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forsapphics

Original poster for Le frisson des vampires (The Shiver of the Vampires) (1971)

cuntbitchandthebottlemen

me and who (i'm the biter)

reeselings

i'll make your legs shake, you make me go crazy (francis wilkerson)

summary: your parents had sent you to marlin academy, a state of the art boarding school, in hopes that their perfect daughter would get the education she deserved. they didn’t account for francis wilkerson, however.

pairing: francis wilkerson x fem!reader

wc: 3.7k

cw: smut, virginity loss, sliiiiight overstimulation (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, slight corruption, the word slut is used once (not by francis or reader but by me, the author lol)

author's note: francis: "i'll come in my pants" also francis: has incredible stamina anywayyyy, lol this got really nasty because i #needthat and writing for francis turns me into a demon. i hope you enjoy !!

cyanide-sodapop

DOES NOBODY FUCK W FRANCIS LIKE I DO. I HAD TO GO TO FUCKIN WATTPAD BC THERES A FRANCIS X READER DROUGHT HAPPENING APPARENTLY

riddikulus-tilltheend

She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends

Francis Wilkerson x Reader

4.3 k words

By the time Francis Wilkerson came back to Marlin Academy after the whole BeeBee disaster, the place somehow felt even worse than before. The heat had thickened into something swampy and oppressive during the weeks he’d been gone, sticking the gray cadet uniforms to everybody’s backs before breakfast even started. Every hallway smelled like damp socks and industrial bleach, every training field had turned into a churned-up patchwork of mud from constant drills, and Commandant Spangler had apparently decided that the temporary absence of his favorite problem child meant he now had months of delayed screaming to make up for. Francis barely lasted two hours back on campus before getting assigned punishment detail for “walking with hostile body language.” Spangler said it while pacing in front of him with his hands clasped behind his back, squinting like Francis himself was a personal betrayal sent by God to test his patience. Stanley Winn stood nearby holding a mop bucket, watching the whole thing unfold with the exhausted expression of somebody witnessing a familiar natural disaster return for another season.

Francis spent most of that first week angry in ways he didn’t know how to explain properly. Angry at BeeBee for dumping him, angry at Lois for sending him here in the first place, angry at Spangler for existing, angry at himself for caring about any of it. The problem with Francis was that every emotion came out sideways. Sadness turned into picking fights during drills. Embarrassment became louder jokes. Loneliness became recklessness. The more miserable he felt, the more unbearable he acted. He’d interrupt formation just to argue technicalities with Spangler. He’d intentionally rile up older cadets until somebody threatened to punch him. One night he convinced Eric Hanson to help him build a homemade hot plate out of exposed wiring and nearly blacked out an entire barracks wing. Half the cadets thought he was hilarious. The other half looked at him the way people looked at raccoons digging through trash cans. Stanley, unfortunately, knew him well enough to recognize when Francis was spiraling, though Francis himself would rather die than admit anything was wrong.

The first time he saw you, he was supposed to be marching.

The academy had all the cadets running perimeter drills beside the outer training fence under the full force of the Alabama afternoon sun, boots slamming into packed dirt in miserable synchronization while Spangler barked cadence from somewhere behind them. Sweat rolled down Francis’s neck beneath the stiff collar of his uniform shirt. His legs already ached from punishment laps earlier that morning, and the entire formation smelled like wet grass and teenage body odor baking together under the heat. Stanley marched beside him with the dead-eyed expression of a man spiritually leaving his body one step at a time.

Francis was halfway through muttering insults under his breath about Spangler’s bloodline when he noticed movement beyond the fence line near the farm road.

At first it barely registered. Just some girl walking down the road carrying a pitcher against her hip, leather boots kicking little clouds of dust along the gravel path. Then his brain caught up properly and everything inside him stalled out so hard he completely lost track of the marching cadence.

You looked so absurdly out of place beside Marlin Academy that it almost felt fake. The academy grounds were all rusted fencing, muddy fields, crumbling brick buildings, and angry teenage boys getting screamed at from sunrise to lights-out. Then there was you moving through all of it with this soft, easy warmth that made the whole area around you feel brighter somehow. Your hair was pulled back messily from the heat, your smile relaxed while you waved toward some old farmer fixing a tractor nearby. There wasn’t anything intimidating about you. You didn’t carry yourself like the girls Francis usually tried chasing after back home, the loud dramatic girls who rolled their eyes at him before eventually making out with him behind convenience stores. You looked sweet in a painfully genuine way. The type of girl who probably remembered birthdays and brought cookies to neighbors during Christmas.

Then Francis realized with growing horror why you looked familiar.

Months ago he’d stolen one of Spangler’s hidden Playboy magazines from the commandant’s office during a failed attempt to forge disciplinary paperwork. Francis had hidden it beneath his mattress for weeks until Spangler eventually discovered it during inspection and gave him three days of latrine duty. The model on one of the pages had burned itself permanently into Francis’s teenage brain. You looked enough like her that for a second he genuinely thought he might’ve suffered heatstroke.

His marching immediately fell apart.

“LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT,” the cadets shouted around him while Francis stared through the fence like a complete idiot, his boots dragging half a beat behind everyone else.

“Wilkerson,” Stanley hissed under his breath without turning his head, “why are you slowing down.”

Francis ignored him entirely. You’d stopped near the fence now, adjusting the pitcher in your hands while looking curiously toward the formation of cadets marching past. The second your eyes drifted toward him specifically, Francis straightened so fast he nearly snapped his spine in half trying to look tougher.

Then he accidentally marched directly into the cadet in front of him.

The collision knocked both of them sideways hard enough to break formation completely. Several cadets stumbled with loud complaints while Spangler’s voice exploded from somewhere behind them.

“WILKERSON!”

Every boy in formation visibly winced.

Spangler stormed across the field with terrifying speed for a man his age, boots splashing through mud while his face darkened into the shade it always reached right before he started threatening constitutional violations. Francis stood there trying to recover dignity while the cadet he’d slammed into cursed at him under his breath.

“Do you possess some degenerative brain disease I should know about?” Spangler barked, getting directly into Francis’s face while the entire formation watched eagerly. “Or have you simply decided marching regulations no longer apply to your worthless body?”

Francis opened his mouth, then immediately looked past Spangler again toward the fence.

Huge mistake.

Spangler followed his line of sight. His expression shifted slowly from rage into deep personal disappointment.

“Oh my God,” Stanley muttered beside him. “He caught you looking at the girl.”

“You disrupted military formation,” Spangler said slowly, sounding genuinely offended now, “because you were gawking at a civilian?”

Francis felt heat crawl all the way into his ears while several cadets immediately started laughing.

“No sir,” Francis lied automatically.

“Wilkerson, your neck nearly rotated off your shoulders.”

The laughter got worse.

You were still standing there too, watching everything unfold with growing amusement while trying unsuccessfully not to smile. Francis became painfully aware of how sweaty he probably looked. His hair felt disgusting. His shirt clung horribly to his back. Somewhere inside his brain a horrible realization started forming that this might’ve been the first remotely attractive girl he’d seen in weeks and he was currently getting publicly humiliated in front of her for marching incompetently.

Spangler pointed dramatically toward the outer perimeter. “Twenty laps around the fence. Immediately.”

Francis groaned before he could stop himself. “Sir, that’s not even fair.”

“Would you prefer fifty?”

“No sir.”

“Then move before I find new and exciting ways to ruin your evening.”

Francis took off jogging through the dirt while cadets snickered behind him. His pride was already bleeding out somewhere near the training field. By the time he reached the stretch of fence where you stood waiting beside the road, he could practically feel humiliation radiating off him in waves.

You smiled anyway, “Are you okay?” you asked while he jogged past, sounding genuinely concerned despite the fact he’d spent the last five minutes publicly embarrassing himself. “That man looked like he was gonna explode.”

Francis immediately slowed down despite knowing Spangler could probably still see him. Up close you somehow looked even prettier, cheeks pink from the heat, little wisps of hair sticking near your temples from humidity. The lemonade pitcher sweated cold droplets against your fingers.

“He does that all the time,” Francis said, trying desperately to sound casual despite breathing hard already. “Honestly this barely cracks the top ten worst public humiliations I’ve had here.”

You laughed softly. “That’s supposed to make this sound better?”

“It does for me.”

He kept jogging backward beside the fence while talking to you, trying to ignore the fact Eric was now staring at him from across the field with his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“You go to school there?” you asked.

“Unfortunately.”

“You’re in military school and still getting yelled at for not paying attention.”

Francis pointed at himself proudly. “That’s actually sort of my thing around here.”

“What, disappointing authority figures?”

“No, being charismatic.”

You laughed again and Francis felt something inside him physically malfunction. You laughed cause you actually found him funny, which somehow felt way worse for his nervous system. Then, because God hated Francis Wilkerson personally, he kept staring at you while jogging backward and slammed shoulder-first directly into one of the fence posts. The impact made a loud metallic clang across the training field.

Francis dropped instantly into the dirt clutching his shoulder while pain shot through his entire arm. Somewhere nearby cadets erupted into hysterical screaming laughter. Eric bent over so hard he had to grab another cadet for support. Even from across the field Francis could hear Spangler yell, “THAT FENCE POST HAS BEEN THERE FOR FORTY YEARS.”

You covered your mouth immediately, eyes wide with horror while trying not to laugh harder.

“Oh my God,” you said through failing composure, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, are you hurt?”

Francis forced himself upright with every ounce of dignity he had left, which unfortunately wasn’t much.

“I meant to do that,” he wheezed.

Your expression broke completely then. You laughed so hard you had to set the lemonade pitcher down in the grass beside the road.

For the rest of the afternoon, Francis could not stop thinking about the sound of your laugh.

That became a serious problem almost immediately.

Marlin Academy did not allow room for distraction. The entire place operated like some miserable machine designed specifically to crush individuality through exhaustion. Every second of the day belonged to somebody else. Wake-up whistle at dawn. Formation. Breakfast. Inspection. Drill practice. Classes. More drills. Punishment details slipped somewhere in-between whenever Spangler felt spiritually unfulfilled. By the end of most days, the cadets were too tired to think about anything except sleep and violence.

Francis, unfortunately, spent the entirety of dinner staring blankly at a scoop of instant mashed potatoes while replaying the image of you laughing at him eating dirt beside the fence. Eric Hanson finally snapped his fingers in front of Francis’s face. “Okay, this is getting creepy now.”

Francis blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been smiling at potatoes for like ten minutes.”

“I was not smiling.”

“You hit a fence post so hard your shoulder made a noise I’ve only heard from folding chairs.”

Several cadets nearby overheard immediately.

“Oh my God,” Finley groaned from across the table, “he’s still thinking about the fence girl.”

“She laughed at him and now he thinks they’re married,” another cadet added.

Francis pointed his plastic cafeteria fork aggressively across the table. “You guys are acting insane right now.”

Eric leaned back on the cafeteria bench, squinting at him with growing amusement while cadets shoved each other and laughed nearby. The cafeteria buzzed with noise around them, metal trays clattering together beneath flickering fluorescent lights while some exhausted kitchen worker yelled at two freshmen for throwing peas.

“No, seriously,” Eric said, lowering his voice slightly. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve spent the whole day acting like somebody hit you in the head with a brick.”

Francis immediately looked offended. “That happened once.”

“Today.”

“That fence came outta nowhere.”

Eric barked out a laugh loud enough to turn heads from nearby tables. “Francis, it was stationary.”

Francis rolled his eyes hard, though the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward against his will. He hated this feeling already. It made him restless in this embarrassing, jittery way he couldn’t control properly. Usually when Francis liked somebody, it stayed simple. Flirting, making out behind stores, acting cocky until eventually the whole thing burned out. This felt different in the worst possible way because he genuinely wanted to see you again. Not even for some grand romantic reason yet. He just wanted another conversation. Another excuse to hear you laugh at something stupid he said.

That realization bothered him enough that he immediately decided to lie about it.

“She’s probably obsessed with me already,” Francis announced while stabbing violently at his potatoes. “Women love confidence.”

Eric nearly choked on his drink. “You literally introduced yourself by collapsing into government property.”

“That was physical comedy.”

“That was brain damage.”

Francis opened his mouth to argue again when Commandant Spangler suddenly appeared behind him like a demonic apparition summoned by teenage joy. The cafeteria quieted almost instantly around his presence. Spangler carried himself with this terrifying stillness that made every cadet sit straighter before he even spoke.

“Wilkerson,” he said calmly.

Francis visibly winced.

Spangler’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You failed to complete your assigned perimeter laps this afternoon.”

Francis frowned. “What? No I didn’t.”

“You completed thirty-seven.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Because unlike you, I possess object permanence.”

Several cadets snorted loudly into their trays.

Francis groaned, dropping his head against the table dramatically while Spangler continued staring down at him with open contempt.

“You will report for additional punishment detail after lights-out.”

“What? Why?”

“For arguing with me before I even assigned it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Neither do you.”

Eric fully turned away at that point because he was laughing too hard to keep eye contact.

Francis spent the next hour scrubbing mildew from communal shower tiles while muttering insults under his breath. Humid steam clung to the walls from earlier showers, making the entire bathroom smell like bleach, mold, and cheap soap. His shoulder still ached from slamming into the fence post. Every time he bent down to scrub another tile, he remembered you trying not to laugh while asking if he was hurt.

The memory made him grin despite himself.

“Wilkerson,” Spangler barked from somewhere behind him instantly. “Why are you smiling.”

Francis nearly swallowed his tongue. “What?”

“You’re smiling during punishment detail. Explain yourself.”

Francis stared at the floor aggressively. “Maybe I like cleaning.”

Spangler looked genuinely disturbed by that possibility.

By the next afternoon, Francis had already developed a system.

The academy schedule rotated outdoor assignments constantly, though Francis now volunteered for every single one involving the outer perimeter fence. Trash pickup. Field maintenance. Equipment transport. Fence inspection. One time he offered to clean mud out of drainage trenches for three entire hours just because they were near the road where he’d seen you yesterday.

Stanley caught on immediately.

“You’re stalking her now,” he said while carrying a rusted bucket beside Francis through the grass.

“I’m not stalking anybody.”

“You combed your hair with a cafeteria spoon.”

“That was maintenance.”

“You asked me if your jawline looked stronger in direct sunlight.”

Francis shoved him lightly with his shoulder. “Shut up.”

The afternoon air hung heavy over the academy grounds, humid enough that sweat gathered instantly beneath their uniforms. Somewhere across the field, cadets shouted cadence during marching drills while whistles shrieked every few minutes. Francis tried acting casual while scanning the road beyond the fence. Part of him worried yesterday had been random luck. Maybe you wouldn’t come back at all.

Then he spotted you again.

This time you were riding an old bicycle down the dirt road with a paper grocery bag balanced inside the front basket. The second you noticed him standing near the fence, your entire face brightened with recognition.

Francis immediately forgot how to stand naturally.

He straightened too fast. Tried leaning against the fence. Changed his mind halfway through. Nearly dropped the bucket in his hand.

Eric watched the whole thing happen beside him with silent fascination.

“Oh my God,” Eric whispered. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You look like you’re about to throw up.”

You slowed the bicycle near the fence, one boot dragging lightly through the dirt to stop yourself while smiling at him.

“Well,” you said warmly, “look who survived.”

Francis grinned before he could stop himself. “Doctors said I might never recover.”

“I felt terrible afterward.”

“No you didn’t.”

You laughed softly while resting your arms across the bicycle handlebars. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Up close again, Francis noticed little things he’d missed yesterday. The faded cherries printed across your shirt. Dirt smudged lightly near one knee like you’d been kneeling somewhere outside earlier. Tiny gold earrings catching sunlight every time you moved your head.

Meanwhile Francis suddenly became aware that he probably smelled horrible.

“You back for more military cardio?” you asked.

“This?” Francis gestured vaguely toward the muddy field behind him where cadets dragged equipment through puddles. “Nah. I’m basically management here.”

Eric made the loudest coughing noise imaginable beside him.

Francis whipped around instantly. “You okay?”

Eric nodded with completely fake sincerity. “Sorry. Choked on all the lies.”

You covered your mouth, laughing again while Francis glared murderously at him.

“This is Eric,” Francis said flatly. “He’s jealous because I’m naturally charismatic.”

Eric shook his head slowly. “I want you to understand something. Fifteen minutes ago this idiot asked me if dirt makes your shoulders look broader.”

Francis lunged toward him immediately while Eric cackled and stumbled backward through the grass holding the bucket above his head defensively.

“YOU SAID IT DID!”

You laughed harder this time, the kind that bent your shoulders slightly while you tried catching your breath, and Francis stopped chasing Eric almost immediately just to look at you again.

That was the first moment it really settled somewhere deep in his chest.

He liked making you laugh. Badly enough to embarrass himself for it.

Maybe repeatedly. Maybe forever.

The problem with having something to look forward to at Marlin Academy was that the rest of the day suddenly became unbearable.

Francis noticed it almost immediately after you rode away that afternoon. Every class stretched twice as long. Every whistle blast from the training fields grated harder against his nerves. Even the barracks felt more cramped than usual once evening settled over campus and all sixty cadets packed themselves inside smelling like sweat, detergent, and swamp water. Francis lay awake on his bunk staring at the rust-stained springs above him while Eric rambled from the bunk nearby about some scam involving stolen cafeteria desserts, though Francis barely heard any of it properly.

His brain kept replaying details instead.

The way your boots dragged little trails through the dirt when you stopped the bicycle near the fence. The low scoop of your shirt dipping beneath the collarbones he kept accidentally staring at before yanking his eyes somewhere else too late to make it subtle. Your shorts looked criminally small for somebody standing this close to a military academy full of teenage boys surviving primarily on hormonal instability and mushy eggs. The frayed white fabric hugged your hips while your legs kicked lazily against the side of the bicycle, one boot heel knocking lightly against the frame every few seconds while you talked. A worn leather jacket had been tied loosely around the handlebars despite the heat, sleeves fluttering softly whenever warm wind swept across the road. Nothing about you looked forced or calculated either. You carried yourself with the easy comfort of somebody completely unaware of the effect they had on other people.

Francis groaned into his pillow.

Eric glanced over immediately. “You’re thinking about Fence Girl again.”

“I hate you.”

“You’re down catastrophically.”

Francis rolled onto his back dramatically, one arm hanging off the side of the bunk. “You don’t understand, man.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” Eric pointed toward him from his mattress. “You saw a pretty girl outside the fence and now you’re acting like a widow in a period drama.”

Francis grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it directly at his face.

The next afternoon, Francis somehow managed to get assigned equipment inventory near the outer storage shed, which happened to sit directly beside the same stretch of perimeter fence where you usually passed through. Eric claimed it was divine punishment watching Francis attempt subtlety for the first time in his life.

“You checked your reflection in a shovel,” Eric muttered while hauling crates beside him through the grass.

“I was making sure I didn’t have dirt on my face.”

“You do have dirt on your face.”

Francis instantly wiped at his cheek with growing alarm. Eric burst out laughing so hard he nearly dropped the crate.

“You are so easy.”

“Shut up.”

The afternoon sun sat heavy over the academy grounds, baking heat into the brick buildings until waves shimmered above the training fields. Somewhere in the distance cadets shouted cadence in miserable unison while Spangler terrorized a freshman platoon near the obstacle course. Francis pretended to reorganize supply boxes while actually staring through gaps in the fence every twelve seconds like a deranged golden retriever waiting for its owner.

Then finally, there you were again.

You rolled slowly down the dirt road on the same old bicycle, sunlight catching against the chrome handlebars while the front basket bounced lightly over loose gravel. Francis immediately stood up too fast and slammed the back of his head into the storage shed door.

The metallic clang echoed beautifully across the field.

Eric dropped the crate he was carrying and folded in half laughing.

“You gotta stop hurting yourself every time she appears,” he wheezed.

Francis clutched the back of his skull with pure hatred while you slowed the bicycle near the fence again, already smiling before you’d fully stopped.

“That happened twice now,” you called out, trying unsuccessfully to hide your grin.

Francis straightened instantly despite the pain shooting through his head. “I’m building immunity.”

“To what?”

“Concussions.”

You laughed softly while resting your elbows against the handlebars. Up close again, the heat had flushed your cheeks slightly pink, little wisps of hair sticking against your temples from the humidity. The neckline of your shirt dipped low enough that Francis had to physically force his eyes upward during conversation or risk dying on the spot. Your shorts rode high against your thighs when you shifted on the bicycle seat, the worn leather jacket hanging loosely from the basket beside a paper grocery bag filled with fruit and folded brown-paper packages.

Eric watched Francis visibly malfunction beside him with deep fascination.

“You know,” you said, glancing between the two boys through the fence, “I still don’t actually know your names.”

Francis looked personally offended by that information. “Seriously?”

“You never told me.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You absolutely hit a fence and then started lying about military cardio.”

Eric snorted loudly.

Francis pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Wow. Okay. First off, rude.”

You tilted your head slightly, smiling. “So?”

Francis leaned one shoulder against the chain-link fence, trying to recover whatever scraps of coolness remained available to him. “Francis.”

You repeated it back easily, naturally. “Francis.”

The way your voice wrapped around his name made his stomach do something deeply humiliating.

Eric pointed toward himself afterward. “I’m Eric. Unfortunately.”

“Nice to meet you, Unfortunately.”

Eric barked out a surprised laugh while Francis looked irritated that you’d made Eric laugh too now. The feeling arrived so suddenly it caught him off guard. Not real jealousy exactly. More like annoyance that somebody else got your attention for a second.

You reached into the grocery bag then, digging around between paper packages before pulling out two peaches warm from the sun. You held them through the gaps in the fence toward the boys.

“My mom bought too many,” you explained casually.

Francis stared at the peach in your hand for a full second like you’d offered him a marriage proposal.

Eric took his immediately. “Oh thank God. Cafeteria fruit tastes like punishment.”

Francis grabbed his slower, fingers brushing yours for barely half a second through the fence. The contact barely lasted at all, though heat still crawled instantly up the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” he muttered, suddenly sounding much less smooth than intended.

You shrugged lightly. “You both look half-starved.”

“We are half-starved,” Eric answered while already biting into the peach. Juice immediately ran down his hand. “Spangler thinks seasoning builds weakness.”

Francis leaned back against the fence while turning the peach slowly in his hand. “Don’t listen to him. They feed us great here. Yesterday I had mashed potatoes with almost no screws in them.”

You laughed again and Francis felt that same stupid warmth spread through his chest all over again. He didn’t even care that he sounded ridiculous anymore if it kept making you smile like that.

Then, from somewhere across the field:

“WILKERSON.”

Every muscle in Francis’s body locked instantly.

Spangler stood near the training grounds staring directly toward the fence with the expression of a man watching rats break into his kitchen.

Eric whispered immediately, “Oh no.”

Francis still hadn’t moved yet. His eyes flicked back toward you for one quick second while you tried not to smile at the panic spreading across his face.

“You should probably go,” you said gently.

Francis pointed at Spangler without looking away from you. “I could take him.”

Spangler’s voice cracked across the academy grounds like thunder.

“WILKERSON IF YOU ARE COURTING CIVILIANS DURING ACTIVE DUTY HOURS I SWEAR TO GOD—”

Francis took off instantly. Eric scrambled after him still clutching the half-eaten peach while cadets across the field started howling with laughter.

Behind them, Francis could still hear you laughing too. That sound followed him all the way across the training grounds while Spangler prepared to ruin his life yet again.

HUGE HUGE HUGE NOTE : if you’ve read any of my fics you’d notice that my first language is NOT English, I swear I’m not a weirdo with a AI tab open but my entire writings are based on dumbass structures that I’ve been studying for the past 12 years (I’m trying to change old fics so bear with me)

xxjewellynwatts

𝙁𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙇𝙔 𝙇𝙊𝙍𝙀 (𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 ii)

francis wilkerson x f!reader

part 1 here.

summary: francis has to find a way to convince reader to come home for dinner, as per Lois’ command request. is either of the two ready for that?

contains: reader going through it, family issues/dysfunctional families, hurt/comfort, crack, the wilkersons!, no use of y/n.

a/n: so many of you aksed for a part two. the people ask, i deliver. 🫡

You were sprawled on your bed reading a book when the phone rang. You picked up, eyes glued to your book, unprepared for the voice on the other line.

“Hey, how are you?”

worshipherwealth

There’s nothing in this world I’d love more than to be cherished, adored and spoiled by somebody who’d genuinely kill for me

xxxsl33p-l0vr

call me crazy, cook is the little spoon more often than not.

most of the time he just flops down on top of you. makes it into a joke, pretends to crush you, but he’ll settle down eventually cus he actually just wanted to lay in your arms.

plus thinks putting his face in your boobs or in your lap so close to ur vag is a score.

no matter what position you both fall asleep in at night, you’ll always seem to wake up to him drooling on your collarbone.

probably isn’t the little spoon in the actual ‘spooning’ position though, just cus i think he likes to fully wrap his arms and legs around you like a koala and hold you where he can plant sloppy kisses up your neck and be obnoxious.

scratch his scalp. try it. it’s like an ‘off’ button.

lostgirl88

Jack O’Connell as Kurtis

vcaleruega

babyyeah

oneiric-wanderlust

Ryan Coogler on his love for Remmick.

"I've never felt about an antagonist how I felt about Remmick. I just loved writing him. And I loved directing Jack and his choices. And for me, my heart is very much with that character. I wanted the character to be a master vampire. But I love this character. I love him presenting as one thing. Not just in terms of the vampirism, but presenting at one thing and being something completely different. Their fear of him being this racist guy, and learning that his view on race is the opposite. That, to me, was very powerful. If he actually identifies with these people. These are the people he wants to hang out with. And that, for me, it made me so excited because I hadn't seen that just yet."-Ryan Coogler.

Sinners (2025) │Directed by Ryan Coogler.

cuntbitchandthebottlemen

FOMO

olarcine

sickofvck

jojobear06

Me reading the same fic for the hundredth time

This because I have read all the fic from the last 6 months, and I don't like them. New fic is slow, and I don't feel like scrolling for an hour to find 2023 fics.

tokkiwritesarchive

"Summer nights like this had a way of unfolding secrets. The kind of nights when the air hung heavy with pine and smoke, the moon glinting like a shy voyeur against the rippling surface of the lake. This wasn’t your first time at the Washington family cabin, but it was the first time that everything felt different. No parents. No rules. And, worst of all, no escape from the fact that Josh Washington was here, and he wasn’t yours."

summary: Your best friend invites you to their annual summer trip to the family cabin in the mountains—something you've done before. But this year is different: no parents. After years of secretly harboring feelings for your best friend’s brother, Josh, you decide this is the perfect chance to finally confess.

tags: best friend's brother!joshua washington x f!reader, childhood crush, both josh and reader like each other but act oblivious (josh more than reader), reader is low key obsessed with josh, minor age gap, alternative universe where Hannah and Beth are still alive, some angst, p in v (protected), virginity loss (reader), kind of fluff, josh talks you through it (yummy!!), fingering (f receiving), idiots in love 🫶🏻

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ tokkis note 𑁯 ✿ hey... how yall doing... the rami malek fever is so real i had to write something. so i did. 6,45k words to be more exact, teehee! i dont quite know what this is, but i had fun writing it, like it got me giggling and shit so yeah 💀 if you see any typos close your eyes, forget you saw anything. enjoy!

miserymorgue

GROSS | ft. J. WASHINGTON

summary You know Josh is gross – the way he looks at you, touches you, says things no decent guy would – but somehow, his desperate obsession feels intoxicating. He's pathetic, and filthy, which is exactly why nobody can know. (read on ao3)

wc 8.4k words

warnings explicit (MDNI!), PIV, fingering, masturbation, semi-rough sex, degradation, humiliation&praise kink, dub-con elements, bit of overstimulation, semi-public sex, emotional manipulation, obsessive/manipulative behaviour, general creepy and grossness from josh, unprotected sex, some noncon touching, alcohol use, sub/dom dynamics grey area

pairing josh washintgon x fem!reader (+ mentions of rest of until dawn gang)

You don’t tell your friends about Josh.

You can’t. He’s just… ugh. Gross.

vcaleruega

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