#short and sweet just for u

[jacqui-velazquez]

who: @nataliavega where: tri delt valentine's party when: during speed dating

"First you show up at my room, now we're going on a date...." Jacqui paused, looping an arm through Nat's as they gave her a conspiratorial grin. "Seems like an awful lot of steps to just tell me you have a crush on me," they said in a teasing tone. "Unless...you weren't planning on spending these three minutes confessing."

[gabbieperera]

CLOSED — @kyleyangs

location — medusa

"Now what the hell is that?" Gabbie's eyes focus on someone trying and failing to dance in the middle of the dance floor. "God, I think I'm too sober for this place."

[mintypsii]

doodle dump :3

some of these r comic wips that i prob won't get to (the last one is post w7 where an anxious usopp places traps around the sunny and sanji gets caught in one bfhdkjs)

[calmparticles]

?Want a break from the ads? If you tap now to watch a short video you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! Yes, really! If you tap now you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! So what are you waiting for? I'm still waiting.. Why aren't you tapping? Don't you want 30 minutes of ad free music? If you tap now and watch the short video you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! It's that easy! If you want to be free from the ads forever considerIf it doesn't work for you, then you're using it wrong. Make sure you're using EVERY single filter. If you are currently, then de-select them and make sure they're updated and re-enable them. IT WILL WORK. There's no "it won't work" when you do this. It's either a 1 or a 0. Either a yes or no. Either a "it will work" or an "I am not using the adblocker correctly".

[sirensea14]

Mother's love

"Mother knows best."

-Mother Gothel

Or is it really love?

[didhewinkback]

also, following up on my previous ask (grapefruit anon), since something old harry has canonically written songs about reader, are there any songs of harry's that you picture being about the reader? xx

babe u have to know i wrote you a full blurb and tumblr deleted it i am in mourning rn this is the SECOND TIME it has happened with this ask. thank u for ur patience u fully sent me this in november but u know the election happened and brains broke so i will try again. answering ur questions/ writing a blurb under the jump:

okay for the 3rd time i would say there are 1d songs that have lyrics from his white eskimo songs he used to write that were incorporated like (happily, something great), theres a big song from mitam that he wrote w her in mind which the blurb is about, not much on hs1 but whenever he rehearsed woman after this mums bday party he pictured her while singing it (reader, not his mum), on fine line canyon moon is about her, parts of sunflower and golden are, on hs3 i would say late night talking, grapejuice, daylight, cinema, daydreaming, satellite bc they were together when he was writing that album. okay here is the blurb rip to the first version:

---

sometime in 2021

you'll admit, it was a low point. a moment of weakness. a moment you would deny if he ever asked about.

the one direction playlist blasting out of your speakers as you made yourself a cuppa.

it's just - he had been gone for four weeks and while he was due home tomorrow, you reached a breaking point. you'd been talking everyday but a month apart was far too long and and the time difference was catching up with both of you, your late night phone calls turning into one word sentences as you both drifted off and you just wanted him here, damnit. with you. home. the home you just moved into together to be together and now he was gone and you were alone in it and that wasn't fair now was it?

you swiveled your hips to the beat you used to dance around backstage to when you were far younger, taking a sip of the brew before putting it down to go grab your book from the bedroom when you heard keys in the front door, a muffled "'s me" from the other side. the voice you missed so much, the face you were dying to see and kiss in person. you sped walked toward the door, racing to open it but he got there first and there he was. your weary traveler, looking slightly worse for wear with his cap hung low over his head, one large duffle slung across his shoulders with the other in hand. he must've overnighted to get here at this hour. for you.

"what the fuck?!" you blurted out and he looked up, smile instantly growing on his face as he locked eyes with you, quickly putting his bags down and closing the door behind him. that favorite smile of yours never leaving his face, that smile you had been seeing only through the phone or through grainy stage videos you watched late when you couldn't sleep. he was here. so caught up in staring at him that you didn't remember the music playing, both of you recognizing it at the same moment. his head tilts back in laughter and your face is in flames.

"oh my god - google stop. google stop" you frantically yelled, trying in vain to get the music to stop but it simply would not listen, his younger voice squeaking out the chorus of "under the lights tonight you turned around..." you try to race towards the phone but he's somehow faster, looping an arm around your waist and pulling you back into him, his body shaking with laughter as he buries his head in your neck, breathing you in.

"this what you do when i'm gone, then?" he asks and you twist in his hold, pulling his cap off and running your hands through his hair. he goes right back to where he left off, kissing along the skin of your neck as he tightens his hold on you. "let your inner fangirl out?"

"it was a moment of weakness." you grumble, though the way you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in gives you away. "you weren't meant to be back until tomorrow and i missed you."

"missed me so bad but still haven't given me a proper hello?" he mumbles against your neck before pulling back to look at you. you bring your hands up to cup his face, taking in the bags under his eyes, the new scruff growing along his cheeks, the way his eyes are twinkling with mirth, that just for you smile not leaving his face.

"hello," your murmur as you pull his face to yours to meet his mouth. it's sweet, pecks saying hello, i miss you, i'm happy you're here, only pulling back when he starts humming the next song against your mouth and you shove him away as he giggles but he doesn't let you get very far, hugging you close as you wrap your arms around his neck once more and hold tight.

he sways you back and forth, hand drawing up and down your back as the song changes to one of your favorites "if i could fly".

"oh i always loved this one" you mumble against his shoulder, feeling his sharp inhale as much as you can hear it.

"it's about you, y'know" he says softly. "wrote it about you."

the words roll over you in a rush, feeling flushed all the way to your toes when you pull back to look at him.

"what? no it's not. you wrote this ages ago -" you argue but he's already shaking his head, shy smile on his face.

"'m serious - i. 's kind of embarrassing -"

"tell me, please."

"wrote it one of those days after y' answered the phone at like 4 in the morning to talk me off a ledge." he says quietly, as he adjusts his grip, bringing a hand up to cup your face, fingers lightly dancing on your jaw. "'nd i kept thinking how much i wanted to be there for you in the same way, how known i felt by you, how seen. how much i loved you and valued you in my life. how only you knew me like this. thought it was like a song about friendship at first, at this inexplicably deep bond we always had."

he huffs a shy laugh at himself and you're almost frozen in place.

"when i played it for the lads they were like 'this is the most romantic song you've ever written' and i had no idea what to do with that information. i just kept being like no they don't get it, they don't get us. even when i played it on tour a few years ago, i kept just thinking it was a song about how important you were to me, how much better i felt when you were close. even when we weren't really talking towards the end of tour, i always played it for you, for us never really thinking it was more than that."

you don't think you're breathing at this point, his hand now gripping your jaw gently, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, tired, love filled eyes looking right into yours.

"wasn't until i listened to it a year or two ago that i was like oh you sodding idiot, you were in love with her this whole time."

"h -" you breathe out and he's got more to say but you don't let him, crashing your lips to his as he sharply inhales, hand coming to cup the back of your head as he opens up for you, tongue swirling against yours, the sounds of the song he wrote for you when he was young and stupid and felt more for you than he knew what to do with.

"sorry i was so blind for so long," he's mumbling against your mouth but you're shaking your head.

"don't - that's not - god i can't believe you," you say, pressing your lips harder against his. his hands slide down your back, squeezing your bum before latching on to the back of your thighs and pulling you up, holding you as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"need to shower," he says when you pull away to breath, already kissing a line down his neck. "want to help?"

"as if you don't already know you're getting whatever you want after that story" you mumble against his skin, he hisses when your teeth dig in, making yourself known. he starts to head towards the loo when you stop him.

"you have to turn the music off." you say, "it's on shuffle and i'm not having sex with you to any of those early cuts."

he barks out a laugh - saying a quick "google stop" to get the music off and of course it listens to him before he pulls your face back to his, kissing you so throughly you would lose balance if he wasn't holding you in his arms.

he walks you both towards the loo, mouth never breaking from yours, already knowing this flat so well he doesn't need to see to navigate properly. more settled than he's ever felt and it's only been a year. one hand squeeze up and down your body with the promise of more, the hunger that's grown after all this time apart for you. the one he will always fly right home to.

---

[crab-people-overlord]

okay but can we talk about 'Mystery of the Urinal Deuce' because this episode is literally EVERYTHING when it comes to Stan and Kyle's friendship. Marsh is playing dumb the whole episode and Kyle is losing his goddamn mind over it. The betrayal. The DRAMA.

Stan in this scene knows damn well that everything is a conspiracy (he admits as much later in the episode and knows that Kyle thinks the same thing). And Kyle knows damn well that Stan out of everyone should also know this, because Stan is the one person he can usually count on to back him up on this type of shit. But Stan is the one messing with him in this episode, so we get these fun moments of Stan letting loose and enjoying pranking his friend Kyle. 

Many see the Assburger's duology as the establishment and turning point of Stan’s character. And while it certainly establishes his clinical depression, I’d argue it in no way establishes either his tendency towards depression/melancholy OR cynicism as both of those have always been present from the beginning (but that’s another discussion for another day. I already basically wrote an essay on that a longgg time ago that maybe I’ll share later).

When it comes to a true  ‘turning point’ for Stan’s character, I think of ‘Raisin’s’ ‘from Season 7, which expands on his already present tendency towards sensitivity and annoyances with general society and evolves it into a deep melancholy and detachment from society (at times bordering on nihilism, something we see more of from Stan post Season 7’s ‘Raisins’ such as in the ‘Douche and Turd’ episode in Season 8 and many other episodes). I don’t see the ‘You’re Getting Old’ episode as the turning point for Stan’s character at all. I see it more as an extension of what I actually view as his turning point episode of ‘Raisin’s’. 

What I love about ‘Mystery of the Urinal Deuce’ is it is a post ‘Raisin’s’ episode where Stan just gets to play around, which is sadly something we just don’t see from Stan post-season 7 as often. 

Kyle has always been the easiest target for Cartman not even necessarily because of his traits, but because of his reactions. He is super reactive to everything, and Stan knows this. Unlike Cartman, Stan respects this and usually stands up for Kyle when this aspect of him is taken advantage of. But at the same time, this doesn’t mean that Stan doesn’t like to tease Kyle at times - because let’s be real; Kyle’s high reactivity would make it so fun to mess with him. And in this episode, Stan takes advantage of that. 

And while usually I hate people taking advantage of Kyle in this way, it is so goddamn refreshing to see Stan just being able to let go of all the heavy shit that’s been so key to his character emotionally post-Season 7 and just play around with his bestie in this episode, something I think that at the core of his character he ultimately just wants to be able to do at the end of the day. you can TASTE the shit-eating grin in his voice. he is having the TIME OF HIS LIFE watching Kyle spiral. stan tries so GODDAMN hard to find happiness throughout the series to no avail, so it’s refreshing the times he succeeds and gets to just actually be himself.

Later on in the episode, Stan is also just able to let loose. His ‘Well dude, maybe we’re just badass, have you ever thought of that?’ later on in the episode is said so nonchalantly with him literally smirking, and it cracks me up every time as he tries to appease Kyle’s doubts. He is thoroughly enjoying pranking his friend. 

like yes give me more of this next season?? give me more of stan actually getting to be a kid and mess around with his best friend instead of drowning in existential dread 24/7? please and thank you?

[rintoki]

when you sleep at night

characters: kafka x dom!reader

tw: somnophilia, dubcon, nothing too crazy actually relax

a/n: i guess this can be considered a second part to my first kafka smut, its like the exact same setting and dynamic.

MINORS DNI

the door opens easily as kafka steps into the entrance way, slipping out of her heeled boots and quietly making her way through the dark living room. all the lights in the house was out and it was eerily silent, through the dim lighting kafka strains her eyes to check the clock hanging on your wall.

11:37pm

you couldn’t possibly be sleeping this early yet. but, alas, you proved to be unpredictable to her once again as she turns the knob to your bedroom, pushing it open to reveal your sleeping form on the bed. her feet padded softly on the floor; taking slow, deliberate steps closer to the bed that you laid on.

kafka clicked her tongue, a tinge of annoyance blossoming in her chest when she sees that you were indeed fast asleep and not just pretending to mess with her. not that you were the type to do that anyway. she felt her finger twitch unconsciously, standing foolishly by your bed as she is once again reminded of how little you cared for her. despite her now regular visits to your residence, you never once welcomed her, nor have you ever made any type of accommodations towards her.

the woman breathes deeply, your familiar scent permeates the room and her body is quick to react to it. reminded of all the late nights spent together, how warm your body felt next to hers, and how good you made her feel. kafka shuts her eyes for a moment, deciding on what to do now. part of her knows that the right thing to do is to leave and come back another time, preferably informing you beforehand like you had asked of her.

but instead she remains in her spot; unmoving as she watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, your soft breasts hidden underneath the thin material of your pyjamas, and how easy it would be to simply unbutton it right now. kafka finds herself getting lost in her thoughts, eyes raking over your body as she thinks about everything she could do to you now. but more than anything, her purple eyes finally land on your hands; the same hands that brought her orgasm after orgasm. the very ones that hugged and caressed her body, how she wanted to feel them again.

and as if in a trance, kafka pushes her jacket off her shoulders, letting the expensive coat fall to the floor without a care. normally unheard of with how much she loves her coats, but now there’s no one here to see that. and there’s no one to witness as she peels off the layers of her clothing, her belly tightening with every passing second and soon the woman stood in nothing but her panties.

kafka crawls gingerly onto the bed, careful to not wake you as she eyes your hand resting by your side. she tests the waters, nimble fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away from your body. when you show no reaction does the excitement bubble up within her, her pussy already beginning to ache with need

inch by inch, she shuffles closer. until your relaxed fingers lay just underneath her clothed pussy, a wet spot now forming on her panties. kafka’s breathes deeply, trying to keep it even as she lowers herself onto your hand, feeling your fingers fold naturally under her weight.

a shaky breath escapes her at the feeling, slowly moving her hips back and forth on your curled fingers, not caring how awkward the position was. kafka watches your sleeping form carefully, but you showed no signs of waking up, still blissfully unaware and deeply asleep.

a small part of her was annoyed—that you didn’t wake up and catch her in the act, that she won’t get to see your reaction. but the larger part of her is now pushing off her panties, letting her bare pussy rub against the palm of your hand. it was warm, and the ridges brushed perfectly against her swollen clit. kafka shudders, her breathing turns heavy as she continues the slow rutting of her hips, allowing herself to enjoy the sensations until your hand was sufficiently lubricated from how much she leaked.

and with shaky hands, she positioned your fingers upright, aligning it with her hole before sinking down upon them. kafka nearly whines, biting back any sounds as your fingers penetrates her tight walls. she grips your wrist, holding them in place as the woman lifts her hips once again, this time pushing your fingers into her pussy. again and again, your fingers sunk deep into her warmth and kafka pants quietly. her mind was feeling dizzy from the entire situation, the fact that you weren’t even conscious now and yet you still managed to reduce her to this state. how even just your fingers was enough for her pussy to twitch and push back so desperately against your hand.

she squeezes her eyes shut, her head hung low and nearing the verge of her orgasm as she angles your wrist so that the tips of your fingers brushed against her spot. the sensitive patch of nerves singing in response as it felt like shocks ran through her body. kafka gasps loudly, unable to hold back her moans now as it almost felt like your hand was moving by itself. too far gone to put the pieces together even when your fingers begin to curl and thrust inside her, or when your thumb has suddenly begin to press against her clit at the same time.

her mouth hung open, panting breathlessly as her body felt like it was on fire. her hand wrapped helplessly around your wrist even as it moved by itself and her back arched, muscles flexing and her thighs trembled terribly. kafka was right on the edge, just a little more… just one more stroke, just one more thrust…

“agh…! fu—fuck, wha…!”

the woman felt every sensation in her body stop cold. before she’d knew it your hand was already ripped from her body, and her orgasm had come to a screeching halt. kafka nearly chokes, scrambling to her senses as she finally raises her head to face you.

from her flushed expression to her bare body, your cold eyes finally landed on your soaked fingers, covered in her wetness after having used it for her own pleasure. kafka watches with wide eyes; somewhere in her mind she understood that you had probably been awake for a while now, that you’d probably purposely fucked with her. brought her to the brink of an orgasm before ruthlessly ripping it away from her.

her heart pounds in her chest, an unfamiliar feeling as she waits for your next move, your next words. what will you with her now? she’s not that shameless to ask you to make her cum again after begin caught like that, but for whatever reason she could feel her pussy tightening again, waiting with anticipation of what you might do to her now.

[ysaefinn]

thoughts on sugu with a loud and brash reader

-🎀

🎀 anon acquired!!!!!!! Such a cute emoji welcome aboard!!

Ooff anon, brash and loud reader, Suguru geto's beloved baby, he loves you he loves your energy he loves your brattiness he loves your princess attitude and loves to encourage it 😭

You never irritate him let's get THAT out of the way, he loves your inability to control your volume 😭😭 you balance each other out so well, he can be the calm mother in the dynamic and it makes him sleep better at night <33

If your attitude does land you in trouble (which it will, since he makes you feel as if your actions have no consequences lmao) he will back you up and be on your side but gently scold you in private ☹️☹️ YOU'RE STILL HIS BABY THO!!!!!! He could never be mad at you ofc!!!! Might even give you a little pinch if you get a little tooooo out of control

Tbh this type of reader would've pulled him out of his high school depression arc, how does it feel knowing you could've fixed him 🎀 anon?

[reel-fear]

The Doctor Who crew did not play 'Bioshock but bad and without minorities' guys if anything I imagine the style could be based off idk... Rubber hose that style that ruled the 1930s and old days of animation and probably off more of Cuphead considering that game has actually smooth rubberhose esc animation and like... Charm... Polish... Heart put into it? Bendy did not inspire that villain guys Bendy doesn't have ANYTHING that resembles that sort of animation style, that design nor does the concept of a creation wanting to kill its creator originate from Bendy if anything its sort of common in every genre ever??????????

[artpigeons]

Absolute least favourite tiktok trend is people posting concert footage with the caption "my 300$ jumping around on stage" or something like that

Like sorry ticketmaster sucks and going to concerts is so expensive now but you realize that referring to a human person you dont know as "my 300$" is wildly inappropriate and dehumanising right? You understand that that's not ok right????

[ruporas]

hello hello! I hope you don't mind me dropping by but I just want to say I love your art so much, the way you draw vashwood is just so sweet and tender but can I just ramble about the way you draw Vash especially? More specifically, the way you draw his expressions when he's looking at Wolfwood???

I just LOVE the way you draw Vash's expression because the way you make him look at Wolfwood is so soft 😭😭😭. There's just something about it that's so tender, like whenever I look at Vash's expressions in your art I just think "that is genuinely someone who loves another person with all their heart" and it just mends and breaks my heart at once, you capture Vash's love for Wolfwood in ways I can't explain 👏

It's unbridled love mixed with the fear of hurting Wolfwood in their relationship. It's wanting to spill so much affection but holding back in fear of messing up. He looks at Wolfwood like he's longing for him so earnestly be it pre-relationship or even when they're already dating it's just so??? 💕💕💘💞💖💖💞💕

There's just something so tender and heart wrenching at the way Vash looks at Wolfwood in your art, it gets me really emotional and I hope you have a lovely day/night for real <33!!!

ouuuuu thank you so so much for your kind words and for taking the time to tell me this T_T !!! i'm glad my expressions for vash's longing gazes at wolfwood is well done enough to have this sort of response to it…

he's the kind of person that has to hold back in both words and touch when it comes to love, when it comes to wolfwood, but i think it's a difficult emotion to restrain, especially when wolfwood is kind enough to let it be.

ultimately, what they're allowed to have is the inevitable shared spaces during their travels, it's the other's physical presence, being next to wolfwood, being able to take him in through the way he simply exists. smelling smoke, seeing smoke, seeing the cigarette between his fingers, seeing the crosses littered across his person, the rosary snug around his neck, his scruff at his chin, messy bangs, messy hair, tired eyes, the canine that peeks when he speaks, and a voice carrying heavy words, but honest, and kind, and one vash could never get tired of hearing, like how he'd never be tired of just looking at wolfwood.

it's of gratitude, it's of sorrow, it's of grief, it's of love, praise, adoration, it's desperate and it's full of yearning. at first, it's a gaze he feels he has to be satisfied with until he's learned that he's allowed for more and at that point, when wolfwood has given him so much, how could he look at him in any other way?

in any case, i def like to make it known and parade around vash's deeeeeep deep deep feelings of love towards wolfwood, so i'm very happy to know i can express that clearly through his expression alone. i Also just love wolfwood so maybe the projection goes from the heart of the artist to the heart of the art.

i ended up collecting a few caps of his expressions just out of curiosity for myself :3 i have much to improve still, i'll keep on drawing vash's loving self until i can get the ultimate loving expression down!!

[boxwinebaddie]

not me writing rm flashbacks crying and throwing up over babyjk my love my life ( he’s so funny and so sad )

[bedforddanes75]

smh back related Filth here...

this isnt good enough for me to post on ao3 have it here instead. 18+ and stuff. ok anyway dont tell me if this sucks just leave and dont ever speak again

back fic? george doesnt wanna think and matty likes georges back. no im not projecting what do you mean. warning (technically) Unfinished and bad and idk man just read and again if u dislike (and i find out about it) then DIE im comign to get you. listne to pink floyd and chiiiillll the fuck out IM SO STRESSED i hate posting so much i cant stop speaking im trying to soften the blow (no blowjobs happen) but like i dont know Girl someone get me a gun I REALLY WANT A GUN oh my god OKok ko koko kok ok kok ok ok ok ok juts GO there its'heere

He gets George laid on his front, face pressed right into the pillows and chest fighting to expand under his weight. George keeps making these quiet, almost pathetic noises, whimper-esque, and delicate, and Matty can tell he’s fighting not to grind into the mattress.

“You can make yourself feel good, darling. Go on.”

George responds immediately with the shaky movement of his hips, and a relieved moan, goosebumps rising.

There’s nothing between them now, George already stretched out and far gone, his only thoughts being of Matty and Matty and Matty and Matty. Who is Matty to deny him that pleasure? He’s in awe at how someone can be so beautiful, staring at George’s back like it’s the sun, and it might as well be, because he’s radiating heat like a fire, so desperate to be touched and to feel good that the only outlet is there. George moves his hips slowly at first, and he’s so overwhelmed he thinks he might come just from that, the friction from the sheets more than enough for him.

But he wants Matty.

Matty runs a cold finger down the length of his spine, reverent and appreciative, and George shivers, the motion pulling another quiet noise from him. It’s silent, bar their breathing, and the rustling of sheets, but Matty’s heart is beating so fast that he doesn’t even notice. George isn’t trying to speak, not trying to beg for anything, because he knows if he tries, all that’ll come out is something garbled and stupid, but he doesn’t care, because Matty isn’t making him do any of that today, he just touches and pleases and makes him feel like he’s in heaven.

It isn’t long before Matty’s leaning down over him, letting himself press against George from behind, and whispering things down his neck.

“You want me to make you come? Want me to fuck you, darling?” And George might just cry. He does want it, but he just cannot form the words. Matty doesn’t make him, but when he doesn’t make any move to get off and start properly touching George, George knows that he won’t do anything until he does. He usually forces George to speak when they do it like this, makes him blush and whine and George lets him and loves it, but this time, he’s letting George do things in his own time, pressure all gone, (except in his groin.)

He’s got his hands on George’s waist, now leaning back just to admire him, and George can’t wait any longer. He tries to speak, just the word please, but it doesn’t come out right, and he’s just so desperate that he can’t think to correct himself.

“Just let me look at you a bit, you’re so gorgeous.” Matty doesn’t sound like he’s aware of the fact he exists anymore, so wrapped up in how beautiful George is that time and space no longer accept him as a being, he is simply a conscience left to its own devices, floating around and latching onto this angelic figure beneath where he should be. “Pretty,” he breathes, “So pretty,” again. He’s still drawing lines on George with his nails, like he’s tracing the muscles and all the marks made over the years.

George tries to keep his breathing steady, content with where he is but simultaneously needing more like he needs air, like it’s his only source of life, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t mind, really, he’s just happy to be touched, because every contact with Matty feels better than anything he’s ever taken, and he can’t imagine feeling any better than this. There’s static in his head, only just about covering the words he needs to make Matty do anything, and he wishes it wasn’t there, but he loves it so, so much.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Matty whispers eventually, after years and seconds and days and hours and George can’t reply. He wants it more than anything, but he’s so focussed on trying to figure out how to express that, that he can’t do it. A nod is all he can muster up, but he knows that Matty won’t let him just do that, he needs words, proper, full words. Then, there it is, “I need you to tell me, sweet. Words.”

He’s moved further down George’s body by now, and George didn’t even realise it was happening, but he’s pressing kisses to the dimples at the base of George’s spine, so he can’t complain. Not one bit.

Then, he moves drastically lower, kisses the very top of the line between his legs, just where the fat of his [ass] starts to rise, where his thighs turn from muscle to something soft, and he just leaves his face there for a while. He’s got his chin pressed into the middle of George’s thighs, and his hands still all over his back. That makes him speak.

“Please,” he manages, and Matty seems shocked at it.

“‘Please’ what? Need you to use words.”

George can’t, and he almost feels like crying, so desperate it’s making him shake, but he tries again.

All he can do is say, “You,” like a prayer, again, again, and Matty breathes something shaky in return. But he still doesn’t make any effort to move, just strokes the back of one of George’s arms. “Please, Matty.” It feels like they’re the only words he knows, now, really.

“Just need you to tell me what you want. I’ll do it, just tell me.”

Matty was always careful not to push boundaries and to be extra nice when George got like this, he wouldn’t push anyway, but he treats George like an ornament when he’s like this. George loves it. He likes being told he’s beautiful and being allowed to not think and just feel and feel and feel. It’s nice. It’s the best.

“You. Matty. Please.” Maybe they are the only words he knows, and he doesn’t care – they’re the only words that are important.

If Matty couldn’t understand it from that, he doesn’t know what he could’ve, but, that’s a useless thought, because he’s nodding against George, whispering “Okay.”

“Tell me if you want me to do anything else. Anything you want, sweet. Do anything. Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.”

George nods.

He has to wait a while, Matty making sure he won't hurt George if he goes too fast, slicking himself up, but then Matty pushes into him gently, gripping George’s hand tightly to keep himself under control, and all of a sudden, it’s all worth it. He’s glad Matty doesn’t have a clear view of his face, then, because he’s bright red, sweating, and he just knows he looks an absolute state. But none of that matters at the moment, because Matty is inside him, and still, and he feels so good, so good, so, so, so, so, so good.

If he thought he couldn’t speak before, that was nothing. He can’t even see, completely taken by the feeling of Matty inside him and touching his back and touching his hair and touching him and touching. Matty is the embodiment of pleasure.

“Feels so good, darling,” Matty breathes, and he must’ve leant down, because George can feel his breath on the back of his neck. He blushes at the praise.

He can’t breathe properly with the pillows covering his face, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, and even the littlest of movements make him completely lose coherency, because Matty’s pressed right up against that spot, and he can’t take it.

Matty thrusts after a while, holding George’s hand and making sure he’s okay every few seconds, but when he does, George sees stars. He’s clearly holding back, because he keeps twitching inside George, and George only wishes he could speak more so he could tell Matty to do what he needs, to take as much as he wants, but, alas, he can’t, and he just settles on letting Matty do what he’s doing now.

The feel of Matty inside him is something he‘ll never get used to, it’s all consuming, feels like he’s turning into a star and becoming something otherworldly and living and dying all at the same time. He can’t word how amazing it is, like knowing he’s safe and letting Matty do whatever he needs, because he knows it’ll be good, and he trusts him.

He, eventually, does start to move properly, but only after multiple weak noises from George, desperate and pleading for anything. Matty grabs his hips, suddenly energised and no longer having the patience to be as gentle as he was, and George loves it. He’ll take whatever Matty gives with an open mouth and a chest left wide open, ribs all snapped to get inside, and this is like a knife made of solid pleasure, because there’s that tiny bit of pain, but it’s covered up by the heat that rushes all down his limbs, right down to his fingers, every single time Matty hits that spot inside him, and then everything is all okay.

Soon enough, Matty’s got his nails in the soft, weak skin of the space just below George’s v-line, digging into the flesh and wanting to claw him apart simply because it’s the only possible way to express how intense everything he’s feeling is. George lets the pain bloom and he whimpers into the bed.

“You okay?” Matty asks, and he nods, enthusiastic and truthful and just wanting more.

That’s all he needs, and he seems to lose some amount of his self control, because he starts fucking into George harder, one hand going back to his waist to keep steady, and the other going to his hair. He doesn’t pull just yet, but George wouldn’t complain if he did, taken by the pleasure. Matty’s nails are pressing slightly, and he welcomes the sting.

The sweet, soft, gentle Matty is almost fully gone now, and he’s changed back into something like what he usually is in just a few minutes, and it’s making George sick with want. He’s tightening his grip on George’s hair more and more by the minute, and by now, it’s starting to sting.

George doesn’t think anything’s going to change after that, just thinks Matty’s going to make him come like this, and he has no reason to think anything else. That is, until Matty yanks George’s head towards himself by the hair, and George can’t help the moan he lets out. It’s loud and undignified, but Matty likes it all the same, apparently, because he holds tighter, and keeps his head there for a second. George thinks he might come just from that, the feel of Matty in his hair, tugging.

Heat ripples from his scalp, and it’s not helped by Matty starting to speak. “Fucking back, so beautiful. Perfect. It’s so pretty, fuck.” He keeps speaking until he finally unthreads his fingers from George’s hair, but George can still feel the ghost of his palm. He fixes his grip properly onto his hips and waist instead.

He’s definitely digging his nails into that pale flesh, and it wouldn’t shock George if, when he moves, there’s skin left beneath them. He’s being gentler than normal, which George is grateful for, because he knows that if Matty did anything that was any more intense than pulling his hair, he’d be coming within a minute of him sinking inside.

He can feel heat building in his stomach, and, all of a sudden, he’s overly aware of the sheets rubbing against himself, hard against them, and he whimpers, eyes squeezing. Matty’s starting to stroke his hair, and ramble.

“You feel so fucking good, Jesus Christ. Fuck, George.” He’s digging his thumb into a space near one of the dimples on George’s back now, almost like he wants it to bruise so he’s got proof of it, like the proof isn’t George’s very existence.

George gets closer a lot sooner than he’d like to, but he just can’t help it, because Matty is telling him how good he feels and how well he’s doing over and over again, and there’s so much happening, like the feel of Matty hitting just where he needs every time and the feel of himself against fabric and the image of what he must look like in his head. It’s all too much. Almost.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Matty slows down, taps him, asks if he’s okay, and he just nods, nods like it’s keeping him alive, manages to turn his head enough to the side to say “Please, please, Matty, please,” and then his eyes roll back.

He’s so close, whining and whimpering nonsense and trying to form words to warn Matty, failing, but not caring, because he’s blinded by how good it feels, and Matty isn’t letting up, in fact, he’s fucking him harder, pulling George’s hips into his own with every thrust, determined to make him come.

It doesn’t take long before he’s right on the edge, just needing a tiny bit more, and then Matty fists a hand into his hair once more, and he’s gone. The combination of Matty fucking him so good, with the sharp pain on his scalp, is better than anything he could’ve imagined, and he cries out as he comes, over and over, moaning into the pillows and clenching his fists, begging with completely incoherent noises. Matty keeps moving for a bit, and George doesn’t have the mind to protest, nor does he want to, he’d rather lie in the afterglow and be only half aware of how overstimulated he’s becoming.

He doesn’t really notice when Matty comes, and he doesn’t notice virtually anything else for a while after, either, just lets himself be moved around as Matty tries his best to clean him, trying to manoeuvre him into some position easier to clean from, and not doing very well, because…well, the size of George.

sorry ending Shit possibly all shit but whatever i wrote most of it. enjoy life

[vanyafresita]

happy pride !! here's a digital zine i made to compile short letters i wrote to some of the queer people in my life i hold close to my heart <3

[thesullengrrrl]

From the December prompts “a breakup”please! I am so curious about what you are going to write . No word on how excited I am 😍😍😍

Hiya there! Thanks for this request. This is an Elaine-centric one, so I hope you don't mind 🫣 Hope you enjoy this one!

a breakup

Hal Byrne was out again for the fourth time that week, while Elaine watched her mother drink her third (or fourth?) glass of wine by the kitchen counter. Joni Mitchell’s The Last Time I Saw Richard was softly playing. She lingered a few meters away from her, contemplating whether she should sit with her or just go back to her room. 

Alice waved to approach her.

"Come drink with me, Laney baby,” Alice called out to her.

Elaine slowly walked over the kitchen table and pulled a seat.

Without hesitation, Alice poured her a glass. “Drink.”

“I don’t…I don’t think I’m allowed yet,” Elaine replied, gently pushing the glass back to her mother. Her gaze was not met by her mother.

Her mother scoffed, almost bitterly. “Your father and I are getting a divorce. Drink up.”

“What?" Elaine gasped, the sound of Alice's confession slowly registering in her brain. "Why?”

“You’ll know soon enough. Or when you're older."

She could feel her skin dot despite the room's warmth. Alice gulped the wine from the glass she poured for her.

How could two people who seemed to be very in love now just decide to part ways? What happened? What changed? Did her father cheat? Was her mother working too hard? What was it? 

These questions floated in her head, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask loudly. So she sat there motionless, mouth opening and closing like a fish–either for breaths or words, she doesn’t know.

 “Why won’t you drink? I taught you how to time travel,” Alice continued, breaking the silence as if she told the most normal thing in the world. “You might not be able to decline liquor from where you might be traveling. In fact, you might need it.” 

“Mom…I'm eighte–”

“Speaking of traveling,” Alice cut her off. “Did you know I was supposed to be in Italy all those years ago? Working as a chef there?”

Elaine hesitated, wondering where this conversation might go. “No.”

“I was supposed to work in Italy,” her mother shared, now laying the empty glass on the table. Her mother was once a bright young thing, Elaine thought. Alice Miller-Byrne was hopeful and filled with love from her intelligent English husband. She couldn't help picturing her parents during that time of their lives—young, in love, and almost bound to Italy.

“Your father and I had a plan then. We’ll live there, he’ll find a university job–whatever–then we’ll travel around by train. Just be a young, childless couple, you know?”

Glassy eyes were concentrating on her, and she flinched under her gaze. What would she say next?

“But then, you happened,” she continued, jabbing a gentle finger on her shoulder. Oh.

“Your father wanted to stay here in Brooklyn. For my—" Alice paused for air quotes. "safety, as he insisted. So they gave it to another girl. That girl now lives there. I could’ve been her with your father.”

Elaine did not know how she was shaking until her eyes lowered to her hands, then back to her mother who was now wiping tears from her eyes. She could see it from her mind's eye—a young couple arguing over pregnancy and giving up a dream. Her mother.

“I’m sorry, mom,” was all she could muster. After all, what can she really say? Alice let out a laugh as she poured another glass of wine.

"Don’t be sorry, baby,” her mother replied, now stroking her hair. There was sadness in Alice's smile, as if it was convincing her and herself that it was all right. “You didn’t mean to ruin my plans.” 

Somehow, it was like she did.

To her mother’s surprise, she took the glass of wine and gulped the entire thing. She winced at the taste, fought the urge to vomit it all, swallowed it like water, hoping it would be enough penance. 

I’m sorry mom. I’m sorry mom. I’m sorry mom.

Elaine stared at her mother, bloated with wine and sudden surge of loneliness. The wine did not taste like grape juice at all just as she imagined—it was sickeningly sweet and sour. The aftertaste was like a punishment—what she rightfully deserves.

She wanted to cry, beg her to take it all back, tell her she was wanted and loved and always will be. This revelation opened a crack in her being, something that could never be pieced back together. 

She had a pretty good childhood—an occasional latch key kid to a gorgeous brownstone that her friends envied.

She was comfortable.

Until today, she wasn’t. Alice couldn’t look at her.

The next day, Hal and Alice sat her down to confirm the inevitable. They’re divorcing. Hal fell in love with someone else.

They couldn’t work it out, Alice said. They tried.

They tried hard, Hal added.

All she could hear were mumbling explanations,  sniffing and crying, tearful apologies, and assuring her she will be taken care of.  Except that their sounds were muffled. She was under cold water, while her parents were above water, only watching and talking and crying.

She’s no longer a child.

She’s a new adult, she reminded herself.

However, with her almost glued to the couch, staring at them while they explained to her…

She transformed into a tall child. 

Alice could not even remember what she said last night.

Mothers and daughters are wretched mirrors of each other, she once read. Elaine is everything Alice could have been.  While Alice is everything Elaine might end up being.

Would she one day tell this hypothetical child the same thing? Resent the child? Hate the child at some point? The thought was exhausting. Nothing’s conclusive, yet this is all she could think of. She couldn’t bring herself to be happy about a possible pregnancy. Maybe it's the anxiety. Maybe it's the hormones. Maybe all of this means nothing. Should she jump back in time and leave it all behind when the test comes back positive? Leave Rosie a note just like when they met?

The record now plays another tune. 

Elaine closes her eyes.