#IT WILL NOT GET BETTER THAN THAT THIS SEASON I FEAR

[bucketbueckers]

TERRITORIAL

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth 👅 (w decent plot - cmon, we know how this goes by now) jealous!p, slight public sex & exhibitionism(?), fingering (r!receiving), packing (🌚), strap (r!receiving), oral (p!receiving), lap dances, spitting, actual warning for men

wc: 8.0k

synopsis: Paige knew what she was signing up for when she asked you, a revered dancer for Dallas’s most prolific strip club, to be her girlfriend, but sometimes she just can’t help getting jealous. Especially when someone thinks they can touch what’s not theirs.

notes: yes the title is from the kali uchis song. if there's any of my fics i recommend listening to the titular song for, this is def one!!! based on this req from 🫦 anon, hoping i did this justice for you and thank you sm for sending this in 🙏 i fear this might be the last fic for a minute - im not dying but i do have to lock in on classes 👎 not proofread but as always though i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

You and Paige weren’t a very…conventional couple by any means. You shouldn’t work well together, but you do.

You’re a stripper – although you prefer the term exotic dancer now, mostly since you’d put an end to some of the services you used to offer – for one of Dallas’s most high profile clubs, Divinity. A corny name that served an even hornier clientele of Dallas’s richest playboys, sleazes, and their countless athletes. You weren’t complaining, though. It’s putting you through college, you’re well on your way to paying off your mom’s house, and you were fortunate enough to have understanding employers who were aware of the ramifications of their business. When you told them that you’d prefer not to perform lap dances or other private shows out of respect for your relationship, they’d readily agreed, a fact you were more than appreciative of.

Paige is one of Dallas’s up-and-coming stars, a bright-eyed, attractive, alluring athlete with the world at her disposal. She was shockingly grounded despite that, humble where you would have expected an arrogant jerk. For all intents and purposes, she wasn’t anything you were preparing yourself for, but you don’t think you’d ever be so thankful to be so surprised.

The two of you have been together for nearly a year, having met during a preseason match during her rookie season. While she was diving for a loose ball near the courtside seats, she ended up at your feet and spilled your drink onto the court. Paige was incredibly apologetic, hardly registering the fact she’d been awarded free throws for the foul, more focused on wiping the water off of your Dunks. After standing and staring at your face for a solid few seconds, as if wondering how you were real and in front of her, she offered to buy you a drink, but the refs were growing impatient and she was out of time.

That didn’t stop her from tracking you down after the game, though. Nor did it stop her from shaking your hand with an enraptured, charismatic little smile, asking for your name and when you’d be free like you’d already accepted her date offer. When you teased her for that, her smile just grew before she pointed out, “Well, you waited for me to come find you. Figured you were at least a little interested.”

In fairness, she was correct. You were interested, not because she was Paige Bueckers or some beginning of a superstar athlete, but because of her humility and how she sank to her knees in front of a sold out arena to dab the water off of your shoes with the hem of her jersey. That meant something to you. So you go out, enjoy the drinks and the company, and you see her again. Then again after that.

Before you could let your relationship grow out of hand, you knew you had to sit her down and explain your profession. You were really into her, but you could see how it could be a dealbreaker for a lot of people, especially since Paige was a public figure. She took it a lot better than you’d been expecting, which led to a lengthy conversation about everything under the sun. She asked if you enjoyed doing it – you did, you were just a dancer at heart and you would be the first to admit that dancing has helped you come out of your shell. 

In turn, you asked her if being with you would make things difficult for her. She was reasonably confused, then almost offended at the idea, before ensuring you that her private life was just that – private. Obviously, being the celebrity athlete she is, it would be near impossible to promise that the two of you could keep things that lowkey, but she was honest and told you upfront that she was falling for you and promised that if push came to shove, the two of you would work through it.

That was the heart of the conversation. Paige asked you to be her girlfriend a week later. It was after a private, rooftop dinner and movie in the fading sunlight of the Dallas summer. You’d said yes, of course, because you were falling hard for her, too. The officiality of your relationship sparked a new conversation regarding boundaries. You agreed on keeping your relationship private, mostly for your benefit – Paige had explained that she could handle the heat on her end, but recognized she had some…hardcore fans, and didn’t want them showing up to your workplace and harassing you.

You told her you’d talk to your employers about dancing only and discontinuing the private shows that people would pay for. It was for both yours and Paige’s peace of mind – you didn’t feel comfortable being so close to other people and performing intimate acts, even if it was your job. It wasn’t necessary and that was a boundary you were willing to enforce because you liked Paige, saw a future with her, and wanted to ensure there was no miscommunication about anything in your relationship. Paige, to her credit, had seemed guilty, making sure to repeatedly emphasize that you didn’t need to change your life or endanger your job for her. You just rolled your eyes, kissed her, and reminded her that you care a whole lot more about her than whether or not old, sleazy men get their rocks off. She’d probably never admit it, but she was relieved that you took that boundary so seriously.

Paige wasn’t known to be an incredibly jealous person. Communication, despite how uncomfortable it could be, was the very foundation of your relationship. The two of you were so secure with one another and any of her jealousy could be derived from a deep-rooted possessiveness.

It’s not the uncomfortable kind where she controls your every move or makes decisions for you – you’d had an ex or two who were like that and you were not keen on repeating that. It was more of a mutual agreement – you were hers, she was yours, and honestly, she was probably developing a bit of a complex about it; you’d perform for a crowd full of people who’d give anything to be with you, but it was her you’d go home to every night. In essence, she just didn’t like it when people got a little too close to what wasn’t theirs.

You and Paige weren’t a conventional couple. But you were a healthy one. You communicated, you had a whole lot of love for each other, and you worked. Despite that, you can’t always control how you feel, and sometimes, Paige just can’t help being jealous.

It was a Friday night at the club and it was already packed wall to wall with patrons, mostly your regulars, but there were also some new faces – investors, foreign athletes, various rookies for the hometown teams. It was a typical show-out, so you weren’t expecting much of it, not until one of your coworkers walks into the dressing room while you’re applying a thin layer of gloss to your lips.

“Never in a million years will you guess who just walked in,” Asha, better known by her stage name Vixen, states in lieu of a greeting. You glance at her through the mirror, your brows raising slightly. She’s dressed to the nines, her make-up gorgeous, and she smoothes out her hair while she waits for your answer.

“Hello, Asha,” you deadpan. “Yes, I’ve had a good day, thanks for asking.”

“Girl!” Asha kisses her teeth while she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re so high maintenance.”

You allow yourself a ghost of a grin, capping your gloss and spinning in your chair to face her. “Okay, who? Was it another rapper? Athletes? Married man?”

“Depends on your definition of rapper; yes, they’re all athletes; and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one or two people in there who are married, but they’re not men,” Asha responds.

You hum. “Well, who are we to yuck their yum?”

Asha huffs, annoyed at the fact that you’re not really reacting, before finally saying, “It’s the Wings, girl. As in the WNBA team. As in First Team All-Studs. I’m either walking out of here tonight with hundreds in my purse or a wife. Shit, maybe Arike’s looking for a third.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. That morning, before you and Paige went your separate ways – you to the gym and Paige to practice, she’d told you that they’d be out on the town tonight to celebrate some of their rookies, although you thought that would include the bar and some drinks, not a strip club. Knowing Paige, bringing her team to your club wouldn’t have been her first choice, so you figure someone else on her team had the bright idea. You weren’t upset, mostly amused since Paige tends to react to the club in the same way she does while walking through the lingerie section in Victoria’s Secret store – with a lot of dramatic horror like she’s not allowed to look at anyone that’s not you.

You like to joke you have her pretty house-trained, but you find it more endearing than anything else, and you trust your girlfriend.

“I’m sure Arike is very happy in her current relationship,” you say apologetically, knowing first hand that she is. You’d been to their place for dinner many times and Arike practically worships the ground Lala walks on.

“Let me dream,” Asha bemoans. Then, a sly grin appears on her face, and she slides a little closer to you, almost conspiratorially. “You plottin’ on any of them? I think I saw Paige Bueckers out there.”

You smile knowingly, trying not to laugh at Asha’s ignorance – a testament to how quiet you’d kept your relationship. “She’s fine,” you agree, trying to not look too helplessly in love. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll want a private show.”

Her grin widens, but you’re both out of time – one of the stage managers knocks on the door to announce your call time. Asha wishes you luck while you strap on your heels, making your way backstage. The manager guides you to your spot and you take a deep breath in preparation, adjusting the thin, teasing bikini cover over your body. It hides the matching set you’re wearing – an alluring, dark red with glittering rhinestones. You have half a mind to steal it and take it back home with you, but knowing Paige, she’d probably object and buy you a different set entirely for your eyes only.

On cue, you walk out in time with the music, a slow, sultry R&B song, and you make eye contact with the people crowding the stage. The lights, while usually dimmer, have been brightened slightly in preparation for your set. You make your way to the front of the stage, where you’re amused to see your girlfriend and her team waiting. Paige’s eyes brighten at the sight of you, drinking you in, drawing her lip between her teeth almost absentmindedly. 

Deciding to tease her a little, you spin on your heel, your back to her as you pull your cover down inch by devastating inch. Your motions are deliberate, revealing miles upon miles of smooth skin, the lingerie covering your body, the lights catching the rhinestones perfectly. You’re practically glowing. With the cover in your hand, you crouch, making eye contact with Paige, and you smile cunningly at her while you wrap the cover around the back of her neck, pulling her in.

The crowd’s cheering, but you hardly register them as Paige’s hands find your skin. You brush your lips across her ear, knowing you don’t have much time, and you murmur, “What’s the girlfriend gonna think when she finds out you’re at the club?”

Paige slips a crisp hundred dollar bill into your bralette, her hands lingering longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. Her eyes are glued to your chest for a beat, but when they meet your gaze, her pupils are blown wide with desire and a thinly veiled mischief. “Sin now, beg for forgiveness later, right?” she murmurs over the bass of the music. “I’ll make it up to her.”

Your smirk widens and you release her, intending to actually start your set now. You don’t miss how Paige’s teammates jostle her in excitement. Arike was the only one who knew the truth and she just grins knowingly, shaking her head.

You always lock in when you dance, so your set goes by smoothly and ends before you know it. With a smile, you make one last lap around the stage, interacting with the club-goers and winking at the Wings team. If you blew a kiss to them, then that’s no one’s business but your own, but you make your way off the stage and towards your dressing room to change.

Asha’s up next after you, so she congratulates you on a good set before she’s off to do hers. You’re just barely slipping out of your heels when there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s a stage manager, you call for them to come in, but you’re surprised when Neil, one of the club managers, walks in. He’s a new face, hired mostly just to fill the vacancy. You don’t know him well – you usually answer to Nicole, but she’s out for the week on a trip.

“Hey, Neil,” you greet, sliding your cover back on to ward off the room’s chill.

“Hello,” he says stiffly. “I’ve got a gentleman in Private Room C. He’s requesting you.”

“I don’t do private dances anymore,” you say, your tone not apologetic. “I think Jess is available.”

Neil sighs. “You know…” he says, trailing off, and you already know he’s about to say something out of pocket. “This is a business. You’re employed here. At a strip club. This is your job. If you were working at McDonald’s, your boss wouldn’t really like it if you refused to make the burger, right?”

You barely resist an eye roll, retorting, “I don’t actually think that’s the same.”

He clears his throat. “Either way, I wasn’t asking. An investor in the private room wants a show from you, so you will do it. You’re the only one here who thinks they’re above the business and refuses to do private shows. Pull your weight or you can find a different club to dance at.”

You raise your brows, meeting his gaze, and smiling in disbelief. “You’re serious?” you ask, laughing uncomfortably. “You can’t fire me. I’ve been here for years.”

“This is Dallas,” he says noncommittally. “We can find someone to replace you. Someone who actually wants to work. Take your pick.”

You stare at him, shaking your head in contemplation. You didn’t want to do the show – it went against the clear boundary you’d set in your relationship early on, one that has been strictly adhered to for the year and some change you and Paige have been dating. But you didn’t want to jeopardize your job, either. Given that Divinity caters to Dallas’s most wealthy, there’s strict rules the patrons have to adhere to to even step foot in the club. It pays extremely well, but this is also the safest you’ll ever be. 

Maybe you’ll get the chance to see Paige before you have to go to the room – just to quickly explain. She’d understand. You knew she would, and that you would make it up to her tenfold. But this feels strangely like betraying her and it leaves a sick feeling in your gut.

“One minute,” you say finally. Neil’s eyes narrow. “One minute is all he gets. You know I don’t do private dances.”

“Five minutes,” Neil bargains. “He’s paying a lot.”

“One minute,” you reiterate. 

“Fine,” he huffs.

You strap your heels back on, trying to control your features. You walk out with Neil following directly behind you. Knowing you won’t be able to detour to find Paige, you slow your steps, scanning the crowd for her. Finally, you spot her at a table in the back, nursing a drink and talking to Arike, clearly not interested in the show anymore. You’re praying for her to look up and meet your gaze before it’s too late – and she does, her expression lighting up at the sight of you before her eyes narrow, knowing where you’re headed. Hoping that she gets the message, you gesture meaningfully to Neil, and she nods, but she looks no less pissed.

Feeling a little more relieved, you try for a smile, pulling back the curtain in the private room and entering. Thankfully, the man sitting on the couch at least looks polite, so you hope that this minute will go by quickly. He attempts to make small talk, commenting on how good your set was as you slide your cover off again, but your heart isn’t in it. Your training goes out of the window and so does every pre-rehearsed line you’ve ever had to use in the past.

You spin, listening for the beat in from the music overhead, but you’re too lost in your thoughts, unable to commit to it fully. Thankfully, you don’t have to for too long because the curtain rips open again.

“Sorry,” Paige says, but she doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic as she steps in between you and the investor, who looks shocked. “She’s spoken for. Scheduling conflict.”

Without waiting for a response from you or the man, she reaches for your cover, wrapping it around your shoulders and ushering you out of the room with her hand on the small of your back. All you feel is a deep relief, letting her lead you to the glass elevators that lead to the private lounges and the managerial offices. The private lounges were usually set aside for reservations, something more elite than the VIP sections, but they’re empty tonight, as are the managerial offices.

The club has a few floors with the managerial offices at the very top. They stick out over the rest of the club almost like a balcony, with floor to ceiling glass walls, allowing for people to stare out at the stage and the seating area, but it’s usually too dim for the patrons to see up. It’s particularly effective for keeping an eye on everything and searching for unruly guests. Up here, it’s like a one way glass – fully private. You can see out but no one can see in.

“I didn’t want to do it,” you rush out as the doors close behind you. You watch the stage disappear as the elevator takes you both up.

Paige’s arm curls fully around your waist, pulling you into her. “I know, baby,” she says, but her voice is still tight. Pissed. Not at you, but at something.

You hardly hear her words. “Neil made me,” you explain, making sure she understands how seriously you see that boundary. You know she knows, but right now, you’re a little anxious, and you want it to be obvious. “He threatened to fire me.”

“I’ll deal with him,” she promises, her voice still dark as she presses her lips to your temple, your forehead. You have no doubt in your mind that she would, but the reassurance makes your heartbeat calm. The elevators open with a sharp ding! Paige leads you out and towards the managerial offices, her hand heavily over your waist, burning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning into her, the cool silk of her fitted, white dress shirt cold against your heated skin. “I was just a little pissed. But I’m good now.” She hums, trailing her fingers down your sides in a way that almost makes you forget. Your body burns for a different reason now. Swallowing thickly, you admit, “Just wanna be close to you.”

You can almost feel Paige’s smile as she dips her head down, her breath hitting your ear. “Do you?” she murmurs, her voice low, sharp, like she’s daring for someone to try to take you away from her. She leads you towards the glass wall, pressing you against it gently, her chest to your back. Your breath hitches, your eyes scanning the floor below you – dozens of people lost in their own world, in the dancer controlling the stage, too unaware of the fact that if they looked up, they’d see Paige Bueckers holding her girlfriend against the glass.

It’s almost thrilling. The fact you can see all of these people, but they can’t see you. You know they can’t see you, even if it looks like they can.

Paige’s hands trail to your shoulders, reaching for your thin, lacy cover, pulling it off with an agonizing slowness. Her lips follow the path, dancing across your shoulders with a gentle laziness, like she has all the time in the world to pick you apart. Her kisses burn, stoking a flame in your belly that’s been ready to ignite since she slipped the bill into your bralette earlier. She calms the heat with her tongue, licking your skin and groaning at the flavor like she can’t get enough of it.

Finally, your cover is off, and she throws it somewhere to the side without a care in the world. Her hands find your hips, squeezing possessively, and a moan slips from your lips when she presses lingering, wet kisses to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You shudder when her fingers trail down, slipping under the waistband of your lingerie, but she doesn’t touch you – she just hovers. Something about the reminder that despite it all, despite the many different facets of your life that she doesn’t control, that she refuses to control, your pleasure is the one thing she takes the most pride in. She has all the time in the world to figure out how she wants to touch you, how she wants to work you up.

“Just want me to take care of you, don’t you?” she hums against your skin. You nod immediately, feeling the flush settle on your skin, something in your brain floating away because you know you’re safe here. You can relax and let Paige handle it all. She kisses your skin once more before finally, she presses her hips into you, and your breath stutters. You can feel the outline of the strap in her pants, every maddening inch of the silicone. It makes you shudder with want, your arousal already leaking out and soaking your lingerie – you can feel it.

Something smart returns to you and you laugh a little, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up fully. Slowly, she grinds the strap against you, her breath coming a little heavier due to the dual stimulation. “Optimist, are you?”

Paige bites the lobe of your ear, her smile turning a little dark as she pulls you tighter against her. “JJ wanted to go out,” she murmurs in your ear, slipping her hand fully under the waistband of your lingerie. “Some club called Divinity, she said. Figured my girl would want a little break. Just me and her, a private room. She works so hard, you know?” Her fingers find your wetness like it’s second nature and she groans in delight when she discovers just how slick, how ready you are. “Oh, baby,” she coos, her voice dripping in sin and concern. “All this for me?”

“Nobody else,” you affirm, and she rewards you with a deep kiss to your jaw, a firmer swipe against your clit. It makes your hips buck before she steadies you. “P, please, need it so bad.”

“I know,” she says. Her fingers are everything and nothing, reaching down to your entrance, gathering the arousal pooled there, and using it to rub maddening circles against you. The stimulation is simultaneously overwhelming and not enough, especially coupled with the realization that anyone could look up and see Paige Bueckers ruining you against a window.

Her hips are insistent against yours, controlled in how they give you the slightest bit of friction before pulling away. You’re aware she’s holding you up fully by this point, so you give into it, reaching up with your right hand to thread your fingers through her hair, dragging her back down to your neck.

She doesn’t hesitate, her tongue licking from the base of your throat to your pulse point, smiling when she feels the relentless pounding of your heart against her lips. You can’t find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when her fingers are circling your sensitive clit like her pleasure depends on whether or not you’re feeling good.

“All those people down there…” Paige whispers, her teeth scraping against your skin, the heat of her grin branding her name into your skin. “They don’t know what I have up here. That the woman they throw their salary at comes home to me. That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this.”

“Fuck, Paige,” you whimper, feeling boneless when her fingers speed up ever so slightly, your body trembling and buzzing under her ministrations. She presses her lips against your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle there, not letting up until a dark spot blooms under her touch. She kisses it gently, tongue swiping over the mark, almost as though she’s rewarding you for being good, for taking it. Her pride unravels you and your breathing comes in quick bursts, feeling ready to fall apart.

“You want my fingers, mama?” she coos, shaking her head in displeasure when you nod.

She doesn’t have to say anything – you correct yourself immediately when the fingers on your clit slow. Your fingers tighten in her hair for stability as you babble, “Want them, P, please. Want you to make me feel good. Please–” You cut yourself off with a moan when her fingers resume their speed and press a little firmer into you.

“That’s it,” Paige soothes, her lips kissing your heated skin gently, her soft words a gentle contrast from the intensity of her fingers. It’s nearly shocking, the dual sensations muddling your brain. “Lean against the window for me.”

You do as she says, letting her guide you to her liking, your palms pressed flat against the glass. Your forehead presses against the window, the sweat beading at your hairline smudging the surface, and Paige enters your personal space immediately. She tangles her fingers into the waistband of your lingerie and pulls them down your thighs with a devastating slowness, groaning to herself when a strand of your slick sticks to the fabric and breaks when the stretch is too much. The lingerie pools at your knees and Paige presses her hips flush against your ass, grinding against you until you’re pushing back in search of friction.

You don’t have the time to beg. She reads the sheer need in your expression immediately, her arms wrapping around your waist, knees pushing your legs apart. Your breath fogs against the glass, and if you look close enough, you can just barely see your reflection staring back at you – hair messy, lips red from your teeth, the shine of your neck from Paige’s efforts. You can see the sharp outline of her smile, too, like the idea of claiming you in front of everyone in this club is exciting.

She wasn’t usually jealous. You were hers, she was yours, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. But possessive? She wanted to show everyone who you were with, who gets to take the skimpy lingerie off of you after long nights. She wants everyone to be well aware of the fact that while they’re the ones fantasizing, she’s the one who gets to hold, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.

Her mouth finds your neck while the opening notes of Kali Uchis’s Territorial reverberates through the club below. You can feel the bass coursing through your veins, the tinkling strings raising goosebumps on your flesh. Every sensation nearly fades to background noise when Paige’s fingers settle on your clit again, dragging through your folds to coat them in your slick, and her middle finger probes your entrance before sliding in with ease.

The motion punches dual moans from the both of you, yours in pleasure, hers in a near disbelief. No matter how many times she gets you off, the feeling of your cunt sucking up her fingers is one that gets her right every time. You clench, already feeling her brush against the spot that makes electricity course down your spine, moaning wantonly when she curls just right.

With her free hand, she cups your chest, thumb brushing against a nipple covered by the thin lace of your top. You gasp at the feeling, your forehead dropping onto the glass, fingers twisting around nothing, and the hand kneading your breast redirects to lift your chin. “Watch them,” Paige orders, her voice rough, wrecked. “Let them see who’s fucking you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, heat coiling in your belly at her words. You try to focus, you really do, but your vision blurs when Paige slides in her ring finger, her pace increasing in speed and intensity. If keeping your eyes on the club below you wasn’t hard enough, then it becomes near impossible when Paige’s slow grind against your ass starts up again, her soft sighs and choked moans like music to your ears as she chases a high you have to strain to see.

Her reflection in the glass is the perfect image of someone who’s ruined. Her hair is a mess from how you tangled your fingers in the strands, her brows pinched together in pleasure when the base of the strap brushes against her clit just right. It’s hot – really, really fucking hot, watching and listening to Paige lose her mind rutting against you while her fingers work you up to a quickly approaching high.

The flames lick at your skin, sweat slicking every inch of your body, your breath fogging the glass in front of you. The knowledge that you’re wholly hers combined with the feeling of her fingers scissoring in and out of you, knowing which buttons to push as if you were an extension of her, makes you keen, your hips unsure of whether or not they should buck into her or grind down in time with her fingers. You settle on both, gyrating and chasing your high, but you all but whine when her hand abandons your chin to press against your sensitive clit.

It’s overwhelming – Paige’s fingers curling inside you, pushing in and out relentlessly, her opposite hand rubbing delicious circles against your needy clit, the strap against your ass, your nipples brushing against the cool glass, and the breathless sound of your girlfriend’s moans as she gets off behind you is enough to push you closer and closer to the peak. With a broken gasp, you cry out, “Fuck, P, close,” and she nods against the sweat-slick skin of your neck.

Her hips slam into yours with a little more intensity, pushing you into the glass, both of her hands increasing their pace and pressure in tandem. “I know, mama,” she rasps, leaving marks on your skin, the indents of her teeth left in their wake. Paige sounds destroyed, like she’s moments away from unraveling completely. All that does is push you to the edge. “Give it to me, baby. Gonna make me so proud, aren’t you? My perfect girl.”

You come with a breathless shudder, unable to force the words through your windpipe, and Paige sags against you, her lips jerking messily while her fingers slowly work you through the lingering shockwaves of your orgasm. The cool glass is like a balm against your skin, the sensation so needed while your skin burns and sizzles from the electricity. Paige is panting heavily into your ear – it reminds you that she’d gotten off, too, just from grinding against you. That makes the heat coiling in your belly return tenfold.

You push yourself off of the glass window, hardly thinking about the smudges on the surface, and Paige steadies your hips when your legs tremble. You turn in her embrace, smiling when she wraps you up, pressing your back against the glass now. She kisses your lips – deep, lingering, tongue probing for an entrance that you grant immediately. With her left hand, she pulls your lingerie off completely, tossing the bottoms to the side haphazardly, and she lifts you into her arms with ease. Your legs wrap around her waist, arms around her neck, as she begins mouthing down your chest.

“Nicole’s gonna be so pissed when she gets back from her trip and realizes someone got defiled against her glass window,” you mutter in between heaving breaths.

Paige smirks against your skin, dragging your bra down with her teeth, encircling a nipple with her lips, causing you to gasp. “Defiled is crazy work,” she mumbles. “I prefer worship.”

“You’re annoying,” you say, your body betraying your words when you arch into her mouth.

She squeezes your ass, walking the two of you backwards until her knees hit an armchair and she sinks down, pulling you onto her lap. The front of her pants are wet – you can’t tell if it’s yours, or hers, or a mixture of both, but it just makes you hungry when you pull her up to kiss you again. “You’re spoiled,” she retorts, fingers reaching up for the clasps of your bra. You let her pull it off you completely, smiling to yourself when she stares at you like you’re one of the ancient wonders of the world. “And so, so fucking fine. Jesus.”

You laugh against her lips, your fingers working on unbuckling her belt. She lifts her hips to help you pull her pants and boxers down in one quick motion and you quirk a brow at the sight of the slick between her thighs. You swipe a finger through the wetness accumulated on her legs, sucking it into your mouth with an indulgent moan. That makes the smug smile on her face disappear, and she grips your thighs tightly like she’d lose her mind if you weren’t on her strap immediately. “Can’t believe you came untouched,” you tease, your fingers dancing across the silicone gently. Paige tenses like she could feel it.

“You could touch me right now and fix that,” she offers, voice a little choked, her hips bucking up in invitation. You can’t help the way your mouth waters, knowing that Paige would have you right in minutes.

Instead of giving her what she wants, you stand up, your heels still giving you a slight height advantage over her as she manspreads in the armchair. She pouts, looking disappointed at your departure, but you lean over her and begin unbuttoning her shirt. With your breasts so close to her face, she looks determinedly less upset, although you have to swat her hand away when she tries to touch you.

“Rule one of lap dances,” you murmur, voice silky smooth, “is that you can’t touch the performers.”

“Shit,” she breathes, eyes widening in realization. “You’re killin’ me, mama.”

With her shirt fully unbuttoned, you slide it off her shoulders, leaving her in a dark sports bra. You grin at her wickedly, pulling her shirt over your arms as you coo, “I know.” Her jaw falls open in lust and disbelief at the sight of you – messy, fucked out, and wearing nothing but your heels and her shirt, which is multiple sizes too big on you. You don’t button it, but the message is the same. Paige always liked seeing you in her clothes, and now? You can tell she’s actually going to lose her mind.

She leans back in the armchair, one hand gripping the armrest, the other resting on her thigh, fingers twitching. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so much unadulterated want on her face. With the Kali Uchis song still playing distantly in the club, you stalk over to her in slow, calculated movements, hips swaying. Paige doesn’t know where to look – your face, your chest, the glistening spot in between your legs. She breathes heavily the closer you get.

You settle both hands on the armrests, leaning over her, not reprimanding her when her lips brush against your chest, seeking out your nipples. You inch closer to her ear, breath fanning against the shell of it as you murmur the lyrics of the song to her. “See, I’m a lover, but I’ll go to war about mine, toe to toe.” Her breath hitches, but you’re gone as quickly as you’d come, turning your back to her.

Your hips move sensually, hypnotically, and you can feel that you have Paige’s undivided attention. Reaching for her left hand, you bring it to your waist, allowing her to lift the back of your shirt so she can get a clear view of your ass. She groans emphatically, her hand falling to squeeze your flesh. It makes your breath catch, too, the feel of her hand swallowing your skin.

You spin around again, the song fading away with the lyrics, “Once I claim my territory, I get territorial,” but you stop in your tracks. Paige’s free hand is wrapped around the strap, stroking absentmindedly as if it were an extension of herself, veins popping and expression gone. You’re throbbing immediately, wanting nothing more than to crawl onto her lap and let her have her way with you, but she takes matters into her own hands.

Paige reaches out for you, spinning you until your back is to her, and she lowers you gently. You sink down slowly. The stretch is delicious, nearly overwhelming as it splits you open, and the both of you moan at the feeling. Both of her hands reach up to cup your breasts as your ass settles flush against her lap, the strap hitting deep inside, and you’re feeling so wound up you could probably fall apart right now with her breathing unevenly in your ear, fingers tweaking your nipples, and her hands kneading your breasts.

Her manspread widens, her hips bucking up to drag the strap in and out of you. You grip the armrest with both hands, using it to lift yourself up and down, head throwing back in a drawn out moan when Paige emphasizes a thrust with a pinch. The slight sting of pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a heady, devastating feeling in your core, and you melt when Paige licks a stripe up your neck again, sucking bruises into the skin of your shoulder.

Her right hand drops, leaving her left to brush against your nipples, traveling down your front to brush through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, whimpering when she coats her fingers in your slick and starts circling your clit again. She curses under her breath. You can’t tell for sure if it’s because of the sheer amount of wetness waiting for her or if it’s because she glanced down, watching your cunt suck the strap right in. Regardless of the reasons, her hips are canting up against yours, timing your thrusts together.

It doesn’t take long before moans are tumbling from your lips quicker now. Her fingers speed up, rubbing against your oversensitive clit with precision and pressure, the hand that was fondling your breasts dropping down to your hip to help you ride her, your legs giving out from the pleasure and the exertion. She’s rambling nonsense in your ear, more sound than words, but you’re able to make out, “You feel so good, mama, taking me so well. So fucking perfect for me. Want you to come for me, please, baby – give it to me–”

The sound of her breathless moans in your ear, the pressure of her fingers on your clit, her hand bruising your hips – it’s enough to send you over the edge. With hardly a warning, you spill all over her lap, your slick soaking the strap, the armchair beneath you, and she brings you down from your high with incoherent words and slowing her thrusts and fingers.

Energy gone, you’re more than ready to curl up with her in this armchair, but her hips shift – discreetly, like she’s still searching for her release and trying to play it off like she’s just trying to get comfortable. It makes you feel guilty immediately. She makes a soft noise of protest as you hoist yourself off her lap, your legs wobbling, and she shoots forward to steady you, a look of confusion on her face. The confusion melts into desire when you sink to your knees before her, fingers reaching to unbuckle the harness, but she pauses you with a hand to your wrists.

“You don’t gotta–” she tries, but you cut her off with a firm, “Paige Madison,” and she shuts up immediately, leaning back in the armchair. You haphazardly discard the strap to the side, curling your arms around her thighs. Before you press your lips to her dripping cunt, she grabs your loose hair, holding it in a ponytail with her hand. You kiss her clit in thanks, smiling when her hips jolt and she sighs softly.

You brush the flat of your tongue across her slit in one smooth motion, moaning at the taste and at the feeling of her grip tightening in your hair, dragging you closer to her. Listening to her wordless command and knowing that she probably doesn’t need much to come, you drink her up like you’re parched, sucking her clit in your mouth and suctioning with your lips. Paige grunts, her hips bucking up, and you don’t stop her, letting her chase her high against your mouth.

You alternate between kitten licks against her clit and long, flat strokes of your tongue against her cunt. It’s not often that you get to see her like this – fucked out and ruined, pliant and soft beneath you, dripping messily onto the surface below, but it never fails to activate a part of your brain that wants to watch her come over and over again.

Wanting to see her fall apart beneath you, you double down on your efforts, your tongue sliding messily through her folds and sucking at her clit until she cries out. You tighten your grip just as she tightens her grip on your hair, pulling you even closer into her – and if this is the last thing you see before you drown, her soaked cunt and the watery, pleading expression on her face, then you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Fuck, mama, ‘m so close,” she rambles, her hips moving against you with a fervor, chest heaving. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You hum against her, and she whines, moans falling from her lips until she chokes on the last one. Her thighs tense around you, caging you in as she comes, a long, drawn out groan reverberating through the room while you work her through the aftershocks. You lick once more, twice, until she releases your hair and pushes you away, too sensitive after two orgasms.

Paige doesn’t let you get too far. She pulls you back onto her lap, arms wrapping around your waist while you wipe her slick off of your cheeks, sucking the taste off of your fingers. She catches your wrist on the last one, sucking your thumb into her mouth and humming emphatically at your combined tastes. You smile coyly at her, thinking about nothing more than getting her home tonight and making her writhe. You sit motionlessly in her lap while she cleans off all of your fingers.

“You want more?” you ask teasingly, not really meaning it, but raising your brows when she nods quickly, her eyes blown wide. The heat is already licking at you as you grip her jaw with one hand, leaning over her face, and her mouth opens obediently. You let a string of saliva fall from your mouth directly onto her tongue and she swallows immediately with a low groan of pleasure.

You don’t get to say much else before she’s pulling you back in, your lips crashing together messily, her tongue swiping across your lips in search of more. It draws a ragged moan from you, one that she monopolizes on instantly. It’s like she’s trying to swallow you alive, to memorize the way you taste when her slick is on your tongue. It makes your brain spin pleasantly before she pulls away, a dangerous sort of glint in her eyes, but it softens when she sees the blissed out smile on your face.

“You okay?” she murmurs, squeezing your hips, and just like that, the heat of the moment fades – for now.

“I should be asking you that,” you joke. “Could have sworn you blacked out for a moment.”

“Shit, I might have,” she agrees, drawing a breathless giggle from you. You lean your head on your chest, listening to the vibration of her voice against you as she asks. “For real. You’re okay?”

You don’t have to ask for clarity to know she’s referring to before, to Neil. “I’m okay,” you promise, more glad than anything that Paige came in when she did. “Nicole’s gonna be pissed, though. Not even about the window.”

Paige hums, the sound almost noncommittal, but you’ve been with her long enough to know she’s being dead serious about a situation. If the moment were any lighter, she’d probably make a joke about you snitching – but you might be the one thing in the world she doesn’t play about. “I’ll handle him,” she swears, her tone hard enough that it makes you shift on her lap. She doesn’t even notice, which amuses you, but she continues speaking, her voice thoughtful. “I know you like working here. Dancing. It’s safe for you. But don’t let that make you feel like…you don’t have other options, you know? As long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry. Don’t let Neil – or anyone else – threaten to take this place away from you. Your safety and happiness are important to me.”

You soften, her words hitting home. Paige doesn’t pressure you to say anything – she never does, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin. “Thank you,” you say eventually, and she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, like that’s something she needs to be thanked for. Paige would move mountains for you – you knew that. “I appreciate that. And for you looking out for me.”

Paige presses a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against your skin, and she murmurs, “You’re my girl. I’ll always look out for you. Especially when you dance like that.”

You roll your eyes as she laughs, but you’re inexplicably happy. You kiss her again, softly requesting, “Take me home?” and Paige doesn’t hesitate. Not even a little bit, even though her clothes are a mess, her mascara is flaking, and she looks like she’s been put through a woodchipper. Your girlfriend might be a little territorial, but the one thing you know about her is that she’s always going to make sure you’re taken care of.

(When you wake up in the morning to Paige’s smug grin, you check the work group chat at her insistence, where Nicole is informing everyone about Neil’s termination. 

“Neil got fired,” you say flatly.

“Oh, wow,” Paige says innocently, but her beaming grin breaks through her feigned nonchalance. “That’s really unfortunate.”

You huff in amusement, turning off your phone and setting it on the nightstand. You swing a leg over her waist to straddle her and she wastes no time before resting her hands on your hips, sinking into the pillows beneath her, a chain glimmering in the morning sunlight, her smile far too satisfied. “You’re insane,” you murmur, like it bothers you. It doesn’t.

“Mmm,” she hums, pulling you down to her level to kiss you. “Think you like it.”

All you can do is grin, because you do. You really, really do like it.)

[princesscolumbia]

So I'm writing a major sci-fi project that I'm expecting to take several years, if not upward of a decade, to complete. Part 1 takes place in a timeline where fascism has already set itself in place and is managing to dig in so deep that it'll take some very, very extreme measures to pull out the roots. In part 2 I visit a parallel timeline where fascism is getting its hooks into a galactic power and trying to go all "Earthgov in Babylon 5 season 2-4."

In both cases I'm having to dig into the cause of fascism and what causes entire groups of people to willfully step into situations where their own best interest is being actively worked against. What is it about fascism that makes it so appealing to large populations that they look at history and say, "...nah, it won't happen that way this time."

And I'm having to struggle against my own presupposition that humanity is fundamentally always looking out for the best way forward and actually learns from the mistakes that litter the past.

Fascism is so stupid! So much of the implementation of fascism in the early days relies on people being absolutely brick stupid. "I have precisely one way of effecting major change on the nation/world I live in...but I'm le-tired, so I'm not going to vote." "I haven't read a single book since I got out of high school," (said proudly, as though this is somehow an achievement). "History is just a bunch of boring dates about dead people, but by god World War 2 was the greatest moment in all the record of all the world! What do you mean, how did it start? Pearl Harbor, duh!" "What do you mean, we need to protect the rights of trannies and illegals?! They're criminals, they don't deserve rights! What'd'you mean I gotta prove it?! Just look at 'em, you can always tell!"

The worst part is there's no "Evil fascists playbook that we're going to pass down to our children's children," it's just the worst parts of base human nature that are repeated generation after generation. Over and over again throughout history good people have done their damnedest to codify the sorts of behaviors and cultural practices that would stop fascism, but so often the efforts are made with the idea in mind that there is some secret cabal of people that are orchestrating the complete, catastrophic downfall of mankind to prop up only one (1) central ruling body, and if we can just stop those people then that'll stop evil for sure this time!

There's a reason we look at movies like Idiocracy and have this bone-chilling reaction that this is what our future will look like. Even a cyberpunk dystopia would be better than the truth because at least we could commit crime to steal from the wealthy and powerful what should be ours by protected right, such as healthcare or even water. But the truth is so viscerally terrifying because there is no dictatorship that will result in the upward spiral of humanity advancing to the next stage of evolutionary existence. There's no technological leap that will push us to being better than we were that can be enforced by a single hegemony. Fascism and tyranny are fear responses to a world that's bigger than one person can control and understand. Whenever a fascist state rises, its fall begins the moment it stabilizes from the ruins of the nation it replaces. In every case, the fascist country was already in the process of collapsing by the time its neighbors began the process of fighting back and containing it. The Third Reich was going to collapse before a decade was out whether the Allies did anything to stop them or not because the foundation it was built on was white supremacist fairy floss and paranoid wishes. The Soviet Union shattered because an empire founded on misinformation and violent intimidation couldn't scale to the degrees they were attempting. Even the PRC is being eaten from the inside by movements that are inherently more humanitarian and forward thinking.

The drive to be better to your fellow people is simply going to cause any fascist state to topple because 'being a better person' is an internal drive to each individual and 'subsume yourself to the state' is inherently opposed to it. The fascist state cannot abide individual excellence, people are born with the desire to grow and excel beyond their circumstances all the time. Fascism is inherently temporary, inherently self-destructive, and inherently a dead end.

This isn't to say it shouldn't be fought. Fascism is CATASTROPHICALLY destructive! Even a proto-fascist state like present-day (at the time of this writing...please tell me this will be out of date in two year's time!) United States of America is capable of doing massive amounts of irreparable harm in it's infantile flailing as it struggles to get its feet under it. Fascists need to be stopped. They need to be put down so hard the only thing needed for a grave is to fill in the hole from dropping them so hard. They need to have the fear of every god and goddess ever revealed, conceived, or imagined put in them and done so with a massive neon sign that can be read for the rest of human history that will tell fascists loud and clear what WILL happen to them if they ever try that shit again.

But the thing is; the fascists only seem to be working from the same playbook! Pick any evil empire throughout history that matches the definition of a fascist state and you'll see the exact...same...pattern, every single time. And it's not like these people read! They don't sit down and pour through documents looking for all the best ways to oppress a population and destroy the Earth, they just do it because fascism is stupid! If they actually read books and studied history they'd see that what they're doing, how they're behaving, and the way they're thinking is a failing formula. They will NOT be regarded as heroes! They will NOT be the great founders of a continent/world/solar system/galaxy spanning nation! They will be hated and reviled and hunted while they're alive and their deaths will be celebrated in ways that make the people celebrating Scrooge's death in A Christmas Carol's dark future timeline look like the most sentimental of mourning wakes. They will have their names listed with Haman and Caesar and George and Hitler and Pol Pot and Stalin and Regan as "People to find a way to make a pact with the devil to resurrect just so you can kill them again EVEN HARDER!" Their families will be ashamed of them. Their freaking mustache style will become known as "History's Worst Fashion Not" for men. They will be the butt of jokes about how the world could only be better without them in it.

THEY WOULD KNOW THAT THEY ARE ON A DEAD END PATH IF THEY JUST LEARNED FROM HISTORY!

But they don't read. And they don't want you to read. Not because they have this clever plan or ploy to ensure you don't get any ideas, but because just the thought that you might be smarter than them hurts their pwecious widdle fee-fees.

And, honestly? That's just so galling!

Like, we want Hitler to have been some magically charismatic individual who managed to superhumanly hypnotize an entire generation of Germans into becoming mass murderers. We want a generational cabal of secret elders in obscenely wealthy families who rigorously trains their children in the art of oppressing the lower classes. We want Trump to be this unstoppable business mogul with the entire world's wealthiest oligarchs in his pocket, ready to wield unspeakable power to shatter hundreds of years of progress in pursuit of human betterment.

We want these people to be megalomaniacal masterminds because the thought that all this damage and destruction and fear and terror and murder happening because a bunch of paranoid, infantile morons who you suspect would wet their own pants if they thought it'd be the next popular trend and secure them more power is just an insult to you. It's an insult to the people of [insert your country here]. It's an insult to the entire human race. It's an insult to all our daughter species that (universe willing) we'll eventually create to succeed us. To think that a whiny, pathetic, wet rag of a human being should manage to capture enough people's attention that they'll just hand over their rights, liberties, and freedoms in exchange for transparent lies makes anyone with a brain and a conscience recoil in atavistic horror.

What’s really occurring is an attack on the American mind. Ignorance is the handmaiden of tyranny.

[lovehazard]

HiiHeyHello

Can we have some random facts abt Dominik?:3

(Kinda off topic but I love ur artstyle)

Dominik is a weird guy with a compulsive obsession for details and killing people.

Don’t expect sweetness from Dominik. He doesn't do pet names or sentimental gestures. It’s always “you”, “hey”, or your name, detached, matter-of-fact, and unsettlingly intimate in its bluntness.

Dominik is talkative in his own way, despite his aloof demeanor, Dominik talks more than you'd think. He has a strange habit of asking questions, random, sometimes jarring. What’s your favorite smell? Ever broken a bone? Do you think you’d scream if someone drove a knife into your thigh? Casual, like it’s weather talk.

He stares. A lot. Sometimes too much. He observes everything: how you chew your food, how your eyes flicker when you’re nervous, how your breath hitches when he gets too close. Every detail is important to him.

Dominik has a sketchbook filled with grotesque illustrations: twisted anatomy, mutilated figures, decay. But here and there, nestled between carnage and bloodstains, are softer sketches: small birds, plants… And you. Your face, your silhouette, your sleeping form. Again and again. Almost reverently.

Dominik smokes, and when he’s stressed, he tends to smoke a lot. You can catch the smell of tobacco clinging on his body sometimes.

He has a pet crow named Mori. Sometimes the bird brings small, shiny trinkets to him.

Dominik used to work solo. Now he’s stuck doing Valentine’s dirty work with a bunch of other weirdos: Liam, Cannibal-chan, Almas, and Silas. He doesn’t like them. But he doesn’t need to like them to get the job done.

He has a cruel habit, forcing you into moments that test your morality. He might make you kill, just to see if it breaks you. Just to see who you become with blood on your hands.

Affection from Dominik is rare and unpredictable. When it comes, it’s quiet and unnerving. A hand around your waist. A brush of lips on your neck. Fingers tracing your jaw as if memorizing bone. His kisses? Soft. Too soft. Ghostlike, and utterly wrong in contrast to the violence he’s capable of.

Dominik’s a surprisingly skilled cook. He doesn’t brag about it, but if he ever makes you a meal, it’s always perfectly seasoned and weirdly comforting, like he’s memorized your taste without asking.

Dominik adores spicy food, especially mapo tofu, relishing the burn. But sweets? He’s not fond of them.

He doesn’t really fear anything, but he’s weirdly unsettled by mantises. He won’t talk about why, and it’s better not to ask.

[yurmomsawh0r]

This is a request for 🐻!

Purebred!reader x Mutt!Simone

Omegaverse, Alpha x Omega, Simone being an asshole, Rough doggy 🫦 , p n v sex, Simone calls reader a bitch (but not in a disrespectful way in a doggy verse way lol), MDNI, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, repost welcomed please!

• 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 🐻

Everything has been going perfectly for the last couple of months. Price and Soap feeling way better about getting you mutt to guard you. You seemed to be happy and loving the new attention so the feeling of sizzling fear that something bad was going to happen had been non existent.

Mutt!Simon seemed to be taking his job very seriously. He didn’t like anyone other than Price and Soap around you and even then that came with restrictions.

He didn’t like it if you have any ones scent on you other than his, he didn’t like if Soap or Price pampered you to long. He would always sulk and whine at the door when they had to groom you. Even growling and banging on the door until one of them caved.

Purebred!reader was always oblivious to Mutt!Simons over protective ways. His dominance always seeping through his pheromones make the little pup ditzy, swooning and ready to roll over to be mounted.

Soap and Price came over one day saying how they were going to be having a play date with some of your old gal pals with an addition of a new Doberman breed.

It was a fun evening. Mutt!Simone lazing away not to far while his little bitch enjoyed her play date.

It wasn’t until the Doberman kept making advances that he didn’t like.

The Doberman was a cocky fellow. Thinking he was the best in the room. Even when he tugged at your fluffy ears and constantly sniffed you to see if you’d been marked and taken.

Mutt!Simon hadn’t marked you yet. He was waiting till you were ripe for the season but the Doberman was making Simon consider doing it now to get the fucker to back off.

He well himself over getting up to check on what was going on because all we could hear was your squealing every two seconds. When he runs up on the couch, rage fires up inside of the door trying to pull down fluffy hair. It’s getting me to roll over.

The Doberman was trying to get you down to mount and possibly mark and Simon wasn’t having it.

Viciously mutt!Simon beings to growl and tear at the Doberman. Everyone of the of pups sitting and watching the battle take place.

It wasn’t really my children, Simon was raised to be a fighter so this was something he was used to versus the Doberman, who has been spoiled from the moment he came out the room. No scratches, freshly painting his coat while he wailed from the pain Simon was causing.

A few of the new pups were screaming at the scene, raising their behinds and presenting for the alpha in the room even you.

“Hey hey hey! What the fuck is going on here!” Soap, Price and a few more of the owners saunter into the room with panicked expressions.

“You fucking mutt! Simone! Heel! Shit..”

They were able to pull him off, a little blood and spittle forming at his mouth.

“Stay away from her of I will fuck you up Doberman!” Simone was very angry. He couldn’t believe someone would try his precious gem. She was his in his alone, made to submit to him and all his dominance.

In the background, both soap and price were apologizing to the other odors about the little fiasco and that guard dog for your protection and he hasn’t adapted to his new conditions.

Little did they know it wasn’t That Simon wasn’t adapted. It was more so he was very territorial over his omega. He wasn’t just her guard dog. He was hers indefinitely. He was going to be the one to fuck tons of litters in you and no one else.

To him, that show dog shit was done for. No more trying to match you up to breed with another pure bred.

After he was scowled for his behavior. Price and Soap took you both back to your home. Ridding Simon of the blood he had splatter over him. None of it his.

“You can’t be doing shit like that Simon! They can try to make us put you down if you caused serious damage.”

He only shrugged. “Next time till him to not try and fuck my bitch and we won’t have a problem.”

This made them shut up.

Clearly they can see that Mutt!Simone had grown attached to the purebred he was supposed to be guarding but Price knew it was inevitable.

After both men got them cleaned up and ready for a night, they both left and sauntered over to the main house on the estate.

“ I think we fucked up Price.”

“Why do you say that?” Soap had an idea but he wanted to see if Price was thinking the same thing he was.

“I think we paired her with a fucking Alpha mutt.” He swiped his face sighing. “Yea, I think we fucking did too.”

•

Your body was spent. Mutt!Simon practically had you up all night, only allowing you to take small naps before he started over again.

He was fucking you vigorously. His thick cock swelling and ready to knot you and knock you up. Your mewls rang out into the morning.

Simons sharp teeth never letting up on the blade of your shoulder. Marking you as his territory. As his omega.

You would forever carry his scent even when he wasn’t near and soon you’d be carrying his litter of pups.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” He growled. His not swelling while he stuff you full. You scream. The pain of your body catching his knot as his nut glazed your walls.

Then and only then did he release your nape from his locked jaws.

What a surprise it was for Price and Soap to see you locked on his knot. Stuck in doggy position.

They wanted to help you. Wipe your tears and clean you up. You had marks and bruises lingering on your hips and neck. Simon couldn’t even be bothered with them at the moment. He just sat up with you both still connected. He tried his best not the move but when he did you would cry more from the tight feeling.

Behind you, you could hear him flick a lighter before taking a hit of his cigarette while wiping his face from the sweat.

“That show dog shit is over.” He tells them all.

“Now get out so I can breed my little omega.”

[ninathekillxr]

creeps’ reaction to gn reader having bad allergies as in watery eyes, sneezing nonstop, runny nose to the point it’s so clogged and all you hear from them is sniffles. so much tissue boxes flooding the trash cans the bad coughing💔 all those hell stuff? this would happen during allergy season, thank you (i also love your writing!)

This sounds so cute omg! This is going to be a long one

Ticci Toby-

He grew up as the sick kid so he has got you covered.

He will make sure your have everything you need, tissues, anti-histamines, soups, whatever you need he makes sure you have.

He will take care of you but not so much the chores, have fun when you get better?

Toby has no fear of getting sick and will stay by you the entire time only leaving to get you things.

He will watch in a morbid fascination while your choking to death or crying from stress. He will run small circles on your back or knuckles tl comfort you.

Do not let him do any eyedrops unless you want them in your nose or mouth.

Jeff The killer-

Now he will remain distant throughout this, absolutely hates sick people.

He will be across the room looking at you like your gross.

If he does come over he’s probably forced and is wearing a mask, gloves, the lot.

If you guys are close he will do any chores you couldn’t do while sick.

Jeff will 100% bully you for sniffling with your blocked nose. Definitely the type to bully you if your nose does that whistling thing.

Eyeless Jack-

You don’t even have to tell him you’re sick, he already knows and is prepared.

Considering his knowledge within the medical field it Shouldnt be a shock that he’s piling you with medication to take and making sure you go get the needed rest in bed.

Even if it’s just allergies he will make you rest through it, he comes to check on you every little while and replaces tissues when you run out.

He won’t be getting too close to you without the necessary protection. (Gloves and mask) He’s being a doctor it’s professionalism.

Jack is a sweetheart though, he would carefully follow a recipe for a soup and bring you it.

He would provide eyedrops if your eyes got all red and itchy.

Depending on the allergy he will remove the item entirely, of course if it’s seasonal you’ll need to wait for your body to start fighting back and actually win.

Jane The killer-

She’d go out and get you any medicines that you need.

Shes bring you soup and tea regularly.

Other than that she would try keep some distance from you as to not get sick herself.

She’d be sitting in her room on FaceTime to you during the evening to keep you company.

Clockwork -

She doesn’t give a fuck you’re sick shes hoping into the bed next to you to keep an eye on you.

She’s not very good in the kitchen but she would have someone make you soup at least once a day.

She makes an amazing cup of tea though so expect to always have a cuppa.

She would go out and get medicine for you if you asked but she wouldn’t think to do it herself.

Sorry it took so long to come out and that I’ve been lowk gone for a month! College had me SWAMPED.

I’ve got tons of tests coming out so any requests would be majorly appreciated since I’ll be doing tones the next couple days so I can just post them every few days until after!

[doomed2repeat]

Back to Bridgerton hot-takes, Colin’s friendships edition:

I hate the Michaela-Colin fanon friendship dynamic where she roasts him all the time because we literally just saw a season where Colin tried to be friends with guys who snark on him and it made him miserable AND tbh I already get that dynamic in a more loving form with Colin and Eloise. Roasting someone with love is something you have to earn in a friendship, and the Colin & Eloise pairing only just reached the right balance in S3 where they were able to do it in a way that didn’t veer into genuine animosity or bullying.

I actually didn’t like Michael in the book (sorry Michael fans, but I’m already way more optimistic about Michaela winning me over than Michael, Masali was charming from her first moment) but I’m really over Colin’s “barely tolerated” era, I’m ready to see him be loved and appreciated.

The Michaela-Colin friendship dynamic in fan spaces also falls into playing up this idea that Colin is a huge idiot when he’s not. I know people are trying to replicate the vibe they had in WHWW with Michael but with Michaela, but it really does not work anymore with the show version of Colin PLUS in the fanon version of Michaela and Colin, a lot of the back and forth and Colin’s helpfulness is removed, and it’s just “let’s give Colin a friend who’s mean to him for comedy reasons.” And seriously, even in WHWW the dynamic was more about Michael being annoyed that Colin was so happy while he was yearning and miserable, not about Colin being dumb and Michael being so much smarter. This actually would hit even harder in the show with Michaela seeing other couples get to be openly happy and in love, while hiding hers or feeling guilty about John.

Since Colin has married his actual best friend, I’d prefer to see is friend group be John, Will, and Phillip and to see better use of his relationships with his siblings like Benedict, Eloise and Francesca. As someone who misses matchmaker Colin and would love to see him give Michaela advice like in the book (although I fear the show will give that moment away to some other character besides Colin) I could enjoy a Michaela-Colin friendship, but I just can’t with the toxic friend energy. If they are friends, then please let them be friendly?

[raininyourblackeyes]

LOPAREVA/BRISSAUD HOLY FUCK WHAT WAS THAT

[hamletshoeratio]

Apparently, Eloise is a mean girl and is not a girls' girl???

[clowndensation]

it's like. louis attempted to tell this story to daniel the first time, broke down, and attacked him before he could finish it.

and then decades later he's convinced himself that it was leaving the story unresolved that's holding him back from living his life fully now. so he invites daniel back again. and louis is sitting poised and put together, confident in his ability to recite his history in a pretty, poignant, neat little narrative that will resolve all the guilt and yearning and emptiness inside of him. that if he can just tell a compelling, satisfying story, maybe it will actually be that, and not the life he lived through, with all the pitfalls of his own failures lurking inside.

and then season 1 ends with him once again being forced to confront that the story he wants to imagine and the life he actually lived aren't the same thing. the boundaries around his narrative are shredded and he's left exposed, and subsequently able to face his past for the first time since that original interview. and you think, you think, "well this is it. they've crossed the event horizon. there's no use hiding the truth anymore, not after it's come flooding out into the open like this"

and then season 2 opens. not only is it back to the original, practiced distance, we now have armand literally enforcing that distance. a man sitting at the table who's interjections must be disregarded, an intentional interruption to the flow of the story. he doesn't exist to aid or add detail, he exists to distract louis when he gets too deep in the story. the only time we do get louis allowing any deep truth to come out is when armand leaves the room.

it's like. louis wants a story that's true, and the truth is what he's convinced will leave him satisfied. armand wants a story that will satisfy louis, to the extent louis will accept it's true.

[seaweedstarshine]

“That’s a bold choice, Dalek Supreme, coming to a wedding planet dressed in white! Unless you’re here to get hitched… should I be flattered?”

“We are here to exterminate you.”

“Oh, that’s probably for the best. Not sure River would be up for a marriage à trois… not with a Dalek, at any rate.”

—Eleventh Doctor Chronicles: Victory of the Doctor

[rolandkaros]

not pitting sincaraz against each other just pointing out an objective truth that jannik was not a dominate player/potential grand slam winner last season (age 21/22) and carlos will finish this season semi-dominant and with two more grand slams (+ an olympic medal) (age 20/21). you can see how quickly a player's career can turn around within one season. so any talk about carlos being washed/playing badly sounds silly to me i can't lie. yes carlos wasn't as successful this year as last year. yes carlos wasn't as successful this year as jannik. last year jannik's highlights were throwing up in a trash can and beating djoko in davis cup (exaggerating.) so i really feel like carlos's struggles this season are slightly overinflated. we talk about "he has time he has time" let's be clear not only does he have time in his career (he is literally 21) he also has time on his closest current rival (age-wise, carlos's 2024 season is jannik's 2022 season). it will be two years before carlos is even the same age as jannik is now. so like. lets be chill here u know.

[rememberdamonn]

Well written characters have a core conflict that consists of a goal that the character wants/needs to achieve, and an obstacle that gets in the way of that goal. For Damon, that core conflict is Love vs. Fear. His goal is love - to be loved, to have love. The obstacle that gets in the way of that goal is his own fear - fear of being abandoned/betrayed/rejected, fear of not being enough, fear of letting people down, fear of losing his loved ones... in short, fear of losing love. Every majorly bad decision that Damon makes, he makes either in reaction to or in anticipation of that fear being realized. When he kills Jeremy in S2, and Aaron in S5? He does it because he’s just been abandoned and rejected by Elena/Katherine. When he hides the cure from Elena in S6? He does it because he’s afraid that if she becomes human he’ll lose her. When he feeds Elena his blood in S2? He does it because he’s afraid he’ll lose her in the sacrifice. These seeds are planted throughout the entire show. In 4x15 when Damon sires Elena to turn off her humanity (another thing he does out of fear), Stefan tells him that it was a mistake because despite Elena losing her brother, she still has Damon. Damon’s reply? “I’m not enough.”

There's a conversation that Stefan and Damon have in 7x22 that lays it all out neatly:

Stefan: You really think I did the right thing by taking Caroline against her will?

Damon: One hundred percent.

Stefan: You said that's how you know you love someone. And for a second there, I actually believed you. I thought that my love for Caroline was so strong that I would do anything to protect it. But then I realized, that's not love, Damon. That's fear. That night that you put yourself down, it wasn't because you love Elena. It was because you were afraid if you didn't, you would do something terrible, and you would lose her forever. And that fear was so powerful that it overrode any love that you felt for me, or Bonnie, or anybody else. I refuse to be ruled by fear. I refuse to be you.

In 7x10 when Damon is forced to face the truth while in the Phoenix Stone, he tells his mother, “Give me a chance to let you love me.” This is representative of Damon’s entire journey throughout the show. Damon doesn’t let people love him because he’s scared that they won’t. That’s why he tells Elena in 3x19 that he doesn’t want to have to live up to anyone’s expectations, and he tells Bonnie the same thing in 8x10 when he reads her his letter. Damon’s self sabotage and his insistence on pushing everyone away is a product of the fear of what will happen if he lets people love him - but by giving into that fear, he ensures that he’ll never get what he wants most.

In order for Damon to have a successful, satisfying ending, he has to 1) overcome his fears. He does this in 8x16 when he attempts to self-sacrifice for the right reasons, in direct contrast to his self sacrifice in 7x22 for the wrong reasons - a sacrifice he makes out of fear:

“There is a girl waiting outside for you, and if you go in there with me and get all screwed up, you're gonna have problems with her, and you're gonna blame me.” - Damon to Stefan, 7x22 (S7 is written to be a tragedy but that’s another post)

And 2) he gets the chance to let himself be loved. That’s why Delena has to be endgame. Damon finally getting a chance to let himself be loved is central to his character in a way that makes any other ending a tragedy for him.

So what about Stefan? Stefan’s goal is Choice. The same way that Damon has lost in love, Stefan has repeatedly had his choices taken from him. Katherine takes Stefan’s choice away when she compels him, bloodlust takes Stefan’s choice away when he becomes a ripper, Klaus takes Stefan’s choice away when he enslaves him. This is why Stefan is so protective of Elena’s ability to choose, and it’s also why narratively, Stefan’s worst crime is taking Damon’s choice away when he forced him to become a vampire. Morally, it’s far from the worst thing Stefan has done, but thematically it’s the misdeed that matters the most. That’s why it’s brought up again and again.

The obstacle that’s getting in the way of Stefan’s Choice is Vampirism. Whether it’s his own or someone else’s, Stefan can’t choose the life he wants to have or the person he wants to be without vampirism getting in the way. For Stefan to have a successful, satisfying ending, he has to 1) reconcile his relationship with vampirism. He does this by escaping his vampirism when he’s cured. And 2) he has to have the opportunity to choose. That’s why human Stefan is immediately on vervain, and that’s why he maintains the ability to choose to sacrifice himself even after Damon attempts to compel him in 8x16. Is it the best way to have Stefan accomplish his goal? Personally, I don’t think so. I would’ve preferred to see him accept his vampirism rather than escape it, and I would’ve preferred for him not to die. But in a finale where one brother makes a choice to sacrifice himself and the other brother gets the girl, it’s clear which has to be which for their arcs to resolve in a thematically satisfying way.

[enjoyvoidblack]

Was midway through typing out a defense of Jon's decisions in light of how everyone (including Jonny) seems to think he could've done much better, but then I remembered he walked up to Jude Perry's front door and knocked and yknow what post cancelled actually. For that alone this man is an idiot (affectionate)

[mazojo]

Colin in his men era

[feelingtheaster99]

I finally finished the end of the last season of Teen Wolf this week, and I almost wish I didn’t because I think the Season 6A plot would’ve been a better ending

[incognitomoustache]

Man, that one episode of Enterprise could have been really cute if it was all about Archer loving his dog and less about him being horny for T'Pol