#cw ross from friends

[kryptonbabe]

Archaeology vs. Paleontology, how it feels to be elegantly told by Hawkman that you're dumb

From All-Star Comics #61 & 62 (1976) by Gerry Conway, Keith Giffen & Wally Wood

I'm currently reading a JSA comic in which an astronaut flies to the surface of the sun and, instead of dying, becomes a powerful being capable of manipulating high levels of energy. I'm having fun, so I don't care about the science of it. However few pages later I get the panel above... Mixing up archaeology and paleontology? Now this is too much, that's where I draw the line! (Although I was too quick to judge, and Hawkman had my back all along).

I have no idea what is the scientific field of Dr. Kliburn's studies, but when he says: "Mucking about the ruins of Egypt, exploring ancient Inca pyramids, digging up dinosaur bones in Arizona -- all of that makes sense for an archaeologist" to Carter Hall a.k.a. Hawkman, an archaeologist, he badly mixes things up making dinosaur bones part of an archaeologist job. So ok, studying the remains of life is the business of many branches of science, and both archaeology and paleontology study the remains of organisms, but there's a difference in the type of remains they study.

Archaeology is the scientific study of ancient and recent human remains and artifacts (bones and teeth, ancient cool pottery, statues, funeral urns, tools, vases). Think: Lara Croft; Indiana Jones (I'm not saying he's good at his job though!).

Paleontology is the scientific study of all past life on Earth (dinosaurs, extinct fungi, plants, saber-tooth tigers etc), primarily through the study of fossils - so way beyond the remains of humans and their artifacts. Think: all the smart people in Jurassic Park; Ross, from Friends? (Oh boy we need better representation).

A little about objects of study: fossils studied by paleontologists and archeologists include bones, shells, body imprints, wood etc; so these fields of study might overlap (i.e. similar tools and excavation techniques), though their goals are different. Fossils can be remains of anything, there are different kinds of it. Trace fossils for example are like footprints, nests, or handprints left behind by creatures.

Above are the pictures of two cases of trace fossils, but while the study of the human footprints fossils on the left is a job for an archaeologist, the study of the non-human footprints, on the right, is a job for an paleontologist.

Now, what about poop? You might be asking yourself... and yes fossilized poop is also a fascinating object of study, they are scientifically called coprolites and by analyzing the fossilized poop of the Neolithic workers who built the the Stonehenge monument archaeologists found them littered with parasitic worm eggs. I mean... disgusting, but how cool is that we are able to learn that? They made these amazing structures which some people atribute to aliens and super advanced technology, but they had no idea they were eating infected meat, and that's such a human thing to do!

On the other hand when paleontologists study and collect animal fossil coprolites they find out more about that animal's way of life, their ecology, their environment, which is super important considering we can only study their remains. One of such early paleontologists, and true icon in the field of collecting ancient dinosaur feces and bones, was Mary Anning, a pioneer of paleontology in the early 1800s (she's cool as heck)!

Now that we establish that: I'm sorry Dr. Kliburn, but that is obviously a human remain, therefore a job for Hall Carter, an archaeologist! He also mentions a fly trapped in amber (and I know it is a sort of metaphor, but), that would be a job for an paleontologist... Kliburn is a really confused man. And Hawkman is just too polite to bluntly correct his colleague, instead he chooses a more subtle approach:

By emphasizing that the "proper study of mankind is man" Carter very elegantly corrects Dr. Kliburn's wrong assertions, indirectly pointing that his field is the study of mankind and their artifacts, not other aspects of nature, he won't be looking into flies preserved in amber or excavating dinosaur bones in Arizona (although... to Kliburn's merit, Arizona is indeed a state with a rich fossil record with many different dinosaurs and other animal bones and trees preserved). A very polite way call someone a fool.

I'm guessing that the writer, Gerry Conway, was probably aware of the difference between the two occupations and interested in making a tongue in cheek comment on it. Not that comics need to be scientifically correct, far from it, I love it when they're not. But I also love it when we can use them to learn something.

Further indication of that point is that if we take a look at Hall Carter's home in the above panel, we don't see any signs of animal remains, we do see what look like human artifacts, tools, weapons and masks. It is clear Keith Giffen and Wally Wood, the artists of the issue, are aware of an archaeologist's objects of study. And if you're asking yourself who the uninvited guest is: yes it is Dr. Kliburn himself attempting to rob Hawkman's house...

Dr. Kliburn dies that same issue by the very human fossil he was trying to steal. So that's what you get for mixing up two serious and interesting scientific fields... Thank you for reading this!

[chosocutegf]

~ nothing the matter with a kiss ~

. band au!Choso x fem!reader

. summary: you go to a concert with your friend, not expecting the bass guitarist to kiss you in front of the whole arena

. cw: fingering (f!receiving), cunningulus, p in v, hand job (m!receiving), unprotected sex

. wc: 5.2k

. got inspired by Ross Lynch kissing his fan the other day while singing “A Kiss” (ˊ̥̥̥̥̥ ³ ˋ̥̥̥̥̥)

How long has it been since you last went to a concert? Too long and now, you weren’t no longer used to the sweaty and murky atmosphere all around you. After being forced by your friend to get in line since early in the morning to get the best view, now you found yourself pressed against the iron bars just under the stage while people all around you screamed and danced to the pre-songs.

You liked the band that was about to perform, but to stay under the stage? It was a firm no for you. Your friend next to you was hopping up and down, screaming, and talking to everyone around you about the songs they expected the band to perform. You groaned as you were forced against the bars for the nth time, and your friend turned to face you. “Aren’t you excited? You are finally gonna see them!,” she screamed, gripping your arm before starting to jump up and down and looking at you so excitedly. As if she wasn’t the one who couldn’t stop dancing around while talking about the songs.

You nodded at her, and thanked the heaven when the person who was opening the concert came on stage, and the entire arena went black, distracting your friend from annoying you. People started to cheer around you, but many of them were still distracted from what was coming next.

The space around you was big, the biggest you have ever seen, and it was packed of people. Some of them had headbands over their forehead who pictured the four members to the band: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Shoko Ieiri, and Kamo Choso. Others had t-shirts about them and you couldn’t help yourself from searching Choso’s face on every merch.

When mayhem broke loose, you were soon drawn out of your thoughts. The individual on stage has just completed singing their songs and called the band to the stage. Everyone surrounding you began to shout at the top of their voices and bounce around you, holding their phones up in the air to capture the moment the four band members appeared on stage.

Someone you didn’t recognised silenced everyone from the stage and your breath hitched. You felt everyone around you do the same, while some of them tried to catch sight of who was on the black stage.

And hell broke free when the lights were turned on and the first note was sung.

Your friend began to scream, and you couldn't help but join in, raising your hands in the air and cheering for the four individuals on the platform. When you saw them all so close together, you couldn't help but notice how beautiful they were. How could they seem like Greek gods who just happened to be on stage with a few instruments?

On the left side of the stage, the one farthest from you and your friend, there was Shoko with his electric guitar. Her brown hair was unbound as she nodded her head to the rhythm of the song, her beautiful face serious while she glanced at the audience before bringing her gaze back on her guitar.

Satoru was the main vocalist, and you could see why everyone was on their feet for him: his white hair and blue eyes could captivate anyone, but what really made him stand out was his enticing attitude.

On the center of the stage, behind, Suguru was playing the drums and… wow. It should be illegal to be that handsome and be around freely. He had a smirk on his lips, which made you skip a heartbeat, wishing he could look at you that way. His dark hair was unbound while he held his drumsticks with his strong muscular arms and rolled them between his fingers. He sure seemed like he knew how to use them.

But your screaming stopped when you looked up to the right side of the stage, and you gaze met with the bass player, Choso. You felt as if you had been drawn into another dimension by his black eyes, which were looking directly at you. It only lasted a second, but as he looked away, you believe he winked at you and the corner of his lips were slightly tugged upwards. Your jaw opened, and you took him in completely: he had his normal ponytails, and purple makeup was on his eyes, emphasizing his aloof appearance. And you might have fainted when you saw that he was wearing a sleeveless jacket with nothing underneath. You caught a peek of his toned abs, and your eyes widened when you noticed his long, slender fingers leisurely playing the bass.

As the concert went on, you kept cheering for the band even if most of your enthusiasm was towards Choso, from which you couldn’t look away. And you couldn’t really understand if you were dreaming, or was just hallucination when you caught him glance at you too many times before he quickly looked away. And as they played, he started to get bolder and would go around the stage, playing with his band members and sometimes singing at the same microphone of Gojo, enjoying the loud screams that followed the act.

When they announced that their concert was coming to an end, you felt disappointed and joined the crowd when they started to cheer for the band to sing one last song, in particular their most famous one. You felt yourself head over heels to hear it and, of course, it wasn’t really because Choso had a bigger part in it, no.

You screamed and raised your arms over your head, holding your phone to film Choso as he sang, before he screamed just over the music, “who wants a kiss?”. You screamed again and raised your hand, just as everyone else did, because who could hurt to be a little delusional? You laughed as you observed him and, just like all the people around you, everyone was taking it as a joke. However, he pointed towards your direction, smirking, “you want one?,” he asked you, his voice reverberating all around the arena, and you nodded, thinking that he was surely referring to another person around you. You laughed with your friend, but your eyes widened when you saw him remove his bass from his shoulder and jump down the stage.

You looked around to see if someone was waiting for him, but you surely weren’t expecting to see him walking towards you with that sexy smirk and all sweaty. Everyone was screaming around you and reaching towards him with their hands when he stopped in front of you, and you looked up at him awestruck. He was smiling at you, and he nodded, asking for permission with a soft “yeah?”. And before both of you could change your mind, you nodded.

Time stopped when he held your face between his hands and leaned closer to you, placing his lips against yours. You couldn’t hear anything else, or see when the only thing you could focus on was him, and the softness of his lips against yours. He smelled of sandalwood and citrus, with a hint of sweat, and you thought that no one has never smelled better than him.

The kiss lasted a few seconds and when he pulled back, the world came around again and you heard everyone screaming around you, looking at you two with wide eyes. Choso was smiling at you before he let you go and went back to the stage, putting back his bass around his shoulders.

Gojo was joking about the kiss and the way Choso stole the attention of the audience from him, while Shoko and Suguru laughed. As they went on with the song, your friend was tugging you and telling you about how lucky you were, but your gaze was fixed only on Choso and the way he still kept glancing at you. There was a faint blush on his cheeks and he laughed to himself as he finished to sing the song.

When the concert ended, everyone came up to you to ask how was the kiss, but you couldn’t really put your head around what happened. Was it really possible for something like this to happen? And why Choso choose you in particular? Your head was full of question as your friend pulled you out of the arena.

When you were outside, you took a deep breath, finally having a breath of fresh air. “Let’s smoke before going home,” she told you before taking your hand and tugging you towards a more secluded spot where the smoke wouldn’t annoy anyone.

Both of you had cigarettes between your lips, when you realised you didn’t have a lighter. Your friend went to ask to people around if they had one, but no one seemed to smoke. You sweared under your breath and were currently discussing with your friend when you heard someone call you from behind. “Hey!,” you heard, and both you and your friend turned around to see a bodyguard standing just outside a door. You shared a glance with your friend before looking back at the man, and pointing at yourself, confused. “Yeah, you… you’re the one Choso kissed, right?,” he asked you at which you blushed slightly, before nodding, “yea,” you answered, looking around you and making sure no one was listening to you.

The bodyguard pointed with his thumb towards the iron door, “come,” he said briefly. Your eyes widened at his words and you looked at your friend, both of you thinking to run away from the creepy man. You removed your cigarette from your lips, the same Choso kissed, before smiling embarrassed at the bodyguard, “we were actually going away… sorry,” you said before taking a step back and tugging your friend with you. You saw the bodyguard getting annoyed from your act, and let out a sigh, “Choso asked for you, girl,” he explained, a hit of exasperation in his voice.

But luck kissed you once, and who could assure you that he was saying the truth? So you glanced at your friend again and you were ready to run away, when you saw a familiar head pop up from the iron door. All the breath was sucked away from your lungs when you met Choso’s eyes, and you almost dropped your cigarette at the sight of his grin. The bodyguard immediately got alarmed and tried to push Choso inside, scared that someone was gonna see him outside, “get inside, Choso,” the man told the musician. The latter laughed and nodded at you, “come inside to have a chat?,” he asked you before the bodyguard closed the door behind him, leaving you to wonder if it was real or just a mirage.

You realised it wasn’t a dream when you found yourself in the backstage, your friend next to you and the bodyguard guiding you to the sitting area, after searching you for any weapons. As if, you thought.

“Sit here,” the man said, pointing to the couch and waiting for you two to sit before he left. You heard people scurrying around, putting away stuff and screaming some orders when you felt the couch dip to your free side. When you turned to see who was, your eyes widened at the sight of Gojo. “So… I guess you really enjoyed the kiss? Didn’t know Cho had such courage in him,” he told you, chuckling at the sight of your shocked face. When you took too long to answer, Gojo leaned back against the couch and looked at you with a smirk, “guess you really bewitched him, mh? By the way, what is your name, pretty?”. You blushed at the pet name before your friend tended her hand towards the singer and smiled at him charmingly, introducing themselves.

Gojo was handsome and you were really happy to see him, but—

“You came,” a relieved voice said behind you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Choso. However, your head whipped towards him in a second and you felt your cheeks burn at the sight of him, his hair unbound and changed into comfier clothes. “Want to smoke?,” he asked you, nodding towards a door nearby while taking out a pack of cigarettes. The movement made your stomach tighten from both arousal and excitement, and you nodded at him before raising from the couch.

You followed him to the room and you felt your heart in your throat when he closed the door behind you two, and you realised you were finally alone with him. The room was small, with a couch on the left side and a large mirror in front of you, as well as a door on the right. His bass sat on the box next to the couch, with his clothes strewn on top of it. You turned around to look at him, and you realised how much taller he was than you, so you had to bend your head back to see him. His eyes, with their beauty, drew you in. Choso held a cigarette in front of you and lowered his head to the side, smirking. "Want a cigarette?" he murmured softly.

You sighed, attempting to relax as you nodded, chuckled softly, and took the cigarette from his palm. "Thank you," you muttered, and your breath hitched when Choso placed his cigarette to his lips before raising his lighter and holding it to yours. You took a drag from your cigarette and slowly blew the smoke out, mesmerised by the way he lit and drew from his.

You took a step back, having to put some space between you two, and looked around, the cigarette clasped between your fingers. "So we can smoke here?," you asked Choso, glancing at him before taking a seat on the sofa. He nodded and followed you, opening a nearby window and sitting close to you. If he was nervous like you, he didn't show it.

You noticed how close he sat next to you as he turned to gaze at you and the smoke from his lips lightly hit your face. "I'll make up an excuse," he said, smirking. You chuckled and shook your head, taking another drag from the cigarette before looking away. "I don't think it's fair that you know my name but I don't know yours," he said, a teasing tone in his voice. When you returned your gaze to him, you observed something else in his eyes, right above his nose tattoo: curiosity or... lust?

You smirked at his comments, running the cigarette filter across your lower lip and noting how Choso watched the movement. "Who said I know your name?," you questioned, lifting your brow in challenge before taking a drag. Choso's laugh was so deep you could feel it in your core. You couldn't help but assume that there was some tension between you two, which was getting you addicted.

"You don't?," he said, continuing with your joke and clicking his tongue in mock displeasure. He shrugged and said, "My apologies… My name is Choso." You chewed your lower lip silently as you watched him bring the cigarette to his lips and take a blow, and when he met your gaze, you murmured, "y/n".

He smiled at you and nodded before repeating your name, as if he was tasting how it sounded on his lips, “y/n… I really like that, it suits you,” he added. You chuckled and leaned back against the cushion, noticing how soon after Choso draped an arm behind the couch, just where your head was resting. Your breath hitched at the proximity between you two, and you felt your cheeks heat up when his thigh brushed against yours. You could feel his heat seeping through your clothes as if he was touching your bare skin, and in that moment, you found yourself wishing he really was caressing you that way. “Yeah? And how can you say that it suits me when you don’t even know me?,” you asked him, tilting your head to the side and blowing softly the smoke over his face.

He laughed again and shook his head, before playfully tugging your hair with the hand that was behind your head. You yelped before laughing, and tried to swat his hand away. “It just looks like it… it sounds like a fierce name,” he explained, taking a last drag from the cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray at the feet of the couch. “For a fiery person like you… who was about to run away from my bodyguard,” he continued, smiling and slightly tilting his head towards you.

You chuckled softly at his words and shrugged before putting out your cigarette, “wasn’t sure he was really inviting me because of you or because he wanted to harass me and my friend,” you answered him, raising your brows to him, waiting for him to answer back. He shook his head, letting out a breathy chuckle before raising his free hand up in the air, “fair point, guess it could’ve been easily misunderstood”.

You bit your bottom lip and glanced at him, your heart rate rising as he looked at you. The faint lights in the room reflected in his eyes, making them even more gorgeous. Your glance fell to his lips, and your thoughts returned to when he kissed you in front of everyone. In that instant, he was able to obliterate everything else with the simple touch of his lips on yours, and he appeared to have experience, so you wondered how things would be with him if you deepened them.

“Did you enjoy the kiss?,” he asked after a few moments, snapping you out of your trance. His gaze lingered on your lips with what looked like hunger in his eyes, before meeting yours. You nodded slightly and swallowed the lump in your throat. Was it you or the room was getting hotter? “Yeah… I did, even if it was a little bit unexpected,” you murmured, biting your bottom lip.

Choso watched the movement, and you could see his lips part before his Adam's apple moved and he returned your gaze. "Sorry about that, I couldn't hold myself back when you looked so beautiful in the middle of the audience," he stated, drawing closer to you till you could feel his breath gently hitting your lips, "It's like you were calling out for me to do that".

Your breath caught as he spoke; did he feel the tension in the room as well? Because you had to press your thighs together, your core becoming wetter as he hungrily looked at you. "So it's only fair that I repay the favor, no?" you muttered, looking up into his eyes, and when you saw your lust reflected in them, you leaned in and kissed him.

His lips tasted even better than before, and they felt like heaven against yours. You let out a soft hum before leaning even closer, and Choso pushed you towards him with his hand behind your shoulder, bringing you closer. His other hand sneaked over your thigh while his lips traced the seal of yours, asking for permission. When you opened your mouth, his tongue was quick to find yours and tasted like cigarettes and mint. You sighed softly as you laced a hand behind his neck, holding him tight while you explored his mouth as if it were your final act. The hand that was on your thigh quickly moved to your waist and your back, drawing you closer.

“Come here, baby,” he murmured against your lips, pulling back to let you both breathe while he guided you to straddle his lap. When you felt his muscular thighs under your core, you let out a soft whine and arched your back as Choso put his hands on your lower back, pushing you closer until your chest pressed against his. His lips instantly met yours in a devouring kiss, as your arms curled around his neck and your fingers played with his dark hair.

He slid a hand under your shirt, and hummed when he felt your soft skin under his touch, drawing little circles on the spot without going further. “Can I?,” he asked softly against your mouth, and when you nodded and arched your back against his hands, he groaned. “Yes, please,” you moaned just before he leaned down and attached his mouth to your neck, leaving wet kisses along the column of your throat. He slid both hands under your shirt, quickly pulling it over your head and throwing it in another spot in the room. "Oh, fuck, princess," he moaned, pulling back from your neck to glance down at your bra-clad breasts before cupping them with his hands. You whined and pleaded to him to go further. You could feel your pussy dripping into your panties, and you couldn't wait to feel Choso against you.

You lowered your hands to his chest and tugged on his t-shirt while looking at him, and when he nodded, you helped him in removing it. You licked your lips at the sight of his toned chest and stomach, tracing every muscle until you found his happy trail, which vanished beneath his pants. Your pussy throbbed at the sight, and you mewled before grinding your hips down on his thighs, causing him to smirk. He reached behind you and unclasped your bra, allowing it to fall down.

His breath faltered and you bit your lower lip when he reached to cup your breasts in his big hands and roll your nipples under his thumbs. “Such pretty tits, doll,” he murmured, before he tugged you closer and latched his mouth to your left nipple. “Need you, Cho,” you moaned at the feeling, pushing his head closer and threading your fingers through his hair. He swirled his tongue around your nipple while rubbing the other with his thumb and index finger, then reversed positions and placed his mouth on the other nipple.

You could feel his boner pushing right where you needed him, so you reached down with a hand and rubbed his shaft slowly over his pants. He groaned on your nipple, and you gazed down at him with a faint smirk, clenching around nothing as he looked up at you with hungry eyes, your nipple and his mouth connected by a line of saliva. "Let me take care of you first, baby," he said softly, changing your position so that your back was against the couch and he was kneeling between your legs.

He smirked at you when he noticed your flushed cheeks before beginning to unbutton your pants. He was fast to pull them away, leaving you only in your panties. You bit your bottom lip as you propped up on your elbows and stared at him, his attention fixated between your thighs. You were certain there was a damp area on them right above your hole.

He rubbed a thumb across your pussy lips and groaned when he felt your wetness seeping through the material, “fuck, baby… you’re so wet,” he murmured before rubbing circles just over your clit. You moaned and arched your back, trying to grind your hips against his hand. “Bet you got wet when you saw me on the stage, uh?,” he teased, letting out a breathless chuckle before looking at you. When you didn’t answer, he licked his lips and asked, “cat got your tongue, pretty girl? Tell me if this is okay for you, mh? Or I’ll stop”.

You shook your head at his words and pouted, “it’s okay, please… don’t stop,” you whined. He smirked at you, “good girl,” before he slowly tugged your panties down, and sweared under his breath at the sight of your bare glistening cunt. “Pretty face with a pretty pussy,” he said, leaning down and inhaling your scent with a groan. Before you could react, he sticked his tongue out and licked from your hole to your clit, where he stopped and left a kiss. “Oh, god… Choso, so good,” you whined, trying to grind your hips against his face even if he was holding you down with a hand. He smirked against your sensitive flesh and looked up at you, “yeah? You like this?,” he asked, and chuckled when he saw you nodding.

He went back to suck on your clit, before moving to your hole and sliding his tongue inside. You moaned at the feeling, and he reveled in the sound, pressing his tongue harder inside you and sucking all your juices in his mouth. Soon after, he added his calloused finger and rubbed your clit slowly before he switched his tongue and fingers, kissing your clit as he inserted a finger inside you, slowly pumping it inside of you. You threw your head back, mewling from the pleasure before you brought your hands to his hair, tugging his face closer to your cunt.

At the stimulation of another finger added inside you, you were fast to cum and clench around his finger. You moaned his name, and arched your back, your body stiffing as you ground your hips against his face. Choso stayed there until he felt the last waves of pleasure wear off, then he raised on top of you, smiling down at the sight of your glazed eyes. His mouth was glistening with your fluids as you placed your arms around his neck and leaned down, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. You let out a whimper in his mouth before feeling his chest press against yours and bringing your hand down to scratch his toned back.

He groaned against your lips before he pulled back and rested his forehead against yours. “Let me make you feel good too,” feeling his breath against your lips, before moving your hand to clasp his cock over his pants. You noticed him closing his eyes and moaning, his hips involuntarily pressing against your hands. He shook his head and moved away from you, crouching between your legs and studying how your hand was rubbing him over his clothes, “don’t know how much I’m gonna last if you touch me,” he breathed, before he smirked and threaded a hand through his hair. “Then fuck me,” you said, his gaze darkening at your words before standing up from the couch and removing his pants. You propped yourself up on your elbows and gasped when you saw the size of him, before glancing between your legs wondering if it would fit.

“Don’t worry, baby, we will make it fit, mh?,” he told you, grinning as he placed himself back between your legs, and you saw his cock throb against his stomach as he observed you spread out on the couch, waiting for him. He positioned your legs over his thighs, and you brought your hand closer, wrapped it around his cock. Choso groaned at the feeling, looking down at how your fingers were stroking him so gently, a feeling so different from what he usually did to himself. “You like my cock, princess?,” he asked you, and you nodded humming, “yeah…”.

He let out a breathy chuckle and his cock throbbed in your hand before you guided him closer, “wait”. You looked up at him and Choso furrowed his brows, waiting for you to go on, “you have a condom?”. He loosed a breath and shook his head, biting his lower lip as he glance down at his cock between your legs and back up to meet your gaze. “I’ll make sure to come out,” he murmured, and you looked at his needy eyes then down at his throbbing cock under your hand, before nodding. He smiled at you and leaned down to peck your lips, before letting you guide his cock to your cunt.

Both your breath hitched when his tip brushed against your clit, and he felt your wetness against his bare length. “Fuck…” he moaned breathless and he wrapped a calloused hand around yours, guiding his cock to slap against your pussy lips before moving down to your hole. There, you removed your hand and moaned as he started to push inside, making you feel every inch of him. You felt your eyes get teary at his girth and you gripped his wrists, trying to hold yourself onto something. He glanced at you and started to rub your clit, “relax, princess,” he murmured, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing the back softly.

You started to breathe and relax, pain changing quickly into pleasure as you let your upper body fall back on the couch, moaning as he came to a hilt, his hips flushed against yours. “Baby, you’re so tight, you’re squeezing me,” he whined, biting his lower lip while he closed his eyes, trying to hold back from coming in that moment. After a few moments, he started to thrust inside of you, his pace increasing with the time after feeling your walls relaxing around him and taking him better.

He brought his hands to hold your hips while he filled you to the brim, his cock dragging against your walls perfectly, making you feel every inch of him. You looked up at him and moaned when you saw his fucked out face, looking down at you through half lidded eyes. He went faster, slamming within you with force and getting deeper as he went on. You reached up and pulled him down, connecting your lips in a sloppy kiss, moaning together in each other’s mouth.

“Turn around, pretty, let me take you from behind,” he said breathless against your lips, before pulling back and sliding out of you, guiding you to raise on your knees and hold to the couch, while Choso stood behind you. He caressed your asscheeks gently, “such a beautiful sight,” he said under his breath, before slapping a cheek and observing how the skin rippled under his touch. You gasped and arched your back, glancing back at him with needy eyes, “please, Cho”.

He smirked at your words, and held your hips tightly before guiding his cock back to your hole, “if you ask so nicely,” he answered, before thrusting back inside you with a single movement. You screamed at the feeling and arched your back, holding tightly on the couch while he set a punishing pace, filling you up and drilling inside you so hard that you could feel him to your stomach. Your head dropped down and you moaned, feeling yourself getting closer when his hand slipped under you and rubbed your clit. His cock throbbed inside of you when he felt your walls tightening around him, “I’m close, baby… fuck”. You gasped at his words and pulled your hips back, meeting his thrusts as he rubbed your clit harder, your eyes rolling back to your skull as your orgasm poured over you. Your body convulsed, and your walls drained his cock dry.

Choso remembered to pull back in the heat of the moment, swearing as he did so. He stroked his cock quickly, his gaze locked on your pussy and the gaping hole. He finished shortly after with a groan, spewing cum all over his palm and your ass. He groaned and embraced you as you collapsed on the couch before lying down next to you. You smiled at him as Choso wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead, then closed your eyes and leaned against him.

“So… can I have your number, y/n?”

(m.list)

[chpsticklesbian]

Christine

lorraine warren x fem!reader

cw: angst, repressed emotions and such

a/n: i love her so bad!!! the lack of fanfics is absurd though... inspired by 'christine' - lucy dacus & a reference to 'i'd have to think about it' by leith ross.

words: 2.4k+

connecticut felt cold. colder than usual. maybe autumn was coming faster. maybe it was going to rain. whatever it was you were glad it happened. because tonight lorraine held your hand tighter to keep hers warm. you welcomed it, naturally, without hesitation as the three of you walked out of the theater.

but much to your dismay ed hadn't parked far away.

"god that movie was so boring i was fighting not to fall asleep" lorraine complained. you scoffed in response, mumbling an 'i told you so', and she playfully shoved you.

"what? you insisted on watching it after i told you it would be!" you defended yourself with a playful smile.

"whatever." she grumbled, making you chuckle.

"well if you're tired you could sit in the back with y/n and sleep on the drive back" ed, ever the gentlemen, offered. you guess it was nice he cared and preferred she fall asleep comfortably over making her sit on the passenger seat beside him.

"you sure?" he smiled at her, still having her hands interlocked with yours. he thought it was a girlfriends thing. though in your eyes he was wrong, you just hoped lorraine thought so too.

"wouldn't want you exhausted." you could only stare at them smile at each other as you tried your best not to tear your hands away from lorraines grasp.

"thank you." she leaned to press a kiss into his cheek. that's when you looked away.

climbing into the backseat with her you noticed ed taking something from the trunk of his car before getting in the driver seat. he turned to the both of you before passing lorraine a wool blanket so she wouldn't get cold. it all felt natural. him caring for her. as if he'd done it a hundred times. you felt your gut churn at the thought. you know the feeling all too well. you felt it too. it seems you were far more similar to ed than you thought.

lorraine fell asleep quickly after ed started the drive back. as she did, the car fell into an almost awkward silence. but you weren't planning on talking to him any time soon. you were fine with lorraines head on your shoulder, her quiet mutters of nonsense as she dreamt.

you were already halfway back home when ed finally decided to speak.

"she alright back there?" of course, his first sentence to you would be about her. you just hummed, completely uninterested in conversing with him. you knew in a way it was childish. he'd done nothing to you or lorraine. but the mere prospect of losing her to him so easily was enough to make you dislike him.

it wasn't that you were possessive, no. she's had many boyfriends before him. but none of them had compared to him. they weren't as nice as he is, they didn't care about her like he did, mostly they didn't love her like he does.

it was stupid, really. you started to recognize it when he took her out to things you two usually did together. that wasn't out of the ordinary of course. her previous boyfriends had done the same. but before ed it was always;

"it was much more fun when i went there with you."

but with ed she'd call you grinning ear to ear, you could hear it in her voice. that's when you realized he didn't love her like her previous partners did. he loves her like you do.

"so how long have you known lorraine?" he looked at you and lorraine through the rear view mirror. you guess he got tired of the silence and decided it's better to talk about this than nothing. you sighed.

"since we were in middle school." you decided if he was going to talk to you, your responses would be short. you weren't trying to make a friend anyway.

"so you guys are close" you could tell he didn't plan what to say next. you just hummed. a minute of silence passes by.

"do you-"

"you don't have to talk to me, ed. i know you're her boyfriend and all but that doesn't mean we have to be friends." you cut him off. you felt bad, in a way. but you knew saying that was better than enduring painful small talk for another few minutes. so you were thankful when he nodded and you resumed staring at the road from out the window. 

“i’m sorry, it’s just, you’re really important to her. and i don’t know what i’ve done to make you… disapprove of me, but whatever it is i’m sorry. truly. i care about her, and you mean so much to her- and i really, really don’t wanna make this lose my chance with her. so could you please, tell me what i’ve done.” he started again. you almost felt bad now. maybe you’ve been too harsh on him. you sighed.

“look, you haven’t done anything. honest. but you’re getting terribly close to her. more than anyone else she’s been with has managed to. you can't blame me for worrying about her a bit. i know you’re a good guy and i’m sorry if i’ve made it seem like i dislike you in some sort of way, but it’s hard to know these days” you half-lied, half told the truth. he nodded his head in understanding. at least he believed you. 

“if it makes you feel better i swear i have zero intentions of hurting her. you have my word on it.” you mustered up your best smile.

“thank you, ed.” he nodded. the rest of the ride was filled with lorraines constant murmurs and the sound of tires on gravel until you reached your house. calling lorraines name as softly as possible, you gently nudged her awake until her eyes opened to meet yours. she looked out the window, recognising your house immediately. of course she did, she was always there. she shuffled away from you until you were able to open the car door. but you were surprised to find her leaving the backseat too, following you out. you turned to her before walking back home.

“still on for tomorrow?” she smiled at you. it was dopey and soft. her eyes squinting even more due to her still being half asleep. and my god was it warm.

“wouldn't miss it.” it was your turn to smile. with that, she pulled you in for a hug, and suddenly connecticut felt warmer than usual. you hope she was sleepy enough to not notice you held her tighter.

“sleep well pretty girl.” you whispered to her, she chuckled at that.

 after pulling away she opened the door to the passenger seat beside ed and took a seat. all the warmth you felt previously suddenly disappeared. the cold rush of air prominent once more on your skin. So you turned and descended home. reaching your door you turned back. the car hasn't moved. lorraine was fast asleep again, but ed was watching you to ensure you made it inside. he can be nice. you unlocked your door before turning back once more and offering him a wave goodbye. and he grinned, gladly tossing you a wave back and turning to put his car back to drive. you found it difficult to sleep that night, too many things had managed to occupy your head. only thing keeping you steady was that you’d see her face tomorrow. just her. 

-

your evening with lorraine was perfect. lunch was full of conversation and laughs about anything and everything and everything else in between. it tuned out any thoughts you had about the previous night. and him. it didn't stop you from admiring her as she rambled, however. you thought she was either so oblivious to not notice or she was welcoming it. you hoped for the latter. 

by the time you two finished, evening was slowly approaching. you offered to get ice cream, you know she’d never pass that up. so to an eager nod; you chuckled and guided you both to the nearest parlor. you got her order out before she got to telling you. she was surprised to find you got her order complete with nothing missing. she’d be lying if she says it didn’t make her smile, or make her heart beat a few times faster. but you were just being a good friend. though how come ed always asks what she wants?

with the park nearby empty, you took the opportunity to occupy a vacant bench. She followed quickly to sit by your side. the bench wasn’t too long, you sat shoulder to shoulder. conversation came easily, until it steered to the topic of ed. something you desperately didn’t need today.

"you think he'll make a mother out of me?" you scoffed at her, facing away to throw away your napkins to the trash can beside the bench before facing her again.

"you'll make a mother out of yourself when the time is ready. raise 'em like you've always wanted."

"by the lake" you both said in whispered unison. it never failed to surprise her how you always remember details about her. whether it was her now, then, or her in the future. she couldn't help but wonder if he’d remember her that easily too.

"you think i'd raise them right?" you hummed in agreement.

"well knowing you, they'd be the first kid to never hurt another." she chuckled. you could feel her laugh vibrating from her body.

“you think too highly of me.” she jokes.

“it’s hard not to.” you tease her back, she rolls her eyes at you. you chuckle in response.

“hey, i hope this- me and ed thing getting serious isn’t bothering you too much.” oh god did he say something to her? you tried to have your face remain neutral.

“no, not at all. why would it?” she looked at you, eyebrow raised and all.

“we spend everyday together. now i spend most of my days with him. i wouldn't be surprised if it does.” you let out your best convincing laugh.

“seriously? lorraine, he’s your boyfriend. i'm not offended you’ve cut spending time with me to be with him. yeah, i miss being with you all the time but i understand. and hey, you still hang out with me. that’s completely enough for me.” you reassure her with a smile. you wish you could tell her the way you actually feel about the situation. but the regret faded when you can see her get peppy and smiley again.

“so glad you’re not the possessive type.” 

“you wish.” you tease, making her nudge you to the side with a laugh.

"but if you get married," you start, your voice playful.

"what? you'd object- throw your shoe at the altar?" her tone wasn't serious. it was light, humorous, all the components you needed to joke around. though you couldn't help but think she wasn't entirely wrong. but you simply laughed along with her. doing your best to ease your mind. it's not like it was hard for you to smile when you were with her anyway.

"hey, you joke but i might just" you made her chuckle even more. and you swear you could look at her smile for years.

"what? is that so ridiculous?" the smile on your lips was almost audible in your voice.

"you'd be willing to lose your dignity just like that?" the smile was still adorning her lips while her eyebrows were furrowed lightly, looking at you as if trying to decipher if you were bluffing.

"better than losing you." you were still smiling, albeit with a linger of melancholia at the thought. you couldn't help but notice her smile mirrored yours. until it faded completely, leaving just her subtly furrowed brows and building frown. you'd realized you might've said something wrong. so you turned your face away from her to stare at the grass in front of you. but she didn't budge. eyeing you as if you'd just said the most interesting thing in the world. you didn't dare take your words back.

instead you let her process them. letting a minute of silence engulf you both until she spoke again.

"you'd still lose me. and my respect. you'd lose me regardless" at this you turned your head back to her. you tried to ignore that she subconsciously admitted that you'd lose her in this situation. no matter what happens. still the thought lingered in your mind for a while.

"that's fine. then at least i'd lose you knowing that i didn't lose you to someone that doesn't make you happy." she didn't reply to that. looking off to the side before turning back to you.

"does he?" she raised an eyebrow before realizing you were asking if he made her happy. another passing moment of silence. the hesitation to answer gave you the real answer very quickly. but she'd deny it. she couldn't admit he didn't, at least not in the way she wanted him too. she couldn't admit nobody's made her as happy as she was each time she was around you. 

So she nodded. it was impossible for her to lie to you verbally. too scared to look you in the eye, she looked to the view beside you.

"then i'll forever hold my peace" she took in your words and almost regretted lying. for some odd reason she wanted you to know he doesn't make her happy. she doesn't know why. maybe deep down she wants you to destroy her wedding one day. maybe she wanted you to profess your love to her in formal attire while she stood in the chapel wearing a white gown.

"but he doesn't-" a deep sigh. your brows furrowed.

"he does. just not the way i had in mind" not the way you do. 

"nobody's perfect" your smile was tight and forced. her eyes were glazed over as she looked at you. 

“you are.” you chuckle. the truth behind her words went through you. you always denied the off chance she’d love you back. she was just being nice.

“then it’s too bad i’m not him.” she frowned. maybe in some universe you were. but the chance of being together in another universe provided no comfort to you or her. what was the use if you wouldn’t be satisfied in this universe?

she clicked her tongue as she opened her mouth to take a big breath and let it out in a sigh. she turned her head back to the scene in front of the both of you and you followed suit, letting her rest her head on your shoulder. 

connecticut was cold. but it was too bad she wasn’t yours to keep warm.

[abiiors]

HI HELLO HI this is a half-formed, fully horny, wedding guest ross concept. i'm not fully back to writing yet but ross in white is a damn good muse!!!!

cw: minors dni!!! smut, finger fucking in a bathroom, alcohol consumption, smoking, typos probably-i wrote this at work

you haven't really met a lot of john's friends yet, that's probably why you don't remeber seeing this handsome stranger across the bar, cigarette dangling between his fingers, a glass of whiskey in his hands that he sips from so lazily.

he's busy in conversation, you're busy gawking at him, wondering how you've never seen him before (and this you're sure of because let's face it, there's no way you're forgetting this man if you'd ever had the chance to talk to him before.) much to your surprise, he's alone--well, his group of friends is there and he seems particularly close with the groom but there's no date in sight. at least you hope not, because you've definitely caught him staring a few times--long, hard, lingering stares that make you feel like you're about to spontaneously combust.

"this seat taken?" he comes up from behind you just when you're think he's too busy socialising. you smile to yourself, throw him a coy smile too.

"not if you're the one asking."

"is that right?" he smirks and settles into the chair. up close he's hotter somehow--the white shirt clings to him in ways that have you drooling. he takes a quick drag of his cigarette and exhales the smoke to one side.

"ross," he introduces himself quickly, "no one told me there would be gorgeous bridesmaids."

you take a sip of your wine and tsk, "'m not a bridesmaid."

"so you're not off limits then?"

"off limits for...?"

he takes a sip of his whisky and leans in, almost like he's about to divulge a secret. then he looks you up and down slowly, gaze landing on your lips. you get the vague sense that he's undressing you in his head, and it sends heat swirling in your gut. "don't pretend like you weren't undressing me with your eyes, darling."

"and if i admitted to it?" you challenge, "what will you do about it?"

ross leans even closer, his breath fanning your face, his fingers are on your wrist, cool from the whiskey and deliciously callused. he draws circles on the skin. "i hear the first floor bathroom is not open to guests."

"is that right?" you mimic him, smirking when he nods.

"we can sneak in though. if you want?"

in one quick gulp you finish your wine and stand, smoothing down your dress that reaches just past your knees. he's up in an instant too, towering over you and so close that you can practically taste the heat radiating off him.

"lead the way," you giggle and he takes your hand in his.

--------------------

the marble edges of the countertop dig into your ass, his fingers dig into your thighs, and yet all of that simply fades to the background when you kiss--hungry and feverish, teeth clashing against each other, your lip caught between his teeth until you hiss and he slips his tongue in.

his hand snakes down your side, effortlessly undoing the hidden zip until you feel cool breeze against your ribs, and then his fingers--his big, warm, rough fingers, tracing the visible skin, leaving goosebumps behind.

hastily you loosen his tie and move on to his belt, fumbling with it until it's almost undone. ross laughs into your mouth.

"so impatient!" he tsks, "is that how much you want me?"

"the undressing with my eyes didn't give it away?" you retort, and finally undo the belt, sliding it out of the hooks and off his waist. it goes flying in some corner of the bathroom, clinks against a wall.

"turn," he pants, and the moment you obey, his hand are on the straps, pulling them down and off your shoulders until the dress falls just below your chest.

"fuck, darling!" he curses at the sight in the mirror--you, utterly breathless with messy hair and swollen lips. your peaked nipples are fully on display now. his eyes turn darker, taking you in hungrily, then he moves.

the moment his fingers close around your nipples, you moan, head thrown back and eyes closed and ass backed into his crotch where you can feel him completely. he's painfully hard and deliciously big and just the thought of him in you makes you clench around nothing.

"oh you are testing me," you grit out, desperate to be touched. his fingers circling your nipples feels good, his hand snaking down your body feels good, but you need more and more and more, you need him until everything other memory in you brain is replaced by the feel of his cock pounding into you.

he laughs, mouth hot on your neck, "what would you like me to do then?"

"touch me!" you hiss.

"like this?" his hand snakes down, bunching up the fabric of your dress until it's lifted up and around your waist. you close your eyes in anticipation, waiting, shivering when his fingers trace the inside of your thigh--up and up and up and---

"oops," ross grins, and rips the flimsy lacy underwear off you in one smooth motion. you gape at him in the mirror, but then his fingers are on you, circling your clit at a delicious pace and the buzzing in your head grows so loud, you forget the stupid underwear and forget the cold marble digging into your hips.

you moan, clutching on to the countertops when your knees threaten to buckle. "yes--god, yes, like that..."

tentatively he dips a finger in you and your breath hitches. ross clearly likes the reaction because a moment later he plunges a finger inside you, rubbing your clit with his thumb, thrusting the finger in and out and in and out until without warning he adds a second and you have to bite on the palm of your hands to stifle your scream.

"fuck, you'll kill me with those sounds you make," he growls in your ear, and increases his pace. you barely care to answer, mumbling something in gibberish, entirely focused on the feel of his fingers dipping in and out of you, of his thumb pressing into your clit and his cock digging into your ass.

heaven...is exactly how you'd describe it. your body agrees too--tensing and tensing until you're panting and barely even controlling the moans anymore. fuck it, it's fine if anyone walks in at this point. you and ross can put on a good show!

"'m so close," you moan, "ke-keep going, shit!"

and he does, his other hand snakes around your hips, holding you in place so he can reach deeper, hit your sweet spot with his long, thick fingers every time. your head spins, overwhelmed, dizzy and---

there's no warning like there usually is, all you know is that your vision goes white, your body feels slack and with a cry you cum all over his hand, holding onto the countertop to stay upright somehow. ross holds you too, dipping his fingers in and out slowly so you can ride out your orgasm. his hand feels wet and slick, your release coating his fingers. he looks like he's enjoying it though...

the moment you open your eyes, he holds your jaw in place, making you look at him in the mirror, them he places his fingers on his tongue, licking and sucking every corner, making you watch the filthy scene unfolding, making you wetter by the minute somehow.

"delicious," he moans, right in your ear. "ready for round two?"

you bite your lip and nod. "ready for round two."

[ssaemilyhotchner]

Hey congratulations on the milestone 🥳

Can I request letter A 🫶🏻

hope you enjoy & ty for participating! 🌹

OTHER 1K DRABBLES | Read on AO3 Join the celebration by requesting a letter!

letter: A | prompt: adrenaline | wc: 2.1k | cw: alcohol, mostly just them making out bc Emily doesn't get her way lol | a/n: Post-ep for 7x15, "A Thin Line."

Please do not repost (reblogs welcome) or otherwise claim as your own.

--

“Prentiss.”

Without looking up from her desk, Emily simply made an unintelligible noise in response.

“Come on, Emily.” Hotch’s voice was gentle yet insistent. He’d been watching her stare blankly at her after-action report for nearly an hour, her leg bouncing rapidly all the while. Idly, he wondered if she’d even be able to bear weight on the leg and found himself moving in a little closer in case he needed to steady her. “I’m taking you home.”

Emily finally raised her gaze to meet his. “I don’t want to go home.”

He nodded knowingly. He had expected as much, knew what the weight of silence in an empty apartment felt like, especially after a case like this one. “Then let’s get a drink. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Emily studied him for a long while: the strength in the set of his jaw, the sharp angle of his body, his hand heavy on the back of her chair. What she really wanted was to be reckless, anything to stave off the dread that had weaseled its way under her skin. Running herself ragged at the gym, maybe, or getting into a fight, or fucking a stranger.

But, she conceded, in lieu of those, there were worse ways to cap the evening than at O’Keefe’s with Hotch. 

--

From the moment they set foot in the bar, their eyes were everywhere but on each other. Even with the bass of the unrecognizable song pounding through them like a heartbeat, silence pressed pointedly between them as Hotch’s mind raced. As he thought about how everything had narrowed to the sight of her emerging from Hilary Ross’s home, blood snaking bright red down her fingers. As he thought about the way fear had dried his mouth, tasting bitter on his tongue.

She had been quick to reassure everyone that she was okay, of course, a demonstration of overcompensation that had only made him more apprehensive. He knew she could feel his eyes on her during their flight home, especially as Morgan had moved to sit by her, clutching her good hand in apology. He had watched Emily’s lips twist teasingly as she once again assured the other man that San Bernardino was not an echo of that warehouse in Boston just a year before.

He had watched as Morgan rose and returned to his previous seat, and Emily’s careful mask crumpled ever so slightly around the edges.

He had watched as her gaze found his and held it, a challenge.

“I’m okay.”

Hotch blinked in surprise; he hadn’t expected she would be the one to broach the topic. He took a long pull of his beer. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

That earned him a trademark Prentiss glare. His lips twitched at the sight, glad her fight wasn’t gone entirely. “I know,” she replied testily.

“Do you? Because your thumb is bleeding from where you’re picking and I don’t think you’ve noticed.” He watched as she snapped back into her body and reached across their small booth for a napkin to staunch the small crescent of blood. “Your first injury in the field since Doyle, and with Morgan as your partner nonetheless,” he said carefully. “What you’re feeling is understandable, Emily.”

“Hotch,” she warned, before downing the rest of her negroni. “Your projecting isn’t exactly making me feel better.”

He raised his hands slightly. “I’m not projecting. I’m just looking out for a friend.”

She knew he was right, of course; no amount of overcompensating could make her do Morgan’s healing for him, but when she closed her eyes, she could still see the all too familiar look on his face as he registered her injury. She didn’t want to be thinking about any of that right now, though, and she certainly didn’t want the play-by-play of her boss profiling her in real time. 

Emily grumbled something that sounded a lot like who died and made you my therapist then pushed herself up onto her feet. “I need another drink.”

--

“I want to dance,” Emily said, several shots later. “And I want you to come with me.”

Hotch frowned pointedly at her sling. “Emily, you need to go home and rest.”

“You’re so serious,” she whined. “Come on, Hotch. Loosen up for a night,” she said with a devious smile. She traced a slender finger around the rim of his glass of whiskey, toying with the idea of getting him another drink—anything to get the tension out of his body. “Please? For me?”

Hotch eyed her pretty pout warily—he had always been a sucker for her doe eyes, and he was beginning to think she knew—then stood and extended his hand. “One dance.”

“Excellent.”

They both knew it wouldn’t just be one. 

Emily hummed contently as they moved in tandem to the beat of the music. His touch was light and respectful but warm, and she found herself leaning into it more and more. Inhibitions blissfully lowered, she dropped her fingers to the curve of his arm to trace a vein there, causing his hip to stutter accidentally against hers. Her gaze snapped up to his then, and her heart pounded at the look of obvious want in his eyes. Her resulting smile was beatific.

“What’s making you smile like that?” Hotch murmured, the low thrum of his voice only stoking her need.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly, biting her bottom lip and watching as his eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up.

He chuckled. “You’re not a very good liar when you’re tipsy.”

“But you have to admit, I’m a pretty good dancer for someone who got shot less than 24 hours ago,” she said brightly, before looping her good arm around his neck and closing the space between them—the space he’d been trying diligently, if not half-heartedly, to keep.

“That you are.”

Fuck, she felt good as she moved against him. He vaguely registered the alarm bells sounding at the back of his mind at the heat building between them, but Hotch couldn’t think beyond the fact that this was Emily and she was in his arms, just like he had wanted for years. Every glance through his blinds at her in the bullpen, every cup of coffee delivered to him with a smile, every swish of her ponytail when they were paired together in the field, all of it building and cooling and culminating here.

“You were right, by the way,” he said eventually. She made a curious noise in response, the sound turning into a giggle at the shiver she pulled from him as her thumb traced mindless little patterns at the very top of his spine. “I was projecting. I didn’t want you to be alone this evening…but I didn’t want to be, either. I needed to see that you were okay.”

Emily looked up at him, besotted, then took his hand in hers and placed it over her chest. He clenched his jaw at the action; he could feel her heart, strong and racing at his touch, and was instantly consumed by the need to find every way he could elevate her heartbeat. To feel her heartbeat at every join of her, every join of them.

“Feel that?” she whispered, cutting through his reverie. “I’m okay.”

--

He hadn’t meant to kiss her back. Really, he hadn’t.

One minute, they were dancing, their bodies moving in sync as they toed the line of propriety with stolen touches, a nose against a cheek; the next, she was silencing his laugh by pressing her lips to his, rejoicing at the groan that rattled in the back of his throat as he felt her tongue coaxing his mouth open.

Hotch’s grip on her hips tightened, but the taste of gin and campari in her sweet mouth made him channel all of his restraint and pull away. “Emily—”

She moved her lips to the corner of his mouth. “If you even try to stop this,” she whispered, “I will break your jaw.”

Hotch barked out a surprised laugh. “Sweet talker,” he said dryly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Emily grinned widely. “I like the sound of that.”

As he piled her into the car, Hotch felt a pang of guilt at the victorious expression that had flickered across Emily’s face. He knew what she was craving; she needed a release, she needed him, but no matter how much he wanted the same, he knew he couldn’t follow through. Not tonight.

Finally reaching Emily’s place after much giggling and wandering fingers at stop lights, Hotch watched amusedly as she threw herself onto her couch. “Can I get you anything?” He eyed the Bialetti on her stovetop before sitting down beside her. “Some espresso to sober you up?”

“I’m not drunk,” she countered unconvincingly.

He snorted. “How about a different method? Dave shared a hangover trick with me when I was still fresh out of the Seattle field office. You’d just need amaro, which feels like something Emily Prentiss would keep around.”

She gave a throaty laugh at that and the sound sent a coil of pleasure through him. “I do have amaro. You are not the only one Dave has ever plied with expensive alcohol and gotten drunk. But,” she said, holding his gaze, “I don’t want to talk about Dave anymore.”

And at that, she straddled him. 

Hotch’s eyes fell shut at the press of Emily’s body against his. There was something about her that triggered the most visceral reactions from him, his throat constricting and chest tightening as her teeth found the shell of his ear, the sensitive spot right below it. Perhaps it was that he had imagined this so many times before: imagined unraveling her carefully constructed exterior and coming undone to her, with her, imagined finding her pulse point with his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, only now he was actually doing it and she was whining and it was the most exquisite sound he had ever heard. 

Emboldened by the sear of his mouth on her neck, Emily reached for him with renewed determination and urgency, fisting a hand in his shirt and making to tug it upwards over his head. It was the jolt to the present that Hotch needed, and he forced himself away, panting heavily. He wanted her to keep going, wanted to feel her, wanted to press his mouth to more of her, cut through her anxiety and adrenaline right to the core of her and make her fly apart; but instead he dropped his face in the curve of her collarbone and left a kiss there. “Emily, you have no idea how hard it is for me to stop you right now,” he ground out, “but we shouldn’t do this tonight.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea how hard you are,” she purred, rocking her hips against his and rejoicing in his resulting whispered fuck. “I want you, Hotch.”

“And I want you, too. I have for years.” Hotch smiled a little at the pretty blush that colored her already ruddy cheeks at his words. “But regardless of how eloquently you protest, I’m going to feel like I’m taking advantage of you right now,” he said as she opened her mouth to interject, “and I don’t want this to be something you regret tomorrow morning.”

Ghosting her lips against his in a barely-there kiss, Emily slowly shook her head. “I could never regret this,” she whispered. 

“Please, Emily,” Hotch said a final time, stilling her hand as she tried taking her own shirt off this time. He rose to his feet, Emily still wrapped snugly around him. “Not like this. We need to get you to bed.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time,” she said cheekily; but she followed him obediently, flashing him an inviting smile once she had stretched out across her bed. She watched him hungrily as he raked his gaze over her and swallowed thickly. 

Needing the distraction, Hotch slipped away to find ibuprofen and fill her a glass of water. When he returned, she had dressed down and removed her sling, and was staring at him as if he were stupid, but he just shook his head and sat in bed beside her. “You’ve had a really hard day,” he said gently, running a hand through her silky hair. “When the alcohol and adrenaline wear off tomorrow, I’ll be right here, okay?”

“Sometimes I hate that you’re such a good guy,” she said with a concessional sigh; but when she looked at him, all he saw reflected in her gaze was admiration.

Hotch couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “I’m sorry.”

Emily laughed then, lolling her head to the side to peer at him with tired eyes. “Thanks, Hotch,” she said softly.

“Of course, Emily.”

She was out in a matter of minutes.

[3terna15unshin3]

a blurb of them at a halloween party would heal me!! (smut but also super cutie cus they’re my babies)

Kneel

—

a/n: hey bff thank u for the request and happy halloween :-)

Read the main fic here if u want more Matty and Este!

—

cw: 18+, minors DNI, alcohol consumption, kinky religious undertones that will hit hard if you’ve seen Fleabag season 2, oral (m receiving), dom!matty vibes ish, praise, cumplay maybe??, also a bit wordy at the start lol

Matty zipped up the back of her jumpsuit for her, since Este couldn’t reach it herself. She was in the midst of covering her nose and mouth with fake blood.

“Easy with that stuff, hey? You’re going to make it impossible for me to kiss you,” he complained, making eye contact with her through the mirror in front of them.

She laughed, running her hands under the tap to wash the excess red off her hands, and then turned around. Her arms raised to adjust the Roman collar surrounding his neck. “A bit of blood has never stopped you in the past.”

His jaw dropped. “We’ll have to put some time aside for confession tonight, with that dirty mind of yours.” He said with a chuckle, playing up the priest costume suited over his body and shaking his head at her suggestive joke.

“I’ll hold you to that offer, actually.” Este giggled.

Before heading out the door, she stole a cigarette from the box in Matty’s pocket to hold between her fingers as a prop—her other hand cradling a small stuffed guinea pig. Fleabag was their favourite show, after all.

When they arrived at Charli’s, music was pulsating through the floorboards and hoards of people filled the space. She was great at throwing a party, so that’s what was expected.

Matty had handfuls of friends to greet but he did it all with his hand still linked with hers or around her waist. By now, they were mostly familiar faces, so it didn’t phase her. Many complimented their costumes; and those who didn’t recognise it, got an earful from Este about how the show it was in reference to was an absolute must-watch. Matty, who was slightly less passionate about spreading the Fleabag agenda, just sat back and watched in adoration. He loved seeing her addiction to sharing things she loves with others.

He also shamelessly basked in the feeling of being called ‘hot priest’ by everyone. If anyone called him just the ‘priest’, he’d correct them, and Este would roll her eyes.

By the time they’d gone round to see everyone, Ross (dressed as Indiana Jones) had shoved drinks into their hands, and had even come back a second time with more rounds. They were buzzed before settling into a spot in the corner of the lounge where the rest of the guys and their partners had gotten comfortable.

After him and Este pulled each of them in for an embrace, Matty took the last free seat and grabbed her by the waist to sit down on his lap.

“Welcome, welcome,” Charli loudly greeted over the music, while hanging onto George’s shoulder, “You guys have gotten some drinks right? You’re good? I’ve got some off limits special stuff I’m willing to share if you want anything more,”

Este thanked her for the offer but shook her head. “Ross had us very taken care of the minute we walked in, so I think we’re all good,”

Ross raised his glass and nodded his head at the mention of his chronic need to make sure that nobody ever had an empty hand.

“You look hot, by the way,” commented Carly, earning a wide smile from Este as she eyed her and Adam and their costumes. They were dressed as the twins from The Shining.

“I’d say the same about you babe. But not hotter than Hann, unfortunately,” She replied, giggling at his blonde wig. He flicked the fake hair upwards with sass in response to her compliment, making the whole group laugh.

Matty’s hands stayed there on her hips for the next few hours, only removing themselves periodically when they got up to mingle or to get another drink or when Este heard a song she wanted to dance to. But otherwise, his touch was glued to her.

It was starting to drive him crazy that that was all he could do, though. She grew increasingly flirty with him as the night went on; making sure to grind her ass deeper into his lap every time she towered forward to grab crisps off the coffee table, or leaning her back into his chest to turn and give him a kiss on the jaw, or leaving her hand way too far up his thigh. Matty wanted more—but she couldn’t give him that.

Then, Charli brought her point-and-shoot camera out and people began to pose. Everyone messily heaped into groups and threw middle fingers and peace signs up and the camera flashed repeatedly. Once most guests and their costumes were captured at least a couple of times, she came over to Este and grabbed her by the arm.

“We need a photo, E! Come outside,”

The excited and tipsy host made Este stand with her, serving looks down the lens and playfully posing together.

“Wait! I should light my cig!” exclaimed Este, still holding the unlit one between her fingers. She reached around the corner for Matty and gestured to his pocket, wordlessly asking him to do it for her.

Este insisted on holding eye contact with him as she grasped the smoke between her lips and he held the flame underneath its end. It made Matty swoon, seeing her suck her cheeks in and then blow the smoke out the side of her mouth.

She enjoyed a joint and its high here and there, but wasn’t as big of a smoker as him, and was rarely caught messing with nicotine. So, the sight was a bit unusual—and it turned Matty on.

After more photos with Charli, Este shoved her phone into her hand and dragged Matty into the frame. He complied, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist and giving the lens his attention. They smiled together, earning a collective ‘aw’ from the people around the room who looked.

They took turns altering expressions, some serious and some silly (like when Este stood proudly while Matty grabbed her tits from behind, peeking his head out to the side); all while she only held the lit cigarette without smoking it.

But for one photo, Matty watched her take a drag. She then looked up at him through her black eyelashes, and leaned in without saying anything. Gulping, he followed her action and leaned in as well, realising that Este wanted to shotgun the smoke she’d just inhaled.

So he parted his lips and breathed in as she blew the smoke into them, locking her gaze again. He felt the buzz immediately, and Este smirked with just millimetres between them before pulling away.

Matty swore he felt his dick twitch in his pants—and even thought he saw Este squeeze her legs together in his peripheral vision. Luckily, he also saw Charli capture the moment with both her camera and Este’s iPhone, so at least he’d have evidence that it actually happened. And that he didn’t just dream it up.

“Okay, you guys are sexy. I get it. Can you take some of me and George now?”

—

Este’s behaviour wasn’t innocent and unknowing. He knew she was riling him up on purpose. So in return, as soon as they stepped foot back into their shared house, Matty had her pinned against the wall. They’d barely made it into the corridor.

She gasped, but quickly gave in and kissed him with hunger.

“Something wrong, Father?” Este asked breathily, breaking away for air and tugging at his collar.

His hands tangled in her hair and yanked it backwards to make her head tilt up. “You’ve been very sinful tonight,”

Their lips hungrily reconnected, kissing with open mouths. Este grabbed him over his pants, drawing a hiss out of Matty. She then felt his hand trail up from her waist, over her chest, and onto her neck. He pressed lightly on the sides of her throat. She moaned into his mouth.

“Will you forgive me if I repent?” She asked, while slipping her fingers past his waistband.

“We’ll see. Only if you’re good for me,” Matty answered in a low voice. He grew rock hard as Este pumped him up and down a couple times in his pants. He breathed heavily and made pretty sounds when she dragged her thumb over his sensitive tip.

“I will. I swear,” begged Este.

“Then kneel.”

Sinking to her knees, she took his length out of his pants and gave it a kiss like she was worshipping it. Her flattened tongue ran up its underside from the base, taking his head into her mouth when she reached the top.

Matty shuddered, cradling her jaw with his palm. “Fuck,” he choked out.

She swirled her tongue around him before taking a breath and bringing him farther. His cock hit the back of her throat, making her gag and then moan with pleasure. The vibrations made Matty buck his hips forward and hit her maximum again.

Este's hand did the work her mouth couldn’t reach, setting a comfortable pace and gripping the back of his thigh with her other one. His skin tasted salty and made her shift her hips in desperation.

Matty then gathered her messy hair into one section behind her head. “You said you’re gonna be good for Father, right? Will you show me how good you are?”

She let out a muffled moan to say yes, attempting to nod while her mouth was full of him and her head bobbed up and down. Wetness accumulated between her legs.

“Okay. Then take me like the good girl.”

He steadied her head, gripping it with both hands, and gently thrust his hips. Este opened her jaw wider and took a breath while she could, before Matty thrusted into her again.

He went easy on her to make sure everything was alright, even though her was fully aware that she loved having her face fucked. Este loved pleasing him, letting him take control, and tasting him down her throat. It could make her cum on the spot.

Not long afterwards, he tightened his grip on her hair and brought her mouth down even deeper onto his cock. “That’s it, baby.” He praised, jaw slack with euphoria as her throat constricted around him.

Tears gathered in the corner of Este’s eyes, her nose repeatedly grazing the hairy skin of his pelvis. His thrusts grew relentless. The filthy sounds of her mouth around him echoed through their entryway and mixed with their combined moans.

His head threw itself backwards and he groaned every time Este’s warm mouth swallowed him. “Shit, you were fucking made for me,” Matty said, after bringing his attention back down to the sight of her. Spit dripped down her chin. Her lips grew red at the way they were stretched around his cock.

“Just a bit more. You’re taking me so well,” moaned Matty, feeling his orgasm creeping up. They both knew he wouldn’t last long.

Este was a champ, squeezing her eyes shut as he fucked faster to chase his end. To finish him off, she hollowed her cheeks and stiffened her tongue beneath him, feeling the vein that ran down the underside of his cock, bobbing her head again to meet him halfway.

His hips rammed into her face a couple of more times, before he cried, “Fuck, fuck, fuck. E, I’m—”, and then came.

She sprung up, finally able to take a breath, letting Matty watch his cum spill onto her tongue. His tip sat above her open mouth and ropes of white pooled into it.

Este let it drip out and down onto her cleavage that was exposed through the cutout of her jumpsuit. Raising her hand and wrapping it back around his cock, she milked him of every last drop. The sudden prolonged pleasure made Matty’s hips buckle up, fucking her fist and spilling more of his seed onto her chest.

“Am I forgiven, Father?” she asked after swallowing fully, even dragging a finger through the cum on her tits and then sucking it clean.

Matty’s chest heaved up and down, and his head was so hazy from the mind numbing climax he was attempting to recover from that all he could do was nod. He caressed the top of her head with his shaky hand, then brought it down to drag his thumb over her lips.

It formed into a smile as Este looked up at him, his expression being shamelessly fucked out and giddy.

“I think I actually did just see God.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 6: Heard it in a Love Song

Word Count: 995

Rating: G

Pairing: Gareth X Barb

CW: Language

Summary: Gareth is nervous about talking to his crush, so the other guys help him out. The prompt title kept reminding me of the song “Heard it on the Radio” by Ross Lynch from back in the day lol. One of the lyrics in the song is “he’s a drummer in the band” and I realized that after I decided to write this about Gareth, so it just seemed perfect!

@corrodedcoffinfest

“Just ask if she’s going,” Jeff says. 

“Yeah,” Eddie adds. “You’re just seeing if she’ll be there. A simple, innocent question one friend would ask another.”

Gareth takes a deep breath and nods his head. It’s obvious to his three friends that he’s not so much nodding in agreement rather than psyching himself up.  

“What if she has no idea what I’m talking about?” Gareth asks, a tremble in his voice. 

“Then you tell her about it,” Frank says. “About us playing a set and the party.”

“Yeah,” Gareth breathes out, rubbing his hands together. “No big deal.”

“Exactly,” Eddie agrees, slapping his friend on the back. “You’ve got this.”

“And don’t worry about the others, we’ve got that taken care of,” Frank reminds.

“It’s usually only Nancy,” Gareth says. He’s absentmindedly twirling one of his drumsticks in his hand. 

“We can handle Wheeler,” Eddie says. “Now, come on. Their lunch period is about to end.”

Gareth’s shoes seem to be glued to the ground, so Jeff gives him a nudge that gets him putting one foot in front of the other. 

Waiting outside of the cafeteria is the most nervous Gareth has been in a while. Not much can shake him, but talking to the girl he’s been pining for all year? Yeah, that’ll do it. 

The bell rings and Gareth begins nervously tapping his drumstick against the side of his right leg.

“Will you put those away?” Eddie hisses as the students begin to pour out of the lunchroom. 

The drummer feels more secure with a drumstick in his hand, but he knows Eddie’s right; it would look weird if he was just tapping one against his body. He slips it into his back pocket and adjusts the flannel over his t-shirt to hide the part that sticks out. 

“Hey,” Frank whispers loudly. “There they are.”

Gareth feels his stomach flip as he scans the crowd and the moment his eyes land on her, he swears his heart stalls like it’s his dad’s old stick shift.  

“Boys,” Eddie says, inclining his head towards Nancy.

They all shoot Gareth encouraging looks before they leave him on his own.

“Wheeler! There you are,” Eddie says, standing right in front of the petite girl, his boots squeaking against the white linoleum. 

“Uh, yeah. What’s going on?” Nancy asks. 

“You, um, well, I borrowed a book from Jonathan, and he asked if I could give it to you if I saw you before him.” Jeff comes up with the line on the spot. 

“Okay…” Nancy’s brow pinches together. “Where is it?”

“Oh, it’s uh, in my locker. Which is right over here.” Jeff gestures around the corner, to the adjacent hallway. 

He nods his head in that direction to indicate that she should follow him. 

Nancy sighs.

“I’ll see you after school, Barb,” she says, turning to her friend.

“See you,” Barb says. 

Jeff, Eddie, and Frank all walk down to Jeff’s locker with Nancy, which both girls find weird. 

As soon as Barb takes a step forward, Gareth gathers his nerve and comes up next to her.

“H-Hey, Barb,” he says.

“Oh, hi Gareth. You didn’t want to follow your posse down that way?” There’s a teasing smile on Barb’s lips and the drummer has to remind himself to breathe.

“Nah, I actually wanted to ask you something,” he manages as the two stay in step with one another. 

The redhead pushes her glasses back up with the hand that isn’t holding a notebook and a few folders against her floral purple blouse. 

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I was, uh, wondering if you’re going to the party at Mosaic Lake on Saturday?”

“Oh, I heard about that. There’s also one at Lover’s Lake on Saturday,” Barb says.

“Yeah,” Gareth says, releasing a breath. Mosaic Lake is far smaller than Lover’s, but he would bet good money that the company will be better at the less popular lake. “Guess all the jocks and the populars are behind that one. Which means it’s gonna suck because it’s all those people.”

“Those people?” Barb asks, arching an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, you know.” Gareth shrugs. “Assholes. But the party at Mosaic Lake is for guys like me who want to have fun and don’t care if they’re not top of the food chain here.”

“So…freaks?” Barb asks, not unkindly. “And nerds. Like me.”

“For all of us who the Hawkins High royalty deem lesser than,” Gareth says in his best impression of a snobby, posh person. It makes Barb laugh and he almost trips over his own feet. 

“Well, Nancy wanted to go to the Lover’s Lake party,” she says and Gareth’s heart drops. “But I don’t. I’d rather go to Mosaic Lake. And I’m pretty sure Jonathan would rather go to Mosaic too, so maybe if both her best friend and boyfriend are in agreement, she’ll change her mind.”

“Awesome!” Gareth realizes there was far too much enthusiasm in his voice, so he clears his throat in an attempt to cover it. 

“Corroded Coffin is playing for a little while. After us I think it’s that all-girl band Rosa Santiago started.”

“Are you going to play any Van Halen?” Barb asks.

“We do know a lot of their songs, so there’s a strong possibility,” he teases. “You like them?”

“Yeah, Van Halen is my favorite.”

Absolutely need to talk to the guys about the setlist, Gareth thinks. He wonders how many Van Halen songs he can convince them to put in there. 

The warning bell rings, and Barb heaves a sigh.

“I definitely want to go,” she tells Gareth. “I’ll do my best.” She gives him a smile as she starts to turn down a different hallway for her next class. Gareth gives a small wave, which she returns.

Once she’s out of sight, Gareth leans on the closest wall and lets his exhale deflate his lungs.

“Holly shit,” he says to himself. “I did it. And I didn’t ralph.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🧑‍⚕️ for Chris! Cookie treat:

🍪

CW: BBU, sickfic, ableism from Luke Petrus, general Luke Petrus warning, minor whump (OC is 17), brief implied noncon references

-

"What the heck did you do now, Petrus?" The doctor - barely out of med school, still young and learning the twists and turns of the Facility's labyrinth of hallways - sighs. He's been here barely a year, and already learned that Luke Petrus has a reputation for quick turnarounds because he runs his trainees into the ground. Metaphorically speaking.

His trainees aren't generally allowed to actually run much of anywhere at all. Or get out of bed.

Petrus rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "Nothing. He was being a little shit this morning, breaking all his rules. I checked and his forehead was hot, so I brought him in here."

"Well... at least you didn't OD him again."

"That was one time, and he should have been fine, it's not my fault his body metabolizes the drugs wrong-"

"Maybe don't use our freaking supplies without speaking to a doctor first to make sure next time?" Dr. Ross glances into the exam through through the window cut into the door.

The trainee lays on his back on the exam table, staring listlessly up towards the flickering florescent lights overhead. His hands are moving, constantly crushing the crinkling paper beneath him or touching himself at the throat, the collarbone, the stomach. He's humming, audible through the door. A toneless, tuneless ah ah ah ah through barely open lips.

"Okay, well. I'll take a look. Any specific complaints other than the fever?"

"Clammy as fuck, coughing, sneezing... all that shit. Complained about his food, earlier, and I know he knows better than that." Petrus narrows his eyes, and Dr. Ross tries not to feel a shiver down his own spine. "He better be burning hot enough to hallucinate or he is going to fucking regret talking shit to me about the food."

Dr. Ross pauses. "The food is pretty legendarily... um, crap, though," He points out. The look Petrus gives him is so derisive he can all but feel it eat into him like acid. "I'll take a look. Probably he'll need an overnight in the clinic."

"I only have a few weeks left to finish him up. So you get him able to take training tomorrow night, got it?"

"I can't promise-"

"This one is going to a personal friend of Karen Renford's," Petrus says in a low voice. "A personal. friend. Got it?"

Dr. Ross swallows, trying not to look unnerved. "Got it."

"Good. Message me once he's good to go back, I'm going to head home for a few hours. If he's faking this..."

"Handler Petrus. How exactly would he fake a fever?" Dr. Ross looks into the exam room again. The trainee is still humming, watching his own fingers as he moves them between himself and the light. His skin is pale, a little grayish. His freckles stand out like paint splatters all over his body.

"Wouldn't put it past him. Trainees figure out all kinds of shit. Get him better and get him to stop doing that... Shit with his hands, making those noises. Punish him if he keeps it up, it's part of his training plan."

"Hm," Dr. Ross says, noncommittal. "I'll send his test results over in a bit. Enjoy your time at home."

He steps inside just to end the conversation, walking idly over to a countertop, where he opens a cupboard above and pulls out a small canister of lollipops. "Hello, 223499."

The boy's voice cuts off like a radio. After a pause, he starts mumbling, too low for Dr. Ross to hear.

"... right. Well. Your handler says you're feeling under the weather. Mind if I take a look?"

The trainee turns his head then. He looks somewhere off to one side of the doctor, blinking a little dazedly. "... take a look?"

His voice is slow, sluggish, but each word is so carefully placed.

"Yes."

The trainee looks away again. Dr. Ross sighs and goes with it, checking his temperature. 101.7, not great, not the worst fever. Hopefully this won't be another flu like the last one. Pneumonia nearly killed three trainees that time. He checked ears, eyes - pupils reactive, ears clear - and then touched at the lymph nodes beneath his jaw. A little swollen.

"Okay. Next up, we need to take a quick look down your throat."

Another slow blink. The trainee seemed to suddenly tense up. "You... want my throat?"

"Uh, well-" Dr. Ross turns away to pick up a tongue depressor and the swab for the test. "Yes, we need to test you."

The paper on the exam table crinkles again. The boy hums, almost wistfully, and then goes silent.

When he turns around, Dr. Ross discovers the boy on his knees in a seamless Position Two, mouth wide open.

His green eyes are empty, somewhere far away.

Dr. Ross's face burns at the sight. His stomach turns sharply, and he has to clear his throat to try and cover the way bile rises. "Uh, n-no thank you-... I just need... you need to be tested for strep throat, Trainee, not that kind of-... back up on the table, please-"

The boy looks confused, in a faded sort of way, but follows orders. He manages to clamber back up, sitting this time, listing a little to one side, then the other. But he opens his mouth again, and Dr. Ross hurries through the test as fast as he can, trying not to think about how most people gag during the strep test, but the Romantics never do.

"Good, made it. Perfect. Now, does your throat hurt a lot today?"

"Yes, sir." The boy's voice is a little raspy, now that he's talking. "A... lot. Earlier, i... cried when my... handler-"

"Don't need to hear the end of that sentence!" Dr. Ross forces false charm and ease into his voice, plucking one of the lollipops at random from the jar. "Here, let me give you this. It tastes a little weird, but it'll numb your throat and keep you from coughing." He unwraps it and holds it out. The trainee blinks at him. He blinks back.

Then he realizes. "... oh. Do you have to be... do I have to..." He leans forward. The trainee opens his mouth obediently for Dr. Ross to place the lollipop inside. Only then does his mouth close.

"'ank 'oo, ir," The trainee says around a mouthful of fake sweetener and the numbing agent already going to work. His eyes are so sweet and so vivid, and he half-smiles around the treat.

"You're welcome, 223499. I'm going to go and do your strep test. I'll be back. You just relax, okay? You can sleep in a clinic bed and get a good night's sleep."

The boy's eyebrows furrow. "Is... is it night?"

"Oh right. We're not supposed to let you know, are we? Well... I don't think it can hurt... yeah, I'm on nights right now, 11 to 9. It's about one in the morning."

"Oh." The trainee lays slowly back down, on his side, closing his eyes as he works at the sucker. "... what, what does night... look, um, look like?"

Dr. Ross swallows.

He's a fucking coward, but he doesn't answer. He just leaves, and he doesn't let himself stop and look back.

He doesn't let himself think about a boy who can't remember the sky.

God, he only has a few weeks left on this residency and he just isn't sure he can make it.

[cloudinterlude]

what misconception? 👀

I assume this is about the Civil War post I made and oh boy, so many. So, so many. Let me preface this by saying I actually like Civil War enough as a movie. Not as a Captain America movie, but it's engaging and I enjoyed it for the most part. I mostly dislike the dogshit opinions about it. To prevent this from turning into a dissertation, I'll just list the ones that come to mind first/irritate me the most:

"Steve was completely against regulation and oversight" WRONG. He was against the vagueness of it all. He explicitly says that he wants to know whose going to be holding his leash if he has to have one. In fact, he was about to sign the Accords before Tony told him about them preemptively enforcing it and detaining Wanda. Steve was willing to consider the Accords, Steve was trying to discuss the Accords, Steve was on the path to being open to the Accords before the moral failings of it were already shining through. Steve, rightfully so, is distrustful at this point of anonymous authority. Following the news that Hydra had their nasty paws in SHIELD and other high positions in government, Steve decides that he wants to know more about the people who have authority over him. Seems reasonable enough.

"Steve was only against the Accords for Bucky" WRONG. 1) Before he was certain that Bucky was being framed, he says that he has the best chance of bringing him in to minimize damage. Then, when he was certain Bucky was innocent, it became a matter of not letting his bestie be falsely imprisoned and/or killed on the spot. 2) Lemme just add that yes, Bucky is extremely important to Steve, but Steve would have still been against the Accords if Bucky wasn't a factor. I need people to understand this. It wasn't just a "oh no I need to save my best friend". 3) If you read what was in the Accords, you'd understand why Steve would generally be against them. They're abhorrent.

"Steve didn't read the Accords/Steve didn't even attempt to communicate or compromise." I haaaaattttteeee this one with a burning passion. Did we watch the same movie? He's quite literally the only one on screen we see even look at that long ass document. Probably also the only one would could even manage to read the thing since it was sprung up on them 3 days before the meeting (which is a whole 'nother issue for later. For now, I'll just say I support the Ross conspiracy theory). He also tried to tell Tony & Co. before the airport fight that Zemo was the one behind all this conflict, that Bucky is innocent and about the 5 other ultra-dangerous super-soldiers who, as far as he knew, were about to be unleashed onto the world which would be disastrous. Unfortunately, Team IM was wracked with tension and didn't listen and attacked.

"Steve and Bucky jumped Tony (+ variants of this statement)." This is one that confused me so much. Such a bullshit take. I am begging people to rewatch CW and watch the fight. Tony, whose emotions is dialed to a thousand (and not only because of the Bucky thing mind you, but I can talk about that a lot more later because I like talking about Tony's emotional/mental state during Civil War) attacked first, then tries to kill Bucky, Steve tries to get Tony to stop killing Bucky, Tony is trying not to kill Steve, Bucky is trying to get Tony not to kill Steve or him. It's a mess. Mind you, Steve isn't even trying to excessively harm Tony in this scene. It's confirmed that during the entire fight, he was trying to disable the suit. Not trying to beat Tony to a pulp - DISABLE. THE. SUIT. Which he manage to do in the midst of that shitshow.

"*insert any anti-CW Wanda take*" Please, someone please tell me why people think Wanda has any blame for what happened Lagos? Wanda quite literally didn't CAUSE that. I need to understand this point of view before I get an aneurysm. She didn't make the bomb, bring the bomb, set the bomb off. It was Rumlow who had that bomb that would have ended up killing way more people on the ground than where Wanda managed to put it. She absolutely was as much of a hero as she could be in that instance, trying to redirect the bomb away from civilians. Unfortunately, it still ended it casualties, but a lot less than it would have been if Wanda hadn't intervened.

I could go on and on, but I'll stop here. Fanon CACW quite literally has some of the worst fan comprehension I've seen in the MCU. I imagine that a lot of it is not understanding characters, the movie not elaborating on important plot points in an effort to make it 50/50 (which they failed at lol), and the fandom being a lot more conservative than I thought. I can expand further on anything if you want!

[kate-the1975]

Apple Cider 🍎 🍂 // Matty Healy

A/N: A very VERY late Promptober No.2....I'm sorry 😭.

CW: Slight mature language and some hints of sexual activity, but you'd have to practically shut your eyes to see it xx

WC: 2,179 words

🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁

Amy would be lying if she said she enjoyed the concert. She truly didn't enjoy it as much as she would have if she had never met Matty, especially if he never gave her his phone number.

"AMS! COME ON, LIGHTEN UP! THIS IS YOUR FAVOURITE SONG!" Eve screamed as she grabbed Amy by the shoulders, shaking her vigorously to the beat of Amy's favourite song, Sex.

While Eve practically frolicked around the back of the pit, Amy stood still, bopping her head slightly while being completely transfixed by him.

His curls freely bounced as he shook his head back and forth, the plain white t-shirt hugging his small frame perfectly. He was hot, but also very pretty to her. Beautiful even.

She never heard back from him. She texted the number hours later. She even rang it in desperation to hear him call her love again.

But she got nothing in return. Not even an "Sorry, I'm busy, can't talk right now.". Nothing, she got nothing.

So, while Eve had the time of her life foaming at the mouth over Ross, Amy just felt deflated the entire night.

When the concert was over, and everyone left the Arena in massive groups, some people staying back because they didn't want to even begin comprehending that the night was over, Amy begged Eve if they could stay for just ten more minutes.

"Evie, please. I'm begging you. What if he gets someone to come get me, or he rings me back and then -"

"Ams, please. Let's just go. If he wants to text you back, he will, but let's not hang around here because we will get kicked out if we don't get a move on." Eve gripped onto Amy's right hand, sending her a sympathetic glance when she noticed how disappointed her best friend was.

Amy knew her best friend was right. If he wanted to, he would. He probably already forgot about her, and if that was the case, she doesn't really blame him.

Amy was just some baker with a large enough following in Ireland on social media and getting on with her normal day to day life. Where Matty is a rockstar having number one albums and touring the world, and probably needing or wanting a significant other that was on his level or close enough to it.

"Come on, let's go have a few drinks and get some food. I don't know about you, but I'm fucking hanging for a bag of chips with a shit load of salt and vinegar." Eve completely swerved from the subject of Matty as she pulled Amy by her elbow, linking arms with her as they walked back out into the cold and wet Dublin night.

"I just don't understand why he would even give me his number in the first place if he isn't going to bother dropping me even a short and simple text. What a dick!" Amy whined in dismay.

"Please, Amy Elizabeth Mitchell, I fucking beg of you. Stop talking about hi-."

"Wait! Shut the fuck up for a minute. I think someone's ringing me." Amy's eyes went wide as she searched for her phone that was buzzing in her small green handbag.

Her heart stopped beating for a split second when his name flashed up on the screen, her mind considering letting it ring out to return the favour of him, not answering her text or call.

"If you don't answer it, I will." Eve grabbed the phone out of Amy's hand. One slip of her thumb, and she would've answered the call.

"Hey! Stop! Give me that." With a forceful grab of the phone and accidentally jerking Eve forward with it, Amy retrieved her phone.

"Be normal!" Eve called out as Amy walked to a quieter area outside of the Arena.

"Hello?" She spoke in fake confusion. Pretending like she had no clue who was ringing her.

"Hiya, Amy. It's me, Matty. You doing alright, love?"

There it was. Love. Her new favourite word.

"Ahhh, hello! Me and Eve are just after walking out of the Arena. You guys were fucking amazing!" She looked down at her feet, trying to hide the giddy smile that was appearing across her face.

She felt like a teenager experiencing her first boyfriend.

"You didn't look like you had that much fun." He chuckled. He could see her from the stage because he was actively searching for her.

He looked as far into the seated part of the crowd as he could, but there was no sign of her. So then he turned to the standing area, quickly taking a good look at as many people as he could when the house lights came on at one point by his request.

And there she was, hair curled and perfectly framing her face with a black corset top and a large leather jacket, her tight black leather skirt with fishnets and heeled black leather boots.

She was a goddess.

She was mesmerising.

She was so mesmerising to him that he messed up the lyrics to It's Not Living (If It's Not With You).

"Wait, you could see me?" She gasped in embarrassment and shock, feeling so ashamed for standing there like a statue in a crowd full of feral fans (which she was once upon a time).

"As soon as I spotted you, I couldn't stop looking at you. That mate of yours seemed to have the time of her life, though."

"Don't tell her I said this, but I think she's slightly obsessed with that bassist of yours."

Oh, Eve would kill her if she found out she said such a thing to Matty.

"Well, listen, Ross is a man of his own. Everyone loves Ross."

"She definitely loves Ross. I can tell you that for love nor money."

The two of them giggled and chuckled like teens down the phone. Anyone who would listen to their conversation would think that they were totally in love and in the honeymoon stage.

"Amy, I hope it's not too late, but I'm staying in The Shelbourne Hotel on....is it Grafton Street?"

"No, St. Stephens Green. Close enough, though."

"Ah well. Anyways, would you like to have a drink with me at the hotel bar? If you want, you can bring Eve along with you, if that makes you feel more comfortable?"

For Amy, there was only one simple answer to that.

Yes.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"Are you sure you'll be okay. You won't have a massive fangirl moment if he kisses you, and then you end up fainting or something like that?" Eve questioned one last time as she gave Amy a cuddle outside the beautiful 5-star hotel.

"I can promise you he won't kiss me. That'd be stupid of him."

"It would be stupid of him to NOT kiss you! Look at you! You are the sexiest and probably most fashionable woman to roam the streets of Dublin tonight! Now, go get your arse in their and make eighteen year old Amy proud."

Eve gave Amy a cheeky tap on her bum as she walked away from her. Leaving Amy nearly breaking out in a rash at the thought of anyone catching her best friend smacking her butt.

The doorman opened the left side of the door for her, giving her a polite smile and wishing her a goodnight.

Amy could only smile back at him and pray in her head that it would be a good night.

Amy had stayed in The Shelbourne Hotel before after getting asked to an event of some sort. She loved it, and it's interior, oh and of course it's history.

She adored history.

It was like something out of a romantic movie.

Meeting the handsome man in a fancy hotel bar, and if you add the rockstar part, it's even more unbelievable and movie like.

The bar, called No.27, was filled with casual elegance. The cocktails nearly sparkled in their glory while the neatly poured and precise pints seemed to be served with style.

Even though the pint of Guinness that the man sitting on one of the navy leather bar stools was drinking looked mouth wateringly appetising, the thing that shined and showed class the most was Matty.

He sat alone at the rectangular and heightened black marble table beside one of four large windows that faced the front of the hotel. His fingers messing with the condensation on the glass of his own pint of Guinness.

The kind woman at the front of house directed Amy to Matty when she pointed at him, the two of them walking towards him instantly catching his eye and snapping him out of his daydream that was about her.

"Hi." He smiled as he got off his chair, placing a hand on her shoulder as he leaned in to give her a kiss on both of her frost bitten cheeks.

"Hiya!" She spoke in a cheerful tone, returning the favour by giving him a gentle kiss on his left cheek.

"Here, let me get that for you." He quickly moved to pull the chair across from him out for Amy to sit on. His mind ran through all the steps he could possibly think of that made him seem like a true gentleman so he could impress her.

"Thank you very much. God, it's a cold one out there, isn't it?" Amy shivered as she took off her jacket. Rubbing her hands together aggressively, praying that the friction would bring heat back into them.

"It really is! Thankfully, it's nice and toasty in here. Oh, and I'm really sorry about earlier. I know it took me a while to reply, and I wasn't ignoring you or anything. I was just really busy getting ready for the show and-"

"Matty, please don't apologise. If anything, I should be apologising for coming off a bit needy. If, and only if you'd really like to make it up to me, you can buy me a pint of cider. Maybe even two." She hinted cheekily. Her eyes glistened with excitement and happiness.

"Cider? Why cider? I would take you more as a cosmopolitan kind of girl, but a cider drinker? No way." Matty teased, lightly kicking her foot under the table.

"Well, don't make assumptions about someone you know nothing about."

"Well, if I get to know you, then I won't have to make any assumptions. Will I, gorgeous?"

Matty lightly brushed her hand from across the table, sending her a quick teasing smile before heading up to the bar to order her a pint of her favourite cider.

The topics of conversation between the two of them were endless. Each of them learned about each others lives, their equal amount of love for music and literature, and Matty was fixated on her love for baking and how passionate she was about it.

He was completely drawn to the way she'd sit up straighter when she spoke about her job, or spoke about how her grandmother used to make apple tart every Sunday for dessert, or how it's basically therapy for her and she feels content and free of everyone and everything when she's in the kitchen.

"Actually, now that you've mentioned the whole baking on social media thing. I have a confession." Matty's cheeks ballooned slightly as he held in a laugh while thinking about George's excitement when the two of them finally found Amy's instagram and tiktok account.

"Oh god, go on. Spit it out." Amy cringed and tensed up in fear as to what he might say.

"George and Charli, his girlfriend, are fucking obsessed with your baking videos. He had a proper fangirl moment when he found out who you were."

"Wait! George Daniel and Charli XCX know who the fuck I am!?" Amy nearly spat out her cider all over Matty, her jaw dropping at what he'd just said.

"I'm being serious! The two of them were on the phone absolutely delighted with life. They're gonna love you when they meet you."

"When they meet me? Who said they'd ever meet me, Healy?" Amy held eye contact with him as she took another sip of her cider with a smirk on her face.

Her heart fluttering and an area further down south fluttering at his words.

"I guess I was just being a man and assuming that you'd like to keep in contact. Sorry about that." Matty stumbled on his words while trying to back track what he'd said. He was worried that maybe what he thought was a date wasn't anywhere near a date in her own head.

If only he could read her mind.

"You assumed correctly, Matty. I'd love to stay in contact with you more than anything. Might be a bit difficult, but I think that we should give it a go. See what happens, you know?" Her cheeks flushed as she felt a wave of confidence wash over her, leaning over the table to interlock their hands together.

Matty's calloused thumbs automatically tracing circles over her knuckles.

"How about I order us both another cider, and maybe we could take it up to my room. Just an idea, though." He spoke lowly as he himself leaned closer to her, their faces now only inches apart.

"You know what. I'll cheers to that idea, Healy."

[jacenotjason]

THE DEEP END - PART ONE

A/N: HEyy this is my first time writing fanfic in a lONG Time! I decided to do a sort of part one/prologue to warm up let me know what you think! ill do part two if this is received well

cw: discussion of murder

Inspired heavily by “The Lamb” by ItsJustHedy “Have you ever thought about it?” The neon lights of the Candy Club buzzed a quiet metronome for their conversation. The four of them sat in a booth in the back, milkshakes on the table. Roy sat next to Robert, Ross sitting beside Susie on the other side. Roy's question hung in the air, a palpable tension enveloping the booth. The lights flickered momentarily, casting fleeting shadows on the quartet's faces.

Susie, unsure of why she was invited to this clandestine meeting, blinked in surprise. She fidgeted with the straw of her milkshake, her eyes darting between the three members of the HatZGang. They weren't exactly her friends, but Robert had promised to treat her to a milkshake, and she was eager to escape whatever eldritch horror Pump would bring home that day.

As Susie sipped her milkshake, she realized the question had been directed at her. "Thought about what?" she asked, trying to feign nonchalance. She had been listening to the conversation, of course, but she asked in hopes that the question wasn’t related.

"Murder," Roy said, his voice low and almost playful. The word hung in the air, heavy with a tension Susie hadn't anticipated.

Susie's eyes widened, and she almost choked on her milkshake. She glanced around nervously, as if expecting someone to pop out and reveal this was all some strange prank. "Murder? Why would I think about that?"

“How would you do it?” Ross explained, “Just hypothetically, of course,” his eyes darted between his two friends, then to Susie as he repeated himself. “How would you do it?”

“...How would you?” Susie replied instead, attempting to direct the attention of the conversation away from her.

Ross looked away from her, looking down at the milkshake in front of him. His calm demeanor belied the gravity of the topic. "I’d do something untraceable, something that could be considered an accident. Like exploiting an allergy and poisoning them… Something that could be written off easily-”

“That’s so boring!!” Robert suddenly shouted, making Susie flinch.

Ross, undeterred by Robert's outburst, continued, his gaze still fixed on the swirls of his milkshake. “But it's effective,” He said, finally looking up from the cup, “A slow-acting poison, too, so there's no immediate connection. Just a sudden, unexpected end. It’ll be treated as a mystery or an accident. The person is dead, and I don’t go to jail.”

“That’s so lame! You don’t even see them die!?” Robert exclaimed, astonished that Ross wouldn’t want to witness the victim’s end. “The whole point of murdering someone is that everyone knows they’ve been murdered!”

“The whole point of murdering someone is that someone dies!” Ross, his patience tested, spat right back.

Robert wasn’t deterred. “You gotta do something gruesome!” Robert insisted, “Something people remember for decades! Something they’re not allowed to forget!!”

Roy, wearing a misplaced grin, interjected, crossing his arms as he addressed Robert. "Okay, what would you do, then?"

Robert's eyes gleamed with excitement as he leaned back, clearly relishing the opportunity to share his grand and macabre ideas. He pushed his milkshake towards Roy and leaned over the table to explain. Susie felt the knot in her stomach tighten, growing uneasy at the conversation.

"You lure your victim to someone that's going to be visited soon, like a school on a Sunday. Then, you kill them simply and easily, with a slit of the throat or head trauma, or something, it doesn’t matter. Then," Robert punctuated each word with a tap on the table, "full body dismemberment."

Susie cringed at the macabre imagery, her discomfort evident on her face. "What?"

"Dude, what?" Ross raised an eyebrow, his initial interest waning into something else. Not unease, but annoyance, as if he’d heard this before.

“Listen! Listen!” Robert continued, his smile unmoving. “You cut the body up into pieces and string them around the gymnasium! Like a fucked up wind-chime!” 

“Robert, do you have any idea how long it takes to saw through bone?” Ross spat.

“Yeah! Dude, plus, where would we get a saw?!” Roy motioned between them, “We have like 20 dollars put together.”

Susie, desperate to steer the conversation away from its dark trajectory, interjected. "I mean... it doesn't really matter, since... This is all hypothetical," she forced a smile, hoping to diffuse the tension that lingered in the air. “...Right?”

The three boys suddenly silenced, looking at Susie. There was a beat of silence. Then another. Then another. Roy exchanged glances with Ross and Rober, the boys sharing an unspoken understanding. Susie's forced smile faltered, her attempt at lightening the mood falling flat in the face of their unsettling silence.

“Right,” Ross finally broke the silence, his tone casual and friendly, but Susie detected a lingering tension beneath the surface. She took a breath, grateful for the respite at least.

“Yeah, duh!” Roy rolled his eyes with a smile, “I mean look at Robert,” Roy grabbed Robert's arm and lifted it, “You think he can kill someone with these?”

“Hey!” Robert took his arm back with a laugh, breaking the tension momentarily. Ross and Roy joined in the laughter, and Susie awkwardly chimed in, the sound hollow against her inner turmoil. There wasn’t anything funny to her, the boys she sat with could very well kill her. 

She let out a breath, allowing herself to breathe as she rationalized her thoughts. The gang wasn’t violent. Sure, they were jerks, but they weren’t murderers. Their bullying was never violent outside of shoves or foot-stepping.

Susie watched as the boys traded playful insults and laughed together, the conversation slowly returning to their previous topic. It was still jarring, but Susie continued to try and see the same playfulness they must be seeing.

“Susie,” Ross returned the attention to her again. She paused mid-sip and looked up at him, her eyes darting to the other two now watching her.

“Hm?” Susie blinked.

“You never answered.”

“...Answered what?”

“If you wanted to kill someone, how would you do it?” Ross asked her again.

“Oh I…” she shrugged. “I’m not.. I wouldn’t kill anyone..”

“Yeah, neither would we! It’s just for… curiosity’s sake.” Ross shrugged.

“I…” Susie fidgeted, looking between them all. “I guess… I-I’d do something simple. A mix of both of your ideas!” She gestured to Ross and Robert. “Uhm… something… easy to clean but… not boring?” She shrugged.

“Like what?” Roy pressed.

“Uhm…” Susie itched her neck, thinking. She tried to remember some more macabre books she’d read. “If.. I wanted to do something big.. Big enough to get on the news… I’d… probably do it in school. Just… stabbing someone is pretty easy…” She kept her eyes down on the empty milkshake in front of her, mixing the last bits. “You could... Slit someone’s throat and throw them in the pool?” She suggested, finally looking up at the boys. They looked like they had been waiting for her answer all night.

“I like that,” Roy responded.

“It’s clean,” Ross nodded.

“And violent,” Robert smiled.

Susie awkwardly smiled at their shared reactions. She felt a strange validation, having not received a negative reaction. She looked down at their empty milkshakes and stood up, “I’ll get us another round.”

“Oh, sweet, thanks!” Robert slid their glasses towards her, allowing her to take them up to the counter where Kevin finally looked away from the glass door to meet her. She set the glasses on the counter and requested refills.

The boys watched her leave before slowly turning to face each other again. They glanced at each other, attempting not to smile at the dark irony.

“That was so fucked, Roy,” Ross finally spoke.

“Yeah, that was dark. Bringing her here in the first place was bad, but making her choose?” Robert said, his words not correlating with his excited smile.

“You think she has any idea?” Ross asked.

All three boys turned to look over their seats, seeing Susie leaning against the counter as she waited for their drinks. She saw them looking towards her and waved. Robert kindly returned it.

“No.” Roy smiled, the two other boys smiling after him.

[lil-purple-mouse-writes]

Demon Slayer Halloween Headcanons, Part 3

I am so sorry this is late, school has been kicking my butt. I hope y'all like it though!

CW: decapitation and, like, 2 swears. I know some people aren't comfortable with that.

Rui dressed up as a Spider Witch and brought along a bunch of 'little' spider friends for Trick-or-Treating. Whenever someone would refuse to give him candy, he would give them a new spider 'friend.' "Upper six told me it was 'Trick-OR-Treat.' They had the choice, and so did I."

Enmu: This psychopath went as a vampire and accidentally copied Daki. Daki forced him to change, so they went as a train conductor. ":)"

Gyutaro was not going to do anything this year, but he got roped into taking Rui Trick-or-Treating. Gyutaro let Daki put a pair of cat ears on him, and drew on some whiskers. "This is my favorite time of the year, I'm considered 'cool.'"

Daki: After the argument with Enmu, Daki entered a costume contest and came in second place. Daki then proceeded to steal the winners Halloween candy and destroy everything within the vicinity. Gyutaro had to take her back to the Infinity Castle early. "I will NOT settle second place, and I will NOT put up with some annoying COPYCAT!"

Akaza: Akaza wasn't expecting much from this 'party.' (Honestly he wasn't even gonna go, but he was ordered to.) Still, despite his reluctance, Daki put a pair of bear ears on him. Akaza spent the entire night trying not to burst out laughing until they were all permitted to leave. Akaza will never forget this Halloween. "Just...let me have this, Kokushibo."

Muzan: Muzan did not and would not dress up. Muzan claimed the concept of Halloween was too childish and would not participate. This confused the demons because they thought Muzan was the one who made them attend. He decapitated Douma. "Hello people who do not live here."

Kokushibo: He didn't dress up either, and Daki was too scared to try making him wear bunny ears. "No, maybe next year."

Douma: Douma was in full agreement with Muzan. "The master dresses up as Michael Jackson all year long after all, he deserves a day off!" Douma spent Halloween regenerating his body. "HEY, I was being nice this time!"

Gyokko: This MF went as Bob Ross. No on really paid much attention to them, as everyone was too busy watching Douma get his azz beat. "It would be a lie for me to say I don't feel inspired by the scene before me."

Hantengu (main body): Hantengu was constantly terrified the entire night until a wandering Demon Slayer separated them. "Terrifying...Terrifying..."

Aizetsu: Since the clones were on a last minute mission, Aizetsu decided to dress up as the Grim Reaper. "It makes me upset that we have to work on the holidays, but what other choice do we have?"

Sekido: Sekido also found the idea of dressing up to be stupid, and yelled at the other clones for participating in it. Sekido later felt embarrassed for being one of the few not dressed up at the party. "Idiots...I AM SURROUNDED BY IDIOTS!"

Karaku: Karaku dressed up in a Scream costume and chased people into the woods straight to Urogi. "Nothing wrong with having a little fun tonight, right?"

Urogi: Urogi didn't dress up because he thought they were scary enough as it is. While they were out he and Karaku would chase people into the woods and see who could throw someone higher in the air. "HAHAHA! LETS SEE IF YOU CAN 'FLY' HIGHER THAN YOUR FRIEND DID!"

[fuck-showers-in-general]

d. do you want to tell us about the history of panic at the disco. i feel like you want to do that.

YES I DO (small unreality cw for a few of the jokes i make in this)

so back in like 2005. this emo boy from suburban nevada named ryan ross and his childhood friend slash the only drummer he knew (spencer smith) decided to start a band together called pet salamander. they also got this other guy named brent wilson to play keyboard but brent is a bitch and they kicked him out after the first album so this is the first and last time you will hear me mention him. ryan was singing, playing guitar, and writing music, which was a lot of work for a depressed teenager in his first band ever, so they ended up trying to find someone else to either play guitar or sing, and end up putting out an ad in some newspaper or something. up turns this kid named brendon urie! he can do both. they end up just having him sing though, because ryan still wants to play guitar. it was also some time around this that they realized pet salamander was a stupid ass band name, so they changed it to panic! at the disco. and thus the most band of all time was born.

ryan, pretty much by himself, writes an album called a fever you can't sweat out, which takes heavy inspiration from chuck palahnuik (im totally spelling his name wrong but idc), moulin rouge, and ryan's own childhood living just outside las vegas. it toes the line between pop punk and cabaret goth, or more accurately pirouettes along the tightrope between them. it is a picturesque score of scandals, sins (not tragedies), classic literature, dark circus couture, and a troubled childhood. it still genuinely astounds me that this album was made by a bunch of teenagers. it is an absolute fucking masterpiece. panic! records a few demos, and then gets the bright idea that "hey, ryan's a huge fan of fall out boy, right? that pop punk band from chicago that's really popular right now? like, he's super obsessed with pete wentz's writing. and pete is really active on social media. what if we shot him a few demos?"

and what does peter lewis kingston wentz the motherfucking third, known lacker of common sense, do?

he makes an entire fucking record label just to sign panic!.

ma'am what.

pete decides to start decaydance records, a sublabel of fueled by ramen, and signs a bunch of his friends' bands, along with these random kids from nevada, because he thinks they have potential or whatever. panic! fully records afycso, and releases it on september 27th, 2005. it becomes a smash hit near immediately, and i write sins not tragedies remains to this day a staple of 2000's emo hits. and what, logically, do they do after this? well, first, they go on the nothing rhymes with circus tour, which i would have absolutely killed to get tickets to had i been, like, alive at the time. but after that they, of course, get this guy named jon walker to join the band as a bassist, take the exclamation point out of their name and retreat into the mountains to hotbox a cabin and write a classic rock album. of course. perfectly logical next move. ...look, they swore to shake it up and we swore to listen. this is on us.

some time in mid to late 2006, panic emerges from the mountains with an album called cricket and clover. after recording demos for pretty much the whole album, they realize, oh, we totally cannot release this. so they rework it into an album called pretty. odd., which is an absolute masterpiece. i don't understand why people don't like it. it's so fucking good. if pretty. odd. has 10000 fans i am one of them if pretty. odd. has 10 fans i am one of them if pretty. odd. has 1 fan it is me if pretty. odd. has no fans i am dead. i don't have as much eloquent stuff to say about p.o. as i do with afycso. i just really like it.

[bad wilbur soot impression] it was at this point that brendon decided to become a problem.

so ryan was struggling with a lot of mental health issues right? you would expect your bandmates, especially the one you trusted to sing the lyrics you expressed and processed a lot of those mental health issues with, to not make fun of you for that, right? you would think? brendon did not think. ever. that man has not had a thought in his life and i mean that as an insult. things get so bad eventually that panic splits in half, with ryan and jon splitting off to form a band called the young veins that released one album in 2010 and then broke up, and spencer and brendon being left with the record deal but being explicitly told by ryan to not use the name panic at the disco. which, technically, they didn't. they went back to panic! at the disco. but still. dick move, man.

panic! is still touring pretty. odd. at this point (late 2009), so they need some touring musicians, because they no longer have a bassist or a guitarist. so they hire. i believe ian crawford? but don't quote me on that. as a guitarist, and, more importantly, dallon weekes as a bassist. dallon becomes a full member of the band soon after, because they flat out don't have a bassist anymore, nor a songwriter, but dallon just so happens to have written music for a (very good) band called the brobecks since before panic! at the disco was even a twinkle in poor ryan's eye. justice for ryan ross. but dallon writes an album called vices & virtues, featuring a couple of songs (mostly bonus tracks) from our good friend pwentz, a song brendon wrote about his wife (the worst song on the album honestly), and like half a song left over that ryan wrote when he was still in panic!. which makes vices & virtues the only panic! album that has had every official panic! songwriter on it. four of them. what is wrong with this band. v&v is a fucking amazing album though. i love it so much.

after that, dallon gets to work on panic!'s fourth album, too weird to live, too rare to die!. his original draft is a fucking masterpiece, but unfortunately most of it never sees the light of day (as in, basically nothing minus all the boys, a demo of far too young to die, and the original lyrics to vegas lights) because brendon comes in and ruins the whole thing and turns it into a marketable alt pop album. as he does. justice for dallon weekes. justice for anyone who has ever interacted with brendon ever actually. twtltrtd is still an amazing album, don't get me wrong. just not as good as it would have been without brendon's meddling. i may be a little bitter.

dallon, inevitably, leaves the band, because not only has brendon been fucking up his writing, he's been harassing him, harassing his wife, and on top of it all, paying him so little he had to get a second job to support his family. spencer also leaves, for unclear reasons. so brendon's got three albums left on a record deal for a band that no longer exists. what does he decide to do? pretend the band still exists and is more than just him, of course. this band and its associates have a history of logical decision making and everything they have ever done was a good idea. of course. he releases an album called death of a bachelor in 2016, which was actually pretty good. you will come to see this is a fluke.

two years later, in 2018, brendon! at the disco releases their sixth album, pray for the wicked, which had like four good songs on it total. however, something much more important happened that year. see, something had been happening in the shadows of salt lake city. someone had been plotting. playing shows. a band that didn't exist had been popping up around, with a disturbingly long name. were they here from the past? were they, perhaps, back from the future? we'll never know. all we know is that the band consisted of dallon weekes, a man* who definitely had no connection to panic! at the disco, and ryan seaman, a man who definitely had no connection to falling in reverse. both of whom had dubious connections to the brobecks. and in 2018, they released their first single, a song called modern day cain.

THATS RIGHT THIS POST IS ABOUT I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME NOW BBY

iDKHOW ended up also releasing their first EP in 2018, called 1981 extended play. it is an absolute masterpiece. i did not care that it was 6 songs, i listened to those 6 songs on loop for months on end. they did not release a full album until 2020. so clearly those months turned into years at some point. i lost track. their first album, called RAZZMATAZZ, came out in october of 2020, after making everyone wait way too fucking long for a full album. you may recognize that album name. that is because it's my name. i am way too obsessed with this band. they haven't been around for very long, so they don't have much history for me to infodump yet, but i am very proud to say i was one of their first fans, and i'll be a fan until the day i die.

nowadays, jon's still releasing solo music (also we are tiktok mutuals), ryan is a hermit, dallon was never in panic! at the disco at all why am i mentioning him, and brendon released an album called viva las vengeance that bombed so hard he announced the formal disbandment of panic! at the disco last month. the evil is defeated. thanks for coming to the circus, everyone. you can go home now.

[abiiors]

three's a party 🍸// george daniel x reader x ross macdonald

a/n: hi. thank you so much to my darlings @bookish-strawberry and @ughgoaway for helping me with some of the scenes!!! this is quite tame compared to some of the others i read for "research" but it is still quite...porny. this note is so long, but i'm just rambling because i'm nervous!!! anyway, here, have this unholy piece of writing with barely any plot

cw: threesome (obv), "good girl" and other feminine words/pronouns, uhhhh...yeah, just. general nastiness.

wc: 3.6k

the pub lights are dim, ambient. people chatter around you in low volume, a friendly humdrum of couples out on date nights and old friends catching up, it’s nice—this place. the food is good, the alcohol is even better; the playlist is just the right mix of sensual and exciting. absolutely perfect for a casual first date.

except for the man in front of you who drones on and on and on about one thing or the other—none of which you have given two shits about in your entire existence. but now you have to sit there and pretend that the local football team—the bulls or the foxes or some other inane animal—are the most riveting conversation you’ve ever had. 

you also have to pretend like you haven’t been checking out other people sitting at the bar, laughing and joking and having way more fun than you in general—the group of drunk girls out on a friday night, couples on dates, two men sat at the edge of the bar who haven't stopped glancing your way since you first walked in.

a blond and a brunet, one with a sharp, clean-shaven face, the other with a softer face and a thick, dark beard. one with close-cropped and buzzed hair, the other with long hair tied up. two ends of the spectrum, yet they both have the same aura of je ne sais quoi about them. it’s tempting, distracting. and certainly a million times better than whatever’s happening in front of you. 

every time one of them looks over at you, you lower your eyes coyly, pretend to be engrossed in a conversation with your date—nodding along to whatever he’s saying and laughing when he pauses expectantly. it’s truly a testament to his intelligence that he hasn’t caught up to your little game yet. 

the blond man looks at you again, intense eyes and a full pink mouth. his eyes linger, lazily staring you from head to toe in your tight black first-date dress. then out the corner of your eye, you watch him mumble something to his friend. 

he’s a bit subtle, turning only slightly and checking you out from the corner of his eyes, making sure he doesn’t get caught every time you look over in their general direction. 

your date clears his throat. 

“so i was thinking we could get one more drink and…take this back to my place?” 

well… shit

“i had a lot of fun…” you begin, trying to hide the wince in your words but your date’s face falls as realisation finally dawns. “but i don’t—”

“so you’ve wasted my time then,” he cuts you off, nostrils flaring in anger as he clutches his beer pint harder than necessary. 

“excuse me?”

“bitch,” he spits under his breath yet you hear it clearly. 

all you can do is roll your eyes at his petulance. the glasses clatter as he stands up abruptly, gathering the attention of a few people nearby. you’re beyond feeling any sort of embarrassment; and why should you? it’s not you making a scene. 

“classy,” you mutter, taking a leisurely sip of your aperol spritz.

it’s great, no reason for you to ruin a perfectly good evening for a little bitch baby. in your peripheral vision, the two men snicker. the rational part of your brain knows they’re laughing at an inside joke; nothing to do with you. but your delusional brain can’t stop imagining the two of them listening in on your conversation, smirking at your date’s little temper tantrum. you take your own sweet time finishing your drink after he leaves. he’s already out of your mind before he’s even halfway across the pub. you can finally indulge in your other pursuits after all.

“well, that was a pathetic date."

it's after fifteen minutes when you've sought solace in the first floor balcony of the pub. a few people loiter in the nooks and corners, making out and sneaking quick puffs of cigarettes, some wait for their turn to use the loo. some linger in search of peace.

you focus your attention on the stranger.

his voice is deep, deeper than you would have imagined. there’s a gravelly and rough edge to it that makes his words skitter down your bones. even just the way he walks towards you, slow and leisurely, has you hypnotised and transfixed on him. but you won’t be swayed so easily. 

“are you always this straightforward with strangers?” 

he comes to a stop a few inches away from you and leans against the railing; his body mirroring yours. his spicy cologne permeates the air around you. it's a struggle to not inhale sharply and get a lungful of it. even in your heels, you’re a good few inches shorter than him. 

“no,” he shrugs and the movement makes his arm brush against yours ever so slightly, “i guess you caught my eye.”

you attribute the goosebumps on your arms to the chilly night air even as a small voice in your head reminds you that it’s august. 

“george,” he extends a hand. it’s big, rough-looking with callouses all over his palms. either he’s a gym rat with pretty show muscles, or… you can’t exactly place the or. but it leads to quite a few interesting theories. 

“your…friend didn’t come out with you?” 

the man—george—raises an eyebrow, either at the way you leave his hand hanging in mid-air or at the mention of his friend but he does a rather good job of hiding his surprise. if he even felt any, to begin with.

“why? you’re more interested in my friend?”

a small part of you almost purrs in delight at the tinge of jealousy in his tone. good, possessive men know how to make nights like these into memorable ones. his fingers curl slightly, ready to put the extended hand down. the nicotine stains on them should have put you off a long time ago. instead, you find yourself looking at those fingers; imagining things you really shouldn’t. 

“you always answer questions with more questions?” you bite your bottom lip, letting just the hint of a smile ghost over your mouth. let him work to figure out your tone. your intentions.  

george chuckles deeply, sucking air between his teeth, and about to say something when you hear the second set of footsteps. these are imperceptibly heavier, almost like you know who it is…

a smirk curls up your mouth as george turns around to look at—

“ross…” he says quietly. 

possessive men know how to have wild nights.

possessive men are also…incredibly easy to predict.

george is behind you, pressed up against your naked ass, hard and thick. the only thing that separates you are his cotton brief. it only took you fifteen minutes to decide to take both the men home with you. and judging from the minimum resistance you got from either of them, one thing is clear—this isn’t their first rodeo.

“you feel this, darling?,” george whispers, mouth brushing over the shell of your ear while rolling your nipple softly between his fingers. 

it’s a lot of stimulation. it’s the good kind of stimulation, the kind that has your toes curling and your thighs shaking. and if it weren’t for the other man kneeling between your legs, holding you up with his hand on your hips, you would have fallen to your knees a long time ago. 

“mm–yes, fuck, it feels good,” you moan, head rolling back to rest against george’s chest. your fingers are tangled up in ross’ hair, long graceful fingers twisting and turning traces of his soft hair between them, guiding him as he licks and sucks your clit until you’re nothing but a wet trembling mess. 

ross won’t be outdone so easily. he hums against you, sending vibrations that shoot through your entire body at lightning speed. “is he making you feel better than i am, baby?” he pouts, stopping entirely. 

his beard glistens in the ambient lights of the room as he stares at you with intense, blown-out eyes. a whine escapes you, your fingers tighten in his hair—tugging at it harshly and making him groan. it’s so close to your cunt, enough for you feel it but not close enough. you writhe against george, trying to thrust your hips back into ross’ face, trying to get him to continue. but george tsks. 

“not before you answer him, baby.” his fingers are back to pinching your nipples; pain and pleasure blending in together in a heady mix. “don’t we deserve to know?”

his voice is gruffer than before, barely restrained—a man so used to commanding people that it rolls off his tongue effortlessly. 

ross smirks when you mumble something incoherently, ready to finish what he started but george is not satisfied. “use your words, darling.”

it sends a spark of desperate annoyance through you, clearing the fog in your brain. “ross is better,” you grit out, guiding the man back between your legs smirking at the way george tenses behind you. 

for someone who seems so calm and composed he certainly has a competitive streak…

ross grazes his teeth against you, licking it after—almost like a reward for declaring him the winner. you throw a leg over his shoulder, hissing at the way his tongue has better access now, crying out when he swipes his fingers against your folds almost lazily. 

you suck in a sharp breath, ready to cry out again but the scream dies in your throat. rather, it’s strangled—literally—by george wrapping his free hand around it, applying pressure to the sides. 

“you want to be a brat?” he tsks again, “she wants to be a brat, ross.” 

ross laughs breathlessly, letting go of you for just a second, “you’re just a sore loser.” he smirks, eyes alight with mirth. there’s a hint of danger in them, not the kind you sense in george—one that comes with a touch of sadism. ross’ brand of danger feels more arrogant. someone who knows what effect he has on people, on women. he’s not a taker. he’s a giver. and right now, he looks at you like he’d give anything to watch you fall apart with his name on your lips. 

the almost lack of oxygen has your head spinning, combined with the knot pulled taut in your stomach—it’s almost impossible to stand up, to make your legs hold you up. but that’s what george is here for. 

his fingers adapt a rougher pace, pinching and flicking your nipples, matching ross’s movements. your mind feels like it’s torn both ways, fighting hard to keep track of two sensations, two feelings. it’s too much.

a string of curses fall from your lips. “gonna cum,” you plead, struggling against ross, desperately trying to get more and more and so much more. “can i cum, please. please–fuck.”

“what should we do, george?” ross hums, ignoring you entirely. his nails dig into your ass, feeling up the curves and the firm muscles. you are nothing but a toy in his hands, for him to use and control. all your bossiness from before melts away as soon as george snakes a hand around your waist, stroking ross’ head and guiding it the way he wants to. 

ross doesn’t resist, he only chuckles, making you cry out pleas once again. 

“have you earned it, sweetheart?” george asks, whispery rough voice burrowing on the insides of your skull. 

have you? 

you nod, or try to at least. it’s hard when your head rests limply on his chest, throat gripped between his hands. 

“please, yes. i’ll do what you want, pl–fuck, fuck.”

“whatever we want?” 

“whatever yo–you want.”

“go on then,” george pinches your nipple, twisting it between his fingers, “give him a taste.”

he’s barely halfway through the sentence when you scream out incoherently, falling apart as waves after waves of pleasure hit you all at once. everything goes white for a split second, all that remains is intoxicating pleasure. you have no sense of time, of self. only that one man holds you up as the other laps at your folds greedily, licking away every last drop of what you have to offer. 

“want a taste?” ross smirks. his voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere under water. you’re unsure if you can stand up on your own just yet. vestiges of the orgasm course through you, heady and hot. “she’s fucking sweet, george, like honey.”

ross stands up, right in front of you, tall and imposing. and for the first time, you’re between both of them, feeling their sweaty skin on yours, inhaling them greedily.

“open your mouth,” he commands, fingers taking hold of your chin and roughly tilting it up. you know what’s coming as you watch the sinister half-smile on his face. and oh how delightlfully right you are. 

the moment you open your mouth for him, ross spits in it; saliva mixed with your slick still coating his tongue. 

“good girl,” he whispers, turning your face to george who captures your mouth in a rough kiss. his tongue flicks on the insides of your mouth, searching, tasting you and ross together. he moans, satisfied. “now about that promise…”

“be a good girl and get on all fours” 

it’s a shock to you how ross takes charge when he wants to. george doesn’t contradict him, he only watches with vague amusement as you try holding yourself up on shaking arms and legs, drenched in sweat and thighs sticky with your own slick. 

your entire body buzzes with adrenaline, shivers racking down your spine, still needy for more and more, still wanting to please the men who have been pleasing you for… what feels like hours now. 

“now,” george says, walking up to you and stopping just in front of you, “you can take both of us, can’t you?”

you peer up at george, tall and imposing george who looks at you with such blatant lust that it makes a tiny moan slip out of you. you can, you have been dying to do just that. now you look at him through your eyelashes and through the sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, falling in your eyes. 

“yes,” you nod eagerly, “please, yes.” 

the men smile, all teeth and hardness and intensity—it’s intoxicating. almost hypnotising, you get on your knees, hand drifting between your legs one more time just to feel the friction again but ross is quicker. 

“ah–ah!” he quickly catches your wrist, before it’s even reached past your navel. “that’s our job, darling. all you need to do is get on all fours and look pretty.”

“but she already is so pretty,” george tsks, palming himself through his briefs. his cock is a stark, thick outline that stands out, making you drool. if he already looks so big and delicious then how good would it be to feel him on your tongue and stretching out your mouth?

the moment stretches on—you on all fours, on trembling, shaky limbs, waiting there like a good little slut for either one of these men to fill you up. 

george continues to play with himself, fingers dipping in and out of the waistband of his underwear, touching and teasing. until finally he pulls his boxers down. you watch, transfixed as george shamelessly pumps himself in front of you, head thrown back, throaty moans echoing in the room as he slides his fist around his cock. you stare, eager and waiting, almost leaning forward. 

behind you, ross is silent. you can almost imagine him staring at the scene in front of him in awe and lust. you try to imagine it from his perspective. your dripping swollen cunt right in front of him growing wetter still the more you watch george. 

“don’t tease,” you almost whine, unable to take more of this. you need to know what he tastes like. and you need it now. 

“eager, are we?” george asks, walking up to you. “are you not pleasing her enough, ross?” he tuts and ross chuckles; throaty and distracted. 

you get little warning before you feel ross sliding a finger up your slit, lazily collecting your wetness and then the tell-tale sound of his tongue lapping it up from his fingers. it’s filthy and disgusting, it makes you arch your back and drives you almost crazy with want. 

“i could do better than your hand.” your grin matches george’s who comes to a stop in front of you. 

“guess she likes me better, ross.”

ross huffs, “we’ll see.”

before you have the chance to respond, ross draws a hiss of pleasure out of you. his length drags against your cunt, almost between your ass cheeks, sliding just the tip in. no further. red, hot need spears through you. if the men are determined to tease and taunt you then it’s for you to take matters into your own hands. 

before george can registers it, you cup a hand around his ass, pulling him forward until his cock practically rests on your face. 

a thick vein runs along the side, pulsating, practically inviting you to trace it with your sharp fingernail. you let your tongue swirl over his slit, humming at the salty taste of his precum. george moans as the vibrations of your hum hit. ross moves his hips slowly, almost pulling out before slamming into you fully. the force of it has you choking on george, gagging around him, drooling messily. 

“breathe,” he commands softly, stroking your hair. you do as he tells you, relaxing your throat more and letting his weight rest on your tongue. 

the sides of your mouth burn from the stretch, black, glittery mascara tears stain your face. and yet all you care about is this, here, now. it’s fullness like you’ve never experienced before, delicious and thick, drawing out gasps and moans from you that mix with his grunts.

“such a perfect girl,” he coos, “isn’t she ross? doesn’t she feel fucking great?” 

ross hums behind you, thrusting into you again at a steady pace. shameless need and lust pools in your belly, bleeds through your veins as you trace along george’s cock with your tongue. his fingers remain tangled in your hair, guiding you, commanding you to please him as he wishes.

you hollow our your cheeks, licking and sucking until his hips move in much the same pace as ross’ do. 

ross’ hand snakes up your waist, between your legs again, finding your clit again to rub and pinch, to make you whine. each one of his flicks makes you moan around george, sending small hums of pleasure right up his spine. he looks blissed out, head rolling and eyes half-lidded. a surge of pride runs through you at the sight. 

ross’ fingers dig into your hips, bruising the soft flesh. twinges of pain intertwine with sparks of pleasure as he pushes in, stretching you out and filling you in. 

“taking me so well, sweetheart,” he praises. the term of endearment from his mouth makes your knees weak and your legs tremble but ross holds you up, slamming into you until he bottoms out again and again. 

flesh slaps against flesh—rhythmic sounds punctuated by guttural grunts. the position you’re in allows ross to thrust deeper each time, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. if your mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, he would have had you mewling by now. but that doesn’t mean you don’t let out the occasional whimpers as you continue to bob your head up and down george’s dick. 

the man is close, you can tell. his cock twitches and spasms in your mouth. he has lost some of his rhythm, hips bucking wildly as he chases his pleasure. you can’t help but caress the base of his cock with your hand, moving it lower to softly squeeze his balls. 

“shit–shit,” he curses loudly, “do that again.”

so you oblige, letting your nails graze on the sensitive skin. within seconds, you feel his hold tightening in your hair. george fucks your mouth with wild abandon, careless thrusts—he couldn't care less about the drool dribbling down your chin, about your tear-stained face. the burn around your lips.

“gonna cum, darling, doing so well,” he grounds out. your own body mirrors the feelings as ross continues to thrust faster and faster. 

the knot in your stomach tightens, blood pumps through your veins, infused with lightning until the bitter-salty taste of cum fills your mouth. george cums, groaning loudly and shooting spurts of his release down your throat that you lap up hungrily. some of it dribbles down the side of your chin but you don’t swallow just yet. instead, you open your mouth wide open for him to have a look. 

“you’re killing me,” he swears, trying to get a grip on himself. only then do you swallow, whining loudly when ross pinches your clit, kneading the bundle of nerves in rough circles. 

“go on,” he commands, “cum for us. wanna feel you around me before i fill you up.”

it only takes one more thrust from ross before you’re almost falling down face first from the force of the orgasm that hits you. vaguely you’re aware of ross cumming inside you, of it spilling down your thighs, mixing with your own release. vaguely you’re aware of george falling to his knees in front of you, legs still spasming as he watches you fall apart again and again. 

you cry out something unintelligent—perhaps their names, perhaps something else. the world blacks out, until slow, blurred images creep back into your line of sight. 

the beginning of the night, the pathetic date is long gone from your mind. right now all you can think of is ecstacy.

and then perhaps a round two.

lemme know what you think <3

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[finkinthisfrew]

Anything (Pt.16)

cw: alcohol consumption, Matty gets angry at Ross (sorry Ross girlies <;3)

Chapter 16 Matty was washing the dishes in my sink after our quick dinner when I stepped out of my bedroom, freshly showered and dressed, ready for the party.

"How do I look?" I said, announcing my presence.

Matty turned to look at me, brushing a curl away from his forehead with the back of his suds-soaked hand. His jaw dropped when he saw me.

"Fuck, Anna," he said, speechless, looking me up and down.

After finally convincing Matty to tell me the dress code (casual- though Matty was adamant that I wear whatever I feel like) I settled on a simple, comfortable outfit. I chose a skin-tight black tube top, some long and loose denim shorts, and a black pair of cowboy boots. I wore a variety of chunky silver rings and a few simple necklaces. My hair was freshly washed, curly and shiny, shaggy as usual. Under my arm, I carried a small black leather studded shoulder bag.

I couldn't help but blush from the way Matty looked at me.

"Please don't ruin the outfit," I said, giving him a small knowing smile as he started towards me, freezing momentarily at my request.

He spun around to the oven, looking for a hand towel, but not finding one. He chaotically searched for one to dry his hands with, looking at the kitchen island, then the counter before yelling, "ANNA, WHERE ARE THE HAND TOWELS, THIS IS URGENT." He spun around in a frenzy as I giggled at him, both his hands still in the air, soap bubbles dripping down his forearms. "THIS IS NOT A LAUGHING MATTER," he yelled, opening cupboard after cupboard. Before I could tell him they were still folded on the couch from when we did my laundry together the previous night, he ran to the washroom.

Seconds later he swept me up in his arms, spinning me around, then set me down and wrapped his arms even tighter around my waist and kissed me. I would have felt dizzy regardless of his spin, feeling lightheaded right away from the passion in his kiss. I returned his energy, kissing him back harder. Our hands roamed each other sensually, slowly becoming more and more frantic. Before things could get any more heated, I lightly pushed Matty's chest and he took my cue immediately.

"Before we get carried away, we should go," I said softly, a little breathless from our kiss, stroking his jawline with my finger.

"Maybe we should stay," he said enthusiastically like he'd just come up with a great idea- as if he wasn't mentioning it for the third time in a row.

"Matty..." I said patiently, "We already settled this. I really want to meet your friends!"

"This outfit is just too good. It's like you wanted me to keep you home, you're practically begging me to hoard you," he said jokingly with a pout. "Maybe I'm not a feminist after all..." he said, biting his lip thoughtfully. I playfully smacked his arm, and he laughed. "I'm joking, I promise. But darling, please have some sympathy here! Look at you! You're drop-dead gorgeous! How could I not want you all to myself?" he said with exaggerated doe-eyes.

"Mattyyyy!" I whined. "Please, babe. We're already late!" I pouted back at him, trying not to laugh at his ridiculousness.

"Don't worry, darling, I'm only taking the piss out of you. The car's already here," he said sweetly, placing a kiss on the top of my head before grabbing his crewneck off the back of my kitchen chair. I picked up his oversized black hoodie which lay on the couch to take with me in case I got cold and he gestured to take it from me, tucking it under his arm along with his layer to carry for me before taking my hand.

About 20 minutes later, we arrived outside of a loud and busy bar. A couple dozen people stood outside smoking, laughing and talking loudly.

As we stepped outside of the car, almost everyone who stood outside greeted Matty as we walked towards the bar, one by one. 

"This is my girlfriend, Anna," he said to each person, a look of pride on his face every time I shook a new person's hand or accepted a friendly hug. It was a whirlwind of names and introductions, but everyone was so kind, and I was already feeling drunk off of Matty's casualness around labelling our unlabeled relationship. We hadn't talked about labelling us as girlfriend-boyfriend, likely because we already knew it was official, but it still made me giddy to hear him call me his girlfriend so proudly.

We walked towards the front door of the bar. A chalkboard sign outside read 'closed for private event' and Matty strolled us right past it, as well as the two large security guards who stood outside.

As soon as we entered the bar, we heard a familiar voice yell out, "Matty! Anna!"  We turned to look and saw George walking towards us in a casual tan linen suit, sporting a giant grin, and holding a bottle of wine in each of his hands. Matty smiled and reached his arm out, giving George a hug, not letting go of my hand. Then George turned to me with a big smile. "Anna! I'm so glad you could make it! How are you?" he asked enthusiastically, giving me a big warm hug.

"I'm great! I'm so excited to finally get to hang out together!" I said as we pulled apart. We began to excitedly ask each other about our days as we all turned to walk towards an empty couch, but another voice called out Matty's name. Matty waved hello before holding up a finger to say he'll be over in a moment. Then he leaned into me and groaned in my ear, "Ugh, I have to go talk to this person for a bit, love. Will you be alright without me for a little bit?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I'll be fine! I wanted some alone time with George anyways so I could ask about all your secrets," I said, giving him a devilish look. He laughed, then said, "I have no secrets from you- you can have them all, my darling." He kissed my temple, then gave me a little emotional smile, just between us. Then he turned to George. "Take good care of her while I talk to Mark, will you?" As George gave Matty a salute, Matty kissed me one last time, then took a step away from me, giving my hand one last squeeze and smiling before disappearing.

I turned back towards George who offered me his arm. Taking it, we strolled towards the empty couch. George offered me one of the half-empty bottles of wine in his hands and I accepted it graciously, taking a large swig. "You look lovely, Anna. I'm obsessed with these cowboy boots of yours" he said, giving me a twirl before sitting down and drinking from his own bottle.

"Thank you, George! You look lovely as well! That's a great suit- you look very dapper," I said sincerely. He fluttered his eyelashes at me comically, "Oh, this old thing?" We laughed together before he launched into his questions. "So, Anna. We only have about 20 seconds before Matty will rip himself from this conversation and come steal you from me- tell me everything. What's this residency you're here for?"

For the next half an hour, George and I talked, learning about each other's lives. He was so kind and warm and me feel so comfortable in a room full of strangers in a country I wasn't familiar with. We had the same sense of humour too, laughing constantly as we slowly emptied our wine bottles.

"Oi!" George yelled out in the middle of a story he was telling me about his first kiss, when a tall thin man in a loose white t-shirt and grey wool trousers walked by us. The man turned to see where the voice had come from as George yelled again, waving his arm. "Hanny, over here!"

The man strolled over, a glass of amber liquor perched casually in his hand as he walked over with a curious smile.

"Hann, I'd like you to meet the infamous Anna."

Before I could say anything, he came over and sat down next to me, pulling me into a warm hug.

"The Anna, in the flesh! It's so nice to finally meet the woman who's stolen Matty's heart," he said with a big smile on his face. "I'm Adam! Or you can call me Hann," he said kindly.

"Well, which do you prefer?" I asked curiously.

"You know, no one ever asks me that!" he said, his eyebrow furrowing in thought. "I don't know that I really have a preference. I guess Hann is what the lads call me more often, but I like Adam. Honestly, I'm fine with either I suppose."

"Well, since I'm not a lad, I guess I'll stick with Adam," I said with a shrug. "But if you ever change your mind, you let me know!" I said as I put my hand on his arm warmly.

Adam smiled at me with intrigue, then put an arm around me giving me a squeeze. "You're a good egg, aren't you? Lucky for you, I'm on the market for a new best mate." He gestured toward George with his thumb before saying, "This one almost forgot my birthday last week."

"Key word- almost!" George said, enthusiastically shaking a single finger in the air. 

We all laughed together before Adam turned to George saying, "She really is as lovely as Matty made her out to be. You really are!" I smiled as he turned back towards me.

"We can't all be in love with Anna- Matty will have our heads. Besides, I think Carly would really like to be friends with Anna," George said with a wink.

Adam rolled his eyes at George before explaining to me, "Carly is my wife. Actually, I think you two would hit it off. She's coming by later- you should meet her!"

"I'd love that!" I said sincerely, as we continued chatting. I really liked Adam. His energy was very calm and warm- I got the sense that the liquor he drank made him more outgoing than normal and I was getting a less soft-spoken version of him. I was utterly charmed.

I leaned in to ask him questions about his wife- how they'd met, how long they'd been together, what he loved about her- and we talked for ages. I was having such a nice time that I almost didn't notice how much time had passed since Matty disappeared. Almost.

Eventually, Adam ran off to find Carly outside, and George and I, having polished off our bottles of wine, went to the bar to get ourselves more drinks. We stood, chatting casually and laughing while we waited for the bartender to finish pouring a dozen shots someone else had drunkenly ordered.

Finally, George leaned over to yell our order to the bartender when I heard a deep voice behind me. "Who's this gorgeous girl, George." I turned around to find a very tall, very handsome bearded man smiling at me. He wore a fitted black T-shirt and dark jeans, his dark brown hair pulled back into a bun.

"Ross!" George yelled in drunken recognition, giving him a hug and a drunken kiss on the cheek. Ross hugged him back, laughing at George's drunken state and giving him a big pat on the back. As they pulled apart, George gestured towards me, excited to introduce me. "This is the beautiful, the stunning, the drop-dead gorgeous Anna," George said, making me blush. "Anna, this is Ross! Part-time bass player, full-time heartthrob," he finished with a wink.

Ross leaned in towards me up against the bar, a beer in hand, smiling at me. "Beautiful indeed." I blushed at his candidness. "So how do you two know each other?" he asked, placing his hand lightly on my lower back.

"She's my girlfriend," said a stern voice behind me. I turned around to find Matty glaring at Ross. His eyes turned to see me stepping towards him and his anger melted away in an instant, a small smile of sadness replacing it. "I'm sorry I disappeared for so long, I couldn't get away," he said painfully, wrapping his arms around me as I approached him. We snapped together like magnets. I didn't care that we were actually in a room full of people who knew who Matty was and were therefore mostly watching us with curiosity. As I wrapped my own arms around him, he pulled me in for a deep and long kiss. Suddenly, we were alone, just the two of us, and immediately I was filled with relief and elation. It felt like coming home- we really were so painfully in love.

When we finally pulled apart, I turned to find George with his head propped up by his elbow on the bar, staring at us with a big goofy smile and wiggling his eyebrows at us.

"If you two weren't so bloody cute I'd be sick all over right now," George teased.

"Well you'll have to get used to it, mate," Matty said, patting George's back with a smile, "I'm sure they've got a bucket or something you could borrow." He said, pantomiming looking behind the bar for a vessel, making George laugh. Matty turned back to me, leaning in to kiss my cheek and asked me softly, "Can I get you a drink my darling?"

"A glass of wine, please?" I smiled at him, and he glowed back at me.

"Anything," he whispered in my ear, then brushed his lips against my mouth, before pressing his forehead into mine and planting a strong kiss on my lips.

George pretended to throw up and made a loud retching noise, making Ross laugh. I smiled at them, turning to Ross and saying, "Shall we find you a bucket too?"

Matty chuckled to himself as he stepped over to the bar, notedly between Ross and me, to order our drinks.

"You're a bit of a firey one, aren't you?" Ross said with a fierce smile, stepping away from the bar and towards me. He raised an eyebrow at me before adding, "I'm glad to know there's someone who can keep up with Matty and all of his antics."

"Antics?" I asked, confused. Ross opened his mouth to answer, but George interrupted him.

"Oh, don't be a prat, Ross," George said throwing his arm around me, "you're just jealous that Matty found her first." George looked at me and wagged his finger at me sternly, "Don't listen to him, he's just lonely and horny." Then someone grabbed George's attention across the room and he disappeared in a drunken flash.

"There's nothing wrong with being lonely," Ross said innocently, looking straight into my eyes with intensity. I felt like his eyes were going to burn a hole through the back of my head.

"I agree," I heard behind me as a hand appeared in front of me with a wine glass. I took the glass and felt Matty's hand wrap around my waist sensually from behind as he embraced me. He placed a kiss on my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. "There's nothing wrong with you being lonely." I felt the quiet anger in his voice. Matty kissed my cheek protectively before adding "In fact, I prefer it. But if you wouldn't mind being horny with someone else's girlfriend, that'd be great, thanks, mate."

Before Ross could say anything, Matty pulled me away, taking us through the back of the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine from a table on our way, and out the back door. 

[cdyssey]

Human

Summary: A quiet moment between Barbara and Janine after they return to the school from their shopping trip. [2.21 Spoilers]

CW: Allusions to Parental Neglect

AO3 Link

—

When Barbara neatly slots into her favorite parking space—right next to Melissa’s sleek, black Civic—she smiles a little at the gentle scolding that she’s probably going to receive from her friend. Something to the effect of, What the hell, Barb? Where’d you fly off to? And then, when she explains, and recognition lights upon the forest of Melissa’s eyes like sunshine, she might even get something of a warm belly laugh and a familiar crooked smile that makes her heart beat faster than it probably should.

Nosy and interfering, she’ll maybe say, shaking her fiery head, elbowing Barbara’s arm. But I can’t say that I blame ya.

There are things in this life worth crossing boundaries for.

People even.

Sitting in her passenger seat, staring thoughtfully out of the window, there is Janine.

With a flick of her wrist, Barbara puts her sedan into park, but she doesn’t turn off the ignition quite yet. A quick glance at her watch lets her know that they still have some time before lunch is over. 

Ten minutes.

Sure, she just spent the last half-hour combing the aisles at Ross’s with the second grade teacher—showing her how to find the best bargains and helping her choose a cover-up that doesn’t seem like three clashing patterns have gotten sick on it—but Barbara has more in her left to give to the young woman who has looked like a kicked puppy all day long.

She gets it now, having finally met Vanetta Teagues.

That’s Janine’s mom.

“Sweetheart?” She prods gently, leaning back in her seat to better look at her coworker, who doesn’t initially stir at the pet name, carved from stone where she sits. Her chin is propped in one hand; the other is knuckled tightly around the handle of her shopping bag. Sunlight dusts her unmoving curls in gold. 

“Janine?” Barbara tries a little more loudly and succeeds this time, unfortunately startling her. She nearly jumps, restrained only by the seatbelt strapped across her, breathing heavily.

“Oh, sorry, Barbara!” She apologizes vehemently and rather unnecessarily. It seems to be a reflexive habit of hers to assume that she’s the one at fault. Barbara, having only spent five minutes alone with Vanetta, already has a distinct visual map of every time that she must have told her two daughters that they were the problem and the burden, perpetually the ones to blame. “I was just, um… lost in thought.”

“It happens to the best of us,” she shrugs warmly, “especially after a long day. The good Lord knows that I can be two crayons shy of a box from time to time.”

Barbara pauses, mulling over what she just said. It’s actually an uncommon admission for her—not being perfect, having off days, maybe even more often than she cares to admit—but she supposes that it’s something that Janine probably needs to hear. After all, it's what she would have liked to hear when she was a young woman of color, growing up and knowing, far better than most, that the eyes of the world were trained on her, waiting to see if her careful balancing act would ever collapse.

She had to be excellent, and so she was.

There was no room for error; every minor flaw was admissible to the merciless jury of mankind, who ultimately had the power and the audacity alike to pronounce her doomed.

Even though she's now decades removed from being considered young, Barbara still hasn’t quite forgotten those ingrained fears of her adolescence. Maybe she even inadvertently passed a few of them to her own daughters when she was raising them. But inwardly, privately, so secretly that she's likely disguised the selfless intention from even herself, she’s hoped for better lives for them, a world where they could be freer than she ever was—freer to make mistakes, freer to try new things, freer to have big and messy feelings that they don't have to neatly package in the well-ordered systems of their minds. 

Maybe she should tell them that one day and make the hard part explicit, but she has a sneaking suspicion that both of her wonderful girls have already figured that vital truth out for themselves.

Janine, though, she might need a little extra help to see the bigger picture.

That’s clear enough for Barbara to both discern and capably respond to.

She’s never been able to say no to a child in need.

“What, no?! You?” Janine laughs incredulously, picking up on the rarity of the circumstance almost immediately. “You’re Barbara Howard. Your crayon box is always full, and, like, super clean and shiny. It makes all the rest of us kinda jealous."

She smiles sadly at this; it's a familiar refrain—this adoration that she's striven most of her professional career to deserve and the entirety of her personal life to wholly live up to. (Even to this day, she's not sure she's ever completely reached the mark.)

“It’s touching that you think so highly of me, Janine,” she says, lightly shaking her head, “but I have my moments too. Perhaps far fewer than I used to, sure—experience has seasoned me, and it absolutely will you too someday—but still, even at sixty-six years old, I’ve been known to accidentally set tables on fire during my time.”

“Oh, God,” the younger teacher snorts inelegantly, covering her mouth. “I forgot about that.”

“Well, I certainly haven’t,” Barbara says it teasingly, like it’s a part of the joke, their quipping game, but she knows that it very well isn't. Every time she so much as walks in to the teacher lounge these days and sees the pot of sunflowers on hers and Melissa’s table, she understands that it’s covering up her own scorch marks.

Her momentary lapse.

Her nearly costly mistake.

That one bad day.

She’s somewhat made her peace with that, partially because she doesn’t have the energy to make a new martyrdom out of a mole hill, and partially because Melissa once delicately fingered the stems of that ersatz arrangement and noted that there were two.

Just for them.

Only for them.

“Point is, Janine,” she continues softly, “no need to apologize for simply being. I’ve been down that road far too many times before.” (A perpetual hypocrite, maybe she still is.) “So take this as wisdom from an old timer who cares. It’s perfectly okay to be human.”

Janine immediately glances away at the profound weight of these words, visibly overwhelmed and unprepared to be so. She tucks one of her dark curls behind her ear; her shoulders shiver against an unseen cold.

Barbara bites her lower lip and wonders if she’s overstepped yet another line; she seems to be doing that a lot with this particular young woman today, profusely and perhaps even recklessly blurring the margins between colleague and friend, mentee and work daughter.

But her fears seem to be unfounded because she does in fact get a response.

Eventually.

(Harrowingly.)

“Is it okay to still be sad about my mom, even though you just did a really nice thing for me?” Janine asks in a small voice that cleaves the kindergarten teacher’s beating heart in two.

This poor child.

This twenty-six year old woman, who pays rent, drives a car, and is a good teacher to all her children.

But even still.

“Yes, baby girl,” she murmurs, reaching over and curling her fingers around Janine’s wrist. 

It’s a simple gesture, a precious one. 

“That’s part of being human too.”

Janine nods and sniffs once, but she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn't exactly need to.