#Posting this in the Denny's bathroom

[high-toaster]

part one of art i made for my friends bday

[angrymac]

[badnew2005]

do you ever think about him (mac and dennis’ bathroom)

[strawhbrrries]

Movement

pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

summary: a double date that leads to mike schmidt coming home with you in the name of "helping your friend" and he ends up fucking you.

warnings: unprotected sex, no foreplay, creampie??, female pronouns, slight degrading??, pet names, heavy cussing, mike being hashtag v hot, no established relationship, porn with no plot, not proofread

word count: 2.1k words

author’s note: listen to movement by hozier for the full experience!!! I know this fic wasn't voted to be the first mike one to be posted but I had to do it okay!!!! he's so hot n sexy in this and i need him badly...please enjoy! mwah!

Your eyes scanned the restaurant in front of your car, you were promised a very nice dinner with a very nice man and the place you ended up might as well have been a denny’s. Gia somehow managed to rope you into a double date and as the amazing friend you are, you obliged. Now, you wanted to take it back. If the guy you were set up with wasn’t just an absolute heartthrob you might consider strangling her in the bathroom.

“Gia, this better be the best damn food and the hottest men you have ever experienced or I’m never doing you another favor ever again.” You teased, getting out of your car as she walked up to it.

“I swear he said this place was nicer! Thank you so much babes, I owe you one!” She responded, slipping her arm inside of yours to walk inside. “Maybe the inside is really nice and it’s just a shady exterior.”

You’d never seen the man Gia was seeing tonight so when the two of you arrived at the table you weren’t sure which man was yours, but you knew which one you wanted. He looked gentle, shaggy hair untamed almost like he wasn’t prepared to go on a date tonight. 

“I suppose I’m your date.” He smiled softly, getting up to pull your chair out for you. “I’m MIke, you look uh, really beautiful tonight.”

After the introductions and small talk the two of you hit it off right away, it helped that Gia and her date were more interested in each other than remembering that the people they brought also existed.  The more you talked the more Mike came out of his shell, he wasn’t as shy as you first pegged him to be. Your heel was slowly caressing his calf, neither of you were quite sure when it had ended up there but he wasn’t complaining.

“A man in uniform is hot.” Your flirting was a little rusty, but it seemed to be working just fine for you.

“It’s just a security gig.” He shrugged it off, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. 

You grabbed the straw of your drink, wrapped your tongue around it, and took a sip. Mike choked slightly but covered it up with a cough, adjusting his pants under the table at the same time. 

“She’s not going to go home with him unless I go home with you.” You whispered in his ear as you leaned over the table, tangling your fingers in his hair to trick Gia into thinking you were whispering something dirty. “I’d really like to go home with you.”

You could feel the heat creep up his neck, his face was flushed. His heart might as well be on the outside of his chest with the intensity that it was beating, it’d been a long time since he’d been on a date or even gotten laid but Abby was at home and that just wouldn’t work.

“Uhm, my sister’s at home, can we go to your place?” Mike’s saliva was thick and pooling in his mouth, it felt almost impossible to swallow. He had to be dreaming, this just didn’t make sense otherwise. He was just doing his friend a favor and now your breath was hot on his neck and his jeans were uncomfortably tight.

The second the two of you walked outside he got fidgety, like he was going to take off the second you let go of his hand. Frankly he was surprised you hadn’t let go of it the second you picked it up, he was dripping sweat from the moment he realized you were his date. He quickly made a mental note to send a letter to the company who made his preferred deodorant, the fact that he didn’t smell absolutely putrid spoke volumes on their product.

“So did you mean what you said inside? Because I’m perfectly okay with just going home.” 

“I meant it, don’t be so nervous.” You smiled back at him, handing him the keys to your car.

The tension was thick, his knuckles were white as he tried to keep his focus on the road ahead and making it back to your place safely and not the fingers drawing figures on his thigh as you spoke about something he couldn’t quite grasp. 

Your place wasn’t too far from the restaurant that Gia’s date had picked, that Mike was thankful for. The longer he had to endure the torture that was your fingers on this thighs, the less his ability to be a gentleman and control himself existed. If it was up to him, he’d probably just pulled over and fucked you in the backseat of your own car but it wasn’t. He was a gentleman, he’d just met you all of a few hours ago, he knew better.

“This is the place.” You smiled softly as he pulled into your driveway.

“It’s nice.” He stated, handing your car keys back to you and taking your hand. “Suits you.”

Mike’s eyes wandered the walls, taking in every aspect of you, as you led him through the house. It didn’t take him long to notice that you lived alone, another thing he was now thankful for. His fingers trailed the zipper of your dress as he stood behind you in your bedroom, his other hand rubbing your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“Are you going to take it off?” Your voice was shaky and quiet, for the first time tonight you were nervous. 

“And you thought I was the eager one.” He chuckled, tugging your hair back softly to give him just enough access to your face to make eye contact with you. “Do you get off on bringing strangers to your home and having them fuck you?”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, blessing the ears of the man behind you who responded with a groan. His lips made contact with your neck, biting and sucking at any of the skin he had access to. The hand that was holding your hair back made itself busy drawing the zipper of your dress further and further down until it couldn’t go any further, you shivered as the cold air hit your back. 

Mike detached himself from your neck and took a step back, briefly admiring how disheveled you looked despite still being fully dressed, he made a quick motion for you to turn around and you obliged almost immediately. If you got his dick any harder it might’ve fallen off before he ever got the chance to use it. 

He backed you into the bed, laying you down and sliding your dress off and into a pile on the floor. Another deep groan was emitted into the air as he took in the sight in front of him, you hadn’t worn a bra and the underwear you’d chosen left nothing to the imagination. Mike immediately started thanking whatever god was above for you and the experience he was about to have. 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest. Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone tonight but then you saw him and your entire plan was flipped upside down. You lied about your friend not going home with her date if you didn’t leave with him, you didn’t want him to think you were desperate but he knew now. The second he touched the zipper of your dress, anything left of your facade was gone. You needed him.

“If you weren’t so fucking wet I would’ve thought you were only doing me a favor.” He spoke nonchalantly, rubbing his finger over your folds through your underwear. “ Or maybe you’re just a whore? Huh?”

“For you.” You choked out, words getting caught in your throat over his words. 

At the beginning of the night you would’ve placed money on the fact that he wasn’t capable of things like this, it was like another side of him had come out during the drive to your house. You weren’t complaining, his words were getting to you in a way you’d never experienced. 

“Yeah? For me? Mikey’s own personal whore.” He slipped your underwear to the side and slid his finger through your folds, collecting your juices and bringing them to his mouth. “You’re as sweet as you look, need a honey jar full of you.”

You cried out at him softly, trying to use anything you had to stop his teasing. He was winding you up but edging you right before you could pop, he could’ve said anything and you would’ve agreed just to get him to fuck you. Being this desperate for a man you hardly knew was an exhilarating experience. 

“Please, I need you.” You whined, grabbing at his shirt in a desperate plea. “Please.”

“Good job using your words, pretty girl.” Mike praised, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down, throwing them in the same pile as your dress.

His clothes soon joined yours on the floor, a small pout emerging when you realized you wouldn’t be able to suck him off, his eyes catching yours as he climbed up your body. He kissed his way up, biting occasionally. Fingers tracing your skin just as you had done to him earlier in the night, lighting a fire on your skin as they went. It was like his body was made to fit yours, like your souls had searched for each other through every lifetime and yet this was the first time they had met.

His lips finally met yours for the first time, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away to breathily whisper something in your ear. You shook your head in agreement at whatever he said, as long as he kept touching you like that and making noises in your ear you’d agree to anything he said to you. 

Shaking your head yes was the best decision you’d made so far, you felt two fingers slip inside of you. Thrusting for a few moments before they were replaced by the tip of his cock, slowly pushing in as his mouth found one of your nipples. The gentle man you had once perceived had been replaced by a god who was hung like a horse, splitting you in half with the cock fit for a god.

“Fuck.” Mike moaned, tipping his head back when he bottomed out, taking your legs and placing them on his shoulders. “So good, pretty girl.”

Anything you had planned on responding with quickly dissipated the second he pulled out and thrusted back in, a low groan coming out insead. His fingers were digging into your thighs as he held them up where he wanted them, all you could hope for was the imprints bruising as a reminder that this actually happened. What hair that wasn’t sticking to his skin from the sweat covering it was dangling backwards freely, all his focus was on not cumming too soon and if he continued to look at you he definitely would.

Your eyes had glossed over a long time ago, tears streaming down the sides as a byproduct of the blissful state his cock had put you in, fingers gripping desperately at the sheets and your tits bouncing with each thrust. He was once again praying to every god that he would get to do this another time, then he could sear the image of you under him into his mind.

“Mike, Mikey I need..” You whined, the knot in your stomach twisting and turning, threatening to spill before you could even finish a coherent thought.

“C’mon pretty girl, you can do it, let it go.” He praised you, bringing his thumb down to your clit and drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts to help your orgasm spill over.

His words were the final piece in the puzzle, your orgasm hitting you soon after he spoke. Legs shaking, mind blowing, tears, and silent moans was all your body could do at the supernova your orgasm had proved to be. You’d never cum this hard before but if every orgasm after didn’t measure up, he had ruined you. 

“You did so good.” Was all you heard as you came down from your high, Mike’s hands soothed down your hair as he whispered into your ear. 

His thrusts continued at the same pace for only a few seconds before his hips stuttered and he painted your insides white. 

“I guess tonight wasn’t a total waste.” You joked quietly, turning to the side to smile at him as he laid down next to you. 

“We need to do this more often.”

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Down Bad — Spencer Reid x Fem Reader (Smut 18+)

Summary: After seeing that her ex boyfriend is engaged to his “rebound girl”, Reader finds herself missing the comforts and pleasures of sex.

Notes: ahh!! @reidsbookclub thank you my absolute love for reading this ahead of time. your enthusiasm and support and love is so so so appreciated <3 and this is my piece for @imagining-in-the-margins Friends with Benefits challenge

Word Count: 6 K

Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption (not drunk), oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, (kinda) dom Spencer ( hopeful ending?), unprotected sex, some negative self body image (reader), finishing inside with birth control, breeding kink, possessive language, dirty talk/crude language (I know Spencer's probably a tab bit OOC but this is me trying here)

Down Bad

There was no way for my situation to turn crappier. My finger stood, haunted and frozen above my phone screen. The bathroom sink ran unattended as I attempted to defrost my heart. It had dropped to my stomach as my eyebrows shot up.

I still followed Lydia, my ex's younger sister on Instagram and Facebook. Her brother might have turned out to be a terrible communicator, but she was cool.

Just a couple of months ago, she was a student in Geology and the last time we spoke she was writing a paper on Ancient Rocks in communities that used aqueducts systems. What you could do with a Master's in Geology was beyond me and my office job. I'm sure she hears too many "you must live under a rock" joke from her dad. He was always cracking the most dad jokes that have ever dad-joked; I missed it. And Lori's South Chocolate Gravy Pie. I didn't even want to know how many sticks of butter it took.

Lydia had her arms thrown around a tall, leggy, blonde girl that looked like her name was Sarah or Hannah. The post was in black and white and Hannah/Sarah showed off her gorgeous ring.

lydia-nielson99 The best honorary sister ever <3!

When my ex and I dated, the idea of fine dining was a night out at a movie sharing a bucket of popcorn and an honest-to-God-attempt at moving hopping. We talked about marriage; he'd slip on fake rings made from grass blades braided together meticulously on my finger, kiss it, and promise me that he'd earn me something worthy of my finger.

The post had only been up for 43 minutes and already had gotten a hundred or so likes. I scrolled the comment section, ignoring the rushing tap, to read the comments from my friends, our couple friends. They must've liked Sarah/Hannah better, or at least liked her and Shane better together then Shane and me. I haven’t heard from them since the breakup.

Aren't most geologists analog? I slipped my phone back into my pocket and washed my hands, wishing that I could crawl under a rock, one of those ancient ones that Lydia studies.

I couldn't decide. I couldn't decide between a red that would give me a headache I could feel in my teeth or straight gasoline that would make my face, and heart, as equally numb.

I wanted something quick and something strong. I was so, so, so over Shane it wasn't even funny. But that didn't stop him from being the love of my life, to the loss of my life. I just wondered, as I roamed the supermarket with my metal carriage holding tequila, limes, Kraft Mac and Cheese, and frozen pizza bagels, if he told Hannah/Sarah the same things.

If he would sit across from her, now probably able to splurge on a dinner fancier than Taco Bell or Denny's, and hold her hands. Would he move her ring from her middle finger to her ring finger like he did on mine?

God, I cringed, dropping in a box of Double Stuffed Oreos, I let him, shit talk me under tables with promises of rings and cradles in the other breath.

I reached for the pint of strawberry as another text pinged. Internally I knew that I would soon face an onslaught of future wine moms just jumping at the chance to "check in with me" during "such a challenging and emotional time" for me. I ignored the message, but it pinged again.

Spencer: Penelope said that the new season of that show you like is on. We can watch it tonight. I think that Hotch is actually gonna let us out at a normal time.

Spencer, my roommate, always texted with formality and correct grammar. I actually think that it would be impossible for him to do anything, but use proper spelling and grammar.

Unlike certain geologists, Spencer is actually analog. When I was searching for a roommate after my break-up, our mutual friend Penelope put us in touch. And just mere months later we've formed a friendship that most days is closer to a partnership than it is to anything else. Friends were hard for me, and relationships even harder. Looking back, I think that allowed Shane to bulldoze through boundaries I didn't even know I should have.

Spencer, a certified genius and self-described technophobe, couldn't tell me the purpose of Instagram, let alone that my ex-boyfriend's sister posted a picture with her newest soon to be sister-in-law, Sarah/Hannah.

I dropped a pint of Rocky Road ice cream and looped around for an extra box of Kraft Mac and Cheese before replying back to Spencer.

Me: Worst. Day. Ever!!! Ice cream & carbs @ 7

I stared at the bottle of tequila, understanding that ever since my 31st birthday, me and excessive drinking due to external crises would result in bloating, headaches, backaches, anxiety, and an entire weekend of recovery. Maybe instead of several shots, but I already finished half of the bottle of red I bought as a bottom of the ninth decision.

"Tequila?" Spencer mused, dropping his bag on the table. "This must be like Defcon 4? And I should know, I work in national security."

I grunted, my fingers drumming against the table. The cheap speaker connected to my phone plays sad breakup music. I saw Spencer's wheels turn as he sat down with me at the table.

"Want boxed Mac & Cheese?" I asked, standing up to scoop some of the dinner into a plate for myself. I didn't seek it out often, but there was something familiar and comforting about Kraft Mac & Cheese. "I know it's got a lot of shitty stuff in it. But I'm actually going to lose my mind tonight."

My voice turned shrill and unsteady. And my eyes flooded with sharp, salty tears. Spencer stood and then backed away, his eyes and face melting in mutual pain. "What happened?"

"Shane's getting married."

"That explains the tequila."

I laughed. Spencer didn't offer any condolences as the seconds ticked and ticked. Instead he looked at me. He must've noticed the groceries. The Oreos, ice creams, and boxes of incredibly processed macaroni and cheese all screamed classic crisis for me. Being as smart as he is, Spencer could probably have told something about me within weeks of meeting me.

"Well, I already drank some of that red wine." I said. "The tequila doesn't sound like a good choice. But bad choices can be fun choices when you want to hide under a rock for the rest of your life."

Spencer still didn't offer anything, he kicked off his shoes and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. "No tequila."

“You’re no fun." I huffed, grabbing my bowl and heading to the living room. "You promised me new episodes of The Queen's Court."

Spencer still frowned, his arms crossed as his steaming bowl of processed cheese pasta sat to his side on the counter. "I didn't think that Shane still was someone you thought about."

I sighed.

“It’s understandable. He’s marrying the girl he started dating right after breaking-up with you.”

I didn't think about Shane, not that often though. But he still was my first love. The love I shared with Shane was something he stole from me. I had given him all that youth for free; now I was thirty-one. Don't get me wrong, thirty-one is young, I don't feel old. But it's this weird, almost off-putting subliminal feeling when all of my friends either smell like weed or little babies.

"I don't love him. I don't want to be with him."

Spencer had rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms. He had a couple pictures of himself when he was younger. Him with his mom at one of his many post-graduate celebrations. One with his co-workers at a bar. He changed a lot; in pictures of the past he was thin and lanky. But now, when he would wear pants or cardigans or button downs with the sleeves rolled up, I found it difficult to not stare in appreciation. My sex life with Shane was good, consistent, and effective. While it might sound clinical to some, I think we both enjoyed knowing that we both knew how to, simply, get the job done for each other. I must be missing sex an awful lot to be getting flushed at the sight of Spencer’s arms.

Two years older than me, Spencer had had a life harder than most people. Penelope explained to me that he was finding it hard to live alone after he was falsely incarcerated. And working the hours he did at the BAU, he found it hard to find someone okay with someone coming home all hours of the night.

Like Spencer, I hated living alone. So together, we built a little home as roommates, as friends, and somewhere along the lines, as partners. And over the last couple of months, Spencer had never brought a date home. I had one hook up about two weeks after we moved in together. It was fine, but not enough to tempt back onto the horrid, vapid, devoid of anything promising landscape that was Bumble and Hinge.

"I just..." I bring my face into my hands in embarrassment. "I miss having someone to come home to who wants to see me."

Spencer crossed through the living room, bowl in hand. He sat criss cross on the floor like he did most nights. "I want to see you. I always want to see you, Y/N."

"You know what I mean, Spencer…And if I'm being honest...sex. God, I miss sex. Good, consistent, effective sex from someone that knows me."

Spencer and I never talked about sex. When we would watch movies that had sex scenes in it, neither of us would talk. One time we watched a movie starring whatever current Hollywood Pretty Boy had captured the hearts of the Internet at the time, and I commented that I would "ride that cowboy into the sunset." I remembered looking at Spencer for his reaction. Usually he would blush or roll his eyes or kick me playfully in the shin for being crass.

But that time he didn't. Instead, his jaw set, grinding firmly and unyieldingly. After that I didn't make sexy jokes or talk about sex in front of him. I thought it made him uncomfortable, till now I suppose

The music changed, and the breakup anthem of the century played. I stood up on the sofa, solo cup in hand and swayed to the music as Spencer stood below.

"You want sex?" Spencer asked. "We can have sex on this sofa right now if that's what you want. I mean, how much wine have you had?"

I busted out laughing, sipping the red wine from my solo cup. I didn't bother for a fancy wine glass. Besides, it was cheap and . And clearly it was working if it made me imagine Spencer Reid, my hot, stoic roommate with dreamy brown eyes, offering me sex.

"Spencer! Come, dance. Please!" His eyes shifted over my body. And he must have noticed the way my knees wobbled under the insecurity of the sofa cushions or the way my eyes must have been glazed and sparkly.

He obliged me, and his hand wrapped around mine. He raised my hand above my head to twirl me and then walked me down from the couch. "Let's get you on level ground. I hurt my leg a couple years after I started the BAU and it's no fun healing up."

He sat me down on the couch and placed a throw blanket on my lap. My bowl of Mac & Cheese was missing, but returned back to my lap, reheated. Spencer also replaced my solo cup, cutting me off, thankfully, from alcohol for the time.

"Peach flavored electrolyte water. And tomorrow I'll make you breakfast." He offered, sitting down on my right as he started the show.

"I didn't mean to be annoying and buzzed. I know you don’t like it" I said, not looking at Spencer. "I don't love him. Or like him. Or even want to be with him. Ugh. No, I just...I want…sex."

Spencer nodded, not even looking at me as the scene between the Queen and her lady's maid wore on. I kept trying to convince Spencer that the Queen was actually the villain and the warring clan would take over and let the series run on and on for an infinite amount of seasons. But it was campy and dramatic and exactly what I needed as I licked my, apparently, very open and painful wounds.

"What's the matter?" I asked, pausing the television. "You look pissed off."

"You know that he was the one that lost out when you guys broke up." Spencer's eyes didn't meet mine, even though the television remained paused. "He didn't deserve you. Not if he didn't know how goddamn lucky he was when he had you."

I don't let my heart think this means anything."What?" But I feel my cheeks prickle with

heat, just like they did when Spencer, albeit jokingly, offered to have sex with me.

"I said, it's his loss. If I had you, I wouldn't ever lose you, Y/N."

"I'm nothing special." I admit. I wasn't the most positive or confident girl, in my mid twenties I went to therapy for a good three years to sort out some baggage from my childhood. We all have something and mine was having a hard time seeing myself. I couldn't maintain positivity, to my brain it was better to remain neutral than to jam positivity down my throat that I couldn't honestly accept.

"You're not nothing special, Y/N." Spencer's voice cut through, sharp and confident. He sat up, his body sliding so close to mine that his knees touched my thighs. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And you're smart. And funny. You make me laugh like no one has during a time in my life when I was convinced no one would be able to."

Our apartment isn't big, but it's enough space for Spencer and I to feel like we're could interact when we wanted, which was most of the time. But there was enough space for us to find our alone time when needed.

As Spencer's knees rubbed against mine and his soft eyes met mine, the room seemed to collapse. It was as if all the air was sucked out.

“And I am so...I've never been happier to have you be the last person I see before I go to sleep and the first person I get to see when I wake up. And if I...and if I had that with you the way he did? I wouldn't have messed it up."

"Spencer…" He raised his hand, showing me his palm, a sign that I think signified he meant no harm, but as he words, heated and charged sliced through me, I could feel them ricochet upon impact.

"I know…But, when I said I would fuck you on this couch, Y/N, it wasn't an empty promise. I meant it. And it wouldn’t have to mean anything.”

Spencer shifted on the couch. It creaked with his weight. The bowl of Mac & Cheese burned against my leg— even through the throw blanket. My heart was racing and racing till it skipped a beat. It nearly stopped. He sounded so sure of himself. I wanted to laugh it off again, as if the thought of me and Spencer hooking up…no fucking on the sofa was something comedic or entertaining.

“Are you…Spencer…are you sure?”

I tried to keep my voice steady, unwilling to let him know that the thought of his hands on my body lit a fire inside of me, a fire that I had yet to challenge. But God do I want to tame it. Sex with Spencer would be messy and complicated.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed in on my face. I would’ve thought that being stared at so intensely would have made me want to sink into the couch so I’d be as forgotten as stray hair ties and pocket change. But I wasn’t. Spencer’s brown eyes, liquid bronze bore into me. I felt a hot excitement wash over me that I knew was arousal.

“Yes.”

“Is it bad that I want you to kiss me?” I sighed. “It’s bad timing for either of us. But…”

“But you want me to kiss you?” I nodded and Spencer moved closer to me on the couch. “You want me to help you forget how that man has made you hurt.”

“Spencer…” Before I could rescind my desire, not that I would ever think about it, his hand cupped my cheek. Spencer’s thumb brushed against my jawbone as his eyes scanned my face. I could smell his lavender mint body wash; crisp and clean.

His mouth was anything, but crisp and clean. It was hot and dirty. Spencer kissed me with a hunger that couldn’t be sated with just one kiss. I knew for the moment his lips touched mine, I was done for. I wasn’t a whiskey drinker; I hardly knew what it even tasted like. But Spencer’s kisses felt like it. He doesn’t drink, but his warm body was flush against mine and I tasted the heady, smokey warmth of a strong cocktail. His arms and torso were thick and solid.

I brought my hands up to his neck and carded my fingers through his scalp. He groaned, the vibrations tingled against my lips as he kissed me. Spencer’s teeth tugged at my bottom lip, pulling it out before he kissed it again. He shifted so his back was against the couch and I was hauled up to his lap.

“There you go, baby.” Spencer said. His hands were large and imposing against my back and I could feel their heat through my shirt.

My muscles and resolve transformed to liquid when he called me that. I could feel my heart surge and lurch and leap as Spencer’s lips nipped against my skin. It was so good, so warm, so achingly wonderful that I felt myself wondering if I could do this over and over. I loved my vibrator and I would continue to love my vibrator long after this once-in-a-life-time situation with my roommate would end. But there was nothing like straddling a man’s lap.

And Spencer Reid was a sight to behold. I knew he used to be skinny, but in the years that I didn’t know him, Spencer had grown up. He filled out his pants with his strong thighs and softer stomach. His pants were strained and tented. I grinded down, enjoying his haughty moan in my ear.

I arched my back, exposing my neck as Spencer’s wet, hot mouth pressed kissed along the column of my throat. Feeling him grin as he kissed me I tugged at his hair sharp and hard. His grunt is a mixture of surprise and pleasure. I didn’t think that he’d be this vocal but with me writing in his lap I felt him try to hold back.

“Just touch me.” I whined, kissing Spencer. “Please just touch me.”

His pants tented against my core. I tensed at the feeling of his erection. My pajama pants and underwear, though thin, offer only a sliver of the friction I desired. Spencer’s fingers, quick and nimble, didn’t hesitate to undo the drawstring bow.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Spencer murmured, kissing my temple. His lips are like a tattoo kiss as he resurrects something inside of me that I had long buried. “Sit on the couch.”

I scrambled to sit, my body acting of its own accord as Spencer’s words rattled through me. He was so confident, so sure, so certain. And his hands never left my body. It was as if there was some internal pull between the two of us. He sank to his knees and swung my right leg over his shoulder. I lifted my butt and he slid my pajama pants off my legs. Tossing them to the floor, Spencer licked his lower lip and looked at me as if I was good enough to eat. I supposed that we were about to find out just exactly how good I was.

“Open up for me, baby girl.” Spencer whispered, his breath landed on my skin and made me jump. “Let me see just how pretty you are.”

Spencer Reid had a dirty mouth. My cheeks and chest and belly burned with arousal. He kissed along the edges of my panties. Spencer’s middle finger dragged along my underwear, teasing my clit through the cotton fabric. With the patience of a saint, Spencer tormented both of us. He looked at me as if he could commit me to memory. His eyes were heavy with lust and something that I swore could mean something more. But that line of thinking had red wine written all over it. It wasn’t drunk. Hell, I wasn’t even buzzed anymore.

“Jesus, I’m a lucky fucking bastard.”

Yet, I sat there. With my legs spread, held open by Spencer’s large hands, practically humming with need and desire.

“Please. Please. Just touch me.” I begged, beyond caring if I sounded wanton with need. Spencer smirked as he hooked a finger underneath my panties and slipped them down my legs. And there I sat, legs spread. Finally he obliged. With two fingers, Spencer dragged them up my exposed core. The heel of his hand brushed against my clit. His skin was soft and his fingers deft and skilled. I closed my eyes as the pleasure took control of my body.

Spencer slipped a fingertip inside of me. He could feel the wetness dripping from my cunt. I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to hold his hand against my core. Our eyes met and I could not tell which one of us decided to let his finger sink inside of me. I watched as he slipped inside and released a throaty moan. My cries were extinguished by Spencer’s unyielding mouth. He pumped in and out, in and out, before slipping out of my cunt all together. I lunged forward at the sudden loss and was met by Spencer’s wry chuckle.

“I am going to eat your pussy. And you are going to cum against my face with your legs around my shoulders.”

I groaned. It’s as if Spencer knew that my brain needed to be switched off. He nipped at my inner thigh. Blood rushed throughout my body and I felt my pussy heat at the sensation. Spencer’s soft breath was hot against my skin as he kissed. He licked a line up my aroused core before flicking his tongue over my clit. It was a teasing, tormenting motion that coaxed a wave of pleasure to build. He’s a man possessed, so far gone that I didn’t even attempt to hold back as a moan rises in my throat.

“Jesus. You are a sight to behold. I’m going to show you how a man takes his time.”

As if he could possibly spread me apart even further, Spencer squeezed my thighs. Clearly he wanted to see all of me. Taste all of me. I could feel a coil tighten in my lower stomach and as Spencer lowered his mouth to my core, I felt the coil snap.

His licks aren’t shy and timid like I imagined. They’re purposeful and powerful. And threaten to melt my carefully crafted guard. He’s already gotten me well past the point of foreplay. I’m so wet that I’m sure cock that tents his pants can slip inside without much resistance. But he didn’t stop. His tongue continued lick and nip and suck against my most intimate area.

“Is this all for me? So wet. So pretty, sweetheart. Your cunt is dripping for me.”

I panted, unable to form a coherent thought as Spencer’s heated gaze spread over me. “All for you. Only for you.”

“Well in that case, I think I have a job to do.

All I could see was red. His hands gripped my thighs. I hated my thighs, usually. They’re too soft and squishy and usually ruin most pairs of pants eventually.

“Fucking hell.” Spencer cursed as he sunk two fingers into my needy cunt. “You’re so hot and tight for me, Y/N. Look at you. All splayed out. All for me.”

“You don’t have to do it until I finish.” I blurted out. “I—I know this isn’t….I want tonight to be for you as much as it is for me.”

Spencer’s eyes shifted.

“Ssshh, shhh,” He cooed. He looked up at me with his eyes big and blissed out. It was almost too much for me to handle. I watched as he kneeled in front of me; pants had become too tight from the moment my fingers groped him. At this point it was nearly impossible to withstand.

“I’ve thought about this way too much for us to rush this. I’m going to take my time with you, baby. You are going to ride my face like a good girl.The only thing that’s keeping me from cumming in my pants is the thought of burying my face into your pulsing cunt followed by my fucking you raw with my leaking cock.”

I yelped as he and sucked along my inner thigh. My skin was impossibly soft and tempting. “Fuck. Fuck, baby. You’re perfect. You are a fucking dream.”

I fisted his hair, feeling the familiar rush of pleasure from my head to my toes. For a while it only set my own bedsheets ablaze, but now it spread to Spencer. He groaned against my core, still lapping me up as the wall of pleasure threatened to come crashing down.

One second I was moaning, feeling myself toe the precipice before I teetered over. The feeling built and crashed before I could even enjoy it.

“Fuck! No. Damn it.” I cursed myself for not being able to climax, despite the down right sinful things Spencer was hell bent on doing between my legs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t…sometimes I have a hard time.”

“Don’t worry,” Spencer assured, his thumb brushing against my kneecap, “We’ll find our rhythm. Together. Anything you want. And I think I might actually die if I don’t get inside you this second.”

I laughed, dragging Spencer up by the shirt collar. He placed his hands against my hips and pulled me forward for a kiss.

I tasted myself against his lips and it turned my on beyond belief. “I want you. I’m on the pill and I want you. It’s awful timing because I don’t have any condoms and it’s a terrible idea but—”

I’m cut off by Spencer’s lips again. His mouth seared against mine, hot and needy. “I’m clean. I want this. I want you. So badly, sweetheart. So bad.”

I nodded, my mouth unwilling and unable to leave Spencer as he knelt in between my legs. He stood to his full height and took my hands. “I know I have promised to fuck you on this couch, but I have a bad knee and once I’m buried inside you, baby, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.”

“My bed’s made.”

Spencer’s hands didn’t leave my waist as I walked him to my bedroom. I should’ve been more embarrassed as I walked with him, considering I looked more akin to Winnie the Pooh than a sexy hook up. But once I felt a sharp sting on my ass, I quickly realized that Spencer thought the opposite.

“Don’t blame me.” Spencer said. “With that ass you’re lucky I haven’t had the sense to take you over my knee already.”

I turned, facing Spencer and standing with just an oversized pajama shirt covering my chest. His hands hovered over my waist, pulling me towards him by the fabric of my shirt. “I need to see those tits, baby. They drive me fucking wild in the morning. When you’re sitting on that damn counter with your messy hair and no bra. You’re a sight to behold, baby.”

“On one condition.” I presented, attempting to act as if the dirty words that fell between us had no effect on me. “Those pants? They find their way to the hamper. And fast.”

Spencer chuckled as his fingers brushed stray pieces of my hair away from my face. He touched me with such tenderness that I could feel myself craving it long after it was gone. He dropped his pants, followed by his boxers. I meant to tease him about the mini double helix DNAs printed all over his boxers, but I was effectively silenced by his erection.

I felt him the entire time I sat and made out with in his lap. I could feel how hard and thick and long he must be, but seeing him out in the open made my body lurch with need. He devoured me with his lips, pushing me down into the bed as his quick hands rid me of my shirt. Spencer’s teeth met my nipple, nipping and twisting it to elicit the dirtiest moans from my lips. He smiled, sucking marks into my skin that would last even after all what stood between us shattered.

Licking my lips, I could still taste myself from his kiss. Never feeling anything quite this intense with anyone, I suddenly felt so naked and bare. But Spencer’s calm hands, big and gentle, soothed me wordlessly.

“I need you.” I begged, wanton with need, “I need your cock so bad.” I wasn’t a begging woman, but as Spencer pressed the tip of his cock at my entrance I figured that anyone can learn how to relent now and again.

Sweet kisses to my sweaty skin replaced his dirty words that made me flush. As Spencer hovered above me, I drank him in. His eyes were hazel, but sometimes, depending on what he wore, they were brown or green. I quickly unbuttoned his top, eager to have his warmth spread all over him. He was thick and solid— all man. From the muscles in his back to the furrow of his brow and the slight curl pattern to his hair, Spencer sucked all the air from my lungs.

I was weightless. I was floating. I was soaring.

When he finally slid into me it was with an excruciatingly slow speed. “Don’t wanna hurt you.” He mumbled, a hand brushed my hair and a pair of lips kissed my forehead. “Give ya a chance to see what you can handle.”

Emboldened, I wrapped my legs and interlocked my ankles around Spencer’s butt. He lunged forward and his forehead dipped towards my breast. His kisses were fast and erratic as I felt him sink deeper and deeper inside of me.

“You’re so thick…ah!”

“Oh fuck.” His voice was as raw and as affected as mine. “It’ll be fine, darling. You’re so perfect like this. Taking this cock like a good girl. I know how to make it better for you.”

His thumbs, rough and sharp, circled around my clit helping me to take his cock deeper and deeper. I whined, desperate for the relief and embarrassed at the way I’m at center stage. Spencer took me, made me his and I’m nothing but a mess for him. My bones are liquid as he reaches out for my hand.

It was like there was a blueprint to my body. I had it locked away somewhere. But somehow, somewhere along the way Spencer figured out where it was stored. He read the blueprint. And he knew exactly what to do to make my foundation crumble. With each stroke of his fingers against my clit or pulse of his cock in my pussy, he knew exactly what I needed.

Spencer’s lust filled voice rang clear. “You feel close. I’m so close. Can you come for me? Huh? Show me how you play with that pretty little pussy. How do you do it, Y/N?”

His hands and fingers dug into my lush body with an unrelenting desire I wasn’t accustomed to. Magic fingers. God. And I magic fucking cock. I grabbed his hair, dragging him down to my lips as I teased my clit. Looking down to where our two halves met nearly sent me over the edge. My cock swallowed Spencer’s thick cock, it was hot and erotic and I watched with my mouth hanging open in pure, unadulterated desire. My pussy, wet and hungry for more, begged him for more. I grabbed his ass with my unoccupied, dragging my fingernails down his skin as I begged for him to fuck me harder.

“Harder. Spencer. I need it.”

Spencer brought his face into my neck, kissing and biting my neck as he pounded into me. The angle set rockets of pleasure from my core to my toes, spurring me on as I practically chanted his name. Spencer moaned, his teeth sharp and mouth hot and heady as his kisses grew more and more frantic.

His thrusting was still sharp and calculated as his cocked continued to fuck me. “God, you look gorgeous when I fuck you. All fucked out from my cock. My girl.”

I liked the way he called me his. It was nice to be claimed. To be wanted and desired so badly that two letter little words were tacked on. It was a tiny word, but it changed the entire meaning. It was the sort of word that could make foundations falter and buildings collapse and roommates morph into something else entirely. Endorphins and hormones and who else knows what coursed through my veins.

It was just me and him. Together in a limitless space that neither of us would care to ever leave.

“So close.” I groaned and Spencer knew well enough to just continue rather than to change anything up. “That’s it, baby. Oh! Fuck. Spencer.”

My high came crashing down around me. I felt my cunt clamp around Spencer’s cock as he continued to thrust into me. His eyes watched me with an analytic level of observation. I knew he had a good memory; one that refused to allow him to forget much of anything. But as he watched me fall apart, naked and vulnerable and oh so aroused, it was like he was trying to commit me to memory.

“Come inside. Fuck! Spencer. Please. I need it. I want it.” I begged him, desperate for him to climax inside of me. I wanted to see what it would feel like to have his cum dripping from my needy, spent pussy. I wondered if it would feel different, if it would change something, something fundamentally.

His voice was hoarse and strained as he came, shooting spurts of hot cum into my cunt. It was unabashedly erotic, watching him fall apart with his bare cock stuffed inside me. “Fucking, hell. It’s never been like that before.” He kissed my jaw, holding me in place by my chin while still sheathed inside of me. It was a lovely feeling. Full and safe. I must have been so drunk on him because I thought I could stay like this forever.

The silence that fell between the two of us lingered for several months. Spencer’s fingers danced along my hip bone and up to my rib change. His eyes were closed and his hair was matted with sweat against his forehead. He had creases near his eyes and deep, well set-in bags under his eyes. I wondered how inappropriate it would be for him to spend the night with me. Naked of course. I don’t think either of us could handle having it any other way.

I never fucked my roommate. Nor have I been ballsy enough to have “feel better” sex with a friend. It’s not like I expected him to lay out a red carpet and get down on one knee after he gave me a handful of (earth shattering) orgasms.

“Y/N.” Spencer breathed. A beat passed before I dared to reply.

“Spencer.” He stirred beside me, his hand resting against my thigh.

“I think…I think we’re gonna need to try that again and again and again…” He rolled over onto me, kissing along my jaw. I felt the pads of his thumbs against my bare breasts and sighed.

God, help me. He’s my man.

Taglist: @foxy-eva @reid-ingandweeping @andiebeaword @boldlyvoid

(I know several people asked to be tagged, but if you didn't have that you were above 18 in your blog you won't be tagged in this one!

Please reblog, comment, and like! Feedback and encouragement and interactions are wonderful to receive. Thank you!

[hysteria-things]

SMILE! YOU’RE ON CAMERA.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after leaving your — now ex — boyfriend hanging, you’re too busy being occupied with something, perhaps someone, while he’s spamming your phone.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, oral (male receiving), slight praising, slight degradation, recording

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 480

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i love how i said i probably won’t be active this week and this is the most active i’ve ever been LMAO

dennis.

you cannot be fucking serious, y/n.

don’t be a bitch.

you can’t just break up with me over text for no reason.

ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“god.” chris exhales, mouth dangling open as your mouth swallows his cock in one go. his head falls back, eyes shut, and letting out a moan. “fuck.”

you, on the other hand, are on your knees; fully nude in his bathroom. your palms rest on your thighs, slowly bobbing your head. your mouth stretches at his size. it’s like you can feel every vein as your throat morphs into its shape. “suck my cock. just like that.” he breathes heavily. you hum approvingly, the bobs of your head intensifying. “that’s it. good fucking girl.”

dennis is your cheating ass boyfriend who you finally cut ties with moments ago, hence the continuous vibrations of your phone that lays on the bathroom counter. chris holds onto the edge, licking his lips and enjoying the view. he watches as his dick disappears past your lips so smoothly. his stomach is more toned, along with his muscles from panting so hard. brunette strands stick to his forehead from sweating so much. it’s a sight to see, truly.

“fuck.” he says again, this time dragging out the swear. “what a slut. getting over your ex by sucking off another guy.”

whimpering, your actions move more quickly. drool starts to dribble onto your chin, the gulping and gagging retracting off of the walls. it takes everything within chris’s body to not fuck your mouth. he wants to leave it all to you.

face scrunching up in pleasure, he moans loudly as his dick twitches from your warmth. the doe eyes you’re giving him are not helping.

“you’re going to make me cum if you keep looking at me like that,” he says between breaths, cupping your cheek to wipe the tear that fell with his thumb. you keep giving him that look, suckling at his tip that’s leaking with pre-cum. lifting yourself from his throbbing erection to breathe, a string of saliva connects you two before you go back in again.

his lower half starts to rut each time you meet his head. “you’re so fucking hot. shit, i’m about to cum.”

with that, his load shoots down your throat, the rest filling up your cheeks. you moan at how it tastes. he tastes incredible according to you.

instead of answering yet another incoming call, chris picks up your phone and opens the camera. he gets a nice view of your face that’s still stuffed, his unoccupied hand gripping the top of your head to pull you off. “smile for the camera, sweet thing.”

obeying, you smile wide — real wide — mind foggy and eyes hooded when you feel his cum drip down to your chest and onto your tits.

dennis will leave you alone after seeing that.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @sturnlcvr @tpvmz @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws

[blackelysian]

Situationship.

Duke Dennis x Black! Fem! Reader as Makena

Word Count: 1,449

Warnings: 18+ smut, fluff, toxic relationship

Summary: Tired of this situationship between you and Duke you decide its just better to end things. Duke wants to make it right.

Makena POV

A sigh escaped my lips as I aimlessly scroll through my phone. It was now 3 am and Duke still wasn’t here yet. I sent a text to his phone for the one hundredth time.

                                                                       It's late, don't even worry about coming anymore… Sent.

No reply. Once again.

I watched his story and saw that he posted something 30 minutes ago. He was out with his friends at some party or function with some bitch grabbing his face. At that point I was fed up, annoyed and kinda hurt. I throw my phone to the side and sit up. He’s been blowing me off all night after he told me he was coming over so we could spend some time together. One stop and I'm on my way, I Love you”  was the last response I got from him. Tears streamed down my face. Not only was I mad at him I was mad at myself for even allowing my feelings to get wrapped up in whatever you wanna call this. Duke and I have been messing around for almost a year now but he never officially asked me to be his girlfriend. He helps me with my bills, buys me whatever I want, fucks me good, but there was no actual commitment. He uses the excuse of he doesn’t want to hurt me, but this hurts way worse. My thoughts were interrupted by my phone dinging, indicating I had just got a text. I hover my face over my phone revealing the message from him. 

Im outside

I layed back down on the bed ignoring his text. Next thing I know I hear my front door unlocking.

I groaned annoyingly. I need to get my key back from this nigga. I can hear his feet making their way to my bedroom before he slides my door open, stumbling in. He casually makes his way over to me leaning down to peck me on the lips but he was met with the palm of my hand.

“So you just goin walk in here late as a motherfucka and act like nothing's wrong??” She raised her voice at him.

“Come on boo don’t start that, i'm here now right? That's all that should matter'' He asks nonchalantly, going back in for another attempted kiss. I quickly jumped up and moved around him.

“You know, I don’t think I wanna do this anymore Duke..”I say looking away from him.

“Do what Makena?”

“THIS” I raise my voice again, pointing between the two of us. “This is getting old and I'm tired of sitting around waiting on you to see how good of a woman I am..tired of waiting on you to respect me! I’m done.” I snapped. 

“What do you mean you're done?”

“I'm done, We are done! And you need to give me back my key!” He chuckles at me.

“You trippin’ im not going any fucking where” He simply says, slideing his shoes off.

“Why don’t you just let me go Duke?” I questioned. “Why continue to string me along huh? You don’t want to be with me at this point so what's the point of keeping this going?”

“Makena,You know I love you. I just don't want to hurt you” He states, pulling me in front of him.

“You don’t think this hurts already?” I hold my hand up. “You know what, I just want you to go, i'll give you a minute to get whatever stuff you have here and leave my fuckin key” I turn my back to him not even giving him a chance to respond, heading for the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. I needed to clear my mind and hopefully by the time I got out that asshole would be gone for good.

Omniscient POV

After about 20 minutes, Duke enters the bathroom. He sees Makena’s naked silhouette through the foggy glass shower. He looks over to see her music softly playing from her bluetooth speaker. He quickly strips out of his clothes and slides in the steaming hot shower. The breeze runs a chill down Makena’s spine as he slides the door back closed. 

She quickly turns around. “I thought I told you to go?” She asks, rolling her eyes.

“We not done talking yet” He wraps his arms around her, bringing her body close to his.

“Duke, please don’t do this to me right now. Just let me go and leave” she says, trying to unwrap his arms from around her. He holds her tight.

“What do you want? Whatever you want I’ll give it to you. Just don’t leave me baby” 

“He can’t be serious..” She thought. But with the look on his face she knew this was far from a joke. But she couldn’t give in. What would he think of her if she just took him back so easily? Why now did he want to do the right thing? 

“It's a little too late fo-”

“Be my girlfriend?” He cuts her off, looking in her eyes with adoration.

“Wow really?” She asks sarcastically. “ Now you want to ask me? It's only because I'm telling you I'm done with you that you want to act right now” She says disgustingly, rolling my eyes and pushing him away from her. 

“Baby I'm serious!” He exclaims, grabbing her again. “I can’t lose you, whatever you want me to do I'll do it. I want to make it right, I have to make it right. Give me just one more chance and I promise we won’t have to have this conversation no more”

“I don’t know what to say Duke…” She says lowly, looking down and away from him. He drops to his knees in the oversized walk in shower, grabbing onto her waist. He places gentle kisses along her stomach trailing down to her womanhood. 

“Say yes” He says softly, placing a kiss right on top of her clit. Her breath hitches in her throat. 

“Say yes baby..” He throws her left leg over his shoulder and places a few more kisses on her wet center before completely devouring her. He made sure to take his time pleasing her. He wanted to show her that he meant what he said.

“Duke..no” She trails off, throwing her head back as he lapped her up like a thirsty dog. His thumb finds her clit drawing small circles on it. 

“Be my girlfriend baby” He says again, looking up to watch her love faces. She begins to feel her orgasm build in her stomach as she grinds down on his face. “Shit i'm almost there” She gasps. He stops immediately, getting up and turning off the shower before picking her up and walking her out the shower. 

“You don’t get to cum until you say yes.” He wraps a towel around her wet body, bending her over the sink, the two making eye contact in the mirror. She could see the lust and longing in his face. He rubs his member up and down her slick womanhood before roughly sliding into her in one swift motion. 

“Fuck” she groaned out as he starting to deliver rough,delicious strokes. 

“You goin be my girlfriend baby?” He asks yet again, brushing some of her curls out her face. Her mouth falls open but nothing comes out. He delivers a smack to her ass. “Answer me baby” He groans, going deeper bottoming out. 

“Oh shitt, Yess” She moans out blissfully.

“Say it” He says, pulling out and sitting on the side of the tub, pulling her back on him and sliding in again. He starts to work her up and down his member.

“Say it Makena” He states firmly.

“Ima be your girlfriend babyy” She blurts out.

“Yea?” He says with a smile, kissing you along the side of your face and neck as he still bounces you on him. Makena starts to throw it back on him, pulling out her best moves to show him that it doesn’t get any better than this. 

“Oh fuckk mama” He grunts, grabbing the back of her neck turning her to face him. 

“Gimme kiss” They lean into each other and give each other the sloppiest kiss ever. 

“Hmmm baby im cumming” She cries out, picking up her speed.

“Cum on your dick” His words were like a catalyst for her orgasm, which rips through her like a tornado. He finishes right behind her, pulling out and releasing on the rug. She turns to kiss him once again.

“Mm we not finished yet. I still have a lot of making up to do.” He says with a lustful grin on his face.

A/N: Makena definitely DID NOT stand on business 😭😭

[yawpyawp]

I spent entirely too long on this comic version of my super soft established relationship Macdennis fic

Turns out reconfiguring a written narrative to work as a comic was a challenging but interesting process!

Nerdy details under the cut!!!

1. Dee’s ‘Useless Femme’ t-shirt is from Sapphic Southerner

2. Charlie has always given me Toynbee vibes so the ~classic Toynbee Tile seemed like an appropriate graphic tee for him lol

3. Mac needs to get into shonen anime and he would love Yu Yu Hakusho because it’s literally the greatest anime of all time

4. Dennis’ shirt in the last scene (actually Mac’s shirt) is from 12th St Gym, which was a fixture in the Gayborhood for years and years. Mac was totally going there out of ‘curiosity’ in the same way he was going to the Rainbow before he came out. Unfortunately 12th St closed right around the time Mac came out for good :(

5. (VIEW FULL SIZE!) Lots of little details in the bathroom cuz there needs to be clutter! It’s mostly Dennis-focused items, cuz the thinking here is this is Dennis’ bathroom (cuz I subscribe to the belief that their apartment has two bathrooms)

A: Mid-2000s Phillies ticket

B: Charmacden at the bar :)

C: Literally a printout of this Aquaria Instagram post! I think drag would be a very healthy and constructive outlet for Dennis to explore, and I think Aquaria specifically is sort of an idealized version of what Dennis would want to look like in drag. (Also she’s originally from Philly!)

D: A Lamborghini Countach, ofc ;)

E: Cute lil Macdennis selfie

F: Lipsticks (stolen from Sephora)

G: A mug he stole from a Green Line Cafe and subsequently broke

H: An origami elephant that Mac made to demonstrate Finesse

I: Recently I learned that Rite Aid is Philly-based (although not exclusive to here) so those bandages are specifically store brand for additional local flavor lol

J: Lil figurine of Gobo from Fraggle Rock

K: Drugstore foundation (stolen from Rite Aid)

(I guess this version of Dennis shoplifts a lot?)

[lemoncrushh]

Seven Six Five - Part Two

Summary: They met once seven years ago. Now music has made them cross paths again.

Warnings: smut, body image issues, angst. 18+ ONLY!

A/N: Enemies to Lovers. This was originally written and posted in 2020, right before the pandemic, so the story takes place then with flashbacks of 2013. Harry Styles x Plus Size OC, written in third person.

Part Two Word Count: 3.6k+

STORY PAGE

26 February, 2020 - New York, NY, USA

Releasing her hands from the keyboard, Bronwyn sat back in her chair with a sigh. She’d done it. The NPR review was completed; and after being edited and submitted for approval, it was now live. It had been a daunting task to write about someone she despised. But after a long, restless night, and heaps of caffeine, she’d managed to get something produced. Despite her inner voice wanting to express exactly what she thought of him, her article on Harry Styles was at the very least an unbiased one, if not a positive one.

Satisfied with her work, and glad to finally put it to rest, Bronwyn decided to get some rest of her own. Closing her laptop, she took a trip to the loo before settling under the piles of blankets on her bed. She’d barely closed her eyes, however, when she heard the all-familiar ringtone come from her cell on the nightstand. The screen announced it was Antonella calling, and had it been anyone else, she would have turned off the ringer and told whomever it was to piss off, albeit silently. But because it was her vivacious agent, she knew it was a pertinent call.

“Congratulations, darling!” Antonella declared as soon as Bronwyn pressed the speaker. “I knew you had it in you!”

“Thanks,” Bronwyn smirked as she shifted herself on her pillow.

“I assume your conflict of interest was sorted out?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way…”

“No? Well, I’m glad you put aside whatever differences you had, at least for the time being. I’m looking at the beautiful photos you took, and the fellow is...how do you say…”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Bronwyn interrupted.

“Didn’t what?”

“Say anything about how he looks.”

“Bronwyn!” Antonella tsked before lowering her voice to a hushed tone. “You had relations with this young man, no?”

“No. Not exactly,” Bronwyn muttered.

She could hear her agent breathing as she was obviously waiting for more juicy details. But Bronwyn wasn’t at liberty nor in the mood to give any.

“Fine then, I won’t press,” Antonella promised. “It’s over and done. Just called to tell you what a fabulous job you did.”

“Better than Dennis, huh?” Bronwyn chided.

Antonella snorted. “If I didn’t adore you so much, I’d tell you to fuck off.”

Bronwyn giggled. “The feeling’s mutual, love.”

Pressing the button to disconnect the call, Bronwyn noticed a notification for a missed one. It wasn’ a number she recognised, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. She was used to receiving calls about various jobs or from websites or magazines, so it was difficult to really screen her calls. The caller, however, didn’t leave a message, so she turned off her phone and situated herself into her own warm cocoon before drifting off to sleep.

The early afternoon sun shone through the flimsy curtains and awoke Bronwyn like an unwelcomed acquaintance. With a deep yawn and a stretch, she kicked off the blankets and reached for her phone, turning it back on. Before she could even check the time, the screen alerted her of two more missed calls from that same number that had rung earlier, but still had left no voicemail. Whomever they were, they were persistent but still wished to remain anonymous. Bronwyn considered just ringing them back, but first, nature called.

After a stop in the bathroom, she padded to her small kitchen with another yawn, prepared to make a pot of coffee. When she opened the cupboard, however, she was reminded that she’d used the rest of what she’d had the night before. With a groan, she settled for tea which wouldn’t quite satisfy, but would have to do. Just as she set the kettle on the stove, the phone that she’d left on her bed sounded its chime. Seeing the mystery caller’s number again, she decided to answer.

“‘Ello?”

“Bronwyn?”

“Yes, this is she.”

“Thank God,” he said, exasperated. “I’ve been trying to get you all day.”

“I’m sorry. Who is this?”

The mystery caller gave a deep chuckle, and before he could give his name, Bronwyn knew who it was.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s Harry Styles.”

“Harry.” That was it. Just his first name. No hi or hello. No good to hear from you or glad you called. Just Harry. A statement, even, not a question.

“Hi,” he greeted. “How are you?”

“I’m...okay. Uh...how’d you get my number?”

Harry chuckled again which made Bronwyn clench her teeth.

“I have my ways.”

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

“I got it through NPR. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I guess not,” she muttered.

“I suppose I should tell you why I’m calling. I saw your article online, and I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh?” She wasn’t sure why she should’ve been surprised. It was about him. Of course he’d read it.

“Yeah, it was really well-done, and your photos were excellent.”

“Thanks,” said Bronwyn, nonchalantly as she traced the pattern on one of her blankets.

“Also, I’m…” Harry hesitated. “I’m also calling for another reason.”

“You are?”

“It was really good to see you again, and I hated that you had to leave in a rush.”

“Well, you know, those articles don’t write themselves,” Bronwyn remarked sarcastically.

Harry giggled then, making Bronwyn want to throw something. She looked around the bed, but only found a discarded empty tissue box. It made an insignificant thud as it hit the bathroom door frame.

“I’d like to thank you properly, Bronwyn,” said Harry. “I’m in New York now. I’ll be here for the rest of the week. Can we meet somewhere? For dinner or drinks?”

Nearly dropping her phone at his inquiry, Bronwyn jumped as the kettle began to whistle.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry,” Bronwyn replied in a rush as she reached for the stove. “I don’t-.”

“I know you’re probably busy, but I’d love to catch up. It’s been so long and...I’d hate to know we’re in the same city, and I can’t even say hello.”

Bronwyn gave a saucy laugh. “I thought that’s why you called.”

“I mean in person,” said Harry, still not catching on to her tone. “Doesn’t have to be dinner. Just coffee, if that suits.”

The warm kettle in her hand, Bronwyn remembered how badly she’d wanted coffee. She’d still have to get dressed to go fetch it, but at least she could go to her favourite cafe and have some company…

Wait. Am I really considering this?, she thought.

“Please?” she heard him ask.

Well, she was right about one thing. The mystery caller was persistent. That only added to the long list of other adjectives she had going for him like deceitful, fake, obnoxious and contemptuous, although admittedly that list also included charming, handsome and talented. With a sigh of surrender, she poured the hot water out into the sink.

“The Corner Cafe,” she said. “I’ll meet you there. Four o’clock okay with you?”

“It’s fine. What corner is it on?”

“Google it,” ordered Bronwyn. “That’s the name of the cafe.”

“Not a very original name.”

Managing to crack a smile, Bronwyn opened her bureau and pulled out a pair of jeans and a jumper.

“Four o’clock, Harry. See you then.”

Pressing the button to hang up before he could say anything else, Bronwyn dropped her phone on the bed next to the clothes she’d just picked out and turned for the bathroom.

“What the fuck are you doing, Bronwyn?” she asked herself aloud as she stepped into the shower. “You have gone and lost your mind.”

Despite the bright, cloudless day, there was still a brisk chill in the air. Bronwyn pulled the collar of her coat up, wishing she’d brought her hat and scarf. Fortunately, the walk to the Corner Cafe was short, and she arrived well before time to meet Harry. Ordering her favourite latte, she decided on a chicken salad sandwich as well, since she hadn’t anything to eat after her long nap. Choosing a table in the corner by the window, she shrugged out of her coat, placing it on the back of the chair. Biting into her sandwich, she saw a small crowd form just outside. She wondered what the commotion was about until a girl turned around with her hand over her mouth, her phone in her hand.

It was not uncommon for Bronwyn to see a celebrity or two on the street. Granted, it was not an everyday occurrence, but she’d walked by a few since living in New York. Just last week she saw Jimmy Fallon and his wife at a pizza joint she frequented. Even being somewhat in the business, she still got starstruck from time to time. What she did not do, however, was disturb a celebrity when they were having dinner or even stop them on the street to ask for a selfie. She adored her privacy, and tried to respect others’. She wondered how famous people handled it all. She reckoned she’d go mad.

Within minutes, by the time she’d just about finished the first half of her sandwich, the crowd dispersed and a tall figure in a black hoodie turned and made his way to the cafe door. When the bell jingled, Bronwyn looked up from her latte to see him pause and scan the room. Their eyes connecting, he smiled with a small wave of his hand before walking up to the counter to place his order. Bronwyn took in his appearance - a black hoodie, black sweats and black trainers. She wondered how on earth anyone had recognised him at all. Perhaps it was the large pink tote bag he was carrying on his shoulder. She snorted to herself, taking another bite from her sandwich. Grateful the cafe was somewhat empty except for a couple of people hastily typing away on their laptops, she waited as Harry received his beverage and strolled towards her.

“I promise I tried my best to be on time,” he declared, his free hand on his chest.

“You are,” remarked Bronwyn. “I was early.”

“Ah!” Harry nodded, placing his cup on the table across from her.

She caught the look on his face as he paused again, clearly waiting for her to rise for a hug or kiss on the cheek. When she didn’t, he bit his lip, removed the bag from his shoulder and sat down.

“You look lovely,” he said.

For a second, Bronwyn was about to look down at her rose coloured jumper when she remembered his comment was probably automatic, and not necessarily sincere. Still, she wasn’t one to ignore or dismiss a compliment.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“Sorry I look like a right slob. I was hoping to look inconspicuous.”

Bronwyn couldn’t help but smirk. “Didn’t work out for you, no?”

“Oh, you noticed?”

Bronwyn shrugged. “I might’ve caught something through the window.”

Harry’s shoulders shook as she chuckled low. “Could’ve been worse. At least it was just a few.”

“I couldn’t stand it,” Bronwyn shook her head as she wiped her hands on the napkin. “I dunno how you do it.”

“You get used to it.”

“I doubt it. I value my privacy too much.”

Harry was quiet as Bronwyn pushed aside her nearly empty plate and took a sip from her latte. She eyed his ringed fingers as they picked up his own drink and brought it to his lips.

“So, how’ve you been?” he finally asked, setting down his cup.

“You asked me that already.”

“When?” Harry raised a brow.

“Yesterday. Unless you meant, how’ve I been since then.”

Harry smirked and shook his head. “No, I guess not. I reckon I’m just interested in what you’ve been doing since...I saw you last.”

“Are you really?” Bronwyn asked flatly.

“Of course. You live here in New York now,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“And you still take photos.”

“Yeah.”

“And you do freelance work.”

“Yep.”

“What else?”

Bronwyn pursed her lips and shrugged. “That’s...pretty much it.”

“Oh, c’mon, there must be something else,” argued Harry as he leant forward. “Tell me more about you.”

Trying not to roll her eyes at him, Bronwyn sighed.

“I…” she began, holding her arms out at her sides, “still look the same.”

“Yeah, you do,” Harry grinned widely. “That’s why I recognised you so quickly. Your hair might be a wee bit shorter, maybe a little darker…”

“Hmm…” Bronwyn pondered.

“No cute, short dress or boots though,” Harry added, taking a peek under the table.

A laugh left Bronwyn’s throat before she could stop it, and one from Harry soon followed. She felt the blush in her cheeks and quickly cleared her throat.

“You still into the vintage stuff?” Harry asked.

“Of course. I just don’t regularly parade around in it at four o’clock on a Wednesday. In February.”

Harry giggled again, his eyes squinting.

Please stop doing that, Bronwyn thought. This is hard enough for me without you being so...ugh.

She didn’t want to admit that she still found him so incredibly attractive. Years may have separated their last encounter, but it wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen his face since that night. Despite her persistence in trying to avoid having anything to do with One Direction, they had been a massively popular band. When she’d heard of their split, followed by the buzz of Harry’s rising solo career, she’d continued to keep her distance as much as possible. Sat across from him now in a quiet cafe, his green eyes trying their best to read hers, the memories of seven years ago came flooding back.

“That reminds me,” announced Harry, interrupting her thoughts. “I brought you something.”

Raising her brows in question, Bronwyn watched Harry pick up the tote bag by his feet and hand it to her.

“I remember how you prefer vinyl, so I thought you might like that,” he added.

Taking the bag from him, Bronwyn hesitantly opened it and pulled out an album, Harry’s pointing pose adorning the front cover.

“This is your album,” she frowned.

“You don’t have a copy already, do you?”

“No. I actually listened to it on Spotify.”

“Oh. Good, then,” Harry grinned.

“Thanks,” Bronwyn commented dryly. “Do you...um...want the tote bag back?”

“No, no. I brought that for you to carry it in. So you won’t be walking home with my face under your arm,” he laughed.

“How thoughtful.”

She could feel his eyes on her as she hung the tote on the back of her chair. Looking back at him, she caught the deep frown on his face before he lifted his coffee cup to his mouth. No doubt she had hurt his feelings, or at least bruised his ego a bit. But she didn’t care. She found it utterly conceited of him to assume she’d want a copy of his record. But then...of course he did. That’s why he was there with her. It was all about the article she’d written about him. His music. His album. How stupid she was to even consider anything else.

“Well um...I’m glad you liked my article,” she said, trying to soften the blow a bit, and also hopefully end their meeting soon.

“I did,” Harry nodded, lowering his cup. “But that’s not really why I called you. I said that, right?”

“Why did you?”

A smile twitching at his lips, Harry leant forward again. “You think I call everyone who writes something about me?”

Oh fuck off, are you joking?

“You mean, you don’t?” Bronwyn asked, playing his game.

Harry laughed, resting his chin in his hand. “Bronwyn, love. What happened that night?”

“What night?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry scoffed. “What’dya mean, what night? The night. The film premiere. You and I.”

“It’s you and me,” Bronwyn corrected. “Why do people always get that wrong?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I had to leave,” she answered softly.

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Something came up.”

“What something?”

Her eyes involuntarily began to water, and she looked around the room. “Can we not talk about this now? It was a long time ago.”

Harry stared at her for what felt like minutes as she finished the last sips of her coffee. Finally resolving to the fact that she wasn’t going to give him a legitimate answer, he sat back with a sigh.

“Alright then.”

“Right,” Bronwyn agreed. “So, if we’re done, I do need to get home. I have some work to do.”

Harry didn’t bother to hide the disappointed look on his face this time. He rose from his chair as Bronwyn stood and grabbed the tote bag and her coat. He startled her when he took her coat from her and held it out for her to slip her arms inside.

“Thank you,” she barely whispered, looking at the ground. “And thanks for the...um...vinyl.”

“You’re welcome. I’d hoped to buy you coffee and perhaps something to eat, but you’d beat me to it.”

“Sorry,” she managed a shy grin. “I was hungry. I’d slept all day, what with being up all night writing. That’s why I came early. I wasn’t expecting you to...I mean, you didn’t have to buy me anything.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry grinned back. “Well...I hate to say goodbye, Bronwyn. But it really was good to see you. I hope it’s not another...seven years until we meet again.”

Giving a tight smile, Bronwyn nodded. “Well, goodbye, Harry. Take care.”

This time she allowed him a short embrace as he kissed her cheek. Then he held the door open as she slipped outside into the cold air. Harry said another goodbye before shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. Bronwyn strode swifty down the sidewalk until coming to a stop, turning only to watch him pull his hood over his head and cross the street before wiping her wet eyes and walking the rest of the way home.

20 August, 2013 - London, England, UK

Nah, nah nah, nah nah nah nah!

Bronwyn giggled as she swayed against Harry’s body as he stood behind her, his arms wound around her while her own waved high in the air. The entire room had decided to join in a chorus of the Beatles’ “Hey Jude”, and in their overt intoxicated state, she and Harry were happy to include themselves in the mix.

Bronwyn felt like she was on cloud nine. She’d been having the best time with Harry all evening. Not only was he cute and charming, as well as a bit cheeky, but he was also a gentleman, continuously asking if she was okay, if she needed anything. After several drinks and a raiding of the buffet, she was surprised that he had stuck around, never leaving her side except to go to the toilet. They chatted with several people throughout the night, including a couple of his bandmates, but mostly they just enjoyed each other’s company and getting to know each other.

By the time the song was over, Harry had his face in the crook of her neck. His breath gave her goosebumps, but she hoped to God he wouldn’t release her just yet.

“Come with me,” he requested, his voice low in her ear.

“Where?” she asked, her hands on his arms that were still around her.

“Somewhere...away from here.”

Unsure if he was being literal or figurative, Bronwyn grabbed his hand, loosening his grip. Turning to face him, she smiled up at his heavily hooded eyes.

“C’mon,” she beckoned, pulling in towards the door.

They made it out into the hallway, a set of lifts in front of them, two more hallways on either side.

“Which way, darling?” she asked him. “Take your pick.”

Tugging her arm, Harry chose the hallway on the left, guiding her to where exactly, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. She was just so happy to be with him, she would have followed him anywhere.

When they reached a closed door on the right, Harry stopped and tried the knob. Locked. Then he tried another. Locked as well.

“Bugger,” he scowled.

Bronwyn giggled, finding his pout fetching.

“I reckon they don’t want any hanky panky going on here,” she commented.

Harry glared at her, feigning shock. “Who said anything about hanky panky?”

“Oh please!” she ribbed, playfully poking him in the side.

“Heyyyy,” he laughed before pulling her closer.

Bronwyn stared at him as he beamed at her, flipping her insides so much it felt like a gymnastics team doing somersaults.

“Let’s see what’s down this way,” he urged, pulling her with him once again.

At the end of the hall was a small alcove. It wasn’t much, but no one was in view, and it was probably the best privacy they were going to get. Guiding her inside, Harry pressed her against the wall, his hands on her hips.

“I do kinda fancy you,” he confessed, his eyes dancing while his lips were so close to hers they almost touched.

“I kinda figured that out,” Bronwyn nodded with a smirk.

Another glorious smile spread across Harry’s face as Bronwyn slid her hands up his arms. He continued to stare at her, like he was examining every feature of her face, piece by piece. She liked the way he looked at her, but the fire that had already ignited down below was now aflame.

“Only one thing I can’t figure out though, and it’s been driving me mad, Harry,” she added.

His eyebrows lifted in question as his perfect lips fell into a look of perplexity.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Why it’s taking you so bloody long to kiss me.”

What do you think of Harry and Bronwyn so far?? Please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[jeyuwuso]

Just realized I've never posted my very elaborate Always Sunny ACNH island on here

Description below the cut:

(Note: Harry, Jared, and Roy are OCs that I added to my island when I first started. I repurposed them for this theme)

Human Residents

Alli - Random Philadelphian

Jared - Matthew "Rickety Cricket" Mara

Harry - The Lawyer

Roy - Z

Villagers

Gruff - Duncan

Barold - Frank Reynolds

Gigi - Artemis Dubois

Quinn - Deandra "Sweet Dee" Reynolds

Raymond - Dennis Reynolds

Punchy - Charlie Kelly

Mac - Ronald "Mac" McDonald

Bea - The Waitress

Hazel - Margaret McPoyle

Shino - Carmen

Villager Homes

Gruff - Duncan's apartment

Barold - Under the bridge

Gigi - Love dungeon

Quinn - Dee's bedroom

Raymond - Dennis's bedroom

Punchy - The dump

Mac - Mac's bedroom

Bea - Coffee shop

Hazel - McPoyles' apartment

Shino - Honestly this one isn't from the show, it's just me self-indulgently giving Carmen a nice little house with her baby bc she deserves nice things

Labeled Map

Harry's home - Charlie's presentation (upstairs), fish factory (main room), lawyer's office (left), the tunnel under the Holiday Inn (right), Pop Pop's hospital room (back), Guigino's (basement)

Alli's home - Paddy's Pub. Includes: Bar (upstairs), Dayman production (main room), Charlie's bad room (left), bathroom (right), back room (back), basement (basement)

Roy's home - Frank and Charlie's apartment (upstairs), movie theater (main room), Family Fight (left), convenience store (right), public pool (basement) [back room unavailable]

Fallen piano and scratcher

Project Badass recording

Park

Eagles tryouts

McPoyle-Ponderosa wedding

Jersey Shore

Wrestling for the Troops

Fight Milk commercial taping

Invigaron presentation

Basketball court

Sting operation

Bus station

Range Rover

Boat

The castle and Frank's dinner

Cheese mongrel

The bog

Shelley Kelly

Woods

Abandoned pool

Paddy's Wagon

Italian market

The slopes

Train

"Staged" crash

Shipwreck

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 14

I'm sorry. Please feel free to yell at me.

Warnings Contain spoilers

Word count: 5.7k Chapter 15

You start pulling on your clothes as you come back from the bathroom, Frankie is already wrapped up in the bed sheets, half asleep as he pries open an eye to look at you. 

“I was thinking we should maybe not both sleep at the same time,” you say, reaching down for your boots. Frankie loses his sleepy look almost immediately and shoots up in bed, but you’re already holding your palm up to him.

“I’m taking the first watch, Frankie, no arguments. You didn’t sleep last night, I did, albeit behind the couch, but still. You need to sleep because to be frank, we’re gonna need you alert tomorrow more than me.”

“Cariño…” he starts to protest but you physically push him down onto the bed with your hands on his shoulders, and he lets you topple him over.

“Sleep, Frankie, I’m going to be outside the door, you’ll hear me shout if anything happens.” 

He looks up at you, trying to find an argument for taking the whole watch himself, but his brain is scrambled by adrenaline and sleep deprivation. The post-orgasm hormones don’t help either. 

“Leave the door open, wake me at three,” is all he manages before you kiss his lips and stroke his cheek, you swear he’s already asleep by the time you leave the room. 

Staying awake was harder than you thought, sitting on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter stops you from dozing off, but you still feel like your jaw is going to pop as you yawn widely. Your gun is on the counter in front of you as you study the ring Frankie slipped onto your finger. The delicate gold band is thin, three simple diamonds set in a row, with room, you notice, for more diamonds along the band. You know Frankie isn’t the kind of guy to spend three months pay on a ring just so that it’s as big as possible, he would pick the ring that meant something to him and make it mean something to you too. You run your fingers over the diamonds, three in a row, you’ll have to ask him tomorrow. 

At three am you gently walk into the bedroom to wake Frankie, but he sleeps too lightly, your footsteps wake him up and he shoots up in bed. 

“It’s ok, Frankie,” you say in a low voice, “It’s three am.” 

“Ok,” he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep as he rubs the heel of his hand into his eyes. You pull off your boots and crawl into bed with your clothes on next to Frankie. He catches your chin between his thumb and fingers, giving you a slow kiss, before letting go. 

When you wake up a few hours later daylight is starting to slip through the shutters of the window. Frankie’s hand is on your shoulder, gently shaking you. 

“Hermosa, time to wake up,” he murmurs as he bends and presses his lips to your temple. “The night was quiet and I made coffee.”

“Thank you,” you mumble and push the covers back, sitting up as Frankie hands you a mug. 

You drink it while you get ready, which only means you put your boots back on and stick the gun into the back of your trousers. Frankie’s heated up another can of stew from Denny’s supplies and you both eat it in silence. You’re apprehensive about leaving the safety and quiet of the cabin and move back into populated areas, but you can see Frankie’s nerves too. His jaw is clenched as he goes through both your packs, swapping out some of the food for Denny’s supplies. As soon as you put down your spoon into the empty bowl he grabs it from you and starts readying up to leave. 

“We should leave a note for Pope or anyone else who comes here,” you say and Frankie nods.

“Yeah, I did already,” he points to a folded piece of paper on the dining room table, “Read it and tell me if it makes sense.” 

You pick it up and flip it open, reading Frankie’s neat handwriting; 

September 29th 

To anyone of the guys

My girl and I are safe up here for now. We’re heading to L’s place today. Pope was here on the 27th, also went for L but hasn’t returned yet. 

We’ll return here when we have L, hope to see you all safe. 

Catfish

You fold it up and put it back on the table, “Looks good to me, I really hope they’re all here when we get back,” you say, looking over at Frankie who’s picked up your backpack and walked over to you with it.  

“Yeah, I really hope so too,” he replies as he helps you on with the pack, turning you around and adjusting the straps before he pulls your gun from behind your back. 

“I made you this while I was keeping watch,” he holds up a makeshift leg holster. “You can’t wear a regular holster with a backpack on and you won’t be able to get the gun from behind the pack, and I don’t want you walking around with the gun in your hand.” 

He kneels down and straps it to your thigh, using a snap-link to attach it to your belt. “Denny had a couple of old holsters for his hunting gear so I repurposed them.” He’s got a similar holster on his leg, his gun already in it and now he slides your gun into yours. 

“Feel good?” he asks, looking up at you from the floor, tugging on the holster, making sure it’s not too tight. 

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how much use I’ll be, Frankie, I’ve never even fired a gun.” 

“Hopefully you won’t have to but I can’t show you, I don’t know when we’ll get more bullets,” he gets up and gives your backpack a final look over, “Denny didn’t keep any guns or ammo up here so we’ll have to grab any that we find.” 

Once outside the cabin, Frankie locks up and puts the key back into the lock box before turning towards the lake. 

“There are a couple of canoes down by the small boat house,” he says, “we can use one of them to get across the lake, saves us walking around it, we’re heading in that direction.” 

You nod and follow him down the gentle slope to the lake, the morning is calm and quiet, and again you’re struck by how normal everything feels. If it wasn’t for the slightly heavy feeling in your stomach, a small hot ball of anxiety, you’d think it was just Frankie and you heading out for a couple of days camping. 

The trip over the lake is smooth and when you get to the other side, about a mile from the cabin, you get the packs out before Frankie paddles the canoe into some thick, tall reeds to camouflage it as much as possible. Luckily it’s an old wood canoe and it all but disappears into the reeds. 

Frankie glances down at his compass, attached to his belt, and motion for you to follow him. You’ve agreed to speak as little as possible and move quietly. There probably won’t be any infected out here but Frankie doesn’t want to take any chances. So in silence you walk behind him for three hours, stopping when he holds up his hand, checking his direction or listening intently. At one point he signals for you to stop and crouch and as you sink down behind a bush, you hear rustling in the shrubs ahead. Your skin goes cold as you mimic Frankie’s movement and pull out your gun, moving it slowly out of your leg holster. The rustling continues, coming closer until, finally, you see the source of the sound, a white tail deer, slowly ambling through the forest, nibbling at leaves here and there as it goes. You let your breath out slowly, as Frankie stands up, startling the deer enough to make it prance away into the underbrush. 

At the three hour mark Frankie finds a good spot for a break, a small stream that lets you refill your water bottles. Stretching out your legs on the ground, your back against a large boulder, you try to savor your lunch sandwich. Frankie sinks down next to you and gives you a little nudge with his shoulder. 

“How you holding up, cariño?” he asks in a low voice. 

“I’m alright, just jumpy,” you reply, leaning your head on his solid shoulder for a little bit. He caresses your cheek with his warm palm and you feel his lips press into the top of your head before he begins to unwrap his sandwich. 

After lunch you get even jumpier, you’re still following hiking trails through the forest but every now and then you have to cross main roads, you start seeing houses, you even skirt around a small town. In the distance you see a group of people, you can’t tell if they’re infected or not, but as Frankie leads the two of you in a wide circle around the group, you keep watching them. They don’t move and you think they’re too unnaturally still for humans. 

Just as you’ve managed to clear a small ridge and put some distance between yourself and them, a loud collective shriek goes up from the group of people. Frankie immediately grabs you and pulls you down into the tall grass next to the trail. It feels like your heart is going to claw itself out of your chest as you feel Frankie’s weight on top of you, he’s half covered you with his body. You glance up at his face and you see him carefully lift his head out of the tall grass. 

“It’s ok, they’re running, but in the other direction,” he whispers and pulls you up. In a crouch Frankie starts to jog down the other side of the ridge, holding on to your hand as you run to keep up with him. You continue running until your lungs are about to give up and Frankie slows down but starts walking next to you, keeping a brutal pace, still holding onto your hand. 

“We need to get away from them as fast as possible, we can’t fight that many on foot,” he pants, giving your hand another squeeze. 

Not until you’ve covered about three miles does he slow down to a regular pace, you’re drenched in sweat and breathing hard, your legs aching. He pulls you off the side of the trail you’ve been following, into the forest and behind a thick shrub. 

“Sit down,” he motions, pointing to the ground, “catch your breath and drink some water.” 

You gratefully sink down and pull out your water bottle while Frankie remains standing. 

“We’re about half a mile from the bridge and the river crossing,” he says, looking at the map. “We need to be extra careful as we approach, if people in this area were trying to get away from any towns they’d probably have to cross there which means a potential traffic jam and potentially infected.” 

You nod and sip the water, offering Frankie your bottle when you’re done. He gratefully takes a long swig while you get back to your feet. You’re still exhausted after the sprint but you want to keep moving. The countryside around you makes you nervous, there are small farms dotted across it, three days ago you would’ve thought it looked quaint and rural, now the sight of every farm house makes you edgy. 

Putting away your water bottle, you follow Frankie back to the trail and after a short time it emerges from the forest onto a large country road, up ahead you can see the bridge. As Frankie had feared, it’s jammed with cars. You can walk between them, but the thought of what might be hiding among them makes panic claw its way up your throat and you take a tight hold of Frankie’s hand. He looks back and sees the fear in your eyes. Pulling you back into the trees he wraps his arms around you. Holding you tight to his chest for a minute, he pulls back and cups your cheeks, his large hands are warm and dry on your skin, as he kisses you deeply before he looks down at you and traces his fingers over your lips. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, it’s the only way forward.” His eyes rake over your face as if he’s committing it to memory and you suddenly realize what he’s doing. 

“Don’t say goodbye, Frankie,” you croak, your voice catching in your throat. 

“Just in case, mi amor,” he says in a low voice, pressing his lips to yours again. When he pulls back he turns and takes your hand, leading you back to the road where he lets go of it. 

“Stay six feet behind me, gun out, safety off, but keep it pointed to the ground. If you have to fire, squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it.” He gives you a final look, a small smile, before turning back to the road. 

It’s slow going, following Frankie’s lead you move carefully in his footsteps, trying to make as little noise as possible. Frankie stops and surveys the cars in front of you regularly but nothing seems out of the ordinary, you see no humans, only open car doors, luggage that’s been left behind. 

As you’ve crossed about two thirds of the bridge a dog suddenly launches itself at the cage door keeping it shut in, barking loudly from inside a large SUV. Frankie and you both drop into a crouch, trying to see if the loud noise will draw in any infected, but the dog quietens down and the landscape around the bridge remains silent. You breathe a sigh of relief as Frankie carefully stands up again and motions for you to follow him. He carefully approaches the dog in the cage, a golden retriever you think, mumbling soft words to it, calming it down. Soon the dog is licking his fingers through the bars of the cage and Frankie slides back the lock, opening the door. The dog jumps down, its tail happily wagging as you scratch its ears. 

“Good boy,” you mumble, patting its flank as Frankie starts moving forward again. You give the dog a final scratch before you follow him towards the end of the bridge. The dog trails behind you for a while before it falls behind, going back to the SUV. 

As you get to the end of the bridge Frankie holds his hand up, signaling for you to stop. He points to the last pillar of the bridge, written on it, in what looks like black magic marker, are the letters SOF, underneath is a rectangle with a single line through the middle and the number 1 just outside the box. 

“Special Operations Force,” Frankie says, “Pope’s been through here but he’s alone. The rectangle means he’s motorized.” He walks over to the pillar, pulling a marker from his side pocket and crouching down he writes SOF underneath Pope’s message, but he adds an odd looking cross underneath, two sides are flat and two are rounded. Then he writes ‘2’ next to it. 

“Special Operations Aviation,” he explains while he stands up and puts the marker away. “I don’t think any of the other guys will come past here but if Pope comes back the same way he’ll see that we’ve been here.” 

You continue down the road, it’s still about an hour's walk to Lucía’s house and you’re forced to stay on the road, there are no hiking trails leading in the right direction. Frankie’s head is on a swivel, his gun drawn as you both walk off to the side of the road, creating some distance between  yourselves and the cars. There are less of them now, and up ahead you can see an almost clear road. You crest a hill in the road, carefully trying to see over to the other side before you’re too exposed, when a pickup truck just ahead rumbles to life and barrels towards you with a screech of tires. Frankie grabs your hand and pulls you behind one of the few cars on the road, his gun aimed at the truck. “They’ve got to be ok, right Frankie?” you say, his hand still holding you down behind the car. “Infected can’t drive!”

“Stay down, cariño,” he snaps, his eyes focused on the truck. You hear it come to a stop and the engine goes silent as the doors are opened. Frankie lets go of you and grabs his gun with both hands. You turn and peek over the bonnet of the car and see two men get out, staying behind the doors of the truck, as another two jump down from the flatbed. 

“You know how to use that gun, sonny?” the oldest man calls from behind the driver’s door. He’s big and burly looking, a cowboy hat squashed down on a very round head. 

“Sure,” Frankie calls back, shifting his stance. 

“Why don’t you lower it and toss it over here. And any gun your cute girl might be carrying.” The man’s voice is saccharine and makes your neck hairs stand on end, you glance up at Frankie and see the muscle in his jaw working. 

“We’re just passing through, trying to get to some friends, we don’t want any trouble.” 

“Then why you pointing a gun at me, son?” The older man looks over his shoulder and nods at the two men who got off the truck and they slowly move to the sides, circling the two of you. 

“Cariño, get your gun up and stand behind me, aim at the man on the left,” Frankie says in a low voice, his eyes never leaving the older man. You do as he says, trying to have a steady grip on the gun to keep your hands from shaking. Copying Frankie’s stance, you hold your gun in both hands, your feet apart and steady, aiming at the man on the left. With a thumb you flick the safety off and draw a deep breath. 

“Steady there, girlie,” the old man drawls, as he sees you move, holding up a hand to stop the two men. “Son, you don’t want to do anything stupid and get your girl in trouble here.” He moves out from behind the car door, and from the corner of your eye you see the rifle he’s holding low in his hands. “We’re just out here making sure no one’s looting these cars, especially of any guns they might find.” 

“These guns are mine, like I said, we’re just passing through.” Frankie calls back through gritted teeth. You can hear the sharp tone in his voice as his eyes flick from the man in the cowboy hat and the man still standing behind the passenger side door. 

“You’re outnumbered, pal,” the man on the right calls out with a chuckle, “just hand over the guns and any supplies, and we’ll let you pass.” 

“Might keep your girl though,” the man on your left drawls, the man you’ve got your gun aimed at, he’s eyeing you with a smirk on his face that makes your skin crawl. “She’s shaking like a leaf but I bet she’d put up a nice little fight.” 

Frankie glances over at the man on the left, before he looks back at the man in the cowboy hat, he’s got a crooked smile on his lips as he shoulders the rifle. 

“C’mon, sonny, the guns and the girl, and then you can walk away.” 

Frankie’s gun is loud on the silent road, and the man in the cowboy hat crumples over, his shot going wide as the rifle hits the ground. The man on the left throws himself forward and you feel the recoil in your arms as you fire, you don’t even know if your bullets hit, you can hear several shots from Frankie’s gun and your own, and Frankie’s hand on your shoulder as he pushes you to the ground. Two more shots ring out and Frankie ducks behind the car, his gun raised, listening. When nothing stirs he quickly glances over the bonnet before he stands up. Three of the men are dead on the ground, the fourth one, the one behind the passenger door, is scrabbling for something and with a few long steps, Frankie is on him, kicking the gun out of his reach. 

He’s on the ground, you can see him beneath the door, Frankie towering above him, his gun aimed at the man. As you watch, the man lifts his palms up, pleading, but the shot rings out and the man slumps back. Frankie bends down and picks up the man’s gun, quickly patting him down and fishing an ammo box from his pants. When he straightens up and walks back towards you his face is impassive, blank and you remember when you last saw that look; the bar that night you thought Frankie was a violent man. Now you know, he is violent, but only when he needs to and for now, you’re very grateful for his skills.  

You put your hands out to push yourself off the ground and a burning pain shoots through your shoulder, wincing you get to your feet and look at your torn shirt. Blood is seeping through and you suddenly feel faint. Frankie is on you in two fast steps, grabbing your arm and pulling back your shirt. 

“You’re hit,” his voice suddenly sharp with worry, as his gentle fingers push at the fabric, making you wince again. He unbuttons your shirt and pulls it over your shoulder. “Thank god,” he breathes out as he sees the shallow gash, “you’ve been grazed, it didn’t go in.” He pulls up his arm as if he’s about to pull his backpack off but changes his mind. 

“Come here, get in the truck,” he guides you over to the passenger side, “close your eyes, don’t look,” he mumbles as you have to step over the corpse.  You breathe in deeply and keep your eyes closed until Frankie closes the door. He bends down to pick up the other man’s rifle, putting it behind the bench seat, before he gets in and starts up the engine. It rumbles to life and Frankie turns it around, heading back down the almost empty road, and as soon as he sees a secluded spot he pulls over and kills the engine. 

“I’ve got to clean your arm, cariño,” says, opening up his backpack for the first aid kit. “Does it hurt?” He looks over at you, his eyes are worried and you shake your head to calm him. 

“Only a little, it stings more than anything.” 

“Ok, just keep breathing in and out while I do this.” 

The iodine solution makes you whimper but Frankie is fast and efficient, when the compress is on your shoulder the pain is already subsiding. He pulls your shirt back on, gives you a soft kiss, cradling the back of your head with his large hand. 

“You ok?” he asks in a low voice, “not just the injury, with what just happened too?” 

You let out a shuddering breath as you allow yourself to think about the situation, “I’m very glad you used to be a soldier, Frankie,” you say, leaning your forehead against his, “I think that’s the fourth time you’ve saved my life in twenty four hours.” 

“Me too,” he breathes, his thumb is caressing your cheek as he looks at you. His deep brown eyes are strained, but calm, “Things are going to get worse before they get better, cariño. I’ve seen it before, when society crumbles, it brings out the worst in people and they become very dangerous. I need you and Lucía safe at the cabin until we know things are getting back to normal, whenever that might be.” 

You nod and he turns back to the wheel and starts up the truck, “At least we got a truck out of it, this will make things easier as long as we have gas.” 

The truck rumbles through the landscape, in the distance you see a group of infected running towards something but the road curves and you move away from them. Frankie has driven this road hundreds of times, every time he came to pick up or drop off Lucía, and now he wonders at how eerily still it is. There are no people as the truck drives past the first few houses of the small town, cars line the main street but they’ve been pushed to the side. The dents and scrapes on them indicate that something big came through and shoved them out of the way. 

Frankie turns down a smaller side street, and then another small street, coming to the end of town. There are a few cars still parked outside the houses but most are gone. You glance over at him, his fingers are drumming on the steering wheel as his restless eyes bounce around the street, looking for infected, people, anything. He’s grinding his teeth, the muscle in his jaw flexing and when he pulls up outside a small bungalow you hear his white knuckles make the steering wheel creak. 

“This is their place,” he says in a low voice, “the car is still here.” He opens the truck door and steps down, listening for any movement as you follow him out. Pulling his gun he moves carefully up the porch and tests the handle on the door, it’s locked. 

“Stay by the truck,” he says to you, “if anything happens, if anyone comes, fire once in the air, ok?” 

You nod and do as he says. Frankie carefully walks down the side of the house, easily scaling the wooden fence that closes off the backyard. He disappears from view and you nervously wait, looking around the quiet neighborhood. When he opens the door to the house from the inside you jump but he holds up his hand in a placating sign, signaling for you to stay where you are. He disappears into the house again, you guess this means Lucía isn’t here, and neither is anyone else. 

You hear him walking through the house and before long he comes back out, a note in his hand. 

“They’ve been evacuated,” he says, showing you the note from Lucía’s mom. It’s dated the day before yesterday, Saturday, the note says the soldiers came at night and gave them fifteen minutes to pack up essentials. 

“She says they told her they’re going to a quarantine zone in Franklin. I’ve got to see if I can get them out of there.” He breathes a sigh of relief, “At least they’re safe for now.” he says, getting back into the truck and starting it up. 

As the truck rumbles through town you start seeing more infected, they stumble out of a few of the shops, attracted to the sound of the truck. At one intersection you see a large number of them fallen into a pile, bullet wounds to their heads, and you quickly look away. Their pallid skin, starting to show strange looking lesions, no longer looks human, but their clothes are still bright and colorful, reminds you terribly of the people who would’ve put them on, maybe on Friday morning, expecting just another day. 

Frankie speeds up, leaving town, and the shrieking infected behind, heading for Franklin. It’s less than an hour away, the nearest big city, and like before you see the cars pushed to the side of the road. Frankie’s fingers are drumming on the steering wheel again, his grip tight, his jaw clenched. He’s getting closer to Lucía, now he knows she’s safe, he just needs to get to her. 

“When we get to the quarantine zone, do you think we should stay there?” you ask him. “It doesn’t sound like a ‘quarantine zone’ is somewhere they’ll let you in and out of. Maybe it’ll be safer for us there too?” 

“I don’t know,” Frankie says, glancing over at you, “I need to see it first, how are they quarantining people? Keeping them separate enough so that if someone is already infected, they can’t attack and infect more people?” His fingers drum faster against the wheel, “I just need to see her, see her safe.” 

You put your hand on his leg and give it a squeeze and he drops his hand, curling his fingers around yours. 

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Still stings a bit, but it’s dulled, hurts when I move it.” You test moving your arm up and down, feeling the pull of the compress.

“It’ll give you gnarly looking scar,” he grins, “match some of mine.” He pulls your hand up to his lips and gives it a kiss, his eyes leaving the road for a second. When he looks back again he sees birds circling up ahead. 

“Buzzards,” he points them out to you. “Looks like they’re circling just over the road.” He slows down the truck as you come around a bend, clearing a small group of trees. The rumble of the truck startles the birds and you see more of them rise into the sky from the field bordering the road. Frankie stops the truck, leaving it in neutral, watching the birds circle, waiting to see if something moves. When nothing stirs he opens the door, signaling for you to stay put, and he steps on to the instep of the truck, hoisting himself up so that he can look over the door of the truck. 

“Oh fuck…” you hear him breathe out. 

“What, Frankie, what is it?” you ask but he doesn’t answer so you open your own door and swing yourself up on the instep. Frankie glances back at you and motions for you to get back inside. 

“Cariño, don’t, you don’t wanna- “

It’s too late, you look over the field, it looks like almost a hundred people are lying in it, none of them moving. The buzzards are settling back down, walking across the still bodies. 

“Oh my god…” you gasp, your hand going over your mouth as your eyes widen in horror. “What killed them?” you whisper, “are they infected?” 

“Get into the driver’s seat,” he says, “I’m going closer but I need you to be ready to drive if they are infected.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Frankie!” you say in a hard voice, as you slide over the bench seat and get behind the wheel.

“I’m counting on it, cariño,” he grips your hand before jumping down onto the ground. Grabbing the rifle from the back he loads it before he starts moving slowly towards the field. 

You step up onto the instep on the driver’s side, watching Frankie’s back as he makes his way across the road and into the field. As he reaches the first body he crouches down and seems to inspect them. Nothing moves, none of the bodies are jerking, they’re just dead. He stands up again and walks around the outskirts of where they’ve fallen. Suddenly he stops, slinging the rifle onto his back, before he steps into the mass of bodies, he must be stepping on them as he bends down and pulls at one of them, turning it over to face him. He stumbles back, losing his footing and falls onto his back among the bodies. 

Without thinking you jump down from the truck and run to him, grabbing hold of his arm as he scrambles to stand up, getting away from the bodies. 

“It’s Helena, she’s the mom of Lucía’s best friend,” he pants, standing up. You look over at the blonde woman, her open eyes looking sightless to the sky. Her torso has at least three bullet holes in the pale blue shirt she’s wearing, blood staining the light fabric dark. 

“They lived across the street from Lucía,” Frankie croaks and you suddenly realize what he’s saying, gripping his arm hard. 

He tears himself away from you as he starts circling around the bodies, crouching down, looking under those who have fallen on top of others, his eyes desperately scanning every face, every piece of visible clothing, looking for something he recognizes, praying he doesn’t. His heart is racing, his vision narrows into one long tunnel, focused on the bodies, praying, cursing, he can’t hear you call after him. 

And then he sees it. 

The hem of a dress he’d know anywhere because her abuela made it for her. 

With a shout he steps into the mass of bodies. You rush up behind him, tears are welling up into  your eyes, as you watch him scramble over to the small body. Skinny little legs in sneakers you bought for her birthday, you bite down hard on your lip to stop yourself from wailing. 

The dress is sticking out from underneath a woman, and as he gets closer he realizes it’s his ex-girlfriend, her arms hugging her daughter tight, even in death. The back of her tan coat is dark with coagulated blood that sticks to his hands as he bends back her arms to release her grip. As he shoves her aside a strangled cry goes up from the small body underneath, Lucia’s head moves as a rattled breath escapes her lungs and Frankie cries out in relief, grabbing hold of her waist to gently turn her over, scanning her body for injuries, he sees no blood on her. 

“Mija, I’m here, I’m here,” he gasps, “daddy’s here, Lucía, I’m here.” 

He’s holding out his arms to lift her up when he sees it. 

Trailing under the skin of her small throat. 

Up under the pallid skin of her cheeks, spreading out in a fine net. 

Tendrils reaching out from her small mouth. 

“Frankie!” you cry as the small body shrieks and reaches for him. He almost takes her hand, almost takes the small hand that’s grasping after his. You can see it, even from behind him, you can see the empty eyes, the twitching movement. 

Infected. 

His hand is still in the air, halfway to reaching out for her, his Lucía, her hand outstretched to him. As she screams, his hand drops to his gun. 

You turn your head when the gunshot rings out.

Chapter 15

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories

[charmac]

Before I asked Glenn about the Mac and Dennis bathroom situation, I had been working on a Paddy's Pub Blog post about this long-standing debate (if only because I find it interesting and like laying things out). I held it back in anticipation of Glenn visiting my neighbourhood once again, and that delay very much paid off.

Obviously Glenn Howerton's word isn't the be-all-end-all of a fandom debate, there's still no hard canonical evidence to prove whether Mac's Bathroom exists or not, but I thought having one of them weigh in on the situation would be a fun addition to a blog post about it.

If you're unfamiliar as to where the question of Mac's Bathroom comes from, undecided on which side you stand, are looking to be convinced, are familiar yet interested in reading a concise overview, or are even looking to fact check me, you should check out the latest post on The Paddy's Pub Blog, where I both-sides the Mac and Dennis Bathroom Situation as best I can

[scuderiamh]

MASTERLIST

note: anything marked with * contains smut, anything marked with ♥ is a personal favorite

# ARTHUR LECLERC

windowsill ♥

“in which the best friend you've been in love with since second grade shows up at your door at 3AM with pizza.”

# ALEX ALBON

loud!reader hcs

“a list of headcanons surrounding alex albon dating someone loud and extroverted.”

# CARLOS SAINZ JR

coming soon - send requests!

# CHARLES LECLERC

impulse control

“without your frequently traveling boyfriend at home by your side, you're left with two things. loneliness and a lack of impulse control.”

shy!reader hcs

“a list of headcanons surrounding charles leclerc dating someone shy.”

red bikini

“in which charles shoos away your insecurities surrounding your own body.”

take two * ♥

“last christmas you broke his heart. this one he's showing up at your doorstep asking for another shot.”

jpg accounts and mismatched feeds

“a smau in which charles' jpg account finally goes public.”

# DANIEL RICCIARDO

coming soon - send requests!

# DENNIS HAUGER

coming soon - send requests!

# FELIPE DRUGOVICH

coming soon - send requests!

# LANDO NORRIS

coming soon - send requests!

# LEWIS HAMILTON

taylor's version

“your relationship, as told by taylor swift.”

# MAX VERSTAPPEN

late night devil *

“you hate him, you really do. but maybe just not enough to keep yourself from fucking him in the bar bathroom.”

# MICK SCHUMACHER

knight in shining armor

“when your baby's been keeping you up for god knows how long, your handsome neighbor is your knight in shining armor.”

shy!reader hcs

“a list of headcanons surrounding mick schumacher dating someone shy. follow up*.”

# NYCK DE VRIES

home ♥

“after a weekend getaway with your best friends, your fiancé and daughter are what really turn your house into a home.”

# PIERRE GASLY

coming soon - send requests!

# SEBASTIAN VETTEL

coming soon - send requests!

# YUKI TSUNODA

disaster

“despite being an absolute mess in the kitchen, you try your best to cook a full meal for your foodie boyfriend.”

CURRENT POSTING SCHEDULE HERE.

[ominoose]

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

A list of seasonal fanfics I've read or found over the month of October that I really enjoyed for future reference and others to check out <3

Since this got so long and we're only halfway through kinktober, a Part Two will be posted after Halloween.

Part 2

Key: 🎃 - NSFW ┆ 🤎 - x reader

Making Memories: Halloween by TockTornInReverse Steven, Marc and Jake decide to make new Halloween memories with Layla. System is very autistic. Very comfy and cozy. Characters: Moon Knight System, Layla Elfouley WC: 5.3K Birds of a Feather, Now and Forever by RebeccaOTool The System has to steal back Khonshu's ubshati. A funny lil fluff. Characters: Moon Knight System WC: 1.1K

Smarties Are Fine (But M&Ms are Traditional) by RebeccaOTool System are thumbsized (idk) and play a Halloween prank on Layla. Cute lil art at the end. Characters: Moon Knight System, Layla Elfouley WC: 683

My Way by @ladywynne Had me genuinely crying in a college bathroom. System dies with Jake. Hurts to even think about. Seasonal because trauma is halloweeny technically. Characters: Moon Knight System WC: 2K

Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare by RebeccaOTool Moon Knight and Hocus Pocus crossover. As goofy as it sounds. Characters: Moon Knight System, Layla Elfouley WC: 17.6K

Bad Moon Rising by interstellarwraith You go to a Haunted Attraction with Steven, accidentally end up on a double date with Marc. Characters: Steven Grant, Marc Spector WC: 1.3K ┆ 🤎

Moron by @jayke0 Pathetic man Cecil walks in on Blue pounding you and gets whiny. Characters: Cecil Dennis, Blue Jones WC: 1.9K ┆ 🎃🤎

You've Got Me Now by @jayke0 Basil starts an onlyfans after finding your onlyfans then you both bang. Characters: Basil Stitt WC: 2.5K ┆ 🎃🤎

Formal Wear by @flightlessangelwings Duke Leto likes your formal outfit a little too much. Characters: Leto Atreides WC: 1.5K ┆ 🎃🤎

Glove Kink by @winniethewife Jakes puts his gloves up your hooha. Characters: Jake Lockley WC: 632 ┆ 🎃🤎

Peak-A-Boo by @hon3yboy Nathan ghostface au that made even the biggest Nathan disrespector (me) simp for him. Characters: Nathan Bateman WC: 5.7K ┆ 🎃🤎

Private Show by @jayke0 Blue Jones but for the chubby girlies. Characters: Blue Jones WC: 1.4K ┆ 🎃🤎

King John The Scandalous by @boredzillenial Being a maid in King Johns castle comes with a lot of hassle. Characters: King John WC: 1.2K ┆ 🎃🤎

Lost in Love (and in a maze) by @w-m-heart On an anniversary date with Jake, you both go to a corn maze and get lost. Characters: Jake Lockley WC: 1.2K ┆ 🎃🤎

Accidental Stimulation by @outcome3 Blue hides in a closet to snoop on the girls until you squeeze in with him. Characters: Blue Jones WC: 775 ┆ 🎃🤎

Jake Has Ghosts by @reallyrallyauthor Short smut drabble themed around ghosts that was so poetic and good in the short wordcount it had. Characters: Jake Lockley WC: 245 ┆ 🎃🤎

Tied Down by @melodygatesauthor In the asylum with Blue Jones and he... ties you down. And acts like a condescending asshole. Characters: Blue Jones WC: 300 ┆ 🎃🤎

[calamitys-child]

For my T anniversaries I always try to do/wear something that baby pre-transition me always dreamed of doing, like just the mundane little types of expression I've known all my life I wanted to grow up to do - get a cool haircut, go to a gig, publish some writing, stay up past my bedtime watching x files, that sort of thing - a sign of love and respect to that kid, yken? And yesterday I was taking a selfie to send my friend showing off my grown up version of the Dennis the Menace outfit I got when I was seven and wore til it fell apart, and I was so proud of that wean and I know he'd have been so overjoyed to see me, and on the door of this bathroom was a sticker reading "there's no such thing as a trans child". And I tore that down and showed everyone who loves me and everyone who hates me exactly the kind of future trans kids can and will and deserve to have. And like. Its like that post. I could write a poem about that, but I don't need to. It's already a poem. Look at it. It's on the ceiling door.

[caernys]

i only dream (when i'm lying down)

relationship: spencer reid x reader, romantic pairing (part one)

summary: you're an agent of the violent crimes division of the fbi and you’ve fallen in love with spencer reid.

notes: part two! also posted on my AO3 account, kitkat_katsuki

warnings: vague mention of dead body (the shooter) and mild use of firearms

part one -> part two

you don’t shake hands. it’s a thing you’ve had since childhood— an aversion to touch and skin to skin contact. it’s stupid, you know, but everytime you go to peel off your gloves another statistic goes clicking through your head (a study conducted by researches at the institute of biological, environmental and rural sciences at aberystwyth university showed that a handshake passed about 124 million colony forming units of e-coli) and you’re pulling back your palm to wipe nervously on the hem of your shirt.

it’s been interpreted a lot of ways. a sense of superiority, some propose. others spit about a god complex, or just a plain old lack of basic etiquette. it doesn’t help that immediately after you’re proudly introduced as a “genius” by your ssa, left to stand there awkwardly while stevens brags about your iq (192), how fast you can read (30,000 words per minute), or your photographic memory (eidetic, you’re always itching to correct).

but you’re used to it. before your mother passed, she used to pull you tight at night and work her hands into your neck, whispering about how you were perfect just the way you were. it wasn’t your fault people got threatened when confronted with someone they perceived to be above them. it didn’t stop the harsh, barbed words that would always be hurled at you, but it did soften the blow.

your mother had always said you were meant for greater things than your dinged up apartment in la and your run down elementary school. she’d urged you time and time again to go where your brilliant mind was taking you, but you always turned her down. just because you could memorize a dictionary in seven minutes didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the fifth grade.

when she got stabbed for refusing to give over her purse in a mugging (and subsequently bled out over the dirty pavement, screaming and alone) you cried for the first time in years. you’d never been one to cry— your father had beat it into you long ago before your mother had managed to whisk you away half across the country. you gave yourself forty eight hours. then you dried your cheeks and took a placement test.

the administrator had been shocked, at first. you knew you had aced it. it hadn’t been that hard. when she had told you with slightly shaking hands that she recommended skipping you all the way to highschool (college was on the table too, she said, but you just shook your head. that was a bit too far of a jump). she enrolled you into your senior year of highschool, and you had rocked back on your heels with a satisfied grin. it was a tribute to your mother, you told yourself. one day you were going to stand at the top of the world and you were going to be able to tell her that you had let your brilliant mind take you all the places she had told you about. (of course, she hadn’t mentioned some things.)

you got thrown into a locker the first day of school. they were seventeen, going on eighteen— you were eleven. as smart as you were, it wasn’t hard to put together the conclusion that harassment like this was always going to be inevitable. unavoidable.

you’d swing by the drug store on the way back from school, buy a tiny tube of concealer to dab on in the denny’s bathroom before heading back to the “flavor of the month” foster home. you got bounced around a lot. couldn’t blame them.

you were three months into your senior year when you met austin. she was pretty. long, auburn hair and natural make up. high cheekbones and sharp, angular lines that made up her face. she told you she had lost her parents young, and she fostered to give other kids the childhood she never had. you didn’t trust her. you never trusted anyone.

she was, surprisingly, the first one who finally got a clue. it doesn’t match your skin tone, she’d told you, rubbing the concealer off your face with a wet rag. you didn’t flinch away from her touch and she smiled all soft at you. she was alright, you guess.

austin offered to step in. she might not be your actual parent, she had vowed, but she could make hell in the school system until those kids were reprimanded. you had laughed, assured her it was fine. it wasn’t, but this was one of those things you had to deal with yourself.

she’d been frustrated, but understood. after a couple more days of you coming back a little rough around the edges, though, she had snapped— and offered to teach you how to fight. you had accepted. seemed like a valuable skill to have, didn't it?

austin owned a gym a twenty minute drive from your house. the mats in there quickly became a safe space for you, a shelter of training and quiet and peace. you took to taekwondo immediately, transitioning from there into hapkido and jiu-jitsu, muay thai and just about anything else you could get your hands on. your frame began to fill in with wiry muscle and you began to catch the punches before they hit you.

after you beat harry summers into a bloody pulp by the water fountain after he tried to reach a hand up your skirt, people began to back off. you’d been suspended for five weeks but austin had squeezed your shoulder proudly on the way to the car. you’d let her. she would adopt you five months, three days, four hours and thirty two seconds later. (an eidetic memory did have its perks.)

the fbi recruited you when you were fifteen and at mit, hacking their servers on a drunk dare. you had done it after eight shots, and they had never been more delighted to their code so mercilessly destroyed.

they couldn’t take you on as an agent until you were of age, so you stayed a shadowed consultant for the three years, sorting through case files between lectures and research papers.

you signed away your life to them when you were eighteen and got a badge and a gun in exchange. it was an even trade, you mused. (the first time you would fire that gun you were quivering and bloody, beaten and scratched, but your hands were steady when you pulled the trigger. grayson davids, a serial murderer, died that day. when you got to hug a mother and tell her the man who had taken her daughter would never hurt anyone again, you found that you didn’t regret it.)

austin would always force you home on weekends. she’d moved to dc to be closer to you, and you would spar for old times sake in the living room, tackling each other over pillows and chasing around the kitchen counter. you found that you loved her, one rainy saturday when you were 19. you called her mom for the first time a week later, and you both cried.

you met penelope garcia at a party and you were instantly enraptured. technology seemed to bow to her will and you’d spent the entire night together, drinking and laughing and dancing. you kissed her in the bathroom and she’d sighed all pretty, leaning forward to snake a hand around your neck. 

you’d left the party happy and floating for the first time in years. (though you loved penelope to pieces, you two had parted as friends that night.)

she’d often call you with questions or invite you over with movie nights, though you’d always end up bent over a computer with her, nudging each other and laughing as your fingers flew over the keys. she never asked about your job. you never asked about hers. it was widely understood that penelope garcia’s house was a serial-killer free space. 

at least, it had been until she’d gotten shot on the steps of her apartment. you’d gotten a call from her late the next day, and you had flown into a nervous panic. you couldn’t lose her– couldn’t bare to lose anyone ever again. at the hospital, she’d held your hands and cried into your arms, and assured you that there would be police outside of her house. you had dismissed that, offered to stay over, but apparently a member of the fbi had already beat you to it.

you’d asked her if she trusted him. she’d responded, “with my life.”

so you had relented. gone home, took your phone off of silent, set it right next to your bed. she didn’t call, so you assumed everything was alright. (it wasn’t).

the next day you swung by her office with a jar of peanut butter cookies to leave on her desk. she loved them, and you’d figured it was a nice thing to come back to.

instead you found a police officer with a gun pressed to the temple of an fbi agent, and two men from penelope’s team standing in front of him, hands raised. you recognized him from a sketch an artist had made penelope complete the other day at the hospital. you shot him in the back of the head, bullet shattering the glass.

the room was silent. the man was dead. your hands, as always, were steady.

(you would meet spencer reid exactly twenty five minutes and thirteen seconds later.)