#Matty Fall

[mattiesgf]

fall at hogwarts with mattheo <3

cherry flavored conversations with you, got me hanging on

coffee, sharing headphones, lots of movie marathons (which took a lot of convincing), reading, messy rooms, probably a huge stack to coffee mugs, candles, cute little notes which he gave you during class.

lol i imagine something like this for my dr, all pictures from pinterest <3

[man-im-so-high]

matty is just so boyfriend material

[1111iza]

[didyoulookforme]

"people" live at reading + leeds 2019 (x)

[partoftheairforce]

happy 35th to the best man in the world 🤍

[noweverybodysdead]

All On The Board celebrates The 1975 being back at the O2 for four nights with this poem, Londoners can find it at North Greenwich station!

[jasondeansgothwife]

my celebrity crushes as flavors

ryan ross: cherry berry

william beckett: strawberry kiwi

trent reznor: black licorice

matthew lillard: butterscotch chip

eminem: chocolate sea salt

kris lemche: cinnamon sugar

christian slater: black cherry

daisy berkowitz: limeade

mikey way: salted caramel

pete wentz: cherry cordial

[blackwomenrule]

[sycophanticjunkiewannabe]

"when the smoke is in your eyes, you look so alive"

//fallingforyou//

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue November 1, 1952

Dovima wears a buttery beige crepe afternoon dress, with a loose buckle belt that falls from the waist, not up. By Talmack, in Bianchini crepe (wool with Estron acetate)

Dovima porte une robe d'après-midi en crêpe beige beurre, avec une ceinture à boucle lâche descendant de la taille, pas vers le haut. Par Talmack, en crêpe Bianchini (laine avec acétate d'Estron)

Photo Norman Parkinson vogue archive

[callcott]

Changing of the guards

[streetmatt]

Suburban wall.

By Matti Merilaid.

[64yrsold]

undo

“Are you scared to look into my eyes?” he teased, holding my hips tightly as I straddled his waist. He watched me with heavy eyes, his head laid back against my pillows. The day had slipped by soundlessly, and we watched the evening swallow the sun from my twin-sized bed.

“You’re trying to make me nervous,” I whined, staring down at his hands. He reached to open the window, the muscles in his neck taut. I imagined letting a finger trace down the tight tendon, trailing below his cotton t-shirt to find the end of it.

“Is it working?” he smirked, grabbing his pack of cigarettes. My throat went dry, and I watched the flash of the lighter in silence. His eyes closed as he inhaled, his stubbled cheeks hollowing. I craved the friction of his jaw, thinking of the red marks it would leave on my skin. I longed for any sign of him, any proof that he was real. He blew smoke from the side of his mouth out the window. “Is it?” he repeated.

“No,” I lied, and he laughed, placing the cigarette between my lips.

“Look at me,” he whispered. He left his fingers pressed against my mouth as I took a slow drag, his dark eyes burning into mine. He watched the smoke curl out of my mouth, pleased. “Pretty.” He put the cigarette back in his mouth, letting it hang from his lip. I had to look away.

“It would be easier if you didn’t look at me like that,” I mumbled, taking the cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out. He frowned, tilting his head to the side.

“Like what?” he drawled, hiding a smirk. He wanted me to say it aloud, as he always did. He could coax anything from my lips.

“Don’t start,” I reached for his hand, pushing the rough pads of his fingers against my cheekbone. He thumbed the corner of my mouth.

“You don’t like how I look at you?” he asked, determined. He let out an exaggerated, ragged sigh. “That hurts, darling.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“Alright,” he clapped his hand over his eyes, “Better?” I giggled to mollify him. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture almost immediately.

“You’re peeking,” I gasped, and he shrugged, removing his hand and placing it on my other cheek, cradling my head.

“Whatever,” he grunted, and shifted to sit a bit more upright, “Have you got anything to drink?”

“I thought you had to go home soon,” I said, turning my head to kiss his palm.

“Oh, let me stay, baby,” he pleaded, wrapping his fingers in my hair, “Please?”

“I have a bit of wine,” I smiled, and he kissed my forehead. He flipped us over, kissing at my neck as my back arched against the mattress. I covered my grin with my hand, skin flushing at his gratitude.

“Give me a kiss, darling,” his mouth found mine, placing a round, weighted kiss. His tongue drifted to mine, the taste of sharp tobacco and toothpaste filling my mouth. The friction of his unshaven face burned my jaw, and I stifled a moan. He breathed through a laugh, lips turning upwards against mine.

“Don’t laugh,” I meant to sound firm, but it came out as a whimper. His hands were crawling over me.

“I’m not,” his chest was pressed flush to mine, making each of my inhales a challenge, “You’re so pretty.” I huffed, turning my head away at his compliment.

“Don’t,” I warned again.

“What?” he laughed, feigning innocence, “My pretty girl.” I looked at him sternly, and he dropped his head to my chest, shoulder shaking with silent laughter.

“Go get the wine.”

“Sure,” he trailed his hand down my arm, catching my wrist and kissing the back of my hand, “Stay like this for me.” I buried my head in the pillow.

//

[nowshesdoingitallthetime]

[blackwomenrule]