Inspired by this post because I learned is mostly canon that the reason all of that is called that stuff is because Dick named them when he was 8 and that is fudging precious.
Bruce: Okay, so what do you want to name the car?
Dick (8 at the time): Hm... You are a bat and you drive the car in your batsuit. Batmobile!
Bruce (blinking but not sure how to respond): We'll circle back, what should you call this new weapon I made?
Bruce holds up a bat shaped boomarang.
Bruce: It's a boomerang which means it will come back to me-
Dick (throwing his arms up eagerly): Batarang!
Bruce: Tsk... Okay.
Dick: You like them?
Bruce: I'm... Let's go back to that too. What would you call my hideout. It's in a cave, but calling it a cave feels boring to say. What would you, the 8 year old with an expanded imagination call this?
Dick: Hm ... Hm...
Dick walks around looking around the cave while tapping his chin.
Dick: I got it! The Batcave!
Bruce: ...Are you only naming them bat and then what it is?!
Dick (swaying on his feet with a smile): No.
Bruce: I can tell when you're lying.
Dick: Maybe.
Bruce: I feel like that will ruin the entire intimidation aspect of my hero persona. I- Why are you making that face?
Dick sniffles holding his down and about (pretending) to cry.
Dick: But you're... Batman... I wanted it to work with that, because I love you so much. I'm sorry.
Dick sobs, covering his eyes.
Bruce (straighting and feeling guilty): No wait, wait, don't cry. Do not cry, I'll use the names okay? All of them.
Dick: Including Batarang?
Bruce: If you could just-
Dick goes back to sobbing, keeping his eyes covered.
Bruce (sighing in defeat): Batarang it is.
Dick ends his act and cheers.
Dick: Yes! Batcave! Wooo! Woo- hoo!
Dick runs around the newly named Batcave as Bruce rubs his forehead exhausted. Alfred enters the cave with a tray that had a coffee cup on it.
Alfred: You caved didn't you?
Bruce: Don't- Don't say cave right now.
Dick: Bruce! If we get a plane we can call it the Batwing!
Bruce (resolute): Okay that one isn't that bad.
....
Years later when Damian is around.
Damian: Why is everything just Bat and then the item?
Bruce: Dick named everything and it grew on me. He's pretty creative with names isn't he?
Damian shakes his head with his arms crossed.
Damian: I want to change the names again!
Bruce: First child got naming rights. You can start a contingency plan on someone though.
Damian: You're lucky I like doing that.
Damian leaves the cave. Bruce turns to his computer, but notice Dick staring at him teary eyed.
Bruce: What?
Dick: You still like my names?
Bruce (sighing): Yes.
Dick: I love you dad!
He hugs his father. Bruce pats him on the back with a small smile.
Bruce: Oh good Lord. I love you too.
63 notes
·
View notes
THIS GOT SUPER LONG WHOOPS
I can't stop thinking about this post (TL;DR it is about how Kim's life is almost as sad as Harry's due to how he has lived his entire life as horribly repressed, not allowing himself the freedom of his own silliness which is why he is such a good pairing for Harry, since they are both silly) and I started thinking about thoughts
specifically how this knowledge would fit into a swap AU
like a lot of other people here, I really like a swap AU and I think it allows for a fun way to flip each character on its head and examine a Harry who is more cleaned up vs a Kim who is more of a disaster, and how Harry would fit taking a more patient role to a Kim that lost his memory. But! A problem I have with a lot of swap AU's is that Kim just. . . would never be allowed to be a disaster like Harry is.
If Kim was like Harry, who was brilliant and highly capable and basically the perfect detective except for substance abuse problems, explosive personality, narcissistic traits (looking at you, Superstar), and overall impossible to control, he would get fired. He wouldn't be given 500 chances like Harry (presumably) has. So in his swap AU, Kim is still his highly controlled self and Harry is slightly less of a disaster. Enough so that he doesn't drink himself to amnesia at the start of the case, but he is still a mess dealing with all his stuff.
So how did Kim lose his memory? Probably a car accident. Had to get dragged out of his precious Kineema and its completely totaled, he was hold up at the Whirling-In-Rags as he healed and woke up with just. No memory.
And no reason to repress anything anymore.
Some scenes:
Harry arrived at the crime scene days late because he was avoiding work to get drunk, which is also why Jean Vic isn't with him either because he's sick of babysitting him so when he gets to the Whirling and hears that the other officer hasn't been picking up the slack and instead is horribly injured he's like. Fuck!
Kim doesn't remember shit. Not about him, not about the world, but after some time wandering behind Harry all dazed and confused he finally sees Harry's car and GASPS and rushes over. He examines this thing top to bottom and spouts off trivia facts a mile a minute at Harry, who is just standing there like 'I thought this guy had brain damage' but he listens. So patiently.
He eventually does have to stop him though. He says its for the case, but it's really when Kim starts looking at the interior and he doesn't want him to see the mess in there. Or how badly he's taking care of the car.
Harry isn't sure why he's suddenly so insecure about being seen as messy in front of his guy. Whatever.
During the field autopsy Harry, who is horribly hungover, still throws up. Kim still comforts him by rubbing his back, probably went ahead and pull his hair away from Harry's face, and then pats around his pockets for the handkerchief.
Kim gets an inkling of a feeling that he's missing something (his notebook, though he doesn't know that yet) but Harry doesn't notice what is going on in Kim's head yet, when he probably normally would, because his highly highly repressed bi-sexuality is rearing his head because there is this guy just casually touching him lovingly and he can't think.
(Kim probably also lost his gun and badge, it fell out of his jacket when he was being dragged from the car, but Harry told him that in their first conversation. He wouldn't know that Kim is also missing a notebook)
Kim is also putting in all his effort into the field autopsy. He's like, I'm a cop? Okay, let's solve this!
When Harry suggests that Kim get on his shoulders to get the hanged man down he's like, hmm you look strong enough to carry me alright let's try that, and Harry barely has time to register that this guy called him STRONG LOOKING before Kim is climbing on him and he has to try and appear COMPLETLY 100% STRAIGHT.
He succeeds, but mostly because Kim is too focused on getting the corpse down. If he looked at Harry's face it would be very obvious.
But the actual autopsy = Kim probably approaches it mostly fearless. And he's trying to be really observant to make up for his eyesight not being all that great, and he's probably talking out loud about everything since he can't write it down. But it would still be Harry who noticed the bullet. Kim probably compliments Harry on his ability to see it and, again, Harry loses it a little bit.
Kim's interactions with Cuno and Cunoesse helps him unpack a few sense memories of going undercover with juvenile delinquents and he thinks the best way to talk to them is to relate to them. Somehow. All he can remember his trivia facts about Pinball and the best strategies to get a high school, and in between his lecture on it he sometimes breaks into rants about how Pinball sucks actually, and he hates it, and it makes him feel bad for reasons he doesn't know.
Harry tries to make Kim seem less weird by throwing in facts about Contact Mike.
More than anything it just baffles Cuno and Cunoesse.
When Kim hears that "Welcome to Revachol" for the first time he doesn't remember that its racist, but he does know how it makes him feel, so he's instantly pissed off. Harry, who is overall a good guy but has absolutely said racist stuff while drunk and probably the day before, goes off as well and stands up to the racist so Kim doesn't do something WORSE and get in trouble. It's not that Harry is socially aware enough that has a white guy he can get away with more stuff, he wants Kim to like him.
You know how at the end of day briefing in the game has Harry calling Kim so cool, and it feels like that is the moment where Kim is really endured to Harry? In this AU, Kim will say something like hey. We should hang out once the case is over. And Harry, who has a whole thing about feeling like he's terrible and horribly unlikeable and just wants someone to see him as a mess worthy of their time rather than just a fucked up person, finally admits to himself that he cannot repress this anymore and he might have a crush on this super cool weirdo.
(that doesn't mean Harry feels any better about himself, really. He's now just convinced that he has to Fix Himself Completely overnight so that he can actually help this guy regain his memories.)
(OH ACTUALLY! No, Harry doesn't want to help Kim regain his memories. He's not going to actively try and stop it if it happens, but he will secretly hope that he never remembers the world in case they met while Harry was blackout drunk and Kim won't like him anymore.)
A scene where Kim fiddles with Harry's radio and it starts playing disco. He can't help but let out an audible "ew." before switching it to Speedfreaks. Harry is offended to his CORE and they have a playful but still loud/heated argument about music.
THE BOARD GAME SCENE! Harry still gets Suzerainty and when he starts popping out the cardboard pieces Kim just SNATCHES it out of his hands. No apology. And he's having such an obvious blast just poking out the pieces and then taking out every part of the board game so he can see all the components (classic autism moment) that Harry impulsively (classic ADHD moment) buys multiple more board games just to give Kim more fun little pieces to poke out. And Kim loves it, and Harry thinks "I'm winning at making friends. I'm going to win a prize at making friends and the prize will be a friend :)"
They do eventually find Kim's badge and gun and Harry is very happy at that, but Kim is still like. Hmm. Something is missing.
When he finds his notebook he's just. SO HAPPY! He thinks its like being reunited with a friend. Probably hugs it/clutches it tight to his chest. But when he opens it he's like "god damn my handwriting is awful."
Harry asks to read it, mostly joking around, fully ready to steal it when Kim isn't looking, except Kim just. Hands it over. And doesn't stop Harry from reading it. And of course Harry does.
Kim doesn't really KNOW about homophobia so he probably just. Says gay shit all the time. And Harry can't deal with it. The scene with the smoker on the balcony is still really funny but it's less of Harry having a bi-panic moment (he still has elements of it though) but when Kim starts flirting back in earnest Harry is just. Jealous out of his mind. Puts a stop to it ASAP he's like "OKAY WE WILL TALK TO YOU LATER. ACTUALLY ONLY I WILL TALK TO YOU LATER. KIM LET'S GO!"
When Jean comes into the picture and starts arguing with/berating Harry, he's about ready to turn it into an all out brawl right there in the cafeteria, but Kim is like "HEY! You ass! He's been very helpful this whole time! Just because he's a drunk and he smells bad doesn't mean shit!"
Harry has heart eyes.
The tribunal has the injuries reversed, Kim gets shot and Harry gets the concussion and needs to keep Kim alive. Harry, who has been trying to sober up during the case for Kim's sake, takes speed to allow him to stay up to monitor Kim's health and as soon as Kim wakes up he's like "great! fantastic!" and passes the fuck out.
The whole thing with the Phasmid is the first time where Harry nerds out over something and not Kim. And Kim listens. And Harry probably cries because like, it's something he's allowed to like that isn't related to WORK and someone actually cares about what he is like when he isn't DETECTING and it helps him feel like a person rather than the Superstar Cop.
(Right after his rant on cryptids, Kim goes on a tangent about his cool camera and tells Harry every little thing about it and they just. Nerd out together).
30 notes
·
View notes
Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!
You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!
You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!
You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!
Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!
Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!
So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.
Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!
You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.
Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!
Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.
Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.
Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*
Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...
Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.
Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.
Better not get confident.
Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)
Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people
- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties
- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations
- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you
- you might start loving the effect you have on a room
- you might enjoy conversations more
- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently
- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations
- you might stop apologizing so much.
- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.
Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!
Why, it would be carnage!!
In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!
If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:
- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.
- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.
- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.
- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.
You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.
So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.
13 notes
·
View notes
pairing: paige bueckers x fem! reader
synopsis: you’re jealous and paige blows your back out to remind you she loves you.
warning (s): literally the nastiest thing I’ve wrote — smut, strap, pussy eating, finger sucking, choking, squirting, cervix play, dacryphilia, public stuff a little, nipple sucking, degrading, spitting, humping, drunk sex, Paige literally destroys you.
word count: 3k.
author note: been havin some terrible writers block so might be last post for a lil while — unedited, this sex is just so raw nd nasty I’m sorry bro I cannot pls read at own risk
You found yourself at the draft afterparty, separated from Paige, your girlfriend, but you hardly noticed as you knocked back drinks one after another. Time slipped away as you chatted with your two closest friends, Mrs. Griffin and Mrs. Arnold, jokingly referring to yourselves as future NBA wives, with you as Mrs. Bueckers in jest.
As the drinks flowed, tensions rose. You were on your fourth shot in fifteen minutes when Aubrey's girlfriend remarked, "You know, I understand why you're so possessive, girl. If I were dating Paige, I'd be on edge too. She's quite the ladies-man." In your interpretation, her comment suggested that if she were in your shoes dating Paige, she wouldn't let Paige out of her sight. You had full trust in your girlfriend, without a doubt, but it was other girls you didn't trust. Knowing Paige's attractiveness and the constant flirtation she encountered throughout her life, you understood she might not always notice when a bitch wanted to fuck, leaving an opportunity for other girls to take advantage of the situation. Spurred on by the alcohol, you staggered to your feet and clumsily balanced on the chair you had just vacated. "Where is she?" you slurred.
"Over there," Aubrey's girlfriend pointed.
You spun back around, irritation evident on your face. "Oh, hell no," you spat, contemplating. "Should I go? Imma go!"
"Don't do it, girl!" your friends called out, but it was too late. Determined, you marched over to Paige, who was seated on the couch beside another girl, chatting and laughing, the girl's hand casually resting on her shoulder as she spoke.
There was absolutely no reason for her hand to be on your girlfriend. You were gonna crash-out.
"Paigeyyy!" you exclaimed, drawing most eyes in the party to you. "What... are you... doingg, babe?"
Paige smiled at you and exchanged words with the girl beside her, pointing in your direction. However, as you approached, her smile faltered, turning forced. You hovered over your girlfriend's form, pouting down at her. "Fix your face," she murmured softly as her hands found yours, holding them tightly. Your eyes darted towards the company Paige was keeping, silently hoping that after her subtle request to fix your expression went unheeded, she'd catch the hint as you focused on the source of your discomfort. "O-uhh, babe, this is Holly. She's my high school coach's daughter," Paige explained.
You smirked, subtly digging at her. "You're breaking a cardinal rule, Paige. Didn't they say the coach's daughter was off-limits?"
Holly's response hit a nerve, even more so if you were sober. "Well, that was back in the day," she said, still grinning politely.
You smiled, amplifying yours to mimic hers as you sat down. Not in-between them, however. You swiftly settled into Paige's lap, feeling her hands involuntarily wrapping around your waist, since she was still holding your hands before you sat. "So it's changed now, Holly? You're one for bending the rules?" you pressed. "When a boundary isn't visible, breaking it becomes effortless," she smoothly retorted, a subtle dig that undoubtedly rankled you, adding fuel to the fire of your annoyance. "Well, Holly, I'm right fucking here," you asserted firmly, the intensity of your words conveying both defiance and a challenge to her audacious remark. "Safe you made it in time. It was like I had a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode," Holly remarked, subtly implying that any further delay might have jeopardized your relationship.
Before you could speak, Paige intervened, diffusing the tension as she spoke up, "So, guys. Who can forget that buzzer-beater from last year's championship?" As Holly began to yap, you couldn't help but stir in Paige's lap. Your girlfriend always looked majestic, but especially now, under the spell of alcohol. You rocked your hips forward, feeling the stirrings of arousal. You were now horny. And while tipsy and horny, if there was one thing you didn't care to respect was the conversation. So, while Paige was mid-sentence, you turned and began to make out with her, your desire overriding any concern for the topic at hand. Paige kissed back at first, but with your chest pressed against her, she couldn't resist allowing a hand to brush against it, stroking your hardened nipples in the process. When she noticed your arousal, she pulled away slightly and whispered sensually, "We'll continue this later," before unashamedly turning back to Holly, seamlessly returning to the conversation.
Later? You were a wreck. If somebody who wasn't already in the loop with all the others had been at the party, they'd surely be filming this, and you'd be looking insane. Your drunken antics drew a bemused smile from Paige as you pressed your lips to her jaw while she tried to speak, your warm breath giving her chills. She gently tried to steer your body away, to steady your hips, but you had other plans.
It was as if you had forgotten you weren't in the privacy of your own home as your hand moved to your own chest, intending to let your tits spill from your top before Paige stopped you, concealing your intent with a quick, "Wardrobe malfunction?"
At her words, you remembered she had lips, and kissed them before whispering, "Want them off," into her ear, "Want your mouth on them." Her mouth watered as her fingers helped you fix said wardrobe malfunction, giving her an excuse to marvel at your hardened nipples through your dress, begging to be sucked. With a playful glint in her eye, Paige allowed herself to be swept away by the moment, ghosting her hands over them and eliciting a hushed whine from your lips. Reveling in the sensation of your bodies pressing together, the allure of the party gradually faded. Soon, she found herself leading you home, your fingers intertwined as you stumbled through the door, eager to continue the intimacy in the privacy of your own space. Once inside, the air crackled with electricity as Paige pulled you close, her lips finding yours in a heated kiss. Your hands roamed eagerly over each other's bodies, seeking out every inch of exposed skin with fervent desire. "You know, I'm starting to hate Holly," you muttered against Paige's lips, jealousy prominent in your tone.
Paige leaned in, pleased, as she whispered, "Well, jealousy looks sexy on you, babe."
Clothes were discarded in a frenzy of lust, and Paige found herself above you on the bed with her lips trailing a path of wet kisses down your neck and chest. With tender care, she teased your hardened nipples, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from your lips.
Her hand trailed lower, down the curve of your stomach, before finally finding its destination between your thighs. With gentle strokes, she teased your clit, reveling in the slick wetness that greeted her touch. She brought her fingers to her lips, sucking them clean with a sinful groan before plunging them back into your eager cunt.
Deftly, Paige slipped a finger inside you, marveling at the way you clenched around her in response. But she wasn't content to simply watch from the sidelines. Leaning down, she captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue dancing with yours as she devoured you whole.
With hunger in her actions, touch, and eyes, she descended lower, trailing kisses along your thighs before finally finding her destination.
With a flick of her tongue, she tasted your essence, savoring the sweet nectar that flowed from your core. With each stroke of her tongue, she brought you closer to the edge, her fingers working in perfect harmony to push you over.
"More?" she asked, her voice breathy and gravelly, and you nodded eagerly from above her. "Please," you whispered, breaths catching in your throat.
She smirked up at you. "Fuck, you're a slut." she moaned, pupils dilated as she arched her back, pressing her mouth flush against your pussy, closer, for a more precise to-the-clit angle.
When you nod, "I am, mommy," you watch hazily as she indulges in you, her tongue tracing a slow, tantalizing path from your clit down to your folds repetitively. Up and down, up and down, up and down.
Your body trembling with pleasure, Paige knew that she had finally proven herself to you. She was the only one who could satisfy your deepest desires. She wanted to be the only one. For her to eat you like this, so unapologetically, it'd stole all those seeds of doubt from your mind that Holly had planted.
"Wanna eat this pussy every day," she speaks tightly against your pussy, so deep in your folds, and your eyebrows furrow at the slight pinch of her teeth against your clit. But she swiftly distracts you by recycling the saliva and wetness on her lips, spitting onto you, further soaking your already dripping cunt.
The feeling of being soaked, then getting lapped up like a dog drinking water, was making your head spin. You grabbed your tits, squeezing them like your own personal stress balls, and the sight caused Paige to moan. "Play with them like that, ma, fuck." she groaned, her fingers pumping into you ridiculously nice, the perfect tempo to match her tongue work.
Your toes curled. "M' gonna—"
She nodded like, "I know," and watched as your body writhed, surrendering to the pleasure.
"Fuck, Paige, please don't stop. You're amazing, oh shit," you moaned.
She didn't. Not for a second did she quit eating you like her life depended on it, and you cried out in pleasure until the moment you released all over her face and fingers, painting her in your cum.
Your stomach contracted as she kept fucking her fingers inside you, pushing it all out.
Not even a second later, she had turned you over on your stomach and whispered in your ear, "Looks like I need to show you your place again, don't I?"
It might have been the alcohol in your system, but you swore you had never been this horny for anything or anybody before. There you were, sprawled out on Paige's bed, your legs spread apart with her in between them, to your utter dismay, the blonde doing absolutely nothing. You felt like you were about to burst as you nodded your head vigorously, turning back over to give her your puppy eyes. "Want it, baby," you whispered urgently.
She pressed herself flush into your body, her tongue eagerly exploring your wet lips, probing its way into your mouth as you whimpered desperately.
Allowing you to speak, her tongue trailed up your neck, to your breasts, and as she sucked your tits gently, you whined. "Wanted this all night."
"Please..." you pleaded, voice thick with need, "Please, Paige, don't make me wait any longer," begging for what you knew was merely inches away from your pussy, tucked away. Her finger, previously servicing you, found its way into your mouth, and she pushed the long digit into the warmth repeatedly, teasingly fucking your throat as you eagerly sucked and moaned around it, savoring the taste of your own arousal.
It was so hard not to give in when you looked this way—just so fucked out and slutty, when nothing had even really happened yet.
Breaking face, she pressed her lips against yours, and your tongues danced together in a manner that made you think Paige was genuinely trying to receive and keep your taste, eat you alive.
By each passing moment, your bodies found themselves closer than before, deepening the connection between you involuntarily.
It was half-intimate and half-raw, and it felt all the way good. Way too good. When you finally felt the thick, hard piece of plastic against your pussy, you sighed into the kiss, tilting your head back as Paige began to grind it against you.
Her hand, previously holding your thigh and pressing you into the mattress, trailed down your body with deliberate intent, settling at your hip. You tried to squirm away from the feeling below you both, but she effortlessly held you there, a showcase of her immense strength that only turned you on even harder.
She continued to rut her hips against you relentlessly, dragging the member up and down repeatedly with slow, sharp thrusts of her talented hips. She groaned, the dildo on the other end vibrating, squeezing and fucking sequencly against her wet, warm, tight walls.
"Feel that?" she murmured, her voice husky with desire. "You like it when I fuck you like this, don't you?" It was all euphoria—you were too spent to reply, but you managed to murmur, "Inside,"
Paige held the base of it with her hand, groaning your name as she watched your pussy slowly swallow it all in with her piercing blue eyes.
"Look how that just stretched you out, ma, feel it," she moaned, pumping into you so hard your entire body rocked, and causing the dildo to slide past her G-spot precisely, coaxing a throaty breath from her.
All you wanted was to please her. It meant good for you in the end. She was in awe watching your incredibly tight cunt be stretched that wide, so you complied, reaching your hand down and feeling it with shaky hands.
"Fuck," you gasped, "So big, baby, god." She smirked down at you. "Play with your clit, baby, let me watch you." and like a puppet, your hand falls to between your legs, rubbing yourself hastily.
You're still sensitive from your last orgasm, but you keep going, the deepness of Paige's cock feeling like a punch and stab to your guts each time she plows down. But the pressure inside you and the one you delicately place upon your clit feel so, so good that despite the overcapacity, you find your other hand coming to her back, then to her ass, squeezing it as you plead, "Don't stop!"
You're crying now, tears staining your cheeks, and all it takes is for Paige to really look at your face, seeing how hard you're working for her right now before the tension begins to mount. She tries to hold out, but everywhere she tries to look makes it worse. Her head dips low to avoid your face, and you're sluttily playing with your clit. At your mid-section, your tits are bouncing in her face. And she knows if she looks at you one more time, it's over. Her body falters, and she lays on you as she fucks into you so carefree of anything in the world.
You cry out whinily as you feel her deeper, the tip placing kisses to your cervix, and her weight on your lower stomach pressing the bulge the strap makes DEEP.
"So good," you whimpered, clenching around her with each drag of her stroke against the depths of your body. "Take me, Paige, take all of me."
She loses it at that, growling out, "Open your mouth, sexy," and you stick your tongue out to meet a hot, thick glob of spit into it.
Without needing to be told, you swallow, knowing it's what she wants. Her impending orgasm is evident as she speaks, her voice filled with urgency. "Fuck, bae, I'm gonna cum. You gonna—" she waivers with a grunt, then continues, "you gonna let me cum in you?"
Your arousal allows her to penetrate you insanely deep, even though she shouldn't be able to on a regular, non-drunk sex having day.
"Yeah," you moan, your body ablaze with desire, "fill me up."
The room falls silent, save for the embarrassing squelching sounds of your cunt. The sounds your pussy makes are just embarrassing. Like pure water being swished, and you grip her dick so tightly it burns momentarily when her stroke falters back, but it meets your guts again within no time, and all feels way too good again.
Your pussy's grip on her tightens, your body craving every thrust she delivers. Paige's hand tightens around your neck, restricting your airflow as she fucks the life out of you.
She is genuinely killing you. Stabs inside your cunt, hand around your neck, toned body weighing down on you — petite below her.
She's relentless, her motions driving the familiar knot in your stomach to form, but this time, with a little something different about it that you just can't place your finger on.
You want to be concerned on why your pre-orgasm phase feels this way, but with each thrust, you can't help but surrender further into the pleasure, neverminding it.
As your climax approaches, you're overwhelmed. Your eyes shut tightly, your world consumed by white light. When you feel it coming, you want to scream, but you can't.
Before you know it, your body is involuntarily pushing, and pushing, and when the intensity stops, blending into an orgasm, you realize you've just squirted all over Paige.
She's realized long before you, apparently, because she's left cumming herself with moans and exclamations of, "Aw, fuck, baby, look at that."
You guys have no time to tell each other you're cumming; it's just wet, hot, and heavy, both of your releases coating the sheets and the both of you too.
Paige collapses on you, and now you really can't breathe, so you have to use your remaining energy the squirt took to push her off, the strap exiting you with the most empty feeling ever. Your hand, still on your clit, feels all the cum, and you exhale sharply, shocked.
Both of your bodies are drenched, covered in sweat.
And as you catch your breath, Paige rolls onto her side, looking at you with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness in her eyes. "Is that attitude gone?" she asks, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
You meet her gaze, a mischievous glint in your eye. "If I say no, will you fuck me like that again?" you retort, a hint of a smirk playing on your lips.
Paige chuckles, reaching out to pull you close to her. "Guess you'll just have to find out," she replies, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss.
When you guys draw back, you're panting as you confess, "I can't believe I just... squirted."
Paige raises an eyebrow, offended. "I can. You doubtin' me?"
You've essentially been fucked back into sobriety and know not to test her. "Absolutely not," you assure her, and she relaxes at that. "You're gonna be hella sore tomorrow morning," she teases, "I literally went swimming in that pussy, deadass."
You smack her gently. "Stoppp," you protest.
She grins. "Ion feel bad tho. Maybe next time you get an attitude, you'll think about how dumb I just fucked you."
And Paige Bueckers is absolutely fucking right.
You will. Attitude or not.
MASTERLIST
A/N: might be some errors in posting and stuff!! i'll correct it later i'm rly tired now lol.
2K notes
·
View notes