You Fulfill My Tumblr GIFs


a/n: just a tangle of emotions and something I needed to write. please feel free to review. if you say that i used too many pronouns, i will just tell you now: that's the point. i didn't give them names because it's not just too people. it's a representation of many. so, enjoy (:


see, i have to believe,

that there's more than this seems,

more than a soul in a boat,

in a sea of sinking dreams,

and i have to be sure,

that's there a cure,

cause somewhere down the line,

i lost that part of me that's pure;


They fuck.

It's not at all like she planned it would be. All she knows is that he's been staring in such a way that sets flames tickling down her hips into her groin. All she knows is that every time they meet eyes his soften infinitesimally and they're so blue (like sapphires) and he stares, lingering, and maybe he finds her beautiful. But maybe he only finds her attractive, maybe sexy, and he'd like to see how long it takes to get into her pants. He's gorgeous: light brown hair with flecks of blond in it, eyes so blue like hers. She hears that he has tattoos. (That's kind of hot, she thinks, promptly banishing the image out of her mind.) He's like some kind of glorified sex god who probably thinks he can get any girl that he wants. She's above that though. She's a good girl with morals and God and no desire to smoke pot or –

God, she wants him.

She's not sure what causes it, only that he looks at her and sets her on fire and it can't wait another day. Somehow, in the back, behind a wall, out of sight, he pins her. (You don't want this, she thinks. Liar. Such a liar.) Their lips press, clumsy, brushing. Heat burns between them and his leg presses into the edge of her thigh and she groans and oh god he's looking at her in that way again. It makes her feel good, kissing him like this, leaving some part of conscious thought behind and just being for once. She's tired of feeling hurt and unwanted, tired of the "good girl" comments that follow her everywhere. Just once, she wants to feel wanted, alive. She just wants to feel alive.

"Should we-" he begins.

Bad boy, her lips say, teeth catching his mouth. "Now," she says when she finally has to take a breath, when her lungs feel like imploding.

He drives too fast, passes her a beer.

"I don't-" she starts.

"Try it," he says. "Just try it."

So she does. It splashes against the back of her throat, dots the edges of her mouth. She feels dizzy, exhilarated and rolls out the window, thinks how inappropriate all of this is and tries to let it go. She screams out the window and laughs at it echoes. A truck driver looks over to make sure she's okay. It makes her laugh all the more.

"I'm sorry," she says, turning to him. His hand brushes her slowly, cautiously, as though he's afraid she will pull away. It's touching.

"Why?" He's smiling, amused by her.

"Because I honestly don't know who I am right now," she giggles.

But she kind of does, if she were to be honest about it. This side of her is everything she's ever suppressed, everything she's been told not to be. It's every late night clinging to the curse words on the tip of her tongue, hating and loving how they roll off in perfect syllables. It's every time she looks down and pictures a thin stomach, pictures lips descending towards protruding hip-bones. It's every insecurity and everything that is classified as wrong coming to the surface. Her hand tightens around his.

"Am I hurting you?" He does have pretty hands. There isn't any need to ruin them.


"Good." Her hazy eyes meet his. She swallows. "I'm scared. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Do you want to stop?" He presses his foot down on the gas, speeds up until the wind whips her hair.

"No." She plays with his pretty thumb and perfectly curved nail. His cuticles make perfect crescent moons on his nails and she's jealous of that.

They reach his house. No one's home. He opens the door and leads her down the hall, stripping his shirt off and revealing a fading six-pack, a tattoo just above his pert nipples reading trust no one.

"Do you really believe that?" she asks him as she unbuttons her jeans and slides them down her pale legs. She wishes that she'd shaved. Did she have to wear the striped underwear that make her look like a five year old?

"I kind of just got it," he says, pulling her towards him.

They kiss once- twice.

"Do you believe it?" she asks again.

"I was hurt." His brow furrows. "My girlfriend cheated on me and I just – I needed to do something."

He doesn't answer her question, instead appears quite human. All flaws with a smooth surface, jagged memories and feelings that never quite fit into the big picture, questions and longing and hurt that shouldn't exist, she thinks. But she's tired of thinking. She knows that he's human, that his hand is gentle around hers as they move down the hall. She's burning and trembling and is this her or some monster that's been waiting deep inside? Maybe it's not a monster. Maybe it's just a primal need to be with someone, to feel like one, to belong.

They stop, kiss, move again, slowly, so slowly. Savoring the moment, maybe, like there's another person who cares.

She lays her clothes in a neat pile to the side of the bed and buries herself under his covers. They smell like him. She closes her eyes, suddenly aware that she is naked and he is naked and her stomach isn't flat. A weight settles next to her, fingers drumming against her back. She sucks in a breath.

"I'm not good-" she starts, unable to explain.

He gets it. "It's okay. I'll show you." Slowly he slips down the covers, turns her around. His hand tightens around her back and their lips meet, frenzied. It's hard to breathe, impossible to think. Everything burns deliciously. He rolls on top of her and she gasps as he fits inside of her. Pain slashes, quick, sharp. They move and it's not slow and it's not in rhythm. She chants unintelligibly into his ear and they move, twist, kiss. It's not making love. It's not just sex. Her heart aches and their lips press together slowly, tasting and lingering.

"Thank you,'' she says after the dancing colors have faded from her vision. She's not quite sure what she's thanking him for. Maybe it's because their spooned together and she feels utterly safe, so at peace it's unusual. Maybe it's because the burning need inside of her has finally been quenched, at least for a little while. Maybe it's because she likes the way their fingers fit together. Maybe it's because he makes her feel kind of beautiful, kind of wanted, and she's been longing for that for awhile. Maybe it's none of that. Maybe it's all of it.

"For what?"

"Thank you," she says again, turning and burrowing into the warmth of his body. His mouth presses against hers, tender, and she notices just how soft his blue eyes are. He has on a lazy smile. Did she cause that?

"Thank you," he says back to her, pulling her in for a hug that reveals something so flawed and amazing about him that she's not sure she ever wants to leave.

"Why?" She holds up their hands, kind of curious, kind of scared. "Is it because we –" she glances down at her naked body and his, pressed so close. It feels kind of surreal.


She sighs, nods, feels a little lighter. Snuggling closer, she closes her eyes. In her dreams, she always fell asleep beside the boy afterwards. It just seemed right, but perhaps farfetched, she'd started to believe. Now she knows that it's okay to want things like that. It's possible. Maybe all the Tumblr GIFs about cuddling weren't so wrong after all.