#the challenger deep

[waiting-on-mars]

Kinda wild that one of the men who descended into the Mariana Trench to reach The Challenger Deep, the deepest point of the ocean, was named Jacques Piccard! Boldly going where no one has gone before!

[stewykablooey]

[serafilms]

the golden quartet

art donaldson x reader, slight tashi duncan x reader, slight patrick zweig x reader, wc: 2k

author’s note: basically just a way less toxic (?) version of the movie with the reader inserted. they’re all still incredibly codependent and tashi/reader are very much in love and art/patrick are very much in love and art/tashi have their own kind of friendship/relationship and so do patrick/reader, but really patrick and tashi are one couple, art and reader are another couple, but like they would all live together and probably sleep in the same bed hypothetically. but in a healthy way. i like to imagine a world where they’re all codependent but skip all the “villain” allegations in their mess, and it’s just a beautiful unspoken symphony of love and four-way fidelity and infidelity. will probably write more in this universe.

part two here

“Tashi, stop it.”

Tashi stops and her eyes lock in on you, racket dropping to her side. “Stop what?”

You watch the way she bounces the ball a few times and don’t miss the way her gaze keeps flitting to your hand.

“Stop analysing me.”

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and doesn’t break your gaze. “It’s my job to analyse the opponent so I know how to win the game.”

“Yeah, but you’re not looking at me like an opponent.” Your lips purse. “You’re looking at me like you’re trying to calculate how to get me back on the court.”

“You’re on the court right now, aren’t you?”

“You know what I mean, Tashi.” Your racket falls to the court exasperatedly and you manage a step towards the net. “It’s over for me, I’m done playing tennis and I’m okay with that, but I’m not sure that you are.”

There’s just a tiny quiver in her eyes before her gaze steels itself again and she nods. “Fine. I get it.”

She tosses you the ball. “Just help me train.”

You watch as Tashi gets into position, and pick up your racket slowly. Maybe you shouldn’t have snapped at her. You so rarely do, but you’ve closed the door on that chapter of your life now, and you’re sick of her trying to pry it open. You don’t want possibilities of what you could have had. You don’t want to put in more years just to watch yourself fail at something you never really liked in the first place.

There’s a dull ache in your chest as you serve the ball.

Tashi Duncan has been your best friend for five years. For the life of you, you can’t remember the details of the tournament you were at, but you had a game against her. It was electrifying. You’d never played tennis like that before. It felt like you’d never known what it was like to breathe before Tashi Duncan. She basically crushed you, but you managed to get in a good few points, had the audience and line judges on the edge of their seats, and at the end of it, when you shook her hand, you felt like you’d just discovered a missing limb.

She found you afterwards in the stands and sat with you to spectate the next few matches. And hadn’t let you go since. You couldn’t imagine a life without Tashi. She was there for your first boyfriend, she was there when you broke up with him, she was there when you failed a class and your parents threatened to pull you out of tennis, and she was there when your wrist shattered and you quit.

Tashi never really understood why it was so easy for you to walk away. “You’re one of the best,” “You have so much potential,” “You can learn to play with your other hand.”

She never seemed to hear you when you said you didn’t want to play anymore. She’d look at you, with her piercing gaze then look away and move on. But the conversation was never over. It was like you didn’t exist to her without tennis, like it was your one achievement, and she couldn’t gauge who you were without it.

You suppose you were flattered, touched even, that she cared so much about you, in her own weird way.

Tashi looks at you questioningly when you lower your racket. You smile, “You should rest up. Your drills are perfect. You’re gonna crush her tomorrow.”

She takes a look at her watch, then nods. You can tell she wants to stay longer, but there’s really no reason to. Especially when you can feel her itching for a real match. That you can’t give her.

You bump her shoulder as the two of you walk out. “Wanna grab some donuts?”

The unimpressed face she gives you makes you laugh. “Come on, we can get you one of those healthy ones. The gluten-free, vegan bullshit.”

“Sounds delicious,” she drawls, but makes no further comments. You grin. A success.

She says nothing as you swing your borderline crippled arm over her shoulder, but you feel her muscles underneath relax just a little bit.

The following day brings a new round of pretentious young assholes on the court. Some of them eye you up as you make your way into the bleachers, whispering to each other. A girl comes up to you and asks for a picture. You’re a little surprised, and feel a little blindsided, but you suppose it’s only been a year since your injury. And well, considering where you are right now, it sure does seem to the rest of the world like you’re not fully done with tennis.

“Yeah, no problem,” you say with a smile.

The girl takes the picture, thanks you profusely then leaves, and you make your way up to the bleachers, and find a nice spot in the middle. Tashi liked you to be right in the middle of the game so you could watch her and her opponent. You wonder if she’s secretly preparing you to become an umpire.

There’s a flurry of whispers all too close to you, and then there’s a shadow blocking the sun to your left.

Two boys stand facing you, staring at you with their mouths slightly agape. You can’t help the amused smile that splits your face.

“Can I help you?”

The brunet snaps back into reality first. “Sorry, we were just— are you Y/N L/N?”

“Yeah, I am,” you say, eyes flitting between the two. They’re cute. Really cute.

The blond shakes his head slightly, like he’s coming out of a trance, and says, “Sorry, this is just the first time we’ve seen or heard about you since….you know.”

He winces, and his head ducks a little like a scolded puppy. “Sorry to hear about that, by the way.”

You let out a laugh that seems to catch his attention again. His friend jabs him in the side with his elbow. “Oh, don’t worry about it, seriously. It’s been a year, I’m over it.”

“Huh,” he says, nodding a little absently. He glances to the brunet, who’s just grinning at him. “Um, by the way, we’re—“

“Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig, right?”

The blond, Art, looks a little speechless.

Patrick chimes in. “Yeah, that’s us.”

“I watched your game just before. That was quite some victory celebration.”

The way Art’s ears turn red makes you happier than you’d like to admit. There’s a little flip in your stomach as he fumbles, “Yeah, well…”

There’s a flurry of movement as Patrick puts his arm around Art’s neck and pulls him impossibly close in a one armed hug. “Social conduct’s not gonna get in the way of me celebrating with my boy.”

The blond leans away and fights to get Patrick off him, and you smile as you watch. “Don’t worry, it was cute. Plus, I get it. We’re sort of the same way sometimes when it comes to victories. I mean, not the same, but you know.”

That seems to catch Patrick’s attention. “By we, do you mean you and—“

“Tashi Duncan!”

The announcement rings loud and clear through the speakers as she walks onto the court.

It’s almost comical the way Patrick’s jaw goes slack and he slumps onto the seat behind him.

You watch as Tashi waves at her screaming fans, shoots her winning smiles and makes her way to her side. She catches your gaze for a moment and you nod. She looks away and begins to stretch, but you’re not bothered. She knows you’re here, and that’s all you need. Can’t try and take Tashi Duncan out of the zone.

As you sit down, you’re a little surprised to find Art mirroring the action, still looking at you. “So, you’re best friends with Tashi Duncan?”

You nod. “Since we were like, thirteen.”

“Oh wow,” his eyes widen and you can’t help but think how impossibly cute he looks, “that’s almost how long Patrick and I have been friends.”

“Really? Oh, wow.” There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for you to catch each other’s eye and look away with awkward giggles.

Luckily, that’s when the match starts. And your focus locks in.

“COME ON!” Tashi’s scream is palpable in the air.

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of you. You’ve heard it a million times before, but it never fails to strike you.

There’s something akin to awe in Patrick’s eyes. Art looks like he’s in disbelief.

You can’t help but agree with their faces.

“So, are you guys coming to the party tonight?”

Patrick’s eyes flit away from Tashi’s to look at you. “Yeah, we were just talking about earlier. Art was saying how excited he was. He just loves parties.”

You can’t quite decipher the smirk on his face, but he looks like the kind of guy who’s never up to any good, so you turn to Art expectantly.

His eyes meet yours and your stomach does another little flip as he says, “Yeah, I’ll— we’ll be there.”

“Cool,” you reply. “I’ll see you guys later, then.”

You manage one quick glance back as you walk away, and see Patrick grinning and shaking Art’s shoulders. A smile plays at the corner of your lips and you leave.

Tashi finds you at your agreed-upon meeting spot, and wastes no time in grabbing your hand. “Come on.”

“Don’t you need to take pictures with your trophy?”

“Got a few, they’ll take more at the Adidas party. We’ve got to get ready.”

There’s a warm feeling like sunlight dancing in your chest as you let her drag you away.

The party is in full swing by the time you finally spot Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig lurking in the corner of the yard.

You’d just stepped off the dance floor for a moment, telling Tashi you were going to get another drink. The two boys seem to be arguing about something, but as you close the distance, you can see that they’re grinning too.

“Hey,” you greet the two. Their heads turn towards you in unison and they both stand up straight.

“Hi,” they chorus.

You take a sip of your drink as your eyes flit between the two. “So….what are you guys doing all the way over here?”

“You know,” Art says dryly. “Just enjoying the ambience.”

(Cute and funny. Man, you’re screwed).

“It’s a lot less creepy if you actually talk to her instead of just staring at her.” Your words are directed at Patrick, whose eyebrows shoot up. A smirk falls on his face. His charm instantly covers up the awkwardness.

Art barks out a laugh. (It’s a sound you wish you could inscribe in your mind).

“What makes you think I’m here for her?” Patrick smirks, looking you up and down. It’s so clearly a deflection, but it feels so natural that you can’t help but smile, and you feel your cheeks warm just a tad.

You glance back at the dance floor, and see Tashi excuse herself, glancing at you as she goes for her drink. You reach over to pat him on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

As you turn on your heel and walk towards Tashi, you hear a slap behind you and an, “Ow!”

“Tashi!” The smile in your voice is audible as she looks up.

“Hey,” she smiles back.

Then, her head tilts to the side and she looks at the boys. “Hi.”

“Hi,” they both say.

There’s a quiet moment in which you all exchange looks, a twinkle in each of your eyes. You can almost feel a spark of something in the air, and suddenly you’re thirteen years old again, meeting Tashi for the first time. Like another puzzle piece has finally fallen into place.

You feel your chest warm. If only you knew what your life was about to become.

[minnie-cai]

having soft sex with art for the first time and be starts crying?

but not dacryphilia or because he’s in pain or sad. he’s crying happy tears. because he’s just so overwhelmed by the affection and the attention and how gently you touch him and he suddenly realizes that he’s just extremely grateful to have you.

that’s why he was crying, emotions just bubbled up and one thing led to another and as he was slowly moving his hips, his cock smoothly pushing into you, you realize that the groans coming from his mouth as he’s hiding his face into the crook of your neck, have turned into whines and whimpers and when you hear a sniffle, that’s your last straw.

you hum, whispering his name as you place your hands on either sides of his head.

“…look at me, please?”

you murmur and he meets your eye. soft bloodshot gaze looking desperate but more alive than ever. he blubbers and he sobs and he mumbles little apologies as you try to speak to him.

“art, stop. i just want to know if you’re okay. what happened?” you say and he responds in a muffled, raspy voice, his words cracking. “i’m okay… i love you so much… i don’t- i don’t know why, i just felt like crying. i’m sorry.”

[doctorsiren]

I love you Jhes, I don’t care if me in 2018 reading your page and thinking you were an axolotl creature was a misunderstanding on my part. I’m keeping that headcanon / design since we know so little <3

[finifugue]

Listen I know in my head that the Lando puppy interview is mostly because of the PR success Leo Leclerc has had so now every team is on a pet thing but I do think it's HILARIOUS that McLaren went 'oh fuck everyone's saying our driver is severely mentally ill what are we gonna do? I know, let's make him play with puppies!'

[sceletaflores]

any nasty down bad breeding kink art musings love of my life?

viciously yanked me out of my mini challengers rut with this one because yes. yes i do have some thoughts on that.

for some reason the first thing that came to mind was virgin!art....in a universe where he somehow didn't get laid before stanford lol

like auurgggghhh virgin!art and his deep seated breeding kink. it's literally ingrained in him even before he has sex for the first time.

you're his first real girlfriend, met when you needed a tutor in accounting and art's professor suggested him.

the two of you have been dating for two months and he already knows that he loves you despite what patrick says about "playing the field a little man, you're not married to the chick."

but the thing is that art would marry you. he'd up and marry you tomorrow if that's what you wanted. he doesn’t care how crazy it sounds.

he loves you and he wants you to be his first.

maybe he wasn't entirely expecting it when you laid on your back on the mattress of his dorm, peering up at him through your lashes as you announced that you were "ready to take our relationship to the next level..."

he was hard before you finished talking.

art could barely think straight, his body reacting faster than his mind. he swallowed hard, trying to steady his hands, which had started trembling the moment you laid back on the navy blue comforter of his bed.

“are you...are you sure?" his voice came out more breathless than he intended, his brain scrambling to keep up despite all the blood rushing to his dick.

your gentle nod, paired with a soft smile that made his heart stutter in his chest was all it took for him to lose any lingering doubts.

he crawled up the mattress, leaning down to kiss you with more tenderness than urgency, his heart thudding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape his chest.

he fumbled his way through fingering you, his hands shaking with nerves even though you've done this part countless times.

it wasn't until the two of you shed all clothes, art settling himself between your legs before you were speaking, thighs twitching to close around his hips.

"you'll have to pull out, i'm off the pill."

fuck.

art's heard of that before, pulling out. usually the punchline of some jokes the guys like to tell in the locker room, or from patrick recapping his own hook-up stories.

the dirtiness of it makes his cheeks burn, and he hopes to god you can't see the embarrassing red blush he knows is there.

he takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve as he presses the leaking head of his dick to your slick hole.

"okay." his voice sounded pained, his hold on your hip probably a little too tight as he held his throbbing dick steady and nudged his hips forward until just the tip slipped inside your fluttering hole.

"oh fuck."

art’s brain short-circuits for a moment, his entire body freezing as the tight heat of you grips the head of his dick. he sucks in a shaky breath, trying to keep his cool, but every nerve in his body is screaming at him to move, to take more. to bury himself so deep he wouldn’t know where he ends and you begin.

he lets out a low groan, fingers digging into your skin, knuckles turning white with it. he wasn’t prepared for how overwhelming it would feel, like his entire life had been leading up to this exact moment.

"jesus...you're so—" he can’t even finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

"art," your hips shift beneath him, making him jolt forward, sinking just a little deeper inside you. his mind goes blank, a vast space of nothingness but the tight heat wrapped around his dick.

there's only you, your soft skin, your quiet gasps, the feeling of being wrapped in the most sinful warmth.

for a while art gets lost in the feeling. in the way you pant into his open mouth, too overwhelmed to kiss him properly. in the way your hands grip his shoulders harder with every inch he gives you. in the way your pussy shakes around him like it can hardly wait any longer.

art knows he's getting close, that he probably needs to pull out soon. but you're just so soft and you smell so good and your pussy is sucking his dick in so wet and warm like it never wants him to leave again.

"i can't," he grits out against your collarbone, shaking his head frantically. "i can't do it."

"don't stop," you whine, manicured nails digging into the toned muscle of his shoulders, "don't stop, baby. fuck, give it to me harder, harder please-ah!"

art screws his eyes shut as tightly as he can, brows pinched together as he presses his forehead against the sweaty skin of your shoulder to ground himself. his hips speed up to punch out more high whines of his name from your slick lips.

there's an odd feeling working it's way through his body as he ponders his options, a wrongness flashing in the back of his mind each time he reminds himself of pulling out to spill over your stomach.

despite the fact that he's never done this before, his gut tells him no.

you deserve his come inside you, painted along your insides as he claims you for the first time.

"i can't pull out," he whines through clenched teeth, big hands tightening their hold on your waist. his voice is pinched and high in a way it's never been before, desperation leaking through his tone.

your lips fall open on a gasp, your head shaking back and forth dazedly, but he feels the way you clench around him. the way your pussy tightens up like it's trying to milk the load directly out of his aching balls.

"fuck! please don't make me baby," he begs, self restraint snapping in two as he buries his face in your neck. "lemme come in you, it'll be okay. we'll be fine, nothing’s gonna happen if it's only this once."

"no..." you moan, "art don't, gotta pull out..." but your hips start rising of the bed to meet his thrusts, the dirty smack of skin on skin filling his tiny single. you're dripping around him, coating his dick with a slick layer of shiny wetness.

"i can't," art repeats breathlessly, dick twitching inside you warningly.

"i need it…need you, need to come in you so fucking bad," his voice is strained and cracking, hips trembling with the effort, but you’re so tight around him, every squeeze pulling him deeper.

it's too much and not enough all at once—the heat, the wetness, the overwhelming need. it has pure kerosene burning in his veins.

"art," your legs stay wrapped snug around his hips, ankles locked over his lower back. "m'close, gonna come, fuck! i'm coming—!"

so is art. the added squeeze of your pussy coming around him shattering the last of his resolve and sending him careening him over the edge.

"fuck," your name falls from his lips in a tight groan as he unloads inside of you. flooding your pussy with warm come as his hips keep up the punishing pace he set.

art doesn't stop thrusting even as he comes so hard his vision whites out. he can't stop, like you've got some sort of magnetic field that keeps pulling him in over and over and over.

your too-loud moans and cries dissolving into sharp keens and gasps as he fucks you into over-stimulation, his hips pumping in in in as the image of his come getting fucked deeper and deeper inside of you plays on a loop in his mind.

when his arms finally give out and he collapses on top of you in a sweaty heap of limbs, your arms immediately come up to wrap around his shoulders. a pleased hum rumbling through your chest as you scratch your nails along his scalp soothingly, smug smile hidden in the sweaty halo of his hair.

art's out like a light in five minutes, falls asleep right there with his head resting on your bare-chest and his dick kept safe inside you.

patrick buys a plan-b for art the next morning when he's too nervous to face the cashier at walgreens.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Welcome to the Dungeons of Fear and Hunger.

[buttercupshands]

Had another one of "YOU HAVE TO DRAW NOW" moments

I actually did the scene above on my second try of the battle, lv 90 doesn't exactly make it easy to lose

Also I think it's time to show those sketches too

The Siffrin practice once more, but this time a bit earlier

Also first try on figuring Loop's full body ref too

Also this little thing, not as polished as digital would've been

Imagine my reaction when I accidentally gave Loop a flower after trying already and they accepted it. I adored that 'yeah we won't speak of this, but I accept your stupid flower' scene more than anything and it was pure text after little scene

[infinite-orangepeel]

joe keery making everyone foam at the mouth by simply pushing the hair out of his face (the power he has over me…IM WEAK)

gif credits to: @pixiekeery (gif 2), @wrestless-waves (gif 3), @stevexharringtonx (gif 7 and 9), @eddielove (gif 6), @gothsugarwhore (gif 1), @charlie-hunnam (gif 5)

[mobius-m-mobius]

-Julio Cortázar, from "Bolero" (trans. John Joseph Lyons)

Loki S2 Anniversary x Episode 2 - “Breaking Brad”

[gravelyhumerus]

trek rainbow!!

[six-demon-bag]

TJ MIKELOGAN'S HALLOWEEN 2024 EVENT | DAY 17: POC IN HORROR

LAURENCE FISHBURNE as Captain Miller EVENT HORIZON (1997)

DOMINIC RAINS as Saeed A GIRL WALKS HOME ALONE AT NIGHT (2014)

LL COOL J as Preacher DEEP BLUE SEA (1999)

KEITH DAVID as Childs THE THING (1982)

ARDALAN ESMAILI as Omid SEA FEVER (2019)

DANIEL KALUUYA as Chris GET OUT (2017)

[wrensog]

listened to the ineffable husbands spotify playlist i made while drawing this thats how you know im too far gone

[nikmikaelsonswife]

breastfeeding patrick

warnings: smut—18+ only, breastfeeding!kink, mommy!kink, daddy!kink, pet names usage, mentions of bodily fluids, slight ass!play (really just grabbing and kissing, fem & male receiving), slight hand job, nipple/tit!play, you’re breast feeding a grown ass man ;)

a/n: came back from a hiatus i never thought would end to write something i couldn’t find so i decided to cook it up myself. my writing is a little rusty, haven’t whipped something up in over a year and i wrote this in like 2 hours so bare with me. challengers has brought me back to this hellsite and im here for a good time, not a long time. enjoy!!

thinking about patrick with a breastfeeding kink and him taking on a whole new appreciation and hunger for your breasts towards the end of your pregnancy and after you give birth to his child.

he fucking loved and admired all the ways your pregnancy had changed you, loved kneading the flesh of your ass, hips and thighs. loved it when you’d lay on your stomach—relishing in that luxury since you hadn’t been able to in so long with your belly bump—and let him play with you and worship you in all the ways he’d constantly dreamed of, let him push up your nightie and suckle and bite on the cheeks of your ass so much so that dark purple marks trailed down all parts of you. only helped you come to love the differences in your shape quicker.

the fact that he could become even more impossibly enamored with your body, especially any of the most womanly parts, equally surprising and comforting to you with your hormones and constantly changing perspective of yourself.

especially of the crazy change in your chest size. patrick always had been a sworn ass guy, that is until the night you let him see your bare skin for the first time and fuck, he loved your tits like nothing else in the entire world. especially now.

he’d attempted to admire the increased swell of your breasts and widening of your areolas from afar, always attempted to hide the way his cock thickened at the sight of pearls of white dripping from your hardened nipples and rolling down your sweat slick chest with a quick adjustment of his length inside his boxers. didn’t tell you about how he wished to lick you clean, tastebuds itching for the concoction that was your sweat and breastmilk, him often envious of the rags or t-shirts you’d use to wipe yourself down instead. his lips often twitched at the idea of sucking your breasts into his mouth, drinking in the excess milk that you’d let him taste, try and have all for himself. he didn’t wanna steal from your daughter though, hated the idea of her being upset, keeping you up all throughout the night because her daddy took away the only thing that truly calmed her down. didn’t wanna hurt you, physically or emotionally. he knew you were sensitive, didn’t wanna suck or pinch you too hard, didn’t want you thinking his mind and heart were consumed with sex while you were experiencing the rollercoaster that is postpartum.

except you knew your man and you always noticed when he was turned on as well as when he was trying to hide something from you. took hint of the way his eyes lingered on your chest when you (purposefully) left one tit free, the other typically occupied by your newborn as you fed her around the clock. felt his light touch in the middle of the night moments before one of you would wake and get up to feed the baby, when he’d slightly move the top of your tank to the side (at times, your nipples would already be on display, as your tops were too loose to completely cover your chest during your usual toss and turns that rattled your slumber, and oh how patrick loved to wake up to the sight of that) and flick his thumb over your soft peaks, bringing the finger to his tongue so he could taste you.

he’d only let himself have a little though, was just curious as to why his daughter loved the shit so much. he didn’t want to get too greedy and lose control and suck on your nipples til you were dry (at least on your top side).

you never missed the way his tongue would flicker over his drying pink lips whenever you’d soak your top with the substance, dampened dark spots forming right above your nipples within the fabric. smiled at how excited he’d get when you’d ask him to fetch you a new shirt, knowing he’d have an excuse to see your bare tits, all beautiful and swollen, all cause of him. “thanks pat,” you’d whisper as he’d help pull your camisole over your head, dropping a quick yet warm kiss on your brow before helping your arms through the new top he’d brought you.

his hands would always inch the hem of the top down as slow as possible without being too obvious (newsflash: you still noticed), so he could drink you all in. oh how bad he wanted to squeeze your breasts, hoping to force some of that godly liquid to spurt out of your nipples onto him.

you knew what he wanted, caught the naughty dark glint that swirled in his cobalt irises. and you knew you wanted it just as bad as he did.

his gaze flickered to meet your own when you caught his wrist, a twinge of confusion mixed with concern brightening his eyes a tad. he was questioning why you’d stopped him, immediately wondering if he’d done something wrong. had he grabbed the wrong shirt? did you hate the color? the material? did he accidentally put it on you backwards? had he been too much and you wanted to put in on yourself? he didn’t wanna make you feel helpless, he knew you were strong, you’d pushed his baby out after all, a zweig baby at that, and everybody knows how big their heads can get, not to mention their ears holy shit—

“help me out?” your bottom lip was punched out, eyes all sad and pleading underneath your long dark lashes. he recognized that look, knew you to use it on him every time you wanted something even though you knew he’d do anything for you no matter what as he’d made it clear so many times. yes, you knew that, it was just that broken down and babyish and all concerned and totally whipped ass look that made him look so pretty that he’d get on his face whenever you used it on him that made you whip it out every single time. it never failed you.

“always, baby,” he moved your hands so that yours on his wrist was now underneath his, his much larger and calloused fingers clasping your own. he brought your joined hands to his mouth, placing a soft kiss there. he was always kissing you.

“i feel so…” you trailed off, bottom lip jutting out even further as you feigned a small whine. “so full, pat. i can’t take it.”

dark brows furrowed in confusion as he briefly scanned your body for a second, attempting to figure out where and how exactly. you hadn’t eaten in a couple of hours, choosing to skip your usual late night snack and opting to attempt get some rest in instead. where else could you be so full?

oh. the word echoed in his mind, the realization silencing all his questions as you brought your joined hands to your chest, leaving his hand solo on your right breast. you wanted to moan at the feeling of him on your skin there, as he’d been avoiding touching your chest entirely other than the times you’d specifically asked for him to touch you there (such as helping the baby latch on or assisting you with one of those tricky breast pumpers).

“m’so full, daddy. please.” with that you arched your back into his hand ever so slightly, pushing your breast further into his palm.

despite the sensitivity that spanned your chest, you desperately wanted patrick to be a little rough with you. perhaps it was just you missing old times, like the night you fell pregnant in the first place. missed the way he’d tug and smack at your tits, nipping and biting as his hips snapped into yours. missed the way he’d fuck you and treat you like you were created just to get him off in the most paradoxical manner, as he’d also worship your body with kisses all over and praises falling from his lips, “fuckin’ love this ass, and this pretty pussy, and your sexy tits, it’s all mine? yeah, baby, all mine.”

it was clear he was afraid of hurting you, all so appreciative of what you’d put your body through because of him. the old you, before you’d gotten pregnant, would’ve laughed and called him a pussy for how soft he was being. he was holding back for you, dick so fucking angry and needy, straining and staining his boxers as he softly pressed the pads of his fingers into your smooth flesh, squeezing you gently.

a soft moan left your throat, eyelids fluttering as you continued to press into him for more. he squeezed you again, this time harder, a small white droplet trickling from your hard nipple.

fuck, patrick could’ve came then and there, his precum mirroring your milk as it continued to ooze from the slit of the head of his cock. “let me see you,” you pleaded, lids heavy as your nails clawed at his waistband, almost as if you knew of his reaction down there. almost as if you noticed the increasingly darkening, sticky spot in his plaid shorts.

anything his princess wants was the motto patrick lived and would’ve willingly died by, immediately shoving his boxers down his thighs, bracing himself on the heels of his feet in order to do so. your pussy was soaking wet now and he’d barely touched you, the sight of his engorged head and thick dark cock, his ball sac heavy and full as it sat beautifully between his sweaty, meaty thighs caused tears to spring to your eyes as you wished the wait to be able to be sexually active postpartum was so much shorter than it actually was. your cunt painfully ached for his intrusion, silently crying and pleading for that dick as if your slit was skillfully created just for it. you and him both would’ve swore on everything it was.

“fuck, pat.”

“tell me what you want, baby.” he began to gently massage you then, the eggshells he’d been walking on dissolving as he grew more confident apart from the fear that he’d hurt you in some way. his other hand had fallen between his legs, gently kneading his balls in rhythm with his massaging of your breast, his finger softly fanning over your nipple.

he looked so gorgeous, your baby daddy. with his dark curls and stubble, a matching tuff of hair at the base of his cock. he was all man, rippling bulging muscles that stretched his tanned skin, thick defined thighs flanking a girthy and veiny cock that had split every hole of yours open, being so soft for you when he was so inconsiderate and mean and rough with everybody else.

you loved him unconditionally, both constrained and unconstrained. but damn, you needed him to let loose right now.

“want you to suck on my tits, want you drink my milk.”

he couldn’t help but audibly groan at that.

patrick nearly jumped to lay on his stomach, the head of his dick caught between his abs and the soft burgundy comforter that covered your shared bed. he raised up a bit to find your lips with his, pushing his tongue into your mouth almost instantly, wanting to taste every part of you.

kissing down your neck and chest, he finally began at your nipple, hot tongue following the soft white trail that the leaking milk had left behind before softly suckling at the peak. then suddenly, his insatiable need for you increased and he continued to take more and more of your breast into his mouth until his cheeks were stuffed with your burning flesh. the blunt ends of his stubble scratched against your warm skin as he drunk from you like that, your nipple on his tongue nearing the back of his throat as the taste of your breastmilk flooded the insides of his mouth, your other nipple warm with sparks of pleasure as he softly rubbed the bud underneath the rough pad of his thumb, the ridges in his skin tickling yours.

your fingers moved into his hair, gently tugging at the soft curls before scratching at his scalp. he whimpered in response, brows dipping in immense content and appreciation at the feeling you knew he’d enjoyed all his life.

patrick’s eyes flitted open to meet your gaze, adams apple bobbing in his throat as he impossibly stuffed himself full of you, ferociously sucking and slurping like his life fucking depended on it. his lids were heavy, irises completely blown out as he grew more and more tit milk drunk, his long tongue flicking out to trace your areola. you watched his mouth grow impossibly wide as he did it, your baby daddy drowning himself in your breasts a disgustingly beautiful sight to take in. his spit was all over your chest just from him sucking on one tit, pooling in the valley between your breasts as well as underneath. you were soaked with his fluids as well as your own in a number of places on your body.

his hips rolled against the comforter, cock rubbing against the soft fabric as he suckled on your breast, moaning around your flesh as the feeling against his cock along with your nails against his scalp created something like a pleasureful supernova in his gut, with sparks flying and crashing and his balls twitching.

you watched in awe as the muscles in his ass flexed with each jut of his hips, your hand that wasn’t in his hair moving down, arm stretching so you could reach as far as you could down his back. he was a long man, and your fingers could only brush the top of his ass, but you didn’t care. you gripped as much was within reach, feeling the top of right ass cheek flex in and out as he rutted against the bed.

“doing so good for mommy, pat. don’t stop, baby.”

a guttural groan escaped him at change of the dynamic. he fucking loved dominating you, forcing you to take his dick through your tears or to watch him fist himself far and restricted from your touch. but damn, did he have a sweet spot for being mommy’s baby. he wouldn’t be a proper grown ass man with mommy issues if he didn’t. and he’d do anything for you, anything to make mommy happy, anything for her to be proud. anything to prove to you he was a good enough, at being a partner, a lover, a father, a best friend, everything he was to you and wanted to be to you forever.

he’d neglected your other breast long enough, your right one popping out of his mouth with a light wet sound, before he smushed your tits together with his big hands and lapped up both nipples at the same time. moving his head from side to side and up and down, he licked at both peaks simultaneously, relishing in your endless sounds of approval from above.

he never stopped fucking himself into the mattress, even moving himself up higher on top of the bed so you could grab onto more of his ass like the true slut he was for you, fucking loving and craving your touch anywhere on him. you pushed your palm against him, forcing him further into the bed as his thrusts grew more ragged and wild, chasing his release.

he was nipping and biting at your breasts now and fuck, it hurt so damn good, the left one now the focus of his attention as he drunk and slurped from it, moaning at the taste of your liquid. you urged him up the bed further so you could snake a hand underneath him, his body nearly curled in half in order to allow your fingers to brush past his cock and grip his balls while his wanton mouth remained on your breast.

you gently squeezed and massaged him as he sucked you, both of you praising one another with sounds of pleasure. you both felt so fucking good, knowing this was needed after taking a break from all sexual activity. sex was one of the main driving forces behind you and patrick’s relationship, your first and one of your favorite ways of proving how much you cared for one another.

above all, patrick was genuinely prideful. so proud of the way you allowed him take over your body like this, the way it changed to accommodate your baby, the strength of it to bring her into this world and bring him new senses of the meaning of life and love, two words he’d always struggled since he was brought into this world to find and understand the deep meaning and importance of.

[whetstonefires]

The reason I keep banging the Jiang Fengmian drum so hard is not that he did nothing wrong--he's definitely in contention for best parenting in this book but that bar is in the ground--but because most of the takes I see about him are so extremely bad.

If you want to slag him off for trying to make choices that would hurt no one, and winding up properly protecting no one as a result, that's valid! That's an interesting and text-based critique, which opens into his parallels with Lan Xichen!

If you want to blame him for being weirdly over-invested in Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng being bffs, that's fair, that definitely contributed to the weirdness between them. If you want to say he was a poor communicator, that he fundamentally misunderstood his son, that he failed to be emotionally available in a way his kids could get much use out of, even that he should have figured out a way to stop Yu Ziyuan from creating such a hostile environment, all of that is fair game!

If you want to tackle how the worst thing he did to his kids was die I am so interested in how Wei Wuxian went on to abandon A-Yuan by going to his death, and how that might be tied to how his primary adult role model tied him to a boat and went off to a fight he knew he was going to lose.

After his parents had already left him like that once before, presumably less intentionally.

But no, instead I keep seeing that Jiang Fengmian didn't care. That he never expressed affection. That he actively participated in Yu Ziyuan's fucky game of forcing proxy conflict onto the boys instead of constantly trying (and failing) to shut it down, or that he ignored her bad behavior because it didn't affect him, or that he fought with her constantly, or that he was too much of an unmanly coward to stand up to her when she wanted something.

All of which are directly in contradiction to every scene he's in, and several of which manage to invert or erase the actual conflicts between him and his wife that were the source of all that tension.

And which are really interesting, because some of the most intractable elements are ideological--Yu Ziyuan is fundamentally a conservative and Jiang Fengmian seems to want to be an egalitarian, which ofc matched poorly with his hereditary authority as patriarch of a large sect.

The fact that the bit where we get to actually see him failing to parent Jiang Cheng consists of him gently and firmly trying to correct Jiang Cheng's ethics when what was actually needed in that moment was reassurance for the well-founded insecurities that were causing him to be a little bitch, only for Yu Ziyuan to charge in and make everything fifty times worse, is so much more interesting than literally any version of this family dynamic I have seen in fic. It's to the point I'm relieved when writers kill Jiang Fengmian off, because it means they probably won't feel the need to character-assassinate him too badly.

The number of people I've seen come right out and say some variation of 'men can't be abused' is killing me here. No, Yu Ziyuan wanting to hurt her husband does not constitute sufficient proof that he abused her first and deserved it! That's not how anything works!