#jhutch1992

[stop-talking]

I don't know what to title this. Mike hits it from the back. (18+)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

1.6k words Tags: 18+, fem reader, brat reader, brat tamer mike, creampie, mike is an ass man, head (reader receiving), fingering, brief plug use (pussy), just pure filth, porn with no plot

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Since the events at Freddy's a year ago, things were finally starting to look up for Mike. His new job as a contractor and the subsequent new house he was able to afford after took a huge weight off his shoulders.

For once in his life since his dad left him at eighteen, he didn't have to scrape and claw his way through the month to pay rent and put food on the table. Who would have guessed poverty could be so stressful?

Still, there was one more little addition to his life that easily topped the other two: you.

Mike still couldn't believe he was dating you after all this time, that you were really his. Some days, he swore you were an angel sent from heaven, helping him with the house and Abby when things got overwhelming.

Other days, like today, he was sure you had to have been a test from Satan, a temptation of the highest degree, luring him to sin.

Mike stepped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He wasn't sure what he was expecting from you tonight, but it certainly wasn't something this calculated and seductive.

His eyes went to your ass first, a sight that made him groan as he sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to let you see his obvious arousal under the towel.

You were laying tummy-down on his bed in an obnoxiously tiny skirt that showed your bare ass and thighs beautifully. Mike's eyes trailed further up your body as his hand reached to squeeze your thigh, and saw you were also wearing his sweatshirt.

"Really?" he asked, giving you a playful smack on the ass as you pretended to read a book, your disinterested façade slipping away the more he touched you. "Is that my book, too?"

"Dream theory," you smile, making eye contact with him through the mirror on the wall in front of you. "Interesting stuff."

Mike's face flushes with a twinge of pink as he coughs out a reply. "I- that's old. I bought that when I was in high school."

This gets a giggle out of you, thumbing through the pages of his "old" purchase. "Mmm, well I'm on chapter three. Really enjoying your annotations."

Mike heard enough. He couldn't let you read any further. He snatched the book up with one hand and lifted your skirt with the other, fully exposing you to him.

You try to roll over in protest, but Mike is already holding you in place with strong hands.

"Nuh-uh," he starts, dropping his towel and positioning himself behind you, cock already herd and twitching. "In my bed, wearing my clothes, reading my book. 'Sgonna cost you."

"Oh, I didn't realize this was your skirt, Mike." You turn your head to look back at him with mock-innocence as he cages your body in with his own.

"Smartass." He smacks you again on the rear, this time with enough force to sting for a second.

With a yelp, you try to squirm out of his grasp, but it's too late. He wraps an arm around your neck, laying halfway on top of you with his hard dick pressing against the curve of your ass. His bicep puts a delicious pressure on the sides of your neck, and you have to bite back a moan.

"Safe word," he growls, breath hot and heavy against your ear. "Or I'm taking you right now. Just like this."

You just moan in response, eyes fluttering shut as you melt under the pressure and warmth of Mike's body.

He doesn't take well to this, reaching up under your his sweatshirt and tweaking your nipple in a way that always makes you squeal. "Words."

"Ah- just- ah! Fuck me!"

Mike doesn't stop to ask twice, he simply grabs his cock and begins to guide it in with one hand. That is, until, he feels his tip hit something hard and foreign.

Startled, he backs up off the bed as you giggle, reaching out for his hand and guiding it to your cunt. "Just keeping it warm for you!"

Mike groans as he pulls something out; a plug. It's burning hot to the touch, and he has to fight the urge to pop it straight in his mouth.

If he gets a taste for you, he'll easily spend an hour licking and sucking at your perfect pussy. Which, he'd be willing to do on a normal night, but right now? His dick is protesting the thought of anything but fucking you here and now. He feels a jolt, a painful throb shooting up from the base to tip, and quickly gets back into position.

He wants to put it in slowly, tease you inch by inch, but your greedy cunt sucks up his length so easily he sinks balls deep in one quick thrust. You moan beautifully in response, a pornagraphic sound that Mike can barely hear over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. He's unsure how there's even enough blood left for that with how much must have rushed to his dick when he felt just how perfect and wet you are.

"You're so hot," Mike whispers reverently, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "M'gonna cum too fast if we do it like this. So tight this way."

Your cunt clenches around him at the words, and he buries his face in your neck in a pathetic attempt to cover the whine that draws out of him. You'd picked this position for a reason, laying flat on your stomach with your legs closed.

Prone bone. His favorite. You'd already known he wouldn't last long, but that's half of why it was so hot. The other half was the guilty apology head he'd undoubtedly give you after, making you cum over and over with expert fingers until your legs shake.

"Then come." You clench around him again, intentionally this time, daring him to spill right now.

Mike groans and finally begins to move, growling out a couple words between each quick thrust. "So... damn... tight..." he marvels at how good your pussy milks his cock.

Its hard to keep your legs closed, as part of you wants to spread them open as far as they'll go, give him easy access. You hold back, though, knowing closed legs makes it even tighter for him. It'll all be worth it when he comes in a minute flat.

Each thrust has you arching into it, trying to wiggle your hips to his rhythm in hopes he'll go deeper than he's ever been. At this angle, it already feels that way, and you try to let him know with an incoherent fucked-out stream of babbles and curses.

As predicted, Mike can't keep up the pace for long. His thrusts grow more shallow, and as you look over your shoulder you can see him holding the base of his cock, face contorted in a desperate attempt to focus and keep from coming. The sight is too much, nearly drawing out your own orgasm despite the sloppier rhythm.

"Mike, come." You command him, tone switching from playful to stern in an instant.

His doesn't protest. His weight shifts as he let's go of his cock, planting both hands into the bed for better leverage. In just a few deep thrusts, he's coming, hot spurts that fill you to the brim and then some. He pulls out far too late, painting your ass and lower back with the last few ropes of pearly white cum.

Its an obscene amount, and Mike almost feels bad for the mess. Almost. Instead, he simply wipes you off with his discarded towel, planting a few quick kisses to your back as he does.

"Fuck, you didn't... did you...?" He can barely make eye contact, staring at your ass instead as he kneads at your thighs in an apologetic manner.

"Nope." Slowly, you lift your hips, pulling yourself up onto your knees and elbows, back arched so he can get a good view of the mess he made. His spend dribbles out of your cunt and down your thighs, and you can see all the shame leave his face in an instant as he's faced with your lewd display.

Mike shoves two fingers in your cunt with a groan, trying to keep his cum plugged up inside you. Where it belongs.

You moan a response, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get some friction going. You were sooo close when he was fucking you, just needed a liiiitle more from him...

That's when he adds a third finger, and though not as long as his cock, it's definitely thicker. A heat spreads through your abdomen and you can tell what's coming next before it happens.

Mike latches onto your clit, sucking hard as you ride his fingers. When he feels the fluttering of your orgasm, he sucks harder, squeezing your hip with his free hand.

Its not on his cock, but it may be the hardest you've ever come in your life. All the time spent teasing yourself on that plug while he showered had riled you up, and Mike practically edged you with how short he lasted inside you. His fingers are deliciously thick, and he guides your movements with his free hand on your hip as you ride them.

"Fuck, Mike..." You collapse on his bed, all but panting from the stimulation.

He isn't finished with you, though, and you squeal with a mixture of fear and delight as his body cages you in again once more. His dick is hard again, pressing into you as he yanks your hips back up to meet his own.

"M'not done here."

From the intense look in his eyes, you can tell he means it. This won't be your last orgasm tonight.

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Reminder that you should follow me on @stop-talking-vtwo if you only want to be updated for new fic drops and not my shitposts <3

A/N:

I went off my depression meds that were KILLING my libido like 3 days ago and now I'm horny and inspired again. God bless America god bless vibrators and god bless the FNAF 2 movie 🔥

Also its my birthday today :3

[ficpmaan]

mike would have come after work, abby would have been at school, and you had the day off.

you would sit on his lap, and he pull you to him, burying his nose in your hair. his hot lips would leave kisses on your skin, and his fingers would go lower, reaching under the waistband of your house pants.

mike would unbutton his fly, pull down his pants and underpants, and rub his hard cock against your thigh, whining and hissing into your skin, leaving red teeth marks.

later, he would have pulled off your panties and entered you completely. he would be rough and needy, moaning and growling, and later cum on his own belly like a puppy.

[ms-hutch]

“Bookshelf”

Mike x reader

Summary : post FNAF movie (few months), Mike has gotten a new job as apprentice constructor (FNAF movie novel canon) and has decided to use the work benefits to make furniture for his home.

1k words

It was weird, seeing Mike with a routine.

For the longest time after Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, you weren’t sure if he’d ever have one again.

At first, he’d been in survival mode, the kind where “get through today” was the biggest goal he’d set for himself. You’d watch him sit on the couch at night, jaw tight, his mind clearly somewhere else, like he was still stuck in those dimly lit hallways with the flicker of faulty bulbs over his head. He wasn’t the type to talk about it much, no long monologues about trauma, no big “I’m fine” speeches, but you could tell by the way his hands curled into fists in his sleep that he was still fighting something.

And then Harris happened.

Harris was a gruff, broad-shouldered contractor who ran a small crew on the edge of town. You’d met him once at the hardware store when you and Mike were buying a stubborn leaky faucet, and Harris had apparently taken note of Mike’s quiet way of listening and his natural patience with the instructions.

A few weeks later, Harris offered him a shot: apprentice contractor. Steady work, real hours, and most importantly something to build instead of just survive.

Mike didn’t say yes right away. He’d made some joke about “not exactly being Bob the Builder material,” but the way his shoulders straightened when Harris said “You’ll learn. You’ve got the focus for it” told you he was tempted. He started the following Monday.

Now, three weeks in, the change was obvious. He came home physically tired instead of mentally wrung-out. He smelled like pine, varnish, and sometimes sweat, his hair dusted with wood shavings. You’d even caught him humming once while changing out of his work shirt which, for Mike, was basically a parade and fireworks.

That Friday night, you found him at Harris’s shop, long after the rest of the crew had gone home.

The big garage door was half-rolled up, letting the cool evening air in. The inside smelled of sawdust, machine oil, and something faintly sweet — cedar, maybe. Under a single overhead light, Mike was at one of the long wooden workbenches, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a pencil stuck behind one ear. His hair was messy, probably from running a hand through it every five minutes, and he was squinting down at a board as if staring it into perfect alignment.

“You know,” you called from the doorway, “most boyfriends take their girlfriends out for dinner on a Friday night. You… make furniture.”

He glanced up, smirked faintly, and went back to marking the wood. “Yeah, well, dinner gets eaten. This’ll last longer.”

You stepped inside, brushing stray curls of wood off the bench. “So what are you building? Coffee table? Throne for your ego?”

“Bookshelf,” he said simply, lining up his tape measure. “You’ve been stacking your books on the floor like some kind of… gremlin. Figured I’d save your knees and give you something decent.”

Your brows lifted. “A bookshelf. For me.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said, smirking without looking up. “I do nice things sometimes. Don’t spread it around, though ruins my reputation.”

You walked around to his side of the bench, running your hand over the smooth wood. “So this is your master plan? Win me over with power tools?”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” He glanced up at you with that sideways look he was so good at — half amusement, half challenge.

“Actually, if I recall correctly,” you said, “you won me over with caffeine dependency, stubbornness, and sad eyes.”

“Details,” he muttered, grabbing the drill. Then, as if realizing you were still there, he paused. “You wanna help, or are you just here to make fun of me?”

“A little of both,” you said, but moved closer anyway.

He handed you the drill, his hands lingering just long enough to adjust your grip. “Keep it steady. Let the drill do the work. And, just so you know if you scratch this, I’m blaming Harris and telling him it was all his fault for letting you near his tools.”

“Wow, so much trust,” you deadpanned.

The drill whirred, and when you finished, Mike stepped back to inspect your work. “Not bad. For an amateur.”

“Not bad for a guy who just learned how to use these three weeks ago,” you shot back.

He grinned faintly and shook his head, muttering something about you being “ungrateful.” But you saw the pride in the way he lined up the next piece careful, precise, making sure everything was flush.

The two of you worked like that for nearly an hour trading sarcastic jabs between stretches of comfortable silence until the shelf stood fully assembled. The pale pine gleamed under the workshop light, smelling faintly of varnish.

Mike stepped back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “There. Now you can stop living like you’re still in a dorm.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to study it critically. “Hmm. I think the milk crates had more… character.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly, that little spark of mock-annoyance lighting up his expression. “You’re taking this home whether you like it or not.”

You laughed and helped him carry it to his truck. As he strapped it down in the bed, he caught you watching him, and for a moment the teasing edge in his eyes softened.

He wouldn’t say it out loud, not here, not yet, but you knew. This wasn’t just a piece of furniture. It was the first thing he’d made in months that wasn’t about fixing something broken. It was something solid, something for you, something meant to last.

[sillylammie]

Ahhhhh! Springtrap!!!!

!!ヽ(ﾟдﾟヽ)(ﾉﾟдﾟ)ﾉ!!

[jealousjersey]

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹”secret”⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

summary // you house sit miles place while while he’s at work and abby is at school. you find yourself in his bed, overwhelmed by his lingering scent. caught up in the moment, you touch yourself using his t-shirt, only for Mike to return home early and catch you in the act.

tags // reader getting caught masturbating, mike schmidt x perv!reader, p in v sex, penetration, yearning, intimacy, sexual tension, smut and fluff, friends to lovers, soft dom mike, mild humiliation

mentions // @stop-talking @janitorhutcherson @lile6969 @whimperly @joshfutturman

authors note // we’re so back guys writers drought it out

you get back from taking abby to school, mikes at work and you have the house to yourself…you think.

you lay down in mikes bed which is normal for you. when he gets home he usually wakes you up softly or carries you to the couch. he’ll never admit it but he loves it.

as soon as you get ready for bed you feel a familiar sensation in your lower stomach. you notice that the room is full of his scent and it makes you loose it, grabbing a tshirt from his pile of unfolded clean clothes and innocently laying down with it.

before you know it you’re touching yourself with his tshirt in between your legs, got the smell of him has your eyes rolling back in your head as you touch your pretty cunt and think of him.

The scent of Mike’s t-shirt, a heady mix of his cologne and something distinctly *him*, clings to your senses, driving you deeper into the haze of your own desire. Your fingers move faster, the soft cotton of his shirt pressed between your thighs, muffling the quiet gasps that escape your lips. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, as you lose yourself in the fantasy of him—his calloused hands, his low voice, the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you’re not looking.

You’re so caught up in the moment, eyes squeezed shut, that you don’t hear the faint creak of the front door or the soft tread of shoes against the hardwood. Mike’s home early. The pizzaria let him off sooner than expected, and he’s already through the living room, his mind on you, on the quiet comfort of finding you in his space.

But as he steps into the hallway, he freezes. The door to his bedroom is slightly open, and there’s a sound—soft, breathy, hot. His heart stutters, a mix of confusion and something hotter, more primal, curling in his chest. He should turn away, give you privacy, but his feet don’t move. Instead, he nudges the door open just enough to see you.

You’re sprawled across his bed, his t-shirt clutched tightly against you, your head tilted back, lips parted. The sight hits him like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs. He’s never seen you like this, so unguarded, so raw. His mouth goes dry, and he grips the doorframe to steady himself, torn between stepping back and stepping closer.

Your eyes flutter open at the faint sound of his movement, and you freeze, heart lurching into your throat. There he is, standing in the doorway, his work jacket still on, eyes dark and unreadable. The t-shirt slips from your grasp as you scramble to sit up, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Mike—I—I didn’t hear you come in,” you stammer, pulling the blanket over yourself like it could hide what just happened.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares, his jaw tight. You brace for him to turn away, to pretend this never happened, but instead, he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The air shifts, charged with something electric. “You’re in my bed,” he says, voice low, rougher than usual. It’s not a question, but there’s a weight to it, like he’s trying to piece together what he just walked into.

“I… I was just…” You trail off, unable to find an excuse that doesn’t sound ridiculous. Your pulse races, humiliation warring with the lingering heat in your veins.

Mike takes another step closer, his gaze flicking to the t-shirt now tangled in the sheets. His lips twitch, not quite a smirk but close. “That’s mine,” he says, nodding toward it. There’s no judgment in his tone, only a quiet intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“Don’t be.” He’s at the edge of the bed now, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of motor oil and sweat on him, grounding you back in the reality of his presence. His hand hovers near your knee, not quite touching, but the proximity alone sends a shiver through you. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this,” he admits, his voice barely above a murmur, like he’s confessing a secret he’s held too long.

Your breath catches, eyes widening. “huh… what?”

He chuckles, a soft, almost broken sound, and finally lets his hand rest on your knee, his thumb brushing lightly against the blanket. “You think I don’t notice you? The way you fit into my life, into *this*?” He gestures vaguely to the room, the house, the quiet routine you’ve both built. “I come home, see you in my bed, and it’s all I can do not to climb in with you.”

The confession hangs between you, raw and unguarded, and suddenly the embarrassment fades, replaced by a rush of boldness. You shift, letting the blanket fall slightly, revealing the curve of your thigh. His eyes follow the movement, darkening. “Then why don’t you?” you ask, voice trembling but steady enough to hold his gaze.

Mike exhales sharply, like the question physically pains him. For a moment, you think he might pull back, retreat into the safety of his usual restraint, but then he leans in, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Because once I start,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends heat pooling in your core, “I’m not sure I’ll stop.”

You don’t give him the chance to second-guess. You close the distance, pressing your lips to his, and it’s like a dam breaking. His kiss is hungry, desperate, all the pent up tension of months, spilling over. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you climb into his lap, the t-shirt forgotten as you lose yourself in the reality of him, no longer just a fantasy.

Mike’s kiss deepens, a slow, searing thing that steals your breath and sets your skin alight. His hands, rough from years of manual labor, grip your waist with a tenderness that belies their strength, pulling you flush against him as you straddle his lap. The weight of his confession still lingers, raw and electric, and every touch feels like an extension of it, a promise, a release, a claiming. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting the heat coiled tight in your core.

“God, you have no idea,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with want as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and the way he’s staring—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—makes your heart stutter. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, lingering as if he’s memorizing every detail. “How long I’ve wanted this. Wanted *you*.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard planes of his body through his worn t-shirt, the warmth of him grounding you even as your head spins. “Then show me,” you whisper, bold despite the nervous flutter in your chest. You lean in, brushing your lips against the stubble along his jaw, and the low, rumbling sound he makes in his throat is enough to make your thighs clench.

Mike doesn’t need more encouragement. His hands slide under your shirt—*his* shirt, still tangled around you from earlier—his calloused palms skimming up your sides, leaving trails of heat in their wake. You lift your arms, letting him pull the fabric over your head, and the cool air of the room contrasts sharply with the fire building between you. His gaze rakes over you, reverent, hungry, and when his hands find your bare skin, it’s like he’s worshiping you, mapping every curve with deliberate care.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, almost to himself, and before you can respond, he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, like he’s pouring everything he’s held back into it. His lips trail down your neck, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you gasp, arching into him. Your hands fumble with the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him, and he chuckles softly, helping you tug it off. The sight of him—broad shoulders, the faint scars from years of hard work, the way his muscles shift under his skin—makes your mouth go dry.

You pull him closer, your lips crashing into his as you rock against him, the friction sending sparks through your body. He groans, hands gripping your hips to guide your movements, and the tension that’s been building for months, maybe longer, snaps like a taut wire. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained, and the raw need in it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

He flips you gently onto your back, the mattress dipping under his weight as he hovers over you, one arm braced beside your head. His eyes search yours, checking for any hesitation, but all you can do is nod, reaching up to pull him down to you. “I want you,” you say, the words spilling out before you can overthink them, and it’s like a key turning in a lock.

Mike’s restraint crumbles. He kisses you like he’s starving, lips and tongue claiming yours as his hands explore, teasing and stoking the fire in your veins. When he finally presses himself against you, the slow, deliberate way he moves makes your eyes roll back, a soft moan escaping your lips. Every touch, every whispered word, is laced with the weight of everything unsaid—every late-night glance, every moment you’ve both pretended was just an arrangement.

The room fills with the sounds of your shared breaths, the creak of the bed, the quiet gasps and murmured praises. He moves inside you, for you, each thrust a blend of passion and urgency, like he’s trying to make up for all the time you’ve both wasted. Your nails dig into his back, urging him closer, and he obliges, his lips finding yours again as the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat and rhythm building to the upmost pleasure.

When you finally unravel, it’s with his name on your lips, your body trembling beneath him as waves of pleasure crash over you. He follows moments later, a low, broken sound escaping him as he buries his face in your neck, his breaths hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, you just hold each other, the intensity giving way to a soft, almost fragile quiet, like neither of you wants to break the spell.

Eventually, Mike shifts, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, warm and steady, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your cheek. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t say it.

You softly smile, pressing a kiss to his bare collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales, a sound of relief, and tucks you closer, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. The room is still heavy with his scent, but now it’s mixed with yours, a quiet testament to what’s changed. As you drift toward sleep, tangled together in his bed, you know this is only the beginning—messy, complicated, and undeniably yours.

[joshfutturman]

.✭ MIKE SCHMIDT X GN!READER MASTERLIST ✭.

⭐ personal favourites // 🔥 smut // 🐻 fluff // 💔 angst

✦ 🔥⭐ mike schmidt x gn reader (nsfw) - mike comes home pretty tense, you know just how to 'take him down a few pegs' (3k words) ✦ 🔥 mike schmidt x gn reader (nsfw) - mike can't sleep, and you know exactly what will help. (3k words) ✦ 🔥 mike schmidt x gn reader (nsfw) - he's anxious to celebrate your one-year anniversary, but it turns out that mike schmidt is just full of surprises. (3.4k words) ✦ 🔥⭐ mike schmidt x gn reader (nsfw) - mike has missed you after a long shift, so much so that he can't even wait to get you to the bedroom. he needs you, now. (1.3k words) ✦ 🐻 mike schmidt x gn reader (fluff) - mike schmidt pretends to hate the reality tv shows you (his partner) watch, but one day he catches you watching - and can't help but get himself hooked on the drama (800 words) ✦ 🐻⭐ mike schmidt x gn reader (fluff) - mike insists he isn't sleepy, but you know better. you both find solace in one another as you try to make sense of your growing feelings. (2.7k words) ✦ 🐻 mike schmidt x gn reader (fluff) - you and abby throw a surprise birthday party for mike! (2.1k words) ✦ 🐻 mike schmidt x gn reader (fluff) - mike struggles to let you get close, but when your hands brush against his hair, he realises that he may not be able to keep you at arms length forever (1.7k words) ✦ 🐻 mike schmidt x gn reader (fluff) - you find mike admiring the sunrise after being awoken by a nightmare, you decide to join him. (1.1k words) ✦ 🐻 mike schmidt x gn reader (fluff) - mike loves develops a crush on you, the baker at the donut shop (400 words) ✦ 💔 mike schmidt x gn reader (angst) - mike schmidt receives a package in the mail. it’s his younger brothers orange toy airplane. touching the plastic, he feels strangely connected to certain emotions, leaving michael confused and scared. (1k words)

[stellaactuallysucks]

God may forgive you for being gay. But NOBODY is gonna forgive you for that haircut

[vmpirdumplings]