't keep up with every boy who went out of his way to do something for her.

 "I don't want any trouble between myself and the guy who makes my medicine," Connor winked again, and nodded in confirmation, "but don't tell anyone besides your sisters."

 "You got it," Eva smiled, "now, you should get outta here before the harpies catch you."

 "That's not a concern when you know what you're doing," he laughed. He pulled something out of his pocket and threw it into the distance, and Eva watched something in the sky chase it into a far-off tree.

 "How did you…" Eva asked, but when she looked back at him, he was already gone.

 Since she didn't have any magical harpy-escape-plan, she decided it best to head back to the cabin.

 But she stopped a moment at the cabin door, running her fingers along the index card. Had she been paying attention, she could've figured it out without Connor's help. No one at camp called her "Evangeline," except Kodi. He'd written it in what he clearly knew was her favorite shade of pink. The arrow piercing the hearts doodled on the notes represented Cabin 7, and also the boy whose last name just-so-happened to be Archer. There were metaphors to sunshine and medicine and archery all throughout the poorly written poems, and while any other poet would've likened her to beautiful, fragrant flowers, only Kodi knew of her allergy. Not everyone on campus would trust the word of one of the Stoll brothers, but the facts lined up in this one.

 She sighed, and decided not to bring the notecard back to the cabin with her. It would be better to leave it there for her siblings to gawk over in the morning.

~💘~

 The next morning, Eva regaled the tale of her stakeout to her cabin mates, a captive audience, especially for her version of the story, in which Connor had taken the task of leaving the haikus solely "for the sake of romance" and "keeping the delicate flower of young love alive" and a few other poetic turns of phrase that made him into the kind of guy that at least a few of her siblings would fall for by the end of the story.

 The other big change in this version of the story was that when she recounted it, Connor was not so easily bought, and claimed to "honor the romanticism of mystery," meaning he disappeared into the night before telling Eva who her secret admirer was.

 In Cabin 10, names were thrown around often. Eva could list off the top of her head at least a dozen demigods who'd tried gestures like this to win her siblings' affections. Gossip was more juicy when you had names and faces to go with the story.

 But for some reason, Eva didn't want this to be juicy gossip, though, quite frankly, she couldn't quite put her finger on why. So, she kept Kodi's name out of the discussion, suggesting to her clamoring sisters that maybe the best way to get that information was from Connor, either through sweet-talk, or just sweets in general

~eva's third summer~

 It was Eva's turn to help Silena in the stables. It always fascinated Eva, how comfortably Silena got on with the pegasi, and vice versa, especially because Eva was terrified of them. It wasn't just pegasi; she was afraid of horses too, and though she'd never seen a unicorn, she was sure she wouldn't want to. No matter how much Silena would tell her it was safe, that the pegasi wouldn't hurt her— and even having a satyr and that Percy kid translate the pegasi's whinnies for her multiple times— this was something Eva couldn't shake.

 And yet, that afternoon she found herself in the stables with Silena.

 "I wish I could talk with them," Silena said, brushing a winged palomino.

 "Why?" Eva asked, polishing a saddle as far from the pegasi as she could be.

 "I think they know more than they let on," she smiled, "kind of like you."

 "What?" Eva's nose wrinkled.

 "I heard you talking to Connor outside the cabin last night," Silena said.

 "You what?"

 "I knew you were gonna stay up and get to the bottom of the secret poet mystery," Silena said, "so, I waited up to listen in. Kodi likes you?"

 "Not so loud!" Eva said.

 "The only ones around to hear us are the pegasi," Silena said.

 "And they know a lot more than they let on." Eva rolled her eyes, then looked back down at the saddle in front of her and buffed up a stain.

 If Silena had anything further to say, she didn't say it. Instead, she rubbed her wrist, anxiously, then bit her lip, with a far-off look in her eyes.

 "I'll be right back," she said, before Eva had time to question her or protest at being left alone with the flying death horses.

 "May as well get this over with," Eva muttered. She picked up the horse-brush Silena had been using and decided to try to face her fears head-on.

 Everyone had always told her these kinds of creatures were more afraid of her than she was of them, which seemed stupid because they weighed at least ten times more than her and had a mouth bigger than her entire face.

 But whoever had said it was apparently right, because the pegasus she approached seemed startled by her mere presence, and the last thing Eva remembered before hitting the floor was the pegasi standing in front of her, reared up to a terrifying height on his hind legs.

~💘~

 Eva knew stable floors to be notoriously hard and dirty, and yet when she came to, she felt like she was lying on fresh bedsheets on a mattress. Instead of being surrounded by hay and the smell of a stable, she saw tulle around her, and smelled something delightfully clean.

 "I know this room," she thought, "I'm in the Big House."

 Usually, campers only stayed in the Big House for medical emergencies. As her consciousness regained itself, a pain in her head did too, and she realized why she qualified.

 Trying not to move her head too much, she looked around the room. Out the window was total darkness, like the middle of the night. Flowers were gathered, not near her bed, but on the other side of the room. The only light in the room was a lamp, which sat next to a chair that was next to the bed, and in that chair sat someone Eva knew well: a dimly lit Kodi.

 He didn't look like he'd intended to fall asleep. Instead of a blanket, his lap was covered in notecards, and he hadn't returned the cap on the pink gel pen in his hand.

 She turned over, just a little, and felt something out of place on her pillow: a notecard, her name written in familiar handwriting, with an arrow-pierced heart, and more tally marks than she wanted to count. The other side contained three simple lines.

 "evangeline, please,

 you've got to wake up because

 i kind of love you."

 The rest of the kids in Cabin 10 would've laughed their heads off at the words "kind of," but she was focused on the word after them: love. It was one thing to say you like someone, or have a crush on someone, or you think someone's cute. But to say you love someone, even just "kind of?" In the last three summers at Camp Half-Blood, and all those years of grade-school Valentine's and getting hounded for her phone number, not one of those guys had ever said they love her. And now, Kodi had.

 But Kodi hadn't just said that he loved her, he'd shown it. Maybe the hot pink bandages weren't a coincidence. Maybe the heart-shaped cough pops were made with her in mind. Maybe there was a reason he'd helped his Capture the Flag enemy. Maybe he hadn't left her side since he heard about her pegasus incident, and wanted her to see a friendly face when she came to.

 Even if none of that was true, there was no denying he'd gone out of his way to pour his heart out for her. Given the lengths he went to to get his poems to her and the price he paid for Connor's silence, it was clear that he wasn't doing this to get something in return. He just wanted her to know that she was special, and she was loved. That was all he'd been telling her from the beginning, wasn't it?

~kodi's fourth summer~

 From the first time he met Evangeline Blythe, Kodi had known one thing: she was special, and she deserved to be loved like it.

 Of course, his friends and siblings tried to dissuade him. Demigods and mortals alike throughout history had grown a sudden belief in "love at first sight" after meeting Aphrodite kids, and it never worked out as planned.

 Kodi, however, was great at working out plans. He saw the way she accessorized each day, and sent for some colored bandages to meet that need. Every time he saw her felt like Valentine's Day, so when her coughing fits started, it'd only made sense to make heart shaped "cough-pops" to capture that essence. And when he realized that helping her with her injuries in capture the flag wasn't enough to compete with all the other boys who sought her attention, he started his most ambitious project yet, which took a long while (and several pink gel pens) to execute, but the payoff was well worth it.

 He was a worried mess when Silena called him to the stables, and even more of a wreck when he saw Evangaline's lifeless form, and the blood dripping from her forehead. He was thankful he always kept a bit of ambrosia on hand. Had his shirt been able to voice an opinion it would've been ungrateful, though, that Kodi had thought ahead to keep hot pink bandages and a knife on hand, but didn't keep any cloths on hand. A chunk of his shirt was cut off without a second thought as he wiped the blood off her forehead and prayed a million prayers to his father.

 He'd gotten her to a more stable condition— no pun intended— though still unconscious, and brought her back to the Big House as safely as he could on the back of a pegasus.

 Kodi had insisted on staying by her bedside until she woke up, and Chiron said that would be fine, as long as they weren't alone together. Silena volunteered to stay with them, feeling excessive guilt over not being in the stable to stop the problem before it happened.

 Around midnight, after an unexpected heart-to-heart with Silena about his feelings for Evangeline, he'd told her to get some sleep, and that he'd wake her up when Evangeline did.

 In the meantime, Kodi had plenty of time to write some more haikus, and had just slipped the best of them on her pillow when his exhaustion from the day's events finally kicked in.

~💘~

 Kodi woke with a start when he felt something touching him, and looked down to see a hand on top of his. The hand was slender, nails well-manicured in a shade of pink that perfectly complemented the bracelets around the wrist.

 His eyes followed the arm to Evangeline's face, her eyes open and her lips smiling at him as she lay on the bed next to his seat.

 "Good morning, sleepyhead," she whispered, despite the fact that the sun hadn't even risen yet.

 "You're awake," he whispered back in surprise, "and you're… holding my hand?"

 He wasn't sure how this had happened, but he tried to move his hand away from hers, just in case, but instead her hand chased after his, and caught it.

 "I am," she smiled.

 "Why?" he asked, and when she looked disappointed, he followed up, "not that I'm upset, just a little confused. Did I miss something? Maybe you're delirious? I should wake Silena, or maybe get Will…."

 "Not yet," Evangeline said, "I'm thinking clearly. I'm actually thinking a lot more clearly about a lot of things than I have been in a long time."

 "What kind of things?"

 "I never asked to be Aphrodite's kid," she said, "we don't get to come up with strategies or fight epic battles or tend to the wounded with great expertise," and she smiled and squeezed his hand, "but we do have it lucky."

 "How?" Kodi asked.

 "When your mom is the goddess of love," she smiled, that pure smile that somehow had a way of healing his soul every time he saw it, "the most confusing thing anyone can ever go through suddenly makes a lot more sense."

 "What's that?"

 "This," Evangeline said, holding up the note he'd left on her pillow, "'I kind of love you' too," she said.

 "You do?" He asked, and he hoped she liked his smiles as much as he liked hers, because there was no stopping the one that now spread across his face. All that planning and working at getting her attention had actually worked.

 Instead of responding, she squeezed his hand three times, and he'd listened to the modern poets enough to know it meant "I love you."

 He responded the same way, but after the third squeeze, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, the world stopping a moment as he looked up and saw the blush creeping along her cheeks, that perfect shade of pink she'd taught him to see everywhere.

 "You said you needed to wake Silena?" Evangeline asked.

 "Yeah," he said.

 "Can it wait ten seconds?"

 "Why ten seconds?" Kodi asked.

 "Because," Evangeline said, leaning closer toward him off the edge of the bed, "that gives me just enough time to do this."

  Then, she kissed him, and if it had lasted ten seconds or ten hours, he wouldn't've known the difference, and he wouldn't've cared. It still would've been overwhelming. He still would've thought it ended too soon. It still would've taken him a few hazy minutes to recover. Even after passing out in a stable and spending a day in a hospital room, her lips still tasted like chocolate and strawberries, and they pressed against his as gently as a feather, pulling away just as softly.

 "Wow," he whispered, between deep breaths, "I think I kind of love you more than I thought I did."

 She giggled a little, and said "me too," and it was the capstone of the greatest moment of his entire life.

 The sun was just beginning to rise out the infirmary window, and as perfect as it would be to say they held hands and watched the sunrise together while Apollo painted the skies in glorious hues, no one could honestly say that's what happened that morning— because Kodi was much more interested in watching Evangeline than in anything the sunrise had to offer.

[ciaossu-imagines]

Tsuna and the guardians.... what do you think their primary love language is, out of the 5?

Oh my gosh, I cannot say how much I love this question! I definitely really think love languages are important! I loved pondering this question and hope you enjoy, anon! Thanks so much for this!

I personally think Tsuna's love language is definitely a mix of acts of service and words of affirmation, as a giver. He likes to feel like he can do things for those he loves and be of use to them and though he never dishes out compliments like they're going out of style, he actually tends to say some really sweet, insightful, and reassuring things every now and then that can make his loved ones feel so special and so valued as people. Receiving though, he's all about those words of affirmation. Even years and years into the future, he's still going to feel, in parts of his mind, like 'no-good Tsuna' and hearing a compliment or hearing how much he means to people, it really makes him feel just so safe and so secure.

Gokudera gives love through gift-giving and acts of service. It's not that he's materialistic or trying to 'buy' love...it's just that in giving something, whether it be a physical something or something he can do for the other person...it makes him feel needed. And feeling needed by someone else feels so good and so stable for him; it gives him reassurance he doesn't admit to needing often that he's irreplaceable in a way and that he makes the other person's life better instead of worse, like he sometimes fears. Receiving love though...just give this boy so much quality time. The more of someone's undivided, one on one time and attention he gets, the safer he feels, the more walls he lets down, the more valuable he feels.

I think, and I've mentioned this before in other imagines, but Yamamoto, as a giver, definitely falls into the physical touch love language. He's a touchy feely person by nature and quite physically affectionate even just with friends and even more so in romantic relationships. It's just an innate part of who he is and it's how he shows platonic, familial and romantic love. Receiving, I would also put his love language as physical touch tied with acts of service. Even just an impromptu high five or a calming hand on his shoulder...something about just feeling another person's physical presence and knowing they are there calms and centers him.

Ryohei will do anything for his loved ones. You know you are loved and important to Ryohei in just how quickly he will be there to do stuff for you, whether you ask him to or not because acts of service is how he cares for those he loves. He likes to feel like he's a strong man, capable of caring for those he treasures, and he does this through protecting them, through doing things with them or for them and trying to make things easier on them. Receiving, I think he's a mixture of quality time and acts of service in that he does enjoy being taken care of but will feel the most cared for when those he loves actively spend time with him, especially if that time is spent doing something he loves, especially if he knows it's not something they would normally do or enjoy, because it shows that they truly care about making him happy and being a part of his life and hobbies and passions.

Lambo, both giving and receiving, is firmly in the gift-giving love language. He adores and feels thought of and seen whenever someone surprises him with a gift, even if it's as small as his favourite candy or drink, and is not shy about returning the favour whenever he can. He will gladly share what he has with his loved ones because it makes both of them feel good in his mind. Having friends or a lover and being able to give them as much as he gets from them, both physically, mentally and emotionally - it makes him feel happy in a way that he can't quite describe and fills his emotional bank like nothing else.

Okay, but Hibari hates most people and as he considers his time and his presence to be important things, not readily given to just anyone. He's not an expressive man, but you will know Hibari cares about you in some way if he gives you his time and shows up because there are precious few people he deigns worthy of either, making his love language as a giver quality time. Receiving, oddly enough, giving him a gift (just without making it too showy or too big a deal) will get him in a way he doesn't quite understand and especially so if it's something hand-made that you put obvious care and time into.

Mukuro is a really odd one. He pretends a lot that he doesn't care and his acts of love are hidden under snark or his sometimes rather poor actions but if you look really closely, you do see that providing, in any way, is how Mukuro lets slip who he truly cares about and his love language, as a giver is an odd mix of acts of service and gift-giving. Meanwhile, to make him feel loved...simply be there by his side and serve him. Quality time and people's attention and devotion make him feel important, needed, seen and give him reasons to keep living, quite honestly.

Chrome almost compulsively needs to be of use to others. It does stem a lot from how she grew up and how she came to be who she is. If she cannot be of use, if she cannot perform acts of service for those she cares about, she feels lost and just not good enough because it is how she feels safe in any relationship and feels like she can make those she cares about happiest. She doesn't often have a lot of acts of service done for her, but those she does have done are also what makes her feel most loved because it's how her mind and soul understand love.