#he also deserves to see the light of day

[rendevok]

your narumitsu art made me weep with joy and I heard you want more requests 👀

idk if this is the right place to put them but I think phoenix coming with miles to try on his glasses for the first time would be sweet :,) miles asking how they look and phoenix being just smitten. the good stuff

Dear anon… you sure know how to pick em! Things got very out of hand very quickly while drawing, and well. You inspired me to draft a comic! I didn’t want to make you wait long, so here are the sketches for the pages relevant to your request <3

Thanks so much, and hope you enjoy~! 💜

[satorisoup]

people will think im ordinary until they say one (1) thing about tmnt and all of a sudden im explaining the entire lore starting from the 1990’s movie & why donatello is the best turtle i fear… T^T

tag limit fights me… i must yap… please listen… SOB </3

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i just spent the last like hour going through all the lights out au stuff and im OBSESSED rn PLEASE

i'm not sure how to help you! enjoy the brainrot

[lizzardthing]

In 1997 Willy “Boss” Murderface would open the infamous pizza joint, Willy’s Neopolitan Pies, in Union City. Despite the over saturated New York/New Jersey pizza market, Willy’s quickly shot to fame for their excellent pizza, terrible service, and of course their iconic debut special item- Baked Beans Pizza.

Despite the staffs horrible attitude and the questionable health and safety kitchen situation, Willy’s became beloved by locals and tourists alike. Boss terrorized both staff and customers, being recounted by one visitor as “the worst possible man to own a restaurant. Or possibly do anything.” For over 20 years, Willy’s was known far and wide as a must-stop for travelers through the area. The pizza was burnt, cheese questionable, and “secret” sauce “unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Like a gas station in your mouth.”

Willy’s made Boss a millionaire, and he was on track to become one of the most successful self-made business owners in the country. Until, of course, tragedy struck.

In 2008 world famous band Dethklok visited Willy’s and liked their pizza so much, they tried to strike a deal with Boss, and that’s when it all went downhill. Refusing to sell, Boss found himself in a lawsuit with Dethklok he couldn’t afford to win and couldn’t fathom losing, and the ensuing investigation from Dethkloks’ far more powerful lawyers resulted in Willy’s making headlines for all the wrong reasons; human fecal matter in the sauce, mainly. Boss was forced to shut down his restaurant and move away, often being hunted down as he moved to smaller and smaller apartments and getting “bean sauced”- former customers and fanatics term for throwing their own feces at his house, car, and sometimes himself.

Boss eventually moved to El Paso, where he’s rumored to run a small manure and fertilizer ranch, although after the Dethklok fiasco it’s been nearly impossible to catch photos of him. Wherever you are Boss, we hope you know- whatever was in it, that pizza was delicious.

[marley-manson]

I don’t think Hawkeye got more pessimistic or cynical wrt the war ending as the show/war went on.

Hawkeye says he’d make the same bet that the war was over in Ceasefire every time, and I think that holds true.

He tries to stop the war again in Peace on Us, he still goes on idealistic campaigns in the late seasons in episodes like Back Pay and Guerilla My Dreams and Blood and Guts etc, he tells his dad he’ll see him as soon as he can and he reassures BJ that they’ll all go home eventually in Period of Adjustmnt. And in GFA Hawkeye was eager for the war to end, not disbelieving. He leapt up upon hearing the announcement that both sides were preparing to sign an armistice agreement and demanded to go home since the war was virtually over. He also expected Sidney to send him home directly from the hospital and was surprised and betrayed when he didn’t.

I never get the sense that Hawkeye believes on any level including metaphorical that the war will never end or that he’ll be stuck there forever. He occasionally makes joking references to it lasting forever because the show pokes fun at itself for lasting longer than the Korean war, plus time flies when you’re having fun and when you’re stuck in a war zone time crawls so it’s an exaggeration of that, but he never loses that idealism, that knowledge that eventually this war will end and he’ll go home.

That said, I do think he got more cynical wrt losing his belief that he can do any good while he’s there. Like, that’s his thin ray of hope as depicted in Letters, and that’s what’s finally completely lost in GFA, imo. And alongside that I think you can see hints of it in the way his campaigns get less focused on achieving something after being burned so many times and more focused on just stating his mind, and even that falls by the wayside by the point of Say No More where it finally seems truly futile and he just silently walks away from the evil general du jour.

He never believes that he’s stuck in the war, and I don’t think that’s a relevant element to his story at all, but he stops believing there’s any silver lining to his time there.

[tinycurlyfry]

Inktober Day 6 : Dark

The Surgeon of Death

[troublcmakcrs]

y'all: umm... whatcha got there?

me, with the oc i created solely to ship with tweek in his older verses: nothin, mind your fucking business

[unproduciblesmackdown]

an approach of "everyone inherently deserving to have autonomous choices" as juxtaposed with, fundamentally opposed to even, "a select few entitled to limit others' ability to do so, making themselves more able to choose what happens to other people, enforced through power"

also the way "direct interpersonal exposure to an abusive party is sure like how other interactions in relation to power differentials / no principled approach that everything isn't a hierarchical competition actually, like taking up space, communicating; ft. double standards in favor of the winners" wherein it's like, it's not even just like "being in the haunted house of living with an abuser is like a Metaphor for existing amongst broader power disparities / w/selectively applied (by others) increased vulnerability / at the whims of w/e authority" like, more like a Model. it's the same principle and the same system and the same bullshit, just more confined / a smaller isolated unit of [nuclear household] or [romantic partnership] or w/e interpersonal specific social grouping. been training to recognize "wow just like [a reality of such experiences]" all my life actually

the difference of the possibilities of You Can Choose This versus limitations of arguing to the existing power structure to possibly acknowledge that you Have to [pursue certain option] b/c it's the only way, Objectively, so if only they can be shown this they would allow it....despite this situation not requiring "or you could've just been able to choose to do that freely in the first place" & by extension not requiring [threat to that power structure]

the pressure to [hey. don't unionize] like, the numbers always being against the few at the top, so it's required to have these iterations where other people can prop up this world of Gotta Have Power At Others' Expense by supporting people playing by the rules and keeping others in line; being someone who helps / supports the overall system of oppressive power structure and can enjoy wielding the granted power / being supported/insulated at others' expense / having a sense of entitled authority themselves. while people can be mad at those who are in the same boat / aren't actually wielding that structural power and scapegoat anyone like, well this is why we'll never get treated better by [group / individual in power], you're ruining it / responsible for those choices/actions of those in power....which doesn't challenge that empowered party's ability to choose those actions that are affecting everyone

versus support in the face of vulnerability to that, being what allows people to make choices for themselves / exist more freely. rejecting the idea of "well [person] fucked up so now i won't deign to reward / Not punish everyone after all" as being [person]'s fault; like "well if we all only acted perfectly Deservingly / in just the right way, those in power would have to go 'oh okay everyone can be treated as inherently deserving now :)'" is the answer, when even then, b/c of the power structure putting them In Charge anyways, at most, they simply Could do that and Could graciously rescind that power. and if they don't, oh well, you didn't all do it right after all, assign blame amongst yourselves to stay in continual competition and avoid recognizing that actual improvement requires a different approach where you have to support each other instead of criticizing / blaming / competiting and just hoping there's always someone else to get the brunt of the most negative attention / harmful treatment

thinking of queerness as an expanse of possibility and autonomous choices. versus the limitations of "patriarchal society atomized into nuclear family units" concept of sexuality & gender, Cishet Ideals. existing outside those ideals as being a matter of what people Can do. versus what they Have to do. arguing that the guiding light, the defining principle here should be recognition of people who Have to be gay, for example, as what doesn't really challenge the power structure that requires & reinforces homophobia. while "what if it doesn't matter if people are objectively proven & universally recognized as Having to be gay. what if people Can all choose to do some gay shit regardless, without these choices being limited by their vulnerability to harm, such that Everyone is pushed into [patriarchal nuclear family unit ideals] life." even if you argued everyone ever is straight, actually, the problem is in whether you can define what that means and enforce it on everyone. people who Are straight are harmed and made more vulnerable by patriarchy & the imposition of [your only source of social support is within the isolated nuclear family unit]; Cishet Ideals are also an impossible standard that can also be used to blame anyone, including people who could would consider themselves cishet, for their inevitable failure to live up to them as the reason that [isolation & domination sucks actually] is hurting them. like how cis people also never live up to supposed Cis Gender ideals and are subject to trying to better earn, & objectively prove, their quality as a member of their gender, thus worth, & be under constant scrutiny re: gender & able to be blamed for failing to live up to the ideals. while, of course, the fractalized iterations of power structures means cis people still get to be gender cops at the expense of anyone more vulnerable

language as an art & science, necessarily always evolving & in flux, rather than prescriptive & static. the way that Static Prescriptive approach may be marginally associated with "well this helps Coordinate; streamline; reduce confusion" but Uncertainty is also possibility. Allistic Social Ideals seeming to be about [minimize confusion, streamline, coordinate] in the best light, but also being affected by ableism, and this approach being used to Other people, as enemy &/or lower on the social hierarchy, to be diminished/harmed either way. this being able to be used against any individuals or groups that can thusly be [othered]; ableism also affects everyone: the logic that we don't think we should all support each other / respect autonomy, we're instead all subject to an eternal Meritous test to prove who has the Capacity to Deserve to have more power than some others. ableism also needing to be understood in juxtaposition with / the context of racism; vice versa. the "you Can't" in applied authoritative power being not just [i won't allow it] but [i won't allow it b/c you are literally incapable anyways]....in every power disparity, the empowered supposedly deserve it on a merit that grants them Superior Abilities. e.g. patriarchy requires ableism, women Cannot do the things that men get to do, in their bones & minds & souls they must be shopping; the same logics play out like they do in ableism, patriarchy is only bolstered by "oh well you're good at Other things that I'm not good at :)" which conveniently means in ways still exploited to support those who already have more power while you stay more disposable; acknowledgment of those who "overcome" being disabled, or a woman, to do the thing abled people or men can do, which just means All of you should try harder and then you'd all be equal to us, it's your own fault :) and/or simply taking ideas, recognition, credit from them. even "gotta colonize & subjugate the world, which is good actually b/c it's for jesus" is like, legitimately oh you're welcome for now having The Capacity to go to heaven: but also to justify violence & oppression based on who's Inherently more evil from this christian evangelist perspective, which happens to deserve death or exploitation (work & suffering good for your inner christianness. you're welcome)

white man's burden, how Easy women have it, can't believe 5 cents of my taxpayer money might've gone to a disabled person somewhere to barely live on b/c "see how even Institutionally Recognized As Legitimately(tm) 'Disabled' people are treated?" has to be a threat for all / not display what it could be like to actually support anyone's genuine wellbeing, including their having the support to have more expansive choices in their life, vs just barely hovering over the constant threat of dangerous increased vulnerability....

that those in power will very readily consider themselves Constantly Besieged, Wronged, Threatened By Any & Everyone; versus those actually negatively affected by being low enough on some hierarchy to be harmed & denied autonomy by others with more power being the ones who have to struggle to even stop blaming themselves or at least people who Aren't the ones with that power, who are more likely to cling to "well, it's my fault, and i Can earn my way out of this" narratives....which actually would be a situation in which one theoretically Does have more autonomy; thus more palatable than believing that anything's truly out of your hands / there isn't so simple a solution here / [other person; people] are/were never going to actually start affording you respect as a person

back to the expanse of possibility of language, subjective & in flux & developed by the mutual Effort to (more) successfully communicate....thinking about being autistic and someone talking about how the demands in Trying to be understood verbally means innovating and developing Language thusly. an art and a science. creative and experimentally backed. (also math/science as approaches are also creative / Not the antithesis of art, thanks). thinking of how sure nt (another socially constructed Ideal that doesn't exist to describe reality but to demand everyone just try to stop failing to have earned better / congrats on bringing it upon yourself, you're responsible for my feelings & actions) people might generally approach communication like "??? idk i don't have to regularly have a conscious approach, so i don't. i just Am Normal" versus when your communicative approach, for any various reasons, is Not considered normal, thus not considered ideal, so you Do have to interact with people consciously, Translate for their benefit as best you can. thinking of the idea of Poetry as a work understood to require a third space between two parties: it's not colloquial, the poet is using language in this noncolloquial context to communicate a concept, perchance create a link to an effect they can't invoke with a preexisting word for it, while the reader/listener is understood to likewise have an active role, be consciously trying to not just "correctly" receive the meaning, but explore the possibilities of various, even ongoing, interpretation, in conversation with the poet's efforts and the reality of them as being another person, and also perhaps allowing for the spontaneous mutual discovery of possible meaning for the third space / conversation between speaking and interpretating. (versus artist as authorititative vanguard, communicating something static & definitive that others can only Fail to interpret correctly, which is just like them. lol) like, what's not Poetic, in that sense, about two people bringing mutual conscious effort, flexible interpretation / room for possibility, interest in getting it right not to bolster ego but to have had a more successfully constructive interaction. which could even include the ability to interpret someone's lack of communication in expected ways; their choice not to engage thusly; as anything other than a threat or slight to your supposed entitlement to just that. like i deserve phonecalls over emails or speaking over nonspeaking or even the Guaranteed opportunity to communicate w/anyone when & how i want to, i'm simply being so good faith curious i swear........anyways, i'm not that into reading poems, absolutely not into making them, not in this "literal" sense anyways, but again what's not poetic about just trying to communicate via this Translation all the time. the way i can latch on to phrasings from prose written by people who also write poems, and/or just sure appreciate like the entirety of some essay of theirs, the approach, its execution. anger is a type of geography. when something is ignored, it can do what it likes, sometimes.

everyone always on twitter trying to outrun some [every other day's qrt trend of "what opinion has everyone hate you" tangled meme that is sure like "and apparently you're about to acquiesce" in context but also that everyone Loves to air, actually, hence it being in constant, inescapable distribution] (i don't see it b/c successful curation ig lol). everyone trying to feel like they're more worthy vanguard authoritative Radically Non Cishet than others constantly just going off of vibes, which is to say, probably just going like "but have we considered being more biphobic" or some more tried & true similar [this is the same old shit & the Cishet Ideals are supported by it] takes that are like, "any Unleashed Edgy Freethinking standup comedian man saying shit you'd hear in a mall food court from some rando's uncle" like, we have heard of this actually, but sure you're so brave for suggesting maybe the transgenders have gotten a bit too powerful, except you're saying it in a [but this is totally queer analysis] way....queer analysis Linguistics being like, undoubtedly the favorite [i am become flynn rider swords tangled twitter meme] avenue. this like language revanchism like "this word must be returned to this specific usage" but a) it's never returning it to a way that it actually existed and b) is the prescriptive ossification of our limited preexisting language to discuss queerness, guided by the idea that it'd be bad if it was Too Inclusive, actually the principle we want to operate on here. is indulging in the level of power trip feeling of like tormenting a peer in middle school really your most serious focus and genuine efforts in supporting people's ability to exist as they are

how did the "asexuals can't be queer" stint work out for everyone? the fact that all the arguments also backed every other form of bigotry and abusive logic aside: what were the results, exactly? stuart cishet was thwarted from nefariously entering a queer space & ruining it for all, b/c he no longer had the option to cross the drawbridge by saying he was asexual, right, that was a close one. anyone amused by being like "they hate to see a meboss winning" just limited to not even arguing about "uhh but you're As Good As straight" (a crucial, supportive tool in our history, right) but rather just like....deciding it's about asexuals being cringe or something, and who could easily move on not by actually operating on better principles than "cishet ideals of controlling people's sexuality is: Don't Have Sex, right? which is also the whole of what asexuality describes or entails?" or "what's gained by focusing on making this as exclusive as possible anyways. nonrhetorically. what do you gain or facilitate. what do you lose or preclude." but just like "haha well i've moved on anyways"

your choices re: your sexuality and gender as ones you Can make. with expansive possibility borne of the support as a person that you should get merely by virtue of existing. versus "but i Have to exist like this" as an appeal to the established power structure to perhaps elect to allow Some truly legitimate gays to suffer a little less effects of homophobia. who can in turn be like "ugh, bisexuals CAN seem straight to everyone. so they're ruining it for us truer more legitimately gay people." see: it's still homophobia's fault. see: your sameness is in Wanting something else, being able to Choose something else without fear of the violent enforcement of the demands & requirements of Cishet Ideals. someone who's never had sex / dating deemed Gay Enough isn't "as good as straight." see: it's not that everyone thinks you Can't do gay shit, it's that everyone Knows you can, and that's exactly the problem, violence is required to try to force otherwise, to limit the only option for any support in life to the happy nuclear family existence (for those who deserve even that, versus mere support to someone else's nuclear household). it's not a Problem when people center transness on what you want to do, that you are able to choose to do it, support, a better life than you would have otherwise. or even to say it should be so easy that, yes, someone can Just Say that they're trans. versus the idea that the only legitimate trans people are miserable, wish they were cis, and are going through processes legitimized & controlled by "but are you really trans. do you really deserve it" roadblocks & resistance & required cis approval, and their difficulties & unnecessary infliced pain & vulnerability in doing so? is really the fault of some theoretical teen who wants to say they aren't cis b/c they just feel like it. damn them.

queerness (see: logic of ableism in all these matters) being Suffering, what you're Limited to being by demands outside your control so please recognize this, what you Have to do (you just might be more cishet otherwise, like surely all the bisexuals or transgenders want to be. damn them), a difficult and exclusive experience that is the fault of those in the group themselves: does not challenge the [cishet ideals] including [enforcers of cishet ideals get to choose which gays to begrudgingly recognize, perhaps conditionally / temporarily, to prove to everyone else they might be Worthy too, if they tried harder to deserve it / scrutinized more people in their group for not playing by the rules and appeasing those in power enough]

while, of course, people can think they're the bravest smartest ones / the most suffering more than jesus hated ones for this. biphobia / transphobia being evergreen, while asserting that it's actually being cis gold star gays that's the most oppressed life. accepting the limits of [what Externalized Activities, like defined sexual interactions or gender presentation, are encoded into legal arguments for policing queer people] as indeed what should thus be the boundaries of defining existence outside cishet ideals, and what supports that. the hot trends over the years, i remember circa 2010 "the transes On Here are way out of line expecting way too much. they have to remember they're weird and it's sooo hard (and weird) for us." the blog i unfollowed for accepting a submission about "can't stand trans guys who hate to be misgendered but won't try to seem less feminine." the twitter i unfollowed for rt'ing a take about "can't stand bi ppl who hate to experience biphobia but won't try to seem less straight." the epic trend of "Really respecting trans people means talking over them to tell them they're now equivalent to cis people so stop talking about your experiences otherwise," i can't even trust that nobody ever Didn't take that to its logical conclusion of "straight trans people are as good as cishet." the asexuality exclusion bullshit. eternal "the most legitimate nonbinary people seem androgynous" points that would, in fact, require nonbinary to be defined by, and limit themselves according to, the gender binary & its ideals. trying to cut off the LG from the BT, as has always gone on, including just with the linguistic making shit up like evergreen Flynn Rider Edgy Meme argument about how everyone's trying to steal the word Lesbian from you to just be used Illegitimately, with bonus fallback on the fact of patriarchy. less common but i've sure also seen arguing about Gay being used too willynilly as well and arguing The Rules / pretending that there's never been an overlap with gay men, (cis or trans) women, bisexuals; apparently believing that it also would likewise be Better trying to narrow definitions into something more exclusive when all our language is to create possibilities out of what was logistically unspeakable before. when we've Perfectly Stratified all the vocab and are just standing around, what's the next step that's now more possible because of those efforts? having the LG doesn't enforce the gender binary, unless you're trying to recreate your own version of it, as people in fact always are. "um it's simple. people who are the Truest members get to decide who else are the Gay Women and Gay Men." who gets to draw these lines for everyone else, and why do they get to do it. what would be achieved by embracing Purity concretely, eternally affixed in place; versus fuzziness & expecting flux & future possibilities, where even seeming contradictions just mean there's even more here than you thought. do you Want to be queer and Get to make those choices, or not. what if You are the only True Gay in the world, everyone else is cishet and just pretending and saying they're also gay? you'd still only gain everything by that being possible. if you were the only Real Person and can't know anyone else's interiority is only an illusion: you can only lose everything by acting like you're the only real person. that's how some people already operate as individuals vs everyone else, or a member of the Truest People group vs those beneath them who are ruining paradise. you operate on those principles of being entitled to dehumanize others, you have the power to exploit that

[you can't define Woman in a way that doesn't exclude some women / include things/people that decidedly aren't women] applies for us too b/c The Gender Binary Isn't Real. it's also of course used to serve patriarchy, ableism, racism, all of it. like how we can understand / analyze Everything as political. white supremacy everywhere, all the time. ableism in all of it. every interaction or behavior existing in a medium of Power Relations. how do you define woman. why would your definition get to be imposed on anyone else. would you demand there be a "take the racist ableist misogynist gender binary, but give it a lil Gay spin" situation. is being a woman in required physical traits. in required presentation. required experiences. what's served by being mad at "i'm not a woman but i'm in community with them b/c i have [xyz] traits; [abc] presentation; &/or [qrs] experiences" and using language applied to a group considered Women b/c language tends to assume a strictly defined, Real gender binary. what's served by going "hmm, that's a problem. make this More strictly defined and binary" in response instead of focusing on the connections there and solidarity through [this is all iterations / fractalized areas of the same shit, who has the power to exploit & compound others' vulnerability] [power control abuse]. are you a woman b/c that's how you want to identify? b/c [reasons you don't have to explain, b/c on principle your choices for yourself are respected, no one has the authority to thwart this]? are you a lesbian likewise b/c of your wants & choices? great. the idea our language has ever actually supported clear lines even between gender, a binary that requires Cishet Ideals & all that that demands....? inaccurate, aligned w/bigotry, nonconstructive, unserious.

the twitter i follow of a group who supports incarcerated lgtbq+ people, and how the other year they voted to include cishet ppl w/hiv or aids. the goofs & gags like "queering our marriage b/c i have more flexibility" like yknow, i agree with the least measures that increase support / choices for any women as in fact legitimately contributing to The Queer Agenda more than people trying to make the terms masc & femme into [thee gender binary. but gayer] remix, or complaining about fellow queers who are totally ruining it for everyone else, The Establishment totally would've graciously & benevolently deigned to allow our autonomy (with a "but you're on thin ice" and ability to revoke that at any time, but whatever) until This jerk who's totally as good as cishet Made them choose otherwise for the 9000 zillionth time!!! well i'm going to go laugh at language people are developing to better describe their experiences, realities, wants, & values, b/c i'm obviously more Normal & Deserving than those weirdos. and to keep stuart cishet at bay, this is a huge threat actually so you're welcome that i focus on going "but COULD a cishet person just PRETEND to identify thus" like, yes. yes, they always could. what of it, if everyone could?

tl;dr idk things like "accepting the limitations that you might possibly only be Allowed anything if you can prove you Haaaave to / prove that nobody could possibly miserably force themself through otherwise (you can't)." "accepting the limitations of: wielded authority would always be benevolent & supportive, or even not wielded at all, if not for those among you ruining it for everyone else." that of course it's like "being queer is supposedly miserable so who would choose it? but also we have to prevent people from even having the choice" b/c they Know people would & do make those choices, and you have to enforce [marriage & patriarchy & nuclear family] life even w/cishet people, the power disparity requires constant maintaining & deflection of scrutiny / responsibility focused back on those in power. what would happen if every straight person in the world could just say they're gay. or every cis person could just say they're nonbinary now. great. say tomorrow they miraculously all do: great. the cishet ideals gender binary aren't Real. it's supposed to be so conflated with reality & unquestionable that the term "cishet" isn't supposed to exist; "stop Forcing Labels on me. hypocritical much" / "i don't know what a cisgender is but i know it shouldn't be allowed around children" style. what would happen if everyone could "claim" to be queer. epic. if everyone said they're nonbinary & now the gender binary doesn't exist. hell yes.

"everyone can just say some shit" is always true, you can always question their intentions / meaning, but when you can't prove the interiority of another person, making things Contingent on that only serves to make it impossible: like someone having to prove they're Meritously Good Enough as a person, inherently, and what's withheld / prevented by those in power b/c of it, rather than what we think everyone inherently deserves As a person, and what's provided / made possible by other people as peers b/c of it. what do people Actually Do. what do they Get to do. actions manifest externally, and affect others outside of the self. how have the possibilities & autonomy in our lives, anyone's lives at all, been supported / improved by unserious stances focused on arguing relative authority by people going "watch this. the haters" and getting up on the cross or in the middle of the swords with some linguistic arguing that doesn't think about what supports anyone or challenges existing norms & ideals or reflects reality rather than going "this is my idea of the vibe and some people agree or could be convinced." we've existed before modern terms that classify groups, and we'll have more, different terms to describe experiences and ideas going forward, which is: good. the divisions are already Not Real, how interested are you exactly in your language being like "but i think we could just have different divisions. a different Gender Binary. cishet people Have to be cishet? i'm sure that's real & fine, so: we Have to be Not cishet"

anyways april being autism acceptance month And national poetry month (u.s.)

[newervegas]

KILIAN FITZGERALD — casual in the capital QZ before his disappearance | formal / workwear / “university” in the capital QZ a member of the governmental body | post disappearance, convinced single-handedly for fedra to abandon the denver QZ.

picrew

[aberooski]

Luke's solo album really is just Chazz - the album - sometimes and I don't like how that makes me feel.

[albino-parakeet]

I really should make myself a little ref sheet for Eddie so I can draw him more consistently lol.

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni - implied fat!reader x bluecollar!simon riley drabble - simon is a bit of a creep also lol

Bluecollar!Simon Riley whose house floods so he has to spend the next few days in a cheap, seedy motel

First morning there he's leaving for work just as the sun is rising. Its hot, humid, and he's a shitty mood because he'll be working all day and it's only gonna get hotter

Simon Riley who smokes a couple cigs before he goes, sitting on a plastic lawn chair on his concrete faux patio when he sees you

You're flustered, damp with sweat and skin sun-kissed. You've got a laundry basket on your hip and immediately he's imagining a baby there instead. His baby.

Simon Riley who's shameless about staring at you struggling with the laundry door, dropping your clothes and giving him a view of your wide hips and plush ass in very short pajama shorts

You're so flustered:(( nearly in tears while you pick everything up. The shorts are a little tight, a little worn, and the thin material gives him just enough of a view of your pussy that it sustains him the whole day :')

All he can imagine is coming back and sinking into you :') not even necessarily fucking right away, but keeping his cock warm and relieving the tension in his body. He deserves that, no?

He's not creeping, necessarily, when he takes note of the lotion you use. Vanilla. He just happened to be having a smoke and walking right by your window, where you've got one foot propped on a chair rubbing it into your skin.

Your room is tidy. Despite the stained walls, cracks in the ceiling and overall dingy-ness, you've managed to make it look cozy.

New sheets, a fluffy blanket, string lights strung across the wall. Beside you, lotions and creams and washes - he snorts a little to himself. The bathrooms here don't have any counter space or mirrors to set them down on.

But his house does. In fact, most of his shelves are empty everywhere. His pantry, his closets. The only thing he's got are work clothes and beers in the fridge. Maybe a stray heel of bread.

Simon Riley who decides he'll have you move in before he even talks to you, before he starts memorizing your schedule on the weekends and evenings he gets home. You're struggling, on the edge of homelessness, but he knows you'd be the perfect wife and mother. That you'd bring light and warmth to his house, fill those empty shelves and empty rooms...

[veritasangel]

⋆ ｡⋆ fem pov ୨୧˚ warnings: suggestive mention of a leash / allusions to wedding night ↣ {wc: 1.1k}

older knight! simon - one︱two ︱three ︱four︱five︱six

Simon doesn’t think he’s ever heard the word, “No” so much in his entire life. The sound is a constant on your tongue, echoing through the halls of the castle like a battle cry and the two of you weren’t even married yet.

“No, I’m not attending that dinner.”

“No, I will not bow to the whims of the court on this matter. It’s our wedding, not theirs.”

“No, Simon, I refuse to wear that.”

The nobles constantly whisper about the turbulent nature of the union, wondering how long the old knight can endure the storm that is his future bride. But Simon knows he’ll be just fine, he’s never shied away from a challenge before and back then the only reward was food and a nice bed. With you as his prize? He’d gladly weather any storm you came at him with.

For Simon, there was no sweeter victory, than you.

After settling the arrangement with the King, he quickly discovered your troublesome character. He knew you were a force to be reckoned with, but what he hadn’t expected, was the pride that swells in his chest every time you stand your ground, even against him.

Simon finds himself standing in awe of you and your stubborn will. And in the eye of your storm, he discovers a woman who is greatly independent and loyal to those she cares for.

“Don’t worry... I’m sure it’s not too late to back out of this arrangement.” an older man speaks, tearing him from his thoughts.

“Back out? Why?” Simon questions, puzzled, as he looks away from the man. He watches as you command the attention of a group of pretentious rich folks, their names already long forgotten.

“Haven’t you heard?” the man tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “The princess is notoriously difficult. She’ll have you on a leash before you know it!”

Simon’s eyes follow you, taking in the graceful sway of your hips as you move through the ballroom. “Is that meant to deter me?” he replies, a little too bluntly. “I have no problem letting my future wife take the reins, she is royalty, after all.”

He pauses, gaze lingering on your elegant form, admiring your curves. “Besides, I am a knight- or was. Following orders is second nature to me. If my wife wished to put me on a leash, I’d get on my knees and play the role with pride.”

In Simon’s eyes, you were not nearly a nightmare at all. Challenging? Yes, but in a way that ignited his passion. You were intelligent and valued your autonomy. Those who found you demanding were simply the ones who didn’t give you the respect you deserved, and Simon had come to realise that your responses were always justified.

To him, you were a graceful princess, who would one day make a great Queen. Though you stood apart from your family. You always voiced your displeasure for outdated customs and refused to be confined by them. You challenge Simon, but your spirit also inspires him, pushing him to be better and push past the traditions that he was once familiar with in his knighthood.

“Come, come—I want to dance with you.” you beamed, excitement evident as you rushed over to him. Simon instantly rises to follow you, as if it were the most instinctive thing in the world for him. He knows that he would follow you anywhere with no hesitation, if you were to just smile at him like that.

A soft melody fills the room as you lead him to the centre of the ballroom. A small laugh leaves your lips as you see his apprehension. Your laughter was its own symphony, one he could listen to endlessly without growing tired of, even if it was at his expense. 

Both of your eyes gleam under the cascading glow of the lights and Simon can’t help but smile, a rare softness gracing his features. The two of you dance, lost in the feeling. Simon’s strong, yet gentle grip, holds you steady. One hand respectfully roams along your lower back, causing a slight shiver to run across your skin. 

In this moment, it was just the two of you, he wasn’t a hardened knight, just Simon. You were just two souls, enjoying this dance.

And maybe his soul was always yours because here with you, he feels like he belongs, more than he ever has in his entire life. Everything around you fades to nothing as he twirls you around, your movements fluid as you both melt into each other, like a stream of water. Your steps were effortless and he tried his hardest to keep up.

“You’ve been practising the dance.” you smirk at him, admiring the glint in his eyes. “Well I can’t embarrass my darling wife on our wedding day, can I? I have to get my practice in.” He chuckles darkly. It’s a sound that goes straight to your core and right now as you look at him, you curse yourself for insisting the two of you wait until the wedding night.

You looked at him like he was the only person in the room and it was something he hadn’t known he was missing. There was a slight flutter in his chest that he’d never felt before and he wouldn't have ever imagined the first time would be with the royal princess- no- his wife to be.

The music flowed and there was not a single worry in your mind. It was just pure bliss as you felt the warmth of his hand in yours, the other one lovingly caressing your waist.

The night slowly winds down as you rest your head on Simon’s chest, a sigh of pure contentment escaping your lips. He held you close, his heart swelling with a tenderness that he would never be able to voice. His touch felt natural, familiar. It was as if you two were already years into marriage, nobody would guess that the wedding was still a few weeks away with how you two looked at each other now.

“I’m grateful to be the man you marry.” he says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You smiled at him, and he felt he could die a happy man, then and there.

“I am too.” you whisper.

No more words were needed. The answer was in the way you held him tighter, the way you looked up at him adoringly and in the way your heartbeat matched his.

༄ tags: @alucardsdaddyissues @nijiru @honethatty12

༄ cod m.list

© veritasangel ↣ 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Whatever My Wife Wants

Summary: On your honeymoon, Javi decides to break out a new accessory you've never seen him wear before. Little does he know, that seeing him wear a chain for the first time is about to drive you wild.

Word Count: 4.5K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also its your honeymoon so who am I to say), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, literally the biggest, fattest, ugliest breeding kink (I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not), marriage kink (?) creampie, cum play, kind of exhibitionism (like if you SQUINT), talks of starting a family, Javi LOVES his wife, Javi in a CHAIN, Javi on his honeymoon deserves its own warning, did I mention that Javi LOVES his wife?!

A/N: shoutout to my sweet @honeyedmiller for this request after reblogging this MASTERPIECE from @enstatia. It's supposed to be a painting of Din, but it gave me such big Javi vibes, and I really haven't been the same since picturing the one and only Javier Peña in a chain (bc If i can't unsee it, you shouldn't be allowed to either) 😵‍💫 Also shoutout to Lucien Flores for singlehandedly ruining my life today with that new clip from the Uninvited (but also you can't tell me that this outfit is so Javi on the beach coded PHEW)

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

Javi had never been one for jewelry- well, that was until a few days ago when a new golden wedding band had made a home on his hand. Since you had slipped it on his finger, Javi couldn’t get enough of watching it glisten in the warm, tropical sunlight on your honeymoon, a reminder that filled his heart to the brim to know that he was yours forever. 

Javi’s new wedding ring was the only jewelry that he had ever pictured himself wearing, until you had mentioned to him in passing while shopping for new clothes for your honeymoon how good he’d look with a chain to go with any of his outfits he had planned for the trip- considering there was no way Javi was going to have no less than 4 buttons undone on his shirt at any given time while basking in the tropical warmth of your honeymoon paradise. 

Later on that week, he had dug around in his dresser to find a thin, golden chain necklace he had back from his time in college, that hadn’t seen the light of day in too many years to count. But, given your enthusiasm for the idea of him wearing something like it, Javi had decided to pack it with him in his suitcase to surprise when the time felt right. 

Well, after being a few drinks deep at the pool bar from earlier, Javi’s slightly tipsy confidence had him feeling like now was the perfect time to try out his new accessory to see what you thought. Digging through his suitcase, he pulled out out the chain to go with the rest of his outfit for your dinner on the beach, clipping the necklace around his neck as he looked himself over in the mirror, quickly fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, undoing one more button than probably necessary to show off his new look. 

And while he could admit that he didn’t look half bad with it on, and figured you’d like the new surprise addition to his wardrobe, there’d be no way in hell he could have ever prepared himself for the viscerally awestruck reaction you’d have to the thin, gold chain dangling around his neck.  

“I can practically feel you burning a hole through my chest, Hermosa.” Javi chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you as he took another bite of his food, giving you a playful smirk at the way you had been ogling at him ever since you had noticed the thin gold chain resting across his tanned skin as you began your walk through the hotel to head to dinner. 

“Oh shut up, it’s not my fault you’re so hot. You’re making it very hard not to look, in my defense.” You sighed, trying to get yourself to focus on your food instead of staring at Javi for the rest of dinner, despite the fact that the only meal you had your eyes on was sitting across the table from you. “There’s already something about you being my husband that makes you somehow even hotter than you already were, and now with this?” You picked up your fork, gesturing to the chain dangling between the parted fabric of Javi’s shirt, “I think you may be trying to legitimately kill me.” 

“Figured you’d like it. Didn’t think you’d like it this much.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip before taking another bite of food, his cheeks growing flushed and warm as he looked at you admiring him, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so goddamn lucky. “Thanks, Mrs. Peña.” He laughed, taking another bite of his food, shooting you a quick wink. 

Mrs. Peña. 

God, if that alone wasn’t enough to send you over the edge already, your new last name, combined with the incredibly attractive man you had gotten it from that you now got to call your husband? On top of that stupidly hot chain he had decided to throw on with his outfit? There was definitely something else you were hungry for other than the half cleared plate below you. 

It was then that you couldn’t have been happier you had been seated at a table on the edge of the beachside boardwalk, tucked behind a few stray palm trees, secluded enough out of view that you had no problem reaching under the table to rest your hand on Javi’s knee, toying with the hem of his shorts before letting your fingers creep further and further up his thigh. 

“Are you almost done with your food?” You asked, your voice sweet and sultry as your hand brushing against Javi’s crotch immediately caught his attention, making his eyes go wide as he sat up straight, setting down his knife and fork to look down in his lap. “Because if you are, I can think of something else I want for dessert when we go back to our room. Something I want really bad. You wanna feel how badly I want it?” 

Javi swallowed hard as your fingers wrapped more firmly around his bulge, gently massaging his dick in your grasp, before grabbing his hand and guiding it to brush along the slit of your sundress and closer to your core, aching and dripping with arousal. Letting his fingers creep up the inside of your thighs and ghost over your folds, his eyes went even wider, jaw practically dropping open to feel that you were not only absolutely soaked, but also not wearing any underwear at all. Using every ounce of composure he had to keep from falling apart right then and there at the dinner table, letting out a deep sigh as he cursed under his breath. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck, baby… Yeah, I can be done right now.” He groaned, nodding at your proposition before wrapping his hand around the meat of your thigh as he took a long inhale, staring you down with darkening eyes and a devilish grin across the table. 

Never had you been more thankful that the resort you had picked to stay at was all inclusive, because if either of you had to wait a minute longer for a server to get your bill so you could get back up to your room, the probability of impending implosion would have been practically inevitable. 

Firmly intertwining your fingers with his as  you grabbed his hand, you were nearly dragging Javi through the hotel to the nearest bay of elevators, pleasantly shocked to find no one else waiting with you to travel up to their room, leaving the two of you alone to catch the next elevator back up to your floor. 

Without a word, the second the elevator doors had closed, the two of you were on top of each other, a messy dance of tongue and teeth crashing together, Javi’s hands palming the meat of your ass over your dress while yours roamed over his chest, tracing the freckles of his tanned skin up to the golden chain dangling in the open buttons of his shirt, stopping to wrap the necklace around your finger, tugging Javi closer to you. 

“Fuck, you look so good with this on, baby.” You moaned, your words hot against Javi’s skin as you nipped at his neck, chain still tangled in your grasp. “I can’t wait to fu-”

Barely aware of the fact that you had reached your floor, the ding of the elevator was enough to catch your attention and cut you off from completing the rest of your thought before the doors slid open, revealing a group of couples waiting for their ride down to the lobby. Frantically trying to play off the fact that if the elevator ride had gone any longer, you two definitely would have been seconds away from fucking in it, you gulped, giving Javi a nudge to his ribs to bring him back to reality, the two of you quickly trying to slide past the other guests without making a scene. 

As the door closed behind you, you and Javi couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you couldn’t seem to take an elevator trip alone without almost being caught making out like a pair of horny teenagers (which, to be fair, a pair of horny teenagers probably would have had more self control than the two of you being newlyweds on your honeymoon). 

With your room only being a few doors down from the elevator, Javi began fumbling in the pocket of his shorts for his room key, working around the full hard on he already had under the fabric from how pent up he was. Quietly cursing under his breath until he found it, as soon as the card was swiping over the lock of the door, Javi was yanking you through into your room, instantly beginning to pull down the zipper to the back of your dress as you fumbled your way back to the bed. 

Your dress fell to the floor in a crumpled pile before Javi was tossing you onto the mattress, shocked to see that you also hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra, revealing your glowing skin and obnoxious tanlines from your time spent out in the sun. 

“Dirty fucking girl, not wearing anything underneath that dress for me. Fuck me, Hermosa. God, you’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect. My perfect wife.” Javi growled, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed to part your legs, draping them over his shoulders as he admired the wet mess between your thighs, your slick already coating your folds, glistening in the dim light of your hotel room. “My perfect wife and her perfect fucking pussy already so wet for me. 

Dragging his fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal as he ghosted over your throbbing clit, you let out a soft whimper in protest, sitting up on your elbows to look down at Javi, peppering kisses along the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Javi, fuck- Baby, I wanted to go down on you. You look so good, I-I wanna taste you, Jav, p-please.” You moaned, your argument becoming less and less convincing as his kisses traveled to your center, nose brushing against your aching bundle of nerves before looking up at you with a lustful smirk, tightening his grip around your hips to hold you in place. 

Javi shook his head as he laughed quietly to himself, watching you squirm and buck your hips towards his face, so desperately worked up and aching that the mess between your legs was really beginning to contradict your need to get Javi off before yourself. 

“Cariño…” Javi tutted, almost mockingly, digging his fingertips deeper into the meat of your flesh, “You’re not going anywhere ‘till I get a taste. I can’t leave my poor wife all worked up like this, can I?” 

Before you had a chance to respond, the flat of Javi’s tongue was dragging through your heat in a long, broad stroke, firmly pressing against your clit, looking up at you with a satisfied grin as you threw your head back in pleasure, a soft whimper escaping from your parted lips. As the last of his lick slid through your folds, you shuttered at the feeling of the metal of his chain ghosting over your cunt as it dangled from his neck, only to cry out as you could feel the other piece of jewelry he was wearing on his left ring finger sink deep into your entrance. 

“Oh f-fuck-” You whimpered as another finger breached your tight hole, already sucking him in with your warm, wet walls while his digits curled, bumping against the sweet spot inside you that he knew made you crumble. 

“That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt before diving back between your legs like a man starved, his tongue dancing in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you, even more so now with the wedding band that had made its permanent home on his finger, taking every chance he could get to watch you cover the glistening gold ring in your arousal as yet another way to prove that you were his. 

Javi could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his fingers as your bottom half squirmed against the sheets of the bed, the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten, tingling building at the base of your spine. Latching his lips around your clit, he began to suck at your sensitive nub, his hand thrusting faster and deeper into your cunt, feeling you slowly coming undone under his touch. 

“Oh shit- fuck, fuck, Javi, I’m so close baby, oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaaahhhhhh-” Just like that, you were falling over the brink of collapse, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, pleasure flowing through every inch of your veins as you met your high, feeling the smirk of Javi’s smile pressed against your cunt as you soaked his face, his free hand wrapped around your hip, holding you in place for him. 

“Fuck, I swear, I’ll never fucking get over that.” Javi mewled, pulling back enough to sit on his heels, admiring the wet and puffy mess your pussy had become, gently pulling his fingers out of your heat, looking down at the way your arousal coated his fingers, covering his wedding band. “Fucking soaked me, Hermosa. You like feeling my ring when I touch you like that, baby? Knowing I’m all yours forever?” 

With your chest heaving in heavy breaths, you nodded frantically, blissed out look plastered across your face as you stared up at Javi, lust pooling in the dark brown of his eyes as he brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip as, opening your mouth for you to suck him clean, the warm and tangy taste of you still fresh on his skin. 

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. Mi esposa sabes muy dulce.” (My wife tastes so sweet) Javi cooed, gently tugging his fingers out of your mouth, standing up to lean over the bed, caging your body under his as his lips crashed against yours in a needy mess of longing and desperation. 

You could feel how painfully hard he was through the fabric of his shorts, his bulge straining against the seams of his zipper as he rubbed against your thigh, laying on top of you with one arm propped up beside your head, the other gently cupping your face, thumb rubbing back and forth along your cheek as he kissed you with the tender intensity that set your insides ablaze with desire, longing, no, needing to feel him buried deep inside you as you screamed his name. 

It really had been your intention to suck Javi off the moment you had gotten back to your room, to drop to your knees and worship the beautifully handsome man you now got to call your husband and turn him into the same type of moaning, whimpering mess that he had just made you, but with the ferocity of each kiss and the instinctual jerk of Javi’s hips, there was nothing you wanted more than to be filled by the sweet sting of his cock pounding into you, over and over.  

“J-Javi, fuck- I need to feel you baby, please. Fuck, I wanna feel you so deep inside me.” You whispered, your teeth tugging at Javi’s earlobe as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses, feeling the audible groan in his chest at your request, followed by a deep sigh as he tried to compose himself from the mess he was already becoming. 

“Yeah? That’s what you want, sweet girl? Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.” He rasped, a devilish grin spread between his cheeks as he sat back to pull his shirt over his head, followed by his shorts and boxers, leaving him in nothing but the gold chain still dangling around his neck as he reached down to stroke his cock, red and dripping with precum before leaning back down to line up with your entrance. 

You could feel your breath hitch as his tip brushed through your folds, rubbing gently against your clit as he collected your arousal to coat his length, looking down to watch as his length sunk deep into your cunt, the both of you letting out ragged moans at the sensation. 

Javi paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch as he filled you, his tip kissing your cervix while his hips met yours. The fullness made your brain go blank, completely at a loss for words as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, pulling himself out enough to sink his whole length back into your cunt, each thrust making you whimper and moan, desperate for more. 

“F-fuck, give me more, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your hand wrapping around his bicep, fingertips digging into his flexing muscles. 

“Yeah? You want more, Hermosa?” Javi mewled, smirking to himself at the blissed out mess you were already becoming as the pace of his hips rutting into you began to quicken. 

As each thrust became faster, the gold chain draped around his neck began to bounce against his chest, his body close enough to yours to feel the cool metal brush against your face with each snap of his hips into yours, the sight of his necklace dangling over you as you stared up at the furrowed and focused look painting his face. The image alone of him wearing that chain was enough to make you feel like you were going to cum on the spot, but as you lay caged beneath the weight of his broad body, feeling nothing but his warm skin and chain rub against you, you were nearly convinced it was going to be over for you right then and there. 

Without even thinking, you lifted your head up off the bed just enough to grab the chain between your teeth, tugging him closer to you, the sudden yank making his eyes go wide in surprise as the two of you came nose to nose, foreheads brushing against each other before his lips were on yours again, entangling you in an all consuming kiss without faltering in his pace. 

“Fuck, you look so good.” You moaned, your lips parting just enough from his to whisper your praises into his ear. “You look so hot with this fucking chain, Jesus Christ.” 

Your comment had a low, breathy laugh escaping from his chest, shaking his head to himself almost in disbelief at how enthralled you were with him. 

“Me? Baby girl, you have no idea.” He cooed, slowing his thrusts to sit back on his haunches, readjusting you to bring your knees pressed to your chest, leaning back down, running his hands along your body, up your arms until he had them above your head, pinned down to the bed in his grasp. “You know how many guys I’ve seen staring at you since we’ve been here? How many dirty fucking looks I’ve had to give them? Maybe this ring on your finger isn’t enough, mi amor.” 

“W-what do you, fuck- what do mean?” You whimpered, the new position opening you up in a way that had you feeling every inch of Javi as he sank his cock even deeper into your cunt, splitting you open in the most delicious way possible, your brain barely working enough to let your words escape from your mouth. 

“I mean,” Javi groaned, tightening his grip to hold you in place, his eyes growing darker with desire with another deep, long thrust into your heat, “That maybe, I need to fuck a baby into, Osita. Fuck a baby into my beautiful fucking wife, and let everyone see that you’re mine with our kid growing inside you.” 

Javi’s words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought alone making you whimper- You and Javi both had undeniable cases of baby fever, and now that you were finally married and had agreed that your birth control wasn’t going to be a part of your packing list, the prospect that in 9 months from now, you could have a third member to your family? That was enough to have you close to finishing right then and there. 

 A gulp traveling down your throat before a long exhale, trying to find the words to respond to his proposition, your voice trembling in an anxious excitement. 

“F-fuck- Oh my god, yes. Fuck a baby into me, Javi. Let me, oh shit- let me make you a daddy.” 

“Jesus Fucking Christ…” Javi groaned, gritting his teeth, trying his best to maintain his own composure, taking a long exhale before his gaze met yours again, a fierce kind of determination and promise pooling in the deep chocolate brown of his eyes, leaning his body on top of yours, pushing your knees closer to your chest, opening you up to an even deeper angle as his mouth crashed into yours, beginning to pick up his pace once again as his hips snapped into yours. “That’s what  you want, Hermosa? Fuck, I’ll give it to you, baby. Oh shit- Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets, remember? You want a baby? Fuck- I’ll fuck myself so deep inside you I’ll fuck a baby into you right now.” 

You could feel the all too familiar tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine once again, Javi’s cock pounding perfectly into your g-spot over and over again, the hairs at the base of his length grinding against your throbbing clit, sending you to the brink of collapse with each thrust in and out of your cunt. 

“Yes, oh my god- yes, I w-want it so bad. P-please, baby, fuck.” You whined, starting to stumble over your words as you could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his cock, the coil in your core tightening to the point of nearly snapping. 

“Fuck- say it again. Tell me- mierda- tell me how badly you want it.” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming slopier and more desperate as he could feel himself on the verge of chasing his own high, knowing all too well you were almost hitting yours.  

“I want you to fill me up, Javi. Fuck, fuck, fuck- I want it so bad. I want you to knock me up and give me a baby, please, baby, oh my god- please.” You were all but panting at this point, your legs starting to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter and tighter around Javi’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of his fullness, promise of pregnancy, and that damn chain dangling in your face was enough to finally send you over the edge. “Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I’m so close baby, I’m gonna, oh shit- I’m gonna cu-ahhhhhhh.” 

Those were the last words you were able to muster before you were screaming out Javi’s name as you came, euphoria and ecstasy radiating through every inch of your body, your orgasm crashing through you with so much intensity you could have sworn you were seeing stars. 

Watching you fall apart beneath him, soaking his cock in your arousal as you came had Javi only moments behind you, the rhythm of his hips beginning to stutter, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each others combined with your wanton moans and whimpers and curses under your breath making him begin to babble incoherently. 

“That’s it, Osita. That’s my good girl. Fucking soak my cock, baby. Cum all over me before I, fuck me- fuck myself so deep in you it’ll fucking take. Holy fuck- Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. Gonna fucking fill you up. Give you all of me. Fuck, I’ll give you everyting, baby, mierda- everything you’ll ever wa-ahhhhhh” 

With one last final thrust, Javi was spilling deep inside you, warm ropes of his spend coating your walls, milking himself of every single last drop before collapsing on top of you, the warmth and weight and of his body sinking on top of your chest as the two you sighed in sync, trying to catch your breath with long, labored huffs. 

As Javi felt himself begin to soften, a groan rumbled low in his chest while he pulled out, feeling the mix of your spend dripping out your hole, coating the inside of your thighs in glistening juices. You let out an involuntary whimper at the loss of fullness inside you, your head falling back on the mattress in blissed out satisfaction, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself back to reality after floating away in post-colotial bliss. 

“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, lifting your head back up to see Javi sitting back on his heels, admiring the mess of the two of you pooling between your legs. 

“So fucking pretty, Hermosa.” He mewled, peppering kisses down the soft skin of your thighs, making his way back towards your core. Before you could even realize what was happening, Javi’s head was back between your legs, one broad stroke of his tongue collecting the tangy, salty mixture leaking out of your cunt and lapping it back into your entrance quickly replacing his mouth with his fingers to push the mixture of your spend even further into you. 

Looking up at you, slick covering his mustache and smug grin spread between his cheeks, Javi curled his fingers just enough to make you yelp as he pressed against your g-spot, considering how worked up and overstimulated you already were. 

“Gotta make sure I keep you full of me, baby. Can’t let anything go to waste.” Javi smirked, gently pulling out his fingers, resting his hands on your thighs, drawing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. 

You tried to sit back up, propping yourself on your elbows before Javi’s body was caging over you once again, slowly lowering himself down until your back was flat against the bed, cradling your jaw as guided you down with soft, slow kisses, feeling his chain brush against your chin he pulled away from your lips. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Momma. My wife wants a baby? Then I’m doing everything I can to give her one. Whatever she wants.” Javi smirked, pressing a tender kiss onto your forehead as his hand caressed your face, brushing your skin just gently enough to tickle you, a little giggle escaping from your lips as your eyes met his sweet puppy dog ones. 

“You’re ridiculous, you menace.” You laughed, playfully nudging Javi as he rolled over next to you on the side of the bed, wrapping his arm around you, tugging you to lay against his bare chest, your hand draping over his stomach before crawling up his chest, wrapping his gold chain around your fingers. “Hmmmm whatever your wife wants, huh?” You smirked, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. 

“Whatever she wants, Hermosa.”

“Your wife wants you to never take this damn thing off again.” 

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[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.

[pedroscurls]

secret crushes (one-shot)

summary: you've known hugh for years, having not only a personal friendship with him, but also a professional one. then, ryan decides to play matchmaker unbeknownst to you or hugh. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader word count: 4.5k warnings: this is complete filth bc how can you not look at that first photo and just be fine??? anyway - porn with little plot, unprotected p in v, public beach sex, seated cowgirl, oral - m receiving, light dirty talk, no use of y/n. a/n: this is for the anon who requested this spicy idea! i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did writing it. i haven't opened up my requests since 2017 (i think), but ya know, that might change after this lol. i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman! this is purely fictional.

“All expenses paid,” you hear Ryan say over the phone. “You deserve a vacation. Even Blake agrees.”

“Ryan, no,” you protest, beginning to clean up your small coffee shop for the day. When you opened your own coffee shop so many years ago, you didn’t expect that not only would it be great business, but that you’d be very close friends with Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman. 

“Oh, come on!” he says. “When was the last time you took time for yourself, hm?” 

There’s a silence that engulfs the two of you.

Before you can even speak, Ryan chimes in. “Exactly. You’ll have your own hotel room. You don’t have to spend the entire trip with us, though, we will be hurt if you don’t hang out with us, and–” he teases. 

“Okay, fine! Fine,” you huff. “I’m sure after Deadpool & Wolverine, you need some time for you and your family too.”

“Yeah,” Ryan replies. “I feel like I can be a good dad now.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “You’ve always been a good dad.”

“Eh,” he chuckles. “So, we’ll see you at the airport this weekend?”

“Sure.”

“Actually, we’re going to pick you up.” Ryan decides. “That way, I know for sure you’ll be coming with us.”

“God, you’re annoying!” you laugh. “Fine. I’ll see you and the family this Friday night. After I close up.”

“No, no. We’re leaving in the morning. Your coffee shop will be fine.”

“I know, it’s just–” you sigh, resting the phone between your ear and shoulder as you rearrange the bags of coffee on the display. Your mind drifts momentarily when you see the Laughing Man coffee beans, thinking about Hugh. “Nevermind.” 

“You think too much,” Ryan points out then his voice turns serious for a moment. “You’ll be okay. Your shop will be okay. In the time we’ve known you – Hugh and I – you’ve always been working, busting your ass.”

“I know,” you then move your gaze to the amount of photographs on your wall behind the counter. They are photographs that you’ve taken, candid ones of your employees, landscape portraits of the trips you’ve taken to find the best coffee beans, even personal photos of you and your family and friends, including Hugh, Ryan, and Blake. 

“So…” he says. “Pick you up Friday morning?” 

“Yes, Ryan. You can pick me up Friday morning. You’re very convincing, do you know that? You just never quit until you get your way.” 

“What can I say? I’m very persuasive.” He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll see you Friday. Have a good rest of your week. Call me if you need anything.” 

“I’m sure I’ll see you and Hugh before then,” you tease. “At this rate, all this free coffee I give you does amount to a free trip.”

“Exactly! Talk to you later.” 

—

You hadn’t spoken to Hugh in weeks, knowing that he and Ryan had been doing constant press conferences and interviews after Deadpool & Wolverine came out. You’d never admit it to either of them, but you did go out to watch the movie and it only fueled the crush that you had on Hugh. Especially that final scene. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t go home that night with thoughts filled of him. Shirtless and glistening. It was rather inappropriate, really. Not only did you and Hugh start out as friends, but you also had a partnership with him where he sells his brand of coffee at your coffee shop and takes a cut of what the sales make. It’s worked for years now and you never really looked at him in a way that was more than a friend or partner. You knew he was good looking, so sweet and funny, but it wasn’t until months after his divorce that you started to look at him differently. You had to wonder if he looked at you the same way because you started to notice how often he would come by when you were closing up to help you clean, or how his gaze on you would linger, his touches seemingly becoming more and more less friendly and more intimate. 

You’re already on the plane with Ryan, Blake, and the rest of their family. It never felt like you were the odd one out. Both Ryan and Blake always made you feel like you were part of their family. There were plenty of times where you and Hugh would babysit Ryan and Blake’s children while they were busy and always, they’d ask for Uncle Hugh to sing songs from The Greatest Showman. You were always right there next to him, singing and performing alongside him to entertain the kids. 

When you moved to New York, it was a big leap of faith. It wasn’t always easy, but Hugh, Ryan, and Blake made you feel less alone when there were times you weren’t sure you were ever going to make it out here. Now, you can’t even think of leaving New York. It has become your home. These people… They have become your family. 

You look up from your notebook to see Blake and Ryan staring at you, both with big grins on their faces. You can tell they were hiding something, so you shut your notebook and point at them.

“Okay, spill.”

Ryan feigns a gasp, palms raising up in surrender. “Can’t my beautiful wife and I stare at you lovingly?” 

Blake lets out a quiet laugh and rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re both really bad liars,” you point out. “What is it? Why are you both smiling at me like that?”

“We’re just happy that you’re finally taking some time to yourself,” Blake replies, moving to sit next to you. 

“You’re much more convincing than your husband,” you say loud enough for Ryan to hear.

“I take offense to that,” Ryan says. 

Blake turns to you and looks down at your notebook, tilting her head in amusement. “Even away from your coffee shop, all you can think about is how to improve it. Don’t you ever stop working?” 

“Never,” you laugh, opening your notebook for her to look through. “Fall is right around the corner, so I’m just thinking of a few specialty drinks that I can introduce for a limited time. I hear pumpkin spice is very popular.”

You and Blake stare at each other and then erupt into a fit of laughter, both of you shaking your heads. “Can you promise me one thing on this trip?” she asks.

“I can try.” 

“Try to have some fun, don’t think so much about work. It’ll be there when you get back. We’re in Hawaii for two weeks. Just–” Blake shrugs. “Be open and let loose.” 

You arch an eyebrow. “I feel like there’s a hidden meaning there somewhere.”

“Oh, there is!” Ryan nods, a grin lining his lips. “Or is there?” 

“The both of you,” you shake your head. “Are ridiculous.”

“Ah, but you love us,” Blake grins. 

“Unfortunately,” you tease. “But okay, I’ll do my best. No work. No thinking about work. I’ll try and focus on being in the present.” 

“Maybe you can meditate,” Ryan calls out. “You know, Hugh swears by it.” 

Hugh. The mere mention of his name makes your heart flutter and you subconsciously bite your lower lip. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Blake who tries to bite back a smile. 

“Yeah, maybe.” You stand up and then motion towards the bathroom, excusing yourself from both Blake, Ryan, and their kids. 

Blake then turns to Ryan and grins. She whispers very quietly. “I think it’s going to work.” 

“I sure hope so. Neither of them have any clue what we’re trying to do.” 

“You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. They’re the only ones who haven’t seen it,” Blake says. 

“Oh, Hugh’s seen it,” Ryan winks. 

Blake chuckles. “Well, let’s see how this trip goes.”

“If it all goes well, they’ll be leaving together,” Ryan replies. 

—

You’ve been in Hawaii for three days now. You’ve possibly spent every moment with Ryan and his family since arriving. You didn’t mind though. Being in their company helped keep your mind away from work, away from the responsibilities that await you at home, away from Hugh. Today, though, Ryan and Blake want to spend the day at a secluded beach to allow their kids to roam free and have fun without worrying about possible paparazzi. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a deep blue bikini set – a halter triangle top tied at the base of your neck and back, and a cheeky bottom with side ties that rest on the side of your hips – with a white, long sleeve cover-up. You take a few pictures of yourself, wanting to send it to Hugh or even post it on social media, but you don’t. Instead, you turn off your phone and set it inside your bag before you leave your room to meet Ryan and the family. 

Throughout the entire ride to the island, Ryan and Blake can’t keep their eyes off of you. You busy yourself, though, with playing with their kids, hearing their laughter fill the car. You can tell they’re excited, jumping up and down in their seats as they talk amongst one another about the things they’ll do once they get to the beach. 

It isn’t until you all arrive at the beach and climb out that you notice another car in the lot. Ryan had mentioned before that it would just be his family and you, so you had to wonder if maybe he had gotten something wrong along the way of planning this. But if you were concerned about it, he certainly didn’t show it himself. Instead, he climbs out of the car and grabs the kids’ bags from the trunk before he and Blake motion for you to follow them onto the beach. Your toes hit the sand as you slide your sunglasses on your face. You tell Ryan and Blake that you’ll be at a distance, allowing them at least some time to spend with their kids without you and it gives you enough time to try and meditate. Maybe it will work, you tell yourself. 

You don’t see anyone else nearby and you’re at a good distance from Ryan and Blake, so you set down your towel and bag, removing your cover-up and sunglasses. You make sure to reapply more sunscreen before you walk towards the water. It’s cold and it causes a shiver to run down your spine, so you force yourself to dive in to get acclimated to the temperature of the water. 

The beach had always calmed you down, kept you grounded. It was one of the reasons why you had been so hesitant to leave your hometown of California. From one side of the coast to another. Once you come back up, you run your hands through your wet hair, slicking it back away from your face as you stand, the water only reaching your upper thighs. When you open your eyes, though, your jaw drops. 

Hugh is within a few arms reach as his eyes meet yours. The surprise look on his face tells you all that you need to know. 

He had no idea you would be here.

And neither did you. 

You can’t help but let your eyes take in his frame. His broad chest, water trickling down his frame, disappearing into the waistband of his black board shorts. He’s pulling his shorts up just a bit, but it gives you a good view of the v-cut he has and immediately, you’re aware of the feeling between your legs.

But just like you’re checking him out, Hugh’s also allowing his eyes to roam over your frame. The bikini you’re wearing is so tiny and tight around your frame. He tries to tell himself not to get excited at the mere sight of you, but it’s hard. He’s getting hard, so he does his best to think of other things that could lessen his excitement. 

Since his divorce, Hugh had taken comfort in your presence. What started out as a friendship turned partnership had blossomed into something else. Surely, you felt it too. Or at least that’s what he told himself. 

“Hello, you,” he calls out. 

The both of you begin walking towards each other, meeting in the middle as the waves crash around you. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say softly. Out of instinct, you reach out to give him a hug, warms snaking around his shoulders. This feels good, hugging him like this feels fucking great. You feel his hard chest and hair against you. He’s so wet, so slick and you just want to–

“I think Ryan may have forgotten to tell us both,” Hugh says, voice deep and husky against your ear as his arms wrap around your waist. Hugh shuts his eyes as he feels your breasts against him, his fingertips resting just above your backside and he feels his manhood stir awake. 

Quickly, Hugh pulls away, slowly lowering himself in the water to cover the growing erection between his legs and also to keep some distance between your bodies. You do the same, swimming further into the water as you both continue to float. 

“And Blake,” you add. “You think it was intentional? You ask, turning to look over your shoulder to see both Ryan and Blake staring at the both of you. 

Hugh looks over at them and lets out a quiet chuckle. “Dunno,” he answers. “But I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Me too,” you blush, heat rising in your cheeks. “How long– How long have you been here?”

“Three days.”

“Those fuckers,” you chuckle. “They totally set this up.”

Hugh laughs alongside you and tilts his head in amusement. He watches you closely, seeing you gnaw at your lower lip nervously (it’s something he’s noticed about you very early on). You bring your hand up to stroke your hair back away from your face and Hugh can’t help but smile to himself. He likes you. Really likes you and he knows that he shouldn’t act on it, knows that there should be some boundary, but he can’t help himself. 

“You nervous?” he asks quietly. 

“What?” you answer, looking up at him. “No…”

“You’re doin’ that thing you do,” Hugh points out. He gently reaches out and runs the pad of his thumb along your lower lip, causing you to release it between your teeth. 

“What thing?” 

“You know what thing,” he chuckles, slowly swimming closer to you. “You bite your lower lip a lot when you get nervous or when you’re deep in thought. So, you’re either nervous or you’re thinkin’ about somethin’. Which is it?”

“Neither,” you lie. 

Hugh narrows his eyes slowly and drags his thumb at the center of your lower lip and down to your chin until he hooks it in his grasp. “Now, I know you’re not someone who lies,” he begins, moving his thumb across your jawline. “Don’t tell me you’re lying now.”

“I’m both,” you blurt out, leaning against his touch. “I’m nervous and I’m thinking about something.”

“You’re always thinking about something,” Hugh points out. “Do I…” he asks hesitantly and drops his hand back into the water. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Right now you are.”

“Why?” 

“Because…” you whisper, looking deeply into his eyes. “One, we’re both basically half naked.”

“We’re at a beach,” he says with a small smile. “We’re in our bathing suits.”

“Half naked,” you correct. “And two, you’re just–” you stop yourself and drop your eyes to his lips then back up to gaze into his eyes. You then remember what Blake told you. Try to have some fun. Be open. Let loose. Now, you understand exactly what she meant by that. So, you let out a shaky breath and continue. “You’re just so fucking hot, Hugh, and yes, you’re making me nervous because you’re literally shirtless and wet, and you’re muscular and it’s just–”

Hugh’s laughter interrupts your rambling. You notice the way his nose crinkles upwards when the laughter comes deep within the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, you’re very aware that you just made a fool out of yourself and you gently shove him. 

“It’s not funny! You asked and so I told you. I was being honest!” 

“I’m not–” he sighs, his laughter dying down. “I’m not laughing at you, baby.” The term slips past his lips so effortlessly and he reaches out from underneath the water to grab a hold of your hip, pulling you to him. “I’m laughing because you think I’m hot to a point that you’re stuttering over your words. Have you seen yourself?” The smile remains on his lips and his thumb begins to rub circles at your hip. “Because if anyone should be nervous, it’s me.”

“You?” 

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that I’ve got the biggest crush on ya.” 

“Wait, you what?” your eyes slightly widen in surprise, but you can’t help the way your stomach flips in excitement. 

“I’ve got a crush on ya,” he whispers. “And I shouldn’t even be having crushes at this age,” Hugh chuckles nervously. “But I do. I like you.”

“You’re not joking?”

“Why would I be joking?”

“Because you can have literally anyone you want and–”

“I want you.” Hugh says, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “Do you want me to?” 

“More than you fucking know, Hugh.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your lips against him. You sigh against him moving your legs to wrap around his waist underneath the water as you move your lips against his own. 

Hugh growls against you, both hands moving to your hips as he leans further into you, tilting his head to get a better angle of your lips. He didn’t realize this was how his trip was going to go. After Ryan convinced him to take some time off, especially after the success of their movie together, he was hesitant. He didn’t want to take time off. He was used to being busy, especially after his divorce, but Hugh had only agreed to come on the trip to figure out his feelings for you. 

He just didn’t realize that you’d be here too. 

In the distance, you and Hugh can hear a faint clapping and hollering. You both pull away to look over at the noise and see Blake, Ryan, and their kids jump up in excitement, cheering for the both of you. You see them wave in your direction before they begin to grab their things, making their way back to the parking lot. You then look at Hugh and gaze into his eyes.

“Are they leaving us? Leaving me?” You ask. 

“I can take you back,” Hugh says softly. 

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Only if it isn’t–”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if our hotel rooms are right next to each other,” Hugh chuckles, slowly then moving his hands down as he grasps your backside in his large hands, pulling you flush against him. His gaze darkens as he stares into your eyes. He thinks maybe he might have moved too fast, but when you roll your hips against him, he knows exactly what’s going to happen next. 

You want him just as bad as he does. 

“Hugh,” you whisper, voice laced with desire. “Please.” 

“Tell me, baby.”

“I need you.” You bury your face in the side of his neck and gently nip at his skin, feeling his hands move under you, his long fingers brushing against your core as it causes you to gasp. 

Hugh’s painfully hard against his board shorts and he lets out a low groan when he feels your teeth scrape against the skin at his neck. He feels you squirming against him, moaning into his ear and he has to pull away briefly to look into your eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

“If I have to say please one more time…”

“I don’t mind hearin’ you beg,” he winks. “Come on.” Hugh leads you out of the water and towards his towel in a much more secluded area. You drift from him for a moment to grab your things before following him, watching him lay out his towel before he takes a seat on it, legs spread wide. 

You bite your lower lip and lay out your towel in front of him, dropping to your knees as you crawl towards him until you're seated on your knees between his legs. “We won’t get in trouble, will we?”

Hugh shrugs, reaching down to cup your cheek. “Don’t think so. Ryan made sure that no one but us should be here and–”

“That’s good enough for me.” You lean down and move your hands to the waistband of his board shorts. He’s dripping wet from the water and you can see the outline of his length perfectly due to his shorts sticking to him. You hook your fingers into the waistband and slowly pull it down enough to see his length spring free. Hugh lets out a low groan of relief and reaches behind you to undo the knot at the base of your neck. Once loose, he watches your top fall open to reveal your breasts. He doesn’t have enough time to take in your newly exposed chest because your hand wraps around his base, soft lips grazing the head of his manhood. 

“Ah, baby,” he growls, moving a hand to your shoulder, gripping it tightly as your mouth wraps around his tip. Hugh shuts his eyes and tosses his head back, moving one hand to rest on the towel while the other remains on your shoulder. 

You look up at him, feeling an immediate possessiveness wash over you. He looks so beautiful like this, eyes shut, chest heaving, and at your mercy. 

You begin to stroke his base as your tongue swirls around his tip, lapping at his precum. His groans slowly become louder as you lower your head to take more of him, stroking his base when you realize you can’t take him whole. He’s larger than you expected, girthy and long, and it excites you. As you continue to stroke him in time with sucking his length, you feel Hugh’s hand move from your shoulder to the back of your head as his hips slightly lift itself. He pushes himself further into your mouth, feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat repeatedly. 

“Fuck,” he moans, eyes opening to look down at you. God, Hugh can just come at the sight of you. Tears slightly stinging the corners of your eyes and your mouth stuffed full of him. What a beautiful fucking sight, he thinks.

Slowly, Hugh has to pull away from you because he feels the pit of his stomach tightening, searching for release. He lets out a low growl that reverberates through his chest and you lean up on your knees, licking your lips. Hugh reaches out for you and pulls you on his lap, hurriedly moving your bikini bottom to the side. He grasps his manhood and runs his tip along your length, feeling your wetness coat him with each movement.

“You’re wet for me?” he asks, eyes staring up at you. 

“Only for you.” you reply, eyes fluttering as you feel his tip slowly push into you. He releases his hold on his length and rests his hand on your hip, leaning down to press soft kisses against your chest before he moves onto a breast, flicking his tongue against your nipple repeatedly before he wraps his lips around it. 

You let out a loud moan, moving your hands to his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself onto him, your walls tight and wet sliding down his cock. You feel so full of him and he’s not yet fully in the hilt. The stretch is almost painful, but you’re so wet and throbbing that you have to stop yourself from slamming down onto him. 

“Oh god, Hugh,” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders as you move along his length, not yet allowing him to fill you to the hilt as your walls begin to make way for him. 

Hugh moves his lips to your other breast, eyes staring up at you. He wants more of you, needs more of you so he slowly lifts his hips, inching further within your depths. 

“Shit,” he groans, watching as his cock disappears into you completely. Hugh’s hands rest over your hips as you pull him closer to you, chests pressed against one another as you slowly roll your hips against his. “So fucking tight, baby,” he whispers against you, forehead resting on yours. 

“You’re–” you gasp, feeling his hair at the base brush against your clit as you continue your movements. “So big,” you moan, eyes falling shut. 

Hugh gently pecks your lips and takes a hold of your hips to guide you along his length. He watches you reach for his cowboy hat, placing it on top of your head and Hugh has to force himself to hold back his release. 

“You’re so hot,” he moans, allowing you to take control of your movements. Hugh can’t help the way your walls tighten around his cock – you’re so warm and wet, so inviting and tight. He knows he’s close, but he can’t– he can’t finish without you finishing first. 

“Baby,” Hugh whimpers, holding you flush against him in a tight grip. “Don’t– Fuck, baby, don’t move.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, hands moving to link at the base of his neck. “You can come, Hugh.”

“No,” he shakes his head, losing his resolve as your hips move forward and backward slowly. “You have to be first– Shit…”

“This won’t be the only time,” you say reassuringly, lightly pecking his lips. You then increase your movements, hips moving forward and backward at a faster pace. Hugh’s so deep in this position and you know you’re close, but you’re determined to have Hugh finish before you. 

“Sweetheart,” Hugh grunts. “Baby, I’m–” His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a loud groan, mouth slightly agape as his fingertips dig almost painfully into your hips. His release shoots inside of you, painting your walls as his manhood throbs within your depths. 

He’s still half hard and you take this moment to begin bouncing along his length, using your hand to reach down between you to rub your clit and Hugh’s eyes narrow. He pushes your hand away and rubs your clit with his thumb in a circular motion. 

Hugh feels possessive and almost animalistic at the sight of you using him to get yourself off. He can feel your walls begin to tremble and he’s still a bit sensitive, but you just feel so fucking good. 

“Come on, baby,” he coos, applying pressure to your clit. “I know you’re there. Come for me, sweetheart.”

That’s all it took. Your walls tighten around his length as your body trembles against him. Hugh moves his hand to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning up to press his lips against yours. He’s still inside of you, his length softening as the moment passes. 

You move your lips lazily against his, heavy breaths passing through the both of you as Hugh pulls back slowly. “Wanna head back to the hotel?” he grins. 

“Oh, hell yeah.”