#literally shut the fuck up forever challenge

[prudencepaccard]

really really sick of randos having opinions about my body hair

[gayestcowboy]

of COURSE terfs are complaining about nimona 🙄

[inkskinned]

okay if you're really cool about things, i can be honest with you. before you read further, decide if you're a girl's girl. if you're cool and actually cool or like not cool.

men don't talk in my book because i was fuckken tired of the way they're the center of every fucking story. i was tired of how every story takes a moment to let them talk. men can shut up for literally one fucking book.

unfortunately not everyone is cool. professionally what i usually say is i didn't want to add violence to the world. the only men in my book are abusers, so they don't get to talk. they don't get to take up space. they ruined my life, they don't get to have their words echo anymore.

because like, yeah! you find practically any story about a person surviving trauma and... there's a man at the center. men are often rescuing us from these things. a "good man" is always standing around, being a good man, proving to the victim that good men are the real men. that her experience was unique rather than universal.

the redacted text has not been taken well by all of my early readers. there is this weird, crouching growl that keeps occurring with men-of-a-certain-age. why don't we hear his side of the story?

when i sat down to write everything that happened to me, i couldn't look at the frank brutality of my abuser's words on a page and think to myself: i actually let him speak like that. i had to redact his words from the manuscript. i then left it redacted. no victim is going to read this book and hear the person who hurt them. it is a book for the victims to speak. abusers shut up challenge, forever. for eternity.

my father once told me, chuckling, i should just have a page of redaction where i let the man just finally talk. it is funny to joke about how we should make a whole page in my book about a man that hurt me. this was not the only time someone commented - it feels like you're hiding things. how do i know you're actually a victim if he doesn't get to speak?

there are books where women aren't even present. i even genuinely like some of those books. like, who doesn't like the hobbit?

i keep running into people defending this imaginary man. the default narrative is so true to some people that they will defend any man, just by virtue of the assumption - "if he's acting like that, you had to push him." certain people need definitive proof that you didn't accidentally make your partner into an abuser. they need to decide if you deserved it, because they want to be able to judge you.

which makes sense, i guess, from a hind brain perspective. if you can figure out "why" someone was cruel, you can protect yourself against it. if you defend the bully, the bully might side with you. i don't really know their explanation for feeling this about a character in a book. trust me, i wrote the guy. he is not going to protect you.

i guess i just - there was a time in my life where i desperately wanted anyone to defend me. where i could have really used someone saying holy shit are you okay instead of what did you say to make him act like that to you.

instead, over dinner, a friend-of-a-friend i just met is pouring herself wine. i heard you wrote a book, she says. she gives me the kind of chilly smile i associate with knives. i heard it's unfair to men.

[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

[livingformintyoongi]

Yoongi and yn: friends.

They are playing truth or dare (the spicy kind, but ALL VERY CONSENSUAL!!!!!) with some friends at this pool party (note: they are all in swimwear).

Their friends know they like each other so they dare Yoongi to kiss her inner thighs, and yn to kiss his happy trail.

Next round they ask him to kiss her 🍒 and her to put her hands inside his swim trunks and stroke his 🍆 (again, ALL VERY CONSENSUAL!!!!!!!!)

She gets very horny by it so she excuses herself to one of the rooms and Yoongi follows her, they have a bit of a talk about what happened back there and he tells her that he was left wishing he could finish what he started and she tells that she can finish it now. He uses some of that 👅 technology with her and then fucks her silly (Yoongi is kind of obsessed with readers big🍒,she is older by 1year)

When they are done, their friends are waiting for them outside laughing and saying that their plan worked

thankyouuuu 💕💕💕💕

Pool Party

a/n: This is literally the longest thing I've ever written lol. I had quite a lot of fun making it, hope you liked it ^^. Sorry it took me so long, I wanted to make the dividers for this request myself, mostly because it takes me a long time to find one I like for the shots. Here is a photo of Yoongi and Reader's swimsuits, so that you have a clear picture of what they are wearing. warnings: a kind of semi public sex (?, Big dick Yoongi, Reader is a year older than Yoongi, blowjob (f gets), a little praise kink, Yoongi and reader throw in a joke or two during sex, unprotected sex (please don't do this, always use a condom), drunk sex. wc: 4.7k

"What did you say?" you looked at Soyeon, feeling your heart race at her comment.

"Did I speak too softly? I'm sorry," she smiled that Machiavellian smile you knew so well. They always meant trouble, "I told Yoongi to kiss your inner thigh, is that a problem? Because if it is I can take back the challenge" she pointed to a bottle of vinegar next to her, "you can always have a shot of vinegar in return".

You looked at Yoongi, both of you looking slightly uncomfortable with the idea, but not exactly because you didn't want to. Yoongi was dying to bite your thighs, and you were dying to feel his lips against it, the problem was the situation. You didn't want him to kiss your inner thigh on a dare.

You sighed in defeat, hoping that would make everyone think you didn't want to do it. None, with the exception of Yoongi, believed it.

"You don't need to do it if you don't want to," Yoongi muttered, taking the bottle of vinegar, trying his hardest not to grimace.

"Wait!" You snatched the bottle out of his hands, tossing it to Taehyung, who had no problem catching it. "I absolutely refuse to let you drink that shit, Yoongi."

Everyone fell silent, staring at you. 

"Do you need me to spread my legs?" you looked at Yoongi, blushing heavily as you realised how bad that sounded, "Because of the challenge, obviously, it'll be a lot easier that way."

"Sure" he looked away from you, shaking his hair with his left hand.

You couldn't help but be even more embarrassed to see that Yoongi had also blushed at your answer. From now on you will keep your mouth shut until the game is over.

"Alright, stop making us wait, the night is long, but not forever" Soyeon shouted, laughing softly as she watched you and Yoongi move around rather awkwardly.

How was he supposed to kiss the inside of your thigh? Should you stand up? Lie down? Lean back a little?

In the end you opted for the last one. You waited until Yoongi was in front of you before you leaned back, supporting yourself with your forearms. You grimaced as you felt the small stones on the floor bury themselves into your skin.

"Are you really comfortable with this? I don't mind having a bit of that stuff." Yoongi grabbed your calf, lifting it just enough so that you could rest your heel on his shoulder.

You discreetly licked your lips as you felt your mouth suddenly go dry. Yoongi had no idea of the power he had over you, and that pleased you as much as it frightened you.

"It doesn't bother me, really, it's just a stupid challenge anyway". You nodded quickly, trying to let the gesture imply that you didn't really have a problem with the situation, because you really didn't.

"Good" you smiled as you watched his shoulders relax. He gently caressed your calf, bringing his mouth close to your leg.

For a second you completely forgot that you were in the pool of Jiah, one of your best friends, surrounded by all your other friends, who were pretty focused on your interaction. Everyone was sick of the tension between the two of you, seriously hoping that in this game one of you would take the next step.

He moved down until his nose brushed against the inside of your thigh. You felt a shiver run down your spine, and had to bite the inside of your lip to keep from gasping when Yoongi placed his lips against your skin. You mentally crossed your fingers, hoping he hadn't noticed the sudden spasm you felt from the touch of his lips on your leg.

It felt good. You wouldn't tell him.

"I thought you would never finish," laughed Jiwon, taking a sip of his beer, she shared a knowing look with Soyeon, but both you and Yoongi were too distracted to notice, "It's my turn to ask someone to do the next challenge, right?

Jungkook, her boyfriend, nodded fervently, grinning from ear to ear. He seriously thought the next challenge would be for him, and would involve something like what you and Yoongi just did.

Poor fool.

"Yoongi, stay there," her smile grew even bigger as Yoongi turned to see her with a slight frown, "I need you right there for my challenge," she muttered, drinking what little was left of her can and passing it to Jungkook. He was quick to take it and exchange it for a completely full one. She didn't finish speaking until Jungkook opened the new can for her. "Kiss his happy trail," she murmured, taking two straws and slipping them into the beer can.

"You want me to do what?" you looked at Jiwon, choking on your saliva. She definitely hadn't just asked you to do that.

"You heard me perfect, don't play dumb, I know you're not" she laughed mockingly, or maliciously, you weren't sure, both seemed like perfect words to you to describe the horrible way she had just teased you. 

You looked at Yoongi, noticing how he also seemed surprised, and quite embarrassed, by the challenge Jiwon had given you.

"You know, it's kind of like an eye for an eye, it's pretty much the same thing he did for you, I don't see what's so hard about it." She extended her beer to Jungkook's side, waiting for him to take some from one of the straws she'd put out earlier. You hated how quiet she looked, so comfortable with her bunny-faced boyfriend. You'd get your revenge for this.

"Fine," you grunted, glaring at Yoongi. You crawled on your knees until you were face to face with his abdomen. You regretted it almost immediately as you felt the stones scrape your knees. This was all Soyeon and Jiwon's fault. They were terrible friends. Awful. 

"Uhm, Noona, I..." muttered Yoongi, stumbling over the words.

You looked up, seeing his face. It was red, too red, from his cheeks to his neck and ears, his lower lip trembling slowly, as if he was trying to say something and his nerves wouldn't let him speak. There were no words to describe how cute you thought this boy was. 

"I'll make it quick, don't worry" you tried to smile at him, not wanting him to notice how nervous you were too. When was the last time you did this with a man? You didn't really remember. You tried to push the thought out of your head, pushing your hair aside. 

Yoongi for his part had no idea what to do. You were on your knees in front of him, wearing a bathing suit that showed off your figure too well, and you had just arranged your hair as if you were about to give him a blowjob. He really wanted you to give him one right now.

His whole body trembled as he felt your fluffy lips kiss his lower abdomen. They felt so good, so soft, so wet. He couldn't help but wonder if you were wearing that strawberry lip gloss you always carried in your handbag. He always wanted to taste your lips with that lip gloss on. He'd want to taste them with or without.

He clenched his hands at his sides as he felt your mouth barely brush against the elastic of his swim trunks, he wanted so badly to grab your hair and shove his cock in your mouth. It was a shame that there were 12 other people here watching. If it wasn't for that, he would have done it without a second thought.

"Ready" you muttered, sitting back down on the floor. You took a big breath of air as discreetly as you could. You were starting to get hot. "Easy, isn't it?" you smiled at Yoongi.

He smiled back at you, sitting down next to you, just like you were before Soyeon started with the odd challenges. "Easier impossible.”

It had been two hours since Soyeon and Jiwon had done their challenges. Everyone was much drunker than they were then, and as the rounds progressed the challenges had become more and more intense. Jungkook and Soomin had to separate Jimin and Soyeon at some point in the night.

It was now two forty-five in the morning. The vinegar bottle was still full, and none of you had any intention of emptying even a drop. Perhaps that was why Yoongi did not hesitate to accept the challenge Jungkook had given him a few seconds ago.

"I'm only supposed to kiss one?" he muttered, looking at Jungkook with dilated pupils and slightly flushed cheeks. You thought he looked really cute drunk.

"Unless you want to kiss both of her breasts, yeah, just one," he laughed teasingly, resting his chin on Jiwon's shoulder. They had gotten that way after Namjoon dared Jungkook to do a "private" dance for her.

"Fine," he nodded. The alcohol had given him all the courage he'd lacked the previous times.

You looked at him with drunken eyes, probably looking the same or worse than him. He didn't seem to care, so who cares?

He bent down to your height and grabbed the sides of your waist. You gasped as you felt his cold fingers brush against you.

"You're cold," you muttered, frowning at him. Your features trembled a little as you saw a mischievous smirk on his lips. 

"Sorry, I promise my lips aren't as cold... probably" he whispered against the skin of your breasts. You shivered slightly without being able to help it.

He followed the challenge just as Jungkook had said, he only kissed one, but you didn't expect him to kiss it in such a lascivious way. You even gasped as you felt his warm tongue brush against the cold skin of your breasts. You felt so embarrassed as you remembered that your friends were watching this.

"Ready" he murmured, watching as the skin he had kissed glowed in the moonlight. He felt so proud of himself.

"My turn," exclaimed Taehyung excitedly. You turned to look at him, grimacing as you saw how his gaze was fixed on you. You hated everyone in this room, everyone was participating in a conspiracy against you. "Y/N."

"Taehyung" you raised your eyebrows, staring at him. You were sure it wouldn't be that bad, it shouldn't be.

"I want you to touch Yoongi's dick," he gave you that shit-eating grin he only gave when he knew what he was asking you to do was a load of shit. 

You had to take a second to process what he just said.

"You want me to touch his cock?" you furrowed your brow in confusion, why was he asking you that?

He nodded with a big smile, "Under the bathing suit, if you do it on top you must drink half a shot."

"You're shit, you and everyone else," you pointed at them all, snorting, "except Soomin, Yoori and Hobi, you are too good for this world, and this group." 

"Wait, are you really going to do it?" Suddenly all the drunkenness went out of Yoongi. You were going to touch his member right at this moment, you had never done it before, not even in his wildest dreams (he never got to the foreplay part, his brain always skipped that part).

"I don't plan to drink vinegar, Yoongi" you looked at his crotch and then his face, "Or do you want me not to?".

"No, it’s okay, that must taste awful" he mumbled quickly, watching every move you made.

A lump formed in his throat as he watched your hand move closer to his lap.

"Okay" you moved a little closer, trying to get your hand past the waistband of the swimsuit. It was not lost on you how his abdomen tensed at the feel of your fingers.

Your hands were also terribly cold. He seriously tried not to let you notice how good it felt to feel your fingertips run delicately over his pelvis.

You tried not to look at his face as you lowered your hand. You felt too nervous to do this. You wanted to look on the bright side of the situation, maybe this would help you get along much better in the future. 

"Where-?" you interrupted yourself with a gasp, turning to look at Yoongi with your mouth open.

He too turned to look at you, just as red and surprised as you were.

"What? what happened?" Soomin, whose eyes Taehyung had covered so she couldn't see anything, spoke in confusion.

You wanted to answer her, you really did, but how the fuck were you telling her that you had just touched the biggest dick of your life? And that wasn't even erect, what did Yoongi eat to have a member like that?

"N-nothing" you mumbled, pulling your hand out carefully. Now you would never look at Yoongi the same way again. You definitely wouldn't think of him the same way. Neither of him nor of his member. "I'm going to go lie down, I'm a little tired" you excused yourself, getting up and walking as quietly as you could inside the house. You knew that if you were still there you would be given stronger challenges than you had already been given.

You walked to the guest room, one of the many in Jiah's house. You always stayed in the same one, you even had a change of clothes in the closet. You were very grateful for that right now.

As soon as you opened the door the sound of footsteps behind you made you stop. You turned to see who it was. You were a little surprised to see Yoongi standing a few steps further than you. 

"Noona" he mumbled, hesitating a bit on whether to move closer to you or not.

"Yes?" you cocked your head slightly, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

"Do you think we could talk? It'll be short, I promise."

"Sure" you smiled at him, hoping it really would be something short. You needed to tend to yourself soon. Your crotch was starting to ache.

He nodded his head by way of thanks, moving the remaining steps to stand next to you. It didn't take him long to enter the room you were going to stay in.

You closed the door once you were inside, you hated having the doors open. You stood watching him from there, you were quite confused, but you knew Yoongi wasn't one to ask to talk to someone for anything, so you waited patiently.

"I wanted to talk about what happened downstairs" he mumbled, sitting down on the edge of the bed you would be sleeping on today. 

"Did you feel very uncomfortable?" you grimaced, scratching your neck nervously, "I'm seriously sorry, I wasn't-".

"I want to continue," he interrupted you mid-sentence, glaring at you. You had to lean against the door to keep from falling.

"Continue?" you whispered, watching as he gave you that mean smile again that he had put on a few minutes ago. He stood up again, moving close enough for you to feel his breath collide with yours.

"Don't you want the same?" he moved to your shoulder, kissing the bare skin.

You closed your eyes instinctively, letting out a barely audible sigh. You brought your hands to his waist, grabbing his black shirt with white sheets. You crinkled the fabric between your fingers as the kisses on your neck began to get messier. It felt so good.

"You smell so good" he whispered next to your ear, his hands snaking around your waist until they reached the bottom of your bathing suit. He didn't hesitate to fiddle with them, making as if to reach under the fabric with his hands.

You growled under your breath. "I don't like being played with, Yoongi."

He chuckled softly in response, lowering his hands until he reached your thighs. You squealed as you felt him lift you off the floor and carry you in his arms to the bed.

"Good, then there will be no games," he said as he pulled his shirt off over his head.

You dropped your gaze almost instantly. You loved Yoongi's body so much. He wasn't thin to an extreme level, nor was he overly muscular. He had just enough and just enough, and that was what you found most attractive about him. That and his skin. 

You always thought his skin was perfect for marking or biting. It was so white and sensitive, so inviting. 

"Red looks so good on you" he murmured, taking your leg and lifting it. As soon as he was the right distance away he kissed your calf. His other hand took over caressing your other leg.

His kisses went up until they reached your inner thigh. Right at the point where it all started. Yoongi licked his lips, looking at your swimsuit. "May I?"

You nodded quickly, biting your inner lip as you watched him start to pull down the bottom of your swimsuit. You couldn't help but moan softly as you felt the cool air hit your core.

Yoongi paused for a moment, taking his time to observe your femininity. He was quite surprised by the fact that he wasn't doing anything yet and you were already wet. He ran his fingers around your entrance, gathering your juices and spreading them around your entrance.

You curved your back a little, closing your eyes tightly as you bit your tongue. You weren't the only ones in the house, you couldn't make a sound. 

You listened as he let out a mocking laugh. "Noona, are your moans usually loud? why are you covering your mouth? Most must know we're fucking in the guest room anyway, don't you think?" he moved his face closer to your entrance, smiling as he watched your pussy clench around nothing.

"Shut the fuck up and do something" you growled, grabbing hold of the first thing you could find. Well, actually you just used that as an excuse, you really wanted to grab onto his hair.

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and listened to you. He stuck his face between your legs and, just as you asked him to, he put the horseplay aside and started fucking your pussy with his tongue.

The scream you gave had probably alerted everyone in the house to what was going on between the two of you. 

You covered your mouth as fast as you could, pulling with all your might on Yoongi's hair. You'd heard he knew how to use his tongue well, but you didn't think he'd be so good at this. The son of a bitch deserved a prize in honor of this.

Yoongi's tongue touched the exact spots that made your whole body tense and tremble at the same time. It was so overwhelming and addictive at the same time. You tried to lift your hips to feel him closer, but his hands held you in place with just enough strength not to cause you harm. 

"Yoongi" you gasped, closing your eyes tightly, "you’re so good at this."

He only answered you with a grunt that caused your whole body to stir in place. He liked being complimented by you much more than he thought he would, the fact that his cock got even harder just hearing you say how well he was doing it gave him an idea.

"Faster" you moaned, tugging on his hair. This was so much better than any one-night stand you'd had in the past.

You frowned as you felt his tongue flick out of your pussy. You thought you were going well, you were enjoying it, he seemed to have been enjoying it, or at least you felt that way with the way he had just eaten you.

"Why did you stop?" you murmured, watching him stand up straight as he wiped his chin covered by your games with his wrist.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't find it sexy.

"Spread your legs."

You nodded, still confused, but ready to accept whatever he was going to give you. Except you weren't as ready as you thought you were. 

He took off his bathing suit, leaving it somewhere in the bedroom. 

It was inevitable not to see it, I mean, how could you not see that thing? 

Yoongi laughed as he noticed that your eyes were fixed on his member. "Scared?" he said teasingly, kissing your collarbone.

"Oh, yeah?" you replied with obviousness, looking at him with raised eyebrows, "I really don't give a shit about boosting your ego, but man, that thing seems to have a life of its own, I'm surprised you're surprised I'm scared of it."

"I'm trying to be serious here" he laughed softly, lining up his member at your entrance.

"Yeah, I'm serious too, you know? Besides- Oh my god" you moaned, slapping Yoongi's back.

He thrust his member all at once inside you, did it hurt? A little, did you like it? Absolutely. You were more than sure that never, with any other man, had you ever felt so full. You could get used to this feeling.

Yoongi took both your legs, putting them around his waist. "I'm going to start moving, okay?".

You nodded barely, taking a deep breath. You wanted to keep all your concentration on not moaning as if your life depended on it. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, wanted to make you scream loud enough to let the whole neighborhood know you were fucking. Or at least that's what you thought he thought when he started ramming you roughly.

"Y-yoongi, wait" you gasped, clinging to his back. You'd probably leave some nasty scratches. "I-if you do it this hard I won't be able to..." you bit your tongue as you felt his tongue start to play with your nipples. He seriously wasn't going for teasing.

"Stop holding back" he murmured, pulling on your left nipple hard as his tongue and teeth tended to your right nipple. You hadn't even noticed that he had removed the top of your bathing suit. "I want to hear you moan my name, why don't you? Everyone here wanted us to end up like this anyway, I don't see what the problem is in letting them know I'm fucking you."

When he noticed that you were willing to keep quiet to maintain your dignity in front of your friends, Yoongi didn't hesitate to make his onslaught faster and harder, enough to make the bed move and the backrest hit the wall.

Whether you groaned or not, one of them would notice what was happening just by the sound of the bed.

You were going to kill Yoongi after this.

You let your head fall on the sheets of the guest bed. You hesitated a bit at first, but decided to listen to Yoongi, he was right anyway, it was your friends who wanted this to happen, now they couldn't complain.

As soon as you stopped holding your moans, Yoongi started to get even more out of control, as if that were possible. He grabbed your waist with one hand while with the other he continued to amuse himself with your breast, smiling as he noticed that they were big enough to not fit in his hands. 

You whimpered as he bit your nipple and pulled hard on it. You couldn't help but squirm under him. 

"Yoongi" you moaned in his ear, clinging to his back as if your life depended on it.

"Yes?" he murmured against your chest, starting to suck on it and leave little kisses around your nipples. 

"I... it's... I don't know if I can..." you growled under your breath as you realized you couldn't finish the sentence even if you wanted to. Every time you finished a word, Yoongi gave you an even harder thrust than the last.

He smiled, lifting his face to come face to face with you. "Are you close?" he whispered against your lips, lowering the hand he had on your waist to your femininity. It was only enough for him to touch your clitoris for your entire body to tremble and melt at his touch. "Don't worry, I got you."

You sighed, looking up at Yoongi. He was enchanted by the sight. He'd dreamed of this a lot before, but to have you under him with your breasts bouncing and glistening from sucking them earlier, to see you with that look that screamed out in leagues that you were having the best fuck ever, your pussy clenching his cock every time he tugged or sucked on your nipples. This definitely far surpassed your imagination.

"I'm going to-" you moaned loudly, closing your eyes tightly. Yoongi had rammed against your G-spot too hard, and you seriously regretted that. He wasn't going to let it go, you noticed as you saw his teasing gaze fix on yours.

Just as you thought, Yoongi kept hitting your sensitive spot, increasing the speed of his thumb on your clitoris. At this point you weren't even straining to close your mouth anymore, you were hesitant to even be able to do so. You felt Yoongi's cock start to twist inside you and smiled to yourself. You were glad you weren't the only one reaching her limit.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful" he growled in your ear, quickening the pace of his onslaught as his gasps and hoarse moans grew louder. "I waited so long to be able to fuck you, I dreamed of this so many times."

Yoongi gave a low moan as he felt you squeeze his cock too hard, "I-if you do that I won't be able to take much more" he murmured, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead and looking up at you.

You laughed between gasps, hugging his neck, "It's okay, I got you" you smiled at him, repeating the same words he had given you earlier.

It only took those words and the sight of your smiling face to make Yoongi come inside you hard, pressing his hips with yours until absolutely all of his cum came out of his member.

You came soon after, moaning softly as you felt yourself finally reaching your long awaited release. 

You both stayed in each other's arms for a few minutes, waiting to come down from your euphoria.

"I think we're going to have to change the sheets" you laughed softly, stroking Yoongi's lower back.

He nodded in agreement, leaving a soft kiss on your collarbone. "I'll go get a towel to clean you up, wait here," he said softly, pressing a kiss to your lips. It was sweet and slow, and you liked it so much you came within an inch of begging him to stay and forget the stupid towel. You weren't able to.

Yoongi came out of you gently. You both groaned before the sensation. You were starting to miss the way his cock felt inside you. He grabbed his bathing suit and carefully put it on, leaving the room but not before you checked the hallway. He didn't want to open the door and have someone see you in that state.

He went downstairs and walked to the closet where he knew Jiah kept a couple of towels and sheets. He took the opportunity to pull out some clean ones.

"Yoongi, you're here" Soomin approached him. She was bringing two glasses of strawberry juice. He was still touched to see how she totally refused to drink alcohol at parties just so she could bring Taehyung home safe and sound. "I thought you wouldn't leave the room after all the fuss you made."

Yoongi felt his whole face light up beyond belief. He totally regretted asking you moaning out loud.

"Here," she extended one of the glasses in his direction. Still a little confused, he took the glass with his free hand, "She must have a bit of a dry throat, ask her to drink some," Soomin smiled kindly at him, taking her purse and pulling a pill out of it, "I don't think you want to have children at the beginning of your relationship."

He felt a tightness in his chest as he thought about what Soomin said. The beginning of a relationship... It sounded amazing to him.

"Thanks, I owe you one" he smiled back at her, hurrying up the stairs to come back to you. He smiled internally at the thought that this would be the first of many nights together.

Materlist.

[jellojelli]

Aventurine Boyfriend Headcanons

*a/n: I'll never not be salty that he's the only stoneheart I'm missing right now. I could've had the three available, but no, I took a break during his run time*

As always, 🛑Minors DNI🛑

SFW

Aventurine as a boyfriend can feel kind of hot and cold

everyday is different with him, and that can be very challenging. Will you get you're sweet Kakavasha? Or the cocky and arrogant Stoneheart?

Nobody knows. Not even him.

So if you really want this man you have to be paitent and willing to adapt and help him through his somewhat toxic behaviors. Because lets face it, they can be very toxic at times

This is because of his past and the insecurities they gave him when it came to dealing with other people. I mean, he was told when he was young that his worth was only 30 copper coins, and why would someone like you want to stay with someone like him? Especially with the brand he has on his neck

If you're willing to help him or at least just be there for him during his cold phases you'll have his heart forever. I mean that. Aventurine can be the biggest sap in the entire universe if you let him be

Not only can he be a sap, he's a big spoiler. Every credit he has is basically yours at this point

Constantly wiring money to you, bringing home gifts after missions, taking you shopping even though your closet couldn't possibly fit even one more thing, Aventurine does it all, no credit is wasted if it's for you

that being said, he enjoys giving you handmade things too. At first it was sort of like a test, see if you only like him for his money, but once he sees that you love the gift just as much or even more than the bought stuff his walls are crumbling and are in shambles

God forbid you make him something

It could be a little origami made from a gum wrapper and he keeps it on him like it's made of gold or soemthing

and if you make anything that requires a lot of effort, skill, and/or time? Aeons above help whoever he speaks to Ratio and Topaz

He will not, and i repeat, WILL NOT shut up about whatever you've made for him. And if he can bring it with? Yeah, it's another good luck charm no matter if it's a little cumbersome

They wish he'd stop talking and showing pictures of the same thing everyday

I see him as someone to keep a photo of you in his wallet. He goes on missions for a long time sometimes, and he can't always video call you, so the picture in his wallet will have to do

Don't get your hopes up that its something sappy and cute, its the ugliest sleeping photo of you you've ever seen. Hair in knots, drool, face smushed into the bed, and you're in the craziest pose you've ever seen

But he loves that photo the most and he will fight you for the right to keep it in his wallet so don't even try to replace it or take it away from him, you wouldn't win anyways

Don't even think about getting into danger around him or telling him about something stupid you want/have done. He will literally drag you back home and either prevent you from going, or scold you for having done the thing. and if you somehow manage to convince him to do the dangerous thing, he's coming with and shielding you up so much that it's not even a challenge for you anymore

Another thing, because he can sometimes try to push you away you both get into fights on ocassion. Don't take it to heart, he doesn't even mean anything he says, he just subconsiously thinks that you're going to leave him for someone he deems better i mean, you have been hanging around that doc recently....what if you like him more?

He's punching himself in the face though after every mean word he says, so don't even worry about him not feeling bad about the fight or his words, because he feels awful and stupid and he's damn near begging you not to leave him over it

Kakavasha just loves you too much....

NSFW

This man right here is nasty nasty bro

like one second he'll have you against the wall fucking into you like an animal and the next your face is pressed into the mattress as the entire bed shakes and slams against the wall rip your neighbors rest if you live in an apartment

He doesn't consider it a successful fuck unless you can't walk and can't remember anything other than his name, if you can still talk, you can give him another <3

This man is probably into everything under the sun and more

I'm talking toys, hair pulling, spitting, spanking, degrading, praise, if you can think it, he's probably into it tbh

Would he overstimulate you or edge you?

Both

he'd edge you until you're basically crying and then make you cum so much you think you're about to pass away

This man, this man right here, is a certified m u n c h

He'd eat you out breakfast, lunch, and dinner if you'd really let him

His favorite for giving oral is any position where he can keep you anchored right on his mouth so you can't squirm away

Don't even try it hon, he'll grip your hips so hard it bruises and pull you back, giving you a look like you just called him a bitch and slapped him

dear aeons above and below he loves using toys on you

any toy is good enough for him, no matter if you want him to use it on you, or if you want to use it on him

that's another thing, this man can dom and sub with ease. He has no issue doing either or both in a night, whatever it takes to get you to cum is on the table

Fuck/peg this man

he will wimper, he will whine, and he will be a brat the entire time you're pushing into him

And all those kinks he's into? That's not just one way. Every kink he'd do to you, you can do to him without question

Safe word is probably something dumb that he thought of at work instead of working... like IPC, or stonehearts...He's lame but it sure will snap either of you out of it

Aftercare king and you can't convince me otherwise

He knows he can go rough, and maybe just a tad over the top, so you're getting the princess/prince treatment after you guys have sex

Bath, water, food, all the softest clothing he's ever bought you, fresh silk sheets before you lay back down, a massage, you name it, he's on it

Pillow talk for sure, he just likes to hear you talk, doesn't have to be anything serious or thought out, you can literally just ask him if he'd still love you as a worm and he'd be happy to answer <3

It's no btw <3

Masterlist

[moonshynecybin]

hmmm idk if this is anything, but rosquez as romcom co stars that keep getting cast together even though they hateee each other but the chemistry is too good?

this is fun because like. it keeps some of my favorite little rosquez saw traps and wraps them up for me like a little treat. forced proximity public pda and EXTREME media scrutiny kind of their bread and butter tbh. make them crazy make them kiss im watching like tashi in the hotel scene in challengers

like marc as a young tom cruise esque (sorry. SORRY. im sorryyyyy) action star who does all of his own stunts loves the physicality of acting loves getting to pretend to do crazy stuff and be a HEROOOO but still kind of plays the same exact character every time. BIG smile always standing on apple boxes to make himself seem taller as he attempts to generate chemistry with whatever actress is his badly written love interest of the day (marc would be SO good in the mission impossible movies im sorry he WOULD be like. can i parachute off of a motorcycle into a ravine please please please youre NOTHING. santi is his extremely stressed stunt coordinator. lmao.) versus vale who came up doing indie movies as a teen in the 90s (his lil face would DOMINATE gay cinephile gifset tumblr) before launching himself to super stardom with a string of successful comedies and sort of settling into that because its easy... secretly frustrated no one will let him bust out his drama chops... BIG chip on his shoulder here a la leaving honda for yamaha etc

so eventually both of them are getting a little tired of being pigeon holed. and decide 2 book a serious ass gay romantic drama. they are tired of being hailed as the kings of fiction for the masses and they want to win at acting!! they get into the chemistry read (marc is still pretty young i think) and its. insane. INSTANT. james dean and marlon brando levels of ARE YOU TWO FUCKING?? but they literally just met. and marc has been a fan of vale's forever but not just the comedies also his earlier dramatic stuff (apocalyptic little gay crush) and they have similar taste in movies and vale is sooooo funny and it is OFF to the races. like. i cannot emphasize this enough they are fucking the WHOLE time. every scene in this movie its just leaping off the screen... they go in to film and its like that BTS clip of the americans where the director was having matthew rhys and keri russell do a sex scene and theyre suspiciously comfortable pretending to 69 and he turns to his assistant and just goes. oh yeah these guys have fucked. they are wayyyy to comfy hitching the other's pussy into their face lmao. just fucking going for it. the director is like hey guys. can you tone it down a little. marc biggggg smile okayyyyyy :3

and the movie comes out and they attend the premiere all smiley and bouncy and feeling really good about the project and then, theyy watch it. and its like. uh oh! not a lot of acting happening there ! um. best performance of either of their careers and they both look at it an can identify all the points they werent acting like evil little signal flares.... and vale shuts marc out HARD yadayadayada the Usual Rosquez Breakup Ensues.... until they both get cast in a revival of the brokeback mountain stage play and shit pops off in the most nuclear explosion of horny heartbreak to ever hit the STAGE…

[pbaz7]

This is my first live reaction and yes I did have to re-read to react because I am a strange person that talks to myself when I read so yeah here we go

“It’s just basketball. A literal game. You’re already starting anyway, just come help me study.”

- what type of name is Amber anyway. Ew.

That’s when Paige came into the picture.

- Paige🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Amber glanced at her briefly, shrugging. “You should’ve brought a jacket.”

- Paige would NEVER be dismissive to azzi like this.

Paige didn’t argue. She just pulled off her jacket—a soft, worn-in zip up that smelled like her soap and shampoo—and handed it to Azzi.

- like I said.

Paige scoffed softly, shifting to face her fully. “Of course I noticed, I’m me.

- you write her so perfect like idk u make my single ass sit here like this 🤭🤭🤭🥰🥰🥰😖🥰🥰

“Ahem.”

- and ik this ho went “Ah hem” like mane if you shut yo ahh up.

Paige’s gaze never wavered, and Azzi could feel everything between them, like the entire room had been reduced to just the two of them. Amber, oblivious to the tension building, continued to cling to Azzi, her whispers falling on deaf ears. Azzi barely even registered what Amber was saying.

- silence because omg

It was like a silent challenge, a dare to Azzi to make a move, to step in and claim what could be hers, but Azzi was frozen.

- AZZI GET UUUHHHHPPPPPPUUUUHHHH STAND UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Who are you looking at like that?"

- clearly not you

“Meet me in the bathroom.”

- I love gay.

Paige flipped their positions

- Alexa, play “that should be me” by Justin Bieber💔💔💔

Before she had a chance to second-guess it, she stood from her spot and pulled Azzi gently but firmly onto her lap on the couch, wrapping her arms around her waist.

- HEHEHEHE 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

“I would never do you like that.”

- and azzi better not say “you did” because y she literally said to stop

“You did.”

- alr bud 😐

“Your name slipped out.”

- my toxic trait is that if someone said that to me I’d be GEEKED. Like happier than anyone could imagine.

She didn’t break eye contact with Amber. Instead, she leaned in closer to Azzi, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper that sent an involuntary shiver through her.

- ouu 🤭

Paige made sure to angle her head just enough so that Amber could see every move, every touch.

- that’s hot.

“Don’t fucking touch her like that,” Paige’s voice was low but still controlled enough.

- heheheheheheehehehehehehe

“What the fuck do you mean you’re staying with Paige tonight?”

- she said you can kick rocks. Gtfo.

she simply held Azzi, her arms wrapped securely around her while silent tears slipped down Azzi’s face.

- how to: find gf like Paige how pbaz7 writes her

“I noticed on a few road games,” she said softly, “you tend to have nightmares when you’ve had a lot of sugar that day.”

- oh my god. She’s perfect.

"Rough."

- do you like your ability to walk? If so, this is a bad option!!!

So she brings her free arm under Azzi, guiding her hand to Azzi’s lips. “Bite down,” Paige whispers, her voice low.

- that’s so hot. I can’t.

“You’re so beautiful... so perfect Azzi….”

- praising 🔛🔝

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azzi allowed herself to sink into the moment fully. As she listened to Paige’s heartbeat, soothing her to sleep, the truth she’d been fighting hard to ignore surfaced in her mind. She was in love with Paige. Completely and irrevocably.

- WHAT IS THAT LAST LINE FROM??? I KNOW IT FROM SOMEWHERE I NEED ANSWERS.

anywho sorry this is long but I loved. And I may re-read again (your writing it’s actually perfect) k that all happy g-day W to everyone!!! Goodnight queen!!!

(I don’t know what emoji to put)

- Annoying anon🥸

HI !!!

Paige would NEVER be dismissive to azzi like this.

you’re absolutely right

you write her so perfect like idk u make my single ass sit here like this

you giggling kicking your feet lol

Alexa, play "that should be me" by Justin Bieber

underrated

my toxic trait is that if someone said that to me l'd be GEEKED. Like happier than anyone could imagine.

NO be better

WHAT IS THAT LAST LINE FROM??? | KNOW IT FROM SOMEWHERE I NEED ANSWERS.

I unfortunately cannot give you answers because I was just writing twin 😭

tysm for the live react i loved it so much 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[bookwyrmbutch]

More Veilguard Thoughts

these are mostly negative because it turns out veilguard is a bad game

i read a sample of the art book today and nearly cried. we were robbed y'all. there was an interesting story, beautiful environment, cool fucking characters, and we got none of it!!

neve's voice acting is still bad. I know people are like "she's supposed to be a noir detective archetype, she's supposed to sound like dry and cynical!" but uh.. she doesn't. sound dry and cynical. she sounds like she's reading boring lines in a sound booth

i don't think any of the acting is great, actually

i had to turn the difficulty down, not bc the combat is challenging but because it's boring. the enemies are damage sponges and so am i so every battle was taking forever

really hate that your class don't seem to matter anymore. i used to arrange my party comp really carefully and now i'm choosing at random bc who cares?

i hate hate hate what they've done with the blight and the dark spawn. i'm a grey warden girlie and they've stomped all over everything i love. each type of darkspawn being a different race that was twisted into a new form? that's recycled from mass effect

antoine keeps hearing a strange, twisted song coming from the blight and literally no one mentions the Calling, come the fuck on

and the Archdemons??? why does everything have to link back to the elven gods! it flattens the whole world!! the Archdemons were a scary, mysterious, powerful force and they're like "oh those are the gods pets 😇"

tevinter has been the boogeyman for three games and they just left out everything bad about it?? there's no slavery, the chantry is never mentioned, and everything bad about the tevinter government is because of the venatori

i was tired of the venatori in inquisition, now I want to scream every time they show up

and why are all the factions so good? why are the antivan crows, assassins known for buying and beating slave children, portrayed as brave freedom fights? why would the pirate faction repatriate cultural artifacts? why are the veil jumpers immediately on board with hunting and killing their gods?

taash is insufferable. if I have to hear the word nonbinary one more fucking time i might throw my controller

and why can't I be mean??? the dialogue options are just: nice, nice but funny, and assertive but still nice. i keep thinking about the options in origins. poisoning the ashes, allowing the desire demon to possess connor, sleeping with gheyna, sten tear his arms off! but i can't tell bellara that yeah, maybe people are right to mistrust elves. i can't tell taash to shut the fuck up about her gender identity bc the world is ending. i can't tell neve to stop whining about minrathous getting attacked by a dragon!

WHY DOES ISABELA LOOK LIKE THAT. WHY IS SHE A WWE COMMENTATOR

[yakuzacasual]

Game of choice

Round of rapidfire late-night thoughts based entirely in my own gaming experience of a european, and things i've gotten through osmosis.

What kind of games they play with Yagami, Kaito, Sugiura, Higashi, Tsukumo, Mafuyu, Saori, Hoshino, Kuwana

Yagami needs his mental stimulation, with how many cases of his end up being a literal wild goose chase. He would totally be into Layton games and maybe even Ace Attorney if we feel a little on the nose. Eventually falls victim to the Spike Chunsoft pipeline from Danganronpa, through AI: Somnium Files, to Zero Escape series. 999 is now his favourite.

Kaito only cares about multiplayer shooting games with his buds. Rainbow Six Siege, Battlefield, PUGB you name it - he probably tried it. Aside from CS:GO, he was banned from ever trying CS:GO by Sugiura. Got roped into Fortnite along the way and although he clearly enjoys it, he keeps complaining it's clearly for kids.

Sugiura plays pretty much anything popular - Minecraft, Fortnite, GTA, Valorant - usually just to kill time. He doesn't care all that much about having "experiences that will change the trajectory of his life forever", as Tsukumo puts it. What only a handful of people know, however, is that he is absolutely INSANE about Mirror's Edge. Go figure.

Higashi will let his history nerd run wild and will put his hands on anything samurai period drama adjacent. He's been through things such as Ghost of Tsushima, Ishin and will brave the toughest of challenges in Sekiro and Nioh for his dose of the good shit. Recently he's been even caught trying out Katana Zero and despite not being his usual kind of setting, he ends up loving it.

Tsukumo is a League of Legends youth survivor and years clean of the cancer that enveloped him. These days he's neck deep into jrpgs and visual novels of all kinds. Most notably, he is THE Xenoblade Chronicles fan and has played literally every entry in and adjacent to the Megami Tensei series. Refuses to talk about Persona though, absolute SMT truther.

Mafuyu is the absolute casual girly player, with hundreds of thousands of hours in between things like Fashion Dreamer, every Sims generation and a touch of Splatoon when nobody's watching. Was there back when Flash games were a thing, where she would spend all evenings on the dress-ups and Devillish Hairdresser. Probably played Stardoll or something.

Saori finds herself lured into the strange appeal of Cultist Simulator, which somehow escalated into her being insane about Lobotomy Company and Library of Ruina. I don't know either. Suffice to say, she enjoys card and management games, with a bit of weird fucking lore on the side. At times she emerges from her solo player cave to kick people's asses in Dead By Daylight - she can WRECK with any killer.

Hoshino was there for the Giant Dad phase and has, ever since, remained one of the greatest, most viscious Dark Souls PVPers. Bro used to have absolutely no mercy with his neigh beast skill in the game and if you squint, he might've won a DS speedrun competition once or twice. These days he only logs in to help in multi (think along the lines of Let Me Solo Her) and will not shut up about Disco Elysium.

Kuwana is yet to recover from Hotline Miami brainworms even though it has been literal years. He has tried his hand at similar recommendations like Superhot, Ruiner or Ultrakill but nothing has ever stuck quite the same way. Ends up replaying the games every year like a religious ritual. Might end up getting into Katana Zero, but ends up so pissed with the ending he vows never to give chances again.

[greatprotector-if]

I'm oh sooo curious, since anon asked on the other page.

Fake-out make-out scenario for the Ros?

the first part of the fake-out make-outs is here with our lovely crown kallias! galen's and v's will be up uhhh whenever i write them. hopefully within the next few days [:

“Will you stop laughing?! Go faster!”

“I’m—ha—I’m sorry, I’m trying!”

In ordinary situations, Kallias would have no trouble keeping up with you as you dash through the streets, but they’ve got a sack full of gods know what strapped to their back, and they won’t stop giggling like a child, and it’s slowing them down.

You knew this job would bring at least a little danger, but you never imagined that all the danger would have nothing to do with the crown’s royal title. Kallias attracts trouble like a horde of flies to honey, all completely on their own. Disappearing in the dead of night to challenge the cursed trees, insisting on going through the bog to save time but getting stuck, somehow getting snatched up by a gryphon the one time you thought they were behaving.

This time, it's a horde of bandits, which wouldn’t sound like Kallias’ fault, except it is. They set their camp on fire.

To be fair, it was an accident. To be fair, what they were trying to do was steal back the supplies taken from the workers in the city, which is nice you suppose, and you did agree to the plan, but also you were literally there the whole time and you still can’t comprehend how they set the entire camp ablaze by accident—and thus they alerted the bandits to your presence, and thus… you are running.

“In my defense,” Kallias begins. "We did get the supplies—"

You cut them off with a gritted out, “Please shut up.”

They laugh even harder at that, and it stutters because they’re sprinting at the same time, but it’s otherwise unrestrained. Fuck, they’re infuriating.

Your own pack of supplies isn’t doing you very well either, it slaps against your back with every step and it’s really starting to annoy you. You know you can’t keep this up forever… or even for much longer, at this rate. You had a pretty good head start but you can hear the shouting of the bandits start to close in on you.

But you have an idea. A horrible, awful idea.

You grab Kallias by the wrist and tug them down a narrow alleyway, around a corner—and then you skid to a stop.

You turn around, chucking your bag onto the floor against the wall, and put your hands on their shoulders. They look at you in confusion. There’s a bit of pink peeking out from the brown of their hair now, which means their glamour is fading. Good. You never intended to be out this long, and while you have a backup potion, you won’t use it. Maybe this will help your chances.

And before they can even have the chance to ask why you’ve stopped, you blurt, “Kiss me.”

There’s an incredulous smile crossing their face, like they think you’re joking, but you are not joking. “Huh. That is maybe the last thing I was expecting you to say.”

This is… incredibly inappropriate. This is your crown, even if they are an idiot, and the Queen would have your head on a pike if she knew what you were thinking—if she knew that you’ve thought about this before, even without the imminent danger, when you were alone with Kallias in their chambers and they were listening to your stories, all soft touches and softer smiles.

But you look into Kallias’ eyes, specks of green peeking out from the brown as the glamour wears off, and this is… for their safety. And it is your duty, as their knight, to keep them safe.

“I’m serious.” You wet your lips, from nerves or something else, you don’t know. “Please. Make it look believable. It—”

Something in their eyes changes, and they don’t need to hear the explanation—just as well, because it wouldn't have been a very good one anyway. And in the next moment, your back hits the wall. Rough hands, too rough for the royalty they’re supposed to be, cradle your jaw, deft fingers sinking into the hair at the nape of your neck. And… oh. They’re kissing you, and they’re really fucking good at it.

It’s for camouflage, you reason. To hide your faces, and make people look away. You remind yourself of that as you wrap your arms around them, tug them as close as you can possibly be to one another… even as they tilt their head and deepen it, and they are so warm against you, and any thought in your mind promptly goes silent beneath the buzz.

Distantly, you register the heavy footfalls of the bandits nearing. They must have split up, because there’s only a few people coming your way.

They’re coming closer. And then they’re here—and their footsteps stutter right where you think they must have noticed you and Kallias… and then they’re running the other way.

But there might be more coming, you think. So you should keep it up just a little longer, and Kallias only breaks away from you just long enough to breathe.

You don’t know how long you stay there, wrapped up in each other, but eventually, and far too soon, you break apart one last time.

Their tawny skin is flushed. Lips are slick and red. They look up at you through half-lidded, glazed eyes, black of their pupils eating up all the colour in their irises. And then their warmth recedes as they step away from you, stretching out their arms.

“I think they’re gone,” they say, far too evenly and far too casually for what you’ve just done.

You blink rapidly to regain your bearings. “You… uh… didn’t even wait to hear my explanation.”

They shrug. “I get what you were trying to do. Didn’t need to waste time.” And then they smirk, and it only worsens the searing heat in your cheeks. “Besides, I’ve been waiting to do th—”

“Be quiet,” you say, but you laugh, you can’t help it. You might be slightly delirious.

They grin. “My lips are sealed.”

As you go back the way you came, you fight off the heat in your chest. Rub your neck so you can rid yourself of the tingle they left behind where they touched you.

… But you can’t. Kallias has made an imprint on you, somehow, and oh gods. You want to kiss them again. And again, and again, and again.

Oh no. Oh no. What have you done.

[the-crimson]

BADS CHAT SHUT THE FUCK UP CHALLENGE

You people are literally the worst

Bad knows he’s role playing bad knows Forever’s role playing

shut the fuck up

I hope the cc’s start banning people for this shit this is unacceptable

[fettuccin-e]

Matt Murdock Fic Recs (Part III)

oh matty. my tortured, angsty, sexy man. why must you have a smile like pure sunshine? why must you have a fat ass? i am simply Not Normal about this man, so more fic recs!! PLEASE comment and reblog these works from these awesome writers, they so deserve it!! (also, if you are an author and would like to be removed from this list, let me know!!)

Part I and Part II of my Matt Murdock recs!

Choice and Chance and Promise by @courtforshort15

>> As much as you've tried, your feelings for Matt won't go away. No matter how must you try to ignore it, you will always love Matthew Murdock, even if he doesn't feel the same. One night, though, may change things. (mutual pining!!! happy ending!!! hooray amazing!!)

90 Days by @multiharlot

>> The day you lost Matthew Murdock was the worst you've ever experienced. The days that follow are painful, the road through your grief agonizing, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. (i read this when i need to cry. it is so. good. HOWEVER, there is some heavy depression and darkness in here, so please stay safe!!)

Reciprocum by @murdocks-devil

>> Matthew Murdock is a giver, through and through. He never takes anything for himself, even though he desperately needs it. So, you've learned how to make sure Matt gets what he needs, without making him think that he's taking too much. (just,, taking care of matty in the sweetest, fluffiest way. so so wonderful)

Shut Up by @skeletonsslut

>> You're trying to get him to stop, trying to pry him away. But Matt's mission is to make you cum as many times as possible, and he's never been one to shy away from a challenge. (porn. pure overstimulation porn. hell yeah.)

S.M.S. by @prettyeyesnof4ce

>> There are some mornings where you wake up early, with Matt still asleep next to you, calm and warm and soft. These mornings are few and far between, so you've learned to bask in them as much as possible. (the title literally stands for sleepy morning sex. PURE SMUT and its so nice)

For as Long as You'd Let Me by @fulmis

>> Matt knows that you deserve better than him, so he keeps his distance, burying his feelings deep inside himself. He should have known that you wouldn't stay single forever, but he didn't expect the sight of you with someone else to hurt so bad. (awwwee he's so tortured and sweet,, i LOVE angst with a happy ending)

"Playing Pool" Ask by @devils-dares

>> A drabble about playing pool with Matt, Foggy, and Karen as Mrs. Murdock. Foggy insists that it's not fair that you get someone with superpowers on your team, you've never been happier. (i ADORE domestic, married!Matty. this is so fucking cute.)

Funeral Liturgy by @redahlia-writes

>> Matthew Murdock is dead, and you have to organize his funeral. But no one has found his body, and you can't help traitorous hope from creeping in, praying that he's still alive. (pain. just,, pain but its so good and ends happy so don't worry!!)

Please Don't Be Mad by @chvoswxtch

>> After Matt lies to you about being with Elektra, you think about ending things. Finally leaving. But Matt always drags you back in, for better or for worse. You're weak to him, and he to you. (UGH the smut is fucking amazing, and the angst?? game-changing. PLEASE be warned though,, the relationship in this one is slightly toxic!!)

Just The Tip, Princess by @saintmurd0ck

>> College has been getting to you both. A game of truth or dare may take the edge off, and maybe bring some feelings to light. (College matty makes me fuckin FERAL are you kidding me?? the smut is simply top tier.)

[canonically47]

i just finished TDPI here are some thoughts:

also let me preface this by saying i was spoiled on quite a few significant stuff - the island is fake, scarlett turns evil, max & scarlett double elimination, amy & sammy double elimination, beardo & leonard first boots, shawn & sky finalists, dave is weird, jasmine & shawn canon couple - so if i don't give any significant opinions on those, that's why

i don't get why everyone hates this season. it's just any other season but, like, shorter? oh no they cut the intro- who cares??

and if you're gonna critique it for fast-paced writing, hi, are you new here? this is the total drama fandom, where we discuss the total drama show.

max was one of the best characters and i CANNOT stop drawing him he is SOOO fun to draw oh my..

on that note, my favorites were, in no particular order: shawn, jasmine, max, ella and topher <3

amy and sammy were the most annoying characters ever, their fighting was entertaining but tiring and repetitive. i liked the brief period in which jasmine and sammy were friends but sammy was kind of annoying after amy's elimination

scarlett was bearable until her villain arc and would've been an amazing villain if the season was a bit longer

#justiceforbeardo

sky was so annoying oh my god. how do people call her one of the sane ones. she is literally SOOO annoying OH MY GOD i hate her ass

on that note, DAVE AND RODNEY, SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONCE CHALLENGE??? rodney reminds me sm of this one boy who wanted to kiss me after we'd known each other for like, two months and he knew nothing about me and still was like "ever since the day i met you i knew you were different" bruh. also dave shut the fuck up and accept rejection challenge level impossible

definitely one of the best seasons for chris. i loved the rhyming at the start and end of every episode, his shenanigans haven't gotten old ever. "like, oh my god, whaaat?" in the last episode had me dying. why is he like this. also he and chef are a married couple as usual

"I'LL BRING MY FACE!" and that's when i knew i loved him.

shawn and jasmine are one of THE tdi couple btw

ella you are so underappreciated i love you i treasure you i hope you are happy forever. my love. my little girl. my sweetie pie

again why was rodney there? ew

shawn i love you so much

shawn has so much t-boy swag

max <3

um what else

SHAWN <333

[larytello]

I don't see enough people (none at all) talking about these specific "the challenge of sleeping when it's way too hot" issues: People with sensory issues and people with physical "I have no control over it" issues.

Let me explain bc this is what's happening to me these last nights and it's making me exhausted all day long simply because I seem to NOT HAVE A SINGLE GOOD NIGHT OF SLEEP as of lately with all this heat. Under "keep reading" because it got a little longer than I expected.

1- I'm not sure if this should be counted as a sensory issue bc neurotypicals around me often invalidate it, but I don't sleep well if I'm not covered. Like, I don't feel safe, my brain just absolutely REFUSES to relax to allow me to rest. I need a cover, a blanket, no matter if it's big/heavy/fluffy or just the thinnest bedsheet ever - I just need something OVER me in order to feel ok enough to sleep comfortably. And this is a big issue™ when it's way too fucking hot at night and you can't cover yourself without melting in a sweat puddle sticking to your bed in a matter of a few minutes.

"Well, if it's so hot, you can turn on the fan or an AC if you got one!" Aaaaaand that's where we get into issue #2

2- Everytime I fall asleep, since forever, both my eyes and my mouth hang open. Really. My eyes stay half open when I sleep and I spend ALL FUCKING NIGHT not blinking as much as I should - they shouldn't even stay open when I sleep at all so there's that too. It's a wonder how I still don't need glasses and my sight is still somewhat perfect tbh. And of course there's nothing I can do about it. I'm asleep for fucks sake.

But then again, what happens when you have a fan or an AC on you while you sleep with eyes and mouth hanging open and you can't consciously keep them fucking shut as they should? They DRY. THEY FUCKING DRY. I wake up with eyes and throat stinging, dry saliva on the corners of my lips actively hurting them because when I move my lips upon waking up, they crack the skin and it HURTS as a bitch. I need to blink for several minutes, sometimes use eyedrops to help with my eyes, they hurt a lot too. And I hate the sensation of those eyedrops. They "taste" bad in my eyes.

So literally, during tropical summer plus global warming and the weather going crazier EVERY PASSING YEAR, every night is a not funny game of choosing if I keep the fan on and sleep with a cover (which makes me still feel like I'm melting even with the fan on me 🥵), or do I sleep without a cover for the temperature to be tolerable but then my body refuses to relax and I can't sleep well one way or another???? Btw I'm poor, my house doesn't have an AC, but I tried to sleep with an AC at my aunt's several times and I couldn't fucking SPEAK the next day. Which is a damn problem when you're a teacher.

And people wonder why I'm exhausted all day long lately. No wonder, I can't sleep well. Even if the fan is not directed to my head, the wind still goes around in the room and the slightest breeze is enough to dry my eyes when I'm not blinking them BECAUSE I AM ASLEEP.

Not to mention I'm currently STILL the sole provider of income to this house of three since 2019 by selling commissions (and I'm a slow artist at that) and only this year I got a "job" as an English teacher but I'm not paid not even a minimum wage because it's not an "official" job, it's more like internship and I get paid a certain amount for each class I teach in the period. It's nowhere near enough to cover the house bills, food and cleaning supplies (and medicine), I'm now panicking thinking about how Summer didn't even REALLY start yet here in Brazil but I'm already dreading the energy bills to come these next months as we're keeping two fans on in the house at almost all times. Also I don't get paid by the end of December and January because there's no classes to teach in this period. And still gotta wait to finally get paid by the end of February after teaching all month long. Three months without money while the Summer fries us and the bills will skyrocket.

Thank you big corporates who didn't give a fucking shit about global warming warnings in the previous decades, thank you global leaderships who keep doing those beautiful meetings with heartfelt speeches about how we need plans and action to slow down and/or cease the impeding doom but never did anything for real. It's always all words and no action. Guess you never thought you'd live to see the consequences of your lack of actions, huh? There's been a SANDSTORM in the Amazon Rainforest and the rivers are drying out killing animals AND PEOPLE and there hasn't been any rain in the RAINFOREST for over a month. The North and Northeast of South America are dying so hot it's been and it just keeps getting hotter. Two days straight Brasil beats its own record of energy consumption. Congratulations, really, you done fantastically fucked up I can't even think of words to describe it.

I've been awake for two hours and half and my eyes are still stinging.

[autisticcassandracain]

3, 7 & 13 seem juicy

3 is answered!

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

JASON FUCKING TODD

fuck this guy but fuck his fans more. Some Jason fans are like, reasonable and just think he's an interesting character. I disagree but that's mostly because I think we just don't need any more characters challenging Batman's no kill rule specifically, I just think they're boring. Jason has a bit of a leg up in that he does have interesting family Baggage, but ultimately his writing (at least preboot) was so incredibly inconsistent that nothing outside of what they did in Under The Red Hood really came of it. I don't know much about post-flashpoint Jason but frankly he seems to have gotten all unique attributes sucked out of him over the years so he's not all that appealing to me there either. That said I really don't necessarily hate Jason in canon, I mostly just find him boring.

That said the subsection of Jason fans who think he's Right, Actually single-handedly made him my least favourite comic book character outside of the Joker. It's positively infuriating to see a bunch of people argue that Jason's completely nonsensical 'ideology' is Right, Actually, with the justification that yeah, we SHOULD totally just kill criminals! Not that kind, no, only like, the Really Bad Ones, like rapists, you know? And Bad Drug Dealers. How do we filter the Really Bad Criminals from the Poor Misunderstood Criminals? By vibes or something idk their arguments usually don't get that far because they're reactionary and don't think beyond their base instinct of 'I Want Bad Person Dead'. Also, 'Batman SHOULD kill the Joker he's just that bad!' a) the Joker's not gonna stay dead, death is about as effective as fucking Arkham, there's no point, and b) the Joker is not materially worse than most other supervillains. Most other supervillains have done shit that's on par with the Joker. Yes, the Joker is often portrayed as Uniquely Bad, but this is mostly a combination of narrative framing and Personal Baggage Batman has towards him than anything objective. If Batman kills the Joker there's literally no reason for him not to kill, say, Zsasz. And a Batman who kills freely is, frankly, a boring fucking character, because it does away with almost all the idealism and, yes, optimism that makes his character compelling. Shut up forever.

Anyway Jason Todd was wrong on every possible level, and you're all annoying and I hate your fave now.

13. worst blorboficiation

Honestly I'm not sure what 'blorbofication' means, I'm assuming it's like, fanon-ifying/woobifying? This is a bit difficult to answer tbh bc I tend to get invested in characters that are less popular in fandom (this is deliberate btw), so while there's plenty of characters who had all their interesting traits sucked out in the name of making them Blorbo From My Tropes, MY faves usually get stuck getting all their character traits sucked out due to a terminal case of fandom not giving a shit about them. That said if I can nominate Stephcass as a duo, Stephcass. They have an incredibly interesting, multi-dimensional dynamic, or at least they HAD until the post-flashpoint continuity was allowed to actually use them and realized that queerbaiting was lucrative. Not that fandom was less boring about them before then but at least it wasn't actually canon. Anyway in fandom they're annoying as fuck bc everyone is dead scared to give their f/f ships any conflict at all and it makes me want to chew drywall. Fluffy fics are fine the one (1) stephcass thing I wrote was fluff too so like, stones, glass houses, I know, but would it seriously kill people to stop reducing them to the Sunny One/Stoic One combo.

Oh wait, also Damian. He Would Not Fucking Say That.