#why are you playing your music so loud....................

[araybiaaa]

where spencer becomes infatuated with a woman that he meets at the strip club.

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pairing: spencer x original character

fandom: criminal minds (2005)

tags: nerdy!spencer, shy!spencer, original character, stripper, lap dances, black!female oc, black!character, explicit sexual content, black!woman, sexual gratification, consensual touching, vaginal fingering.

notes: recently watching cm and my love for spencer has come back! (though it never really left.) this came into my head and i couldn’t get it out. this is written in third person, but there is a switch in character perspectives!

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“You’re coming, pretty boy, no excuses!” Morgan spurs, clasping a hand on Spencer’s shoulder as they walked towards the building.

He greets the security guard with a nod — who returns the gesture; allowing him to proceed further but he extends his arm out halting them to a stop as he gives a dubious look over at Reid. “ID?” He avers with a raised brow.

Reid’s cheeks flush in chagrin as he reaches into his front pocket to retrieve his wallet. This is why he hated going out — even at the age of 30 he was still subjected to being carded. Despite this exasperation, he pulls the wallet out and holds it up for the guard to look at. He spectates the card; verifying Spencer’s age then nods, gesturing for them to go through.

“Morgan,” Spencer laments hesitantly; his face colors crimson and eyes widen when they walk inside. He wasn’t completely oblivious or inexperienced to not know the attire that strippers wear, but seeing it in person like this, admittedly had him flustered. “I uh, I don’t know if I—”

“It’s your birthday, kid.” Morgan exclaims over the loud staccato of music that played through the overhead speakers. “This is my gift to you so try to enjoy it!” He cajoles, smirking impishly at Reid as he leads them further inside.

He follows in tow behind Morgan, his eyes wander around the club’s front room; staring at the men who were all stuck in a mesmerized awe at the woman that was currently dancing on the pole. They find an empty table located in the back; though it’s positioned to where the view of the woman on stage is directly in his sight.

“You want something to drink? It’ll probably help you loosen up a bit,” Morgan offers with a raised brow, in which Reid nods his head. “I’ll be right back.”

Reid nods again, looking around absentmindedly. His eyes seemingly wander back onto the stage where he catches the gaze of the woman.

The blue and purple lights illuminated the stage; contrasting against the smooth darkness of her skin. Her movements were agile and sensual as she danced despite the six inch stiletto heels that she wore on her feet. She utilizes the pole as a prop and as an extension of her body during her routine — executing acrobatic and graceful movements that had every man’s attention focused solely on her.

Reid swallows thickly, unable to thwart his gaze, too mesmerized by sight of her.

His blush deepens when she catches his gaze. He shyly averts his eyes, worried that she was repulsed by his unabashed staring. “Here, I got you something that’ll put some hair on your chest.” Morgan clamors, walking back over to their table as he extends a glass of dark liquor over to Reid.

He usually preferred to keep his alcohol consumption limited to beer and wine, but Morgan was right — he needed to loosen his inhibitions. So he downs back the drink in one swallow, coughing as the warm liquid runnels down his throat.

“Hey, I think someone likes you,” Morgan leans over, nudging his chin outwardly towards the stage. Reid’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, his curiosity piques at Morgan’s claim. His eyes follow the direction of Morgan’s gaze, surprised to see that when he looks up at the stage again, the dancer is looking at him.

The soft smile that adorns her face when she notices his stare has his breath catching in his throat.

The song that she’s dancing to suddenly stops, indicating the end of her routine. She crouches down to collect the dollar bills that were strewn across the stage’s platform. Reid’s eyes never leaves hers, not even as she gathers her money and clambers off of the stage, walking to the back of the club.

He feels disappointment pulling in his chest over the thought of not seeing her again.

Albeit, he would never have the courage to actually approach a woman as beautiful as she is, he found himself desperate to see her again. His somber mood fleets when he sees her emerge from the back of the club. She looks over at him, smiling, before suddenly approaching.

“Hi,” She greets, her eyes meet Morgan’s first, but then she’s looking at Reid, almost smothering him beneath her flirtatious gaze.

“H-Hi,” Reid says, flushing at his inadvertent stammer.

She giggles, seemingly fawning at his nervousness. “Did you enjoy my performance?” She questions, tilting a curious head at Reid with an amused expression stretching across her face.

He blushes, deeper this time, looking over at Morgan who’s smirking behind his glass. Reid nods, harrumphing softly as he shyly looks up at her. “You were amazing,” He murmurs, seeing her smile widen at his compliment.

“Thank you,”

Morgan sets his glass down onto the table as he leans forward in his chair. “It’s actually his birthday,” She raises her brows, shifting her eyes over at Reid again.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Morgan nods, “He was going to spend it binge watching Star Wars movies but I dragged him here instead,”

“It’s a good thing that you did, otherwise we wouldn’t have met.” She says, blatant with her flirtation. “You know, usually when it’s someone’s birthday, they get some time in the VIP room with a dancer of their choice,” Her suggestiveness hangs in the air; waiting for Reid to pick up her innuendo.

…

Her fingers intertwine with his as she leads him down the narrowed hallway, passing by all of the occupied private rooms until she reaches the room at the end. She pushes the door open, gently tugging him inside with her before closing the door shut.

“I’m guessing this is your first time at a strip club,” She states, more rhetorical than anything because she could tell just from the palpability of his nervousness. He nods sheepishly, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

“Well, I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself okay, baby?” She affirms, leading him towards the couch and easing him down with a gentle push against his shoulders.

She fawns at how adorably struck he looks; eyes doe and a bit hazy as he stared at her, mouth parted slightly ajar as soft breaths slips through, chest expanding and deflating in sporadic chasms. He was cute to her with his boyish features despite his apparent age.

Usually, when she brings men back here they’re always either haughty with conceit or too forward. But as she stood hovering over him as he sat with his hands in his lap; she could tell that he would be more submissive than dominating.

He looks up at her underneath the lengths of his eyelashes, waiting and anxious.

She turns around, arching her back as she bends over. The mini skirt that she was wearing, that barely covered the cupping of her ass cheeks, hikes up over her hips, to where she’s now displaying her black laced thong. She shakes her ass in his face, the friction of the thin strip of fabric from the gusset of her thong brushes against her clit.

She looks at him over her shoulder, biting back a smile when she sees him licking his lips as he shifts in his seat. She then thumbs her fingers against the waistband of the skirt, slowly pulling it down until it falls to the floor with a soft thud.

She absentmindedly kicks the skirt aside, turning around so that he’s allowed a full view of her. “Like what you see?” She murmurs.

He nods vigorously, “Yes,”

She smiles impishly as she turns around again, this time perching herself down onto his lap. She wriggles around a bit until she’s seated comfortably and directly on top of him with her ass pressed against his pelvis.

She hears him inhale a sharp breath.

“Now, there is a no touching rule,” She begins, rolling her hips in a circular oscillation as she presses her hands into the cushions of the couch for leverage. “But I’ll make an exception just for you, okay baby? I want you to touch me as much as you’d like,” She positions a full body roll, shaking her ass against him and then dragging her half-covered cunt over his thighs.

She whimpers, breathing shakily through her mouth. Her breath hitches when she feels the friction of her ass teasing against his growing erection. “What’s your name?” She asks, peering over her shoulder again.

“R-Reid. Ah, Spencer.”

“Cute name.”

“What’s yours?”

She chuckles, shaking her head as she implements another fluid grind of her hips. “I can’t tell you that. But you can call me Summer.” She reaches behind her, grabbing ahold of his hand that she sets on her waist. “I told you, you can touch me, Spencer.”

He nods, reaching the other hand up and sliding it over the curve of her waist. There’s something about his fingers and how they hold her with such delicacy even when he tightens them around her, that admittedly her heart fluttering. She’s usually repulsed by guys touching her — either they were too rough or their hands were callus laden and irritated her skin when they’d grab her but his were soft, large and dexterous.

She moves her hips in accordance to the guidance of his hands, assuring that she fluctuated enough sensuality to where he’s murmuring low curses underneath his breath with every grind that she teases against him.

She gasps when she feels the brush of his erected cock against her ass. “Sorry,” He whispers shakily through his apology.

“Don’t be,” She reassures him, “That’s just proof that I’m doing my job right,”

She swivels her hips again, hearing a throaty groan ripping through his throat when she teases him against her ass again, feeling the girth of him swell in his pants from the stimulation.

“Summer.” He whimpers; the sound soft and pretty coming from his lips.

“Yes, Spencer?” She bends over again, this time slowly sliding two of her fingers over her clothed pussy. She bites back a whimper, feeling herself flutter at the sensitivity.

“Can I-”

She turns to him, looking at him through her glossy vision. “Can you what, baby?”

She doesn’t get aroused like this.

Normally, it’s a simple dance of her routine then she’d collect her money from the men, sending them off in their cum-stained pants and their wallets $400 dollars lighter. But with Spencer it was different. She could feel the wet stickiness of her arousal slicking the gusset of her underwear and her cunt throbbing every time she pushes her ass against Spencer’s cock.

He breathes ruggedly against her neck. “Can I touch you, please?” And it only takes a second for her to comprehend his plead. She nods, her desperation equally as palpable as his.

Leaning herself against his chest, she clefts her legs open; feeling goosebumps prickle along her skin in anticipation. He buries his face in her hair, sliding his hand over hip. His fingers tug the fabric of thong aside — her clit brushes against his palm as he lowers his hand to spread her open.

She moans, her body shivering.

She clasps her hand over his wrists, anchoring herself as he curls his finger, sliding it along her slickness. She feels his cock twitch beneath her; his libido heightens as he pleasures her. She cants her hips, thrusting against the thickness as he slides in another finger, teasing the sensitivity of her clit.

The sound of his fingers deftly maneuvering through her wetness ricocheted throughout the room. She feels a tight clench of her cunt as she swelled around his fingers, already close to her release. And she’s pleasantly surprised at how good he is at this.

She grinds down harder onto his fingers, lacking any suave fluidity in the haste gyration of her hips. She’s panting, in unevened breaths, trembling atop of him wrecking herself completely, almost to the brink.

Spencer flicks his wrists and curls his fingers deeper; puckering them in and out, in and out, marveling at the wetness that gathers around them every time he withdraws.

Her head falls back, mouth slants agape in a perfect O, sweat sheened along her skin and hairline as she feels her body go lax when she cums. Her cunt convulses, still swollen and sensitive from the thickness of Spencer’s fingers. She hears him groan gutturally, his breath hot against her neck as he shivers.

“That’s never happened before,”

He presses his forehead against the back of her neck, “Sorry,”

She smiles, shaking her head. “Don’t be.” She stands shakily to her feet and turns around so that they’re facing each other. She lowers herself onto his lap, straddling him. He looks debauched with his rosy skin and lidded eyes.

She reaches her hands up and cradles his face before leaning in to kiss him. He moans, sliding his hands over her waist; tugging her closer. She indulges in the taste of his lips, at how soft his lips are and how he kisses with fervor. She pulls away reluctantly, hearing him emanated a petulant whimper.

“Time’s up. Your friend only paid for half an hour,”

He nods solemnly, “Can I see you again?” He asks, hopeful in his approach.

She slides off of his lap, walking over to pick up her discarded skirt. “I work everyday from noon to closing. You can come by whenever you like,” She slides her skirt back over her hips, watching as Spencer ran a hand through his hair.

He stands to his feet, adjusting himself as he gives her a flushed look. “Okay, well, thanks, for making it a memorable night.”

“I think I should be thanking you,” She laughs as they walk out of the door and step into the hallway. “You were definitely my favorite customer,”

Spencer smiles bashfully.

“I hope to see you again, Spencer.”

He nods, “I hope to see you too, Summer.”

[crepesuzette2023]

That Klaus Voormann Interview where he says he might have been a better bass player for the Beatles than Paul

I got curious about this after reading this post about Klaus and Paul by @thewalrusespublicist, and saw that there was some interest in the interview in the comments, but that people hadn't been able to find it.

Original article (German) here (Süddeutsche Zeitung, 2010)

Quick & dirty translation into English by: moi

• Humor translates poorly, especially without audio. I tried my best, but can’t guarantee I captured the tone perfectly.

• Apologies for the n-slur in the quote from Klaus’s grandmother. I left it in because it illustrates Klaus’s background and the spirit of the times.

• Speaking of: context is important, so I decided to translate the whole thing.

• Klaus is 5 years older than Paul — I must have known this, but didn’t realize how it must have impacted their relationship in Hamburg before now.

• I wasn’t able to find other English translations, which is why I did this one, but if you know of any, or have done one: let me know and I will add a link. And sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore anyone’s work.

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Klaus Voormann: I should explain something right away: I have a real problem with dyslexia.

SZaW: Reading the menu?

Voormann: I have to read it out loud. I have to hear it to understand it. If I say "Knoblauchspeck mit Hausbrot" out loud, it’s there right away, and I won’t forget it.

SZaW: Is it an artists’ affliction?

Voormann: I don’t know. But it caused many hang-ups and problems I’m still carrying around with me.

SZaW: Were the 1950’s that bad?

Voormann: It was bad for me in the sense that none of my teachers realized I was dyslexic. The teacher said, “read from the book,” and I wanted to disappear from the earth. Chemistry didn’t interest me, historical dates didn’t mean anything to me, but the teachers wanted to beat it into you.

SZaW: But then you quit school to go to Hamburg, where, in the autumn of 1960, you discovered an obscure band from Liverpool called “The Beatles.” You can’t have been twenty yet [he was 22], I believe George Harrison was only 17. Stupid question: What were they like?

Voormann: Loud. I heard this noise from a basement at the Reeperbahn, and followed it. It grabbed me right away, because this was music I could hear and see right there in Hamburg: not a disc, no radio, but real people playing! I was amazed by the momentum they unleashed with only three instruments.  

SZaW: And you just went to them?

Voormann: During the break, I went to them and introduced myself. They looked incredibly strange: Studded jackets, hair in a DA, the boots [with the fur, just kidding]. Back then, I worked as a graphic designer for Hörzu und Kristall, but I wanted to design record sleeves. John Lennon pointed me to Stuart Sutcliffe and said, “talk to him, he’s our artist.”

SZaW: You wouldn’t expect studded jacket music to appeal to a coddled boy from the Berlin upper class.

Voormann: According to my mother, it was boogie-woogie, “negro music,” from the jungle. But to me, the Beatles were a revelation, as if I’d suddenly learned to roller skate or race on a motorbike. Up to that point, there’s been jazz on the one side, classical music on the other. Suddenly, something fresh entered the scene. You could tell they didn’t speak for the elite, but for the simple people: the toilet cleaner getting off in the back [???], the pimp who thinks it’s hot, or a famous photographer who’s obsessed with it.

SZaW: Your family back home must have been pleased. Rumor has it your grandfather owned a whole district back in Berlin.  

Voormann: My grandfather basically owned all of Heiligensee. He had shares in oil companies and South African diamond mines. Unfortunately, I didn’t meet him. He died before the inflation of 1923.

SZaW: Lucky for him.

Voormann: That depends.

SZaW: So, all that money became worthless inflation-billions?

Voormann: As children, we were playing roulette with the bills.

SZaW: A pastime fitting your class.

Voormann: My grandmother used to go to Monte Carlo to gamble.

SZaW: With real money?

Voormann: Back then it was real. I would have loved to know my grandfather; he was a great guy. There are stories about him throwing gold coins in the air because he enjoyed the girls screaming and jumping, trying to catch them. He liked to go out, and he had other women. When he came home, he brought back a silver plate of oysters for my grandmother, his “little dove.” My grandmother got angry and kicked the plate out of his hand, and he said, “my little dove, I didn’t know oysters could fly.” Then they made up.

SZaW: It must have been a better world. Obviously, you diligently followed your piano lessons as a child.

Voormann: I played Chopin, performed in concerts, and I might have become a good pianist. But at the time, it felt too risky. My parents didn’t want it, and ultimately, I didn’t, either. And so, it was decided I should become a graphics designer.  

SZaW: Coming from this world, entering the sweaty cellars of Hamburg must have felt like a descent into hell.

Voormann: Of course. It wasn't a protest, per se, but I went away, went to art school in Hamburg, and broke free from my family bonds. This music thing wouldn’t leave me alone, this love came from the gut. The Beatles added the heart.

SZaW: The Hamburg Beatles were a five-piece band, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Stuart Sutcliffe and the drummer, Pete Best. Times must have been rough. Albert Goldmann writes in his biography that John killed a sailor on the Reeperbahn. And Stu Sutcliffe’s sister keeps saying Lennon killed her brother.

Voormann: Of course there were fights where Stuart got beaten up, not by John, but by blokes whose girlfriends liked Stuart.

SZaW: And Lennon was supposed to be a closet case, who had an affair with Stuart . . .

Voormann: Complete nonsense. The two of them knew each other since they went to school together in Liverpool, after all. I liked Stuart, too, and we, as guys, would hug each other from time to time. He was a charismatic artist, that was all. In my whole life, I never met anyone who saw and perceived as much as this little boy—no matter if it was a bird or the sound of a train.

SZaW: And why was this good-looking boy so ashamed on stage he stood with his back to the audience?

Voormann: He wasn’t ashamed of his looks; he was ashamed he didn’t know what he was doing on guitar. Not that rock’n’roll has a lot to do with actual music. "Tutti Frutti," for instance, has three repeating chords, and all the bass needs to play is the root note. Great musicianship isn’t part of it. For Stuart, it was difficult, because not only was he not a musician, he didn’t want to be one. Still, his love of rock’n’roll was enormous, and his charisma was on par with Elvis Presley. [KLAUS!!!!]

SZaW: Stuart was posing, whereas George Harrison practiced until his fingers bled.

Voormann: George had a very ambitious way to make licks his own. He couldn’t improvise chords on the spot like Eric Clapton; he had to craft them and put them together. If anyone fit the type of lead guitarist, it was Paul McCartney.

SZaW: Before he became the bassist, Paul played second guitar back in Hamburg.

Voormann: Most of the time. Later, in the "Top Ten" or in the "Star Club,” he also played the piano, simple stuff.

SZaW: Because rock'n'roll isn’t real music.

Voormann: Well, it isn’t.

SZaW: And yet, you wanted to play rock’n’roll at all costs?

Voormann: At some point, I bought Stuart Sutcliffe’s bass for 200 DM, because he wanted to paint. Later, I actually turned out to be a good bass player.

SZaW: because you spent a lot of time watching from the audience?

Voormann: I had the tools from my classical training, but I had no idea how to play on a stage. I played the songs I heard on the Reeperbahn at home, by myself.  

SZaW: Stu Sutcliffe couldn’t, and didn’t want to play. Did you want to take his place?

Voormann: Maybe. During their final show together, I went to John and said, “Well, John, would it be possible for me to play bass?” And he said, “Sorry, Klaus, Paul already bought a bass. He’s going to be our new bassist.”

SZaW: Close, but no cigar.

Voormann: Hm.

SZaW: You came close, but when world fame started, you weren’t on board. Is that a good way of putting it?

Voormann: Hm, yes it is.

SZaW: Do you regret it?

Voormann: It would be interesting to know what would have happened. They wouldn’t have been with four, but with five. Would it have worked? Would I have fit in? The Stones were a five-piece.  

SZaW: A six-piece, originally. They fired piano player Ian Stewart, because he wasn’t pretty enough.

Voormann: They certainly couldn't have accused me of that.

SZaW: Ex-Beatle Pete Best sometimes goes on revival tours, and still feels cheated.

Voormann: And if he lives to be a hundred years old: Pete Best is not a good drummer. He simply didn’t have the charisma for a band this powerful. Maybe I lacked that charisma, too, but it was Ringo who got things swinging.

SZaW: Like Pete Best, you narrowly missed your chance.

Voormann: If you look at the musical roots of the Beatles, I would have fit better, in some ways, than Paul.

SZaW: Ja?

Voormann: Many people will take this the wrong way if I'm saying it here, but I approach bass playing completely differently. I would have stood for something primitive, earthy. If I’d been in the band, I would have used my influence to push for more rhythm and blues.

SZaW: For the Hamburg cellar dwellers.

Voormann: I know that John could have been closer to these roots, that later came through in a few numbers. But from the moment they became Lennon-McCartney, that disappeared completely—"Please Please Me", "She Loves You", "Help" and everything. They took off towards a completely new style of music, and I probably would have been an obstacle.

SZaW: Unlike Paul McCartney, who seduces the camera with his puppy eyes in Let It Be.

Voormann: The charlatan.

SZaW: But important, because of the girls.

Voormann: Without Paul, Beatlemania wouldn’t have happened. Paul is an entertainer; he can handle an audience. Different from John, who wasn’t a front man.

SZaW: He could be very forward on the Hamburg stage, when he greeted the audience with "Sieg Heil!"

Voormann: He was joking.

SZaW: Nazi jokes.

Voormann: All of that was unprofessional stuff. Professionalism came from Paul.

SZaW: Is it true John and Paul brought the mop top haircut back from Paris?

Voormann: They were there, but still: Stuart had the hairstyle first.

SZaW: Who cut his hair?

Voormann: Astrid Kirchherr. But I don’t want to revisit that story, it’s so embarrassing.

SZaW: Why not? Hamburg’s only contribution to the world’s cultural heritage.

Voormann: I was the first to have his hair cut in this style by Astrid, and then the others wanted it, too.

SZaW: Where is Stu Sutcliffe’s bass guitar now?

Voormann: I needed money at some point, and had it auctioned off at Sotheby’s for thirty- or forty-thousand Mark. Stu’s sister bitched and complained, theft, etc., and that’s why I only got a couple of thousand Mark. I wish I could undo the sale. I would like to have the bass.

[broidobe]

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔭𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested! reader is dating ALL OF THEM AT ONCE!

⁎⁺˳✧༚miscellaneous masterlist

okay soooo

this is gonna be…long

cause i mean NINE FUCKING BOYFRIENDS??

WHEW

I COULD NEVER

each member has their unique way of looking out for you, from joey’s quiet, observant care to shawn’s more intimidating "don’t mess with them" stance.

group outings are pure chaos—picture nine masked men vying for your attention at once. it’s loud, messy, and hilarious, but you secretly love it.

no matter how intimidating they might seem onstage, they all have moments of softness reserved just for you—whether it’s paul writing you a heartfelt note or craig letting you play with his gear.

they’re a loud and chaotic family, but they all respect your boundaries and each other’s space when it comes to your time and affection.

you’re their grounding force, the one who can diffuse tensions when things get heated and make even their darkest days brighter.

there are pretty specific interactions with each of them

joey: joey’s the romantic one, slipping you mixtapes with songs that remind him of you. he’s also fiercely loyal, often standing up for you during any disagreements among the group.

corey: corey’s the go-to for deep conversations and random adventures. he writes lyrics inspired by your connection, though he pretends they’re not about you when asked.

shawn (clown): shawn’s all about making you laugh. he loves pulling pranks with your help, but if someone crosses you, he switches to dad mode instantly.

paul: paul’s the quiet but affectionate type. he’s the one who’ll make sure you’ve eaten and bring you coffee during late nights.

jim: jim’s surprisingly shy but shows his affection in subtle ways, like tuning your guitar or sharing his favorite riffs with you.

chris: chris is the one who’s always up for silly jokes and lighthearted fun. he’ll do anything to make you smile, even if it means making a fool of himself.

sid: sid’s energy is unmatched, and he often drags you into his wild stunts. he also has a habit of surprising you with random gifts, like cool masks or rare vinyl records.

craig: craig doesn’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words. he’ll always make sure you’re comfortable and safe, even in the craziest of situations.

mick: mick might seem aloof, but he has a tender side that only comes out around you. he loves teaching you about his music gear and will fiercely defend you against any negativity.

they make sure you’re front and center for each show

and they ALL make sure to do something to impress you

now i don't know if you’ve seen THAT video of sid

where his finger are moving SO FUCKING FAST on that record

and his spit is DRIPPING

BUT HE WOULD TOTALLY DO THAT WHILE STARING RIGHT AT YOU

there’s a constant (but playful) competition to impress you. whether it’s mick playing the most insane guitar solo or joey showing off his double-bass drumming, you always end up cheering for all of them.

cause i mean how could you not?

corey loves dedicating shit to you

THIS ONE’S FOR Y/N, LOVE YOUR FAVOURITE BOYFRIEND!

mornings are WILD

waking up with nine band members around is… an experience.

sid is bouncing off the walls with energy, joey is groggy and in desperate need of coffee, and mick just grunts at everyone until he’s fully awake.

you’ve learned to navigate this chaos like a pro.

by sitting on the couch and doing really nothing about it

i mean you’ll get dragged into SOMETHING by sid

when fans recognize you, the guys are split between playfully teasing you about your “fame” and keeping a protective eye on the interaction.

everything okay here?

let me know if you need me

sid once pretended to be your bodyguard when a fan got a little too enthusiastic.

he wore sunglasses and kept saying, “no photos, please,” even though no one asked.

when someone once flirted with you, corey leaned over and said,

oh yeah, she’s totally into you. that’s why she’s hanging out with nine masked maniacs instead of you.

and if you don’t make it on tour (which is very rare)

they rotate who gets to call you. sid always insists on doing something wild to make you laugh.

they send you care packages filled with notes, trinkets, and random souvenirs they’ve picked up along the way. paul’s gifts are thoughtful, while sid’s are borderline ridiculous.

corey and jim send you postcards from every city, each one scribbled with inside jokes or sweet messages. mick signs them with a simple “wish you were here.”

they plan spontaneous road trips to random places, like a quiet beach or a weird roadside attraction, just to see you smile

they all contribute to a scrapbook filled with photos, ticket stubs, and little notes from their time with you. craig, surprisingly, is the one who organizes it all perfectly.

[hongcherry]

all my love || l.c.

Based on #119 Going Seventeen (GOING PRODUCTION), after Chan gets off work early.

💃 Pairing: idol!Chan/Dino x Reader 💃 Rating/Genres/AUs: PG/Pure fluff/Idol au, establish relationship 💃Word Count: 1.4k 💃 Warnings: None 💃 Author's Note: I've always wanted to write a story like this and since Chan's been on my mind lately (more than usual), I thought this was the perfect time to give it a try ☺️

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty!

When Chan hears Seungcheol read their choreographer’s message in the group chat, he instantly gets a boost of dopamine. It’s his first time since debut to get the day off when asked. If this would’ve happened a couple of months ago, he would’ve seen if any of his members wanted to go hang out. Now, he just wants to head straight to your home. He just wants to hold you as much as he can.

As soon as the filming ends, he bids his members goodbye—though not without getting teased for why he’s so eager to depart—and leaves for your apartment.

As Chan nears your front door, he can hear music playing. It doesn’t take long to recognize the beat. It’s one of his group’s songs. Although this isn’t the first time you’ve tuned into his music, it still brings a smile to his face. He loves knowing you enjoy the music he and his members make.

Chan uses the spare key you gave him to step inside. He's instantly blasted with a whiff of sweets and loud tunes.

“Babe?” he calls out gently so he doesn’t scare you, taking off his shoes and placing them beside yours.

He doesn’t hear a reply.

He calls out one more time while moving farther in.

Still nothing.

It’s not until he rounds the corner that he sees you in the kitchen. Your back is to him, your body moving to the music while you sing.

Chan’s steps falter. The smile on his face grows tenfold as he watches. He can’t see what you’re doing, but from the sounds of something scraping, you’re mixing something in a bowl.

You pause in your mixing when you’re distracted by the chorus. Your singing gets louder, and your movements get bigger. It’s not the actual choreography, but that doesn’t matter. Chan’s heart squeezes at how endearing the sight is. He wonders if you know just how cute you look right now.

“Nice moves,” he calls out.

Your movements screech to a halt as you scream while you turn, back hitting the counter from your legs giving out.

Chan’s joyous expression instantly turns into worry.

“It’s just me! I’m sorry! Are you okay?” Chan rushes to kneel in front of you.

Your eyes are wide, and your hand grips the whisk tightly. It takes you a few seconds to realize who’s in your home.

“Channie?” you question in surprise.

Chan smiles, reaching out to swipe a speck of whatever you were mixing from your cheek. He goes to lick it from his thumb but you quickly stop him.

“Don’t! You might get sick!” you exclaim.

Chan laughs and still brings his thumb to his mouth. You watch with a frown as he licks it. He hums in satisfaction.

“Whatcha making, baby?” he asks, gently easing himself from your grip so he can hold your hand instead.

“Brownies,” you trail off as if realizing something’s off. “Wait—what time is it? Has the time really gone by so fast?”

Chan shakes his head and stands to his feet, helping you up as he goes.

“We got the day off after filming,” he explains.

You place the whisk back in the bowl before looking at him again.

“Really?” You smile.

Chan copies your grin, stepping closer until he’s trapped you against the counter.

“Couldn’t wait to come home to you,” he murmurs. His eyes drop to your lips, and he watches as they spread wider.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say then wrap your arms around his neck to pull him in a kiss.

Chan’s arms circle your waist, welcoming the kiss with glee.

Your mouth feels so nice against his. He’s not sure if he’s still happy about leaving work early or if he’s just happy to see you, but he feels he’s about to combust from it.

“I need to finish these,” you say after you pull away.

Chan follows your finger pointing to the brown mix in a bowl.

“Do you need help?” he asks.

You shake your head, turning in his embrace so you can whisk the batter again.

Chan leans his head against yours while he watches you work. He lets the music still playing take the place of the conversation. Your warm body brings him so much comfort that he can’t help but snuggle closer, earning him a small giggle from you.

After giving the batter a few more stirs, you retrieve a pan and pour the batter over the parchment paper you pre-cut. Once it’s in the oven, you turn around again.

“You really can’t stay still, hm?” you question.

Chan tilts in head in confusion. “Huh?”

You chuckle. “You’ve been swaying back and forth this entire time.”

“I have?” he wonders, not realizing he was doing so.

You nod, smiling. “You can take the dancer out of the studio, but you can’t take the dancer out of him.”

Chan laughs.

“Speaking of,” he fades off and walks you both from the counter. He drags his hands from your waist to your hands.

“Care to show me those dance moves again?” he teases lightly.

You laugh and try to hide your face in his chest, but he keeps stepping back.

“Come on, babe. Let’s see them,” he says and gives your joint hands a shake.

Granted, you’re not the worst dancer out there, but you’re nowhere near Chan’s level of skills. He recalls you saying you probably have one-tenth of his talents, but Chan doesn’t care.

“Dance with me instead,” you whine, pulling him to you and away from the counter more.

“Okay,” he replies with a laugh.

Chan tugs you to him and places a hand on your waist while he holds the other. Meanwhile, you put your free hand on his shoulder.

Chan begins to lead you around the kitchen, moving in circles that match the music. Then without notice, he spins you away from his body before tugging you back and dipping you.

You stare up at him stunned.

“You’re cute,” he chuckles and presses a sweet kiss to your lips before standing you upright.

“I thought I was gonna fall!” You pout.

Chan starts swaying you both again.

“I’d never let that happen,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

You grin and circle your arms around his neck. You snuggle against his chest, feeling overjoyed to have the opportunity to spend more time in his arms. He makes you feel safe and ease any worries you may have.

Chan begins to hum while rocking you to and fro. The speaker still plays his group’s songs and Chan waits until his part comes on to sing softly in your ear.

“My love only amounts to this,” he sings, making you smile and lift your head to see him. He stares down with so much fondness in his gaze.

“But thank you for staying by my side, my baby,” he continues.

He lets the song go on without him as he slows his dancing until you’re both standing in each other’s embrace.

“You make me happy, Channie,” you whisper and lift a hand to his cheek. He tilts his head into your palm while you rub your thumb across his skin.

“You make me happy, too, baby,” he replies. “So damn happy.”

Chan leans in to plant another kiss on your lips. His movements are slow, controlled—full of adoration and care. He doesn’t need to tell you I love you when he kisses you like this; you can feel how much he does. It almost brings tears to your eyes, but a brash alarm startles you both. Chan’s hold becomes tighter as he looks around on alert. It takes you a second to realize what the sound is for.

“Down, boy,” you tease and pat his chest. “The brownies are done.”

Chan relaxes his hold, ears turning slightly pink. You giggle and peck his lips before wiggling out of his grasp.

You reach for the oven mittens when Chan takes them instead. He slides his hands in then retrieves the hot pan from the oven. You watch with a small grin, leaning against the counter.

When the pan is set down and the gloves are off, Chan turns to you.

“Shall we dance again while we wait for them to cool?” he asks playfully and holds out a hand.

Your laughter rings out in the small apartment. You place your hand in his and let him lead you around the kitchen again—singing and dancing with goofy grins until your brownies are way past cool and your heart is bursting from all of Chan’s love.

Taglist: @musingsofananxiouspotato, @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @iammisstora, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @aeerio, @cherrylovescheol

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Drunk On Love - Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: Love is beautiful yet when one is drunk it can rather be a little confusing and breathtaking.

Word count: 1210

Benedict Bridgerton prided himself on many things, his artistic talent, wit, and ability to hold his drink.

Yet tonight, the second Bridgerton son was wobbling on his feet, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, a cravat dangling loosely from his neck like a sad ribbon on an overindulged present.

The Bridgerton house was alive with music and laughter.

Eloise had declared it a night for frivolity, dragging everyone into the drawing room after dinner to play a raucous game of charades.

Wine flowed like the Thames, and for once, Anthony and Kate didn’t step in to regulate the chaos.

“Benedict,” Colin chortled, pointing as his elder brother attempted to lean casually on a settee and nearly toppled over, “I think you’ve lost the ability to differentiate between horizontal and vertical.”

“I’m perfectly... perpendic... perpendicular!” Benedict slurred, wagging a finger in Colin’s direction.

“Indeed,” Eloise said dryly. She raised her voice, addressing the room. “I give it five minutes before he collapses entirely. Any takers?”

“Oh, stop betting on him,” sighed Daphne. “Where’s y/n? Benedict always behaves better when she's around.”

Benedict blinked hazily around the room.

His siblings’ teasing words blended into the merry chaos, but one name struck a chord, y/n.

Who was y/n?

And why did that name feel like a golden thread pulling at his soul?

He turned his head too quickly, the room spinning in response.

His gaze landed on a figure near the pianoforte—one so radiant it was as though the heavens had gifted them the very stars.

“Who... who is that?” Benedict whispered, stumbling toward Colin and yanking on his sleeve.

“Who?” Colin asked, bewildered.

“That divine creature,” Benedict gestured dramatically, “by the pianoforte. Look at her, Colin. Just look! She's perfect.”

Colin stared at him for a moment, then burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh, this is too good. Benedict, that’s your wife”

“My what?” Benedict spluttered, recoiling as though he’d been doused in cold water.

“Your wife, you fool. Y/n. The person you married three years ago.” Colin’s grin was practically audible. “You have children with her, by the way.”

“Children?!” Benedict gasped, clutching his chest.

His mind raced. Surely, he would remember such monumental details.

A wife? Children? His heart thundered as he stared at you, as you were now laughing with Hyacinth and Gregory.

Every movement you made felt hypnotic, like watching sunlight dance on water.

“I don’t believe you,” Benedict declared, his voice rising above the chatter.

“Shall we fetch the marriage certificate?” Anthony drawled from his seat by the fire.

He smirked, swirling a glass of brandy. “Or the children?”

Before anyone could stop him, Benedict crossed the room with all the determination of a soldier marching to battle.

He nearly tripped over Daphne’s gown in his haste, earning a glare, but he pressed on.

As he approached, you turned to him, your face lighting up with warmth.

“Benedict,” you said, a fond smile gracing your lips. “You look like you’ve had quite a bit of—”

“Are you my spouse?” Benedict interrupted his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

You blinked, glancing around the room as though to confirm this wasn’t a joke orchestrated by his siblings. “I am. Last time I checked, anyway.”

“And we have... children?” Benedict pressed, his hands flailing for emphasis.

“Two of them,” you replied slowly, your brow furrowing. “Are you feeling all right?”

Benedict staggered back a step, clutching at his heart as though Cupid himself had struck him anew.

“I don’t believe it. How could I have forgotten marrying someone so... so—” He gestured helplessly at you, his words failing him. “You’re perfect. Stunning. A masterpiece! Surely, I would remember creating something so beautiful with you.”

From the corner, Colin let out a loud snort of laughter, while Hyacinth whispered something to Gregory, both of them dissolving into giggles.

You, however, softened, recognizing the sincerity behind Benedict’s intoxicated declarations.

“Benedict,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t forget. You’ve just had a bit too much wine tonight.”

“I could never drink enough to forget you,” Benedict declared, his eyes wide with conviction.

“But I must have been a fool not to spend every waking moment worshiping you. Tell me, y/n—how did someone like me manage to convince someone like you to marry me?”

Your laughter was soft, your affection for him evident in every glance. "You painted me a portrait. You said it was the only way to capture what words could not. And then you kissed me.”

“I kissed you?” Benedict repeated, his voice trembling. “I kissed you and lived to tell the tale? Remarkable.”

The room erupted into chaos as the siblings could no longer contain their laughter.

Daphne leaned against a chair for support, Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose in mock exasperation, and Eloise whispered something scandalous to Francesca, who chuckled into her wine glass.

“You’re all horrible!” Benedict shouted, turning to glare at his family. “How dare you mock a man rediscovering the love of his life?”

“You’re rediscovering her because you’re drunk,” Eloise pointed out, her tone laced with amusement.

“Drunk or not, my love is real,” Benedict retorted dramatically, turning back to you. “Y/n, my muse, my heart—can you forgive me for not loving you loudly enough?”

“You love me plenty loudly, Benedict,” you replied with a smile, your eyes twinkling with mirth. “Especially when you’re drunk.”

At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened, and a pair of small children toddled in, guided by their nurse.

The eldest, a dark-haired boy of about three, immediately ran to you, clutching your leg.

The younger, a baby with Benedict’s dimpled cheeks, squealed happily from the nurse’s arms.

Benedict froze, staring at the children as though they were mythical creatures.

“Are these... mine?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” you said, picking up the boy and balancing him on your hip. “This is Thomas and that little one is Edith.”

Benedict dropped to his knees, staring at his children in awe. “Thomas. Edith. My heirs. My legacy.”

“They’re not royalty, Benedict,” Anthony deadpanned.

Benedict ignored him, his eyes welling with tears. “They’re perfect. Just like their parents.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “All right, darling. Let’s get you some water.”

The next morning, Benedict woke with a pounding headache and a vague sense of humiliation.

As he shuffled into the breakfast room, his siblings greeted him with a chorus of applause and cheers.

“Well done, Benedict,” Colin teased. “You fell in love with your wife all over again.”

“Most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Daphne added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Benedict groaned, sinking into his chair. “Please, tell me I didn’t embarrass myself too badly.”

You entered the room, setting a cup of tea before him. “You were charming, as always.”

“Was I?” Benedict asked, peering up at you.

“You were,” you said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Though I think you owe me another portrait. You did promise one last night.”

Benedict smiled sheepishly, his love for you as steady and enduring as the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Anything for you,” he murmured, vowing to remind you every day just how deeply he adored you—drunk or not.

[leighlew3]

I finally watched Wicked…

I’m still struggling to see what THE big deal is and why everybody is so obsessed with this musical and this film. It’s great, but good grief. 😅 I will be honest though in saying that this style of musical isn’t really my thing. But it’s still a really solid film, though definitely imperfect.

I gotta say that Cynthia is an absolute powerhouse, but Ariana is a surprising revelation. One second she breaks your heart with such a subtle and completely unexpected depth of emotion and the next second she has you laughing out loud. Truly, a breakout performance.

Also this is for sure a love story and I don’t mean anything involving the somewhat stereotypical and forgettable pretty boy character (who was played really well by the actor though). 🌈

P.S. Justice for Elphaba!

[keeps-ache]

every now and then something in my brain turns on and oh hello information i didn't know i had stored! where've you been !

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Bro 😭 I'm gonna implode. I just finished Dawn of X vol3 and Erik's FACE at Charles' return-

He looks like he's gonna bawl his eyes out. You KNOW he just clung to Charles when they got back to Krakoa, all the while Charles petted his hair and told him "I'm alright, I'm here."

bro i justtttt KNOW erik was trying so hard to be nonchalant about charles coming back but the second charles touches his arm or something innocuous like that hes gonna crumble

[love-everlasting]

Whoever decided to start riding my bus when it used to just be me and the driver im actually going to kill it with my mind

[skitskatdacat63]

I feel like at least several times a month, I have a random insane revitalization of my love for The Smiths. Not that I ever stop loving them, but I'll listen to some song and then suddenly fall into this pit of just deep, intense love for their music again where I can't stop listening to their music on repeat and watching live performances and looking at pics like AAAAAHHHHHH WHY IS THEIR MUSIC SO GOOOD?????? WHY IS IT PERFECT?????? WHY WERE THEY SO GENDER???????

(songs I am feeling intense brainrot over rn in case you're curious: "I Want The One I Can't Have(live)", "Stretch Out and Wait(live)", "You Just Haven't Earned It Yet Baby", "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others(demo)", "What She Said", "The Boy With The Thorn in His Side(live)"(p.s. I Want The One I Can't Have is Martian-coded to me, pls listen)(also it reminds me of that movie I watched yesterday)

[musashi]

i want more nuance to be entered into the discussion of the green girl sorority and how differently cynthia plays elphaba in comparison to those who came before her because while a lot of people are rightfully like "why was elphaba not black from the beginning" and celebrating that she is now being played by a black woman, i think we need to be careful in just writing off all the elphabas of the past as Random White Girls when the role was championed (and often followed/succeeded) by a jewish woman

the pop culture archetype of the Wicked Witch has deep roots in antisemitism stretching faaaar far back. there is a level of reclamation happening in casting idina menzel, a jewish woman, to play the Misunderstood and Maligned young girl who is branded as exactly that. and stage!Elphaba is also written and acted with jewish stereotypes in mind--she is loud, aggressive, no-nonsense, blunt. she is quick to advocate for herself and shut down the discrimination she faces. all of this is very intentional! her personality is abrasive from years of abuse, and that makes propagandizing her easy. this is literally the thesis statement of the musical--it's not about aptitude, it's the way you're viewed.

cynthia's performance of elphaba is fucking INSPIRED despite going in a completely different direction. she's much more reserved, analytical, one of her key character traits is how well she can read people (see her calling out Galinda as insecure/putting on airs in their first scene together, clocking that Fiyero is using his party guy persona as a shield for his own depression) elphaba's attempts to blend in and make herself smaller all fail simply because of her existence, if not that then because she feels empathy so strongly she often struggles to hold back from acting, protecting.

personality wise, though, cynthia's elphaba is very quiet and closed-off, not at all the bullet-to-the-face that she is in the stage show, and... she still gets propagandized and maligned. though this seems to contradict the other interpretation, it tells of the other end of the spectrum of propaganda, one that black women watching (and many, MANY other marginalized folks) are sure to identify with--it does not matter how "nice," how reserved, how small a black woman makes herself. a racist society will still scrutinize her every action for a way to parse ill intent from it, brand her as an angry black woman who is dangerous and wicked, and write off any humanity she has in the process.

these two very different interpretations tell of the lie of assimilation. the fact of the matter is, when you are marginalized, there is no way to sand down your edges enough to make the people oppressing you "accept" you. that is why wicked is a tragedy at its core. whether loud and aggressive or quiet and unimposing, there is nothing elphaba could have done to make the people of Oz see her as anything other than a scapegoat to blame all their problems on.

so while i definitely appreciate that people are excited for black girl era elphaba, i would encourage us all to still show appreciation for what came before--that was not white girl era elphaba. that was jewish girl era elphaba. two houses, both alike in dignity, two stories both worth being told.

[tim-official]

the current trend of "tumblr users embarrassing themselves by proudly announcing why they don't listen to any music made by black people" is really astounding.

i cannot help but think this is a direct result of liberal White Guilt and how people have interpreted "anti-racism" as form of cultural self-segregation - the kind of person who thinks trying to cook chicken curry is cultural appropriation, or sends white people anon hate for wearing a kimono (yes, this kind of discourse happened). like, "oh, no, i could never participate in this culture, i'd get my evil white hands all over it! it would be more Progressive if I only did White things."

if you're a poc you've seen this, i'm sure - this deer-in-the-headlights stare you can get from white people when you play music / show art / share a story / anything that is Racially Coded, this total refusal to actually engage with it out of fear that it is in some way Wrong for them to have any opinion on it. because they read somewhere that it's bad to use AAVE but the only lesson they actually learned from that is "gotcha, white people are not allowed to interact with other cultures as punishment for my White Crimes. this helps to fill up the gaping pit of my white guilt and makes me one of the Good People." this transforms their discomfort around non-white cultures (black culture, especially, i should add) into a kind of virtue

anyway if you are white and reading this. go listen to some fucking haliu mergia. ethiopian jazz. will knock your dick right off. go listen to rap or reggae or bollywood and have a genuine reaction to it - like, an actual, from-the-heart reaction. you are allowed to not like some of it. but you will definitely like at least a little. yes, you can compare it to lemon demon (or whatever) if that helps you get into it and that's your only point of reference. maybe don't say that part out loud. but don't, like, separate yourself from it, like you are seeing it in a museum and the only polite thing to do is go "ahh, huh, very interesting, so much culture here."

[gotta-bail-my-quails]

i dont like taking surveys usually but if it lets me give some scathing remarks to my shitty landlords then boy give me enough space for a fucking novel i WILL tell them to get their heads out of their asses

[sharama]

😒

[keeps-ache]

hehe. crackling

[illusioninfnty]

"it's a scream, baby!" ↠ day 15 ; keeping quiet

↠ billy loomis x reader x stu macher

fandom: scream word count: 3.9k warnings: nsfw 18+, gf!billy and stu, DUBCON, semi-public sex, homoerotic undertones, mentions of gore, cheating, degradation, dirty talk, thigh fucking, double penetration, knife play if you squint, gagging, unprotected sex, creampies, cumplay, cum eating, fingering, my stu bias definitely shows sorry guys

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

You weren’t really much of a party person, and all of your friends were aware of that. It was why none of them gave much resistance to the idea of you slipping away.

Stu’s house was insanely crowded, more than his usual parties. It was obviously because of the recent killing spree by the mysterious masked killer who had yet to be caught. Your general anxiety in loud spaces mixed with that of the unknown killer running around had you even more paranoid.

“Be careful!” Sidney calls out and Tatum waves as you make your way up the staircase. You send a small smile back as you weave your way through drunk teenagers stumbling all around, looking for more drinks.

You’ve been in Stu’s house plenty of times, having been friends with him for years at this point. You make a beeline straight for his bedroom, hoping that no one was in there hooking up so you could have a quiet place to decompress. 

You knock loudly on his door, pressing your ear against it as the loud music and teens make it hard to hear inside. There’s no answer to your knowledge, and you slowly peek your head in.

No one is in the room, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You shut the door behind you and plop down on Stu’s bed, laying yourself out in a heap of exhaustion.

A bang from somewhere inside the room startles you, making you jump up from your seat. You notice that Stu’s closet door is slightly ajar, and figure that something inside fell down. You make your way over, the closet creaking as you open it.

A gasp leaves your lips and you step back after seeing what it was that fell.

It was one of the ghostface masks. 

You slowly back away, eyes wide in disbelief with what you were seeing. No. It wasn’t possible, right? Stu couldn’t have been the killer; it made no sense. You bend down and cautiously pick up the mask.

It looks like your average store-bought cheap costume accessory. You inspect it closer, but bring a hand up to your mouth and almost drop the mask when you see what’s stained on it.

Small flecks of blood, all spattered across the edges.

The sound of the door creaking has you throwing the mask back into the closet and slamming the door, chest heaving as you pretend as though you weren’t searching through it.

In walks Stu, his trademark grin spread wide across his face. 

“Now what are you doing in here?” he teases suggestively and wiggles his eyebrows. He closes the door and leans against it.

But clearly you’re not very good at hiding your emotions, because the smile instantly drops from Stu’s face. “Have you been…snooping in my things?”

You bite your lip and can feel your heart drop in your chest. “What? No! I just came in here to rest.” Your voice sounds incredibly shaking and you know there’s no way he’s buying it.

Stu’s eyes narrow, and he stalks closer to you. You back away in return, but his long strides make it difficult to put distance between the two of you. “I think you’re lying to me.”

He utters out your name in a warning tone. At this point, you know, he knows you know, and you know he knows you know that he’s the Ghostface killer. You make a feeble attempt to duck past Stu and make a run for it, but he grabs your arm and pulls you against his chest, completely restraining you.

You try your best at escaping. You pound on his chest, wiggle in his grip, and even try biting him. That fails miserably and Stu slaps his large palm against your mouth, preventing you from screaming for help.

He drags you over to the bed, and you start to kick your heels against his legs. You aren’t sure what he’s capable of anymore. Is this the moment you die? Is Stu going to kill you? You let out a choked sob underneath his palm, clawing at his hand but to no avail.

You push back against him with all of the force of your body, yet Stu remains solid. “Be quiet,” he mutters in your ear. 

And then you feel it. On your backside, you can feel Stu getting hard. You whimper in fear, and your body goes limp. But he clearly notices that you could feel it, and he chuckles darkly.

“Got me excited with all that struggling, babe.” He shamelessly rubs himself against you, his erection fully hard beneath his pants now.

Despite the terror that you feel in that moment, you couldn’t help but moan silently.

You would be lying if you said you never thought of hooking up with your friend. Stu was hot, he was funny, and if Tatum was a reliable source, he also had a huge dick.

If fucking Stu could save you from death, you would gladly let him use you however he wished.

You quickly concoct a plan in your head—a lame one, but a plan—to seduce Stu in an attempt to hopefully convince him not to kill you afterwards.

Before you can even attempt to put your plan into action, the bedroom door creaks open. “Shit,” you hear Stu mutter under his breath. Both you and him turn together, and in walks Billy, sauntering as he usually does.

He pauses and raises an eyebrow as he surveys the position you and Stu are in.

“Did I interrupt something?” Billy smirks, his eyes going dark. You look up through your eyelashes at Stu, who presses you closer to him, as if warning you not to signal for help. He shakes his head at Billy.

“She knows, man.”

Your body goes completely rigid in Stu’s grip. A chill runs down your spine.

Billy was involved in this Ghostface shit too? Well, that actually surprised you less than Stu. Billy was kind of a horror junkie in secret, even rivaling Randy, and he always had this strange look in his eye whenever he thought no one was looking.

His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. “Oh?” 

The tone in his voice is sinister, much different than what you’ve heard from him before.

He strides over, pulling out a knife from his pocket and holding it out towards you.

You shriek, but it comes out all muffled. You try to tilt your head away from where Billy points the knife to your chin, but Stu keeps his hand solid, forcing your head forward.

He clicks his tongue at you, teasing you for your failed attempts to escape.

“I really didn’t want to kill you now, sweetheart, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Tears gather in your eyes, threatening to fall. You still helplessly struggle against Stu’s grip, choking back sobs. You so desperately want Stu to release his hand, want to beg the two of them to keep you alive. You’re two seconds away from sounding like you belong in a bad porno that the boys rent from the video store where the woman says please! I’ll do anything!

But you don’t need to do any of that. Because before Billy starts slicing and dicing and stabbing at you, he backs away and looks Stu up and down. He then barks out a laugh.

“What, did chasing her around get you all stiff?”

Stu grins cheekily and grinds his erection up against your butt. You let out a surprised moan under his palm, grabbing onto his forearm. “You know I’ve always wanted to fuck her, man.”

Billy eyes shift between you and Stu, before pausing on you. A smirk slowly grows across his features until it morphs into a toothy grin. You can see the way his cock begins to twitch in his jeans and your heart sinks into your stomach.

“I’m not going to let you fuck her alone tonight.”

As if Stu was waiting this whole time for Billy’s approval, the hand that was restricting your mouth moves off and down to his jeans. Before you can even think about opening your mouth, Billy brings the knife back up your face, right under your chin forcing you to keep your mouth closed and head tilted up to meet his eyes.

“If you say a word I’ll cut your throat open and stick my cock in it.” He imitates the motion of slicing the knife across your throat. 

You swallow harshly and can’t control the way you tremble under Stu’s hold. But the depraved part of you has your core throbbing, at the carnal lust that fills his eyes, so desperately wanting them both to get to fucking you sooner rather than later. 

Scoffing in his face, you try your best to put up a calm front. “Are you guys all bark and no bite? All I hear is talking but no action.”

“Oh you’ll be getting action soon, baby.” You can feel Stu’s erect cock rubbing against your backside and the way that his arousal stains your shirt. His hand holds it at the base as he guides it between your legs, slowly fucking you between your thighs. You look down to see the bulging red tip of his cock leaking beads of precum as it penetrates the plush skin of your legs with every thrust.

Billy takes his knife and slices your skirt right down the middle, the two pieces falling to shreds at your feet.

“Yeah, there it is!” Stu yells as his long fingers poke and prod at your pussy through your underwear until it soaks the fabric through. “All nice and wet for us now.”

He moves the material to the side of your puffy lips and without so much as a warning sticks his cock right inside.

“Oh fuck,” you moan out as quietly as you can with the intense pleasure. It slides in easily with how wet you’ve gotten over the past couple of minutes. You arch your back into Stu as his long cock bullies its way inside of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Stu begins thrusting immediately, the sounds of your skin slapping together being the loudest thing in the room.

“Such a dirty little slut,” Stu’s voice teases, laughter evident in his tone. His arm around your waist holds you up as he pounds into you at lightning speed, bouncing you up and down his cock. Your feet lift off the ground ever-so-slightly as he pulls you up. “But I guess I’m kind of a slut to. Always wanted to fuck you like this.”

Through your lust-filled haze, you can see Billy stroking himself through his boxers, jeans already unzipped and pulled down. He stares at both you and Stu and where the two of you connect. 

“You gonna join man?” Stu lifts you up under your thighs. The action lifts your feet up in the air and exposes your pussy directly in Billy’s line of view. Stu pulls his cock out enough so just the head remains inside, and starts fingering around your lips.

You gasp at the sensation, your arms gripping his own and your walls clenching down desperately onto him. Stu’s fingers make a v shape and pull your lips open wide. “There’s plenty of room for you in here.” 

“N-no!” You sob out, clawing at Stu and kicking your legs. The implication is not subtle at all, and the fear has you clenching even tighter onto him. There was no way that you could fit both of them in your pussy. Stu’s cock is already thick and fills you completely; you don’t think you could take another one without breaking.

Billy continues to palm himself above his underwear, the head of his cock poking out from the elastic band. “Fuck yeah, now your speaking my language!”

“No! Billy!” You shake your head wildly, tears threatening to fall from your swollen eyes. “Stop! It won’t fit!”

He rolls his eyes and takes his hard cock out of his boxers, pumping it with a few solid strokes. “Stop complaining.” 

“He’ll make it fit,” Stu giggles from behind you.

A strangled sound leaves your lips, a mix between a choke and a sob. You’re powerless in Stu’s hold as he moves your limbs every which way he pleases. He never lets up in his thrusts, his stamina completely insatiable, and it doesn’t feel like he’s stopping any time soon.

You have no choice but to lay helpless as Billy guides his cock into your wet hole, pushing against Stu’s. The stretch from the two of their massive lengths is painful, and you bite the outside of your hand as an attempt to soften your cries.

“Fuck,” Billy moans, slotting himself fully inside of you. His eyes squeeze shut and his head is thrown back in pleasure. Your hands press against his chest to stabilize yourself. 

Your eyes roll back as you start moaning audibly, his cock stuffing you full alongside Stu’s. 

“None of that.” Billy slaps a hand over your mouth and digs his fingers into your cheek. “If any one of those sleazebags outside hears those moans I’ll have to kill them and fuck you over their dead body.”

His voice is deep, gravely, and completely serious—you believe him in his entirety. You nod rapidly under his hold. You don’t want the death of anyone to be on your hands, no matter how annoying they are.

“Good. Now stay quiet.”

Billy and Stu take turns fucking themselves up into you. They give you any chance for a break, when one pulls their length almost completely out, the other shoves it in. They take turns pounding themselves into you. Your walls clench hard around them, being stretched to the brim. It takes all your power not to cry out from the pain and pleasure, but the fear from Billy’s unpredictably overpowers all other emotions. 

Billy seems to be caught up in the haze of his own arousal, fingers digging in the skin of your hips as he thrusts his cock in and out of you rhythmically. He groans. “Forgot what it’s like to fuck a tight, wet hole. Sidney still hasn’t put out yet.”

Your body instantly freezes at Billy’s words. In the midst of all the chaos that involved finding out that two of your friends were active serial killers, both of them have been wanting to fuck you, and both of them actually proceeding to fuck you, you were ashamed to admit that you completely forgot about your the rest of your friends downstairs. Sidney and Tatum, two of your closest friends, were partying just below you and were blissfully unaware that you were in fact not resting from the partying, but instead getting your hole absolutely destroyed by their boyfriends just a couple hundred feet away.

The reality of your situation comes back to you and the dread starts to sink in. Instinctively, you begin thrashing your body all around, causing as much commotion as you can. Your nails end up scratching Stu on his arm. “Ow!” he whines out, but it’s a cross between a whimper and a turned on moan. He bites your neck in retaliation. “I like ‘em feisty, you know. Really gets my dick goin’.”

Billy, on the other hand, doesn’t take your failed act of defiance so lightly. His hand reaches up and squeezes your cheeks as he pulls your face close to him, not letting up with the pistoning of his hips.

“Not. A. Word.” Every syllable is spoken individually, heavily gritted out through clenched teeth. At that moment, an array of muffled voices is heard right outside the bedroom door. Billy and you turn to the source of the noise at the same time. Billy turns back to you first. “You know what happens if they walk in,” he trails off darkly, and out of the corner of your eye you can see the glint of his knife as it rests on the side table, within an arm's reach from him. If he wanted to, he could easily slip himself out of you and kill the unsuspecting partygoers within mere seconds.

He buries himself back inside of you as you say that, the two of their cocks fighting for their spots inside of your restrictive walls. Billy and Stu moan in unison at the feeling, both of you gripping onto them and the way they feel pressed up against each other.

As hopeless as your situation may seem in the end, you try to make due with what you have and not let the guilt consume you. There’s nothing you can do about it now unless you want multiple people to wind up dead. It’s fairly easy to erase your mind of anything other than the two guys currently surrounding you, whose relentless thrusts make your vision go white and limbs go numb.

Stu attaches himself onto your neck, no doubt leaving a trail of hickeys that’ll last for days. You lean your head back into him, giving him more access to the area. His long tongue licks all around the area, sending shivers down your spine.

His mouth eventually makes its way up to your own and Stu covers it, kissing you with great fervor. His tongue slides into your mouth, swirling it around with your own tongue. The kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, but it feels perfectly like him. It’s intimate as he massages your tongue and brings his hand up to cup your jaw. In that single moment, you can pretend like your new revelation didn’t exist and that this is just a sensual moment between you and your friend, who’s kissing you like his life depends on it.

But that’s not the case, as Billy brings you back to reality once again. He spanks your ass which has you gasping into Stu’s mouth and your eyes opening wide.

Spit dribbles out the side of your mouth as Stu finally lets up, moaning into your jaw. He gives your neck a big kiss before sucking another hickey into it. “I can be romantic sometimes,” he whispers teasingly into your ear, causing you to shiver.

Billy and Stu pound into you, even harder than before if possible, their hips snapping up against your body.

You know that your orgasm is fast approaching, the various simulations making you feel desperate for a release.

“Please, please, please, please,” your voice is hoarse as you whisper out in a breathy tone to keep as quiet as possible.

“Yeah? You want our cum inside of you?” Billy coaxes you, but you can tell that he’s just as close to reaching his peak as you are given the uneven rhythm of his ruts, pushing slightly against the pattern he had set with Stu.

You nod your head as much as you can, your vision going blurry with the speed you move it. You can feel Billy’s cock throb furiously in you and it's enough to make you reach your own orgasm before him, clapping a hand over your mouth as to not alert your presence to anyone outside.

Billy’s orgasm follows your own soon after, with a strangled moan leaving his lips as his hot cum releases all inside you. The mix of your two juices allows for easier movement within your walls, and after he’s done climaxing Billy slides out of you with ease.

But Stu is nowhere near stopping.

With the result of your’s and Billy’s releases aiding him, Stu ruts himself even further into you. He manhandles you so that instead of your previous position of being twisted in the air as Stu stands behind you, he throws you down on top of the bed and climbs on top of you, humping into you from behind with a newfound vigor.

“Finally get you to myself for a bit,” Stu grits out of his teeth as his hips piston at an immeasurable speed.

You can’t speak at this point, completely cockdrunk from the brunt of the thrusts you’re taking. Stu’s broad body completely engulfs your form as he pounds you into the bedsheets. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, only low whimpers and droll being produced from it.

You can hear the squelching of your pussy, the result of Billy’s cum and your juices, as Stu pounds his cock as far as it reaches. You can feel the release escape the sides of your pussy lips with the brunt of Stu’s thrusts and you can’t help but whine softly as some of the warmth and fullness from the cum leaves your body.

Stu’s hand runs through your hair until he grabs it at the base. He pushes your head down completely into the bed, using much more pressure than what was needed. The force of it causes your ass to arch further into him as he presses his front fully against your back, curving his form as if morphing to the shape of your hunched and fucked out form.

“Now that’s a nice view,” he groans out, one hand at the root of your hair and the other pawing at your ass.

Animalistic grunts leave Stu’s mouth and you can feel as he reaches the cusp of his orgasm. Curses leave his lips as he finally cums, pushing himself inside you as deep as he can and hitting parts never reached before. You can feel the jets of his hot release inside of you as it comes out in huge, thick spurts.

When Stu finally leaves your walls, the mix of all three of your orgasms comes flowing out, making you moan at the loss of the fullness from all three of you.

“C’mon now, push it all outta you,” Billy’s voice calls out from across the room, speaking up from his previous silent observer role as he recovered from his own peak.

You obey, squeezing as much as you can with your weak body. You can feel globs of cum escape your entrance, cooling as it runs down your thighs and onto the sheets below you.

You flinch as you feel Stu’s fingers scoop some out of you, and the smacking of his lips indicates he tasted it. You moan, only able to picture what the scene looks like.

“Oh? You want some?” Stu’s fingers hastily appear in front of you. The fingers from his other hand pull your mouth open and he shoves the cum covered ones inside, making you gag instantly. He rams them in and out of your mouth, barely giving you any time to properly suck on the cum. Flecks of the fluid fly out of your mouth along with your own saliva. Tears fall without a warning, your gag reflex working overtime.

Stu’s fingers fuck your mouth until all of the cum is virtually gone from them. When he finally pulls them out, your body completely collapses. It trembles furiously from all the overstimulation, unable to hold itself up.

Stu gives you a big wet kiss on your cheek and slaps his now-limp cock onto your bare ass. You can only whimper in response, your body too heavy to move any part of it right now. Your vision is blurry, but through it you manage to make out Billy, with his sweaty complexion and rumpled clothes back on his body, talking down to you.

“You stay put until we can get everyone to piss off. We’ll be back for round two.”