#my hot husband

[redrook]

got my husband tumblr user @beemovieerotica a trans-colored phurse (a phone purse) in which he can take important trans-colored business calls

[crumby-child]

Heyyy, I'm back for our daily Sabo pics

God I love him, anyway, hereee

He's so silly sometimes 🤭

Remember, if you're gonna save, like or repost.

[eternalgayshits]

ARLECCHINO CRAVINGS

First craving of the day is Arlecchino’s beautiful, majestic, magical, amazing, outstanding, and magnificent hands.

I can’t focus on doing my reqs when this bootiful woman keeps popping up in all of my feed 🙃

[the-maw-consumes]

do you think it'll let up soon?

static version:

[gongyussy]

"we know how to move our bodies, but i didn't know how to manage my heart, so you need help for this"

hi we need to talk more about judo gold medallist christa deguchi.

[hansoeii]

vampire crowley 🦇

[bubbarnes]

“... we can't call ourselves that.”

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

wintersberg i drew during a stream

[4ever-feral]

Literally foaming at the mouth 🥵

[amateur-weatherman]

more bildad memes

[lynezuke]

A quick drawing of Shane

i love this man so much (*¯ ³¯*)♡

[crowlixcx]

[stressghoul]

i’ll have her home by 10 ur daughter calls me daddy too

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[osamucide]

NSFW—MDNI

boyfriend!Toji who swears he’s out of the game. he’s done the thing, got married and had a kid—when he starts dating you he promises himself it’s for companionship purposes only. he’s a lonely old man; he wants someone to fuck on, someone to kiss at night, someone to fill a certain void he’s got trouble placing let alone admitting to himself. you make him feel young and hot—the way your fingers creep up the faint trail of hair on his toned stomach, the way you lick his pecs and suck on his nipples and draw sounds out of him he’s not sure he’s ever heard before; you beg to ride his toned abs, beg to hump his muscular thigh, beg to squeeze his big ol’ tittes because the more of him to love, the better. not soon enough, it seems, it’s you begging him to fuck his fat load into you with his even fatter cock—you’ve got your hands on his abdomen, his hips, his chest, not pushing him away but pulling him ever closer, wanting to feel him, more, more, more; you want as much of him as you can get.

only when he’s fiancé!Toji does he really realize what you’re doing—you’ve done some sort of witchcraft on him. you’ve had to. no matter how much he hits the gym, he’s filling out in ways he never thought he would. you notice, too—but it doesn’t seem to bother you. quite the opposite, actually. when he turns to the side in the mirror, analyzing his gut—all the beer must finally be catching up to him, or maybe it’s your cooking—you just wrap yourself around him and dig your fingers into the layer of plush forming around his waist. the pretty little rock he put on your finger glints in the mirror and steals his attention for a second until you’re burying your face in his shoulder, your hands dancing beneath the waistline of his sweatpants—beneath his tummy—to tease the thick bush you insisted he stop grooming so vigilantly because you don’t mind, you had said with a hint of something else behind your coy smile. you hum as you take in his smell, grin as his cock twitches to life between your fingers, laugh a little when his back arches the slightest bit into you.

husband!Toji’s aware of what you’ve done, but he loves you too damn much to care. all of his musculature is soft and full, no longer hard and sinewy, and he’s never clean-shaven. you even implored him to let the tuft of hair on his chest—the one he was so unsure about—sprawl across his (now squishy) pecs and you just bask in him. you take your time with your husband—you bite the stretch marks on his biceps from his years of training, now cracking further, prettier, pinker under your hand. you grab on his lovehandles while you ride him—there’s far more room to dig your signature in with your nails after you’ve fed him so well. you bury your nose in the thick happy trail on his cute, round stomach before you suck him, seemingly worshipping every hair on his pelvis prior to taking him in your mouth. his fat balls seem bigger, saggier—you love fitting your lips around them, hearing him croon and call you dollface. his thighs, still strong but fluffier with both hair and chub, squeeze your head so lovingly when you go down on him; you squeeze them back with just as much adoration.

it’s no wonder Toji let you pull him off the bench. not only does he still feel young and hot, despite everything he thought would go out the window the second you started making him pasta in exchange for your orgasms and begging him to stay home and cuddle instead of going to hit arms—he feels okay with getting old, because you still think he’s the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on as long as you’ve got all of him to love.

[kingkatsuki]

When neither of you have a condom but he promises to pull out, swears he can do it and tries so fucking hard to be a man of his word— and he is. Clinging to that final piece of resolve as he fights the allure of your warm, wet cunt. Moving his hips back as he begins to pull his slick-soaked cock from your ruined hole, ready to fist himself and spill his cum all over you.

But you make every ounce of his resolve crumble all around him when you tighten your thighs around his hips, lock your ankles behind his back, giving him no choice but to drain his balls and fill you with everything he’s got to give.