#a murderous game of cat and mouse

[vinatintasupernovita]

Elsbeth Tascioni?? You mean Will Graham’s mother??

[forcedhesitation]

stop fucking flirting with me, you rancid little man

[kiddokori]

i dont remember the axe murder dream but i do remember when you got mad at me because you had a dream that i took a red pen to your art and sent you a bad review

it wasnt that you sent me a bad review you had critiqued like everything about it and circled a bunch of shit in red and sent this big passive aggressive rant to me through EMAIL and it pissed me off so bad i woke up and was still mad about it before i realized it didn’t happen. but yeah the axe murder dream the dream where you axe murdered me we all know that one

[kits-ships]

old drawings of my steven universe self inserts/ocs :3

the howlite with the undercut and icy diamond were my s/i's!

[seamayweed]

+ bonus:

I’m sure you wanted to kill him. I’m glad you held back.

[ID: 9 gifs of yoo ji-tae as choi kang-woo and woo do-hwan as kim min-joon in “mad dog”. 3 scenes are interwoven, one of them in black & white and framing the gifset in the beginning, middle, and at the end. in it kang-woo tells his friend park moo-shin: “i was dying to kill him. i wanted to kill him. but min-joon suddenly called my name, saying: ‘mr. choi, let’s stop this.’ and when he said that, i saw mi-sook’s and joo-won’s face on his face.” the two remaining scenes are in full color, showing examples of min-joon stopping kang-woo: in the first one, min-joon holds kang-woo’s fist, the latter turning to him angrily and shouting: “let go, you punk!” but min-joon only looks at him with soulful, pleading eyes, telling him to “stop”. kang-woo looks back at him, stunned, face twitching as the words finally get through to him. in the second one, kang-woo is about to strangle someone to death, but min-joon shouts through the gap of a door locked by a chain: “don’t kill him! don’t! you can’t become a murderer!” kang-woo seems to snap out of it then, letting go of his unconscious victim. /end ID]

[cipheramnesia]

The reason I probably shouldn't be allowed to make movies is I have no impulse control and I would immediately make something called Revenge Of The Dead Tranny Hooker. It would be about a trans woman trying to break into acting, but no one wants to hire her for anything except playing a sex worker who gets murdered. Then one day she does an open casting call which runs her through a series of increasingly bizarre line readings, which it turns out are meant to summon an eldritch demon to grant the movie producer god-like powers.

The culmination is supposed to be sex on the casting couch, but she ditches at the last minute, destroying the ritual and splintering the extradimensional entity across California. She unknowingly receives powerful extradimensional blood, while the rest of the fragments seek out the powerful and violent people of the world. Meanwhile the movie producer uses his new powers to transform his PAs into henchcreatures, and sends them after the protag to finish her off. She discovers her new powers in the ensuing fight, which also seem to be gradually altering her body every time she uses them.

The rest of the movie is a steadily escalating game of cat and mouse between trans woman and movie producer. While the former transformers the fragments into powerful psychic weapons like chainsaws and spiked bats, the later uses fragments to make himself bigger and physically stronger. At first the fights are short and brutal, the protag outmatched and outgunned, but she gets more confident to the point of an anarchic battle of against the LAPD led by a demonic police captain, including a scene where she stands on the roof of a speeding police car and rips the driver through the windshield.

Her eventual form is some kind hyper sexual draconic mantid squid rippling with biomechanoid components. In the fight with the producer he thinks he's winning by tearing apart the last of her human flesh, but this just complete her transformation, letting her easily overwhelm him. It's implied from that point forward she plans to conquer the world.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Oh No Wolverine, I'm Stuck!

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

Logan helps you out when you get stuck...

A/N: Don't ask

Warnings: SMUT! MDNI, thanks :), unprotected PiV, creampie, implied squirting, ass and puss smacking, Logan being a perv and a menace, uses pussy pronouns lol, reader gets into a predicament, stuck porn? what do I even call this? established relationship, reader is apart of xmen, a lil bit of fluff i guess?

“There ain’t nothing here.”

Logan shook his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air for any unfamiliar scents, only smelling you next to him. “It’s a dead end.” 

“Let's just scope the place, and make sure there’s nothing that could give us clues.” You say stepping forward towards the old warehouse. “Maybe someone caught wind and left.” 

“Or maybe Summers is being paranoid.” 

“Logan.” 

He rolled his eyes and followed you as you continued walking to the ruined and seemingly abandoned place, his senses high on alert for any threat to you. 

You reached the door, turning the knob and slowly peering inside. It was dim, only the windows providing minimal lighting. 

Dust particles floating around inside sunbeams, and broken glass littered some areas of the floor. Crates stacked and piled. Yet the warehouse was mostly empty.

“See?” Logan says as he puts an arm around your shoulder. “Came out here for nuffin.” 

“Maybe.” You say, leaning into his warm and sturdy figure. “Look around a bit longer? It looks like there are some offices that way.” You point through a dim area where you both can barely make out a door that leads to a room. 

“We could.” He says, before turning to you, wrapping his arms around you, and lowering his head to nuzzle his nose over yours. “Or we could have some fun.” His voice turned low and suggestive, as he pulled you against his hips. 

You let out a small laugh. “You’re a real romantic. In a dusty old warehouse?” 

“We’ve done it in worse.”

Your cheeks heat up at the memories of the various locations you and Logan had…Copulated in. He was right, there were worse locations. You weren’t going to give in that easily though. Not this time.

“Mm. Go check out those offices, for me?” You say, looking up at him innocently. He raised a brow and then tilted his head back, a flare of disappointment. 

“Bossy.” He teased as he leaned back towards you. You hummed, pecking him on the lips before stepping back, a small push to encourage him to go. He gave you a wink before you watched him lumbar over to the door, lazily pushing it open and tilting his head inside curiously, before going inside completely. You watched his tall figure and tuffs of hair disappear into the darkness.

A bit of your lip and a shake of your head.

How can he be so cute just existing?

You began exploring the warehouse yourself. Searching corners and crates. The X-men have been tracking an unruly mutant group, not only have they been causing issues for non-mutants, they have been causing issues for mutants. Everything from vandalizing businesses and homes to harassing folks, to straight threatening murder. 

They caught wind of the X-men on their tail, and it’s been a game of cat and mouse. The last time they were encountered, they outsmarted the group. It left Scott holding a very serious grudge over them and he’s been determined ever since to track them down. 

He got some intel from a few friends in the area - and begged you (not Logan) to check it out. Mainly because he and Jean had a date tonight and she would be livid if he tried to cancel another date over this. Like Phoenix type of livid. 

Logan wasn’t quite pleased that his Friday afternoon was spent chasing a lead for Scott of all people but you had promised you’d do that thing he’d like later tonight if he came with you. Now, he would’ve come either way - and you both knew that - but it certainly helped to know he’d get rewarded later. 

You walked over to another stack of crates, stacked on each other like a pyramid. So far, you haven’t found anything. Not even evidence of teenagers sneaking in and partying. It struck you a little strange, considering this wasn’t too far from a nearby town. There wasn’t even graffiti on the inside or the outside. Unusual for a supposed abandoned warehouse. 

Peering over the crates, there were gaps in them, and you could see something strange inside. You bent over one of the crates, attempting to peer inside at what you’re looking at, but couldn’t get the best view.

You pulled out a small flashlight from your utility belt, clicked it on, and bent back over the crate, practically climbing into the small cave-like space that the stacked crates created. Using the flashlight, you found an unusual surface- different from the concrete floor, this surface was metal, and there was a line running down it- giving you the impression it was a hatch. 

You started to pull back, but the position you got yourself in was awkward, and you couldn’t regain your footing or push yourself back up. Leaving you trapped between the crates.

“Shit” You muttered. One hand braced against the floor to keep you from toppling completely. Embarrassment ran through you, as you know Logan will be back soon, and he’s definitely going to be teasing you about it forever.

Opting to not call out for him, to save yourself some dignity. You waited with annoyance, tapping your fingers against the floor, kicking your legs behind you. 

“Having fun down there?” Logan's voice finally breaks the mind-numbing silence. You dropped your legs, your only way to physically express your frustration. 

“I’m stuck.” You called out. There was silence. “Are you laughing?”

“No.” His voice hinted at humor. He pulled out his phone, angling it to take the perfect picture of you. You heard the sound of a camera snap.

“Logan Howlett!” You snapped. “Don’t you dare take pictures!” 

“I’m not.” He feigns an innocent voice, putting his phone back in his pocket. Stepping closer, he examines the predicament you got yourself into. “How’d you end up like this bub?” 

“I think I found a hatch but I wasn’t sure so I leaned in to get a closer look and now I can’t get out.” You explained, your voice slightly muffled by the crates surrounding you. Logan's eyes landed on your ass, and the way the spandex suit fit over it. Not the first time he’s admired it no, but he could definitely appreciate the way it looked from this angle. “Can you please help me out?”

“Yeah yeah.” He leaned over, his hands on your hips to start pulling you out. His crotch bumped against your ass, and suddenly, it was as if a light bulb appeared over his head. A devilish grin grew on his face.

He took a step back, his hands instead coming down from your hips to grip the fat of your ass, squeezing and groping each cheek.

“Howlett!” You turned your head to yell at him, but could barely make out what was going on behind you. “I swear to god- !” You yelped when you felt his hand smack across your ass. Heat came across your body, as you felt humiliated,

Mainly because it turned you on.

He delivered another smack, and then a warm chuckle, as his hands came around the front of your hips, messing with the buckle of your pants. Once he undone them, he grabbed the hem, slowly pulling them down over your ass, revealing the lacey red panties you were wearing underneath. 

He clicked his tongue, his cock getting harder at the sight. 

“Thought you only wore these on date night baby.”

“Well it’s someone's turn to do laundry this week and he hasn’t yet so..” You muttered. “Also what the actual hell are you doing?!”

“You can act as pissy as you want baby but I can see how turned on you are.” He teases, his hand coming down over your ass again, a loud Smack! echoing through the warehouse and making you flinch.

“Logan-” You whine. You bit your bottom lip, as you felt yourself losing your composure at being pissed, especially when his thumb brushed over the spot where your arousal coated your panties. 

Logan began losing himself in you as well. He teased his thumb over your clothed pussy, watching the way your thighs twitched in reaction to the barely-there stimulus. He loved these panties on you. 

But they’re gonna have to go.

Both hands grabbed the fabric; He ripped them in half, leaving them in shreds as they fall to the floor, baring your dripping cunt to him. You gasped, your hips wiggling as you tried to move a bit again but couldn’t. 

“Logan we can’t be-”

You were cut off once more, yelping as he delivered a smack against your cunt, making you flinch. 

“What was that baby?” He asks you, before smacking you again. “Got something to say?”

Tears filled your eyes as he delivered another smack, your fluids splashing against him as you became wetter and wetter. He’s definitely going to pay for this later. 

“We...Lo we should focus-” You attempt again. “Someone- something could walk in.”

There was silence before you heard the sound of a zipper. You felt his legs bump against yours and you waited for him to say something. 

A sharp gasp escaped you when you felt the all too familiar head of his cock brushing into your folds. Your heart started pounding, as you attempted to grab onto something. A soft moan escaped you as he brushed into your folds, bumping against your clit. 

“There we go, baby.” You heard him hum. “You look good like this. Pretty pussy all on display for me.” 

Parted lips as a hitched breath escapes, you, eyes half-lidded as your face burned. You wanted to be embarrassed, to be pissed at him for doing this at the worst possible time. 

Then again, you never could resist him. 

The gas station bathroom, the back alley at that one cafe, inside the jet, and that one time at the state house in one of the closets. 

He thrust his hard cock through your folds, lubing himself up with your wetness, before pushing himself into your entrance. Slowly, borderline teasing, he pushed the tip of his cock in and out of you. Your muscles tensing as you attempt to arch your back- desperate to feel all of him. 

“Fucking soaked, sweetheart. You liking this?” You heard him. “Pussys trying to suck me in, she’s desperate for me ain’t she?” 

You let out a small breath. God he never stops with that.

He finally plunged himself into you, burying himself deep inside to the hilt. 

“Fuck-” You heard him moan. “Fuck yeah…” He hissed, his hands going to your hips, squeezing them tight, pressing divots into your skin. He tipped his head back, allowing the both of you to adjust to the feeling. He felt like he was going to cum right then and there. 

“Logan-” You whined, your toes curling and knees bending as you became desperate to feel him move. You were completely helpless in your position. You could barely rock your hips or move at all, and Logan's grip kept you from doing what you could. 

He began thrusting into you at a steady pace. Your position left you squeezing him tighter than usual, making him more forceful as he thrust in and out of you. Your eyes rolled back, lips parted as pleasure coursed through your blood, barely able to keep yourself braced upwards as your body became limp on Logan's cock, your mind becoming blank as you just focused on the warm stretch of him inside you. 

“Goddamn-” He groaned, gripping your hips tighter, enough to leave bruises on your skin, that’ll he’ll kiss in apology later. He spread his feet farther apart to support his position, his hips smacking into your ass rhythmically. “Come on baby-” He hissed, as he angled himself in a way that he knew would drive you wild. “Cum for me-” 

You kicked your legs, the stimulation of his cock pounding that lovely spot inside of you over and over and over almost becoming too much. Your boots scraped into the ground, some attempt to find footing, as the tense, building feeling became to much, and you finally snapped.

You cried out as your fluids sprayed over Logan and the floor, and he moaned your name at the feeling you drenching him, your cunt pulsing and squeezing over his dick so tightly it was almost painful.

Rutting into you, he slammed inside one more time, before emptying himself inside you, coating your walls with his cum. 

Your body felt limp, your heart pounding, and blood rushing in your ears. You felt him carefully pull out of you, before his fingers came and began stuffing his cum that was leaking out of you back inside. 

“Logan-” you whined, the stimulation becoming to much. 

A warm chuckle, and you heard a zipper. You felt your ruined panties being torn off your legs, and he lifted the spandex pants back up around your hips. Then, does he carefully help you out of the space, his hand on your head to keep you from hitting it on the crates above you. 

You weakly turned around to face him, a bit dizzy from being fucked - and from being in a position that caused your blood flow to drop. He smirked at your disgruntled and flustered state.

“That was fun.” He hummed, fixing your hair a bit. “But I did miss seeing your pretty face.” 

Your pursed your lips and he hummed, leaning down to give you a kiss. As much as you tried to hold out being angry with him; you couldn’t, melting into his lips, he wrapped his arms around you, and you both began giggling like lovesick fools. 

“You’re a pervert.” You murmured, leaning into him with your arms around his waist as you felt feeling return back to your legs. Ignoring the feeling of his cum in the spandex you had on though- was not as fun.

“Takes one to know one.” He grins, kissing the tip of your nose. “So…lets see about this “hatch” you found.”

[bueckets]

The Hit List | 02

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Masterlist (TBA) | Part One

Genre: romance, slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, they fuck, n its hot n sweaty, cat n mouse

Description: What starts as a game of avoidance turns into something far more dangerous when old grudges and unfinished business crash headfirst into a truth neither of them are ready to face. Armed with a stubborn streak, a boyfriend you're trying too hard to believe in, and a simmering resentment that burns just as hot as desire, you swear you won’t let Paige win.

But when history keeps rewriting itself in glances, in touches, in words that cut too close—you start to wonder if you've had control of the game at all.

wc: 24k, yes, 24k

Authors Note: sorry this took forever, too many words so this is split into two parts

Chapter 2: The Problem with Paige Bueckers

The cold air hit like a slap as you and Riven stepped out of The Tavern, the double doors slamming shut behind you. The muffled bass of whatever trash pop remix they were playing inside still buzzed in your chest, but out here, the only sound was the occasional car rolling by and the crunch of Riven’s boots against the pavement.

“Okay,” she started, already wrapping her arms around herself like she hadn’t just spent the last hour insisting she wasn’t cold. “What the fuck was that?”

You tugged Nika’s warmup jacket closer around you. “What was what?”

“Oh, don’t even—” Riven whirled on you, walking backward now, eyes narrowed. “I had, like, a front-row seat to your little moment with Paige. You two looked like you were about five seconds away from—”

“From what?” you cut in, voice sharper than intended.

Riven’s smirk deepened. “From what, she says. Babe, I thought you were about to spontaneously combust. Paige definitely wanted to.”

You groaned, pushing past her. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” She caught up easily, practically skipping now. “Because I watched a six-foot basketball legend—who, might I remind you, does not chase people—spend an entire game, a whole-ass four quarters, subtly showing off for you. Then she followed that up by pinning you to a bar with her eyes and making sure you knew she was looking.”

You kept walking. Focused on the sidewalk, on the way the streetlights flickered, on literally anything but what she was saying.

“And you?” Riven continued, undeterred. “You were eating it up.”

You stopped dead. “I was not—”

Riven held up a hand. “Babe. I love you. But you were.”

Her eyes softened then, shifting from teasing to something quieter. You hated that. Because if Riven wasn’t making fun of you, if she was actually serious, then it meant she thought there was something here.

You shook your head, exhaling hard. “I don’t even like her.”

Riven arched a brow. “No?”

“No.”

“And yet, you’re literally wearing her best friend’s jacket, which Paige has been glaring at all night like she was about to rip it off your body with her teeth.”

You rolled your eyes and started walking again. “Nika spilled coffee on me. She gave me the jacket.”

“Uh-huh.” Riven jogged to catch up. “And Paige definitely didn’t care about that at all. I’m sure that’s why she looked like she wanted to murder her best friend when she saw you in it.”

You ignored her.

She didn’t let up. “You know what I think?”

“No,” you deadpanned.

“I think Paige is used to being wanted. She is thee Golden Child after all.” Riven adjusted her tiny bag, the one you still didn’t believe could fit anything. “And you? You told her to fuck off. You didn’t fawn, didn’t trip over yourself to impress her, didn’t melt the second she so much as breathed in your direction.”

“I was just—”

“She likes it.”

You faltered. “What?”

“That’s why she’s been all over you.” Riven grinned like she’d cracked some unsolvable mystery. “You’re a challenge, babe. Paige loves a challenge.”

You let that sit between you for a moment. The idea that this was all just some game to her. Some chase, some conquest to check off her list.

It shouldn’t sting. But it did.

You kicked at a loose pebble, watching it skitter across the sidewalk. “Well, I’m not playing.”

Riven let out a low whistle. “And that is why she’s losing her mind over you.”

She looped her arm through yours, sighing dramatically. “I love this for you.”

You groaned. “There’s nothing to love. I’m not interested.”

Riven squeezed your arm. “Mhm. And yet, we’ve been talking about her this entire walk home.”

You scowled. She had a point.

The first thing you did when you woke up was groan, roll over, and aggressively smother yourself with your pillow in a last-ditch effort to erase the past twelve hours from existence.

The second thing you did was curse Riven’s name.

I love this for you. What the fuck did that even mean? What was there to love? There was nothing to love, nothing to even consider, and yet your brain had apparently decided to throw hands with your common sense and keep you trapped in this hell loop of overanalyzing.

You stayed like that for a solid ten minutes, letting the residual embarrassment simmer in the dark, trying to physically sweat out the memory of Paige fucking Bueckers pinning you in place with her eyes and her stupid, low-ass voice.

Nope. No. Absolutely not. You were not thinking about it. You had actual things to do.

You shoved the blanket off and sat up, only for your stomach to immediately drop as your gaze landed on Nika’s UConn warmup jacket.

Right. That.

You stared at it, like it was some foreign object that had somehow materialized in your room overnight. As if it hadn’t been on your body the entire night before. As if it hadn’t been the one thing Paige’s eyes lingered on every time she looked at you.

Okay. You exhaled sharply. Okay. You needed to get the fuck out of this room.

The engineering building smelled like burnt coffee and overworked students.

Someone had definitely been living in here for the past forty-eight hours—probably one of the electrical engineering kids judging by the faint, fried-plastic scent of a blown capacitor. A couple of jackets were draped over chairs, a half-eaten protein bar had been abandoned by the 3D printer, and the whiteboard by the entrance was filled with someone’s increasingly desperate attempts at debugging a circuit diagram.

Ah, yes. Your people.

You exhaled, shifting your backpack higher on your shoulder as you made your way toward the CAD lab. The familiar hum of computer fans filled the air, that gentle, artificial whir that meant someone, somewhere, was probably suffering through a last-minute deadline.

Not you, though. You were here to escape.

The lab was half-full, a quiet buzz of activity punctuated by the occasional sigh of frustration. A couple of upperclassmen were arguing over a simulation in the corner, their screen flashing red with failed stress tests. Someone else—definitely a freshman—was furiously Googling “why does SOLIDWORKS keep crashing???” like the software had personally wronged them.

You picked a station near the back, dropped your bag onto the floor, and cracked your knuckles.

Alright. Time to work.

You opened your laptop, pulled up your latest model—a sleek, mid-development turbine assembly—and tried to focus.

For the first few minutes, it actually worked. The soothing, mind-numbing repetition of part alignments, constraint settings, and torque calculations took over. You could feel your brain settling into that comfortable, hyper-focused haze.

And then—

“Jesus Christ, what is this?”

You didn’t even look up. “It’s a turbine.”

“That’s a turbine?”

The voice belonged to Mateo, one of the mechanical engineers who had, at some point, decided that annoying you was his life’s goal.

He dragged a chair over, plopping down beside you with his usual chaotic energy. His UConn hoodie was inside out, his curls were aggressively disheveled, and his glasses were smudged enough to qualify as a safety hazard.

“You’re staring at it like it personally offended you,” you muttered, rotating the model on your screen.

Mateo squinted. “Because it has personally offended me. Why the hell does it look like that?”

You turned, deadpan. “Would you like to rephrase that into something remotely helpful?”

He hummed, leaning in. “Maybe. Depends on how much caffeine you’ve had.”

You sighed, shoving your coffee cup toward him. He took one sip and immediately made a face.

“This is disgusting.”

You stole your coffee back. “It’s functional.”

“That’s what people say about Soviet-era aircrafts, and half of those are held together by sheer willpower and duct tape.”

You ignored him, going back to your model. “You’re still here. Please tell me why you’re still here?”

Mateo stretched, cracking his back like an eighty-year-old man. “Because I finished my project and now I’m bored.”

You arched a brow. “So this is what you do for fun? Bully me about my designs?”

“Absolutely.” He propped his chin on his hand, watching you work. “Also, because your roommate texted me last night saying you needed to ‘touch grass,’ which in Riven language means you’ve been weird lately.”

You froze.

Fucking Riven.

Mateo caught it immediately. His smirk widened. “Oh? So tell me what’s up?”

You shook your head, clicking aggressively through your model constraints. “Nothing.”

“Liar. Is it a boy?”

You snorted. “No.”

“A girl?”

You paused just long enough for his eyes to light up.

“Ohhh, it is a girl.” He grinned, leaning in like you’d just handed him the best gossip of his life. “Spill. Who is she?”

You shoved him. “Go away.”

Mateo cackled. “No chance. What’s her name? Is she hot? Do I know her?”

You shut your laptop. “Fuck off.”

Mateo, absolutely unbothered, just draped himself over the back of your chair. “C’mon. You never get weird about people, so this must be juicy.”

“It’s not,” you gritted out, standing up and grabbing your bag.

Mateo raised a brow. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

“You know running away only makes me more curious, right?”

You flipped him off over your shoulder as you left.

Mateo just laughed.

It was a flawless, textbook-perfect fucking setup. The one time you leave the lab, take a detour for some overpriced caffeine, and try to get some damn distance from this whole situation—and there she is.

Like a curse.

You saw her before she saw you. A rare, fleeting advantage, considering Paige had the court vision of a goddamn military drone.

She was standing near the library steps, mid-conversation with some girl you didn’t recognize.

And, of course, she was leaning. Paige Bueckers didn’t just stand like a normal person. No, she had to do the casual, just-effortless-enough tilt, one hand gripping the strap of her UConn backpack like she was seconds away from swinging it over her shoulder in slow-motion, Nike-ad perfection.

And she was smiling.

That smile—the one that had probably ruined lives– specifically, your life.. The practiced, easy, disarmingly charming one. The dangerous one.

Your stomach twisted.

You should keep walking. It would be so easy. Just turn left, duck into the coffee shop, pretend you never saw her.

But something in you hesitated.

Because Paige wasn’t just talking to anyone. She was talking to some other girl.

Fucking hell.

It was so stupid. So petty. So utterly beneath you. But for some reason, the sight of her standing there—effortlessly charismatic, completely at ease—was irritating.

And then it got worse.

Because right as you were about to turn away, Paige’s gaze lifted.

Locked directly onto you.

And something in her changed.

It was so quick, so minuscule that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. But you did. Because you’d spent the past two days doing everything in your power not to notice her, and yet here you were, catching every fucking detail.

The slight shift in her posture.

The way her smirk faltered, just a fraction.

The way her grip on her bag tightened.

Your fingers curled around the strap of your own backpack, a reflexive, useless attempt at grounding yourself.

Walk away.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, frozen in this stupid fucking moment, as Paige’s attention flicked back to the girl she was talking to—only to immediately pull away.

And then she was moving.

Striding over like this was some kind of inevitable gravitational force. Like she knew you weren’t going to leave.

Your pulse kicked up, but you forced yourself to stay still, forced yourself to act bored when she finally stopped in front of you.

Her voice hit first, low and teasing, but with something else under it. “Didn’t know you were into weekend library runs.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting your weight. “Didn’t know you were into casual sidewalk flirting, or studying.”

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Why, jealous?”

Oh, you were going to strangle her.

“I literally do not care.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly. “You sound like you care.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, fixing her with a flat look. “Do you just walk around looking for people to harass, or am I just special?”

Paige took another step closer. You held your ground.

“I dunno,” she murmured. “You do seem pretty special.”

Your heart stuttered.

No. Nope. Fucking no.

You weren’t playing this game. You weren’t going to stand here and let her look at you like that—like she was trying to pick you apart, like she was actually intrigued.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “Enjoy your fan club, Bueckers.”

You turned to leave.

Paige’s voice followed. Low. Confident. Amused.

“You’re cute when you’re pissed.”

You didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look back. Didn’t let her see the way your entire fucking body was burning.

But you heard her chuckle.

And somehow, that was worse.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

You should have kept going. Walked straight to the coffee shop, ordered something completely overpriced, and buried yourself in caffeine and denial.

But you weren’t that lucky.

Because the second you stepped inside, the scent of espresso and baked goods barely had time to hit you before—

“Wow.”

You knew that voice.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, willing the universe to smite you.

It did not.

Because when you opened them again, Paige was right behind you.

“What are you doing?” you muttered, stepping forward to put space between you.

Paige slid her hands into her hoodie pocket, exuding pure, infuriating amusement. “Getting coffee.”

You turned, narrowing your eyes. “You weren’t even going this way.”

She shrugged. “Changed my mind.”

Jesus Christ.

You groaned, turning back toward the counter. “Whatever.”

The barista—a slightly overwhelmed-looking sophomore named Jordan, who you’d spoken to maybe twice before—perked up at the sight of Paige.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t know you came here.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course.

Paige flashed her that same easy, heartbreaker smile. “Yeah, thought I’d try something new today.”

Her eyes flicked to you as she said it. You clenched your jaw, and ignored her.

Jordan, oblivious, beamed. “What can I get you?”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

Oh.

You turned, slowly.

Paige just looked back at you, smirk still in place.

“Fine,” you said, voice tight. “I’ll have your strongest black coffee.”

Jordan blinked. “Wait, really?”

You gave her a look. “Yes?”

She hesitated. “I mean… I just… you always get the caramel cold brew.”

Shit.

Paige grinned.

“Well,” you said, crossing your arms. “Maybe I wanted to try something new.”

Paige laughed.

Actually laughed.

Full, delighted, genuine amusement.

“Oh,” she said, still smirking, “I love this.”

You clenched your fists. “I hate you.”

“See, now that’s not true.”

You turned away, absolutely done with this interaction, already regretting ever leaving the lab.

You paid for your coffee, pointedly ignoring Paige as she paid for hers, and practically snatched the cup from Jordan when it was ready.

You had exactly two steps of peace before—

“So,” Paige said, matching your pace as you headed for the door, “should I be worried?”

You shot her a look. “About what?”

“The fact that you just ordered a black coffee.”

You exhaled sharply. “Maybe I just like black coffee.”

Paige hummed, taking a sip of her own. You watched her expression shift immediately.

“Oh, this is disgusting.”

You snorted, unable to stop it in time.

Paige, victorious, just smiled. “See? I knew you were full of shit.”

You shook your head, pushing the door open and stepping outside. Paige followed, still sipping at her awful coffee like she was suffering on purpose.

And then, finally, mercifully, she stopped walking.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll let you go.”

You frowned. “What?”

Paige’s smirk returned. “I mean, unless you want me to keep following you.”

You scoffed. “Oh my God. Leave.”

Paige chuckled, stepping back, lifting her hands in mock surrender.

“Later, library girl.”

You didn’t look back.

But you felt her watching. And somehow, that was worse.

You had a plan.

It was simple.

Step 1: Bury yourself in engineering work.

Step 2: Avoid places where you might run into her.

Step 3: Erase all thoughts of Paige Bueckers from your mind.

Step 1 was going great. You were practically living in the engineering building, hammering through assignments, working ahead just for the hell of it. At this rate, you’d graduate two semesters early and have a job lined up at NASA before winter break.

Step 2, however, was failing miserably.

Because no matter how much you tried to avoid her, Paige Bueckers was everywhere.

In the hall, where you caught glimpses of her and her teammates from the corner of your eye.

In the student center, where people were casually talking about her like she was a campus landmark.

Even in your own goddamn dreams, which was the worst part because now, even when you were asleep, you weren’t free from this mess.

And it wasn’t like they were even good dreams. No steamy forbidden fantasies, no sweaty, tangled sheets, breathless, what the fuck are we doing? moments. No. You weren’t that lucky.

Instead, your brain kept feeding you annoying things. Paige standing too close. Paige smirking. Paige looking at you like she knew something you didn’t.

Which meant you were waking up pissed off for no reason, which meant Riven noticed, which meant—

“Let me set you up with someone.”

You blinked, looking up from your laptop. “What?”

Riven was sitting across from you in the student lounge, sipping on some overpriced, sugar-filled coffee monstrosity. “I said, let me set you up.”

You scoffed, going back to your screen. “Why?”

“Because you’re weird right now,” she said, gesturing vaguely at you. “All tense and broody. It’s stressing me out.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m literally just doing my work.”

“Exactly.” She leaned forward, squinting at your screen. “You’ve been too productive. It’s unnatural.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re avoiding Paige.”

Your fingers paused on the keyboard for half a second, but that was all she needed.

Riven grinned, victorious. “So let me set you up with someone.”

You sighed, shutting your laptop. “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Or the smartest.”

“No.”

She ignored you, pulling out her phone. “I mean, you have options. There’s that guy from your statics class who’s obsessed with you—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, what about Aisha? She’s cute, pre-med, has her life together—”

“She has a girlfriend.”

Riven waved a hand. “Okay, but, like, not a great one—”

“I cannot believe you right now.”

“Fine, fine.” She scrolled through her phone. “Oooh, what about Kevin?”

You gave her a flat look. “Kevin who works at the bookstore?”

“Yeah! He’s sweet. And tall.”

“He tried to sell me a book on manifesting your dream life when I asked for a fluid dynamics textbook.”

Riven paused. “Okay, yeah, that’s a little concerning.”

You shook your head, leaning back. “Why are you so determined to throw me at random people?”

She tilted her head. “Because it’s fun.”

You groaned.

“And,” she added, more carefully, “because it might help.”

You frowned. “Help what?”

She gave you a look. “Come on.”

You exhaled through your nose, staring down at your coffee.

Riven didn’t push. Just let the silence sit for a beat before nudging your knee under the table. “I’ll stop. For now.”

You looked up. “Thank you.”

She grinned. “But only if you come to this party with me on Saturday.”

You groaned. “Riven—”

“It’ll be fun. And guess who’s gonna be there?”

You already knew.

You closed your eyes. “I hate you.”

She sipped her drink. “Love you too, babe.”

You had approximately zero interest in going to this party.

It wasn’t that you were a hermit—you liked going out, sometimes, in controlled settings where you knew exactly what to expect. But parties like this? Loud, crowded, packed with people you barely knew and didn’t want to? No thanks.

And yet, here you were.

Still sitting on the edge of your bed, not getting ready, scrolling through your phone while your unread texts from Riven multiplied like fruit flies.

r u alive

do i need to come drag u by the hair

i will btw

wear something hot

but not like slutty hot like u just threw it on w/out trying hot

like effortless “oops i didn’t mean to be the hottest person here” hot

also ur wearing eyeliner

You groaned, dropping your phone onto your comforter.

A normal person would just say no. Would just text back not feeling it tonight and call it a day.

But Riven?

Riven would actually show up, bang on your door, and physically escort you to this goddamn party like a security detail on a mission.

So now you had a choice:

1. Give in and get ready.

2. Wait for Riven to bust in here like a one-woman SWAT team and drag you there herself.

Neither option was appealing, but at least the first one gave you some control.

You exhaled sharply, standing up. Fine. Fine. You’d go.

But you weren’t doing this for fun. You were doing it to get Riven off your ass, to make an appearance, to grab a drink, stay for a reasonable amount of time, and then leave before you got roped into something stupid.

You shuffled over to your dresser, opening the top drawer without thinking—and then immediately stopped short.

Because sitting there, right on top, was Nika’s UConn warmup jacket.

The one Paige had glared holes into the last time you wore it.

Your fingers hovered over the fabric for a second. Just long enough for the memory to crawl back into your head—Paige, watching you from across the bar, her expression unreadable but sharp.

It’s just a jacket.

You shook your head, grabbed something else, and shoved the drawer shut.

You were not playing this game.

It was cold, but not cold enough to justify a full winter coat. Just that irritating in-between weather where the air had a bite to it, but not enough to make you commit to layers.

The sidewalks were slick from the rain earlier, puddles reflecting the glow of streetlights. Music spilled out from different houses, some of them throwing smaller, more manageable kickbacks. You briefly considered bailing and going to one of those instead—just slipping into a different party and texting Riven oops, wrong address—but she’d see right through that shit.

So you kept walking, arms crossed against the chill, running through worst-case scenarios in your head.

You’ll get there, it’ll be loud, it’ll be annoying, you’ll get stuck in some awful small talk with people you barely like—

“Hey.”

You startled, glancing up.

Some guy had fallen into step beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

You blinked. “Do I know you?”

He grinned, easy and unbothered. “Nah. But we’re both heading the same way, so I figured I’d say hi.”

You hesitated.

It wasn’t weird, exactly. People did this all the time—especially guys, who had that weird confidence of assuming you’d be fine with their company.

And maybe it wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe if you got caught up in conversation with literally anyone, it would keep you distracted from the nagging feeling in your gut about this whole night.

So you shrugged. “Alright. Hi.”

He laughed. “Wow, that was enthusiastic.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no actual bite behind it. “You always introduce yourself to strangers walking alone at night?”

“Only the hot ones.”

You huffed a laugh. Oh, Jesus.

There was something oddly comforting about this kind of flirting—the casual, throwaway kind. Not serious, not tangled in anything complicated. Just light, meaningless words tossed into the cold night air.

It was easy.

And easy was exactly what you needed.

“Are you always this smooth?” you asked, raising a brow.

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “You tell me.”

Before you could respond, a sudden beep cut through the night.

Your phone. Riven.

where r u

it’s been 7 min i am timing u

u better not be dragging ur feet

i swear 2 god if ur pulling a fast one on me

You sighed, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “I’m about to get yelled at.”

The guy laughed. “Friend blowing up your phone?”

“Something like that.”

“Guess that means I won’t have you all to myself, huh?”

You snorted. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Eli.” He shot you a sideways glance. “And now you do.”

You just shook your head, amused despite yourself.

Maybe this night wouldn’t be a total disaster.

The walk over is quiet. Not awkward, but not quite comfortable either. Eli’s hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill, his breath fogging in the dark as he keeps pace beside you.

The street is mostly empty, save for the distant sound of laughter and the faint hum of music seeping through the trees, growing louder with each step.

“So,” he finally says, tilting his head toward you. “You party much?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not really.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the type.”

You raise a brow, glancing over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eli grins, kicking a loose rock down the sidewalk. “Dunno. You seem more like the… stay-at-home-and-watch-true-crime-docs type.”

You scoff. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is enough of one.

He laughs, shaking his head. “I knew it.”

The music swells as you round the corner, the UConn house coming into view. People are already spilling onto the lawn, drinks in hand, voices raised over the thumping bass. Someone’s perched on the hood of a car, cigarette dangling between their fingers, while a group is gathered around the porch, deep in some animated conversation that none of them will remember in the morning.

You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders. The night stretches before you, unknown and electric, waiting.

“Welp,” Eli says, slowing his steps, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Guess this is us.”

You nod, barely glancing at him. “Yeah, guess so.”

And then you leave him.

You don’t say goodbye, don’t offer a parting glance. Just slip past the first cluster of people, stepping into the thick of the party, into the heat, into the house.

Inside, the air is thick—warm and suffocating, a mix of sweat and perfume and alcohol. The bass vibrates through the floorboards, through your ribs, as bodies move against each other, laughter and shouted conversations tangling together into a messy, chaotic hum.

You push forward, barely a few steps in when—

“There you are.”

A hand grabs your wrist, sharp nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince before you’re being tugged to the side.

Riven.

She looks immaculate as always—makeup untouched by the humidity, dress clinging perfectly to her frame, her lips stained red from whatever drink she’s been nursing.

She eyes you, head tilting. “Took you long enough.”

“I wasn’t—” You hesitate. “I walked here.”

She snorts. “What, alone?”

“No. Some guy. Eli, I think.”

Riven’s expression flickers with interest. “Eli?”

“Yeah, tall, kinda awkward, basketball?” You shrug, not really caring.

“Huh.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyes scanning the crowd. “You just met him and he walked you here?”

“Guess so.”

She smirks. “Cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Didn’t exactly work out for him.”

Riven grins. “Ice cold.”

You open your mouth to respond, but she’s already linking her arm through yours, pulling you deeper into the house.

“Come on. You need a drink.”

The kitchen is a mess of half-empty bottles and red plastic cups, condensation pooling on the scratched wooden counter. The air is thick with the scent of spilled liquor and citrus, the sharp tang of tequila mingling with something fruity—jungle juice, probably, the kind that tastes like candy but hits like a train.

Riven slides in ahead of you, maneuvering through the crowd like she’s been here a hundred times, which, knowing her, she probably has. The confidence in the way she moves makes her impossible to lose, even in the crush of people.

“Alright,” she announces, scanning the counter like it’s a display case. “What’s your poison?”

You hesitate. You’re not much of a drinker—never have been—but tonight feels like it demands something stronger than your usual caution.

“Something not disgusting,” you say, eyeing the sticky countertop, where remnants of past spills glisten under the dim kitchen light.

Riven hums, reaching for a bottle of vodka and some kind of mixer you don’t recognize. “Not disgusting is subjective.” She pours with a practiced hand, tipping the cup toward you once she’s done. “Try this.”

You take a sip. It’s sweet, deceptively smooth, the alcohol buried just enough to be dangerous.

“Not bad,” you admit.

Riven smirks. “You’re welcome.”

The music shifts, the bass vibrating through the walls, through your ribs. People move in and out of the kitchen, laughing, shouting, their voices blending into a haze of noise. The heat of the room is different from the living room—more claustrophobic, the air saturated with liquor and sweat, with the sticky-sweet scent of someone’s perfume, too strong, too cloying.

You lean back against the counter, tipping your cup against your lips, letting the alcohol settle in, loosen something in your limbs.

And then you see her.

Paige.

She’s on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter with the kind of effortless ease that makes your stomach clench. One hand curled around a drink, fingers loose, relaxed. Her other arm draped along the counter, casual but intentional.

The girl next to her is tucked into the space at her side, one hip pressed against the counter, her body angled in, close.

Too close.

Your grip tightens around your cup.

The lighting in the kitchen is dim, but it catches on Paige’s features just right, casting shadows across the sharp cut of her jaw, the slope of her nose. Her expression is unreadable, but her focus is locked.

She’s looking at the girl like she’s the only person in the room.

Something tightens in your chest.

You shouldn’t be watching. You shouldn’t care.

Yet, here you are. Doing exactly that.

The girl tilts her head, lips painted in something dark, teasing at the rim of her cup as she speaks, voice lost in the thrum of the party.

Paige listens, eyes half-lidded, her mouth curling just slightly at the edges. It’s a look you recognize, one you’ve seen before—lazy, amused, locked in. The kind of look that says I already know how this ends.

The kind of look that says I want you.

Your stomach flips.

The girl shifts, closing the space between them, fingers brushing against Paige’s wrist, trailing lightly, suggestively. Paige doesn’t move away.

If anything, she leans in.

The room is too hot. The air too thick, pressing in around you, suffocating.

You take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. Your back is already against the counter, your drink clutched too tightly in your hand. You can still see them—Paige’s fingers curling loosely around the girl’s waist, the slight tilt of her head, the way her mouth parts, the way the girl smiles.

Like she knows she’s got her.

Like she knows Paige isn’t going anywhere.

A fresh wave of nausea rolls through you.

You should look away. You should walk away.

But you don’t. You never ddo.

You watch as the girl leans in, her lips brushing just shy of Paige’s jaw, as if testing the waters. Paige doesn’t pull back.

She just watches, lets it happen, lets the girl push closer, lets her fingers slide against the hem of her shirt, teasing at the space just beneath.

It makes you sick.

You can’t fucking breathe.

Something ugly claws its way up your throat, something you don’t want to name, something bitter and raw.

You turn sharply, reaching for the vodka, pouring more into your cup than is remotely reasonable. The liquid sloshes over the rim, drips onto your fingers, and you barely feel it.

“Whoa,” Riven says, raising a brow. “Thirsty?”

You don’t answer. Just mix it with whatever’s closest, something orange, something fizzy.

You down half of it in one go.

It burns, but not enough.

Nothing is enough.

Riven watches you, her gaze sharp, calculating. “You good?”

“Fine,” you say, too quickly.

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

But you don’t give her time to question it.

You grab her hand, pulling her toward the living room, toward the noise, toward the crowd, toward anything that isn’t Paige and that girl, locked in, locked together, about to—

No.

The liquor hums in your veins, warm and reckless, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. The music has taken over everything—the bass pounding through the floor, through your chest, drowning out the lingering echoes of Paige and that girl.

Fuck her.

Fuck all of it.

You let yourself sink into the crowd, into the tangle of bodies moving with the music, the heat, the chaos of it all. The world tilts slightly, but in a way that feels good, in a way that makes you feel untouchable, weightless.

Riven is right there beside you, her laughter bright, her hands tugging at your wrist, spinning you in circles, hyping you up like she lives for this. And maybe she does. Maybe this is her element, but right now, it’s yours too.

You throw your head back, let your hands lift into the air, let the rhythm take over, shaking loose every lingering thought.

Someone grabs your waist.

You don’t flinch, don’t tense—just let it happen, rolling with the movement, letting yourself press back into the warmth behind you.

She’s soft, her body moving fluidly against yours, her hands confident as they slide along your hips, fitting into the moment like she’s supposed to be there.

You don’t think.

You just move.

Her perfume is sweet, her breath warm as she leans in, murmuring something that you don’t hear, don’t need to hear. It’s all instinct, all impulse, all the heat of the night pulling you deeper.

Her fingers trace slow, teasing patterns over your stomach where your top rides up, and it’s easy, so fucking easy, to let her do it. To let her hands wander, to let her lips ghost along your jaw, to tilt your head just so, letting her pull you in.

And then you’re kissing her.

It’s messy, all teeth and liquor and heat, her hands tangled in your hair, yours gripping the back of her neck, nails scraping against skin.

You don’t know her name.

You don’t care.

She tastes like rum, like something syrupy sweet, and you let yourself get lost in it, let yourself drink it in like it’ll burn away everything else.

Like it’ll erase the image of Paige leaning against that counter, her head tilted, her mouth open just enough—

No.

You deepen the kiss, swallow down the thought, let the music swallow you whole.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, don’t know how many songs bleed together before you finally break apart, breathless and flushed, her lipstick smudged against your mouth, your fingers still curled in her shirt.

She leans in, murmurs something into your ear—maybe a name, maybe a suggestion—but you’re already pulling away, already laughing, already shaking your head.

"Bathroom," you say, your voice thick with liquor and heat.

She pouts but lets you go, her fingers lingering on your wrist before she disappears back into the crowd.

The second you step away, the world tilts again, and you brace yourself against the edge of the wall, blinking hard, forcing the party back into focus.

Shit. You really have to pee.

You push through the crowd, past the blur of faces, past the too-loud conversations, past the couples pressed into dark corners, whispering things meant only for each other.

The hallway leading to the bathroom is a little less chaotic, though someone’s already passed out against the wall, their head slumped forward, their drink tipped over onto the carpet.

You slip past them, knocking twice on the bathroom door.

Silence.

You try the handle.

It opens.

You stumble inside, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click.

The house is still shaking around you, but in here, it’s muffled, distant.

You catch sight of yourself in the mirror—flushed, lips a little swollen, pupils blown wide from the alcohol, from the dancing, from everything.

You look different.

Or maybe you just feel different.

You shake it off, stepping forward, gripping the sink to steady yourself before finally doing what you came in here to do.

You need a minute before you go back out there, before the night drags you under again.

You splash cold water on your face, blinking hard at your reflection, trying to ground yourself. The alcohol is still warm in your blood, making everything feel hazy at the edges, but at least the dizziness has settled. The bass rattles through the floor, muffled by the walls, and you press your palms against the counter, exhaling slowly.

You should go back out there.

Find Riven. Get another drink. Keep losing yourself in the night, in the bodies, in the heat, in anything that isn’t the thought of—

No.

You grab a paper towel, blotting your face, and then pull open the bathroom door, stepping back into the dimly lit hallway.

And promptly walk straight into someone’s chest.

“Watch it,” you mutter, barely glancing up, pushing past, your mind already elsewhere.

But the second you take a step, fingers wrap around your wrist—firm, but not rough—and you stiffen.

You know who it is before you even look

“Jesus, relax,” she drawls, her grip loosening but not quite letting go. “Didn’t know you were so touchy.”

You yank your arm free, scowling. “What do you want?”

She tilts her head, looking at you too closely, like she’s trying to read something off your skin. The hallway is dark, but not dark enough to miss the way her gaze flickers downward—your lips, your jaw, the smudges of lipstick that aren’t yours.

Her mouth curves slightly. “Have fun out there?”

Your stomach turns.

You don’t answer.

Her smirk deepens. “She looked pretty into it.”

You scoff, stepping back, ready to shove past her and end this entire conversation before it even begins, but—

She shifts, blocking your path.

“Move,” you snap.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she leans in, voice dropping, a lazy smirk still tugging at her lips. “What are you running from?”

You want to hit her.

Or kiss her.

Or throw your drink in her face.

You do none of those things.

Instead, you shove at her shoulder, forcing your way past, and for a second—just a second—you think you’ve won.

Then you feel her hand at your back.

Not grabbing, not pulling, just pressing. A guiding touch. A challenge.

And you don’t know how it happens—whether she pushes you, or you push her, or maybe you both move at the same time—but suddenly, you’re stumbling through a doorway, into a small, dimly lit room, and the door swings shut behind you.

Hard.

The click of the latch echoes.

You whirl around, already reaching for the handle, twisting—

It doesn’t budge.

You twist again.

Nothing.

Paige sighs behind you. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You shoot her a glare over your shoulder. “You locked us in here?”

She crosses her arms, looking entirely too unbothered. “It was open when we walked in.”

You yank at the handle again, harder this time, but it doesn’t give.

Panic prickles at the edges of your thoughts.

You turn, scanning the room properly now. A washing machine, a dryer, shelves lined with detergent and fabric softener, a wire basket overflowing with mismatched socks. The UConn house laundry room.

And no windows.

“No, no, no—” You twist the handle again. “It can’t be locked.”

Paige makes a noise, unimpressed, and leans back against the dryer, pulling out her phone. “Guess we’re stuck.”

Your head snaps up.

“You have your phone?”

She smirks, tapping at the screen. “I do.”

You hold out your hand. “Give it to me.”

Her brows lift, amused. “You don’t even say please?”

You exhale sharply, patience hanging by a thread. “Paige.”

She tsks, slipping the phone into her palm, staring at the screen. “Hmm. So many unread messages…”

You take a step forward, holding out your hand again. “Just call someone and get us out.”

Paige’s smirk deepens. “Or…” She pushes off the dryer, stepping closer, holding her phone just out of reach, “…I could make you ask nicely.”

You stare at her.

Then, without thinking, you lunge.

Your fingers brush the edge of the phone, but she’s faster—because of course she is—and she lifts it, jerking it up, holding it above her head, just out of your reach.

Your jaw tightens.

She grins. “What’s wrong?”

You glare at her. “Give me the fucking phone.”

She raises it higher, tilting her head in mock sympathy. “Oh, is that too tall for you?”

Your blood boils.

You take another step forward, reaching again, but she moves too—effortless, smooth, stepping back just enough to keep you from grabbing it.

“You are such an asshole,” you seethe.

She chuckles, tucking her phone onto the tallest shelf beside her. “And yet, you’re the one who followed me in here.”

You groan, running a hand down your face. “I did not—”

“You did.”

“I was trying to leave.”

“And now you can’t.”

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Do not strangle her. You will go to jail. Focus.

When you look at her again, she’s still smirking, still so goddamn pleased with herself, like she hasn’t just trapped you in a room with her.

Like she isn’t the exact thing you were trying to avoid.

Like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing to you.

Fuck.

The air in the laundry room is thick. Too warm. Too close. The scent of detergent lingers beneath the musk of the party outside, a mix of something clean and something tainted—the ghosts of cheap vodka, sweat, and everything you don’t want to think about right now.

Paige leans against the dryer like she has nowhere better to be, arms crossed, expression lazy, infuriating. Her phone is still perched on the highest shelf, glowing faintly, unread messages stacking up.

You don’t look at it.

You look at her.

And that’s a mistake.

Because she’s watching you, waiting, and there’s something smug about the way she’s standing there, something that makes your pulse thrum harder than it should.

Your nails dig into your palm. “You gonna call someone, or are we just gonna sit here all night?”

She exhales, long-suffering, tilting her head. “I don’t know, you seem really worked up. Maybe I should let you cool off first.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off, Paige.”

Her smirk sharpens. “Touchy tonight.”

You scowl, turning away from her, pressing your hands against the washer, gripping the cool metal like it might steady you. It doesn’t.

“You’re the one who locked us in here,” you mutter, half to yourself.

She snorts. “I didn’t lock the fucking door.”

You don’t care. You don’t care about the door, about her stupid phone, about the way the heat of her body radiates behind you like she’s not even touching you but still somehow too close.

You care about what you saw in the kitchen.

The girl. The way Paige looked at her. The way Paige leaned in, just close enough—

Your fingers curl into a fist.

“Shouldn’t you be back out there?” Your voice is tight, sharp, dripping with something you don’t want to name. “Looked like you had plans.”

Paige doesn’t answer right away.

You don’t turn to look at her, but you can feel her reaction, feel the air shift, her smirk stretching, lazy and knowing.

“Ah,” she exhales, dragging out the sound. “So that’s what this is about.”

Your jaw tightens. “It’s not about anything.”

She hums, low and amused. “Mmhmm.”

She moves before you can brace for it, stepping into your space—not touching, but just enough to make you feel her there, the heat of her, the weight of her attention pressing against your skin.

Your breath catches.

You force yourself to focus on the washer, the wall, the tiny flickering light in the corner of the room. Anything but her.

Paige doesn’t let up.

“Didn’t know you were paying so much attention to me,” she murmurs.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Get over yourself.”

She clicks her tongue, still infuriatingly close. “You look pissed.”

“I’m no—”

“Oh, you are.”

Your breath stutters.

Because maybe you are.

And maybe she knows it.

Her voice drops, lower, rougher, like she’s savoring this. “What, you didn’t like seeing me with her?”

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose.

“Jesus, Paige.” You step forward, away from her, away from the heat of her, pacing to the opposite wall, running a hand through your hair. “You’re so fucking—���

You stop yourself.

Because the words clawing up your throat—angry and raw and desperate—aren’t the ones you want to say.

Paige doesn’t move. Doesn’t chase. Just lets the silence stretch, heavy and unbearable, waiting for you to crack.

And you do.

Because your mouth moves before your brain can catch up, before you can stop yourself from spilling the truth, from letting her have this.

“You looked at her like she was the only fucking person in the room.”

The words hang there, sharp and trembling.

Paige exhales, slow, measured, and when you finally force yourself to look at her, her smirk is gone.

She just watches you, her eyes darker now, unreadable.

Then—

“You’re right,” she says.

Your stomach twists.

She holds your gaze, steady and unwavering. “That’s how I look when I want something.”

Your throat tightens.

Because her voice is different now. Not teasing. Not amused. 

And then she takes a step forward. And another.

Until she’s right in front of you, until you can feel the heat of her breath against your lips, until your back is pressing into the wall and there’s nowhere left to go.

Paige tilts her head.

Slow. Measured. Like she’s giving you time. Like she’s waiting.

Your pulse hammers.

She lifts a hand, slow, deliberate, tracing the lightest touch of her fingers against your arm, up, up, featherlight against your shoulder.

You should push her away.

You should say something, anything, because this—this—is dangerous.

But you don’t.

You just stand there, breathing too fast, too hard, your fingers curling against the wall.

Paige watches you.

Then, so softly it almost doesn’t reach over the pounding of your heartbeat—

“I’m not thinking about her right now.”

Your breath hitches.

And that’s it.

That’s the moment everything fucking snaps.

You’re in her space before you even register moving, hands fisting the front of her hoodie, yanking her in so hard she stumbles. But she doesn’t care. She fucking growls against your mouth when you crash together, all heat and teeth and tongue, your lips parting for her automatically, letting her lick inside like she’s starving for it.

She kisses like she owns you. Like she’s already won.

But you’re not making this easy for her. You bite down on her bottom lip, tugging, dragging a sound out of her that’s more animal than human, and then suddenly her hands are on you—gripping your waist, yanking you forward, pushing you back, back, back until your spine collides with the wall.

The room spins. Or maybe it’s just you.

You barely get a second to breathe before she’s on you again, lips hot, demanding, her fingers digging into your hips like she wants to leave bruises, like she wants you to feel her tomorrow.

“You like this?” she mutters against your mouth, voice low and rough as she drags her hands up your sides, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. "Like being handled like this?"

You barely manage a nod before she lifts you.

Like it’s nothing.

Like you weigh nothing at all.

She hoists you up onto the washer, the cold metal shocking against your skin, her body immediately pressing between your thighs, caging you in.

Your breath shudders out of you, hands fisting in her hoodie, nails scraping against the fabric as she yanks your legs further apart.

Paige just watches you.

Her pupils are blown, her lips slick, her chest rising and falling too fast. Her hands flex against your thighs, gripping hard, her thumbs pressing into the softest part of your skin like she’s trying to brand you.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just fucking stares at you like she’s deciding exactly how she’s going to tear you apart.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. Your brain is screaming at you to stop, to think, to breathe, but then she licks her lips, and every ounce of hesitation shatters like glass.

You grab her by the collar and yank her in like she’s the only oxygen in the fucking room.

She groans as your mouths crash together again—harder, messier, hungrier. Her hands move, gripping your thighs, sliding up, up, until they’re under your shirt, pushing the fabric higher, fingertips teasing along the band of your bra.

"God, you’re fucking desperate," she mutters against your lips, her voice dripping with amusement.

You don’t even care.

Not when she’s right.

She breaks the kiss, panting, dragging her mouth along your jaw, your throat, sucking, biting, marking you, making sure you’ll feel her tomorrow, see her tomorrow.

Your head tips back, a whimper slipping out before you can stop it.

And Paige fucking laughs.

"Yeah," she breathes against your skin, her tongue swiping over the bruise she just left. "Anyone ever make you sound like this?"

You don’t answer.

Can’t.

Her hands slide higher, fingers curling around your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric.

"Didn’t think so," she mutters, rolling them between her fingers, making you arch, making you gasp. "Bet they don’t know what to do with you.”

She pinches harder, making you jerk.

"But that’s not what you want, is it?"

You shake your head, breathless, wrecked, desperate.

Paige just smirks.

"That’s what I thought."

Then, suddenly, she drops.

Drops to her knees.

Your breath stutters, your entire body going rigid as she grins up at you, lips parted, pupils dark, her fingers gripping your thighs like she dares you to move.

She drags her mouth over your inner thigh, biting down just hard enough to make you jolt. Then she licks over it, soothing, teasing, slow, slow, slow.

She presses a single kiss over the fabric of your jeans, right where you're already throbbing.

Then another.

And another.

Before she yanks the button open with her teeth.

You fucking moan.

She laughs—low and pleased—and then she’s peeling your jeans down your legs, dragging your panties with them, her fingers pressing against your inner thighs to spread you.

"God," she mutters, eyes dark, voice thick. "Look at you."

You’re fucking soaked. You know you are.

And she does, too.

She groans, her hands gripping your thighs even tighter as she leans in, her mouth hovering just above where you need her most, her breath hot and teasing.

You lift your hips slightly, already reaching for her hair, butthen—

Paige stops.

Completely.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just exhales once, slow and deliberate, then pushes herself back up to her feet.

Your heart is still hammering against your ribs, your body still aching, still on fire, and you blink at her, dazed, confused.

“What—?”

She doesn’t answer.

She just smirks.

Then, without a word, she reaches for the shelf, grabs her phone, and slips it into her pocket.

Your stomach drops.

No.

She wouldn’t—

Paige takes a step back, rolling her shoulders, looking at you like she isn’t just leaving you on the edge of madness. Like she isn’t just walking the fuck away.

"Well,” she says, slow, lazy. “This was fun.”

Your brain short-circuits.

She turns toward the door.

Paige. Fucking. Bueckers.

Your breath is still uneven, your legs still wrapped around the washer, your skin still buzzing, burning.

And she’s just—leaving?

No.

No fucking way.

“Are you serious?” you snap, voice raw, breaking.

She glances at you over her shoulder, smirking like she just won the longest game of chess. “What? Didn’t you want to stop?”

Your nails dig into your palms.

You’re going to kill her.

You’re going to fucking kill her.

And then you’re going to kiss her again.

The second the door clicks shut behind her, you’re left sitting there—breathless, pissed, and still throbbing in a way that makes you want to scream.

Your legs are still spread around the washer, body still burning from where her hands had been, where her mouth had almost gone. Your jeans are still undone, your pulse still hammering against your ribs, and Paige fucking Bueckers just walked out.

You let out a sharp breath, shoving both hands through your hair, gripping tight at the roots, trying to will yourself back to normal.

It doesn’t work.

Your heart is still racing, your skin still tingling, your lips still swollen.

“Fucking bitch,” you mutter, slamming your hand against the washer.

Your voice is lost under the pulse of the music vibrating through the walls, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like she’s here to hear it.

She left.

She fucking left.

And you hate how much it gets to you. How much it makes you want to chase after her, grab her by the hoodie, shove her against the wall and finish what she started.

But that’s what she wants.

She wants you to be thinking about her.

She wants you frustrated.

And you are.

Oh, you are.

You jump off the washer, legs a little shaky, but you force yourself to steady, to breathe. To pull yourself together because no way in hell are you giving her the satisfaction of knowing she just scrambled your brain like that.

Your hands tremble slightly as you fix your jeans, smoothing out your shirt, wiping the last of her touch from your skin.

It doesn’t work.

The scent of her is still clinging to you, faint but impossible to ignore—something clean, something subtle, something undeniably her.

You grip the edge of the counter, grounding yourself as the room tilts around you. You need a fucking drink—hell, you need five—but first, you need to get the fuck out of here. Taking a deep breath, you seize the handle, twist, and the door swings open. She didn’t lock you in. She could have. She would have if she really wanted to fuck with you. But, she didn’t.

She just left you there, knowing exactly what she’d done, knowing exactly how she’d fucked you up, knowing you’d be walking out of this room just as wrecked as if she’d finished what she started.

And that makes you want to find her even more.

You step back into the hallway, the party swallowing you whole again—music, voices, the chaotic heat of the house.

Your hands are still shaking.

You need a drink.

Or you need to find Paige.

And you don’t know which one you’re going to do first.

The laundry room is still warm, still thick with the scent of detergent and something else—something her.

Your fingers flex against the cool metal of the washer as you take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

It doesn’t work.

Your skin still burns, your lips still tingling, your body still aching in a way that makes you want to scream.

Paige fucking Bueckers.

You inhale sharply through your nose, shaking your hands out, willing the frustration out of your body, then push off the washer and head for the door. You don’t hesitate this time, don’t pause to gather yourself.

You just leave.

The second you step back into the hallway, the chaos of the party crashes over you again—voices, music, bodies pressing past in a drunken blur.

You need to find Riven.

You need to do something before you lose your fucking mind.

The house feels bigger than it should, the heat of it pressing in around you, the music rattling through your skull. Your fingers twitch at your sides as you weave through the crowd, eyes scanning, searching.

Then—finally—

You spot her.

Riven is perched on the arm of a couch in the living room, a fresh drink in hand, laughing at something the girl beside her just said.

You push toward her, your body still buzzing, your head still spinning, but determined to pretend you haven’t just been left completely wrecked in a locked laundry room by the most insufferable person alive.

Riven clocks you immediately.

She tilts her head, eyes flickering over your face, sharp despite the liquor in her system.

“You look like you’ve been through some shit,” she comments, raising a brow.

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Just trying to find you.”

“Well, you found me.” She grins, tipping her cup toward you. “And just in time. Thinking about hitting another party.”

You barely register what she’s saying.

Because in your peripherial, something catches your eye.

A glimpse of familiar blonde hair.

A hoodie.

A girl—not you—standing too close, fingers curled in Paige’s sweatshirt, voice low, her lips inches from Paige’s.

Your stomach lurches and your breath stutters.

You shouldn’t be looking.

You shouldn’t care.

Paige leans in, smirking, saying something in return. The girl pulls her toward the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind them.

And that’s it.

Your stomach churns, a sickening twist that rises up your throat, thick and acidic.

Riven is still talking, still watching you, but you can’t focus on the words, can’t focus on anything except the sudden, crushing weight in your chest, the way your throat feels tight, the way the party suddenly feels like it’s suffocating you.

“Hey.” Riven nudges you. “You good?”

You blink hard, exhaling through your nose, forcing yourself to keep it together. “Yeah,” you say, voice too thin, too unsteady.

She studies you, unconvinced.

“You wanna hit another party?”

She’s giving you an out.

A way to distract yourself. A way to drown this feeling in more liquor, more noise, more nothing.

But if you stay here any longer, you’re going to break.

So you shake your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “I think I’m gonna go.”

Riven frowns, but she doesn’t push. “Want me to come with?”

“No,” you say quickly, forcing a small smile. “I just—yeah. I think I’m done for the night.”

She nods slowly, watching you, like she knows you’re not saying everything. But she lets it go. “Text me when you get back.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

And then you’re leaving.

Pushing past the bodies, the voices, the heat. Stepping out into the night air, cold against your too-warm skin.

And then you’re walking.

Fast.

Like you can outrun it.

Like you can forget.

But the worst part is—you already know you won’t.

The night air is sharp against your skin, cutting through the lingering warmth of the house, through the haze of alcohol still pulsing in your veins. The sound of the party dulls behind you, muffled by distance, by the pounding in your ears.

You don’t know where you’re going—just that you need to be anywhere but here. Not in that room, not in this house, not with her still lingering in the air like a slow-burning cigarette. The scent of her skin clings to you, the ghost of her hands still warm against your body, her breath still searing against your lips. And that fucking smirk—it’s carved into your mind like a brand you can’t scrub away.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat thick and stubborn. The sting behind your eyes threatens to spill over, but you grit your teeth, forcing it back down. You’re not going to cry over her. You refuse.

The cool night air rushes against your burning face as you round the corner of the house, stepping onto the damp grass, exhaling sharply like you can push her out of your system in one breath—

And then you see him.

Eli.

He’s leaning against the hood of a car, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, staring up at the sky like he’s waiting for something. The distant glow of a streetlight casts a halo of gold around his head, making his expression unreadable.

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then his gaze flickers down, catching on you, and something shifts.

He straightens slightly. “Hey.”

Your heart is still pounding, your skin still too hot, your chest still tight with the remnants of everything you just saw, everything you felt.

And suddenly, you don’t want to think about it anymore.

Suddenly, you want to forget.

You step closer, inhaling sharply through your nose. “What are you doing out here?”

Eli shrugs, a lazy half-smile curving his lips. “Needed a break.” He eyes you, tilting his head slightly. “What about you?”

You wet your lips, arms wrapping around yourself. “Needed to get out of there.”

He hums like he understands. Like maybe he does.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

He’s looking at you like he’s curious. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s wondering what happened in there to make you walk out like you had somewhere to be, like you had someone to find.

But he doesn’t ask.

And you don’t tell him.

Instead, you step closer.

Slowly.

Testing.

His eyes flicker downward—your mouth, your throat, your hands where they clench into the hem of your shirt.

And something about that—about the way he sees you, about the way he doesn’t ask questions, about the way he’s just there—makes something snap inside you.

You want to feel something else.

Someone else.

So you step forward, closing the last bit of space between you.

Eli inhales, his shoulders tensing slightly. “What are you—”

You kiss him.

It’s impulsive. Reckless.

Your fingers grip at his jacket, pulling him in before you can second-guess it, before you can hear the voice in your head whispering that this isn’t her, this isn’t what you want, this isn’t who you want.

But he kisses you back.

His hands find your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer, fingers pressing into your sides. He tastes like beer and mint gum, like something unfamiliar, something that isn’t her.

And maybe that’s the point.

You deepen the kiss, tilting your head, swallowing down every thought, every memory, every feeling threatening to break through the surface.

Eli exhales against your mouth, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine as his hands slide lower, finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. You let him. You let yourself lean in, let yourself be kissed, let yourself drown in something—someone—that isn’t her.

Because right now, she can’t exist. She can’t be in your head, in your lungs, in the spaces between your ribs where she’s been living rent-free. If this is the only way to erase her, to rewrite the memory of her hands with someone else’s touch—then so be it.

The morning comes in hazy, dull, a slow drag of reality clawing its way back into your skull.

Your head pounds before you even open your eyes. The taste of stale liquor lingers on your tongue, thick and sour, a reminder of how recklessly you drank the night before.

A deep inhale, and—fuck.

Your body feels off. Too warm, too stiff, too aware.

And then it hits you.

A weight against your side. A slow, rhythmic inhale-exhale that isn’t yours.

You stiffen.

Open your eyes.

The ceiling above you is unfamiliar—somebody’s shitty off-campus house, a string of fairy lights flickering weakly in the daylight. The sheets beneath you smell like detergent and sweat, and the warmth at your side shifts slightly.

Eli.

His arm is draped lazily over your waist, his face half-buried in the pillow. His hair is messy, his breathing slow, peaceful.

Everything slams back into place at once—the party, the kitchen, the drinks, the laundry room. Paige. And then—Eli. Your stomach tightens, not in horror or fear, just realization. What you did. Why you did it. You swallow hard, staring up at the ceiling, willing your pulse to slow, waiting for the weight of it to settle in. But it doesn’t feel like anything. And it should. Shouldn’t it?

You were drunk, sure, but you weren’t gone. You remember his hands, the heat of his body, the way he pressed into you, the way you let him.

But now, in the harsh clarity of morning, all you can think is—

It wasn’t her.

It wasn’t her hands on you. It wasn’t her breath against your skin. It wasn’t her mouth whispering against your throat, sending shivers down your spine, making your stomach twist, making you burn, making you ache.

It was Eli.

And that makes you feel so much worse.

Your breath comes too shallow, your head pounding, your fingers twitching against the sheets. You need to get out of here.

Carefully, slowly, you shift out from under his arm, moving inch by inch until you’re free. He doesn’t stir.

You sit up. Your clothes are mostly intact—jeans unbuttoned but still on, your shirt twisted around you, but nothing that says bad decision in flashing neon lights.

Except the ache in your chest.

You press your hands against your face, inhale deep.

Move.

You slip out of bed, grabbing your shoes from where they’re haphazardly discarded near the door, your jacket thrown across the chair in the corner.

You don’t look back.  You don’t check to see if he’s waking up, if he’ll call after you, if he’ll ask what this was.

Because you don’t have an answer.

The house is quiet, but not silent. Somewhere down the hall, you hear faint voices, the sound of someone in the kitchen, cabinets opening and closing.

You don’t stop.

You walk, fast but not suspicious, through the living room, toward the front door. The air still smells like last night—beer, sweat, something burnt, like someone got hungry and forgot about a frozen pizza in the oven.

The sunlight is sharp when you step outside, stabbing straight into your skull.

You wince, pulling your jacket tighter around you, ignoring the way the world feels like it’s tilting slightly.

Your phone is dead. You exhale, slow, deliberate.

Then you walk.

Every step feels like weight pressing into your chest, like something clawing at the inside of your ribs, like the ghost of someone else’s hands gripping your hips, someone else’s lips dragging along your throat.

You don’t let yourself think about it.

Not yet.

You just focus on the pavement, on the sound of your own breathing, on getting the fuck out of here before the weight of last night really sinks in.

The walk back is slow. Not because you’re taking your time, but because your body is still heavy with last night—liquor humming in your bloodstream, regret pooling somewhere low in your stomach, the ache behind your eyes a dull reminder of every wrong decision that led you here.

Your breath fogs in the morning air. It’s colder than you expected. You pull your jacket tighter, shoving your hands deep into your pockets, head down as you step over cracked pavement, past empty sidewalks.

The streets are quiet.

The world is moving, but just barely—cars rolling by lazily, students in sweats shuffling across campus, people carrying coffee cups like lifelines. The remnants of Saturday night still linger in the air, the ghosts of parties scattered across front lawns—empty cans, forgotten hoodies, crushed solo cups.

It should feel normal. But everything feels off.

Because you know where she is.

Or at least, where she was.

You know what happened after she left you in that fucking laundry room, after she walked away, after she—

You inhale sharply through your nose, pushing the thought away.

It shouldn’t matter.

You made your own choices, didn’t you?

So why does it feel like something is rotting inside you?

Your steps slow as you reach your dorm. The building looms ahead, brick and glass, too familiar, too suffocating. You don’t want to go inside. You don’t want to be alone.

Not when the weight of last night is still pressing down on you, not when the silence is going to make it worse, not when every empty second is just another opportunity for your mind to drag you back.

But you don’t have a choice.

You tug the door open, step inside.

The lobby is quiet, the hallways dimly lit. Your shoes echo against the floor as you make your way to your room, heart thudding heavier with each step.

By the time you reach your door, your hands are shaking.

You tell yourself it’s the hangover.

It’s not.

The second you’re inside, you shut the door, lock it, press your back against the wood, squeezing your eyes shut.

Breathe.

The silence wraps around you, thick and oppressive, and now it hits.

Now the night comes crashing in.

You see it too clearly.

Paige, leaning against the counter, her drink in hand, her smirk lazy, her mouth parted just slightly—

Paige, dragging her fingers over the girl’s waist, letting her pull her in—

Paige, shoving you up onto the washer, her hands gripping your thighs, her breath hot against your lips—

Your eyes snap open.

You swallow hard, jaw tight, chest aching.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

You slept with someone else. You made your choice.

So why does it feel like you lost?

You don’t move for a while.

Just stand there, back pressed against the door, staring at the floor, breath uneven, the silence pressing in from all sides. Your skin still feels too warm, like the heat of last night hasn’t entirely left your body.

Like her hands are still there.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Stop it.

You push off the door, moving toward your bed in slow, heavy steps. You don’t bother turning on the lights. The daylight spilling through the blinds is already too much, making the pounding in your skull even worse.

You collapse onto the mattress, face-first, pressing your cheek into the pillow. The sheets smell like you—just you. No trace of Eli, no hint of anything from last night, and for some reason, that makes you feel worse.

Maybe because it means it didn’t matter.

Or maybe because it means you’re still alone.

You exhale sharply, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. The ache in your chest hasn’t eased.

If anything, it’s getting worse.

You need a distraction.

You grab your phone from the nightstand, clicking it on. Dead.

Right.

You let it drop onto your stomach, staring blankly at the ceiling again, waiting for your body to settle, for the weight pressing down on your ribs to ease, but it doesn’t. It lingers. She lingers.

She’s everywhere.

Every time you close your eyes, she’s there. The smirk, the mouth, the way she looked at you in the laundry room, sharp and knowing, like she could see every thought running through your head before you even formed them.

You grit your teeth, turning onto your side, gripping the sheets. She is not in this bed. Stop thinking about her.

You don’t know if she ever left that room with that girl. You don’t know if she stayed the whole night. You don’t know if she fucked her.

You let out a slow, shaky breath.

You should sleep. Get up. Shower. Move on.

Instead, you lie there, still, silent, with nothing but the echoes of last night looping through your brain like a song you can’t turn off.

And no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the feeling that Paige won.

You’re not even supposed to be here.

That’s what you tell yourself as you walk across campus, your fingers curled tight around the strap of your bag, your brain already buzzing with excuses, with reasons—with anything that makes this feel less like a trap.

It’s just an errand.

A professor had emailed you that morning—something about the dining hall on the athletic side of campus having an issue with one of the automated food warmers, something small, something engineering-adjacent. Apparently, it had been flagged last week, and since you’re one of the few undergrads competent enough to check it out, they’d passed it off to you.

You’d said yes before thinking.

Before realizing exactly where they were sending you.

Before remembering who eats here.

Now, standing outside the heavy double doors, the reality crashes into you like a brick to the chest.

This is their dining hall. The athletes. The basketball team. Her.

Your stomach clenches. You should turn around.

No one will notice if you stall for twenty minutes, send an email about how it was already fixed, make up some bullshit about it not being your area.

You swallow, exhale slowly, force yourself to move forward.

Inside, the air is warmer, filled with the scent of food, the sound of chatter, the low hum of conversations overlapping—easy, casual, the way people talk when they don’t have a thousand things clawing at the inside of their skulls.

You keep your head down, moving toward the back of the hall where the food warmers are lined up in sleek, stainless steel rows. The place is bigger than the regular student cafeteria—modern, high ceilings, bright windows. Everything designed for them.

Your pulse thrums in your ears as you slide behind the service counter, setting your bag down, trying to focus on what you came here for.

Focus.

You grab a screwdriver from your bag, crouching slightly, unscrewing the side panel of the warming unit. You barely register the conversations happening around you, just white noise in the background—

Until you hear her.

It’s distant at first. A voice blending in with the others. But your body reacts before your brain does—the immediate recognition, the sharp, visceral reaction, like every nerve in your body suddenly goes rigid.

You don’t look up.

You refuse to look up.

But you hear her.

That low, easy drawl, the teasing lilt in her words, the lazy confidence in the way she talks, like she owns any room she steps into.

And you hate—hate—how it makes your skin burn.

You move faster, working the screws loose, hoping, praying she doesn’t come this way.

But life isn’t that easy, is it?

Because then—closer now—

A voice. A teammate, maybe. Laughing. “Paige, I swear to God—”

And then—her.

Right there. Too close.

You don’t see her face at first, just the familiar joggers, the way they hang effortlessly off her frame. The pristine white sneakers, spotless as always, moving in smooth, practiced steps. And then she shifts, just slightly, and something in your gut twists. You know she sees you. You feel it. The way her stride falters for half a second, that barely-there pause in motion. The weight of her gaze presses against your skin, thick and unshakable, lingering like a hand on the back of your neck.

Your body locks up. The screwdriver in your grip suddenly feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong in your hand, like nothing in this moment belongs. Your fingers tighten around the handle, grounding yourself in something, anything, before it can slip.

And then—nothing.

No smirk. No teasing remark. No acknowledgment at all. She just keeps walking. Not a glance back, not even a twitch of amusement or recognition. Just passes right by you like you’re nothing.

Your chest constricts, the silence louder than anything she could have said. You don’t know if you feel relieved or if you want to fucking scream.

The weight of it slams into your ribs, hard and unexpected, a visceral, gut-deep feeling that you should not be feeling.

Because this is what you wanted, right?

To avoid her. To make this nothing. To erase the way she touched you, the way she looked at you in that laundry room like she knew exactly how to pull you apart and put you back together again.

So why does it feel like she just walked straight through you?

Your fingers curl tighter around the screwdriver, your breath short, uneven, the hum of the cafeteria suddenly too much, too loud, pressing in around you.

Her teammates are still talking, still laughing, moving past you like you’re background noise, like you don’t even register in their world.

And Paige?

She’s leading the charge.

Like she didn’t just see you. Like you aren’t even worth a second glance.

Like she doesn’t know.

Heat rushes up your neck, but it isn’t embarrassment. It’s something sharper, something angrier, something bitter curling its way up your throat.

You twist the screwdriver too hard, slipping, the metal clanging against the side of the food warmer. The noise barely registers over the buzz of conversation, but it jars you, snapping you back into focus.

Get it together.

You grit your teeth, force your hands to steady, force your breathing to even out.

Paige Bueckers is not going to get in your head.

Not now. Not like this.

You glance up, just once, just long enough to catch sight of her before she disappears around the corner.

She’s smiling at something her teammate said, her body loose, easy, the picture of someone without a single fucking care in the world.

And something about that—about the effortlessness of it, about how little she seems to be affected by anything—makes your chest go tight, your stomach coil.

You look back down at the warming unit, ignoring the way your hands shake.

It’s fine.

You don’t care.

You’ll finish this, you’ll leave, and you’ll keep avoiding her.

And if she wants to pretend that night never happened?

Fine.

You can pretend too.

The food warmer is fine.

It had never really been broken in the first place, just a misaligned panel, something so stupidly simple that you could’ve fixed it in thirty seconds if you hadn’t been thrown into a slow-motion car wreck the moment Paige walked in.

You tighten the last screw, slam the panel shut harder than necessary, and grab your bag, exhaling slowly.

Time to leave.

You sling the strap over your shoulder, stepping out from behind the counter, slipping back into the flow of students moving between tables, conversations buzzing, trays clattering.

Your mind is still on her.

Even though you told yourself you wouldn’t let it be.

Even though she’d just walked past you like you were no one.

Your jaw tightens. You have actual shit to deal with.

Like your group project in Systems Engineering that’s due next week.

Like the fact that your bank account is currently laughing at you because you spent too much on takeout last week and now you have to survive on black coffee and spite until your next paycheck.

Like the absolute nightmare of a midterm schedule that’s looming over you.

That’s what you should be thinking about.

Not Paige Bueckers.

Not the laundry room.

Not the way she touched you like she had all the time in the world, only to turn around and walk away without looking back.

You push through the doors, stepping into the cold.

The wind is sharp, biting against your cheeks, cutting through your jacket. A fresh reminder that you’re here, that life is still moving forward whether you’re ready or not.

You’re halfway across campus, your thoughts finally shifting toward something productive—namely, the ungodly amount of work you have waiting for you—when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out, squinting against the brightness of the screen.

bitch where are you?

Riven. You huff out a laugh, thumbs moving before you even think.

somewhere worse than hell

Three dots appear immediately,

so. lecture? or did you run into someone who shall not be named?

Your stomach twists.

You type back, fast.

i hate you.

okay so definitely the second one

You groan, shoving your phone back into your pocket before she can keep going.

Because she’s right.

And the worst part is, she doesn’t even know the half of it.

She just knows you and Paige have always had this weird tension—this push and pull, this thing that was never serious but never quite nothing.

She doesn’t know what happened in the laundry room.

She doesn’t know that Paige did something to you that night.

That she changed something.

That you woke up the next morning with someone else’s hands on you and it still wasn’t enough to shake her.

You exhale, hard, pushing the thoughts down, stuffing them somewhere deep where they can’t touch you.

Time to focus.

Midterms. Projects. Surviving off ramen and caffeine for the next two weeks.

Paige Bueckers?

She’s officially off the list.

Continue Reading Part 2.5

[ozzgin]

I really hope you continue the eldrich God story. I may or may not have become obsessed with the idea, and i think it's actually really funny and I also just love the idea of a God being in love with a human.

Also, I love your writing and art! I hope you're doing well!

Yandere! Eldritch God x Detective! Reader

Based on this prompt and this meme. You're sent to a remote island to investigate a string of murders, and end up with a horde of cultists and their Lovecraftian God who is very much obsessed with you. Don't worry, he just wants to help you with your case!

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, tentacle tomfoolery again

[More Monsters]

The island checks all the boxes for a stereotypical shady place: the grimy boat captain who talks in riddles and vague warnings, the constant fog, the tavern filled with rumors and fears, the bizarre statue of a creature with tentacles. You were expecting most of it, save for their patron God being a literal monster.

Soon after your arrival, you discover that you’re being followed by men in dark robes. Could it be related to your case? A little alcohol-aided interrogation, and the locals confess to you about the existence of a cult. The dots begin to connect.

Unfortunately for you, whatever theory is cooking up in your mind couldn’t be further from the truth. The patron Beast of the land has been watching you from the moment of your arrival. He’s rather intrigued by your nonchalant city attitude, your stubbornness, your lack of any sense of danger. Thus he demands that you’re brought to his lair.

A game of cat and mouse. You are now convinced this said cult is responsible for the murders, so you delve deeper into their secrets. At the same time, the men put all their efforts into chasing you down. The Lord's wishes are their command; for how long can you outsmart sheer numbers?

At last, they succeed. You’re dragged over, cocooned in thick rope. “My Lord, we’ve brought you the sacrifice”, one cultist proclaims victoriously. Sacrifice? The ancient creature gazes at the men with utmost confusion. He frees you from your restraints with a mere point of his tentacle appendage, and proceeds to lecture his devout following for treating his special guest with such shameful brutality. Everyone blinks in disbelief, you included.

What the hell is this, some beastly romcom? Once everything is cleared up, you dust your knees, stand up unceremoniously, and tell the cosmic deity you’ve no time for idle gossip. “There’s a criminal running free and it’s my task to stop it”, you bark. Aha, that’s the very same attitude that got his nebulous heart pumping with curious desire. He cannot explain the maddening interest he’s taken into you. The monster releases a monotonous hum, causing you to jolt in surprise. The cult leader gasps. “He…he wants to help you solve the case”, the man concludes, defeat in his voice.

“Does it have to be all of you?” You whine, clicking your tongue at the sight. It’s the morning after the godly encounter, and you’re greeted outside your room by the cult leaders and their monster. “I can’t be discreet with a dozen monks after me. Not to mention…” your eyebrows furrow. “What on Earth is he wearing? Is that a detective hat and a mustache? Are you mocking my job?” You demand, glaring at the eldritch beast and his ridiculous disguise.

“Excuse me, I’ll have to ask you to quiet down”, an employee suddenly interrupts. “You and the gentlemen over there.” You stare at him incredulously. Can he really not see he’s facing an enormous, tentacle monstrosity? You swear you can discern a grin forming across the creature’s amorphous, unholy features. Alright, you’ve been convinced. What now?

As a child, Sherlock Holmes was one of your favorite books. You'd flip through the pages and daydream about your own future as a detective, though your little fantasies never included Watson as a cursed entity of a thousand tentacles. The eldritch creature seems to be more interested in you than the case itself. Eyes always fixated on your movements, tendrils creeping around you, never leaving your proximity.

Why would he need to look elsewhere? He can already tell how things will unfold. He is, after all, the God of this land. He knew your wanted culprit had been hiding in a sealed room right under your nose, as you dusted for footprints and scribbled hurried notes. He knew the underground tunnel had deadly traps, which would have normally put your investigation to a swift end. "Kind of suspicious to leave his trail unguarded like this", you mumble in deep thought. The cosmic God smiles.

He wouldn't dare ruin your fun. Consequently, he only interferes when your safety is involved. As annoyed as he is by the criminal's persistent attempts to kill you, he doesn't want to steal your grand capture. Besides, he is very much content with the current circumstances.

As the two of you follow along the dark passageway, you clear your throat, lips pursed awkwardly. "Uh...Thank you for dealing with the obstacles", you finally say. The monster pretends to ponder your words. "Hey now, don't play dumb with me. The conveniently deactivated bombs? The mutilated guards clumsily stuffed behind the door? I am a detective, after all."

You feel a thick tendril wrapping around your arm, and you turn to glance at the creature. His eyes of spiraling depths regard you intensely. A voice suddenly echoes in your head; is he trying to communicate with you? Deep, resounding, and imposing. "I am looking forward to our next case."

"Next case? Sorry pal, I work alone-" your throat clenches involuntarily. Somehow, your innards are flooded with a particular kind of certainty, dictating an ironclad truth: you do not have the option to refuse. You sigh, exasperated. "Fine! Have it your way. At least skip the fake mustache", you beg, then pause. You slap a second tentacle that has made its way under your shirt. "And avoid groping me when I'm thinking. You interrupt the little gray cells at work." You tap your temple to prove your point, and the eldritch God bows lightly. Of course.

He'll refrain himself until you're off work, Detective.

[fairlyang]

Lucky⚔️🐺

imagine letting your boyfriends convince you to entertain one of their sick fantasies

w/c: 3K

pairing: ghostfaces!wadewilson&loganhowlett x gf!reader

tags: 18+ smut. a polycule, they’re both perverted AF, ghostface roleplay, hide n seek, predator & prey play, fear play, pain kink x2, knife play, stabbing them (bc they can regen), they asked for it n loveeee it, reallyyy getting into character, murder mention, teasing, dirty talk, stroking, fingering, blowjob, unprotected sex, mirror sex (?), doggy, missionary, two creampies

a/n: it’s october ofc i had to do a ghostface fic 🤞🏼bro it was meant to be a ramble…. and oml i’m so tired

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

it didn’t come as much of a surprise to you that your boyfriends both had a pain kink, it was something so obvious to anyone with eyes. 

what was a surprise to you was the fact that the first time you properly dive into their kink and not just barely grazing them with a knife like you sometimes did, they wanted to do it in ghostface attire.

you instantly assumed it was wade’s idea, because why wouldn’t it be? but apparently after you were all watching the original scream movie recently, they had the brilliant idea at the same time and knew you had to be their sidney prescott. 

wade was so committed, he ended up renting the iconic house for the whole weekend. logan thought that was a bit of an exaggeration but once wade handed you a buck 120 knife, he said it only made sense.

this was going to go as a game of cat and mouse or in simpler terms, hide and seek. you'll all be leaning into the roleplay so there will be a sense of horror but also making sure it's horny. so you'd be their helpless victim that'll pretend to not love the whole ordeal but as soon as their hands are on you, you'll fold.

and since they want to play into their pain kink, you'd have to try to give them a little stab each before getting to the sex.

so now you were hidden beneath the bed in the master bedroom while you heard the loud sounds of them clearing the bottom floor. they had given you a minute to pick a hiding place and you didn't really want it to take long.

you'd be lying if you said this idea didn't turn you on because one check of your panties and there would lay the real answer. there was just something about your boyfriends pretending to hunt you down and knowing damn well they were checking every crevice while having raging boners.

and they say romance is dead.

you held your knife in hand, absolutely ready to use it and feeling your heart start to race. your breathing was as quiet as it could be but with the silence from the room, it felt like they'd be able to hear it so easily. 

you could hear them opening and closing doors fast, sensing that they also didn't have too much patience like they thought they would. 

suddenly you heard their loud footsteps coming up the stairs and you held your breath as they made their way up. your heart was beating faster now, a small feeling of terror creeping up on you as you heard them split up. one of them immediately went up the small staircase to enter the room you were in, which makes sense since it was the first room close to the staircase but it didn't make you feel any less scared.

he walked in slowly, taking a quick scan of the mini living room to the right side of the room and not seeing you so he then made his way around the bed to go to the bathroom. he quickly came out because there was nowhere to hide in there and suddenly his footsteps left the room. you could barely hear him leave through the second door near the bathroom which just led to another living room area with a reading nook.

you let out a breath you were holding and feel your heartbeat become steady as you heard them both on the other side of that floor. there was a quick thought of slipping out of the room to find a new hiding place just for fun but you realized they'd just be even more impatient if they had to double check each floor again since the house was decently big.

you heard their movements become faster, more frantic as if making it more realistic on purpose. then it was just silence. 

the silence only made this more freightening and it was a tiny bit scary. you breathed as quietly as you could, not wanting to alert them whatsoever then coming to the slow realization that that they both have amazing fucking hearing.

uh oh.

before you could even think of doing anything, your legs were grabbed and you were dragged out from under the bed while you started kicking and wiggling, "lookie who just remembered we have superpowers." wade's voice teased, making you groan.

you rolled on to your back, now facing them and quickly stabbed the one who wasn't holding on to your legs. you heard a grunt from underneath the mask and you pulled the knife out only for a moan to come out this time. 

you held in a laugh and were about to stab him again when the second one got on top of you and held your arms above your head. he grabbed the knife and handed it to the first one, who just toyed with it in his hands. “you really gotta love the original, don’t ya cupcake? i mean where else would we get such a good idea for murder?” wade said and your heart dropped. 

you knew this was all just a part of it but shit did it sound so fucking real. well you might as well you play their little game. 

“you’re fucking crazy you know that?” you spit and try to get him off. 

but it was to no use, he was much bigger than you and made sure to straddle your lap. nearly looked like he was about to give you the lap dance of a lifetime, which you wouldn’t put past him on doing. 

“don’t call us that baby, it hurts.” wade complains, putting a hand to his heart and you could just tell he was pouting underneath the mask. 

“and you perfectly went on with it, pretty girl.” logan teases, making you turn to look at him. 

you tried to lift your leg up to hit wade in the balls but you didn’t move an inch, you groaned in frustration and continued trying to fight him off, “you sick fucks shouldn’t have watched that fucking movie.” you spit and logan suddenly pulls a fast one and stabs wade in his side. 

he groans and lets your hands go just to start fake crying in his hands while logan says the infamous line, “now, baby, don’t blame the movies. movies don’t create psychos, movies make psychos more creative.”

he pulls the knife out of wade earning himself a moan as the blood seeped through the robe. the wound was a bit deep so it would take a little while to heal itself. “oh you son of a bitch- i knew you would try to be billy!! it’s not fair!!!” he whined and smacked the knife right out of his hands, quickly grabbing it. 

he pointed it at logan’s mask then trailed it down his body while looking down. “on another note, i think we’re gonna have to do this to you tomorrow, hot stuff.” he murmurs, making logan smirk under his mask. 

catching them both off guard, you snatch your knife right back and slice across wade’s chest. he gasped and shook his head, “not nice to do that princess, come on now…” 

you shrugged and now wanting to get to the real fun stuff, you bring your empty hand to his thigh. he looks down at your hand then back up at your face then repeats two more times while you slowly bring your hand up higher each time. your hand landed on his hard on and you hum, "huh.. what's this?" 

he shrugged and lifted the robe up to reveal his pants, "come find out?" 

you eagerly nodded as he got off your lap so fast and even pulled you up before logan picked you up and threw you onto the bed. you quickly laid down on your stomach and got as close to the edge as possible while they both lifted the black robes up and over their bodies. you ogled at both their torsos while they threw them on the floor, now shirtless and with their tight fitting pants begging for an escape.

you licked your lips and weren't sure where to begin but they decided to be kind enough to help you by both taking their pants off. you whistled at the sight, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. "i sure am lucky huh?" you mumbled making logan chuckle, "that you are sweetheart.." 

"i think we're all lucky to be fair.. i mean not everyone is down to be fake hunted for fun…" wade murmurs as he fully slides his pants down. 

"or down to be stabbed…" you joke and he snorts, "thatta girl, see! be grateful you have two immortal boyfriends."

logan rolls his eyes and brings his hand to your head, pulling you close to his cock, "c'mon let's get to it."

"hey patience is key baby.." you mumble and bring your right hand up. making them remember you still had the knife. 

he wasn't nervous, didn't even budge. 

instead he watched you intently and carefully while you brought it up and down his thighs, the tip only barely grazing his skin. you trailed up higher, going around his pubic bone and just going back and forth. you pressed a little more so the tiniest bit of blood came out but the wound quickly disappeared before your eyes. meanwhile his cock was twitching and precum was oozing down. you pulled the knife away and looked over at wade's and his was the exact same, "you guys are kinda sick…" you mumble making them both groan.

"says the one doing it." wade retorts and you shrug. 

you let go of the knife and put it off to the side while grabbing a cock in each hand, them standing right next to each other was a major help. you spit on logan's then do the same to wade's while waiting for the saliva to go down to your knuckles before stroking them at the same time.  

they both moan, making you smile as you look up to watch both their reactions. logan was looking at you through the tiny holes in the mask while wade's head was hung back in bliss. you started stroking them faster, listening to the amazing sounds they were both letting out.

it was music to your ears.

 "just like that baby." logan purred, mesmerized by the view.

"oh fuck- god really is a woman." wade moaned out, making you do a double take before shaking it off. 

you continued your pace for a few minutes before you started to slow down then suddenly kept going again. just to keep them on their toes. 

they were getting grumpy and annoyed, too fast for your liking but they were needy so what can you really do? 

you knew that if you took one in your mouth it would only be a matter of time before you heard complaints from the other one so you had to stick with just your hands. at least that was until they suddenly flipped the switch on you.

wade smacked your hands away from them and before you even got a chance to say anything, logan manhandled you and made you do a 180 then flipped you over, spreading your legs apart in front of them. they both got on their knees, finally taking their masks off to reveal your boyfriends' handsome faces while they ogled at your dripping pussy. 

logan lifted your skirt up and let it drape over your stomach while wade pulled your already soaked panties to the side, "whose the sick fuck now?" wade mocked before taking his gloves off then throwing them behind him. 

you rolled your eyes at him while logan also took his gloves off and then immediately slid a finger inside you with no warning, "fuck!"

he slammed it as deep as he could go while wade watched in awe. the way your walls were just sucking his whole finger up just made him want to fuck you already. he should be excited this was happening at all and really take it in, maybe take his time, relish the moment but he couldn't help it. it was taking so much in him to not just fuck you like he needed. 

he had a feeling logan was on the same boat but knew they had to give you a bit of pleasure before fucking you. it was only a shame because he was so impatient now more than ever.

fortunately for him, he and logan were sharing a brain cell and he pulled his finger out, "sorry baby, we're too impatient.."

wade cheered and quickly got up before taking initiative and manhandling you to flip you onto your stomach then putting you in doggy. he made sure your ass was out and your back perfectly arched before taking his position behind you while logan sat down in front of you.

he looked down at his dick and you grabbed it, taking it into your mouth and going down because there was no point in waiting around. wade slipped inside you, letting you adjust for a solid minute before he started moving.

he started pulling out then thrusting back inside as deeply as he could while you moaned around logan’s cock. he was moaning right along with you while he watched the scene in front of him unfold.

you just looked too good sucking him off while getting fucked and wade looked too good losing his fucking mind fucking you.

“fucking shit baby- you feel so good-“ wade moans and grips onto your hips with his hands, watching your ass bounce and recoil with every thrust.

you whimpered and felt logan twitch in your mouth as you took as much of him as you could without accidentally choking because wade was going hard. he now started smacking your ass, feeling each cheek grow warm fast, “taking it so well sweet pea- so proud of you..” he murmured and you clenched against him.

he moaned and started going faster, having full faith that you’d empty his balls in no time.

you pull away from logan and feel a string of saliva come from your lips to his tip as you took a deep breath, “mmm there you go.. take that cock baby.” he murmurs and cups your jaw, softly rubbing his thumb to your cheek.

your eyes were glossy. so pretty and fucked out already even though it wasn’t that long.

“baby please-“ you pleaded and gripped into logan’s thighs, digging your nails into the skin.

“what do you need, sugar? don’t be shy now.” wade teased with broken breaths.

you didn’t even know what you were begging for, just desperate to cum because all that playing around had you feeling more insatiable than usual. then it popped into your head.

“cum inside me please.” you moaned and wade groaned.

he looked straight ahead and was barely able to looking at himself in the mirror fucking you. he chuckled then lowered himself down until his chest was pressed against your back, “whatever you want baby- fuck- gonna take two loads tonight?”

you whimpered and nodded your head yes while his thrusts became sloppier and he felt that knot in his belly tightening. he moved a hand over and down to your neck, wrapping his hand around it and lightly squeezing, “mmm look at yourself in the mirror baby… think i just found the prettiest of them all.”

you grin and look into his eyes through the mirror which was just the thing to push him right over the edge. he spilled his load inside you, letting go of your neck as he made sure you received every earned drop.

you caught your breath and laid your head onto logan’s lap while wade let out his final moans and slowly started to slip of you. right at that moment logan quickly stood up and took wade’s place, sliding inside you before any of his cum slipped out.

he moaned as soon as your walls entrapped him, feeling wade’s load as he thrusted hard, “fuck- oh my fucking god baby-“

you whimpered and now laid your head against wade’s lap. that was until logan flipped you over once against and now you were on your back with your legs spread as much as you could while he began pounding into you mercilessly.

you were a mess, eyes fucked, body warm, legs shaking while logan moaned out for you, gripping the back of your thighs while he watched your tits bounce.

his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he quickly looked back at you just to grope and squeeze your tits. he kept his hard and deep thrusts at an all time high, already feeling that you were getting close.

your legs started to shake and it was like he was able to feel your pussy pulsate against him. it felt amazing feeling you tightening around him like a vice, it was a feeling he could never truly get use to but would love to feel for the rest of his life.

you were letting out sweet moans of his name as he felt his own orgasm build in his stomach, “that’s a good girl- f-fuck yeah baby, cum with me-“

you whimpered and reached down to your tits and entertwine your fingers with his. “cum inside me too baby- need it so bad.” you whined with a little pout.

with one final look at your face, he did so. he groaned as he came inside you and making sure you were filled to the fucking brim because it’s what you deserve. you shut your eyes and feel your body shake when your orgasm hits you hard while he slows down.

with a few slow strokes, you rode out your highs and he slowly started to pull out of you. you didn’t even notice wade had been on standby next to logan with a towel to help clean up the mess.

yeah you were definitely the lucky one in this relationship.

[dduane]

“In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to—” No. It sounds like I’m bragging. And should it have that quite that many commas? …Linethrough, linethrough, linethrough. “…It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winter of ’97 that I was awakened by—” No no, never start with the weather, no one cares about the bloody weather—! …Linethrough, linethrough, linethrough, damn it all. “We were fairly accustomed to receiving weird telegrams at Baker Street, but—” Wait. I could swear I’ve used that. When did I use that? This is terrible, I can’t even remember when I— “I believe you called it ‘The Missing Three-Quarter,’” said a deep soft voice right behind his right ear. In his desk chair John Watson jerked bolt upright in shock. The pen flew out of his hand, bouncing with a splatter of ink on the crossthrough-covered sheet of foolscap before him, and skittering halfway across the desk and nearly off the blotter. He heaved out a breath of resignation and tipped his head back to look up into the dark eyes that gazed down at his paperwork and were now glinting with amusement. “Thank you for illustrating why I can get nothing done today,” Watson said, “when you creep about here and there quiet as a cat on a damn silk rug, and will not stay by your blasted fire and let the mustard plaster do its work! What is it this time?” “I’ve finished the toddy, and the Proceedings of the British Journal of Medicine, and all the morning papers,” said the world’s first and only consulting detective in the tone of a ten-year-old being stretched to breaking point on the rack of ennui. “And there’ll be nothing else to do all day at this rate until you get this infernal thing off me so that I can go about my business in some normal kind of way.” Watson twisted enough around the normal way to glance at the belt of Holmes’s dressing-gown, which bulged quite abnormally. “You’ve done half that work yourself already, I can see. My dear Holmes, what possible good will it do you down there! It’s not your gut that needs attention, it’s your chest. And it was you going about your business in your normal way that put you in need of that in the first place! As you know very well.” Holmes glanced down at the bulge, then up again, and smiled far more demurely than was warranted.

Aaaaaand they're poking at each other just like a couple of old married guys, and we're off. :)

Now drafting on Murder Most Fluffy, a (relatively) cozy Sherlock Holmes novel. Warning: contains copycat crime, fat cats, cat burglary, cat and mouse games, catnapping, and, well, cats.

Don't even ask about completion dates. We'll let that cat out of the bag later in the year. :)

[aft4rhours]

— game over ღ

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: exes to lovers

warnings: yandere, mentions of blood and murder, kidnapping, restraints, corruption, manipulation, obsession, angst, implied imprisonment, dub con, praise, degradation, dirty talk, hints of fear kink, spanking (like once), rough sex, creampie, implied multiple orgasms

The floor creaked quietly under a pair of heavy boots. You kept your eyes on them as he moved towards you, too stubborn to look up, and too frightened not to tremble.

"Oh, sweetheart," Yoongi cooed, crouching down in front of the bed. "I'm so sorry it took so long. Can't have the cops tracing my steps, can I?"

His fingers felt cool as he grasped your chin, and yet they did nothing to soothe the heat blooming through you. He smelled like snow, his cheeks rosy from the unforgiving bite of winter air.

Tilting your head, he kissed your taped mouth with utmost tenderness, like he wanted to leave a love note on the silver.

"Cold?" He murmured, noting the chills that erupted down your arms, his fingertip tracing their journey to your elbow.

In the golden glow of candlelight, with nothing but the pearly tape adorning your body, somehow, you weren't cold. Only uncomfortable, left sitting in the same position for what seemed like hours — knees bound to your chest, wrists tied together — though that was certainly the least of your problems.

"I'll untape your mouth now. Don't scream."

You shut your eyes as he reached upwards. A quick rip followed, the sting making you wince.

"Sorry," Yoongi soothed, stroking your hair, "Sorry, baby."

You didn't scream. It was pointless. He drove a long time to get here, civilization outside the tinted windows dwindling mile after mile. You had no doubt there was nowhere you could go, no one to hear your pleads for help. You'd sooner freeze to death trudging your way through the snow.

The arrogant smile playing on Yoongi's lips was infuriating. He looked like he could devour you, a cat that has finally caught its mouse.

"Good girl," he praised lowly, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger.

Your stomach flipped.

"Let me go."

It came out as a whisper.

His eyebrows raised, head cocking to the side. Probably not the smartest thing to come out of your mouth, but what else were you supposed to do? Accept your fate as his little pet?

Yoongi released the soft strand, as if he got burned.

"I've been locked up for half a year... And this is how my girl greets me?"

His girl.

Why was he doing this to you? You barely dated for a few months before he chopped up two men who have been bold enough to bother you. Parts of their bodies were still in the process of being found all over the south of Seoul.

Were you going to end up the same?

You swallowed the knot in your throat, willing your heart to stop pounding. No words came, your thoughts too frantic to make sense of.

Yoongi clicked his tongue.

"The usual bratty attitude I can handle. But silent treatment? I can't fucking stand it. Your stupid little friends had enough time to convince you I wasn't good for you, huh?"

"You did that yourself!" you suddenly shouted, eyes brimming with tears. They spilled over, dripping down your collarbone. "You killed people, kidnapped me like some fucking lunatic!"

Yoongi stared at you as you sniffled. Once the dam broke, the fear broke loose too, pouring all over your lungs, making it hard to breathe. Panic started setting in. You had no idea if your outburst was going to be punished, even though in the short time that you knew Yoongi, he had never caused you any harm.

If you ever knew him at all.

He narrowed his eyes. You hated the vulnerable position he forced you into, hated how his gaze felt like a phantom touch.

"I didn't kill any people. I got rid of trash, and I did it all for you. To protect you."

He buried his face in his hands, hiding the shine of his own tears.

"Fuck. Are you actually scared of me right now? I would never hurt you."

What did it matter? Nothing about this love was healthy, and you longed to rip your heart out of your lungs to numb the feeling. You couldn't do this; couldn't let him taint your morals, or at least, couldn't let him see that he started.

All you had to do was convince him, and then yourself.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.

"I hate you," you whispered.

Yoongi froze for a moment, then looked back up at you slowly. You stared right back into his eyes through your wet lashes, no longer disturbed by their dark depths. A flash of uncertainty passed through his expression, promptly replaced by a cryptic calmness.

He hummed, shrugging his jacket off.

"Let's play a game, then."

Your stomach jumped when he placed his palm on your shoulder, slowly turning you away from him.

His lips inched towards your ear, hot breath brushing over its shell.

"I don't believe you, not for a fucking second. But I'll entertain you."

You stared at the shelf in front of you, the melted candle wax and golden jewelry laid out beside red roses. The bouquet looked small and miserable after you threw it at him.

You felt just about the same; small. Helpless as he hovered behind you, his intentions unclear, your fate even more so. Your pulse quickened as seconds ticked by.

A loud gasp escaped you as he pushed you forward. Your head spun from the suddenness of the action, cheeks instantly burning and knees trembling.

You fell face first into the silk sheets, ass up, like a little doll for him to use. He had to hold on to your hip so you didn't tumble. You've never felt so powerless before, so stripped of your dignity, or so hot when you heard him unbuckle his belt.

The adrenaline rush intensified your emotions, made your throat close up. Only a whimper passed through your panicked breathing.

"Look at that," Yoongi murmured. "You're dripping already."

You flinched as you felt his finger run down your folds, clenching needily. Everything was happening too fast—

"I missed you too."

No preparation, no warning; one moment you were empty, and the next you were full.

He groaned, leaning over you, dropping his forehead onto your back, and his hand in between your thighs.

The stretch hurt. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, hard and thick as you pulsed around it.

No mercy, no patience; he started fucking into you, choked groans and wet smacks filling up the room. His fingers quickly parted your slick folds, rubbing into the little nub between them to ease the pain.

It worked — it bloomed into a searing pleasure that made your tummy and your vocal cords quiver, soft, helpless whines fleeing your lips.

"Fuck," he cursed, his voice broken, "fuck, you were made for me."

You shivered, finding yourself unable to fight against the restraints he put on you. Nevermind the tape; it was your soul that was truly imprisoned, and that made everything ten times worse.

His lips touched your ear again.

"If you don't come," he whispered, panting softly, "I'll let you go. But if you do, you will stay with me forever, do you get that, baby?"

Was this the game?

Fear clutched your heart in its iron fist, mingled with your most private, forbidden desires and desperate needs, made your eyes and your pussy wetter.

He reveled in it all.

"Go on," he taunted, "show me how much you hate me."

You did hate him.

Because nothing else made you feel like this, no matter what your friends said, no matter what seemed right or wrong. The blood on his hands dripped like an offering, all for you, a threat and a promise that predators loved, too, that they'd kill to protect their own. There was no life for him without you.

You urged yourself to hold on, to not give into your weaknesses. But it was hard when you were already tightening around him, on the brink of delirium and craving more.

"Yeah, there she is," Yoongi breathed. "My dirty little slut. My good fucking girl."

You cried out, your entire body tensing up. His cock throbbed inside you, rutting into you faster.

"Almost there? Are you gonna gonna let me keep you, baby? Chain you the fuck up like a good bitch?"

He was so close, playing dirty just to tip you over the edge, just to prove that you belonged to him. Hands curling into fists, you made an effort to focus, whining out a "no" that sounded pathetic even to your own ears.

"Yeah," Yoongi moaned. "Filthy fucking liar."

His fingers dug deeper into your hips, the hard grip marking your skin, planting the memory of this moment beneath it. Bruises would blossom tomorrow, and he wished he could see them all over you, a violet garden that grew from his love. Yet all he could do was slam into you faster, abuse that little spot inside you that his cock reached with way too much ease.

"Stop fighting it," he grunted, landing a sudden slap on your ass. "You're mine."

The harsh sting, the cursed words, the heat — it was all too much. The tension stirred and coiled in your abdomen, making black dots dance around your vision. Your cunt squeezed his cock desperately, barely allowing him to continue fucking you.

As if you were under water, everything became blurred, and soaked, with tears, with sweat and the orgasm rushing through you, encouraged by his filthy groans. So wet you didn't even realize he was coming too, until he stilled entirely, spilling inside you as you limped.

You listened to his breathing slow, your body thrumming, head pulsing with blissful nothingness. Too high and too weak to do anything but breathe with him.

A kiss was pressed into your spine.

"Mm... Should I give you one more chance?"

At that, you seemed to come back to your senses, breath hitching and eyes open wide.

Yoongi smirked, running his fingers along the tape softly.

"Let me grab a knife, pretty. I'll get you nice and comfy."

You almost flinched when he leaned over you again, his cock jerking and hardening in your sensitive hole.

"You did so well," he whispered into your ear. "Such a good, little bitch. I'm so in love with you."

A weak shudder went through you, ending with an ache right in between your legs.

Yoongi nuzzled your neck.

"Yeah, there you go. Don't you worry. We have all night to play."

Was it fair to play games one was destined to lose? Probably not, but unfortunately for you, that made it all more exciting to Yoongi. He wanted you to see yourself fail over and over, realize there was no running from your love.

It seemed you were about to.

He slipped out of you gently, biting his lip and watching his cum dribble out of you. His hand slid down to your ass, giving it a few, tender pats.

"Sit tight, sweetheart."

With that, he left you on his bed, again, ruined and aching and beyond lost. You heard him rummage through his drawers somewhere in the cabin, heard your heart beating in your own skull.

For some reason, you had a feeling this was just the beginning of a whole eternity. Hit play. Lose. Repeat. Try another level. Until your bones turned to dust and you were wrapped up in each other six feet under the ground. There was a sadistic side to Yoongi that seemed to enjoy the process, the struggle, the conquering of your mind.

Not surprising in the slightest; all dangerous creatures liked to play with their prey. Even more so when they loved it... And Yoongi would never stop loving you.

taglist 💌: @baalsgurl1913 @httpsbts @hoseokshobagi @pynkgothicka @ar14dna @sweetempathprunetree @blueberryarchive @messyjk @themochiverse @minyoongiboongi @chimmisbae @crisle19 @bangtans-momma @bnagtanx1306 @get-that-brain-working @babycandy111 @shyygrl

[calmcoldevening]

Slashers x reader who can control shadows

@klerns-birdie

Thomas Hewitt

• Thomas loved you with all his heart and cared about you, but to be honest, sometimes he was really scared of your ability to control shadows. It's not that he was afraid of you, no, he was just very worried about you.

• Other family members, in particular Hoyt, were quite delighted to learn about this ability of yours. Hoyt was glad that the chance of catching potential meat increased by a whopping 200%.

• Whenever you transform into your shadow self, Tommy is haunted by the fear that you won't come back. At such moments, it was as if an animal thirst for blood and violence really woke up in you, not that Thomas encouraged it. But he understood that all this was to protect the family, and the family always comes first.

• Thomas is extremely fond of physical contact with you. Because of your ability to control shadows, sometimes it seems that your skin is as cold as ice or grave earth, so he likes to squeeze your palms in his big ones and keep you warm.

• Thomas is a big boy, very big and big. Sometimes it's even embarrassing to watch when the victim manages to fool him and simply run away from home. It's at times like this that you show up. Such a sweet and fragile girl instantly turns into a cold-blooded killer with a crazy smile sparkling in the dark. Your translucent body gracefully moves softly and smoothly around the unsuspecting victim, and your shadows wrap cold tentacles around the body of the poor victim. You act quickly and accurately, and Thomas can only watch from afar as lingonberry drops of blood cover your dark body.

• After your little 'hunts', you turn back into your 'I' and smile, gently brushing the blood off your clothes. Thomas's heart swells with warmth from your sudden change of emotions. The way you tenderly examine him for wounds and tell him that everything is fine. Your shadows gently glide over his skin, causing goosebumps. Like the touch of a wet tongue, they calmed and brought a sense of comfort, because Thomas knew for sure that everything was under control.

Michael Myers

• Your abilities definitely arouse his genuine interest. He had spent his entire life in a hospital, so he could not even imagine that such a thing really existed.

• He will watch you and your shadows like a curious little child, but he will never admit this to you or ask you to show him anything at his request. In this regard, he is quite closed and does not know how to fully express his feelings.

• You and Michael have some kind of unspoken games like hide-and-seek or catch-up. There's something hot about him knowing that you're always watching him from the shadows. To know that you are watching his every move, every murder and stabbing, causes his body to tremble, and his breathing under the mask becomes rapid and moist. And he gladly accepts this challenge and looks for you in this dirty darkness, hoping at least this time to win this game of cat and mouse.

• Sometimes Michael gets so carried away with you that he forgets about the victim in front of him. The unfortunate man is trying to escape, but he does not even suspect your presence. You easily wrap your shadowy arm around the fragile throat and squeeze it to a nasty bone crunch. Michael lowers the bloody knife and listlessly watches the scene unfold in front of him, unable to contain a slight smile.

• After the murder, you slowly come out of you, your body turns back into its usual self, small droplets of blood flow down your face when the victim coughed up blood a little. You approach Michael and freely take him by the elbow, leading him towards the house through the deserted streets of the city at night. As if you were the most ordinary couple who had never done anything wrong. Michael feels your shadow wrapping around his waist, and it brings a sense of comfort.

• Michael is terribly fond of your coolness and cruelty with which you kill victims. Like a crow, shamelessly pecking out the eyes of sinners hanging on crosses. Sweet and dangerous at the same time. A wonderful combination, warming Michael's blood up.

Bo Sinclair

• Bo loves you madly. But this does not mean that he will talk about it directly. After all, since childhood he has had certain problems with aggression and the manifestation of his emotions and understanding of others. Therefore, sometimes he can be quite persistent and too clingy.

• He likes to make you jealous, knowing full well about your ability and cruelty. Bo can deliberately flirt with another tourist just to see how later your shadows will close around her delicate neck and tear the unfortunate girl into pieces of meat. This bloody show causes a pleasant shiver in his body. Perhaps he would also not mind if your gentle shadows and cold hands walked over his body.

• Bo really likes to realize that such an amazing and ambitious girl is his and only his. He doesn't intend to share you with anyone. If he's hanging around other girls (solely to annoy you), then he won't tolerate anyone else around you. If some new tourist gets too close to you, Bo will come up to you and put his arm around your waist, hugging you closer to him so that everyone around knows whose girl you are. It is better for this person to quickly understand his place if he does not want to die a very painful death.

• You often use your abilities just to tease him or get on his nerves. On the one hand, it annoys him, but on the other hand, he likes your attention, but he won't tell you about it. And he won't say that your cold weightless shadows on his skin cause pleasant sensations in his body. But you'll probably see it in his smug grin.

• You often go to his gas station when there are another couple of tourists on it. Seeing such a sweet, nice girl really calms future victims and weakens their vigilance. This strange man has such a sweet girl, obviously he only has a stern appearance, but a kind heart, there's nothing to worry about. Oh, how wrong they are, because it is this little sun with an innocent smile that poses a much greater danger to them. You'll be happy to hear the crunch of their bones under your tight grip a little later.

Vincent Sinclair

• Your cold shadows feel good on his scarred face. At first, he was worried about this and did not want to show you his face, but the tenderness with which you stroked his rough skin gave him a pleasant calm. He clung to those black tentacles like a little kitten craving affection. The touch was both cool and strangely warm and gentle, it sent shivers down his spine.

• At first, Vincent was afraid when you literally came out of nowhere, although in fact you just turned into a shadow and followed him almost everywhere. Over time, Vincent got used to it and even learned to find your presence in this sepulchral silence of the basement. He likes how your dark translucent body moves in the light of a dozen candles, how graceful and beautiful your body looks. He finds a strange comfort knowing that you are almost always there, watching him from the shadows. After one of the victims attacked him at the most unexpected moment and broke his mask, which led Vincent into a momentary stupor, he was incredibly grateful when you killed this scoundrel on the spot. It took him a few minutes to realize what was happening, but your gentle touch made everything bearable. Although now he will have to wipe off the blood and the basement floor, but these are just small things.

• You're like his guardian angel, his shadow protector. It's a very pleasant feeling. Vincent knows that you are always on the safe side, that you will always help him if necessary. Because of this, he tries to do everything carefully so that you enjoy the show presented to you in full.

• Sometimes you use your shadows to hide Vincent himself. It helps a lot when the victims find the basement themselves and do not suspect anything about the danger. This creates a good surprise effect. And the proximity of your body to his own gives comfort and a sweet aftertaste of the upcoming murder, because after Vincent's flesh and blood, your soothing cold hugs are always waiting.

• He likes that most of the time, because of your abilities and temperament, it is you who take the initiative and a more dominant role. Vincent loves it when you tell him what to do, when you gently touch him with your cold shadows, when you shower his skin with wet kisses, in stark contrast to the coldness of your cold hands and shadows.

• Sometimes he really worries about your cold hands because he's afraid you'll freeze. That's why he likes it when you spend time together in a warm, almost hot basement. Vincent also likes to sculpt wax with you, because the wax is warm, and it will definitely warm you up a little.

Ghostface

• Billy and Stu really like that you have such abilities. This is very suitable for their kind of activity and the image of a Ghostly face, so they almost immediately initiate you into their business. At first, of course, you don't really like it, but something inside you really wants it.

• They both like the surprise effect with which you kill an unsuspecting victim. One moment they were being chased by a tall man in a black suit and a ghost mask, and the next they were literally suffocated by cold air while your shadowy limbs grabbed the body of the unfortunate.

• After particularly successful kills, the boys clamp your still translucent shadow body between them like a sandwich. The blood from their suits is slowly soaking your clothes, but you didn't seem to care. The guys' hands slide over your body, hips and waist as they hold you closer to them. The sight of you covered in blood causes a sticky, almost animal desire inside them.

• Billy is usually a more reserved boy, while Stu relentlessly says all sorts of obscenities that you could do with your interesting ability. The idea that you can watch them while they're doing some personal stuff and they don't even know it makes them both damn hot.

• They love the horror that flashes in the eyes of the victims whenever you kill them with amazing dexterity and weariness. Guys love to take pictures of it. They have a whole photo album with similar pictures, one is better than the other. Stu even has his own collection of photos, but of a more explicit nature, which hangs above his bed in the bedroom.

[ew-selfish-art]

DPxDC AU: Tim receives an interesting email from DalvCo explaining why the CEO is not to be trusted- It's an internal email and suddenly Tim is experiencing supernatural phenomena. He knows that the two events are absolutely related, but he's going to let the cutie stumble his way through data points and vague threats anyway.

(Sorry this got long lmao)

Tim is exhausted after a long night of staking out a new drug cartel with Hood (which in itself took a lot of energy from both of them to have the patience for the other- things are good, not great)... so right now he's logging into his WE email on the train to his office because he's incredibly late. And while he scrolls and contemplates the failsafes he has to make sure Tam doesn't murder him outright- he sees an unexpected email from Vladimir Masters.

Tim's curiosity is piqued, he'd thought that Vlad would have gotten the hint after Tim dismissed him at that Christmas gala a few years ago. Most people took Tim's snubbing as a fatality in the Gotham socialite scene- Most knew him to be 'an agreeable young man', and Tim's reputation had paid a small price for making Vlad's failed vibe check known to the room. The tabloids blamed it on the champagne glass he had in his hand- Has he mentioned how much he hates Vicky Vale lately??

Tim has a few stops to go and he's pretty sure that he's going to delete the email, but in sleep deprived inspiration, he decides it might as well entertain him while he waits. The letter isn't at all what he expected.

"Hello Wayne Enterprise's CEO Tim Drake, I'm sending you this letter on behalf of the entire Midwest to advise that you, under no circumstances, come into contact with or speak to the CEO of DalvCo Vlad Masters. He is underhanded and utilizes untraceable tactics to procure deals. We have reason to believe you may be targeted in the next few days and hope that you are able to take steps for your own safety to avoid Vlad Masters at all costs.

Sincerely, 👑"

Tim feels bewildered for a moment and then... Like a cat with a new toy mouse. A game was afoot! He needed to track down these hackers, he needed to be their best fucking friend (find out their secrets & Vlads) and he needed to apprehend Vlad ASAP! Untraceable tactics? Tim scoffs, but the challenge excites him.

Arriving at WE, Tam looks ready to throw a knife his way (he reminds her that Pru does it better) and states that if Vlad Masters tries to make an appointment- accept it but give him the run around. Make an appointment and continue to contest it, change it, delay it until Tim is actually ready for him. The lights start to flicker, both of them notice it.

Everytime Tim gets a second to investigate Vlad in his office, the room's temperature drops. Tim notices it, and having experienced a number of supernatural phenomena, he knows it has to be related.

Tim decides not to beat around the bush. He comes back to the office that night equipped with a Ouija board, candles and a bag of other occult accessories. He quickly finds, upon setting up, that there is now a groaning Teenager in front of him- lambasting his efforts and chastizing him for taking a meeting with Vlad. Did he not get the fuckin memo??

Tim quickly begins to ask his questions, grateful to not have to deal with the party game board, and takes diligent notes.

"Right, so, you're just a concerned citizen ghost who knows what kind of nefarious deeds Vlad gets up to, how?" ---

Danny is losing his shit. Here he is, having done all the ground work to tell this guy not to meet with Vlad and he's already got him on the schedule! Danny took a page from Technus' book and transported himself alongside the short email. He didn't get this guy at all! Tim was like, basically the same age and clearly super fucking smart, why was he acting like this was a fucking birthday gift? Scratch that, the dude has a Ouija Board- it's like a lame ass birthday party in here!

Danny cannot help himself but return to the visible spectrum and give this guy a talking to- Which, the atmosphere of a birthday party still doesn't change, for ancient's sake this guy is taking notes with a megawatt smile! He's smiling! Danny just described Vlad taking down like, three American dynasties and the dude is nodding his head along gleefully.

Then suddenly, Danny realizes that he might be on the chopping block. Tim asks his first question and it's not about Vlad at all.

"Er, yeah. Just a concerned ghost citizen." Danny cringes.

"Right, and that's why you hacked into the Mayor of your town's email... Right Tucker?"

Danny blanches, not because the guy knew about Amity Park, but because apparently Tucker's online persona had been compromised. SHIT.

"Uh, I'm not Tucker." Danny attempts to lie- why was he so bad at lying again?!

"Of course you aren't, he's currently playing doomed, but it would have been smart to take the out I offered you. Do you want to tell me your name or do you want me to throw out another random guess? You should know that I've done my homework."

"...It's Danny."

"Certainly not Danny Fenton? Who is, sorry to say it, heir to DalvCo? The same one who totally doesn't have a school record of absences equivalent to well documented town hauntings?"

"Yep." Danny cringes, and giving up the goat, transforms back into his human self, "But seriously dude, you can't meet with Vlad. He'll just... take it all."

Tim blinks at him a few times, and his cheeks flush. Danny desperately tries to ignore that response as well as his own (he knows his ears are red, sue him).

"Right. Well, how would you like an internship? First order of business would be meeting with me and my PA Tam and helping us play ball." The guy has a feral grin. The grin kind of scares Danny, it definitely annoys him and a small part of him is curiously charmed.

"Dude you're not hearing me-" Danny tries before being cut off.

"Yeah yeah, supernatural bullshit is involved, Got that." Tim waves him off. Okay never mind, not charmed at all, Danny is completely annoyed.

"I swear to all the ancients-" Danny has to stop himself to calm down, "Dude consider yourself fucking haunted. I'm not helping you with a suicide mission to talk to the creep and I will be making your ass miserable for deciding to go down this path."

"Is that a promise?" Tim is basically batting his eyelashes at Danny and Danny is desperately trying to ignore that.

"Bet." And then he goes invisible.

"That's cute, pretending to leave me." Tim smirks and Danny can't help but let out an exasperated groan.

As it turns out, Tim is incredibly difficult to spook and his normal haunting methods are not fucking working. Has this guy just, like, seen every single horror movie?

----

Tim knows this is going to be fun, even if it means not going out as Red Robin for a while... Maybe he should get back into his night photography and give the guy a chance to enhance the creepiness of Gotham? Maybe start going to restaurants alone and get the guy to join him at a secluded two person table? Tim has plans on plans on plans.

[strangerexee]

MR. AND MRS. FUSHIGURO — MASTERLIST

Assassin!Toji Fushiguro x Assassin!Fem!Reader

🔪 Genre: Action, Thriller, Strangers to Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Smut, Angst, Comedy 📖 POV: Second Person 🔥 Warnings: Violence, Blood, Weapons, Explicit Scenes, Mind Games, Betrayal, Gunplay, Knifeplay, Power Struggles- A lot of stuff...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

ACT I: STRANGERS IN THE DARK (Ch. 1-15)

1. Grocery Store Encounters – A normal day. A normal grocery run. Then Toji walks into your life. 2. The Coffee Shop – You see him again. A coincidence? Or something more? 3. The Art of Watching – A game of cat and mouse begins. You’re both hunters, but who’s the prey? 4. Dancing in the Shadows – A mission goes wrong. Or maybe, it goes exactly as planned. 5. A Gun Between Us – The first real fight. Knives, guns, and something even more dangerous—hatred. 6. Midnight Chase – An assignment forces you to confront Toji head-on. The lines blur. 7. Truce or Trap? – You agree to work together—temporarily. But can you really trust him? 8. Locked and Loaded – You teach him your tricks. He teaches you his. 9. Close Calls and Closer Touches – Tension explodes in an unexpected way. 10. Secrets Under Silk Sheets – A moment of weakness. A moment of passion. A moment that changes everything. 11. Trust is a Loaded Gun – He gets too close. You push him away. 12. Another Mission, Another Mistake – You let your guard down. You regret it. 13. The Kiss That Sealed It – He’s not just a job anymore. He’s something worse. 14. The Night We Became Us – One choice, one decision—your lives are no longer separate. 15. A Dead Man’s Love Letter – The past catches up to you both.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

ACT II: HONEYMOON IN HELL (Ch. 16-35)

16. Mr. & Mrs. Fushiguro – You never wanted a husband. Toji never wanted a wife. But here you are. 17. How to Love a Killer – Toji is difficult. You are worse. 18. Marriage Counseling, Assassin Style – Fighting is easier with fists than words. 19. Bulletproof Vows – "For better or worse" hits differently when guns are involved. 20. Wife, Weapon, Widowmaker – You’re balancing marriage and murder—what could go wrong? 21. Beneath the Bloodstains – He sees a side of you no one else ever has. 22. Fighting or Foreplay? – Who said sparring couldn't be intimate? 23. Dinner with a Side of Danger – Date night turns deadly. 24. Sleeping with the Enemy – You dream of him. You dream of his death. 25. Lies Between the Sheets – There are things you haven’t told him. There are things he hasn’t told you. 26. Jealousy is a Sharp Blade – Another assassin flirts with you. Toji doesn’t like it. 27. Couples Therapy at Gunpoint – Trust is hard when you both have knives behind your backs. 28. A Mission Gone Too Far – You risk your life for him. He hates you for it. 29. Death’s Door and Your Name on His Lips – Toji almost loses you. Almost. Again. 30. The First 'I Love You' Was a Whisper in the Dark – Soft moments don't come easy. 31. Betrayal in a Black Dress – Toji finds out your biggest secret. 32. Revenge is a Lover’s Game – You break his heart. He breaks something worse. 33. No Mercy in Matrimony – You were never meant to be soft. Neither was he. 34. Ruin Me, Darling – The fight that nearly ends it all. 35. Back to Blood and Business – The only way forward is through fire.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

ACT III: TILL DEATH DO US PART (Ch. 36-55)

36. Hunted by Our Own – The agency wants you both dead. 37. Hitman Honeymoon – The world thinks you’re on vacation. You’re really on the run. 38. In the Arms of an Assassin – He saves you. You hate it. 39. One More Kill Before Breakfast – Morning routines, married assassin edition. 40. Megumi – The one thing neither of you planned for. 41. The Last Job – One more kill. Then, maybe, peace. 42. Wife of a Wanted Man – Toji makes the headlines. You make a choice. 43. Between a Kiss and a Kill – Love or survival? You can’t have both. 44. Bleeding in His Arms – You fall. He catches you. 45. Escape Plan – If you leave now, you can live. If you stay, you die together. 46. The Funeral of Mr. and Mrs. Fushiguro – You fake your deaths. The world thinks you’re gone. 47. New Identities, Same Hearts – You try to be normal. It doesn’t work. 48. A House with No Weapons – Domestic life is boring. 49. Date Night Disaster – Toji gets jealous again. It’s still hot. 50. Megumi Says His First Word – Fatherhood looks good on him. 51. Killer Instincts Never Die – You promised to stop. You lied. 52. The Hit That Ruined Everything – One mistake. One bullet. One last fight. 53. Toji, Don’t Die on Me – He bleeds for you. 54. We Were Never Meant to be Normal – The truth finally settles. 55. The Final Kill – One last target. One last goodbye.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

ACT IV: THE LEGACY OF TWO MONSTERS (Ch. 56-70)

56. The Next Generation – Megumi starts to notice the truth. 57. Old Habits, Older Scars – You and Toji can’t sit still. 58. Enemies in the Shadows – Someone knows you’re still alive. 59. Back to the Beginning – The past never stays buried. 60. Hunted Again – Running was never the answer. 61. The Love Story of Two Killers – You tell Megumi how it all began. 62. A Family of Assassins? – The question neither of you want to answer. 63. Peace or Power? – The world calls for you again. 64. One More Bullet – Can you ever truly escape? 65. The Final War – Toji vs. the world. 66. Love in the Line of Fire – You always knew how this would end. 67. A Monster’s Goodbye – One of you isn’t making it out alive. 68. A Widow’s Revenge – If Toji dies, you will burn the world. 69. A New Name, A New Life – But can you ever really leave? 70. Mr. and Mrs. Fushiguro: The End – Or maybe, a new beginning.

[itmeblog]

It's Black History Month

(Over here in the US of A) So here are some podcasts to check out.

Absolutely no Adventures - a fantasy (un)adventure story that follows Sig, the owner of Signature Eats bakery, as he aggressively avoids becoming embroiled in any daring quests or chosen one shenanigans even though the universe really seems to want him to do just that. This is a story about cutting Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey off at the knees to chill with friends and staying far, far away from the slightest whiff of adventure. And also baking. This is also a story about baking.

Afflicted - Lovecraft Country meets True Blood in this new series from award-winning producers Tonia Ransom and Jen Zink. In season one, a small East Texas town suffers supernatural disasters caused by a demonic book bound in human flesh…and only hoodoo can save the town from its affliction.

Apollyon - In the early 22nd century, the Apollyon virus wiped out 75% of the world’s population, and now most of the world is governed by the International Conglomerate of Research Scientists. Dr. Theo Ramsey is an ICRS research scientist who may have just discovered an effective vaccine for Apollyon, but the stakes to get the vaccine to the public are higher than she ever imagined.

Between Heartbeats - Tan immersive Urban Fantasy about the hurt, the powerful, and their growth within a broken world. We follow Sundiata, a guilt-ridden time manipulator with a knack for unemployment, and Nadia, a moralistic telepath determined not to lose control, as they balance frayed mental health against an unsympathetic police state. But when a malevolent presence rears is head, their neuroses become the least of their problems. Can our heroes make the most of their abilities before the option is taken from them?

Fan Wars: The Empire Claps Back - Two passionate Star Wars fans on opposite sides of the Last Jedi debate argue via Skype after their favorite forum closes down. If you love Star Wars (or call yourself a proud member of any fandom), you’ll love this romantic comedy told via

Harlem Queen - a Black historical fiction audio drama based on the life and times of Black, woman, "gangster" Madame Stephanie St. Clair during the Harlem Renaissance.

His Royal Fakin' Highness - What if Ophelia helped Hamlet get his throne back? This modern day, romantic comedy re-imagining of Shakespeare's Hamlet asks just that. As they stage an engagement in the wake of the king's death, these childhood frenemies must decide between duty and love.

InCo (This one's mine :D) - A Sci-Fi story about a disgruntled information seller, a mysterious space boy, and an android doing her best.

Janus Descending - a limited series, science fiction/horror audio drama podcast, follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place.

Lady Lucy - Lady Lucy is an audio drama inspired by Shakespeare's "Dark Lady" Sonnets, 127-154. Between running her brothel, fighting the Church, murdering her friends' abusive husbands, and pretending to be a poet, the last thing Lucy needed back in 1586 was a surprise visit from her former flame... Will Shakespeare.

Liars and Leeches - Tonya Wright felt it all after the tragic murders of her sister and brother-in-law in a random act of gun violence. Struggling to travel outside of her home, she now lives constantly on edge about perceived threats that seem to surround her.

Nightlight - Multi-award winning horror podcast featuring creepy stories with full audio production written by Black writers and performed by Black actors. So scary it’ll make you want to leave your night light on.

Null /Void - a science fiction audio drama about a young woman, Piper Lee, whose life is saved by a mysterious voice named Adelaide. Piper soon uncovers a malicious plot by a monopoly of a tech company and must work with her friends and an unusual ally to help foil their deadly plot.

Out of Ashes - (currently remastering season 1) Follow a group of survivors as they navigate the ruins of modern civilization and battle against demons, ghosts, monsters and the looming threat of extinction from an ancient power.

Small Victories - A recently recovered drug addict tries to start her new lease on life, too bad life has it out for her.  This dramatic comedy follows Marisol through the ups and downs of her life.

The Courtship of Mona Mae - In the 1870s, pioneers Mona Mae Christophe and Zekial Montgomery search the American West for Mona Mae's mother, Clara. Mona must recall a past, long forgotten in order to survive, so that she can find her mother, love and create a way of life for herself.

Vega a Sci-Fi Adventure Podcast - In a fantasy futuristic world, Vega Rex is employed by her government to kill off the world's worst criminals. She's never met a criminal she couldn't catch…until now. Join Vega as she journeys through a world of bumbling apprentices, powerful technogods, and her biggest challenge yet. Hosted by Ivuoma Hall.

Witchever Path - is an anthology series where your decisions effect the story. Our stories are based in America’s NorthEast, featuring characters finding themselves in the thick of the unknown while tackling issues like queer identity, gender, race, and spirituality. Stories often focus on the communities not typically seen in stories taking place in New England, and giving voice to the perspectives of those communities while uniting under some universal themes. And the supernatural happens. A lot.

(All descriptions were taken from websites)

If you want to find more and there are way more there's a directory :D