#she's got a boyfriend anyway

[wreckedandpolemic]

she's got a boyfriend anyway - matty healy

part iv - got him on the phone

(mdni) the obligatory call me when you're bored fic, alternatively titled does he take care of you?

Michael is grunting on top of you, sweaty and panting. Your eyes are screwed tightly shut as you moan fakely, dead still except for the mattress bouncing in time with his weak thrusts. You slide a hand between your legs and circle your clit, gasping when you finally get a burst of pleasure. Then, Michael pulls your hand away.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, baby,” he insists, and you swallow a disappointed groan. He has this complex about making you come all by himself, as if he’s less of a man if you play with your clit a little. Just a few more days, you tell yourself. Then he’ll go home and you can break up from a safe distance.

Your fabricated moans come out robotically, your hips rocking in an attempt to feel any real pleasure. Matty would never fuck you like this; Matty knows how to make you come, and, crucially, he likes it. You imagine him on top of you instead, fucking you into the mattress; his hips meeting yours in that sweetly desperate way; his calloused fingers playing with your clit, making you squirm with pleasure. His name springs to your lips, and you bite down hard to keep it from escaping.

“Are you close, baby?” Michael moans in your ear, snapping you back to the present moment.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice thick and breathy and utterly fake. He brings a hand down to your cunt and you wonder if this will be the time he finally gets it right, the barest brush over your clit hitching your breath. Then he drags it further down, rubbing futilely at your folds, and you resign yourself back to your artificial whining.

Minutes later, your performed orgasm already faded to the back of your mind, Michael rolls off you and throws away the condom. A shudder runs through you as you remember letting Matty fuck you raw, how all-consuming your need for him was that night, that you’ve longed for him every time Michael has put his hands on you in the days since. You burrow back into your sheets, squeezing your eyes shut against the stab of guilt as Michael speaks. 

“Gonna run to Tesco and grab some bits. You need anything?” he asks, smiling that sweet, gentle smile that makes you remember why you fell for him in the first place. God, you’re going to Hell.

You shake your head, blinking sleepily up at him. “No, thanks. You know where you’re going?” you ask, praying he won’t ask you to come with him. He hasn’t noticed, yet, that you’ve been avoiding him as much as physically possible in your two-bedroom house, always engrossed in your phone, or with your nose in a book, or dragging him to meet your friends. If you’re forced to sit with the weight of your sins for too long, you know your house of cards is going to come tumbling down.

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your temple that aches in your chest. You don’t deserve him, his kindness, his care; your heart is callous, traitorous. Worst of all, even now, it yearns for Matty. The door clicks shut as you grapple with your scruples, your moral compass spinning out of control. It’s almost like your guilt is tethered to him, fading to a faint hum and then falling completely silent when your front door swings closed.

There’s a buzzing under your skin, your body pleading pathetically for the pleasure it was denied, your organs a knotted mess of desire and shame. You can’t keep up the pretence of righteousness for long, can't lie to yourself the way you lie to Michael. Your hands are sure and steady as you dial Matty’s number.

“Hello?” He sounds bleary, sleep-addled. It’s 12pm; practically sunup for him. Closing your eyes, you can almost cast yourself curled up in bed with him, his body warm against yours, his lips soft at your neck.

“Hi,” you begin, biting your lip. “I was just thinking about you…” You trail off, waiting for Matty to pick up his cue. This time, you aren’t going to let him force you into the role of the temptress — you called, the sin is already committed. You just have to let him run with it.

Something rustles on the other end of the line, probably him shuffling around in bed. “Is that so?” he says, and you can practically hear his teasing grin.

“Hard not to, when it’s the only way I can get wet for him.” 

“Did you come?” he asks, and you snort. As fucking if. The reminder that Michael has never once made you come, never once asked how to make you feel good, assuages some of your guilt.

“Got bored about halfway through, started thrashing and wailing like a crazy person so he’d get it over with.” You roll your eyes and Matty cackles.

“You want me to come over? Get you there properly?” he asks, and it’s oh-so-tempting, but ultimately not worth the risk. Michael isn’t going to be gone that long, and getting caught would be… less than ideal.

You sigh, rolling onto your back. “Nah. Not a good idea, probably.”

He snorts. “Never stopped us before,” he says, his smirk practically audible.

“Do you wanna help me get off or not?” you snap, but there’s no heat in your words. A deep sigh slips from your lips and you brush your fingers down your body, resting your hand against your lower belly, desperately close to where you need it.

You hear a zipper slide down and stifle a laugh; you can picture him flawlessly, passed out in last night’s clothes, face pressed against the pillow, digging sleep-marks into his face. “Whatever you want, princess,” he murmurs. “How do you feel?”

“Needy,” you whine, pouting at your phone. “Wanna touch,” you add, desire pulsing thickly under your skin.

Matty’s answering chuckle is soft, indulgent. “Go on, angel. Do it just like you showed me.” You obey, heat flooding your body as images of that night swim in your vision, Matty’s gaze heavy on you as his cock disappears into his fist, his tongue skilled and sure between your thighs.

A whine slips from your lips as you rub slow circles into your clit, your phone thudding on your pillow as you pinch your nipple with your other hand. Matty groans, the slick sound of his hand working over his cock tinny over the speaker. “Fuck, want you so bad,” you breathe, heat smouldering between your legs. “Need you,” you choke out, hips grinding down against your hand.

“I’m there,” he answers. “I’m right there with you, princess. Tell me what you need.” His voice is low, weaved through with desire, his words punctuated with his familiar, soft moans.

You dip a finger inside yourself, the faint stretch heavenly between your thighs. “Need you to fuck me,” you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head as you imagine it; your fingers become his, rough and calloused and fucking into you exactly how you want. “Want your cock, Matty, wan’ it s’bad, please.” Your words come out slurred through the haze of pleasure enveloping you, Matty’s rhythmic groans dragging you higher.

“Begging so pretty for me,” he coos. “Miss that pretty cunt so bad, darling. Wanna get my mouth on you again, feel you cumming around my tongue. Miss your taste, princess.”

Thighs clenching, you whimper, the phantasm of his tongue delving between your thighs and lapping at you skilfully as you writhe under the tide of heat that rolls over you. “Want you to fuck me stupid,” you breathe. “Wanna forget everything except you,” you gasp, the admission falling unbidden from your lips, the truth in your words frantic and inescapable.

Matty chokes on a breath, groaning on the exhale. “Fuck, darling, you’re making it so hard not to come over there and fuck your lights out. Need to feel you coming on my cock so fucking bad.”

Reckless desire swirls through you, the protestations of your rational brain muted and fading against the flames licking their way up your body. You’re lost in it, the devil himself kissing at your thighs as you sin and sin and sin. “So come.”

His breathing hitches. “Are you being serious?” he asks, and you hear his hand still as he turns your words over in his mind.

“Yeah. Fuck it. Fuck all of them.” The words come easily, not weighted by some arbitrarily ascribed idea of morality; the truth you can’t delude yourself over any longer.

“God, angel,” he murmurs, voice trembling, thick with an emotion you couldn’t have named before today — one you have to bite back so it doesn’t spill from your lips at this inopportune moment. “So fucking perfect. You feeling good?”

“So good, Matty, fuck,” you say, fucking yourself on your fingers in a sweet, glorious rhythm. “Wish you were touching me,” you whine, hips rolling against your hand as Matty resumes his own motions. “Wanna suck your dick. Want you to make me choke on it.”

His answering moan is obscene, half your name and half a garbled noise of pure desire. “Such a good little slut for me. Want me to fuck your mouth, yeah?” You whine desperately. “God, you’d look so gorgeous like that, all pretty on your knees and drooling for me. Thought about that for so fucking long, princess.”

Your cunt clenches around your fingers, your head so hazy with bliss that you can barely force out the words, “Want you.”

Matty laughs fondly. “Then cum for me, darling. Cum for me and I’ll come over there and give you what you need, I promise,” he swears, voice gravelly through his moans.

“‘M close, ‘m so close, wanna cum for you, Matty, please, fuck,” you babble, incoherent and dazed as ecstasy pools in your belly, buzzing gorgeously through your limbs. The flimsy thread tying you to your sanity suddenly snaps, your stomach lurching as you’re plunged into bone-deep pleasure. A string of obscenities falls from your lips, twined around sticky moans and near-pained whines, your flesh melting off your bones, glueing you in place as euphoria rolls achingly over you.

Matty groans your name as he cums, the picture of him spilling into his fist vivid and rapturous behind your eyelids. You lay in silence for a few moments, letting the aftershocks subsite. “I meant it,” Matty says, cutting through the quiet with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“Me too,” you say instantly. There isn’t even the barest shadow of doubt in your mind. You hardly remember that Michael exists, let alone why you should care. “I want you, Matty. For real. I think…” you bite back the confession, too raw to give through your sketchy connection. “I think you should come over here and let me have you,” you breathe, low and teasing.

The grin in his voice is audible. “Don’t move, princess,” he orders. “Don’t even get dressed. I want you to keep playing with yourself, okay, darling? Keep yourself all pretty and wet for me, yeah?”

Your thighs clench, fire licking at you, stoked by his words. You’re ruined, have been since you set foot back in this town. Matty is the snake, his mouth the poisoned fruit, the temptation luring you into damnation. But as the flames kiss at your skin, you wonder if getting there might just be worth the price. “Yeah, okay,” you murmur, sucking in a sharp breath as your finger brushes over your sensitive clit, your hand coming up soaked with desire. “Hurry.”

“Darling, the devil himself couldn’t keep me away.”

You wonder if it’s a sign that the devil is wandering the plains of his thoughts too. But you’ve never been one for omens, so you let the quiet creep of bliss take over, the buzzing in your brain drowning out the beep of the dial tone. Anticipation creeps up your spine, slow and teasing.

Then, there’s a knock at your front door.

Shit.

[lady-bog]

Microdosing kissing by sharing a glass with someone

[bixels]

Taking the current topic as an excuse to ask you to tell me all the reasons you love Rarijack. Your art for the ship is so sweet and intimate I'd love to hear any in depth thoughts you have.

Breathes in.

I think what makes their dynamic really strong is that they have opposing personalities but aligned values. It's deeper than just "opposites attract." Rarity's fancy, prissy, and femme while Applejack's modest, rough, and "masculine." But both value hard work (to the point of being workaholics), their families (both have guardianship over their little sisters), running successful businesses, and eventually each other. Their relationship can be boiled down to, "Despite our differences/disagreements, I still like you because we value the same things."

We see their relationship develop so much. In the first season, they can't stop bickering about surface-level differences. By season four, they still bicker, but will mend their relationship because they can't help but do nice things for each other. In Trade Ya, they start off arguing over personality differences (Applejack likes old junk and Rarity likes useless crap). Then they pivot and start arguing that they value their relationship more than the other. In the end, they mend things by sacrificing their needs and buying each other a gift. Even if they don't understand it, they know it'd make the other happy. And that's all that really matters. It's a genuinely sweet moment that shows how arguing can be healthy and necessary for relationships to strengthen.

We even see them dropping their hang-ups about each others' personalities. In Made in Manehattan, when Rarity runs off in dramatics about someone's fashion, AJ doesn't roll her eyes or scoff, she smiles. Oftentimes, their conflicts are very common domestic conflicts romantic couples face. Applejack's Day Off is about a woman's inability to balance work and life and find time to properly spend with her partner, causing her partner to feel neglected.

By season seven, they're actively participating in each others' interests. Any problems or conflicts that arise are dealt with, and they come out the other end stronger and closer. In Honest Apple, AJ pretty much spells out why their relationship works so well: even though she doesn't understand fashion, she can recognize and appreciate how much work it takes and wants to respect that. When she realizes her mistake in the episode, AJ goes above and beyond to fix things and apologize to Rarity. They care about each other so much.

The two go out of their way, sacrificing their personal desires and beliefs and doing things they normally wouldn't, to make the other happy. That's just love.

There's Simple Ways, where AJ gets stuck in an unwanted love triangle between Rarity and her hipster crush. And her frustration and anger can be so easily interpreted as AJ finding herself in a terrible position; the girl she loves wants another man, and that man wants her.

I dunno. I've always had a preference for opposites attract ships, but Rarijack's stuck with me like a brain worm because they have the perfect chemistry. The way they show they care, or do things for each other, I've always read it as the truest representation of romance in the show.

[tippenfunkaport]

Prom theme was Under the Sea for the second year in a row and Mermista says it's going to stay that way until someone else volunteers to head up the prom committee.

[suffarustuffaru]

hi i made a tier list of how homophobic rezero characters are

hello in the spirit of valentine's day and the very welcoming community here on rezero tumblr i decided to make this with the help of my lovely mutuals.

[luciferthelesbian]

Finished Invincible in a week, and I still don’t understand the hate the fandom has toward Amber. Other than… y’know, blatant racism.

[butchjess]

Well. hrm. the way they all connect to each other. like it’s all starting to look like a circle of some sort. jess as rory’s mirror/reflection/narrative foil but also jess as he pertains to luke and jess as he pertains to lorelai. luke breaking the church bells luke who says he was troubled but they gave him a chance and just bc a kid has issues doesnt mean they don’t deserve that. luke who is a figure placed against the rest of the town, just in the sense that he is not like them, he does not hold their values, he doesn’t even sound like them. which is of course a result of scott patterson’s new york accent, but adds to this theme anyway. and they use jess to build this picture, because they walk the same and talk the same and they’re stubborn—independent to a near self-endangering degree—and emotionally repressed in the same way and luke himself admits that he spent more time working at his dad’s shop than he did at school, which jess also does. but jess and luke are also. very very different when you get past these similar values that are maybe ingrained into them through different circumstances and same genetic makeup. and in their differences you get a lot of jess and lorelai’s similarities. when it comes to their family dynamics and how it’s affected them in particular. it’s made them independent yes, but it’s also made them hypervigilant, almost paranoid in the way they are allergic to accepting help and especially accepting help from the people who hurt them. jess only goes to his mother’s wedding because luke asks him to, lorelai only asks her parents for money because rory needs it for school. and they, and this is where they differ from luke, don’t know how to trust people and so they don’t know how to talk to people. where luke’s particular brand of emotional constipation comes from a general cluelessness as to how to do it—which is why the tapes helped him so much—lorelai and jess’ come from emotional responses to the situations they grew up in. while it was different—lorelai growing up rich, jess growing up poor—the effect it had on them still resulted in something similar. lorelai with her overbearing manipulative mother and (emotionally) absent father, and jess with his neglecting manipulative mother and (in all senses of the word) absent father. the ways that, despite their effort to distance themselves, they still end up with similar mannerisms to the parent they have the most conflict with (lorelai and her controlling nature + that scene where they have the same nighttime routine, jess and his love for books + tendency to run away). and of course, their romanticism. their big confessions and period drama-esque speeches and, yeah, i do think in a way jess was asking rory to marry him in 4x21. come with me. let’s get married. luke and rory both being the most important people in their lives. literati+javajunkie where they are all melding into each other, and luke is rory and lorelai is jess but on the surface level dynamic luke is jess and lorelai is rory and they are all each other. on accident. by sheer nature of making jess as a character for the sole purpose of interfering with luke and lorelai’s relationship (which means he is important narratively to them both) and by making him rory’s love interest/foil (because ASP casted him before she even had the idea for the character) you have now made an accidental blending of them all together. he is like a skeleton key of a character. Okay. okay.

[oswinthegeek]

🩷🤎🩷🤎🩷🤎

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Underrated adorable thing Kyouka does is when someone gives her something to do and/or tries to show her something new and she gives it her full, serious attention.

It could be a matter of life-or-death. It could be delivering an important document. It could be taking care of a cat. It could be mixing a little candy. Doesn't matter.

Someone: *showing Kyouka a thing*

Kyouka: *staring intently, laser-fucking-focused*

What makes this so good to me is that it's nothing to do with her mafia training - she tends to go numb and distant when her assassin instincts kick in. When she focuses like this, it's driven by her genuine want to learn how to do the thing and do it perfectly. And yeah, part of this is also likely to do with her want to prove that she can do good things, but there are a million different ways she could go about this and she chooses... to watch people. To listen and learn and try her hardest at every single little thing she does. Honestly, I don't think this is anything she picked up from anyone - I think she's just like that. She gives everything she does her full attention.

And yeah, sometimes she gets a little too into it (tasing the guy she was supposed to deliver the files to, making a gigantic tower of god grub...) but she's got the spirit.

You guys she's so cute. She's SO cute. And also I think so incredibly strong for this. I don't think Kyouka fully realizes how much of her recovery is due her own consistent dogged efforts. Atsushi and the Agency gave her an opportunity and a safe home base and she took it and ran with it through her own conviction (in spite of all the setbacks), making herself brighter in the process.

[wreckedandpolemic]

she's got a boyfriend anyway - matty healy

part ii - this tongue of mine

(mdni) once again i have nothing to say for myself!!!

warnings: 18+ mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving), cheating, general filth

You’re sweating, flushed. The sheets tangle around your feet; you kick them away, but it only seems to make them cling tighter. A cool breeze flutters your curtains, cutting through the thick, cloying air of your room. You wander a curious hand down your body, taking your time with yourself, tweaking a nipple though your thin pyjama shirt and continuing down. You toy with the waistband of your panties for a moment before slipping your hand inside. Your stomach clenches, anticipatory; blood rushes up to your cheeks, face flaming. Eyes slipping shut, you picture that pretty face in your mind, imagining Matty until you can almost feel his cigarette-scented breath on your face.

Maybe you should feel guilty for the way even the mirage of Matty’s touch turns you on more than your boyfriend can in an entire dedicated evening. But the expectation that thrums between your legs drowns out everything else.

You run a finger over your pussy, gathering the wetness beginning to pool there. The taste of your arousal fills your senses as you drag your wet finger across your lips and into your mouth. Staccato breaths tumble from your lips, every rise and fall of your chest raising the temperature in your room until sweat sticks you to your mattress, damp hair plastering to your forehead. Your damp fingers creep back into your underwear, gently brushing your clit and sending the first bright jolt of pleasure buzzing up your spine. There’s no rush; you have all the time in the world, so you take it slow and gentle, rubbing soft circles into your sensitive nerves. Imagined-Matty smiles, the ghost of his hand skirting over yours, teasing your hungry clit. Pleasure builds slowly, pooling between your hips at a steady, satisfying pace. You work yourself up gradually, clenching around nothing until you can’t bear the emptiness anymore and finally, finally slip two fingers inside yourself. You gasp at the sudden fullness; it feels like coming home.

Your body acts without your control, whimpers falling unbidden from your lips, hips rolling unconsciously, chasing the pleasure licking across the inside of your skin. Tension builds in you, slow and sweet, sticky syrup filling your brain and glueing your thoughts together. You’re getting closer, your hips arching off your bed as you chase your high, when— Clink! Something rattles against your window, startling you into a slightly more conscious state. You wait a second, then, when silence echoes back at you, you pick your motions back up again.

Clink! Clink! Taptaptap. Giving up on ignoring it, you wipe your fingers on your sheets and pad over to your window, ready to chase away whatever animal has made its home there. Instead, you're greeted by Matty Healy's smirking face.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, sliding the window open. “You scared the shit out of me! I have got a front door, you know.” He still looks the same as he did when you left the party a few hours ago: messy curls dripping down the back of his neck, silver chain dangling sinfully between his collarbones, open floral shirt showing off his skinny, toned chest.

“‘S not as fun,” he answers with a smirk. “Can I come in?” He's already slung his leg through your window. Dickhead.

“You shouldn't,” you retort, but he follows you into your room anyway. You take a moment to adjust to how out of odds Matty seems against this backdrop: your bedroom, the peeling posters on the walls, the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling a lingering remnant of childhood that you've never felt embarrassed by until his curious gaze lingers on them a second too long.

“You shouldn't be here,” you repeat, glaring at him, thighs still sticking uncomfortably.

“Why not?” Matty counters, now playing with the jewellery on your nightstand. Looking at his hands sends a sick thrill through you, memories of his touch ghosting over your flushed skin. “Scared your boyfriend’ll find out? Trust me, love, I know how to keep a secret.”

You turn away so he won’t see your reaction, busying yourself toeing at some of the clutter littered across your floor to avoid feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks. You can’t hide from him for long, though, and you end up perched primly on the edge of your bed, picking at your nails just so you have something to look at.

“What are you still doing up, anyway?” he asks, stepping in front of you and forcing you to crane your neck to look in his eyes. He seems to properly take in your appearance for the first time, sweat plastering your hair to your neck, your thin, translucent shirt clinging to your body, nipples prominent through the fabric, lace underwear low on your hips, face still flushed. A smirk slides onto his face and cold dread clutches your belly. “You look like sex,” Matty says, unconsciously wetting his lips. He cups your jaw, lifting your head so you can’t avoid his searching, searing gaze.

“Perv,” you scoff, but it comes out softer, breathier than you intended, almost shy.

His mouth drops open in a silent gasp. “Were you getting off?” You can’t even deny it — your body betrays you, thighs clenching as you bury your face in your hands to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. “Were you thinking about me?” he adds, voice raked over gravel and deep with arousal.

“No,” you bite back quickly, too quickly, embarrassment flooding you as a shit-eating grin splits his face.

“Fuck, you were,” he groans, raking a hand through his curls. “That’s fucking hot.”

You’re practically vibrating with nervous energy. “We shouldn’t—” you begin, attempting to shuffle up your bed away from him. He grabs your wrist to halt you.

“Your heart’s racing,” he interrupts, pressing his fingers to where your pulse hammers in your wrist. A shudder runs through you, the touch setting your skin on fire. You give up fighting, letting him press you flat against your bed, his lips so close to yours that you could kiss him without moving. Your glow-in-the-dark stars watch you disapprovingly. He smells like cigarettes and orange gin, on his breath, on his fingers, seeping through his pores. “Do I make you nervous?” he teases, his low voice reverberating under your very skin.

He knows exactly what he does to you.

“Yes,” you whisper, near-silent words lingering in the still air between you. Your heart speeds, tripping over itself as it stumbles at a crossroads; safety and familiarity and honesty forking off to dangerous allure. You shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong. But you want. Oh, God, how you want.

“I don't want you to be nervous,” he confesses. “I just want to make you feel good. The way he can’t.” You shudder at the reminder of your boyfriend, your perfect-on-paper boyfriend with big, clumsy hands that paw at you, who rubs at you like it’s a chore. Your boyfriend who charms your mother and has your friends squealing in jealousy and and never bothers to fucking ask if he’s doing it right, whether he’s touching your clit or just petting uselessly at your folds, who has no clue how to make you come. “You want me to, don’t you?”

“I think about it all the time,” you tell him quietly, as though speaking any louder would shatter the peaceful haze shimmering between you. He flips you so he’s laying on top of you, caging you in with his arms around your head. His eyes flicker down to your lips, so close to his that you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin. Your eyes flutter closed when he cups your jaw, almost involuntarily arching up towards him. The warmth radiating from his skin heats you as he draws in, so close that his lips graze yours. A spark catches in your chest and you chase his lips as he pulls away.

“So needy,” he whispers, his soft laugh ghosting across your skin. “What do you think about?”

“You,” you whine immediately. “Touching me. making me come, over and over,”

He dips his head to kiss at your neck, and you squirm at the sensation. “Do you think about me when you’re with him?”

You nod almost imperceptibly. “Yeah,” you breathe. “‘S the only way I can make it feel good. But…” You bite your lip in trepidation. You’re not really sure why; you’re already past the point of no return. The air between you is electric, the few scant touches you’ve shared warming you through.

“But what, princess?”

You sigh. “But I think about you more after he’s gone. When I’m laying there, wet and horny and giving myself the orgasm I faked half an hour ago. That’s when I want you most,”

He gasps, rocking his hips instinctually, and you can feel the hard length of him through his jeans. The rough fabric grinds over your clothed clit and you whimper, fisting your hands in your delicate pink sheets. “Can you show me?” he asks, sticky sweet in your ear, then dips his head to kiss wetly at your neck and collarbone.

“What?”

He kneels up, hovering above you. “Show me how you touch yourself. I wanna know what you like, how to make it good for you.”

The words wipe your mind clean, your world narrowing down to your room, everything beyond your four walls ceasing to exist. Matty climbs off you, sitting expectantly at the foot of your bed. He watches you like you’re something divine, a shine in his eyes that you’ve never seen in your boyfriend’s. Your hands hover over your heated skin, unsure where to start, what he wants to see. You look up at him, uncertain, a question balanced on the tip of your tongue.

He’s palming his dick through his jeans, watching your chest rise and fall with every laboured breath. “Go on, princess. How do you start? Playing with those pretty tits of yours? A hand in your panties?” You follow his direction, pinching your nipple with one hand and dipping the other into your panties. His gaze on you is like a physical pressure, impossible to ignore. You close your eyes, exhaling nerves and taking in a deep, fortifying breath. Your mouth falls open as you skim over your clit, teasing. “Talk me through it, sweetheart. I need to know what gets you off, how to make you come apart for me.”

You moan quietly — a real moan, not the theatrical ones you put on for your boyfriend. You aren’t showing off for Matty, just reacting to your own touch. “I like to… I like taking it slow. I don’t– I won’t finger myself yet. I wanna get all worked up first.” He rolls his hips forward against his palm, his shirt falling open to reveal a gorgeous expanse of pale, inked chest. There’s something incredibly gratifying to you about the fact that he hasn’t even undressed, focused only on you, his own pleasure an afterthought still buttoned in his jeans.

You circle your clit a few more times, your head tipped back against the bedframe, watching Matty through lidded eyes. He magnifies every spark of pleasure, sending it washing over you twofold. Your cunt is fucking soaked, wetter than you think you’ve ever been as you dip a finger inside yourself. “Let me see,” he whines, something sweet and pathetic in his tone and you realise that somehow, you have the upper hand. He’s the one begging for you, the one holding himself back from touching you. All he wants is what only you have the power to give.

“You really wanna see?” He nods, almost frantically. You consider making him beg for it, but you want him almost as badly as he does you. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, you rock your hips up to slide them off your legs. They hang off your finger for a second before you toss them in his direction. A gasp falls from his lips and he holds your panties in front of his face for a second, disbelieving. “Keep ‘em,” you grin, internally shocked at your own bravado. He snaps out of his trance, shoving your panties into his pocket.

He locks eyes with you, a filthy grin stretched wide over spit-slick lips. He’s daring you, and you won’t be outdone. You dip two fingers in your wet cunt, the stretch familiar and delicious, burning between your thighs. You moan. “Fuck, you look amazing like that. Does that feel good?” You nod frenetically. “Yeah, I can tell. You make such pretty sounds, baby.” His words wash over you, amplifying the cocktail of illicit pleasure roiling in your gut. You hear him unzip his trousers and let your eyes fall to him as he frees his pretty, cut cock. It’s flushed red, dripping precum, and you savour the way his eyes roll back into his head when he wraps a hand around himself. He rocks his hips a couple of times, pace unsteady in a way you’ve never known him to be, in anything.

He’s entirely focused on you, gaze heating you to your core even through your closed lids. The only sounds are the slick, wet noises you make as you touch yourselves, until an impossibly loud moan rings out in the quiet, and you look over at him. Your stomach drops, melting into a puddle of arousal that practically gushes out of you. Matty has your pretty, lace panties wrapped around his cock. 

“Feels amazing,” he groans. “A little bit rough, but I like it that way,” You watch, entranced, as he bucks his hips into his hand. A flare of arousal rockets through you, your body practically screaming at the sickeningly alluring sight. You circle your clit faster and faster, tension burning in all of your muscles, begging for release. 

“Yeah?” you choke out between soft whines and low moans. “You gonna give it to me rough?”

He inhales sharply, hips stuttering. “I’ll give it to you any way you want it, princess. Love to see you bent over for me, legs shaking, fucking wrecking that pretty cunt. I’d fuck you so good you’d never be able to come without thinking of me. Send you trotting back off to your dull little boyfriend with a smack on the arse and my cum dripping down your thighs.”

Your cunt throbs near-painfully, vivid pictures coming to life in your mind. “I wanna… wanna ride you. Take control, proper control, just use you to get off. I deserve it,”

Matty groans. “Yeah… Yeah you do. I’d love you to do that to me, princess. You deserve to have your mind fucking blown,” he promises, finally settling into a rhythm, one that’s oddly familiar.

And you realise: he’s fucking his hand in time with you.

If you’d thought you were turned on before, it’s nothing compared to the liquid heat melting your brain into goo that leaks out of your ears. “Oh, God, Matty, fuck—” you gasp, watching him watch you, committing the sight to memory until it’s burned into your retinas. Every time you shut your eyes from now on, every time you’re lying deadly still as your boyfriend grunts on top of you, this is what you’ll picture. Matty, in your room, fucking himself with a pair of your wet panties in time with your slick motions at your cunt. You roll your hips faster, faster, relishing in the way Matty speeds up in tandem, incoherent moans falling from your lips. A few more sloppy thrusts, and the elastic band of tension in your belly snaps. You go supernova, imploding in a shower of sparks, collapsing in on yourself. You don’t have a body anymore, you’re amorphous, an instrument strumming one long, rapturous note.

But when you come to, you still want more. You’ve caught a taste of ecstasy on the tip of your tongue, and now you want to plunge your hands into it, swallow greedy mouthfuls until you’re gorged on it. Matty watches you rub your oversensitive, swollen clit with a grin, devouring your almost pained whimpers. “Not done, huh?” he asks, leaning forward with a predatory smirk. He wipes his sticky hand on your sheets, kneeling between your legs before you have a chance to protest. “You wanna make yourself cum again, baby? Or can I eat you?”

Your cheeks heat and you squirm. Your boyfriend put his mouth on you once, came up disgusted at the taste, leaving your cunt unpleasantly spit-slick and your body unaroused and mortified. You can’t think of anything more humiliating than a repeat of that. “You don’t…” you pause. “Only if– if you want to.”

He groans. “If I want to?” he repeats as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “Princess, I can’t think of anything I want more.” His gaze is locked on your glistening wet cunt, eyes gleaming with an almost feral hunger.

“O– Okay,” you say. “Yeah. I want that. It’s just because he doesn’t like to… You know.” You shrug helplessly as he gets closer.

“Doesn’t like to…?” he echoes incredulously. “Fuck. I can’t believe that pathetic excuse for a man you call a boyfriend doesn’t bury his head in that sweet cunt every chance he gets.” He lays next to you, heat radiating off his slim body. “Sit on my face,” he orders, and you shudder, his words sending warm pleasure rippling through you. You clamber awkwardly onto him and grip your headboard for leverage, your cunt hovering over his mouth.

He grasps your thighs, chipped black nails denting your skin. You kind of hope he leaves a mark, unavoidable evidence of the sin you’re committing. Not that your boyfriend would even notice, considering he’s just— You shake your head. You aren’t thinking about him. He’s nothing. Not when Matty’s mouth is inches from your cunt. “Don’t hold back, baby.” he insists. “You wanna ride me? Ride my face. I want you to use me.” You’re frozen, paralysed by sick desire. You gasp as the tip of his tongue flicks across your soaked pussy. “You taste fucking amazing, princess. Come on… Let me make you feel amazing,”

You lower yourself onto his face, unable to hold back the moan that falls from your lips when he licks a broad stripe along your cunt, lapping at your clit deliciously. He kisses all over your thighs, scrapes with his teeth, sucks soothingly at the tender skin, sensation changing so fast it gives you whiplash. You’re a livewire more than a girl, sparked by sensation. He tugs at your thighs, bringing your full weight down on him, and roams his tongue all over you like a starved man. Your hips roll unprompted, trying to force his tongue deeper into you. Breath coming in short, sharp gasps, you grind on him, his nose bumping your clit and sending shocks of pleasure cascading over you.

“That’s it,” he moans, his voice vibrating gloriously through you. Slick sounds fill your room, your soaking wet cunt dripping on his face as he tongue-fucks you into oblivion. Your thighs shake from the effort of holding yourself up, but you’ll surely die if you try to remove yourself from his mouth. Your heart smashes against your ribs, leaving you gasping for air as he practically swallows you whole.

You ride his face with abandon, sure that the pace of your hips is lighting your skin on fire. The pool of heat in your belly grows, you feel loose on your bones, melting into a puddle of bliss that gushes across Matty’s lips and chin. His tongue works at you over and over, and you thank every god you can think of for the way he dives into your cunt, skilled and clever and sure. You’re almost there, erratic bursts of pleasure striking you every time his nose grazes your clit. You grip his hair harshly and he moans, the sensation enough to pitch you over the edge, screaming so loud that you’re scared you might wake the neighbours. You come harder than you think you ever have before, body burning up like you’re kindling and Matty is the match; this was your destination from the first touch. He fans the flames, still licking at you, overstimulation crowding your senses, pressing on your chest, lungs, mind until nothing else exists.

“Wait,” you gasp as you climb off him. “You haven’t—” His grin silences you, face still dripping wet with you. “You…? From…?” You moan when he nods. “Jesus. That’s fucking hot,” you murmur, an echo of the words that got you into this mess in the first place. Clumsily, you manoeuvre so that you’re laying next to him, matching sweat-soaked skin. There’s something comical about the way you’re dressed, you in your thin pyjama shirt and nothing else, him still pretty much fully-dressed with his dick hanging out of his trousers. Cum pools on his belly and seeps into his cargos, the sight disgustingly hot.

One of your hands reaches out without your permission and before you can even think, you drag a finger through the mess on Matty’s stomach and draw it into your mouth. You show off for him, swirling your tongue around your finger, moaning pornographically. The salty taste of him fills your senses, and when you release your finger from your mouth, you wipe the spit trail across his cheek with a grin. He’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling, heavy, sex-scented air filling his lungs. You go in for the killshot. “You taste so much better than him,” you whisper. You wait for the light brush of shame, the creep of guilt, but it doesn’t come. If something that feels so unbelievably good is a sin, then, shit, you’ll turn your back on God and embrace the flames. You just might love the way they lick up your spine and char your bones anyway.

All at once, he surges forward to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue, smeared across his lips and chin, makes your eyes fly open. You let them slip shut again, savouring the way your arousal twines with his in your mouth, and moan into his kiss. His hand travels down your body, pinching a clothed nipple and finding your bare cunt. The first touch has you writhing; he’s blowing on the embers of a barely-extinguished blaze.

“Think you can handle one more?” he teases.

You grin. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, Healy.”

[thou-babbling-brook]

Basim and the dichotomy of a college student, circa 2024

[cocoaletta]

jpeg shitty res go brrrrrr

[sassy-bitch-since-2007]

Just saw this TikTok of Cody singing 'Boyfriend Kisser' while there's this imagine of Noah and Emma kissing instead of Gwen and Duncan and omfg

Like, hear me out guys. AU where there's no NoCo, but Cody had at some point a tiny crush on Noah (explains the cuddling in the episode between TDA and TDWT anyway). So, you know. Cody's at home and watches TDRR (mostly because Owen, Noah and Geoff are in it) and then he sees Noah and Emma kissing??? Believe me when I say this guy's been singing 'Boyfriend Kisser' for a full week, annoying literally everyone. Since that kiss you can not mention Emma's name without him starting to sing 'Boyfriend Kisser'. That kiss affected him more than any rejection in his entire life.

[hourcat]

piarles + bow!! for me!! 🎀

It's never been weird between them, Pierre swears, not once: they've been friends since they were small, growing up together on the same street, playing in the same parks as they'd agreed to be paleontologists or astronauts or footballers, and it'd never mattered once to him that Charles was a girl in all that time--even when they'd gotten shipped off to different high schools across town, it hadn't changed their relationship.

But now...now, as Pierre stands out in front of Charles' house waiting with his shitty Honda parked out front, all but trembling in this oddly-tailored suit for prom, he thinks the line of weird may have finally been crossed after all these years.

It's finally been crossed because Charles in her dress looks beautiful--not covered in dirt or wearing ragged clothes she'd stolen from her older brother, or even in her usual baggy jeans look, but really elegant in a way that Pierre had never even imagined her in before; red fabric that has to be satin spilling down her legs, tapering off at her ankles, a bunched up flower nestled in the perfect center of her chest. Her hair is curled intentionally and not just from humidity--ringlets spilling over her shoulders, a stunning red bow peeking out from behind her head to tie some of it back, and oh.

"What are you looking at," she deadpans, but her mouth is curved up in that usual smirk she gives him, and Pierre realizes that her lipstick matches her dress; he clutches the corsage case tighter and shakes his head, trying to play it off, but it's no use--she's caught him red-handed as she starts making her way towards the car, and when her smirk stretches into a full-on grin, he knows he's doomed.

[leosmasktails]

Y’all I went to bed early for the first time in like a month just to be woken up by my sister kicking my instruments at 2 AM (cause she’s not careful and doesn’t care), and now I haven’t been able to get back to sleep 😐

I have to be up for school in three hours 😭

[really-sleep-deprived-nerd]

I am playing pokemon white for the first time and I'd just like to ask: how and why the fuck is my whimsicott (Her name's Fluffee btw) so overpowered. dude. how. it's better than the Virizion I caught, who is also 10 levels higher than Fluffee, and it's not like the legendary is BAD either it's just. This particular whimsicott can just. Kill God apparently. Im. I don't get it. Look at her, look at my baby, all hail Fluffee the Destroyer