#i started watching it last… i think sunday?

[korrasera]

Yes, we had a vote at the last leftist meeting and I got appointed head explainer, so it was my turn to pick a way to refer to people who pretend to be leftists but don't actually adhere to any leftist values.

No leftist worth their salt would be spreading propaganda and despair. And anyone who gets serious about being a leftist starts by educating themselves about politics, so they wouldn't be repeating nonsense that's debunked by the google equivalent of a single episode of Schoolhouse Rocks.

That said, let's talk about some of your specific points:

I just see you saying “the right isn’t getting stronger” and all I wanna ask is what kinda Kool-Aid you’re on, because I look around the world and see a generational trend towards authoritarianism and fascism.

That's your fear talking.

No, really. It just looks that way to you because they frighten you.

I live in a country where people used to consider it a fine day out, a sunday best clothes kinda day, to wander down to the tree to watch someone lynch a black man. I live in a country that inspired Hitler's policies towards the Jewish people. I live in a country that has been responsible for genocide many many times.

I also live in a country where a man said "I have a dream" and helped bring about the end of a century of racist terror. A place where pride has become a nationwide celebration of diversity and strength. A place where people want to live up to the ambitions of the New Colossus.

So yeah, the authoritarians have been losing for a long time, but social change takes a long time. Politically, they were almost sunk in the 50s, with the way the Republican party was set to collapse. Sadly, we hadn't made as much social progress, so the Republicans rebuilt their base of power and started with new policies to try to undo progress. Every surge they've made to try to reclaim their position has gotten weaker and weaker.

Here's what the electoral map looked like for Reagan:

This is the first time in something like 20 years that the Republicans have won the popular vote for president and it required not just a colossal mistake on the part of the Democrats but also an unprecedented time of economic inequality across the entire planet.

What you see as a generational trend towards authoritarianism and fascism is just a reactionary surge. The trend is going the other direction. They're thrashing that much harder knowing that their way of life is dying out. It means they're dangerous, but it also means they're dying.

Maybe you're too young to know this from experience, maybe you don't have the broad picture yet, but they are getting weaker. A party known for being able to mobilize and unify wasn't able to pickup any additional support when they really needed it.

If the Democrats had really supported the working class, if they'd really tried to allay fears about the ongoing economic woes? The Republicans won by a hair in a year when the Democrats made big mistakes.

In closing, Re: Israel

Yes I can say both of those things at the same time.

Biden doesn't have the ability to dictate Netanyahu's behavior *and* he also should have made it policy to end offensive aid to Israel, not just slow roll it. I'm not sure why you think Israel is only able to do what they do because of US aid, especially because they currently aren't even getting that aid. They're a developed country with a large GDP and a completely modern military. They aren't another arm of the US military that can be disarmed at a whim.

If you don't know all of the things that the Biden administration did to put pressure on the Israeli government to end the genocide, you should go do some research, it's a decent list.

We tried to warn you, and you wouldn’t listen to us over the sound of your own self-righteousness. You must be so proud of yourselves.

[johaerys-writes]

Hello! A Snippet Sunday, if you don't mind?

Hello!! I saw this way too late last night so I didn't get a chance to reply until now, sorry! I've been working on the next chapter of baby born blue, which should be up later this week if all goes well, so here's a little snippet of the chaos:

“You’ll stay far away from me right now if you know what’s good for you, Dei,” he hisses menacingly, then glares at her two friends who cower before him. “And don’t you even think of filming any of this!”

"Oh, will you stop being so dramatic." Deidameia rolls her eyes, crossing her arms before her chest. "I only wanted to surprise you! Joke's on me, I suppose, for thinking you'd be happy for us," she adds snidely. 

“You sprang a trap on me!” Achilles yells, outraged, throwing his hands up. “You tried to embarrass me in front of thousands of people!”

“Nonsense,” Deidameia laughs carelessly. “What is there to be embarrassed about? You’re going to be a father!”

“Like hell I am. I want nothing to do with this, do you understand me? It’s over. We’re over.” 

Deidameia blinks and takes in a sharp breath, the only sign that her composure was rattled. It’s gone in an instant; she straightens and meets his gaze levelly with an icy look of her own. “Stop fooling yourself, Achilles,” she says viciously and takes a step closer, lowering her voice. “You and I are far from over. We are having this baby whether you like it or not. And if you try to walk away from this, I will destroy you. I will destroy you both.”

She says those last words directing a heated glare at Patroclus. Achilles’ eyes go wide, his cheeks flushing bright red. His hands gather into fists as he starts visibly shaking with barely contained fury. He takes a step towards her, but he doesn’t quite reach her before Patroclus grabs him by the shoulders. 

“Achilles, come on, let’s go,” he says quietly, pushing him gently towards the doors. There are already a couple security guards watching the exchange, murmuring into their walkie-talkies.

“He’s going nowhere with you!” Deidameia shrieks. “Achilles, come back here, this isn’t finished!” She tries to grab for Achilles’ hand, but Patroclus catches her wrist first.  

“Trust me, you don’t want this,” he tells her, just as the ticking time bomb that is Achilles inevitably explodes behind him. In just a few seconds both Achilles and Deidameia are yelling up a storm in the middle of the crowded airport arrivals, Patroclus and her friends caught in the crossfire, while a few dozen people have stopped to stare at them, some of them already reaching for the phones to film them. Patroclus has to bodily drag Achilles towards the exit, escorted for the second time that week by security guards, and flags down the first taxi he sees while Achilles rages next to his ear. 

[mysteriouslytransparentwitch]

energy of king charles post remembrance sunday 10 november

King Charles really enjoyed his last trip, he is ready to make decisions for the royal machine, he is ready for transformation. He seeks to grow the royal machine, he thinks about how? and obtain victories. He teaches William and Catherine a lesson. tarot: the light was on William and Catherine, I would say that there were discussions about their couple and their behavior. This weekend was a form of obligation to get out of their bubble and stop the illusions. A decision was made by Charles to take things in hand, to start again, to triumph. I believe he gave an ultimatum and he got what he wanted. Catherine still feels mistreated or tries to find a balance but feels frustrated.

Charles feels like a winner because he got a job and the increase in work for the year 2025 or for the end of this year.

Conclusion: he is the one who ended this game and forced everyone to get back to work. I continue to say that we will have to watch the rest. Will Catherine hold on?

[izvmimi]

cw: selfship-coded. part 2 of a sort to this meet-ugly. reader is a doctor and knows nami from her past.

“So what you mean to tell me right now is that you’re calling me when the medicine floor is full to bursting to admit a… reindeer to the hospital?”

You keep your voice neutral and professional as you talk through the transponder snail, who has picked up the characteristic protruding ears of one of your closest friends and coworkers.

“It’s complicated.”

You grimace.

“I’m not a vet, bestie, and neither are you.”

Your friend pauses on the phone for a moment, and you can tell the full force of the ridiculousness of the situation has finally hit him, but there was desperation in his voice, so you bite your lip, waiting for his response before you agree to go see his patient. Hopefully, it won’t take too long, you think, given that you’re alone managing the unit for the rest of the day.

Out of kindness, you sent your intern home early about an hour ago, thinking that today would shape up to be a quiet Sunday, possibly a piss poor decision. Things are still relaxed however, and as you gather up your things to leave the workroom, you listen intently to the rest of your friend’s report before you formally take a look at the purported animal patient. 

“Its friends say that it apparently has a more human form, even if it looks the way it does today?”

Human form? “You think it’s Zoan Devil Fruit maybe?”

You’re marching down the stairs, almost tripping on the last two, when he replies, “Typically they revert to their human forms when they’re sick though, this looks like the opposite.”

“Humans are animals, too, I guess,” you muse. He doesn’t answer immediately, and you hear a sudden commotion in the background. 

“Shit, gotta go,” he offers and he’s immediately off, and you watch the Transponder Snail stop responding. Setting it down at a nurse’s station in the emergency department, you locate the bay you were told to check in and find a bunch of people huddled, but not resuscitating, a few nurses clearly idling and chatting. 

Pushing through gently until you can introduce yourself, you give your name, 

“Hi, I’m Dr. ___”-

And before you can even pull back the curtain, the first person you see is not the reindeer that is sprawled out, eyes closed but still breathing with a steady, stable rhythm, but one of the most memorable people from your childhood’s striking tangerine hair, and you lose your breath temporarily. 

“No fucking way,” she says, rising, and you, also shocked, in her all the memories of the past you try so hard to erase in your day to day, rushing back, until she throws her arms around you, and you throw your arms back around her. 

She’s supposed to be in disguise, and later she’ll admit to you that it’s because she has a terribly large bounty on her head, but you don’t forget a face, especially around the eyes. 

Even if it’s been years and years.

Sniffling, you pull away and thank her, before turning your attention to the bonafide reindeer - admittedly the cutest one you’ve ever seen - with a high fever sitting in front of you.

“Hey, Nami… tell me everything you know about him,” you say, your voice warm and thankful. “And let’s catch up later.”

—

“You know, part of me always wondered what became of you.” Nami states, once the three of you have been situated in a proper hospital room, an IV drip started by a somewhat reluctant nurse while other floor nurses and staff peer curiously through the window. You smooth the wrinkles in your scrubs and smile at her again, taking in the fact that the last time you saw each other you were just on the verge of turning 14, and you’d been trying to help her store a load of jewels she’d swiped from a jewelry store.

It was the second to last time you ever used your Devil Fruit powers for wrongdoing, and you try not to think about the true last time. 

“I didn’t really imagine you’d become a doctor after all that,” Nami teases.

“It’s in my blood apparently,” is your simple response, one that warrants elaboration in the future. You tap the tubing of the IV and take another look at the young deer-man before you, who Nami says is named Chopper, pressing a finger to his calf to check for leg swelling briefly, then look back at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a pirate now.”

You blink.

“I thought you hated pirates.” Your voice has softened into a whisper.

Nami smiles, the kind that seems to hold back a story that is far too grand to share all at once.

“And I thought you were a drug smuggler,” she says, with a wink. Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, and you say nothing else. Now is not the time really to explain how you got out of that situation, the least of all reasons because there could be prying eyes. 

Changing the subject quickly, and also due to curiosity, you sit down ahead of her and ask for her to share to avoid having to spill your own dirty laundry, and your scheme works, as Nami recounts her years since the two of you parted ways and the pirate crew she’s grown to know and love.

And you hear one name more frequently than all the rest.

—

You take care of Chopper for three days and match a few more names to faces - Sanji, who somehow manages to toe the line of sexual harassment with all the nurses but never actually tips over it and Usopp who you wish would talk less and listen more. You have to admit that there’s a charm to the two of them that complements Nami well, even if she seems to be yelling at them half the time, and your talks with Chopper during rounding are fascinating as soon as he gets better. After the initial shock of a talking animal, you find that he is highly intelligent (probably more so than you), very susceptible to praise and also very kind. 

Linking the four together is that same quality, kindness.

—

“Don’t you think maybe you’re trusting me a bit too much?” you muse, your thumb running the rim of a cocktail while Nami sips on her own drink, and Chopper a glass of freshly squeezed juice. “You do have insane bounties on your heads and I might not be the same person you met years ago.”

“I doubt you’ve changed,” Nami says somewhat confidently. She looks around at the tavern, and with the lack of wanted posters on the walls anywhere and the relative reclusiveness of this town, her guard is down. She leans in. “Unless you’ve set us up already, and in that case perhaps I’d have to kill you.”

There’s a short pause, and the two of you burst into laughter, even if Chopper for a moment looks between the two of you with a mild concern.

“I’m glad you came with me today though, because I haven’t been here in a week since there’s a weird guy I’ve been trying to avoid here and I was starting to miss the food.”

Nami’s eyebrows raise.

“Oh, what does he look like?” 

“Like average height, dressed like it’s summertime, and-” you pause and duck.

Speak of the devil.

“Ugh, he’s here,” you whisper from practically under the table. Nami takes a look back, and to your horror she waves.

And her illustrious captain and your meet ugly collide into one person with a big wide smile.

“Great to see you again!”

It finally occurs to you that the names were the same - Luffy.

[ghostgirl-22]

Do you think patrick ever put on a queer/gay movie as a subtle way to get art out of his shell, like "yeah dude ive wanted to watch this movie for ages" and its okay its chill, look how hot they are, look how happy they are

"Is kissing boys different to kissing girls?"

Oh he definitely did… I’m sorry this is so long nonnie!!!

CW: 18+ NSFW | period typical internalized homophobia

—-

Patrick’s lying in Arts bed with his headphones on going through his catalogue of dvds trying to figure out what B movie they can watch and make fun of while they get high. The whole time Art is using his back as a writing surface to finish his math homework.

Patrick pulls his headphones off and drops them on the ground. “It’s Friday. Do you have to do that now?”

“It’s Friday night, we have the tournament Saturday and Sunday so when exactly?” Art says distractedly, erasing.

“On the bus like I do.” Patrick smiles and turns to look at him. Art pushes his shoulder back down. Patrick shrugs and focuses back on his dvds.

“Stay still.” Art demands.

“Forgive me if I’m just trying to get you to have a little fun in our last few months at Mark Reballato Tennis Academy.”

“You know I do actually plan to graduate, right?” Art says dryly.

“So you can go to Stanford?” Patrick says wrinkling his nose in irritation.

Art puts his notebook down on Patrick’s back. “You know Tashi’s gonna be there right?”

Patrick shrugs. “So, just two overtalented people wasting time…”

“Aww so you’re calling me overtalented?” Art teases.

“You are,” Patrick says. “When you don’t think too much, which Stanford should help you with. I’m sure they don’t over think anything there.”

“Whatever man,” Art sighs. If anything it’ll help my tennis. I think you’re just scared I might steal her away.”

“Not even a little bit, but speaking of her… do you remember how you let me put my tongue in your mouth?” Patrick smirks.

Art goes all quiet like he’s doing homework again but Patrick doesn’t hear the pencil scratching paper.

“You always bring it up like you think I want you or something.”

“You wanted something, I felt it,” Patrick says pushing himself up as Art grabs the notebook off him before it falls.

“Come on man, don’t be gross, that was for her.”

“How is that gross?” Patrick asks, mildly amused, mildly irritated.

“You know what I mean,” Art says. “‘m not gay.”

“You know there’s nothing wrong with it right? Not to mention I’ve seen you before…touched you before… and…I mean remember what we did after she left? Didn’t I make you feel better?”

“We don’t always have to talk about it.”

“We don’t never have to talk about it either.” Patrick counters.

Art takes a deep breath and rests his head against the wall trying to find a way to change the subject. “Dude, if you’re gay just let me have another shot with her.” Is what he comes up with, dumb pretty smirk on his lips.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Yeah whatever, fine I’m gay…actually that reminds me of this movie you can gayly watch with your gay best friend.”

“I’m just joking. You don’t have to—“

“Well I’m not joking, come on, put this away, loser,” Patrick grabs his notebook and stuffs the papers inside.

“Okay Jesus, Patrick don’t wrinkle it all up.”

“I’m not, chill out. Get the smoke detector.”

Art sighs and climbs off the bed. He steps on Patrick’s bed and reaches up to disconnect the detector from its place on the ceiling. He puts it in the bathroom. Then he shoves a towel beneath the crack in the door.

All the while Patrick’s combing through his dvd case for one random movie he borrowed from Netflix at the start of the year and he’d forgotten to mail it back so they charged him. (That’s sadly how he ended up with a lot of his dvd collection.) He’d watched it once by himself because he thought the main guys were hot and he wanted to jerk off in peace without Art voicing confusion at the idea of him jerking it for a man.

But it had been surprisingly deep for one of those campy queer movies. And of course it was about a guy in love with his roommate which… even for Art’s ability to delude himself wouldn’t be subtle at all.

“What’s this?” Art asks.

“The movie we’re gonna watch. This guy is a male hooker but he ends up getting hired by this old guy who mostly just wants his company.”

Art frowns.

“Come on, relax. You can be straight and watch it. Movies don’t turn people gay and you’re not gay…so what’s the big deal?”

Art looks like he wants to argue but decides it’ll just be easier to surrender. Patrick rolls the joint while Art puts it in the dvd player.

It’s not all his fault. Art was raised with apple pie and Americana. He’s a J Crew catalogue wearing, red blooded New England boy. His family is pretty liberal but in the way that they support all of it as long as it remains out there faceless and unknown… far away from their life and their home. Art’s expected to play a sport, go to an ivy, marry a beautiful girl and likely start a career in politics if tennis doesnt pay off. So this idea that life could ever deviate from that makes him glitch out.

All the tension they have between them is so much easier to just bury. Like none of it matters. It’s not supposed to change the trajectory of his cookie cutter life anyway.

Art sits on his bed next to Patrick they’re both leaning against the wall Patricks feet dangling over the mattress, Art with his legs crossed. Patrick lights up the joint and hands it to him.

—-

They’re pretty baked halfway through and Arts fidgety. It’s at a scene where the main character is touching himself watching his roommate in the shower. “He’s hot right?” Patrick asks.

Art takes a breath. “Dude.”

“Yeah I know…you’re not gay.” Patrick smirks, but even in the dim glow of the tv he can see the way Art’s already starting to show in his boxers.

The third roommate catches the main character watching and wants to suck him off. Then while third roommate is sucking him he starts fantasizing about all three of them hooking up, kissing sloppy on the bed.

“Is this porn?” Art whispers. “Are we really watching gay porn?”

“No I wish… unfortunately they don’t show you that much but imagine if me and you and Tashi were roommates.You watching her shower… while I…”

Art makes a strangled noise and Patrick rubs his own cock, smiling to himself. Art’s just getting there but Patrick’s been hard for the last 30 minutes.

“Patrick,” Art whispers. He’s starting to touch himself over his boxers.

“Give me the joint,” Patrick says, softly. It’s their third one. “If you drop it on the bed again we’ll both be in trouble.”

Art hands it over and Patrick puts it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. He moves closer to Art reaching over to help him. Art leans back, letting Patrick take over. Patrick reaches into his boxers. “Mm Patrick… have you seen her naked?” Art asks.

“No,” Patrick whispers. “Just her underwear. But…I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“I feel like I can still taste her lips.” He moans while Patrick plays with him. Patrick can’t help but ease his other hand into his own pants. “I wanna…ah… I wanna… see her all soaped up wet and…” Art continues.

“And…?” Patrick breathes.

“Fuck… can you… can we…do what we did after…”

Patrick smiles and nods even though Art likely can’t see him. He gets on his knees and Art scoots towards the edge of the bed. Patrick takes Art’s boxers down and starts sucking him off. touching himself the whole time.

“Mm fuck,” Art breathes.

He barely lasts 2 minutes before he’s filling Patrick’s mouth with so much jizz. Patrick swallows it down, while listening to Art moaning for him. All the hair on his arms standing up. He rests his head against Art’s thigh making quick work of himself, using part of the sheet to keep it from getting all over the floor.

Patrick settles where he is on the floor, breathless when he’s done. Looking up at the television like it was fucking nothing even though his heart is still racing.

Main character has moved so far away from the threesome fantasy. He’s now angsty and worried about his best friend who’s apparently being pursued by someone else. Some other more wholesome gay man. Patrick ponders rewinding but when he looks up at Art, he’s lying back on the bed, hand casually on the waistband of his boxers, tapping his bare feet on the floor just watching.

Patrick rubs Arts leg idly.

“Who’s this loser?” Art asks of the more wholesome gay man.

Patrick laughs. It’s exactly what he thought on his first watch through.

They end up watching the rest of the film. Again, it’s surprisingly more emotional than the premise (male hooker wants to fuck his roommates). Main character ends up learning to be more open about his feelings in his time chatting with the elder gay client. And the emotional part is hearing the elder gay man talk about what he went through to fall in love with his partner when it was much more taboo and unacceptable. And how even though they meet late in life they still lived such a full and happy life (if too short) before his partner passed. And main character’s roommate even gives him a chance and they go out on a date.

Art’s rubbing his eyes when it’s over.

Patrick gets back on the bed next to him. “That was nice right?”

Art’s clearly trying to hide his feelings so he just nods and when he feels okay to use his voice he says. “Seems kinda deep for you.”

“Well I can be deep,” Patrick smirks. He curls his fingers into Art’s hair. “I mean it’s cool right? They were happy.”

”I always wonder where they imagine movies like this to happen? San Francisco probably.” Art laughs, lightly. He looks away from Patrick and Patrick puts his hand back by his side.

“Well I think it could happen anywhere but good thing you're going to California soon.” Patrick says, just as light.

Art looks at him again and then looks at his lap. “I mean it wasn’t just her that made me feel…” he murmurs.

“Me too,” Patrick says.

“So I don’t know…I mean I’m not gay but…but maybe I’m something else…”

“I definitely am.”

Art sighs. “You make me something else.”

“Is that so bad?” Patrick asks.

Art rubs his hands on his thighs and then leans in and gives Patrick a kiss.

(Had to google if Netflix existed in 2006 😭😭 it did but they mailed dvds. Also I made Patrick lie. Movies definitely make you gay. Look what Challengers has done to me!!)

[dayslynthesix]

this is absolutely true!

im brazilian and my dad was 41 in 1994 when senna died, when i started to watch f1 back in 2022 he told me that whe he was younger he and his friends would wake up earlier on sundays and call each other, they watched the races talking to each other on the phone.

he also told me that he started to watch f1 when senna joined it and stopped when senna died, but every sunday he joins me and watch one lap of the race, or just the start, but interlagos sundays he sit down and watch a little more than just one lap.

i showed him this photo and the video (hamilton driving the car) and he looked at me and i saw the deja vu in front of me cause he said that he remembered that race, and when i told him that this wasn't interlagos 91 he just stopped and said "well, senna used to do that, he used to carry the flag"

and the rain. the rain made everything so much more special. i never saw senna race, but seeing that car, on the track, while raining, in brazil, with lewis carrying the flag... that was so emotional, it was so beautiful.

and there's this funny story that i think everyone who saw can relate haha my dad said that during that japanese gp that senna and prost crashed he and his friends just hang up the phone and never finished the race.

and also my dad only watch more than one lap in monza and in interlagos. monza this year will always be dear to me cause we watched the last 15 laps together talking about the race

the person who said "the rain heard senna's engine and come again to challenge him one more time" captured perfectly everything related to senna and raining races.

how can we miss someone we never knew is something that never fails to impress me

Okay, my dad just pointed something that made me mush about the change in schedule on the Senna tribute.

Most european races happen in the morning in Brasil, and there's this generational thing of waking up early on a Sunday to watch f1 over here, and Galvão (the guy that narrated the races back with Ayrton) would say he was the reason brasilians would smile on a Sunday morning

So, having Lewis drive that mp4 on a Sunday morning is going to be that little bit more special 🥹❤️

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[thelastsaiyanprincess]

the anger is now turning into resentment

[tomatoluvr69]

What’s up tumblr hope you had a super fun leap day. sparkle on. big news my first seed start sprouted while I was at work ✨

[phagodyke]

fuck it url change... sorry mutuals hope u still recognise me. keeping the avatar for now :3

[chaotictomtom]

will prob go off tumblr for a good month as saw x comes out only end of october in france 🫡 i know you won't be like the succ sunday girlies but it is certain i won't be able to dodge every spoil and!!! i absolutely don't want any

[authenticaussie]

Started critiquing shows under the umbrella of "would this constitute a declined insurance claim" and it has been VERY fun so far.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

god i cannot WAIT to have a desk again

[awesome-cookies-and-cream]

i miss broadcast tv. i want to watch shitty shows that's just a little left of being amazing. i want to not spend my life in front of a screen and i don't wanna be spoiled on shows. like i wish everyone watched it at the same pace. i wish we weren't so saturated with shows i don't even want to watch anything

[dollfacefantasy]

MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡

pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)

a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.

Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.

It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.

Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.

"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.

At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.

"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"

The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.

"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 

Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.

"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.

He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.

"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.

Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.

It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.

His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.

"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.

"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.

But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.

"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.

"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."

"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.

"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.

His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.

Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.

But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.

"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.

"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.

"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."

And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.

"You wanna bet?"

You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."

And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.

You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.

As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.

You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 

Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.

"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.

"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.

Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.

Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.

The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.

Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.

He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.

With each passing hour, his frustration grew.

Today, it reaches its zenith.

The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.

The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.

Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.

In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.

He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.

Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.

All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.

But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.

You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.

Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.

Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.

"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.

He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.

"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.

"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.

"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.

"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.

He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.

"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.

That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."

He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.

"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."

"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.

He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.

It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.

The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.

You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.

Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.

He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.

Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.

He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.

Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"

His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.

"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.

He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.

You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.

He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.

It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.

A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.

He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."

That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 

"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."

He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.

"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.

Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."

He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.

The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?

To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.

"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."

He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.

You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.

The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.

"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.

"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.

"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.

"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.

With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."

You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.

"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.

This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.

He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.

Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.

"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.

A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.

"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.

"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.

"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.

Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.

"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.

His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.

You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 

It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.

"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."

"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.

"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.

His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.

Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.

"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."

You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.

"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.

"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.

A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.

He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.

"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.

"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."

Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.

"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."

"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"

Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."

"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."

"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.

Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.

With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."

Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.

He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.

A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.

When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.

His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.

You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.

He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

His head turns to meet your loving gaze.

"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.

You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.

Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.

All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.

Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 

"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.

Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.

"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 

"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."

"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.

"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.

"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."

"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.

"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."

Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.

"See you tomorrow, Scott."

"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.

[tottentz]

HOUSE ADVENTAGE .ᐟ ── honkai star rail. ❛ i know you want me, baby ❜ 🗝 ﹢を ˒ㅤ ft. aventurine, dr. ratio, boothill, jing yuan, sunday, jiaoqiu.

𓆩♡𓆪 WARNINGS ! mdni. reader has no pronouns but afab anatomy is used, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, fingering ( boothill ), handjob ( aventurine ), facefucking & hair pulling ( dr. ratio ), facesitting ( jing yuan ), a little bit of spit, kinda possesive sunday, marking ( jiaoqiu ), size difference, begging, orgasm delay, a bit of angst on aventurine's part, as he is a little self-destructive. ♡ˎˊ˗ ֶָ֢⊹𐙚 DESCRIPTION ! their little obsessions with their favorite parts of your body.

mature content ahead + please take care of yourself before proceeding !

𝐢.ㅤ ㅤDR. RATIOㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your mouth.

your mouth can be both a curse and a blessing.

is just that sometimes you don't stop talking nonsense.

veritas' thumb touches your mouth. you don't speak, don't have to. you part your lips without being asked, letting Veritas inside to press on your tongue. 

"good," you get for your efforts. another chill ripples down your spine. veritas traces your teeth, pressing on the points as if to test their sharpness. and you stay still, holding your mouth open even when veritas pulls his hand back. fingers under your chin. you are tipped up a bit more, then veritas hooks his thumb over your bottom row of teeth and pulls your mouth open wider. 

"you gonna fuck me now?" you ask, try to. does your voice always sounded like that? desperate. you whine before nuzzling into the inside of his thigh.

"no, you haven't deserved it yet" he starts, holding your wrist with his free hand and putting your fingers above his thigh. you know that it means if you want me to stop, tap twice, and it makes heat coil in your belly. "you take what i give you or nothing at all."

you want to roll your eyes at him, but the very second you wrap your lips around him, he has both hands on your head, not moving it, not pushing you down or anything, just resting there. 

he goes slow at first, wanting you to get used with the feeling, you can feel the weight of veritas' gaze. and when you moan, one of your hands still working up and down along veritas' shaft as tears beginning to prickle at the corners of your eyes, his thrusts turn sharp and fast, your jaw aching from how long you had veritas' fat cock in your mouth.

"breathe," he says, watching the way you smirk at him as if you've won some sort of award. he narrows his eyes at you, "you can choke all you want, but your impatience is not going to get you anywhere."

before you can even argue again, he's guiding your lips back on him. just a moment goes by when you feel his hands grip your hair, pulling slightly and following the rhythm of your movements, just putting a bit more force behind them until he finally presses you one last time against his pelvic bone, swirling his hips and stretching out your throat impossibly more around him.

"messy." his sighs echo throughout his empty walls and it causes your eyes to flutter as you try to breathe in through your nose. when you gag, he moans again.

veritas' thrusts begin to turn erratic as he fucks your mouth, a growl erupting out of him on a particularly hard thrust, and you feel so enlightened, nodding dazedly around his cock before pulling off, tilting your head up and dropping your jaw. 

veritas bends down, smiling at your fucked out face, mascara tracked tears, your spit covered chin, and spits right into your waiting mouth.

"thank you.” you say, as always.

𝐢𝐢.ㅤ ㅤSUNDAYㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your eyes.

he thinks you are pretty, pretty when you smile, pretty when you cry. after all, they say the eyes are the mirror of the soul, and so, he always do his best to fuck you until everything's hazy and blurry with his blatant desire.

sunday just knows how you feel by the way your eyes roll back he palmed the bend of your knee, pressing the joint by your temple as to ease his strife, and he faltered when you sobbed his name, eagerly arching your tremoring pelvis into his own because he had begun to relentlessly hammer a delicate plot that induced your vision to flicker and blurrily haze with spangled glimmers of hot electricity. 

and, for the third time, sunday slows down, hips flush against your ass he can nudge his cockhead right above your sweet spot, missing it on purpose, because he knows what to do to make your eyes prickle with tears as easy.

"always so good for me," sunday groans, a badgering ache numbed your rational thought, swallowing the sensible and only rational portion of your conscious in a sudden pit of longing. "i've broken you in, haven't i?"

"p-please, sunday— please, please, please let me c-come," you sob, as if all would be lost if the climax you'd been chasing mischievously slipped through your quivering fingertips. "w-wanna cum on your cock, please, ah—" ⠀ ⠀ 

wild pulsations rendered his brain to mush and melted his forefront conscious into a haze of silver lining. you gasp, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck and biting at the untouched skin.

"so pretty when you beg," he compliments. he's just as far off as you. ruby red and temple coated with sweat, sunday is flush and trembling under your hold. "does it feel good, love? say it," sunday commands, but you don't understand, can't understand with your mind being in such a pleasurable haze. he fucks up right in the time he pulls you back down by your waist, downright impaling you on his cock. "say you're mine."

"yours," you repeat, and he bites on your lower lip. you have enough of a mind presence to admire his bulging biceps contorting with your weight, and his huge test firm and sweaty from the effort.

"again," his possessive side gets the best of him, admiring all the marks he has left in your neck. "say it again."

"yours, ah!" a moan breaks at the end of the word, sunday's thrusts getting rougher, faster and there's heat pooling down on your lower stomach. "i'm y-yours, all yours, only yours."

"yes, mine," sunday agrees, and sunday thinks you are a vision like this.

you are looking at him like he's an angel, like a devil he's completely consumed by. you are still clad in your clothes, moving up body up and down, docile and pliant on sunday's cock as if you are nothing but a beloved toy.

"mine." he reachs forward to run his hand down your stomach, under your shirt, his touch soft enough to have you brokenly stuttering. 

drawing his name from your lips, you arched further into the bed as the last of your orgasm shook your weak limbs. his name carried significance. the tenor more than just a lovely echo of your rapture.

𝐢𝐢𝐢.ㅤ ㅤJIAOQIU ㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your breast.

they are just so soft, and all for him to suck, for him to claim.

"i barely moved and you're already falling apart," jiaoqiu tells you, voice strained from effort but still full of fondness, and you feel butterflies dancing in your stomach at the praise. it seems like he wants his orgasm to ebb away. at the look you're giving him, he adds: "wanna cum with you, yeah?." ⠀ ⠀

you mewl at the thought, watching him position himself between your legs again and kissing you slowly. jiaoqiu caresses your cheek with a gentle thumb, other hand tracing a feather-like path down your body. his fingers brush against your nipple, the whine you let out being swallowed by jiaoqiu's greedy mouth, and he sneaks his hand under your shirt just as his kisses fly to your neck.⠀

and then he's sucking. hard.

your hands fly to his hair, cunt throbbing with need when he tongues at the purple hickey, and it's throbbing, pulsating with how hard he sucked.

"jiaoqiu, fuck," you whimper, body oversensitive with all that has been going on, hand coming to pinch your other nipple like he's telling you how much this affects him. "please—"

jiaoqiu bites at it, tongue coming to soothe the pain later, and you're sure the grip you have on his hair must be painful, but he says nothing; only looks more intent on making you moan. he busies himself with sucking hickeys all over the place as one of his hands continues to descend down your body, thumb pressing in a spot by your hips that has your back arching and a desperate whine being pulled out of you.

you feel warm all over, how he always remembers exactly your pleasure point, the place that has your head spinning with pleasure.

"look at you," his fingers brush the underside of your chin, a few of his fingers cupping the base of your neck as to lift your head from you peripheral and bring it to his forefront visual. "grinding against everything. you're quite the needy thing, aren't you?" tilting your head as if examining a newfound discovery, his hips erratically jerk, and the breathless pants from your mouth divulged your own craving.

you're so responsive in both body and voice, jolting with every thrust, arching sharply, legs spasming like you can't take, but he knows you can.

"fuck me, please" you say, beg, euphoria peaked above its horizon, singeing his goosed skin with excited jolts. "please, want you, wanna feel you—"

humming into the feral abundance of the rough brush of his lips, you can't help but arch against jiaoqiu as he twists and pinches the tender skin of your nipples, and your breath hitches at the feel of his mouth brushing your nipple, whining at the feel of his tongue inching closer to your bud. 

"keep it together now," devouring you with a magnetic gape, your hues inundated, drinking in your flustered disposition. "it would be a pity if i stopped now."

"a pity," you repeat stupidly. in your defense, you feel as if your brain is melting.

he smiles, and deliberately ignoring your request, he decides to take the tip into his mouth wholly to suck, pushing the nip to the rough of his mouth while his other hand tends to the other breast. it looks like you'll have to wait a little longer

𝐢𝐯.ㅤ ㅤBOOTHILLㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your hips.

he is just a little obssessed with the softness of your skin underneath his cold fingers.

he is always reaching out to you in some way, whether is a hand in your thigh or an arm around your waist. especially if it's to keep you from squirming in his grip.

"hah," he states simply, a sound of pleasant surprise, and adds another finger inside. boothill pushes them to the hilt, until his knuckles brush your pelvis. you moan, head thrown back at the sudden, but welcomed intrusion. "acting all nervous around me but this is exactly what ya wanted, aint'cha?"

your teeth clenched but the effort was momentary as mewls of whimpers parted your lips. your hips eagerly bucked into his working hand, desperately aiding him to reach a depth that would cause your eyes to roll, much like they did when his thump began to swipe fast circles over the aroused bud of your clit.

 “forkin’ wet for me, huh? yer gonna sing pretty for me when ya come on my fingers, yeah?” his lips latched onto the skin of your shoulder, and he worked his away along the base until kissing the incision of flesh that dimpled behind your ear. 

you can't even think straight, hips rising off of the bed, but boothill holds your hips with his free hand and pins them down hard you know will leave bruises. your upper body lifts with this, back arching and legs kicking everywhere as you can't stop the loud moans slipping through your lips.

"s’good, isnt it, baby?," he says, licking against your bottom lip as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, "let me hear you."

he brought his inactive hand to fondle the nipple of your breast, rolling the sensitive bud beneath his fingertips, mindful to place bruising kisses along your neck where deep shapes of his ministrations would be left for you to cover.

"boothill," you groan, rolling your eyes back while rolling your hips forward, hand shooting to his and holding it there, "want your mouth-please."

he chuckles, dipping his head down to give a sharp bite against your nipple, his fingers still curling up into that spot.

"come on my fingers first." he says, floored by how good your voice sounds when you want to get fucked.

you roll your hips forward harder, grinding your clit against his wrist and essentially fucking yourself on his fingers now. he moans against your nipple at the movement, biting down harder as he hears you just above him holding your breath.

"that's it babe, ride it." he encourages, hearing your wet slide against his fingers with each movement of your body.

you shake as it washes through you, feeling his fingers remain in their spot against your little bundle of pleasure inside of you. you feel like you can explode from this alone and he practically forces it out of you, pulling his fingers out and immediately rubbing circles on your clit.

"i've got you," he encourages in a pleasured sigh, watching your body tremble involuntarily as your face contorts to what anyone else would assume is pain.

your heart pounds. your brain is whirring, moving a mile a minute and you feel like you can't breathe. everything, everything is so blurry except for him. whose gripping your skin like you're everything to him. like he needs you, like a lifeline, like he can't let you go.

you both loved it.

𝐯.ㅤ ㅤAVENTURINEㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your hands.

 aventurine doesn't say i love you often. not when you are alone, not when you fuck.

aventurine likes to pretend that you aren't painfully soft with him, but the truth is that you are, and have been for a while now. you do things like this frequently. you no longer give in to goading or falls for the traps aventurine sets for you.

your hand curl around his dick now, cold against the flushed skin but he doesn't care. he's engrossed admiring your fucked out state. he's always telling you how beautiful you look; sweat drips down your temples and your lips are swollen and so so sweet, cries melodic and high, still not tinged with the usual hoarseness it gets when aventurine abuses of your throat with his cock.

"somebody's made a mess," you hum, and aventurine thinks how dirty it is— the sticky wet feeling of his own release against his shaft, the obscene image of how his erection looks wrapped in your hand— it wrenches a moan out of him, it has him thrusting up into your hand.

his futile attempts did little as to alleviate the prodding knot that prompted him to toss his head against the cotton pillowcase. hasty fondle of himself induced naught a reaction, and he bitterly grumbled before arching his back where he lay, huffs of contempt lengthening until pitiful whimpers had been the only sound.

"you are enjoying this a little too much, friend," aventurine tells you, low and rough. 

"don't you?" your hand caresses his thigh, so he's thrusted into, slow, testing. 

you are gentle even in this, though aventurine has given you permission to be rough over and over. it doesn't matter. you continue to treat him kindly. it still feels like ripped flesh and shattered dreams and the aches that sit inside long healed scars. it's okay, aventurine can still destroy himself with this.

he should've figured something like this would happen soon. you know a little too much. "i live to please," aventurine wonders. "i've told you, haven't i? use me as you wish"

"oh." you say, quietly. "is that so?."

his heart stops, but the hand on his dick pumps ever faster. he's ruined you, he knows, but in the same way, you've ruined him. now all he wants- all he'll accept- is you, your body, your hands, all of you.

aventurine doesn't voice none of that, and so he avoids your gaze. good. better that way. you make it feel good too often. he needs to balance the scales.

"fuck fuck fuck, shit," aventurine breathes, voice gravelly, his grip in your hair getting tighter and tighter. tingles spark down your spine, for what had lasted only minutes drilled into lengthening ticks of time. such a case wasn't familiar to him. the antagonizing build that pooled until coiled into a tight dam awaiting its chance to burst.

you kiss him for what feels like the hundredth time— but this time there's something different, something urgent, and he grasps the back of your neck when he attempts to ease the ache himself, swiping rough compresses against whatever he could reach, furthermore tucking a hand beneath his thighs to clutch at his neglected balls, but his caress hardly could amount to yout touch-

 he harbored no genuine resentment, but with how his conscious craved their touch, he was bound to blame. "then tell me what you want, aventurine."

𝐯𝐢.ㅤ ㅤJING YUAN ㅤㅤ ❛ㅤㅤ your thighs.

"so pretty," you hear him mumble. "i could watch you all day."

you can feel his breath, the torrent of his day in the patterns of his breathing, the way he clings on to your skin telling tales of his frustrations. so you let him. you let him look and love and feast, devour you whole. and jing yuan doesn’t know what to do with it. doesn’t know how to hold so much love and adoration even in his big, big palms.

jing yuan swears he can die happy between your thighs, the way you still watch him, his eyes glaring up from between your spread thighs as he lets his tongue fall from his mouth and lick one long and languid stripe up your core, stopping just before your clit and pulling back as if he's tasting. 

he always touches like this is the only chance he’ll ever get. he digs his fingers into the pudge of your thighs, he holds you like you’ll crumble to dust. he’s so overwhelmed. you can feel his breath, the torrent of his day in the patterns of his breathing, the way he clings on to your skin telling tales of his frustrations. so you let him. you let him look and love and feast, devour you whole.

you roll your hips forward, and he instantly attaches his lips to your clit. you stop, and he trails back down and flicks his tongue against your folds in a teasing way. you grind forward, he's right back on your clit, flicking his muscle the same way and eliciting a whine from you.

"w-wait," you gasp, and aeons, you're gonna lose it. even if you didn't want to, you'd think the way he's moving his mouth is enough to get anyone to take advantage of it. 

“look at you,” he murmurs, full of mirth, full of adoration. his palm comes to curve against the swell of your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “pretty.”

and then you're weightless, control leaving you as he wraps his arms around your thighs and presses up, pulling you down with him, spreading your pussy out across his lips for him to take full control of. he nips at your clit before licking down, pressing the pointed muscle into you and only then does he release your legs. now, he's sliding both hands under your ass and rocking you against his face, angling his head so that he can lick inside of your walls to truly taste you.

"all for me" he says, and you're whispering, gasping for him, melting at the seams, feeling the strong muscle flick once, twice over your sensitive nub before pressing harshly into you. you jerk, small whines dripping off your lips as he grips your flesh, pushing himself impossibly deeper into yo

you go brainless, pulling at the roots of his hair as you push yourself down against him, suckling on it as he digs his fingers into your inner thighs, whimpering and rutting your hips against his face. jing yuan's fierce, violent, like all his passion coming alive in his ember-tipped tongue that's digging deep in you, sticky and warm and fuck, you're dripping, coating his chin and his nose in all you have to offer.

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