#i have been thinking about this poem A LOT this week.

[jeanmoreaux]

Ada Limón, Bright Dead Things (2015)

[faaun]

procrastination is starting to have its consequences finally

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 331

Adjective: Old-Fashioned

Noun: Posy

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Old-Fashioned: in or according to styles or types no longer current or common, or not modern; (of a person or their views) favoring traditional and usually restrictive styles, ideas, or customs

Posy: a small bunch of flowers; (archaic) a short motto or line of verse inscribed inside a ring

[satellitesunset]

myle.txt

[mortalityplays]

You need more free art.

I quit my job yesterday. Well, actually I quit my job eight weeks ago, but they finally released me yesterday for good behaviour. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do - but I do it for the wrong reasons. Working for major charities, you learn very fast that 'I want to make the world a better place' is a phrase you use to ask people for money, not to give them things. I was an ass-backwards fit for that world.

You need more free art. I need more free art. Everyone has felt the shift in our media landscape over the last ten years, away from access and towards nickel-and-diming the human experience. That lack of access is making life and culture worse for all of us, across the board. Paywalled news sites leave us less informed, attacks on the Internet Archive leave us less capable of research. Algorithmic social feeds and streaming walled gardens trap us inside smaller and smaller demographic bubbles, where we are increasingly only likely to encounter ideas that have been curated for us by marketing departments. Hasty efforts to resist AI commodification have only led to more artists locking their work away and calling for even more onerous systems of copyright law. This is not good for us.

We all need more free art.

So what am I going to do about it?

This is a question I have been asking myself for years. It's easy to sit here feeilng frustrated and thinking 'boy I hope SOMEONE does SOMETHING'. It's harder to take action in a world where I still have rent to pay. But hard doesn't mean impossible. Sometimes hard just means time-consuming, frustrating and slow. And sometimes it's worth doing something time-consuming, frustrating and slow because...I want to make the world a better place.

I'm going to do this:

1. From April 1st, I am relaunching as a freelance writer and editor.

This is the one that will (hopefully) help to pay the bills. I am a very good and experienced editor. I've worked on hollywood movies, I'm a member of the Chartered Institute of Editors and Proofreaders, I have clients who have been coming to me exclusively for more than 10 years.

Alongside bigger contract jobs, I am going to refocus on offering my services to small-press creators at a reduced rate. That means you, graphic novelists. That means you, itch and amazon writers. I want to help you develop your work, the same way I help large organisations. You can learn more about what an editor even does and what kind of pricing you can expect here.

2. I'm also going to start giving shit away. Like, constantly.

Next week I'm going to launch a new free shop. If you're unfamiliar, a free shop, giveaway shop, swap shop, etc. is an anarchist tradition of setting up a storefront where anyone can take what they like for no cost. Offline, this often means second-hand clothes, tools, furniture, food etc. Online, I am going to be giving away digital art. Copyright-free, no strings attached. It will (eventually) feature everything from print-res posters to zines, poems, tattoo flash, t-shirt designs and anything else we come up with.

Yes, I said 'we' - while this is a curated collection, it will feature work from a variety of credited and anonymous artists and activists, all of whom have agreed to give their work away to the public domain. Some of it will be practical, some of it will be political, but a lot of it will be decorative or personal. This is, in part, a response to recent difficulty I had finding somewhere that would print a one-off joke poster for a friend that featured the word 'faggot'. Enough. No middlemen - no explaining ourselves. Just print our shit and enjoy it.

I'm very, very excited about this project. I'll have more to say about it closer to the launch, but you can expect it to go live on March 27th.

2.2 I forgot to mention the ACTUAL LAUNCH GIVEAWAY

To celebrate my launch, I am going to be giving away a ton of physical prints. When I went looking for my old stock to see if it was worth setting a new (paid) storefront up, I realised I had way more old work in storage than I thought. This will be announced in its own right on Monday, but this is why I've been hinting you should go follow my Patreon.

On April 1st, I will pick 8 random patrons (from across all tiers including non-paying followers!) and mail them a bundle of assorted prints and postcards. The prize pool includes A3 and A4 posters, packs of A6 postcards, and printed minicomics that I've previously sold for up to £12 each.

You don't have to be a paying subscriber to enter - this is strictly no-purchase necessary. It is purely and entirely a celebration of the concept of GIVING ART AWAY FOR FREE.

3. PORN, YOU PERVERTS

Because I still have to pay to stay alive, I am going to be subsidising all this free art with the introduction of Fuck You Fridays. Starting from March 29th, I will drop a new 18+ short story on the last Friday of every month, over on itch.io (yes I know my page is desolate right now, don't worry I'll get there).

The first edition, Go Fuck Yourself, is about, well - telling your boss where to stick it. Julia has had it with her millionaire man-child manager, and is just about ready to let him know what she really thinks. It's a short and steamy 5k words, with a gorgeous cover illustration by @taylor-titmouse, and you can pick it up for $3 starting from March 29th.

4. ANOTHER BIG SURPRISE

I'm keeping this one under wraps for now, but April 1st will also play host to one more (FREE) launch. If you've been following me for a long time, you might remember the other significance of this date (no not April Fool's day, though that is certainly thematically relevant to this entire effort). That's all I'll say right now. Watch this space.

tl;dr: I'm sick of paywalls and career ladders. I'm literally putting my money where my mouth is. More free art for everyone and I'm not kidding around!!!

[rainintheevening]

It's Edmund who figures it out first, you know, who Aslan is. Like, a week after they're back in England, they go with the Professor to the little village church, and they stand and sing Amazing Grace, and the rector preaches something about Jesus dying for sinners, and Edmund is nailed to the pew with utter certainty: That's Aslan.

He doesn't say it directly to anybody, he has to chew it over, has to test it and try it, and see if it holds true. He and the Professor have many lively discussions about what Narnia actually is, what it's for, what other worlds would mean for science or philosophy or theology. But every time he goes back to the Bible and reads it, he finds echoes of Narnia, echoes of the Lion's voice, and the truth settles into him, becomes something solid and certain deep down inside.

Peter... sees the possibility almost as quickly. He's not so sure of it though, is a bit shy of something so incredible, doesn't want to get it wrong. He wants it to be true. He thinks about it a lot. But he doesn’t say any of it aloud, until he says to Aslan, at the end of his last trip to Narnia. It gets decided then, in there somewhere. He doesn't understand how or why, but he will believe anyway.

Lucy, now, Lucy always knew in a way that was beyond words, unconsciously, deep inside somewhere she never stopped to examine. She stands in Eustace's room, with Aslan’s words ringing in her ears, and it's like a light bulb has come on, or a bucket of cold water has been dumped over her head. Oh. Oh, that's what he meant, oh, now I understand.

And Susan, dear Susan, she suspects, she wonders, but no. Impossible. Too strange, too illogical. Waves it away like a nagging fly. But she figures it out years later, not too late, no sir, not too late at all. Maybe it's a book, maybe it's a song, maybe it's retelling the Easter story to a little girl curled up in her lap. Maybe it's an old poem pulled from the wreckage of a train. She pauses, startled, before the tears come tumbling down, and she murmurs the name she hasn't spoken in what feels like a lifetime, murmus it like a prayer: Aslan.

Jesus.

[obsessedwithceleste]

You’re Not Everyone Else

Lorenzo Berkshire x reader

Based on this request🫶🏽

Summary: Enz thought he knew everything there was to know when it came to wooing pretty witches, but it will take a lot more than the botanical gardens to win you over.

word count: 4.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You glare menacingly at the offending bundle of flowers propped up perfectly against your pillow, practically glowing as the sunlight streams onto them through the window. As if it were a sign that the flowers were bloody heaven sent.

Daphne’s mouth is practically on the floor as she watches you dump the fresh bouquet of expensive looking tulips directly into the trash can.

The flowers had been waiting for you on your bed when you came back from class, and you didn’t need to read the note attached to guess who they were from.

You can tell that she wants to protest, but you cut her off before she’s able to even get a word in.

“Don’t. You know how I feel about Berkshire. It’s not going to happen.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at the mere thought of Lorenzo Berkshire actually managing to weasel his way into your heart.

That boy was no good. He had a pretty face and the charisma to go along with it. He was nothing but a womanizer and you had heard all the stories to prove it. In fact, there was probably an alphabetized list of all the girls that had fallen victim to Lorenzo Berkshire floating around somewhere. He practically had his pick of the litter when it came to the Hogwarts dating pool, and yet for some reason he had landed his sights on you.

You could remember the first time Daphne had brought you to the Parkinson estate, introducing you to all of her friends. He had been their. Young, but charming as ever. He had been kind then. And sweet. But that was just to lure you in. By Christmas that same year you had heard all about his escapades and wanted nothing to do with it.

Daphne, to her credit, had tried to dissuade you, vouching for her friend, but you could never quite see past the swirling whispers that seemed to damper the boy's shine. He was her friend. Fine. He had been her friend first after all, but that was all he'd ever be. A friend of a friend.

But it had been years at this point, of flowers being left in your dorm room, chocolates, even soppy love poems declaring his affection for you, but you were having none of it. And it seemed the more you pushed the boy away, the more determined he was to make you his.

“It’s so romantic though,” Daphne protests, looking like she’s debating fishing the flowers out of the trash can. It was the third bouquet this week. And it was only Tuesday.

“Pft. Manipulative is more like it. He only wants one thing Daph, and you know it,” you reply, collapsing onto your bed with an annoyed huff.

Your friend is silent for a moment, mulling over her words.

"You liked him at one point. You told me so," she says finally.

"Sure, when I was thirteen. He's only after me now cause he likes the chase. He'll get bored," you reply, rolling your eyes slightly and brushing off the girl's comment.

Your roommate lets out a sigh, wringing her hands as she takes a seat on her own bed across the room.

“Oh I don’t think Enz would do that to you. I’ve known him since we were kids. He seems so serious about this.” Daphne replies.

You’d heard Daph say that same thing what felt like a million times over since this whole thing started.

“Yeah, well. It’s going to take a lot more than the botanical gardens to win me over.”

Lorenzo Berkshire was infamously known around the halls of Hogwarts for his flirtatious tendencies. It didn’t bother him much, even though half the things being said about him weren’t true in the slightest. But really what was denying any of it going to do?

Let people think what they want was what he always thought. Only one person’s opinion really mattered anyway. Yours.

Lorenzo had always been the romantic of the group, not that there was really any competition for the title, but still. From the day he met you, he knew that you were the one. You were perfect. Funny, and smart, and kind, always playfully bantering with your friends.

He remembered the summer after third year when Daphne had introduced you to the group. All of you gathered at the Parkinson estate. You had swept Theo in chess and Lorenzo had just sat there staring at you. Completely mesmerized. After that everyone seemed to love you, and you seemed to get along with everyone too. Even him. At first.

The first few months were bliss. Lorenzo loved making you laugh, seeing you smile. He knew then that he was down bad. But then, halfway through your fourth year, it was like a switch had flipped. He didn’t have the faintest clue as to why you suddenly seemed to have a certain level of hostility towards him. But he knew that he missed you.

“What in Salazar’s name could I have possibly done wrong?” Lorenzo groans, head falling back, face in hands as he leans back on the common room sofa. “I thought I was doing everything girls want. I send flowers. I send sweets. I even wrote her heart felt poems about how I feel about her!”

“That is disgusting. Have some dignity,” Draco snorts from his spot across from Lorenzo who just sticks his tongue out at the blonde boy in response.

“Oh hush Draco. I think it all sounds perfectly reasonable,” Pansy remarks, giving Enzo a nod of approval.

“Well it would be perfectly reasonable if it worked! She won’t even give me a second glance. She’s so nice to everyone. Bubbly and sweet and talkative. But as soon as I’m around she clams up! Did you know she’s helping Mattheo with charms right as we speak? Bloody traitor he is.” Lorenzo laments.

To be fair, you had had an upstanding tutoring session with Mattheo for weeks now, instituted my Professor Flitwick, but minor details.

“Well she is pretty talented when it comes to charms,” Daphne says awkwardly, lips pursed as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying not to be noticed.

Pansy squints at her friend, squirming and fidgeting. It was entirely unlike her. She was usually the one with her head screwed on correctly.

“Hold on Daph. You know something. What is it?” She demands.

Daphne looks at the raven haired girl in alarm, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders not daring to utter a word.

“Daph, come on, look at this man. He’s utterly pathetic,” Draco adds, gesturing towards the distressed brunette. Enzo glares at his friend.

“Just spit it out,” Pansy orders.

“She thinks you’re just trying to use her for sex!” Daphne blurts out, crumbling under the pressure.

Lorenzo blinks once. Then again.

“What?”

Daphne just shrugs once more rather helplessly as the group just stares at her as if she would solve all of Enzo’s problems.

“To be perfectly fair, there are a lot of rumors about you that have been circulating for years. I think, you just might be coming off a bit- ah, disingenuous perhaps?” Daphne says finally.

She could practically see the gears working in Lorenzo’s head as he takes in her words. She’s a bit worried she’d broken him when he remains silent for what seems like forever.

“I have so much work to do,” he announces finally, standing up and marching off to his dormitory, a look of fierce determination sketched onto his face.

“Oh now look what you’ve done Daph,” Draco groans, looking at the retreating back of his friend.

“She’s the one who made me say something,” Daphne protests, pointing an accusatory finger at Pansy.

“Shush Draco. None of us wanted to hear him monologue about his undying love again anyway,” Pansy retorts.

To be quite honest, you were feeling a bit ambushed as none other than Lorenzo Berkshire plopped down beside you on the sofa that you had claimed in one of the rather abandoned corners of the library.

“Afternoon love,” he chirps happily, shooting you one of his famous smiles. The kind that normally made girls melt at the mere sight.

“Hello Lorenzo.”

“You never responded to my note,” the boy chatters on, ignoring your clear disinterest in his presence. You really weren’t sure if the boy didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

“What note?”

The boy blinks at you. “The note I sent with the tulips the other day?” He replies, as if it should have been obvious.

“Oh. I threw those away.”

“Oh, you threw them aw- what?” He asks, apparently caught off guard by your nonchalant answer.

“I threw them away, placed them in the trash can, sentenced them to eternal damnation. Do try to keep up Enz.”

“Wha- why?” He splutters, genuinely looking a bit hurt.

You look at the boy raising an eyebrow. "I throw away all of your flowers."

"All of them?"

"Are you daft?"

Lorenzo's jaw is practically on the floor, his ego clearly being knocked down a peg or ten.

"Yes- I mean no- I mean- why are you throwing away my flowers?" He splutters.

Growing increasingly more frustrated, you glare at the boy.

"Can you quite down? And if I can be quite honest Lorenzo, I'm not exactly your biggest fan. It's nothing personal of course, you understand," you sigh, trying to get back to your reading.

Enzo is having none of it however as he tries to replay every interaction he could think of between the two of you. He simply doesn't understand. He thought he'd never been anything but a gentleman to you.

"You don't like me? Me specifically? But- you like everyone!"

It was true. Lorenzo had never heard a bad thing about you from anyone. Not even Draco had a bad word to say since you seemed to go out of your way to show kindness to everyone around you.

"Yes well, you're not everyone else Lorenzo."

Lorenzo's mind races as he stares at you in shock. You looked awfully lovely today. Damn it, stay focused. He just wanted you to see him. Was that too much to ask?

"I'm not just trying to use you for sex!" he blurts out, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, staring at you wide eyed. Real smooth Berkshire.

With a groan, you snap your book shut, closing your eyes in frustration as you realize that you're not going to be getting any reading done with Lorenzo sitting next to you.

Taking a slow inhale, you turn to get a good look at the boy beside you. Fluffy brown hair, warm, earnest eyes, only marred by the subtle pout adorning his lips.

“Let’s just say I were to give you a chance-“ you start.

“You won’t regret it. Pick you up at 8 tomorrow!” He replies, jumping in, the widest smile gracing his face.

Looking at the boy was like looking at a golden retriever puppy. You knew he was anything but, but how could you say no to that face?

“Alright Berkshire. One chance. Then, I never want to hear about this again.”

He was not going to blow this. He simply wouldn’t allow himself to. Everything that he had been working for these past months was leading up to this, he just couldn’t let it slip through his fingers. Enzo was giddy with anticipation as he lead you carefully down the cobblestone path.

“You better not be leading me out to the forest to murder me,” you call out to the boy behind you, his hands firmly in place over your eyes.

You were only half joking.

Before he even needs to respond, Enzo drops his hands and you’re immediately hit with bright sunlight.

“Where are we?” You ask in shocked amazement, staring around at the garden before you. It was straight out of a fairytale really. Bright, glowing green leaves, flowers of every color. There were even little, glittering sprites dancing about the flora.

“Hogwarts gardens. You never been?” Enzo asks, walking over to a spread on the lawn that you hadn’t even registered yet.

It was clear that he had put in some effort. The soft blanket laid out on the grass was littered with fruits and pastries, even a variety of little sandwiches.

“Didn’t even know this place existed,” you mutter, allowing the boy to guide you to a nice, sunny spot on the lawn.

“I’ve been working out here with Sprout for years. My favorite place,” Enzo tells you offhandedly, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

Under the warm sunlight, he looked unreal. Like an ethereal creature who took a wrong turn and somehow ended up sitting in front of you. You really could see what all the fuss was about when he was staring intently at you, a soft smile gracing his lips.

Wait.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realize you’d been staring as well, but Enzo doesn’t seem to mind.

“I think Daph mentioned that you were some herbology buff,” you say in an attempt to recover a bit of your dignity.

Enzo smirks. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. I am top of the class.”

“I thought that honor went to Longbottom,” you reply, picking at the food in front of you.

Lorenzo's face turns to a grimace.

"He could be real competition if he weren't a such pyromaniac. Sprout is still giving him the cold shoulder after he almost burned her prized Cobra Lily. Thing deserved it though. Always hissing at me."

You don't know why, but you can't help but let out a laugh at the thought of the Lorenzo Berkshire having an ongoing feud with a plant.

"Haha, yeah. You laugh now, but that bloody plant has been antagonizing me for weeks. I'm one hiss away from dropping the damn thing off of the astronomy tower." He responds sarcastically to your laughter, only causing you to fall into a further fit of giggles. The brunette boy just sticks his tongue out at you in defeat.

"Oh come on now, that's no way charm a witch," you tease, pulling yourself together as you grin at the boy in front of you.

"Yeah, well I've tried every other way I can think of, so it was worth a shot," Enz replies, his joking smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Your grin falters as Enzo's eyes drop to the grass surrounding the both of you and you take in the sudden silence of the gardens.

"It's hard to believe someone actually likes you when you're just another face in the crowd," you say finally, not willing to meet the boy's eyes.

"You don't have to believe me now. I'll wait."

It was a moment of sincerity that you weren't expecting out of the boy. Usually he was all jokiness and smiles. Not a bad quality by any means, but you were never sure when you could trust the boy's words. You felt like you could trust him now though, in that moment.

After that, you find yourself quite enjoying your afternoon. You had forgotten how easily the two of you actually got on when you weren't avoiding the boy like the plague. He had so many stories about the gardens, and it quickly became apparent that the particular spot he had brought you to was his sanctuary. It was nice getting to hear him talk, without all the extra noise and whispers, and off-putting looks from your classmates. You had missed him.

In the days following your garden excursion, Enzo keeps his word- backing off a bit from his pursuit for your affection. He was still around of course as you shared a friend group, but the excessive love poems had stopped and the next bouquet of tulips that appeared in your dorm was addressed to both you and Daph which she was thrilled about.

Over the next few weeks, it did not go unnoticed by you that your eyes had seemingly become magnetized to a certain brunette boy, quietly observing. He'd caught you watching a few times, tossing you one of his famous, dazzling smiles.

Slowly, you find yourself seeking the boy out on purpose as you found that you rather liked the way he had been able to make you laugh so easily that day in the garden. You had forgotten how much fun he was to be around. How warm and happy you felt when he looked at you. And he was rather sweet when he wanted to be. You had known the boy for years at this point. You thought you could read him like a book, but he still managed to surprise you.

In fact, you were as surprised as anyone to find yourself seated next to the boy in your astronomy class. It was a relatively new seating arrangement, but you found that he made the late night class significantly more tolerable. You didn't know what time it was now, but it was late, and you were tired.

"If you fall asleep, I'm not going to catch you if you fall out of the tower," Enz whispers in your ear as you fight to keep your eyes open and trained on the night sky.

"Yes you would, you’re too obsessed with me to let me fall," you respond, still able to feel his breath on the back of your neck.

You couldn't remember when the two of you got so comfortable with one another, but it had happened so quickly you almost didn't realize. Almost.

He hums in response, backing away and scribbling down the name of some constellation before gazing out at the sky once more.

“Whose idea even was it to let sleep deprived teenagers take a class at midnight in a tower without railings. They’re practically asking for a student to fall,” you grumble, slumping against Enz dramatically.

He lets out a soft snort of laughter this time as he continues to chart different constellations onto his parchment. You had finished the night's assignment ages ago and now had nothing to do but watch him quietly, resting your chin on his shoulder as he draws perfect little stars.

“What’s that?” You ask, reaching over the boys shoulder to pull something out of the notebook.

The soft pink color had caught your eye, peeking out of the pages, and a gentle tug reveals the petals of a tulip, followed by a green step. The flower isn’t as vibrant as it should be, and is flattened like a book page.

Enzo pauses, looking at the flower carefully.

“That’s from the first time we met.” He says, trying hard to sound casual. He continues to stare down at his notebook, but the stiffness in his arm makes it clear that he isn’t focused on stars anymore.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“Pansy doesn’t have tulips at the estate,” you reply, suddenly feeling more awake.

“No. But the greenhouse here does.”

Feeling even more confused, you tilt your head, waiting for Enzo to go on.

He carefully plucks the flower out of your hand, tucking it safely back into his notebook.

“The first time we met was in second year. We were learning the Herbivicus charm and I just couldn’t get it. But you got it so quick. You helped me, and that’s the flower we grew.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t even remember that day. It seemed so insignificant to you at the time.

“And you kept it?” You ask, your confusion amplified by your sleepy haze.

“I liked you,” is all you get in response.

You’re quiet after that, watching silently as Enzo scratches away at his parchment. His eyes flickering over to you nervously every so often. It was strange seeing him without his usual confident smirk.

As class eventually wraps up, the two of you slowly make your way down the winding staircase, quickly falling behind the other students who were racing off to get some much needed rest.

Your feet reach the final step with a muffled thud as you come to a hesitant stop. Normally this is where you and Enzo would split off for the night, but looking up at the boy, rays of moonlight glowing across his face, you can’t find it in yourself to move away.

With a sudden wave a confidence, impulsiveness, and probably a fair bit of deliriousness, you find yourself grabbing onto the collar of Enzo’s shirt, pulling down, and crashing his lips onto yours.

It takes a moment for realization to fully hit Enz, but you quickly find yourself back against the cold stone wall, Enzo’s lips still firmly on yours, deepening the kiss as he boxes you in. He moves against you with sheer lust, years of pining pouring out.

You vaguely feel his hand moving up your thigh, gripping tightly at your waist before moving up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your cheek softly tilting your head up further as his lips move against yours.

It’s hot, and dizzying, and just, right. You’re not quite sure how to describe it.

When Enz finally pulls away, you can feel his breath against your lips from his soft pants as he looms over you.

“I think a like you too,” you murmur, lips just barely brushing his with every word.

That’s apparently all Enzo needed to hear before he’s practically carrying you back to his dorm.

It’s a blurry haze as you find yourself pulling him onto the bed, lips connecting once more as your bodies move methodically against each other. It’s as if you’d simply turned off your brain, any worries or doubts scattering to the winds as Enzo’s warmth overtakes you.

The next morning a wave of icey cold fear washes over you as you realize what you’d done. What had you been thinking? All these years of avoiding him and for what? Rolling over in the tangle of sheets, Enz is still fast asleep, bathed in streams of sunlight peaking through the curtains. He really was gorgeous.

“Mornin love,” his voice shaking you from your thoughts.

“Hi,” you reply cautiously, turning to meet the boy’s eyes.

His eyes shine as he grins contentedly at you, pulling you closer so your noses are practically touching.

“I can tell what you’re thinking. Stop it. You’re stuck with me now,” he says, pressing a quick peck onto your lips.

Your face grows warm as he continues to pepper your face with kisses.

“I don’t ever want to leave this moment,” you sigh.

You can feel Enzo’s smile.

“I’m that good am I?” He asks cockily.

You snort. “Don’t want to have to admit to Daph that I can actually tolerate you for extended periods of time.”

“Aw, c’mon now love, don’t be like that,” Enz chuckles, tapping your nose lightly with his finger.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh as you feign annoyance, batting his hand away.

“I’m going back to sleep. I don’t want to deal with you anymore,” you tease, rolling over.

Enz just laughs, snaking his arm around you and pulling you close, pressing a kiss on the back of your head.

“Now that I have you, I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs as you allow your eyes to flutter shut once more.

“Wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.”

Did I start writing this way back in April? Yes. Do I remember what the original plot was going to be? No. Is this edited? Also no.

Anyway, Live Laugh Love Lorenzo Berkshire🤪

[hellishjoel]

ungodly and unprofessional

5.6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: who said anything about falling in love? you're just co-workers. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.) and wears a waitress uniform, explicit smut, consensual somnophilia, swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers), lastly not beta'd (lmk if you're interested!) A/N: five or six months later, who really knows. believe it or not, I was never not working on this or thinking about it for all of those months... which is crazy. I completely wing these chapters which is probably why it takes so long but you guys don't mind, right? enjoy these cuties falling deeper <3 I almost forgot - shoutout to BistroHuddy on TikTok because one of their segments inspired something in here (but no spoilers!)

“To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy-Ray Belcourt. 

You have this silly poetry book someone gave you as a birthday present or holiday gift exchange a few years ago. You’ve never picked it up until now. You’re shocked to say all of these cheesy love quotes and poems make you think of one very specific person: a guy with dark curls, a scruffy beard, amber eyes, and the perfect smile. Francisco. 

Falling for a man like Frankie feels like growing up— a sign of maturing compared to the ghosts of terrible boyfriend's past. 

Come to find out, it’s easier to go for the wrong guys, easier on your heart in a way — you don’t feel like you are actually losing anything. 

That’s why you would bet on losing dogs. Invest your emotions and need for romance in those who don’t reciprocate. The ones who despise commitment or lack emotional availability leave you in a state of disappointment. 

Better that than full-blown heartache. Better than ripping yourself open at the seams for another, only to be the one to sew yourself back up again. But not better than winning. 

The letter Frankie’s father sent him weeks ago had been burned into your brain. Every single word, each break of a new paragraph, lines of apologies, and convincing stories of ‘the good times’ they used to have. 

Frankie appeared to be just as wary about the letter as you were, neither of you so easily trusting. Frankie didn’t trust his father, but you did trust Frankie—end of story. 

You’ve never known Frankie to be so tightly closed about something that bothers him. He was the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve, an open book. 

Aside from allowing you to read the letter, you two have barely spoken about it. And not due to your lack of trying. 

There wasn’t a need for you to bring clarity to the situation, it wasn’t up to you to encourage Frankie to allow his father back into his life. But there was still a lot of emotional trauma that he carried that he didn’t have to bear alone. You just wanted him to know that you support him in whatever avenue he decides is best. 

To forgive or to forget. 

Frankie releases a sigh from his parted lips, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as your alarm chimes from your phone on the bedside table. He hates the fucking morning shift. 

The air is sticky and thick, and the fan on his bedroom ceiling is doing little to help. Late August is still taking its toll on Texas and its residents, but he’s reminded that this time last year, he sunk down on his knees in the back kitchen and tasted you on his tongue for the first time. Can’t believe it’s been a year since then. Plus all the events that have transpired since. 

There’s no label between you two other than the fact you are exclusive— putting your focus on each other and not seeing other people. It was good, better than nothing with you. 

His eyelashes finally flutter open, seeing you shift in the dark to turn off the alarm, only to dig your face deep into your pillow. He thinks you’re fucking adorable. 

Frankie is by no means a morning person, but waking up beside you has changed his perspective. Your hair is a scattered mess, the ponytail having fallen loose in the tosses and turns of last night. The sunlight peaking through the blinds highlights the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow. Arms tucked into your front, leg hiked up like a ballerina.

His mind starts to swirl at the conversation you shared recently, that you wanted to try something… new. To be surprised. To be taken by him in your sleep. 

He was shocked to hear you say it, all shy and meek - it’s not a side of you he sees often. But it’s the vulnerability talking, advocating the trust you share together. 

“I want to wake up with you inside me.”

Frankie had to blink a few times, his large hand cradling your jaw as you spoke in whispers between the sheets. “You— I didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“We don’t have to if it’s not your thing. But there’s something about you moving me where you want me to be, being completely under your control, even a little helpless,” you pause, uncertain if your words would scare him off. 

The exact opposite. Frankie was intrigued. 

“The thrill of trying not to wake you up.” He continues, watching your glowing smile return, indicating that Frankie understands why this would feel good to you. 

“My natural reaction, trusting you, knowing that you’ll be careful, knowing that you’re using me— it’s hot, Frankie. You have my consent, I wanna try.” 

Frankie’s stomach churns with excitement, butterflies spreading through his abdomen and up to his chest, his heart thunking eagerly. 

He was slow and methodical, not wanting you to stir from your sleepy state. Nipping at his lower lip, teeth piercing the skin, he works up the courage to touch you. A rough and calloused hand travels up your side, pushing up your sleep tee and watching goosebumps line the tips of his fingers.

Frankie presses slow kisses to the top of your shoulder, feeling his cock swell against the plump of your ass in all of the excitement. He whispers your name, soft and raspy with the morning hour. Other than a small twitch of your nose, you’re out cold. 

“Shh, s’okay angel, m’gonna make you feel good.” The desire stirs in his stomach, urging him to please you in your sleep just like you asked. 

With two crooked fingers, he curls them around the band of your panties and slowly drags them down your soft thighs. You let out a slow sigh between your parted lips, Frankie pausing to watch as you settle once more. 

 Slipping two skilled fingers between your legs, he slowly massages up and down your folds. He’s surprised to already feel the slick between your legs, a low groan of approval leaving the depths of his throat. 

There’s a shift, your hips squirming for more of his touch. You’re so perfectly pliant for him, causing the embers low in his belly to grow with anticipation, the blood rushing to his cock as it hardens against the curve of your ass. 

“Good girl,” he remarks as you let out a little whimper upon the pads of Frankie’s fingers finding your swollen clit. “Even asleep, you’re nice and wet for me, princess.” 

Goddammit, he thinks, how does she have this much of an effect while perfectly asleep? He can’t stand the feeling of not touching her, the carnal need to take her was strong like a magnet, forcing their bodies together. 

One yank and he was out of his briefs, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. He needed to move you, to perfectly fit in the nook of your body, you’d have to be good and yield to him. 

Frankie hikes up your leg and fills in the spaces between your bodies, stroking over himself as he slowly lines his leaking tip along your entrance. Just as he notches his tip inside, a quiet and sleepy gasp leaves your perfect pillowy lips. 

“Right there, baby, you just stay right there for me,” Frankie growls against your ear, his hips flush with yours as he slowly lets inch by inch of him be swallowed by your warm cunt. 

After that, there wasn’t a lot of nicety to him. The level of control he carried was lost. He just wanted to take and take, feel and fuck. He wants to use you like his own personal toy; do whatever he pleases with no resistance. You were his to devour. 

He’s still inside you, but he’s gotten this far, and you’re still out. Even in sleep, you’re pulsing around his cock, so fucking tight around him that it steals the air from his lungs. There’s a hint of discomfort in your face, a quiet gasp held within your expression. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, the hand he holds firmly on your hip now moving under your sleep tee. 

You were so fucking accessible to him, so beautiful, so peaceful being fucked raw. 

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, getting the reaction he’s been waiting for all morning. A sweet, slow moan tumbles loose from your throat, your hips reeling back to grind against Frankie’s lap. 

He’s somewhat pleased he knows you this well, knows what gets you worked up and gushing. The fact that even in your sleep, you have this reaction towards him makes the fire burning inside his abdomen grow. Maybe a deep part of him gets off on knowing you so well. 

Frankie lets out a sigh at his own thoughts, lightly nipping the skin of your exposed shoulder as he slowly rolls his hips back and glides in again, feeling the drag of your tight pussy keeping him lubed up and warm.

If he weren’t so desperate to fuck you, he’d love to just sit inside you like this all goddamn day. It would probably give him the same comfort as the first cup of coffee. 

He gives your breast one more firm squeeze before returning the attention back to your clit, all desperate and tingling with each eager circle he gives you. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers against your ear, his hips continuing at a steady pace until he simply needs more. He hikes up your leg once again to allow himself more movement, smirking as your ass smacks against the front of his hips with each thrust that now jostles your body. 

You’ll surely wake any moment, shocked and sleepy and startled at his cock so deep inside your perfectly spent cunt. 

You whimper each time he fills you, your face digging into the pillow as you moan against the cover. Frankie’s efforts grow needy and demanding, fisting your hair out of his way as he sucks marks into your neck; teeth and tongue massaging the skin before leaving a bruise in its wake.

A sweet little sob exits your parted lips, Frankie groaning at the pretty little noises you make. 

“Take me so well, princess. You want me to keep fuckin’ you, huh?” He snarls against your neck, smirking as you hiss at the sensations you’re feeling all throughout your body.  

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. They absorb the settings around you and it all clicks. A long, desperate moan crawls from the depths of your throat, your movements sluggish but your hand eventually clasps onto Frankie’s forearm, his fingers still swirling around your clit. 

“Ohmy— Frankie, fuck,” you gasp as you feel the full force of his cock drilling deep inside your pussy. Your voice is still thick with sleep, eyes cloudy with lust, and skin-prickling sensations that you had never felt before; a million emotions, but the standout being desperation to come undone like this with a man you trust. 

“This what you wanted, angel? Wake up with my cock stuffed between your legs?” Frankie smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek, jaw dropping against your own as you ride out the high together. 

You cry out something wrecked, a garble of syllables as your spine arches against his front. You weren’t given the pleasure of feeling the orgasm build and build; you woke up at its high heat. 

In an instant, your skin was clammy, hair sticking to your skin as desperate pants filled the room, along with broken moans of Frankie’s name. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, maybe better. Yes, way better. 

You’re so tight, literally clinging to every single inch he gives you as your slick drenches his cock. Your nails dig into his tan skin, feeling the muscles and tendons work to play with your clit. 

A whimper leaves you as the warmth in your stomach boils over, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dark, cast over with lust as he stole you in your sleep. In an instant, he meets you with a messy kiss, your bodies and the bed still jolting with each rough thrust he gives you. 

“Please,” you moan against his lips, nodding your head as you look into his eyes. “Come inside me, I wanna feel it, please, give it to me, Frankie,” your words turn into a whine as he begins to fuck you harder, deeper, his tip tickling your cervix as you damn near blackout from the pleasure. 

The pleasure inside of you finally reaches the surface. The feeling was like a wave breaching over your rocky shores, washing over you both in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his thick cock. 

Frankie spoils your clit as his hips snap against your ass, one, two, three more times before the feeling of you overcomes him. He braces you tightly in his arms, panting against your shoulder, eyes clenching closed as he lets out broken grunts of release. He paints your insides with his spend, both of you relaxing in one another’s hold as you slowly descend from heaven. 

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie breathes, shaking his head with a tilted smirk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He remarks as you look over your shoulder in a haze. 

You whimper as you pull him in closer, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head and encouraging him to meet your parted lips. 

The words are at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel them spread heat throughout your body. You can hear both of your hearts beating, thundering against the human flesh, and signaling the feeling of being alive. 

Frankie waits for the words. The feeling of anticipation has been lingering for quite some time. Your touch of nervousness was welcome, expected even. A moment in time when your heart feels exposed but also overwhelmingly full. Only hoping that the other person feels the same way, yet uncertain of how they will respond. A game of chicken of who will say it first and who will have to respond. The leap of faith one will be forced to make and the right words the other will have to find.

Both roles are downright frightening. 

You’re risking everything, the biggest gamble one can make without physical currency. 

But he sees the panic behind your eyes, the nervewracking feeling of saying the sacred words to someone, maybe even for the first time. And he knows that they will be worth it to hear. 

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, shaking his head in a way that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. “I know.” 

You don’t attend church, so you have one question: why the fuck is God sending people to get brunch after Sunday’s service? Why is that their beck and call? 

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, a flock of people flood the diner with their church clothes and a hankering for waffles and Frankie’s house lumberjack skillet (you wanna know what’s in it, don’t you?)

Frankie’s Secret Ingredients:

Potatoes: 1/4 lb (about 4-5 small potatoes)

Olive Oil: 1/2 tablespoon

Breakfast Sausage Links: 3 oz (about 4 links)

Onion: 1/8 of a whole onion, chopped

Red Pepper: 1/4 of a whole red pepper, chopped

Jalapenos: 1/2 jalapeno, sliced (omit if person looks too old to handle)

Butter: 1 tablespoon

Hickory Maple Seasoning: 1/2 teaspoon

Eggs: 2 large eggs

Milk: 1 tablespoon

Cheddar Cheese: 2 tablespoons, shredded

Anyway, Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables. 

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?” 

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table. You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t. 

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family. 

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough; you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-” 

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

Worse things have been said to your face, but you’re at your breaking point. You can feel your face flush with warmth radiating throughout your body. Now, the entire diner is staring at you from all the commotion. Your lungs feel tight, a headache casting heavy behind your face. Tears line your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall. 

“Again, I’m really sorry, but like I said, the kitchen is backed up.” But apologizing isn’t enough. This guy just wanted someone to take his punches. 

“Don’t even try to apologize. I don’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses. How hard is it to cook some damn eggs? This place is a joke. You must be the worst server I’ve ever dealt with. ‘Nd I swear, if I wanted this kind of useless service, I’d go to a fast food joint. Is this how you treat payin’ customers, or ya’ll just this lazy? Do your job, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how worthless you and this diner is.”

You clutch the empty coffee pot tightly, biting your tongue. Turning swiftly, you head straight for the back swinging door. You don't intend to contribute to the chaos or the bustling mess in the kitchen, but here, in the safety of the back section, you allow a few stray tears to escape.

Shoulder blades hitting the cold brick, you wish to blend into the wall. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you, your chest heavy and tight. Every sound around you blurs as the man’s harsh words replay in your mind, louder and louder each time. Your hands shake just enough to want to hide them behind your back, feeling afraid to have eyes on you in such a vulnerable state. Exposed. You’ve absorbed the anger meant for something or someone else, so now, it sticks to you, something you can’t wash away. 

Your name echoes once, twice. 

“Hey,” A calm amongst the rushing waves - it’s Frankie. You blink him into focus, bleary tears slowly fading away. His red bandana is tied tight around his forehead to catch the sweat from his forehead and hair. His face is laced with concern. He wipes his hands off on his apron, gently capturing your face as he shields you from the rest of the kitchen. 

And just like that, life returns to your body. You can feel the tips of your fingers, previously tingling, wiping under your eyes as you hiccup through your breaths. Frankie knows this high-traffic area will only make your anxiety worse. 

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and tell me what happen.”

The eyes of the kitchen staff are slowly starting to turn to you, asking if you’re alright and why you’re upset. Shaking your head dismissively, you blink away your tears and look down at the grubby floor that probably hasn’t been mopped since the invention of flip phones. 

“I’m fine. This customer just got pissed and yelled at me. He was upset that his food was running behind, and I tried to explain that the kitchen was backed up.” You part your lips to continue, but the jaw drops of the kitchen staff signal shock by your words. 

They all start honking in unison like a flock of geese. 

“He what?”

“Which fuckin’ table?”

“You okay, sweetheart? Fuck them.” 

Frankie's back straightens stiff, having previously been craning to see your face, now strict with annoyance. 

“Is that him?” Frankie asks as he walks to the window between the kitchen and the back counter, narrowing his eyes on the rat man and his family. 

“Frankie, please don't,” you huff, already refilling your pots of coffee and hoping to just forget the whole thing ever happened. "It's okay, it happens."

But it’s not okay. Because this guy made you cry, and what the hell was it for? Some scrambled eggs and bacon on delay?

The rest of the line cooks have abandoned their food to gawk at the asshole who thinks he can get away with yelling at one of their own like that. 

Frankie tightens his bandana and peels off his gloves, slapping them down in the trash. 

His boots thunder across the linoleum, catching the attention of many of the patrons on his way to the booth by the window where the rat man has continued to reside angrily. Even worse, he chuckles at the sight of Frankie. 

“Take a load of this guy," the rat man appears to mutter to his wife who looks between them both with startled eyes. "Okay, okay, just bring back the pretty waitress. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” He sneers, shaking his head. 

“No, you’re done with her. You’re dealin’ with me now.” Frankie snags an empty chair from a nearby table, turns it around, and straddles the seat as he gets in the burly man's face. 

“I just feel terrible that we’re not meeting the quality of service you expected. So what exactly is the problem?” Frankie asks with a hint of venom lining his words. 

“Well- we’ve been waitin’ here for half an hour and-”

“Right, and what did the pretty waitress say?”

The man scoffs lightly, feeling embarrassed with all the eyes on him not once but twice now. “Well, she said the kitchen was backed up.”

“That’s right, that’s right, well, I’m the fuckin’ kitchen. You wanna yell at someone? Well, I thought I’d give you the chance to yell at me since, hey, I'm in charge of the kitchen today. Please, tell me your honest review.”

The rat man stares blankly, looking from left to right in surprise, but his family all gawks at Frankie. 

Frankie waits, eyes unblinking, face hardened as the man sputters up something weak in response. 

“This is ungodly and unprofessional,” he gargles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You’re absolutely right!” Frankie says, smacking the table with his closed fist before pointing at the rat man, the tip of his finger inches from his face. “I am unprofessional, but that’s because I don’t have the great customer service skills of our waitresses. That’s her job,” Frankie juts a thumb backward towards the kitchen in your direction. “So now, instead of cookin’ you and your ugly wife and kids some food, I gotta come out here and knock some sense into ya since you seemed to have lost your manners. So you gonna let her do her job so I can get back to mine?”

You can only watch from the window in shock, hand over mouth, unblinking eyes - but it’s like a car crash you can’t look away from. The man is shocked into an embarrassed silence. 

“We’ll just… we’ll wait. There’s-uh-there’s a lotta people here.” 

Frankie sighs and smiles with fake relief. He stands from the chair, looking around the quiet restaurant. 

“Anybody else have somethin' they wanna say?”

They all seem too scared of Frankie to complain again to the psycho chef. Chants of ‘Everything’s great!’ or “Thank you!” echo through the dining room. 

You smile warmly, forcing yourself to turn away from the scene and clean up your teary makeup in the bathroom. But all you can think about is Frankie. Francisco. Stupid Catfish. Stepping in like that to protect you, to make that jerk take accountability. It makes your heart flutter knowing how much he cares. And you feel the same way.

It’s about time you tell him. 

Knuckles wrap against the bathroom door, and an echo of, “You okay?” follows. 

He comes in without a response, somewhat relieved to find you adjusting your hair and wiping at the smeary makeup. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, watching in the reflection. He looks disheveled and annoyed, shaking his head as he starts ranting about rat man. 

“I don’t get how people like that- the God-loving church people- come in here and act like they weren’t just told at a sermon to love thy neighbor or whatever bullshit.”

He continues, but all you do is stare.

A part of you thinks he defends others due to his childhood. No one picks on the people Frankie cares about. That letter riled him up, maybe more than either of you had realized. He’s thinking about those times of the past, the innocent hurt by the deviant. 

“You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry, he’s a fucking dick. You don’t have to take his food out, I’ll do it. Honey,” he breathes, hand resting on your shoulder as he gently turns you around to face him. “Are you mad at me? I know you told me not to go out there, but no one makes you cry if I can help it, y’know? I don’t want him to think he can get away with that.”

Once Frankie starts ranting, it’s really hard to get him to stop. 

“Frankie,” you breathe out, resting your hand over the one he holds on your shoulder. 

“I mean, does he really think that it’s smart to be rude to the staff? I’ll spit in his food, and it will feel really good because he’ll have no idea.”

“Frankie,”

“You’re a good fucking waitress! Doesn’t he see the entire breakfast bar and all the booths filled with guests? The line out the door wasn’t an indication of how busy it is? Get a fuckin’ brain, I mean-”

In an instant, you tilt your chin up, catching his gaze just long enough to see the shift in his eyes before your lips meet. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft curls at the nape, gently tugging him down toward you. The kiss begins with an urgency, part playful, part to silence his words, but mostly, it's to thank him in a way that words never could.

Frankie’s initial surprise fades quickly as he melts into you, his breath hitching for a moment. His hands travel to your waist, sliding around until they lock just above your hips, anchoring you to him. He presses closer, his touch firm yet tender, and slows the kiss, savoring the warmth of your lips. You feel the way his body relaxes, how he leans in, letting the world around you both fall away as he holds you, close and unmoving, like he’s never letting go.

It takes every ounce of courage in your body to pull away, your lips lingering against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if tethered by an invisible force. Slowly, you break the kiss, your breath shaky, heart racing. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his eyes still half-closed, unaware of the words hanging on the edge of your lips.

You gently pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still laced in his hair, trembling slightly. His eyes search yours, soft and expectant, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.

With a deep inhale, you let the words slip out, vulnerable and raw, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

“I love you.”

The world stands still as the words hang in the air, your heart pounding as you wait for the weight of what you’ve just said to settle between you.

And then he smiles like an idiot. And you’re joining him. 

“Did you say what I think you said? Did you say that you love me?" His voice is soft, teasing, as he presses his forehead against yours, capturing your lips with a few playful, quick kisses between his words. “Come on, say it again.”

You feel your heart flutter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Frankie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I heard you say it. Now you can’t take it back,” he adds with a grin, pulling you tighter, his arms leaving no space between you.

You giggle, your hands pushing lightly against his shoulders, though he doesn’t budge. “Stop, that was really hard,” you huff, breathless, as though the words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

Frankie just shakes his head, his smile fading into something softer, more real, as the weight of the moment catches up with him. “I’ve thought about better places or times to tell you this, I wanted to wait until you were ready,” he whispers, his voice hushed with disbelief, eyes locking onto yours, “but I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever understand or dream. I love you.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, a gentle, affectionate touch that sends shivers down your spine. The intensity in his gaze mirrors your own, both of you lost in this shared vulnerability, your hearts speaking in unison.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, the words falling effortlessly this time, as if they’ve always been waiting for this moment.

So, yeah. You sort of love your co-worker Francisco Morales. 

The sun is blinding—orange and yellow streams of light as it is forced to set along the horizon. It’s slow but noticeable, sinking into the land beyond what you can see.

The sun goes down in Texas once again. 

Frankie raises his cigarette, its glowing tip mirroring the fiery hues of the sunset.

His neighborhood is tranquil, lined with single-story homes and tree-bordered streets where autumn's touch is just around the corner. Children ride bikes, joggers and dog walkers pass by, and new parents push their baby strollers—a picturesque scene that feels meticulously arranged yet somehow distant. Frankie, too, feels out of place here.

"You got pretty worked up today—more than usual," you say softly.

Frankie lets out a dry chuckle, cigarette between his lips as he leans back on his elbows, squinting at the fading sun. "Yeah, maybe. You think I’m off right now?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, as if searching for what’s changed.

You shrug, glancing at him with a fond smile. "I think that letter from your dad has you more rattled than you realize. I found it in your sock drawer this morning."

Frankie’s gaze drops to his lap, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

"I thought you said you were gonna toss it?" you muse gently, watching as his mind churns, cigarette hovering at his lips before he sighs deeply.

"You’re too observant," he smirks. "I don’t know why I haven’t crumpled, burned, or shredded it into pieces by now. I have every right to."

You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tension there. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Frankie bites his lower lip nervously, glancing your way. "At the end of the apology letter, he asked to take me out for my birthday. Put down the time, place—everything. Said he’d wait for me."

Your expression softens, letting him know you’re here, really listening. "And you’re thinking about it?"

"Yeah… I guess so. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I’ve only seen him once or twice since I moved out. It’s been years. And when I do see him, I’m thirteen all over again, just yelling at him, so angry. I see his face, and it’s like a switch flips. And that’s not me. You know that’s not me," Frankie stammers, panic flickering in his eyes.

"I know," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as the weight of it all settles.

After a deep breath, Frankie gathers himself. "He used to bring out the worst in me. I don’t know if I still hate him as much. Time’s passed, maybe he’s changed. But I’m not holding my breath."

He’s an adult now, more guarded, wiser to the people who’ve hurt him. He’s fought through battles and traumas you don’t even know about. Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe his dad has turned a corner, maybe he’s cleaned up, seen his mistakes. But you know better than to trust in maybes.

And you’d protect him from being let down again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" you offer quietly.

Frankie’s eyes snap to yours, wide and searching.

"Okay," he says after a long pause. "Let’s do it."

[omgpoindexter]

“It’s going to rain.”

Dex looks up.

Neither he or Nursey have spoken in the last hour, seated in a comfortable silence on the front porch. It’s been the sort of day that makes it uncomfortable to talk, anyway; there’s been a heavy heat smothering them for almost a week now. It makes them antsy and annoyed, so they’ve resorted mostly to silence in a way that would never have happened their freshman year. It’s a development in maturity resulting in long silences that frustrate Chowder and impress Bitty.

Dex is the kind of guy that knows when the rain is coming. He always has been - years of hot, sticky summers on the lobster boat have drilled it into him - but it’s Nursey that squints up at the clouds and makes the statement.

“Hmm,” Dex says, which is neither an agreement or disagreement. Nursey doesn’t seem to notice.

Instead, he cocks his head to one side and smiles up at the approaching dark clouds. “It’s gonna be the kind of rain that makes people take the bus,” he says absently.

Dex frowns reflexively, but inside he’s softly pleased. It’s such a Derek sentence, in its simplicity and its observation. Nursey, however, catches the frown and raises a cool eyebrow. He doesn’t know Dex is gently, sweetly analysing his words.

“Why do you say it like that?” Dex asks, to explain himself before Nursey points out his reflex frown. “The kind of rain that makes you take the bus? Just say it’s a lot of rain.”

Nursey blinks at him, surprised. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “I like thinking about it in people terms. It’s more fun.”

“People terms?” Dex asks him. He thinks he knows what Nursey means, but he likes the explanation.

“Yeah,” Nursey shrugs, looking out into the street. The clouds are dark and heavy above them. “People will rush to their cars, or run to bring the laundry in - and if you weren’t sat right here, you’d do it too.”

Dex, surprised, laughs. Nursey looks over at him. He’s smiling a little, and there are crinkles by his eyes.

Then comes a low rumbling noise that echoes through the streets; a clap of thunder quickly follows. Nursey looks away and back at the sky just in time to see it open, and the rain starts, as he said it would.

Dark spots begin to litter the sidewalk and the garden path, rain drumming on the porch roof. Dex hears Bitty shut the kitchen windows somewhere in the Haus behind them.

There’s a shriek from a house a few doors down that makes them both jump. A girl Dex vaguely recognises sprints past them and hurries into her car. Dex looks at Nursey, expecting to see him looking smugly back over at him, but his eyes are fixed on the sky.

He watches Nursey analyse the clouds for a moment.

Dex can imagine the beginnings of a poem forming in his mind: something atmospheric and melancholy that Dex will try to understand but won’t quite, something that encapsulates Derek Nurse in a way Dex wants to be able to do but isn’t quite there yet.

“I guess you’re right,” Dex says, smiling. “Maybe I would.”

[fictionandfixation]

Older Bachelor headcanons!

Older Bachelor stardew headcanons because I’ve been playing lots recently! All sfw, some mentions of smoking/alcohol 💕 also please bear in mind I am no SDV expert, so sorry if these go against canon occasionally!

Harvey ☕️🔬📚

• Secret smoking habit that he would rather die than tell anyone about. Not often, but during flu season when he’s stressed, you can find him cooped up in his room with an imported cigar or a Marlboro Gold, an espresso and an Agatha Christie.

• Plays classic soul, funk, golden oldies and jazz in the foyer of the clinic on an old-timey record player, and chooses every day from his large record collection. Frequently irritates Maru with the extent of his Doris Day enjoyment.

• Kind of wide-set - very broad shoulders, and quite tall.

• Packets of salted peanuts and cookies on the clinic foyer desk which he restocks every week.

• Goes to fetch you personally from the mines or Skull Cavern sometimes when you get knocked out. And he also keeps a vintage forest green car behind the clinic to pick you up in. He hopes one day you’ll wake up on the way back and compliment his tasteful vehicle choice or notice he’s bringing you home. You don’t.

• Best friends with Evelyn. Worst enemies with George.

• Tennis player. Plays with whoever will say yes in the mountains and always manages to punt the ball into the lake somehow. Also used to be in a rock climbing club at university, and has sort of sinewy forearms as a result.

• Outrageous flirt after a few glasses of Pinot Noir, mostly because I think he’s on the spectrum but also because I think it would help him stop being quite so nervous.

• Brown suspenders. Every. Single. Day.

• Gives Jas and Vincent candy after their checkup.

• “Sweetheart/honey” as a nickname for you.

Elliott 📜🖋️🐚

• Striped. Matching. Pajamas.

• Finds, forages and cooks mussels when he needs to impress someone. And on that note, very much a French cuisine enjoyer.

• If blue cheese has no fans Elliott is dead.

• Rizz master. Silver tongue. Read so much romance when he was a teenager that it has actively become a part of his personality to be a book boyfriend.

• Very willowy and slender. Metabolism of the gods. Puts away food like it’s nobody’s business.

• Can read several languages, but just can’t master an accent so never uses them in a spoken context. Definitely a student of Latin.

• English accent headcanon! Probably spent the first couple of decades of his life in somewhere high-income like Warwickshire, or (more likely) Cornwall or Exeter, on or near the coast. I am also envisioning him as having been to an old collegiate university like Durham, or maybe a college at Oxford (Merton I reckon).

• Writes and then burns poems about everyone he’s ever been in love with. Starts keeping them when he meets you.

• Chats fashion history with Emily and Haley.

• Religious about his collection of cravat-style ties because he’s seen the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice a few too many times.

• Frequent book club gatherings with Caroline, Marnie, Robin and Jodi (mostly because mothers love him, the main selling point here being that he has definitely read at least one Jodi Picoult book. He does not remember anything about it, he’s just glad to be invited).

“Dearest/my love” as a pet name.

Shane 🍺🍕🐓

• Snores. Very quiet about it though.

• I know a lot of people HC Harvey as oldest but I reckon it’s Shane. He also acts the most like a bitter old man whereas I feel Harvey is just ‘mature’.

• Could be convinced to grow a beard. Maybe.

• Goes for a jog three times a week. Hates it. Refuses to stop and really isn’t even sure why he does it himself any more.

• Secret Lana Del Rey enjoyer. Mainly a fan of Midwest emo, classic rock, nu metal and sometimes country but the kind of country where they sing about killing people and getting away with it.

• Raised by heavily Christian parents in the Deep South. Yes this is a Southern accent headcanon. Yeehaw.

• Lets Jas put eyeshadow on him sometimes. Shaves properly only when she wants to put makeup on him.

• Craft beer’s number one opp. Wants an ice cold tap Budweiser only, and if there isn’t enough head on it he will be asking for a refund. Not that Gus would ever do that to him.

• Has muscle with padding. Very strong, very wide in stature, but not lean at all. Biceps wider than your neck that you could (and would) use as pillows.

• Makes the most insane hangover breakfast known to man. Bacon. Pancakes. Sausage. Home fries. Butter. Syrup. You’re putting on a bit of healthy relationship weight for sure with Shane as your partner.

• “Darlin’/baby” user. “Sweet cheeks” as a joke. Kind of a joke.

Hope you guys enjoyed these!! I am down irretrievable for Older Bachelor content because I love ✨older men✨

Please let me know if you’d like some more for these characters or the other bachelors and bachelorettes!

[slutforspungen]

Sid Vicious’s Letters to Deborah Spungen following the death of Nancy Spungen (his girlfriend).

(TW MENTIONS OF SUICIDE)

(FIRST LETTER)

Dear Debbie, thank you for phoning me the other night. It was so comforting to hear your voice. You are the only person who really understands how much Nancy and I love each other. Every day without Nancy gets worse and worse. I just hope that when I die I go the same place as her. Otherwise I will never find peace.

Frank said in the paper that Nancy was born in pain and lived in pain all her life. When I first met her, and for about six months after that, I spent practically the whole time in tears. Her pain was just too much to bear. Because, you see, I felt Nancy’s pain as though it were my own, worse even. But she said that I must be strong for her or otherwise she would have to leave me. So I became strong for her, and she began to stop having asthma attacks and seemed to be going through a lot less pain.

I realized that she had never known love and was desperately searching for someone to love her. It was the only thing she really needed. I gave her the love that she needed so badly and it comforts me to know that I made her very happy during the time we were together, where she had only known unhappiness before.

Oh Debbie, I love her with such passion. Every day is agony without her. I know now that it is possible to die from a broken heart. Because when you love someone as much as we love each other, they become fundamental to your existence. So I will die soon, even if I don’t kill myself. I guess you could say that I’m pining for her. I could live without food or water longer than I’m going to survive with out Nancy.

Thank you so much for understanding us, Debbie. It means so much to me, and I know it meant alot to Nancy. She really loves you, and so do I. How did she know when she was going to die? I always prayed that she was wrong, but deep inside I knew she was right.

Nancy was a very special person, too beautiful for this world. I feel so privileged to have loved her, and been loved by her. Oh Debbie, it was such a beautiful love. I can’t go on without it. When we first met, we knew we were made for each other, and fell in love with each other immediately. We were totally inseparable and were never apart. We had certain telepathic abilities, too. I remember about nine months after we met, I left Nancy for awhile. After a couple of weeks of being apart, I had a strange feeling that Nancy was dying. I went straight to the place she was staying and when I saw her, I knew it was true. I took her home with me and nursed her back to health, but I knew that if I hadn’t bothered she would have died.

Nancy was just a poor baby, desperate for love. It made me so happy to give her love, and believe me, no man ever loved a woman with such burning passion as I love Nancy. I never even looked at others. No one was as beautiful as my Nancy. Enclosed is a poem I wrote for her. It kind of sums up how much I love her.

If possible, I would love to see you before I die. You are the only one who understood.

Love, Sid XXX

P.S. Thank you, Debbie, for understanding that I have to die. Everyone else just thinks I am being weak. All I can say is that they never loved anyone as passionately as I love Nancy. I always felt unworthy to be loved by someone so beautiful as her. Everything we did was beautiful. At the climax of our lovemaking, I just used to break down and cry. It was so beautiful it was almost unbearable. It makes me mad when people say “you must have really loved her.” So they think I don’t still love her? At least when I die, we will be together.I feel like a lost child, so alone.

The nights are the worst. I used to hold Nancy close to me all night so that she wouldn’t have nightmares and I just can’t sleep without my beautiful baby in my arms. So warm and gentle and vulnerable. No one should expect me to live without her. She was a part of me. My heart.

Debbie, please come and see me. You are the only person who knows what I am going through. If you don’t want to, could you please phone me again, and write.

I love you.

NANCY

You were my little baby girl

And I shared all your fears.

Such joy to hold you in my arms

And kiss away your tears.

But now you’re gone there’s only pain

And nothing I can do.

And I don’t want to live this life

If I can’t live for you.

To my beautiful baby girl.

Our love will never die.

(SECOND LETTER)

Dear Debbie, I’m dying. Slowly, and in great pain. My baby is gone, without her I have no will to live. I love her so desperately. I know I can never make it without her. Nancy became my whole life. She was the only thing that mattered to me.

I’m glad I could make her happy. I gave her everything she ever wanted, just for the asking. When we only had enough money for one of us to get straight, I always gave it to Nancy. It was less painful to be sick myself than it was to see her sick.

When you love someone that much you cannot lose them and still be able to go on. I know that if I lived to be a thousand years old I would never find anyone like Nancy. No one can ever take her place. I love Nancy and Nancy only. I will always love her. Even after I am dead.

I have only eaten a few mouthfuls of food since she died. I may die of starvation in this place. I just hope it comes soon, so that I can be with Nancy again.

We always knew that we would go to the same place when we died. We so much wanted to die together in each other’s arms. I cry every time I think about that. I promised my baby that I would kill myself if anything ever happened to her, and she promised me the same. This is my final commitment to the one I love.

I worshipped Nancy. It was far more than just love. To me she was a goddess. She used to make me kiss her feet before we made love. No one ever loved the way we did, and to spend even a day away from her, let alone a whole lifetime, is too painful to even think about. Oh Debbie, I never knew what pain was until this happened. Nancy was my whole life. I lived for her. Now I must die for her.

It gave me such pleasure to give her anything she wanted. She was just like a child. She used to call me “daddy” when she was upset, and I used to call her “mamma” and she used to nurse me at her breast and call me her “baby boy”.

I tried to kill myself but they got me to hospital before I died. Nancy knows that I will soon be with her. Please pray that we will be together. I can never find peace until we are together again.

Oh Debbie, she was the most beautiful person I ever knew. I would have done anything for her.

Nancy once asked if I would pour petrol over myself and set it on fire if she told me to. I said I would, and I meant it. If you would happily die for someone, then how can you live without them. I can’t go on without her. She always said she would die before she was twenty-one, and I never doubted it.

Goodbye, Debbie. I love you.

Sid XXX

[yelenasdiary]

Hey what about Professor Wanda and student R and her punishing R for purposely not doing well in her class and she makes her recite an entire poem while she fucks R👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Word for Word

Pairing: Professor! Wanda Maximoff x Student! Reader 

Summary: After not paying attention in class, your professor asks you to stay behind for a little chat. 

Smut | Abuse of Power | Legal Age Gap | Language Warning | Strap on Use (Reader receiving) | Fingering (Reader receiving) | Top! Wanda | Bottom! Reader | Slight Degradation | Mention of Safe Words | 2.3K | 18 + Minors DN!! |

AC: I actually don’t know any poems if I am being honest, I actually used a couple of the poems for this! I hope you enjoy x

"Y/n, can I see you after class please? We need to have a little chat" your professor looked sternly at you as the rest of your classmates rose from their seats and began to make their way out of the room. You sighed and rolled your eyes at the woman who stood tall with confidence at the front of the room. Your plan was working, you finally got the teacher to snap. For weeks, you've been showing little to no interest or attention to the new unit in your literature class. 

It's not that you don't take your studies seriously but when you noticed the way you couldn't stop thinking about your professor in a very, very inappropriate way, you couldn't stop yourself from seeing how far you could get before getting some alone time with the woman. 

"What's the issue now?" you asked in a huff once everybody had left the room. Wanda tilted her head at you as she walked over to your desk, "the issue is your failing my class" she replied in a stern voice. "So? maybe if you taught something interesting, I'd be interested enough to want to learn something" you snapped with a light smirk on your lips. Wanda ignored your smart-arse reply and wandered over towards the classroom door, locking it before you had a chance to say another word. 

"You're not leaving this room until you've recited every poem, we've spoken about in the two weeks" your professor broke the silence as she walked back to her desk at the front of the room. 

"What makes you think I'm going to do that?" you chuckled as you stood up, throwing your back bag over your shoulder. 

"Because you'll do anything I saw when I'm done with you" her words caught your attention as you looked at her, she reached down to her lower draw and pulled out a dark red dildo already attached to a black harness. You stood in shock, not thinking your plan would actually work but you enjoyed messing with her. "What? You think I haven't seen the way you act around me? The short skirts you've been wearing, letting me see the piece of thread you wear as panties?" she added with a raised brow. 

Your eyes looked to the toy that now sat a little too proudly on her desk and you could already tell from the size of it that it was bigger than anything you've used before. "I've tried many different ways to get you to pay attention in my classes, but it seems that your mind is full of dirty thoughts, I shouldn't expect better from a whore. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two with your mouth full" Wanda stepped in front of her desk, tilting her head at you once more. "Come here" she spoke. You didn't hesitate to throw your bag to the floor and walk towards your professor. You looked at her with need, but she only shook her head at you, "so you do listen to instructions, good. Strip" she spoke sternly once again. 

The tone in her voice only sent a throb to your core as you began to undress yourself for the professor, she watched you, taking in every single inch of your bare skin as her eyes fed on your naked body. "On my desk with your legs spread. We don't have much time; you have a test for tomorrow's lesson, and you have a lot to learn!" Wanda spoke and you could've sworn you saw a faint smirk tugging at her lips before you sat yourself up on her desk, spreading your legs to give her a clear view of your already wet and needy pussy. 

"What would you like me to start reciting?" you asked as you watched Wanda walk towards you. Her eyes never left yours as she came in contact with you, running her hands gently up and down your thighs just to watch your cunt clench with need as her hands came closer to where you've been so desperate for her. "What's your safe word?" she asked, ignoring your question. You looked at her while he hands inched closer and closer to your pussy, "M-mango" you replied in a stutter when the woman ran her fingers over your slit. 

"Adorable" she smiled softly, "recite The Sick Rose, without mistakes" Wanda added as she ran her fingers between your folds. Her touch was enough to make you close your eyes with pleasure, wanting to moan whenever she brushed over your clit. Wanda teased you until she was satisfied you were ready to take her fingers. 

"Go on baby, this is what you wanted, isn't it?" she looked up at you as she slid two fingers into your pussy, using your own slick for an easy entrance. 

"O R-rose thou a-art sick" you spoke, letting a moan or two slip as your professor buried her fingers deep inside you, "Keep going, ignore me. I'm just going to play with you for a while" she smirked knowing she had you melting in her hands.

"The invisible worm" you went on, letting your eyes close as Wanda began thrusting her fingers in and out of you. "That flies in th- more!" you broke, throwing your head back and pushing yourself more onto her fingers. Wanda stopped instantly, "I told you no mistakes! Start again" she looked at you, "the longer you play around baby, the longer you'll be waiting" she added as she looked over to the red dildo sitting beside you. 

You nodded, "s-sorry miss" you moaned when she returned to thrusting her fingers deep inside you. "O Rose t-thou art sick. That flies in the night, In the h-howling storm:" with every word, Wanda sped up. Her free hand kept your hips still from thrusting yourself more on her fingers as you chased your building orgasm. "Has f-found out thy bed, of crimson j-joy:" your moans were beginning to make their own decisions causing you to take a few short seconds to get yourself together, trying your best not to stuff up the poem for a second time as Wanda curled her fingers inside you. 

"I didn't say stop, did I?" Wanda looked up at you as she thrusted her fingers as deep as they could possibly go. "And his d-dark secret l-love, does thy life d-destroy!" you completed the poem with a loud moan, throwing your head back once more when you felt your professor slide a third finger inside you. "M-miss! Please!" You begged, knowing your orgasm was balancing on the edge. 

Wanda smirked, "do you want to cum baby?" she asked. You nodded instantly with need, with want. "Please! P-please can I cum?!" You moaned once more. 

"Who's the poem by baby? Tell me who wrote it and when and I'll let you cum" 

The last thing your mind was thinking about was who wrote the poem, let alone when it was published but the need for release was growing stronger with every thrust from the professor. "W-William Blake!" you moaned in an almost scream, "1794!" you added. 

"So you do listen, go on darling, cum!" Wanda instructed, finally something you didn't have to rack your brain to think about. You came hard around her fingers; she slowed her pace down to allow you to ride out your first orgasm. A proud smile tugged at the woman's lips when she slowly pulled her fingers out of your wet pussy, bringing them to her lips and sucking them clean while never breaking the eye contact she shared with you. 

"So sweet" she hummed at your sweetness on her tongue before she reached for the strap on and harness. While you gathered yourself and recovered from your high, Wanda striped herself of her clothing and attached the harness to her waist, "now let's see how well you can listen" her eyes hinted for you to get on your knees. 

Wanda ran her fingers through your hair as you looked up at her, the red toy in your face just waiting to meet the back of your throat. "You're too pretty to be playing these stupid little games darling" she spoke, "if you wanted me to ruin you, all you had to was ask nicely" she added before running the tip of the toy over your lips, "open up baby, it's time for your second lesson" she smirked as you opened your mouth, welcoming the toy as she guided it into your mouth. 

You treated the toy as if it was real, doing everything you'd seen in videos, gagging and making a mess of the toy with your salvia while Wanda read multiple poems along with the author and published dates. Poems from Emily Dickinson, John Keats and Lord Byron where not bedded into your brain while Wanda used your mouth to prepare the toy for you ever growing wet pussy. 

Wanda stopped you and removed the toy from your mouth and a soft and proud smile, "it's a shame I can't have your mouth looking this pretty in class, maybe you'd learn a lot more" she guided you back to your feet before crashing her lips onto yours, smiling against them knowing she now had her own perfect toy to use whenever she wanted, however she wanted. 

"Next you'll recite Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson. No mistakes and no pauses and no moaning or you'll start everything that we've learnt so far" Wanda gently placed you back on her desk on your back, kindly spreading your legs for her to run the tip of her toy through your slick folds. "Word for word" she added as she guided the toy into your already clenching pussy. 

You gripped the edge of your professor's desk to keep yourself from moaning her name at the way she stretched you out, bottoming out as her thumb drew light circles around your clit just to add to your pleasure. "Wild Nights! Wild Nights!" You started, hoping you weren't too loud but nodding at the same time, letting Wanda know it was okay for her to start moving. "Were I with thee, w-wild nights should be" you went on, fighting every need of yourself to moan while your knuckles turned white.

 "Wild Nights should be, 

Our luxury!

Futile the winds

To a heart in port—"

With every word, Wanda thrusted deeper into you, the room full with a mix of your words and the sound of her thighs slapping against your skin. Your head thrown back on the hard desk as your professor had her way with you, pounding into you, giving you more than you thought she could ever give. For weeks of teasing her and trying to get her to snap, this is exactly how you wanted her to take you, if not, even better than you thought. 

"Done with the compass, done with the chart!" You went on. 

"You're taking me so well baby, keep going, I know you're close" Wanda couldn't help herself as she lent down and planted kisses on your neck, careful not to leave a mark. One hand on your left hip while her other hand worked your clit with tight circles, driving you crazy. 

"Rowing in Eden!

Ah! the sea!

Might I but moor

To-night in thee!" You finished with great struggle but when you looked at Wanda she smiled softly, "good job baby, now just lay there and look pretty while I play with you" she placed a hand over one of your hands that gripped her desk with all your might before she kissed your neck once more, "let it out darling, tell me how good I make you feel" she whispered. You moaned, finally! Feeling the way Wanda slid in and out of you with such ease and now being able to vocal show her just how good she truly was making you feel pushed you to the edge. 

"Gonna cum!!" you moaned, wrapping your legs around Wanda's waist to keep her in place as she continued to pound into you. "Yeah? Do you think you deserve it? Are you going to start listening and paying attention in my classes more?" She looked at you with a raised brow, thrusting into you harder if that were even possible. 

"Y-yes! I promise! God, p-please!" You begged in a loud moan. 

"Yes, Miss Maximoff!" Wanda looked you directly in your eyes, secretly she loved when you called her in such a formal matter. 

"Y-yes M-miss Maximoff!" you moaned once more, gripping your professor's arms unaware of how harshly you were digging your nails into her skin. "Cum for my baby, I've got you" Wanda instructed, finally letting you break as you moaned her name once more as you came all over her toy. Wanda lent down, wrapped her arms around you before pulling up into her chest, gently stroking your naked back as your orgasm took you to a place you never thought was possible. 

"You did so good, baby, I've got you" she whispered as you began to come down form your high, clinging to her from your fucked out state. Wanda gently removed herself from inside of you, reaching for the box of tissues that sat on her desk and using them to gently clean you up. 

Moments passed before you began to start dressing yourself, as did Wanda. "If you pass tomorrows test, we'll have another chat" Wanda spoke as she turned to face you. A soft smile tugged at your lips, "and what if I do?" you asked. 

"Don't play games sweetheart, not ones you will lose at anyways" Your professor replied, handing you a practice quiz sheet, "go home and study" she added. 

You left the room that day already thinking of other ways to earn yourself a little after class chat from your literature professor.

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If you wanted to be removed from the taglist for smut related fics, please let me know x

[ghosts-to-reid]

Neo Gothic III

A/N: Sorry it took so long for the next part! I went to a party and drank wayyyy too much wine. Uni's picking up a lot too so im still settling back into my routine. I hope you guys enjoy! Also MGG Reading my favourite poem??? I had to.

Summary: After the case in Texas, a new pattern emerges that links you and the crimes. Spencer is there to dull any of your worry, consoling your worry.

(When you get to the poem, I recomend listening to this. Trust me.)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 / Bibliography

A week had passed since Spencer had asked you on a date, yet there just hadn't been the right time for yet. Obviously, your finals were important, but Spencer had been helping you study after work. This is where you discovered how fast the man can actually read, making that night in the motel seem that much more special to you. These could be considered study dates, but when broaching that subject with Spencer, her would always shake his head.

"No, I want to do this properly." Is all he'd say. Not sure what this means, maybe he wants to go oldschool? Dinner and a movie, or maybe the arcade and a walka round the park? Either way, time spent with him was something to cherish in your point of view.

During one of these study dates that weren't study dates, the topic of profiling came up once more.

"Would you ever think about it?" His head was propped on hi shand as he looked up from a book in front of him, breaking the silence tha had filled his living room before.

"Think about what, Spencer?" Brow knitted in slight confusion

"Profiling. Getting into the classes at the academy. I think its worth thinking about." Honey coloured eyes met yours, they were soft and full of some adoration.

He had asked you a few times since the case you had assisted on. The confidence the boy genius had in you was touching, if misguided in your opinion. The truth of the matter was that you would love to, you just didn't think you were qualified. The breakdown upon discovering there had been a new victim was not a moment you wanted to relive, or the feeling of abject disgust at the image of the dead victims. Dissasociating from the truth of the images would only work so long, most of the reason you had been able to stomach was only due to you telling yourself they were actually images from a horror movie. Truthully, the guts that it took to do this job weren't something you were sure you were equipped with. Explaining this to Spencer many times, he would reassure you of his belief in you, but he understood your apprehension. He coudln't argue with your opinion of the gore however, he understood fully that there was a big difference in real violence and fake, and that dissaociating the victims like that wouldn't be healthy.

Still, he would persist. Shamefully, you had to admit that the walls you'd built around the idea were slowly coming down.

"How would I even get into the academy? You all have psychology degrees, or field experience. You're literally a genius. What do I have in comparison to that?" Laying the book you'd been reading face down, you sat upright to face him properly

"Practically, you'd think that would help but a lot of this comes down to knowledge. You've been absorbing more knoweledge from us that I think even you realise, and your subconcious brought it out when you were with us in Texas. It's like your brain has stored this because it knows you want to profile, because you know you'd be good at it even if you won't admit it to yourself. And because you know you want to help people." His smile was contagious as he spoke, so elequently about his faith in your abilities "And with a reccomendation from Hotch, you could be put into the academy after you graduate if you really wanted."

"Hotch would do that?" You raised a brow, unsure of Spencer's claim

"If I asked him to, yes." He was ammused by his own comment, a laugh escaping his lips "He thinks you have potential too though. I don't think he would take much convicing."

"If I say i'll think about it, can we get back to studying? I should probably get this degree out of the way before I start considering an entire career." A small smile graced your lips as you spoke, but finally spencer relented his pestering.

Truthully, he wasn't the only person who had been asking you about your thoughts on becoming a profiler. JJ had been dropping hints about how she technically was in a similar position to you when she started her training. Emily and Derek had been less subtle, parking themselves at your desk whilst discussing case details, and then asking you to weigh in. Clearly trying to perform some sort of reverse psychology on you, hoping you wouldn't notice their secret agenda. The atmosphere around the office was lighter though, as if you finally felt settled into the department. Knowing your co-workers sparked a new found joy in your job that made their offers all the more tempting.

2 Weeks after the replication case, you had finished your finals. The team had been sent to Colarado on a case, so you celebrated the end of your finals on your own, watching as many horror movies as you could in the 48 hours you had finally to yourself. The team had wrapped the case Saturday night, and hadn't picked up a new case yet, so you were eager to finnaly catch up with them all after their week long absence. Exiting the elevator, you made your way to your desk, placing your bag in its usual spot. The team were no where to be seen around the bullpen, noticing the shades of the conference room were drawn however, you'd assumed they had called onto a case. Before getting settled, Hotch's head popped out of the slightly ajar door, beckoning you over with a stern look. Not completely unusual, you were often sent on burracratic errands of file retriving for them for cases, so you didn't think twice when entering the room.

There, gathered around the table, was the whole team with huge smiles on their faces. There was a a few balloons, one saying 'Congratulations!' In winding Purple lettering, with a few small wrapped boxes beside a tray of muffins and coffee from your and Penelope's favourite coffee shop. With a start, the team all cheered "Congratualtions" as you entered, a warm feeling of happiness spreading through your chest as you took in the sight.

Penelope attacked you with a hug, whilst the group all said their congratulations.

"Guys... This is amazing. Thank you..." Was all you managed to say as JJ pulled you into a tight hug

"I knew you could do it! I'm so proud of you." JJ held your shoulders with a small squeeze, flashing a prideful look to you. JJ knew you had no living family, and a part of you wondered if she had a hand in orchastrating the surprise due to this. Either way, you were thankful for the teams enthusiasm at your upcoming graduation.

"Well, don't get your hopes up yet everyone, I don't get my results for another week. I don't even know if I passed yet." Smiling at the fuss, the team interjected with protest

"Of course you will have, you had our boy genius here helping you. And you certainly knew your stuff already." Derek slid his arm around your shoulders affectionatly, making your smile widen.

Spencer made his way over to you and gave you a quick, but tight hug. Whispering a small "Well done" into your hair before he pulled away.

"Ok, we have presents!" Garcia announced happily "Of course, we went in on the muffins, your favourite, lemon and poppyseed but without the lemon curd in the middle. Annnnddd-" She picks a cup up and hands it to you "Your favourite, Salted caramel Mocha with whipped cream. An absolute sugar nightmare but that is something you and our boy genius have in common after all. OH! And we have actual presents!" She claps happily, everyone her infectious glee as she flittered around the space, grabbing your hand for you to sit. One by one the group gave you their small gifts. Derek and Emily had given you a copy of book you'd been talking about, Penelope had bought you a little ceramic bat to keep on your desk, Whilst Rossi had bought you an empty frame, stating "Well, you'll need somewhere to put your degree in when you get it." The gifts were thoughtful, and showed how much the team had grown to appreciate you, even in a few weeks. Finally, Spencer stepped forward and handed you a small package. Unwrapping it with a curious smile, you were taken a back.

It was a first edition of Dracula, you gasped and clamped your had over your mouth in shock. You were in disbeleif that Spencer had managed to find this, and that he thought to give it to you.

"Spencer, this is too much! How much did this cost you?" The breath was absent from your lungs as you spoke, utterly taken back at his gesture. The team seemed to be equally surprised, they were still in the dark about yours and spencers recent tryst, so the gesture to them seemed all too much for supposedly platonic friends.

"Geez spence, is that a first edition?" Emily asked, eyebrows shooting up

"I have some connections." Was all he said, a teasing smile as he shrugged his shoulders. Still in disbeleif, you stood and gave Spencer another quick hug before Hotch's phone ringing interupted. Excusing himself, he returned a few moments later with a solemn expression

"Im sorry to interupt, but we have a case." His tone was morose, as usual when news of a new case hit. The pang of saddness hit everyone, any smile disolving as the team began to gather around the table. Collecting your things, you began to make your exit when Hotch held his hand up, making you to still your movements. "You might need to stay for this, Y/N."

Confusion painted your features, as did it the rest of the teams, yet you joined the others in a spare seat next to Spencers.

"Garcia?" Hotch spoke as she typed on her tablet, pausing before meeting your eyes

"Uh huh, just a second.... Y/N you might want to look aweay from the screen." Heeding her advice, you angled yourself away from the screen and in turn, more towards Spencer.

"Ok so, we have an Unsub right here in Virginia. He has been... Replicating the deaths of men in... Gothic fiction novels..." Penelopes voice trails off as she looks to you, the air shifts to one of uncertainty. One crime happening to do with the gothic was a conicdence, another unsub doing the same isn't.

"What are the chances of two seperate unsubs operating under the same MO just two weeks a part?" Emily asked, but Spencer shook his head

"Statistaically very low, these crimes have to be connected" He looked at the screen in search. "What do we know?"

"Well, currently we are on a body count of 3. The victims overlap with our previous unsub by one. They weren't conncted till now when local authorities ran it through VICAP and saw the similarities with the Texas case. We need to operate under the assumption the cases are linked until proven otherwise. Hence, your presance, L/N. Considering your recent completion of your degree and your field of expertise, I'd like to ask you to act as informant to us once more." Hotch turned to you, passing you Penelope's tablet.

"The crimes so far have replicated that of Dracula, This time replicating the title characters death. Down to the, um, beheading and..." Penelope trailed off "burning of the body..."

"I bet if the body was intact there would be evidence of a stab wound to the chest too, if he's like the texas case he'll have replicated this perfectly." You added softly, Reid gave you en encourging nod.

"The strength and accuracy of these crimes absolutely allude to the unsub being a man, the strength needed to behead someone like that is no joke." Morgan added, you nodded.

"The gothic is also very induvidual to a person, like any novel you get what relates to you from them. What other novels were replicated Pen?"

"Um, that would be the death that kicks off the castle of Otranto, yanno the... crushing thing with the suit of armour, and then with the latest vic he escaleted. Replicating Frankensein, except instead of digging up graves he just, put the vic back together..." Penelope's heart dropped, as did yours. Taking a deep breath you braved a glance at the screen. Images of violence you'd never thought humanity capable of, images you believed to be works of fiction. A pang of saddness hit your chest, when the feeling of a hand softly rubbing your shoulder broke you out of the trance you hadn't realised you were in. Turning your attention back to Spencer, who's hand rested softly on your shoulder, you gained back your clarity once more.

"So each crime he's becoming less and less precious about accuracy, so if the crimes in Texas were almost like a test run, and we interupted, then maybe he's deescalting?" Looking around the room, JJ's brow knits as she thinks.

"If you're right,then we need to figure out the significance of the gothic for our unsub, and hwy he recruited our last unsub to start the crimes in Texas. Why replicate these deaths? Why change victimology from women to men?" JJ stared at the screen.

"He breaks the boundries of literary releveance too. He goes from late 19th century, to late 18th, and then to early 19th. There's no organisation, and I can't think of any particularly strong links between the novels theme wise from the top of my head. I'd have to go back home and look through my notes. But the form fits the previous case. Dracula to start, from my experience its the novel that gets most people into studying the genre to begin with, its theatrical and camp, and in some ways epitomises the genre. But the Castle of Otranto is the birth of the gothic story, its the first story that used the word gothic for a ghost story rather than as a slur or to describe something medieval. But then we go to Frankenstein, arguably the gothic nature comes from the setting it was written in rather than the actual story, its mostly attributed to science fiction than the gothic but it teeters the edge." You ramble, once again zoning out asa you stare to the tablet in your hand, scanning through your knowledge to find any kind of link between the novels.

"Ok, L/N, Take Reid to your appartment to look through your notes, you'll get through them quicker that way. Emily and JJ head down to the recent crime scene and see if you can lend any fresh eyes to the locals. Derek and Rossi head to the local ME and find out what you can from the examiner on the victims. Penelope and I will stay here to find connections between the current victims." Hotch and the others quickly gather their things, giving you one last congratulations before exiing. Silently, you follow Spencer to his car, where he drives you both to your apartment once more.

The jangle of keys broke the silence inside the aprtment you had left less than an hour ago. Making your way around the living room and dumping your bag on your battered sofa, you quickly turn on some lamps before walking to the small kitchen situated in the corner of the room.

"Make yourself at home." You smile to him, busying yourself making two cups of tea, as he looks around the room, once more observing the space, taking in what he didnt the last time as he sat on the distressed arm chair cramed into the corner of the room.

Your place was small, sure, but you prefered the word cosy. The Kitchen and living room were in the same room, but to you it just made it easier to keep clean. The walls were lined with shelves, filled with all kinds of books, some with files and trinkets. Mementos of you that had collected over the years, that refelcted you both past and present. There were a few framed prints along the wall of famous horror movies, Scream, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Chucky, Hellraiser, you were sure your choice of movie posters could be analysed by Reid, and you were hoping silently, he wouldn't deduce a hidden part of your psyche that you weren't aware of yourself.

Glancing over to the man, you saw him observing the leafs on one of the various plants that were littered around the room.

"Did you know that Monsteras can bloom fruit? It's said to taste like a mixture of fruit salad." He spoke up, glancing at you with a smile as you returned from the kitchen with two mugs, handing him one.

"It's peppermint, sorry I ran out of coffee this morning." You place your mug on your coffee table and move over to one of your shelves, grabbing some binders and handing them to reid before grabbing a pile of your own. The pair of you sit beside one another, knees toutching as you both scan through your oldnotes. After a moment of silence, Spencer touches his knee to yours lightly, getting your attention.

"Im sorry we haven't been on our date yet..." His tone had a sheepish tone to it. The way his eyes met yours showed that he really felt guilty, but you shook your head.

"What do you mean? We've still been spending time together." Placing the binder you were holding onto the coffee table, you turned your full attention to man beside you, who mirrored your actions.

"I know, but I just wanted to do this properly with you." There was that phrase again, what did he mean?

"What do you mean by that, Spencer? What does properly mean to you?" Grabbing his hand softly, he starts slightly before melting into your touch, absentmindly intertwining his fingers with yours.

"I just mean... I mean..." He scanned your eyes, as if trying to find the right words in them. A small pleading look painted his features. "I just want to make sure I don't scare you away. Or do anything wrong... I don't date. Ever really, but the few I've been on... They just seem to run when they see the strains from my job. I just want to.., I dont know. Follow the right formula, you know take you out to dinner, walk you home, kiss you goodbye at the door. I want to experience what love should be, not the large spark that doesn't ignite anything that I have been..." His gaze had trailed away from yours, finding your intertwined hands, watching as he fiddled with your hand between both of his larger ones. A small sigh escaped your lips as you chuckled

"Woah cowboy, lets slow down with the love, we haven't even been out to dinner yet." You chuckled, trying to eleviate his anxiety. His head snapped up in panic, fear evident that he said something wrong, but you interupted before he could voice this "I'm not going to get scared away, Spencer. I've worked at that desk for a year now, and I've seen what your job entails, if i was going to get scared away, do you think I would've entertained the idea of us in the first place?" His lips draw into a small line, and he shakes his head no. "Exactly, Spencer. Besides, falling in love doesn't follow a formula. It's not the romcom script that you expect. It's quality time, it's strife and raw emotion, it's an exposing yourself to someone in more than just body, but mind and heart too. That takes time and being together, and thats what we've been doing already. Hell, we shared a bed the first day we spoke a full proper sentence to each other, i think we're already past doing this properly."

Spencer seemed at a loss for words, staring into your eyes as you brought your hands together once more, halting his fidgeting and squeezing his hand.

"If we're together, then that's all that matters to me." Spencer's lips broke into a releived smile, before he leaned forward to place a small kiss on your lips. He pulled away just as quickly as your lips had joined, however.

"Im sorry, I didn't mean to-" You cut him off by placing your lips to his again, free hand cradling his cheek as you gave him a longer, more passionate kiss. After a moment, you break a part. Spencer sported a dopey smile, eyes glued to your features.

"I was waiting for you to do that again since Texas..." Your voice was small, but full of happiness towards the doctor in front of you. Finally, the pair of you continued your research, unempeaded this time, for another hour. Eventually, you perked up, alerting the man beside you.

"There's allusions to God. Each one has some sort of religious message!" You shriked, Spencers eyes widenning, thinking for a moment before perking up himself

"You're right... Dracula is a representation of sin for the 19th century, Frankenstein is mans punishment for playing god... but how does the castle of otranto link to god?" Spencer questions

"It's about sin. It's sort of a slur piece playing on the fears of catholicsm in the 18th century, thats why Walpole set it in the crusades, its publication lined up with the catholic reformation in England at the time. It's a display of public fears." Eagerly, you went to grab your old copies of each of the books. All covered in annotations from your past studies.

"So the unsub's message is religious... So why choose the gothic as a mode to display his religious beliefs?" Spencer followed you, grabbing your copy of frankenstein and skimming through the poages.

"I'm not too sure on that actually... Maybe because the gothic itself is caused moral outrage at the time? Maybe that's what his message is, something might've happened that links his moral outrage to the genre?" Your gaze met his furrowed one, before he could speak however, there was a knock on your door. Unsure who it may be, you gingerly make your way towards it.

On the door step, there was a large, brown package. There was no shipping label, or return adress. Only a note placed central over the brown tape that held the box shut. The words 'For my Sanguinary Rosebud', signed 'Nosferatu'.

"Spencer?" Your call was weak, confusion littering your face. The man joined you, and peered over your shoulder to the box.

"That's... Odd." He reached into his pocket and grabbed a pair of blue gloves, He moved towards the box slowly, picking it up with gloved hands bfore resting it ontop of your small dining table. He retrived a knife from your draw after photographing the box unopened, and slowly slid his knife through the tape.

The smell hit you first, making you gag and back away, holding a hand to your face. 'oh my god...'

Spencer contuined to methodically open the box, slowly reveling the corpse of a raven. There was a note inside, Spencer retrived it and held it up before reading it aloud

"It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee- With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came  And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Does this poem mean anything to you?" His eyes were wide, clear with worry. Slowly you nodded.

"It's... It's my favourite..." You uttered, hand still over your mouth, eyes wide as they looked over the box "Who would do this?"

Spencers brow knitted further with confusion, you could see how hard he was thinking, trying to figure out the reason that you were targeted with such an odd gift. He quickly snatched his mobile from his pocket and dialed Hotch.

"Hotch? We have something. Y/N has been sent... Let's just say a token of affection and I think it's from our unsub... Okay... I understand... Be there soon." Turning to you he removes the gloves and places his hands on your shoulders

"The team are on their way to preserve the scene, but I'm going to take you back to the BAU. Can you pack a bag? If this is the unsub, then we can't let you stay here." He was methodical in his instructions, you were still in a state of shock from the last few minutes. Blinking in rsponse, you made your way to your room, haphazardly throwing some things into a duffle before leaving to the car with Spencer. He guided you out with a hand to the small of your back, finally talking once more in the car.

"Are you alright?" Softly, he broke you from the trance you'd been in since discovering the box. Shaking your head yes, Spencer saw through it and grabbed your hand once more, squeezing it reassuringly and pulling you into his chest, placing a small kiss to your crown.

"We don't know what this means for sure yet. He could be teasing us, he must know we're onto him and hes trying to psyche us out."

"But... why me? Why do this to me?" Your voice was meager in the wake of his claims, muffled into his jumper.

"I... I dont know. But I'll keep you safe. I promise." He broke from you, meeting your eyes with a kind smile "Im going to keep you safe."

Part 4 soon...

Tags: @pleasantwitchgarden @xamapolax @kchv

[bumblesimagines]

Marcus Baker

you never gave me back my things.

i was hoping i'd see you again.

i never like how it ended between us.

you never gave me back my things.

i was hoping i'd see you again.

i never like how it ended between us.

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, Gender Neutral!Reader

You released a sigh of relief as you slumped back in the chair and released the pencil, giving your aching hand a much-needed break. You rubbed the area between your thumb and index finger, pleased to have finally finished the five-page essay for English class. You were certain if you had to read another ancient poem and write an essay about it again, you'd have a breakdown alongside your classmates. But with the pressure of the deadline disappearing, you looked forward to taking a break from classwork. 

You stood up from the table and collected the papers, carefully slipping them into a folder and then sliding the folder into your backpack. You nodded to the other students studying and working at the table before slinging your backpack over your shoulder and making a beeline for the doors. As much as you loved the school's library, you never wanted to step foot in it again for at least two weeks. 

"Hey, (Y/N)!" A voice called out, attempting to be quiet but still getting dirty looks from those nearby. Marcus dipped his head apologetically and whispered a few 'sorry's before facing you and offering a sheepish, equally as apologetic smile. 

Before Virginia Miller had strolled into Wellsbury, you might've greeted Marcus with a kiss and told him all about your day. You might've taken his hand, listened to his troubles, and given him as much advice and reassurance as he needed. But he'd chosen to ruin the relationship you'd poured so much time into over a girl he hardly knew well. You half-expected them to boldly continue their secret relationship as an official couple now, but all you saw were longing looks from her and an exhausted-looking Marcus.

"I heard you were going to start tutoring again and- and was wondering if you could help me with homework? I'll pay you, obviously. I don't have a lot but-"

"Silver's looking, too. I can pass her your number and she'll help you with whatever you need, Marcus." You told him, turning on your heel and stepping out of the library. The door shut behind you, only to open again as Marcus followed. The Bakers seemed like a notoriously stubborn family, and yet they'd been a family you once wished to become a part of.

"Actually, I was hoping I'd see you again. I-I wanted to talk about everything, you know? I didn't like how it ended between us." Marcus explained, occasionally stumbling over his words as he quickened his pace to catch up with you. 

"Oh, you mean how you spent months secretly hooking up with your neighbor who was in a relationship with one of your sister's friends and I found out at the same time as everyone else because you didn't have the balls to tell me you didn't want to be with me anymore? It would've saved me a whole lot of trouble, Marcus. And by the way, you never gave me back my things."

Marcus quickened his step again and stepped in front of you, his hands shooting out to grab your forearms and force you to stop. You pursed your lips, your jaw clenching briefly and head tilting to finally look him in the eye. "I fucked up, and I'm really sorry, (Y/N). And I didn't tell you about Ginny because I didn't want to break up. I-I-I was an asshole, I know that. I don't know what I was thinking but I knew I didn't want to lose you. I was confused and-"

"You were confused for nearly a whole year, Marcus? I seriously doubt that. Like I said, you would've saved me a lot of trouble being honest. Besides, if Ginny really wanted you, she wouldn't have gotten with Hunter." You brushed his arms away and stepped back. "Please, just drop this Marcus. It's over and it'll stay over. Maybe I'll forgive you and we'll become friends again but... I don't really want you in my life right now."

[justporo]

Fluffy relationship headcanons for Astarion and Tav

No one asked but I have to get out some headcanons I have for Astarion (and some for his relationship with Tav (based on my female Tav)) or rather some ideas I have in my head for how it'd be after the ending of the game's events. Bear in mind, I am not done with my first playthrough yet.

We know he can handle a thread and a needle very well. Imagine he would get a dress for her, knowing she's not used to this kind of finery and would add custom embroidery relating to stuff she likes and then giving it to her on her birthday or their anniversary. And Tav just completely loses it, breaking down crying, because neither has anyone ever done something so sweet for her nor could she bear all the care and effort her soulmate put into it.

They bicker - a lot. They swing between old married couple that call each other names and piss each other off and being the sweetest, most diabetes-inducing, just recently gotten into a relationship-y lovebirds.

Laying in bed naked and sharing a bottle of wine while talking about their relationship, their pasts, whatever state the world is in is their favourite hobby.

They have datenights showing each other their favourite spots around town - also working through their collective trauma.

Maybe Tav convinces him to start journaling and slowly working through his past, maybe he finds out he has a knack for poetry doing that, so he starts randomly writing sweet little poems for Tav and leaves them around their place for her to find.

Astarion making a habit out of doing Tav's hair and making sure she takes better care of herself, because she's lived most of her life like a streetcat and didn't care so much about how she looked. Hair? Yeah, I've put half of it in braids and haven't touched them for a year. Make-up? Sure, I've been wearing this smoky eye for a week. Also, why do you think I have this tattoo?

Okay, enough for now. I will most probably put some of these moments in fictions because I simply cannot contain myself. Meet my Tav btw:

[girly-interrupted]

when he says i love you but sid vicious said:

“every day without nancy gets worse and worse. I just hope that when I die I go the same place as her. Otherwise I will never find peace. Frank said in the paper that Nancy was born in pain and lived in pain all her life. When I first met her, and for about six months after that, I spent practically the whole time in tears. Her pain was just too much to bear. Because, you see, I felt Nancy’s pain as though it were my own, worse even. But she said that I must be strong for her or otherwise she would have to leave me. So I became strong for her, and she began to stop having asthma attacks and seemed to be going through a lot less pain. I realized that she had never known love and was desperately searching for someone to love her. It was the only thing she really needed. I gave her the love that she needed so badly and it comforts me to know that I made her very happy during the time we were together, where she had only known unhappiness before. Oh Debbie, I love her with such passion. Every day is agony without her. I know now that it is possible to die from a broken heart. Because when you love someone as much as we love each other, they become fundamental to your existence. So I will die soon, even if I don’t kill myself. I guess you could say that I’m pining for her. I could live without food or water longer than I’m going to survive with out Nancy. Thank you so much for understanding us, Debbie. It means so much to me, and I know it meant alot to Nancy. She really loves you, and so do I. How did she know when she was going to die? I always prayed that she was wrong, but deep inside I knew she was right. Nancy was a very special person, too beautiful for this world. I feel so privileged to have loved her, and been loved by her. Oh Debbie, it was such a beautiful love. I can’t go on without it. When we first met, we knew we were made for each other, and fell in love with each other immediately. We were totally inseparable and were never apart. We had certain telepathic abilities, too. I remember about nine months after we met, I left Nancy for awhile. After a couple of weeks of being apart, I had a strange feeling that Nancy was dying. I went straight to the place she was staying and when I saw her, I knew it was true. I took her home with me and nursed her back to health, but I knew that if I hadn’t bothered she would have died. Nancy was just a poor baby, desperate for love. It made me so happy to give her love, and believe me, no man ever loved a woman with such burning passion as I love Nancy. I never even looked at others. No one was as beautiful as my Nancy. Enclosed is a poem I wrote for her. It kind of sums up how much I love her. If possible, I would love to see you before I die. You are the only one who understood. […] all I can say is that they never loved anyone as passionately as I love Nancy. I always felt unworthy to be loved by someone so beautiful as her. Everything we did was beautiful. At the climax of our lovemaking, I just used to break down and cry. It was so beautiful it was almost unbearable. It makes me mad when people say “you must have really loved her.” So they think I don’t still love her? At least when I die, we will be together.I feel like a lost child, so alone. The nights are the worst. I used to hold Nancy close to me all night so that she wouldn’t have nightmares and I just can’t sleep without my beautiful baby in my arms. So warm and gentle and vulnerable. No one should expect me to live without her. She was a part of me.

Nancy, you were my little baby girl and I shared all your fears. such joy to hold you in my arms and kiss away your tears. But now you’re gone there’s only pain and nothing I can do. and I don’t want to live this life if I can’t live for you. to my beautiful baby girl our love will never die.”