#ruth pointer

[classicgirlgroups]

RIP Anita Pointer (January 23, 1948 – December 31, 2022)

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

Grace Jones (1948-) solo - additionally an actress and model Songs: "Fame," "On Your Knees" Defeated Opponents: Norma Tanega Propaganda: see visual

Ruth Pointer (1946-) The Pointer Sisters - vocals Songs: "Yes We Can Can," "Fire" Defeated Opponents: Ronee Blakley Propaganda: see visual

Visual Propaganda for Grace Jones:

Visual Propaganda for Ruth Pointer:

[phasesphrasesphotos]

The Pointer Sisters

[djrobblog]

Tribute: Anita Pointer’s unsung role in the biggest Black sister act ever; plus her greatest songs as lead singer, ranked

(January 10, 2023).  Doesn’t it seem like the Pointer Sisters, that eclectic group of talented singing siblings out of Oakland, CA whose music has now endured half a century, weren’t always fully appreciated? After all, they were an act that broke the rules of what it meant to be a “girl group”—first in the 1970s and then in the ‘80s—when they very successfully navigated musical genres as…

[krispyweiss]

Pointer Sister Anita Dies at 74

Anita Pointer of the Pointer Sisters died Dec. 31 of cancer, her family said.

She was 74.

“(Anita) was the one that kept all of us close and together for so long,” Pointer’s family said in a statement. “Her love of our family will live on in each of us.”

With Anita, June and Ruth, the Pointer Sisters scored a string of hits including a cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “Fire” and “Slow Hand,” “I’m so Excited” and “Automatic” among others.

“My favorite sister’s voice, after June,” Arnold McCuller said of Anita Pointer.

Katrina and the Waves toured with the Pointer Sisters in 1985 and the experience stuck with the eponymous frontwoman.

“Anita was so kind and generous with her friendship and guidance to me,” Katrina wrote on Facebook. “I learned a lot standing (on the) side of stage every night watching her amaze and excite the crowd.”

1-1-23

[themnmovieman]

Movie Review ~ The World According to Allee Willis

The World According to Allee Willis Synopsis: Songwriter/artist Allee Willis began filming her life as a kid in 1950s Detroit and never stopped. She pursued creative expression at all costs while struggling to fit established gender and sexual norms – until she found a path to love.Stars: Cyndi Lauper, Lily Tomlin, Paul Reubens, Ruth Pointer, Verdine White, Michael Patrick King, Patti LaBelle,…

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

Since this is one of my favorite songs by The Pointer Sisters ever, I have to post this today in honor of Anita Pointer (on lead vocals), as today would have been her 76th birthday.

Oh my GOD is this performance so hot. (Pun actually not intended.)

[pedgito]

Lol not me actually requesting something from someone yikes. But you asked for more Tom requests - what about you and best friend!Tom go on a night out with all your work mates after a long week and everyone keeps treating you like a couple so you play it up and flirt heavily with him but he gets flustered? If you could find a way to take this in a smutty direction I’d love you forever ♥️

author's note: this got a little wordy, i'm sorry, but i couldn't help myself.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), drinking/smoking, flirting, established friendships, oral (f recieving), tom being extra boyfriend-ish

word count: 5.6k

“A drink.” Tom promised, “Only one—come out with us.”

You were always reluctant to venture anywhere outside of work with coworkers. Tom was the only exception, but even that was few and far between.

And Tom’s friends - by association, your coworkers - weren’t the easiest to be around. They were friendly to a degree, but they were men. They get too rowdy and loud and say horrible things about women, whether you were around or not. 

“Just boys being boys.” Your neighbor had told you, a sweet old lady who kept to herself, catching the boys huddled outside of Tom’s caravan on a sticky, hot Friday night.

You never understood it and Tom seemed to always take the brunt of whatever jokes they were telling, but he laughed anyway. He never took himself too seriously, not since Ruth.

He doesn't talk about her much anymore, only in passing when he brings up old memories, but he’s happier now—lighter and more carefree in the way he carries himself. 

He’s a homebody like you, but he’s taking that leap and going on a wild night out, but not without dragging you along with him. 

“Only one?” You've got an inkling that isn’t the truth, and Tom sinks a little, shoulders slumping over his soft, gray cotton shirt. “It’s never only one, Tom.”

“You know I don’t like ‘em,” You argued, scrunching your nose in disgust—it makes Tom chuckle every time, “they always got something to say, they’re always being mean toward you.”

Tom shrugs carelessly, “It’s just fuckin’ around. It doesn’t bother me.” 

Except when it does. Except when it’s almost always cheap shot jokes aimed at his relationship with Ruth and how disastrous it’s ending was—how stupidly oblivious Tom had been to Ruth’s other interests. 

Tom loved her. He couldn’t help it.

And growing up with Tom, you understood it. He loved and he loved hard, he protected the ones he cared about, he was always there, even when people weren’t there for him.

Maybe that was his downfall. But he’s standing here, pride on the line, begging you to go out for drinks despite knowing how much you hate drinking. 

You sigh, using your pointer finger to scratch at the middle of your brow, along the bridge of your nose. 

“I will break a fuckin’ nose if one of them even so much as makes a comment in my direction,” You warn, “or yours.”

Tom snickers softly, pulling you into a tight, warm hug outside of the small work shack, smelling like the sweet cereal he had eaten that morning, both of you still barely awake enough to be ready for the day. 

“They mean well,” Tom defends weakly, not believing much in himself either as he says it, but you both ignore it, “either way, ya’ promised.”

“Did I?” You ask playfully, crossing your arms over your chest as you shrugged him away, “I must be losin’ my memory because I don’t remember that.”

“Not really,” Tom quickly admits, howling out a laugh as you shove him, “hey—we’re mates, that’s gotta count for something.”

“And what about them?” You ask, wondering how you were that much different.

Tom couldn’t put it into words, not now.

Things had changed the moment Ruth fled, the moment you started slipping into his daily routine. There was always a cup of warm tea sitting on his workspace every morning with your name on it.

“Gotcha a cuppa.” He’d mumble around the rim of his own cup.

Meanwhile you’re shoving a freshly packaged duo of sandwiches at his chest, his smile growing wide. One was never enough and you almost always stole half of the second—Tom never cared, the gesture was more than anything anyone had ever done for him. 

He mentioned Ruth’s horrid attempt at pasta once and you nearly balked at the admission, hiding your laugh behind your hand. He’s never had your cooking, but Tom swears nothing can be worse than that.

“S’different.” Tom replies, a piss poor answer.

“Why? Because I’ve got tits?”

Tom hesitates for a brief moment, mouth opened up and posed for a witty remark. It’s drowned out by your hand slapping his bicep and a weary laugh from him as he speaks.

“Fucking hell, you said it! Not me.”

“Is it true?” You ask despite his pain, his fingers squeezing at the sore spot on his arm.

Tom would never see it that way. He didn’t care one way or the other. But, you two melded together easily; quick banter, easy but sharp jokes that neither of you took seriously. Things were genuine, unforced, and you were the only person he actually made an effort to see outside of work—everything else was just coincidence or coercion on the part of Tom’s other friends.

“No, no,” Tom says forcefully, seeming offended that you would even ask, “what—you think I’m like them too?”

Another shrug that Tom can’t decipher, your hand reaching for the doorknob, “Just checking—see you tonight.”

Tom snorts out a soft hmph, “Go easy on ‘em, yeah?”

“Not a fuckin’ chance.” 

You’ve managed your way through two rounds of shots, taking the first one in stride before sipping gingerly at the second and sneaking it Tom’s way, letting him down the rest.

He’s got a hand on the small of your back, a comforting gesture but possessive nonetheless. It’s more of a, stay near me and don’t stray for your own good, type gesture—rather than a, you’re mine. Regardless, you lean into the touch and shove the third round of shots his way. 

“Nice to see Tommy finally bring you out with him,” Jason, a friend of Tom’s you’ve only spoken to a few times, pipes up a few spots down the bar slab, “least he doesn’t talk about Ruth anymore”.

“Hey,” Tom replies in warning, throwing the shot back, “fuck off, man.”

Another one of his friends speaks up, the one that’s always a bit too rowdy, less filtered, and terrible at social cues.

“He’s right, mate—she’s a looker, too.” 

The counter creaks in the silence that falls over, Tom’s touch tightening in the fabric of your wool knit sweater, a silent plea that begs you to back down.

He glanced around briefly, all eyes staring back at him.

“What—What did I say?”

“Thanks.” You reply, cutting through the awkward silence.

Tom visibly relaxed, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sways a little, his hand reaching out to rest on the barstool to steady himself.

“Alright, mate?” Jason asks, “Thought you had a little more in you than that—“ his eyes flick up toward you, teeth glinting behind a smirk, “seems like you’ve got a night ahead of you.”

The realization dawns on you, the closeness you two held—and with the thick skulls and empty heads of most of those men, they had no idea where your relationship with Tom landed, just that you two were close now and that had to mean you two were shagging, or at least thinking about it. 

Tom goes red in the face, ears blossoming pink. It was partly the alcohol, but his hand drifting away from you is a small inclination that he sees the line being crossed—and maybe you were feeling a little bold tonight, but you lean further into him. 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” You quirk your head at Tom slightly, his eyes bulging a little, “right, Tommy?”

It makes him squirm, the nickname sounding foreign on your tongue. He liked the way you said his name. Tom. It was light, but strong—you only ever said it when you were really trying to prove a point or get his attention, but it drove him mad in the best way.

He doesn’t know when the feelings developed or how they’ve gotten so intense, but standing in front of you now, watching you openly agree with the notion that you two might be going home together, even if it’s just a ruse to fuck with his friends, has his insides twisting in knots.

Tom laughs nervously, agreeing without thinking.

“Told you,” You hear a whisper, a jab of an elbow in the side of one of his other friends, briefly glancing up at Tom, “about time you finally move on from that odd one—Ruth, yeah? Girl always gave me a vibe, ya know?”

The bitter memories still linger, always reappearing at the sound of her name and you can see it, watching as he visibly recoils in on himself.

There’s no telling how often this happens, how frequently they leave Tom at the end of the line, constantly directing their bad, poorly timed jokes at him.

You roll your eyes, remembering Tom’s plea to remain civil, instead directing your attention toward him, hoping that whatever bold course of action you decided to take would deter his friends away. 

“Dunno what she was thinking, he’s a keeper,” You interrupt, shoving Tom gently with your shoulder, “sweet, a good fuckin’ laugh—“

“Least one of us is getting laid, yeah?”

A weird course of questions to take, but again—boys will be boys. 

“It’s a wonder.” You joke coarsely, but Tom notices the hint of your deadpan delivery, biting on his bottom lip to stifle the laugh threatening to escape. 

Tom looks flushed still, finger tracing the outline of his shot glass as a line of Guinessen hits the bar top—it’s his weakness, always getting him absolutely hammered. You’ve seen it once, cleaned it off his couch after a wild night out and him showing up at your doorstep in tears. The night was blurry now, but there were a lot of secrets spilled, learning more about Tom than you’d ever planned, and in turn, a few things about yourself.

It’s part of the reason you don’t mind flirting with Tom. He’s always been there, a guy that was easily everything you could see yourself starting your life with.

After a while, you spill into a booth. It’s a large round table with just enough room for everyone, except you. Tom nearly offers his own seat up, but you’re moving before he can decide, squeezing yourself onto his lap. 

He visibly stiffens, his hand scolding hot against your skin from where it’s resting in the curve of your hip.

You catch the long, offstandish looks from across the table—a couple guys you didn’t know at all, snickering at Tom’s discomfort (or nervousness, it seemed) and making it even worse on him. 

He doesn’t blame you—you were trying to make things less awkward, ease the burden, but now he has no clue how to respond. Touch you more? Touch you less? Does he go bold and make a move or should he just excuse himself and say it’s been a long day and head home.

And if you weren’t annoyed before, you were surely annoyed now and feeling a bit too protective over Tom as you look over, his face in perfect eyeline with your own.

“Too much?” He mouths, his legs parting slightly as you straddle his thigh, the movement nudging you forward and against the table, ass sliding back an inch.

Neither of you speak on it, but you can feel it. He tenses even more, but it seems less nervous.  

You shake your head, glancing up at the two obnoxious men briefly before returning to him, “Not enough.” You whisper, lips grazing against his temple at the action, leaning back to look at him for a moment.

He almost panics, but then you’re leaning in and all Tom can do is adapt. He brought this on himself, he remembers. He asked you out tonight, practically begged, and now he was reaping the consequences.

Not that this could be considered a punishment, far from it, actually. 

“Just act like you enjoy it, for their sake.” You tell him softly, a word of warning before your lips are colliding with his own.

They’re soft, not at all a surprise. Your thumb rubs at the joint of his jaw, the beginnings of stubble growing there, a few days past his most recent shave and he makes a noise, something that gets caught in his throat but you feel it, the sound vibrating against the fingers pressed on the side of neck. He opens his mouth briefly (probably to interrupt) and you jump on the chance, sliding your tongue past his lips to graze against his own, and he sighs against you, open-mouthed and husky. 

And just when you feel satisfied enough to pull away, Tom pulls you back in, eliciting a few wolf whistles from his friends.

“Seems like someone’s leaving early tonight.”

Tom pulls away with a deep chuckle, avoiding whatever expression was on your face when he looks away—luckily you’re good at masking the surprise of him going in for seconds, and it’s unspoken, but the energy thrumming between you both was high.

It was better excuse than any, eyebrows raising in question at Tom, silently praying and hoping he would put your misery to end and agree to leaving.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tom nods slowly, turning back to you sheepishly—there’s something behind his eyes, those wide, beautiful eyes; but he forces it back, turning back to his friends, “you assholes drink enough for me, yeah?”

“Not a problem, mate.”

The keys jingle around Tom’s finger as the heavy door closes behind you, gravel shifting under your feet.

“So,” Tom drags out, chewing at the inside of his cheek, “what was all that about?”

You turn back to him slightly, seeing him stuck in place, leaning against the brick wall now, still and unmoving.

“You like being shit on like that?” You ask, deadpan and serious. 

“Oh, what are you on about?” Tom asks, a groan on the horizon as he tips his head back, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket—he’s been nursing it for a few weeks, only smoking when he’s feeling really stressed, but now it seemed as a means to avoid the conversation.

You were having none of it.

“It’s always like this,” You argue, yanking the small pack from his grip and tossing it in the trash, “don’t start with that—you only ever smoke around them, you only act a certain way around them—what is it, Tom? What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothin’—why do you care even?” Tom asks, hands splayed out in midair, still confused at your sudden outburst. “Know what, I’ll do you one better—the hell was that in there? Flirting with me, kissing me—“

“And you needed to have your hands on me all night?” You counter, a vicious response that has Tom recoiling in on himself, “What exactly are you telling those fuckers when I’m not around?”

“You think I talk to them like that?” Tom asks, offended by the accusation. 

“Nice to see you finally bringing her out with you,” You mock in a low voice, lazily stepping toward Tom, arms folded over your chest in defense, a way to comfort yourself, “finally—really?”

“S’not my doing!” Tom snaps, forehead creasing in frustration as he pushes from the wall, meeting you halfway in your walk toward him, “They’re always talkin’ about how you look at me, touching me all the time—they just assumed.”

“Assumed what, Tom?” You ask carefully, voice soft but dangerous—a double-edged sword that worries Tom.

You’re lucky the parking lot is barren of people, everyone packed inside the bar. Tom sighs, a forceful breath through his nose.

“That why you ask me out tonight?” You question, “Tryin’ to paint me as yours, are you?”

“Fuck,” Tom groans in exasperation and the expletive shouldn’t invade your mind that easily, the audible frustration in his voice as he continues, “s’just—we’re close, ya know. They have questions, I never tell them anything. I’d never—I wouldn’t do that.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. Tom seems to have sobered a little at that, despite the alcohol on his breath. 

“What? Don’t take me for a good shag, no?” You tease, the words hitting Tom fast and hard and he’s interrupting just as quick.

“You lost your fuckin’ mind?” Tom asks, your silence a louder response than ever, “I meant I’d never disrespect you like that.”

You shake your head slightly, stubbornly. Tom can’t take it anymore, full to the brim with annoyance at how dense you’re being. 

He can’t help how easily you drive him mad, to the point of rash decisions and thoughts and he’s hauling forward before he can think, gripping your forearm to pull you around the back wall of the bar, a dark alley hidden away from everything else and private, quiet.

“Fuck is your problem?” You ask, yanking your arm away. 

“You.” Tom answers boldly, chest heaving heavily, struggling to take the deep breaths he knows he should.

“I was only trying to ease the teasing, Tom.” You reassure him, “They were laughing and I didn’t think—I kissed you to shut them up and I’m sorry but—“

“But?” Tom reiterates, eyebrows raising inquisitively.

“You didn’t need to kiss me back.”

“And I did.” 

You nod slowly, taking a long, calming breath despite your heart hammering in your chest. It was anger and everything that came with it, but it was also fear, excitement, the type of things that cloud your thinking and lead you toward making bad choices. 

Was this a bad choice? 

Tom’s eerily quiet, eyes directed toward the ground and hand rubbing the tense muscle of his neck.

You sigh quietly, speaking first.

“Let’s go.” You tell him, eyes pleading when he looks up at you. “Please?”

Tom relents, but the drive back is anything but easy; because everything with Tom was easy and now—you couldn’t even look at him. 

He pulls into his driveway before yours, forcing you to finally speak up.

“Tom, this isn’t mine.” You remind him, wondering if he was as hammered as his friends were teasing him about.

“No shit,” His voice cracks when he talks, “Come on.”

When you’re finally inside, no arguments to be had, Tom’s reaching into the fridge and pulling out a pair of beer bottles, cracking open the lids against his chipped countertop. He forces the beer into your hand, motion toward the small dining table. 

“I’m not in the mood for drinking, Tom.” You reply, taking the seat he demands, eyes following your movements. 

“You drive me mad.” Tom admits, his teeth seething around the word, taking a long sip that spills down his lips briefly, the bottle ringing as it hits the table, his fingers tracing the perspiration as the silence grows, your heart swelling in your chest.

Tom had a habit of leaving you speechless—usually it was crass jokes and ridiculous things you couldn’t find the nerve to respond to, but this was different.

“I promise ‘em weeks ago that I would go out,” Tom admits, “and it was stupid of me to think you wanted to hang out with them—I should’ve blown them off, grown a fuckin’ pair and invited you out.”

“Tom—“ You interrupt softly.

“It’s not that I’m scared,” Tom continues, “just don’t wanna ruin what we have—but there’s so much—I can’t help thinkin’ about you and not in the way makes you an absolute nuisance sometimes—“

“Oh, fuck you.” You retort, a giggle settling in your chest.

“I dunno if you even look at me that way,” Tom shrugs, feeling ridiculous, “but I can’t lie to you anymore.”

“Tom,” You start again, his name on your tongue making his cock twitch in his pants, “I make you fuckin’ lunch everyday, I suffer going out with your obnoxious friends, I let you hang all over me and you think I don’t look at you that way—“

“Should’ve done things like this,” Tom laughs to himself, self-deprecating and sipping at the lingering few ounces left in the bottle, “dunno why I forced you out tonight.”

“You didn’t force me,” You shrug, “—didn’t force me to kiss you either.”

Tom laughs slightly, his body shaking with the movement.

“Where do we go from here?” Tom asks, feeling lost in this area anymore, after Ruth. 

“Tom,” You say, voice lingering and teasing as you glare at him, head cocked to the side, “you brought me back here, didn’t you?”

He nods, unsure of where you were going. It’s sweet, endearing in the idea that he’s completely lost. 

You make the first move, resting the half empty bottle on the countertop behind him before you’re shifting over his lap, the contact of your bare thighs against his palms bringing him back to the surface, half empty beer bottle clanging to the floor behind you—

“Fuck, the mess—“ You glance back toward the noise but Tom’s quickly distracting you, a hand on the side of your face to guide you back to him.

“Yeah,” He nods, “fuck it.”

You nod silently in agreement, smiling as he leans forward to press his lips against yours. It’s hesitant, new, different from the kiss in the bar—that was performative, a means to an end.

This kiss was everything else. A first for you both—it was the first time Tom had kissed anyone outside of Ruth and for you, it was strange, kissing your best friend. But, it felt good. It felt right.

Tom sighs into your mouth, lips parting in a motion that allows his tongue to slip out, testing the waters as he grazes your top lip, his brow furrowing in concentration as your thighs tighten against his hips, rising on your knees as his hands traverse and explore lower, his fingers grazing the skin under your skirt, the loose fabric bunching around your hips, feeling futile and useless. 

It’s not long before there’s less coordination and more of your bodies rubbing against each other in a desperate need for relief, kisses having melded into breathing wantonly into each other’s mouths and Tom is the first to speak, breaking the comfort silence that had fallen over.

“S’not fair,” He whines softly, his hands appearing at your neck, fingers disappear into the root of your hair as he angles your chin up, giving him perfect access to exactly where he wanted to be, his lips latching onto the skin and your pulse stuttering under the touch, “god, it’s not fair.”

You pull back curiously, fingertips grazing the red tips of his ears, a sated smile on his. “What are you on about?”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t rush into things again,” Tom admits, his voice low, like he’s telling a secret he shouldn’t, “I’ve only ever been with her, haven’t been with anyone since—don’t wanna disappoint you.”

“That’s too bad,” You pout slightly, feeling a buzz flow through you, and given that you don’t drink often, it seems like that may be the culprit, “really wanted to get off tonight, but—“

“No, no—fuck, s’just, I don’t have anything here.” Tom explains, “It’s not on my mind lately, plus it’s usually just me—“

“Oh?” You perk up, voice airy as lean into, lips grazing his own briefly. He huffs a short laugh into your mouth. 

“Yeah, sorry—“

“Don’t be,” You swiftly assure him, “M’not judging. It’s kind of…sweet, actually.”

“That I’m jackin’ off every night?” Tom asks, pulling back with an ire of confusion on his face. “Love, I think you’ve had too much to drink—“

“That you’re not fucking a different girl every other night—not that there’s anything wrong with it. But, look at James,” Tom nods knowingly, “he up and skipped town because he knocked that one girl up, the last thing on my mind is kids or relationship, but I like you, Tom.” 

“I’d hope so,” He chuckles, “since you’re already pressed up against my cock and all—can’t even tell you the last time I thought about another girl that wasn’t you.”

You settle slightly, cunt pressed tightly against the zipper of his jeans, the hard and heavy line of his cock pressing against you. Tom hisses at the contact.

“So, you’re touching yourself to me?”

“S’that bad?” He asks, hoping it won’t send you running in the other direction.

You shake your head, adding a small tilt of your hips to drive him deeper into insanity, his hands latching onto your hips in an instant.

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinkin’ about?”

“Right now?” Tom asks, answering before you can respond, “You. This—how I’m probably gonna wake up and it’s just some fucked up dream I’m havin, my mind teasing me.”

You laugh at his rambling, pulling him back into focus with a cant of your hips, hands slipping under the hem of his shirt and pressing against bare skin, the soft outline of his toned chest. He’s proper fit, not defined, but he’s solid and sturdy and has enough strength to lift the heavy piles of supplies at work. 

“I meant when you touch yourself, Tom.”

“Oh, uh—mostly your tits, I guess.” Tom admits, “You never button your tops when we work, can’t help it. And uh, your mouth.”

You nod in response, lending your lips to press against the side of his jaw, mouth a wet, sloppy trail along the skin.

“Yeah—yeah, like that, but—“ Tom sighs shakily, his fingers digging into the soft, suppleness of your ass, thumbs pressing against your hip bones and rubbing you slowly against his groin, “mostly on my cock, too.”

“Is that what you want?” You ask softly, “My mouth around your cock?”

Tom laughs nervously, “Yeah—I just—I got something else in mind.”

“Yeah?” You question, the tone in his voice making you curious, body straightening as you look at him.

“Yeah,” He confirms, “Table.”

It’s a one word response. Not a question or a statement. A demand. And normally you’d throw a hundred questions his way, but you can’t be bothered, quickly lifting yourself up a few inches to sit atop the table, sturdier than you expected.

“You trust me, yeah?” Tom asks, more reassuring himself than you, but he needed to hear it. 

“With everything.” You answer without hesitation, watching as he sank to his knees, hands wrapping around your upper thighs to pull your ass flush with the edge of the table. “Why?”

“Just checking.” He shrugs, lopsided smirk painting his face.

That was the Tom you knew, the one you saw everyday. The one that cracked jokes and playfully shoved you out of his way when he was walking down the hall toward the arcade, the one who, despite his obnoxious tendencies, would kneel to tie your laces back up when they came undone.

Except now he was kneeling for different reasons, pupils blown wide as he yanked at your underwear, slipping them over the tattered shoes still stuck to your feet, knowing that all of this was spur of the moment and rushed. You were both running on pure adrenaline and booze, but there were worse ways to spend your night.

“You ever—“ Tom lingers around the words, not saying but implying.

You shrug, noncommittal.

“Only a few times. Never came, though.”

It always sucked. Tom gets the idea, smiling slightly as he leans, teeth latching into the flowy material of your skirt and dragging it up, his lips dragging along the soft skin of your stomach as his nose nudges the sweater up too. 

You were braless underneath, unbeknownst to him. He could figure it out himself, but at the moment, he was much too eager to delve in and consume you.

He latches onto you with no warning, lips suckling at your clit for a brief moment, an intense sensation that has you keening off the table, fingers disappearing into his hair and holding on tight, his short cropped curls giving little to keep you grounded.

He moans still, trailing down to dip his tongue inside of you, a feeling that is indescribable to you now, lost in the feeling. 

It’s ridiculous. No one - not a single fucking soul - should be this good, this easily tuned in to your body, but Tom knows. He knew everything and nothing in the same note and it drives you mad. He knew you—your deepest insecurities, your darkest secrets, the weird little quirks you had when you thought no one was watching. But he also knew you and everything that made you tick; the moans and whimpers fell like a flood, his tongue working tirelessly against your cunt, all soaking and wet as it drenched his mouth, his chin, the ludicrous sound enough to make anyone embarrassed. Your head falls back, hands moving away from his hair to grip the table for purchase and he’s tapping at your thighs for attention, a small movement of his finger. 

And he’s staring—full on grinning behind what part of your cunt was covering his face, skirt having fallen slightly and bunched into his hand to keep it away.

He’s daring you to look at him, watch him bring you to the edge and let him watch as you fall apart.

You let him—but it’s a steep reminder of how easily you’d let him do anything; just a look and you were done for. His eyes said a lot, even in the moments when you were silent, staring each other down from across the room. 

You clench around the tongue that’s buried inside you, his nose rubbing against your clit in a beautiful accident, forcing a surprised gasp from your chest as you lean forward, nearly sitting upright. 

“Oh, right there,” You acknowledge, voice light and airy, “fuck, right there, Tom.”

He moved up a fraction, tongue flicking over your clit wildly, stopping briefly with a question posed on his lips, all shiny and wet with you.

“Your tits—can I see them?”

He feels silly, like he’s back in school and asking a girl for the first time and you laugh, which makes it even more nerve wracking.

“Thought you said it wasn’t because of the tits,” You tease, “that I’m just like all your other mates.”

“You know you’re not,” He tells you, “you’ve never—you’re so much more, you know that.”

You smile slightly, nose scrunching up at the action as you stare at him accusingly, “Alright then, go on.”

He looks surprised almost that you’re asking him, leaning forward an inch more until his hands can sift under your sweater, pulling the fabric over your head in one fluid movement. 

He’s stricken, eyes wide and puppy dogged as he licks at his bottom lip, rising slightly as he nods toward your chest, “You were like that all night?”

You nod shyly, feeling bashful as his hands graze your sides, thumbs rubbing along the underside of your breasts. He’s drinking you in, distracted enough that he doesn’t feel your hand graze the front of his jeans until you have them half undone, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers.

“How long you been like this?” You ask, hands grazing over the small wet patch in the material, fingers cupping the hard line of his cock, shoving his jeans down an inch further. “Since we got here, since we left that bar—“

Your words drift and lull, dragging out as he felt ashamed to admit it. 

“Wasn’t that bad until you sat on my lap,” Tom admits, “and then you fuckin’ kissed me—“

“Yeah?” You reply, pulling him forward gently by the front of his shirt, pressing your lips against his in a messy exchange, tasting you on him. He moans brokenly, the shift pulling you closer and pressing your bare cunt against his dick, ruining the material further, “You mean like that?”

Tom nods desperately, wanting nothing more to fuck you against every square foot of his trailer.

“S’getting late, Tommy.” You say, a tad antagonizing as you pull away, staring at him sternly, “Should I leave?”

“Fuck, sorry. Sorry.” He apologizes, leaning down swiftly to capture your pebbled nipple between his teeth, mouthing brief at the valley of your breasts in a way that has you giggling out loud before he’s sinking back down and burying his face into your cunt, relentless as his pace is furious from the jump.

His fingers join gradually, thick digit sinking into your pussy and clenching, the movements of his tongue deliberate of your clit as he finds that sweet spot, curling his finger inside you until you’re gasping out loud, both hands shifting to cradle his head.

He encourages it, a small noise of acknowledgement as he moans against you, silently begging you to take what you need, riding out the high of your orgasm against his tongue as you come.

“Hu–oh, fuck.” You sigh, his mouth overstimulating as he laps you up, “Tom–fuck, Tom, too much.”

Tom laughs, finally releasing you to nestle between your legs, smoothing your skirt down as he hooks you knees around his hips, “Come ‘ere,” Tom whispers, tipping your chin up until you lean forward, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss.

“Tom–Tom, hey,” You tell him softly, trying to garner his attention, hands reaching for his opened jeans, “let me–”

“Mmm, yeah–’s okay.” Tom assures you, looking sheepish as he glances down toward your fingers trailing against the thick band of his boxers, “I uh, already came.”

“Oh,” Your voice is small, a smile creeping on your face, “O–Okay.”

“Next time.” He assures you, nodding slightly as your grin grows wider.

“Next time?” You reiterate, tone playful and inquisitive. 

“Uh, unless I’m reading this wrong,” Tom recoils, “I mean, you’re half naked on the table I fuckin’ eat on, s’not like I planned to kick you after either.”

“We’re really not mates anymore, are we?” You ask, watching as he cracks a laugh, shaking his head.

“Don’t think we ever were.”

And considering your current situation, you don’t think things could ever go back to how they used to be, but you didn’t want them to.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[billboard-hotties-tourney]

Ruth Pointer (1946-) The Pointer Sisters - vocals Songs: "Yes We Can Can," "Fire" Propaganda: see visual

Ronee Blakley (1945-) solo - primarily an actress Songs: "Bluebird," "My Idaho Home" Propaganda: see visual

Visual Propaganda for Ruth Pointer:

Visual Propaganda for Ronee Blakley:

[comphy-and-cozy]

hi again! happy 1k!! could I possibly get a matt martin blurb with something along the lines of “bet you they don’t make you sound like that, do they?” with jealous marty smut? please and thank you!

BESTIE COME HERE AND LET ME SMOOCH YOU I absolutely love writing marty smut!!!!!!!!!!! and have been DYING to get back into a smutty marty mood bc I have so many delicious and wonderful ideas that I so desperately want to get onto paper and into y'all's eyeballs

anyways this is in sugar daddy matty universe (hopefully 1-2 fics maybe incoming in this universe?)

celebrate 1K with me

Prompt: "Bet you they don't make you sound like that, do they?"

Pairing: Matt Martin x sugar baby!reader (f)

Word Count: ~800

Author's Note: Smut (18+ ONLY). Brief alcohol mention. Sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, possessive/slightly manipulative behavior by Matthew, definitely a healthy bit of size kink, semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie jesus christ

“What’s this I hear about you dating somebody?” Matt’s voice is polite, and he says it with a smile, but the tick in his jaw and darkness in his eye tells you the question is anything but.

It catches you off guard, the corner booth at Ruth’s Chris a strange place in your mind to bring up a rather serious topic, so you take a moment to steady yourself before replying. 

“I’m not dating anybody, Matty.”

“Zeeker saw you on a date.”

“I’m not allowed to have dinner with a friend?”

“Dude was not looking at you like a friend. Practically fucking you doggy on the table with his eyes, Zeke said.”

“I’m sorry, nowhere in this arrangement was it stated I’m not allowed to seek the company of other men.”

His wine glass is delicate in his large hand, stem twisted loosely between his thumb and pointer finger. He smiles, then laughs even, glancing out around the dimly lit room. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re more than welcome to seek the company of other men. But if you do, I’m gone.”

Your eyebrows raise and you do your best to keep your voice down. “So just because you’re paying me means you can seek additional company, but I can’t?”

“I’m not.”

“Not what, Matty?”

“Not ‘seeking additional company.’”

You roll your eyes and shrug off his statement, knowing it’s just pretty words to make you give in. If he wants to say more, he doesn’t, instead ordering another bottle of wine.

The wine comes, and so does your dinner, the conversation all but forgotten. In the parking lot, you feel his arm wrap around your waist, large and looming and protective, and you’re about to comment when he murmurs, “Get in the backseat.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You do as you’re told, and it doesn’t take long for your underwear to be hanging over your ankle, his hand underneath your skirt between your legs. 

He plunges two fingers into your slit, coaxing a quick and easy moan from your lips. 

“Bet he doesn’t make you sound like that, does he?”

You want to fight back, to push his buttons, but he thrusts back in and you can’t help it when your head shakes ‘no,’ the words taken from your mouth when he curls his fingers, pressing the spot that makes stars dance in front of your eyes. “No? Bet he doesn’t even know where your clit is, does he? Doesn’t know how to play with it just right to make your eyes roll back?”

Just as he says it, his thumb does exactly that, and the last remaining thought you had vanishes, mind going blank except for the feeling of his large fingers playing you like a piano. 

The crest arrives quicker than you expected, but just as you’re about to summit, his fingers are suddenly gone and the loss pulls a desperate whimper from your mouth. 

You feel his smirk against your jaw. “And I know damn well he doesn’t make you sound like that, darling.”

You’re in the process of working out a protest, a plea, a prayer to him to get his hands on you again when you hear the sound of a belt clink. Your eyes shoot open, and with a glance down you see his hand tugging his erection out of the slacks that are unzipped around his hips, stroking himself once, twice. 

In an instant, you’re adjusting your body to spread your legs wider to accommodate his body, allowing him to slide into position amid the cushion of the backseat.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he says, honey dripping from his voice as he slides his tip against your entrance.

When he presses into you, your legs go nearly limp as he stretches you to the brim, filling you up inch by inch. Your fingernails dig into the taut muscle of his bicep, gripping him tightly as he bottoms out, snug in the most delicious way. You can feel the way your walls throb around him, almost impossibly big.

“Matty, please,” you cry, unable to wait any longer.

He hums, pleased with the desperation in your voice, and obeys your command, snapping his hips roughly against yours, fully determined to make you gush in his backseat. He bullies your pussy, steady and constant and merciless, whispering low praises while he watches where your bodies connect.

Matt doesn’t stop until your legs are shaking and your eyes are rolling, growling as he watches your soul leave your body. He’s relentless until your grip softens on his arm and his hips are stuttering against your ass, filling you up with a groan.

“Are we done trying to find someone else who will fuck you like that, sweetheart?”

[neviagreatestart2003]

The Masked Singer Season 6 Characters!

List of Contestants/Celebrity.

1st: Queen of Hearts - Jewel

2nd: Bull - Todrick Hall

3rd: Banana Splits - David Foster & Katharine McPhee

4th: Skunk - Faith Evans

5th: Caterpillar - Bobby Berk (Wildcard)

6th: Mallard - Willie Robertson

7th: Pepper - Natasha Bedingfield (Wildcard)

8th: Jester - Johnny Rotten (Wildcard)

9th: Beach Ball - Honey Boo Boo & Mama June (Wildcard)

10th: Hamster - Rob Schneider (Wildcard)

11th: Cupcake - Ruth Pointer

12th: Baby - Larry The Cable Guy (Wildcard)

13th: Dalmatian - Tyga

14th: Pufferfish - Toni Braxton

15th: Mother Nature - Vivica A. Fox

16th: Octopus - Dwight Howard

[amazingmsme]

all i can think about it your headcanon on the jocks tickling Richie before a game 😭🙏

richie is absolutely taking that to his GRAVE ‼️ he will not let Ruth or Pete find out EVER (until Kyle lets it slip out 🫢)

Omg yeeees I’m so happy you like them so much! I just think they’d all get really excited & pumped up about the game after wrecking him & hearing his adorable laughter! Ok but the jocks would just mention it plain as day & it flusters Richie SOOOO much you have no idea! He never plans on letting Pete & Ruth find out, but I feel like they probably walked in & saw it one time & gave them pointers on his worst spots & what techniques work best

[astras-cats]

pinned post!

⭐️ this is @bored-boring-and-tired’s sideblog where i post about my cats ⭐️

here’s some lil intros to my permanent cats because why not :)

this is pico, he’s my youngest cat (about 7.5 months as of jan. 2024) and we rescued him from a friend’s backyard when he was 5 weeks old. he’s a little gremlin who likes to bite my hands and run between my legs to try and trip me, but he’s also very sweet and will lay on me for hours.

this is teddy, the weirdest of all my cats. he’s about 4 years old (as of jan. 2024) and he likes to get belly rubs, sleep, and he also hates being held but loves to lay on me and try to knead on my sweatshirts (it hurts).

milo, the biggest cat (18 pounds/8.2 kilograms) is a very silly boy. he’s about 4.5 years old (as of jan. 2024) and has the most tempting belly to pet but he will eat me if i try to pet it. he also likes food. like, a lot.

ruth (susan’s sister) is possibly my most normal cat. she’s about 5.5 years old (as of jan. 2024) and has very stereotypical cat behaviors like getting angry very easily but also being a nice little loving gremlin when she wants to. she is the queen of the household.

susan (ruth’s sister) is quite odd and very active. she’s 5.5 years old (as of jan. 2024) and her hobbies include chasing the laser pointer up walls, fighting with pico, staring at the oven every night (no joke she actually does this), hiding under things that give her absolutely no coverage, and sitting on people’s backs.

birthdays (yes i celebrate their birthdays yes i am insane):

pico - may 26 (2023)

teddy - sept. 15 (2019)

milo - july 15 (2019)

ruth & susan - sept. 15 (2018)

we don’t actually know any of their exact birthdays but based on their ages when we got them, these are the estimations (somehow teddy and the girls all happen to have the same birthday)

i also foster cats, so whenever i get new fosters you will definitely be seeing pictures of them!

tag guide (it’s pretty self-explanatory):

#pico for posts relating to pico

#teddy for posts relating to teddy

#milo for posts relating to milo

#ruth for posts relating to ruth

#susan for posts relating to susan

#[insert foster cat name here] for posts relating to [insert foster cat name here] (i’ve fostered too many to list each one individually here but it’s a foster if it’s not any of the other five)

#picture for pictures

#video for videos

#ask and #asks for asks

#text for text posts

#story for stories

(forgot to mention that i really really like cat cafes. if you have any questions about cat cafes i am here to answer them. please)

lastly thank you @theozinosaurus for the idea of making this sideblog <33

[go-river-flows]

Welcome back to the Avatar Programme

Part 8 of 13

Summary: I was part of the Avatar programme. Simple as that. Then that changed after the schoolhouse incident. 

A/N: Things are ramping up! To all y'all Wainfleet appreciators out there, you're welcome. I also remembered that one of my friends follows my tumblr account, so hi, Wiktoria! Hope you're enjoying these Avatar based stories! Lol Warning: a lot of fluff(?)

For the next few days, whilst being grounded at Hell’s Gate, myself and two other avatar drivers would play basketball on the court during the small breaks that I had. I was trying to distract myself as Grace, Norm and Jake were up at Site 26. But just focusing on work proved to be difficult as my mind would drift back to them leaving me at Hell’s Gate. I went back to feeling like that 16 year old kid in high school, that no one wanted to talk to or sit with at lunch. But thank god I graduated the same year after being offered a full ride scholarship at a top university, leaving those dumdums in the dust. 

“Come on, Curfman!” Choi yelled at the female avatar. Curfman whooped as she scored another three point throw. Giving me a high five. Choi grabbed the ball trying to dunk it as Curfman and I tackled him onto the ground. “Ow! What the hell guys?!” he yelled out, cursing out as he landed on his tail.

“Get the ball, (Y/N)!” Curfman held him down as I scampered for the ball, throwing it into the hoop from the ground. The ball hit the rim and ricocheted back from the odd angle, making a weird ‘tunk’ sound. I narrowly missed the ball, almost hitting me back. The two laughed at me in hysterics, witnessing the horrible throw.

“Wow! Maybe basketball isn't your strongest suit,” Choi chortled. I groaned, covering my face with my blue hands in annoyance. Before I knew it, I was being hauled up by the two still laughing avatars. 

“You just need more practice…aaaand maybe some pointers,” Curfman reassured, stifling a laugh.

“Thanks, I guess. But I should get back to work, my break is over,” I exhaled. The two patted my back as I left the court, going back to their game of ball.

Trudging back to the Avatar Compound resting area, I laid onto an empty cot and closed my eyes. Waking back up in the cradle, I laid there for a moment before manually opening it from the inside. Sitting up, I rolled my neck and shoulders before heading back to my office, saying a quick thanks to Max and Ruth.

   Entering my office, I sat back down in my chair and resumed my paperwork, then jumped back into the second half of the Dummies guide to Na’Vi. I was mostly done, but added some things I forgot to add in the first half. After that, I went to the canteen to eat. Taking a seat at an empty table, without a drink as usual–somehow they were always sold out whenever I wanted one–Wainfleet would give me his. This became somewhat of a routine as the days went by. Especially since Norm and Jake were no longer around.

  On such days, Wainfleet would join me at the empty table I sat at. On the opposite side of the canteen the other soldiers would stare at Wainfleet, who apparently preferred my company to his friends. To my suprise, he actually apologised for the crude language he’d used as well as his terrible attempts at flirting. Which I was sceptical of at first, but later eased up on. It was nice to talk to him about anything outside of my work and research.

  After finally finishing the second half of the guide, I stopped by Trudy’s samson and asked her to deliver the binder.

“Why don't you just come with me? I'm about to go up for a visit,” Trudy suggested. I thought about it for a moment, “I'll give you twenty minutes to decide, if not, I'll just leave without you.”

  I hung my head before grunting out an ‘okay’. I sprinted back to my office to grab my bag, some instant coffee and snacks that Wainfleet gave me out of the blue, and anything I needed to give to Grace. Namely rare samples she asked for before she decided to go up to Site 26, without telling me. I put my mask on as I returned to Trudy’s samson, bag slung around my shoulder, taking a seat next to her, and we soon took off.

The flight from Hell’s Gate was just as amazing as previous trips out to Pandora. Beautiful and very green, in comparison to the cold and grey Hell’s Gate. Maybe if I had more time, I would've hopped into my avatar. When we approached Hallelujah Mountain, the equipment started to glitch. The flux vortex signalling our inbound as the fog parted. Approaching a floating island, I could see the grey metal of Site 26. Trudy cut the engine as I hopped out the samson. I waited for her so we can go inside together. Opening the first door to decompress before fully entering the interior.

“Hey Grace! Hey Norm!” I called out. 

“(Y/N)?!” Norm poked his head up.

“Hey Norm!” Trudy greeted, “Where’s Grace?”

“Grace is out in her avatar at the moment,” he gestured to the back with his thumb, “But what are you doing here, (Y/N)?”

“Oh, just a visit, and to give Jake this thing,” I held up the binder, “But I also brought gifts.” I held up another bag in my other hand, approaching Norm, I set it down on the table, to which he dug in.

“Yes! Coffee…and snacks!'' His giddy mood was somewhat refreshing after not seeing him in a week. 

“Don't finish it all at once, it's not just for you. I don't know when I'm coming back, or if I'm coming back,” I laughed, patting his shoulder before trudging to the other side of the compact building. Finding Jake’s wheelchair, I put the binder on the seat before moving to the other side where Grace’s white coat hung from the back of a chair. Taking everything out of my bag, I put it on the table separating the research papers to their respective samples. Looking at her messy table with documents scattered all over. I cleaned it up a bit before returning to Norm and Trudy, where they were chatting about the past few days. We talked for a while before the subject of Lyle Wainfleet popped up.

“Okay, and that's where I'm stopping the conversation. Let's go Trudy,” I cringed.

“That guy has been stopping at (Y/N)’s table for the past few days. I've seen the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. Don't think I didn't notice, (Y/N),” Trudy laughed as Norm’s brows furrowed. 

“I thought you didn't like that guy?” Norm asked, accusatory in tone. 

“Oh come on. He’s honestly not that bad. Sure he’s not Tommy, but…if you look past his crude jokes and actually talk to him, he’s not a bad guy. I blame the RDA and army for that.” The two of them looked at me with blank stared before Trudy’s lips curled up to a smirk.

“Oh my god. You like him,” she said. Norm turned to look at her then at me with wide eyes, as Trudy held eye contact with me. I gulped.

“Seriously (Y/N)? Out of all the guys in the RDA, and you like Lyle…Wainfleet,” he sputtered out incredulously. I facepalmed as the heat started rising in my face, as Trudy started laughing out loud. 

“Let's go Trudy, I'm being serious,” I grabbed her arm as she continued laughing at me. By the time she finished laughing, I had already dragged her to the airlock, whilst in there she looked at my flushed face and proceeded to laugh at me again. We put on our masks and were back out in the Pandoran wildlife. During the flight back she continued to laugh whilst poking fun at me.

  And to top it all off, when we arrived back at Hell’s Gate, as soon as we passed through the airlock chamber and turned the corner I collided into the man himself, Lyle Wainfleet. For a second, my heart stopped. Trudy gave me the look before running off as Wainfleets hand stayed on my waist, from when he steadied me. My face flushed red again. Flustered by his sudden appearance and where his hand remained, combined with the previous conversation that I had not too long ago made me nervous. 

“Hey, you good?” his voice interrupted my rushed thoughts. His face was much closer than I anticipated. I let out what a meek yes, attempting to walk away, only to trip on his foot and he caught me again. God! Out of all the times to be clumsy, why now?! I cringed internally. “Woah, hey now. Falling for me already, sweetcheeks?” he chuckled, staring at my red face. I definitely look like a tomato. 

“Corporal Wainfleet!” a voice boomed through the hallway, belonging to Commander Miles Quaritch. Lyle let go of my waist shooting a smirk.

“See you later?” he quickly whispered. I hesitantly nodded before he ran after his commander, and when he finally turned the corner out of sight I caught my breath and breathed out a huge sigh. People passed glancing at my weird behaviour. Meandering the hallways, my feet carried me to my shared bedroom. As soon as I entered, I collapsed in my bed.

*

For the next few days I would avoid Wainfleet like the plague. I spent most of my time in my avatar at the Avatar Compound, checking on the fresh fruits, exercising, practising basketball (and getting better) or out in the surrounding jungle collecting more samples, or just simply hanging out with the other avatars. At least I was no longer sad about grace practically abandoning me.

  But once that was over, avoiding him in Hell’s Gate was more complicated, especially since he knew all my spots. All the avoiding finally caught up to me when he cornered me in a literal corner one afternoon.

“Just talk to me, what's going on,” he trapped me between his arms, “Why are you avoiding me?” He practically begged. I bit my tongue. Maybe because I was scared? Or was it because I actually had feelings for him? After learning about Tommy’s death, I mourned him. I still loved him. So would it be fair to move on?

“Please? I thought we were friends.  I told you we can talk about anything. But you're making things difficult,” he trailed off, eyes boring into mine.

“I–I…” I hesitated, “I think I like you,” I barely whispered. That was all he heard before he pulled me into a kiss. It felt like all the air was sucked out of my lungs, as he moved closer, practically pinning me to the wall with his body. Lips not leaving mine, he moved his hands to the back of my head. When he finally pulled away, he had the biggest, most boyish grin on his face.

“I think I like you too.”

Part 9

Taglist:

@sleepilysworld @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @wolfmoon8269

@howlerwolfmax @lovekeeho @ducks118

[luminouslywriting]

🤭🤭 Help with Ruth/Rosie content??

does anyone…..want to talk about Ruth and Rosie with me?? Particularly the portion of the relationship that’s real? Particularly the spicy stuff? 😅😅🫶🏻🫶🏻 ya girl could use some pointers and thoughts on this entire section of it.