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buckhead1111

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Sam saying "everybody lies" is both a truth and a lie... seriously that man is another level 😆

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😁

Bonus

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No words necessary.

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#kitarusora #cmbyn fanart

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Call Me by Your Name (2017)

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🎶🍑Cmbyn x Peanuts🥜🎶

#cmbyn fanart

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💣

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This is the money Marge. Reblog for good fortune

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[Image description Tweet from kenwayregrets "space horror is the best horror. what's out there? no one knows! big rocks. creepy things. sticky things. math! stuff on fire. big holes. big holes with math in them."]

Source

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so much of taking care of yourself as an adult is just learning to eat at home and going on walks

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Understanding someone's suffering is the best gift you can give another person. Understanding is love's other name. If you don't understand, you can't love.

Thich Nhat Hanh

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😂❤❤❤

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Summary:

They’re addictive, Elio’s lips, and visions of him pursing them at the al fresco dining table - biting them subconsciously whilst transcribing Haydn or Bach - take up an inordinate amount of his waking hours. But here and now they’re utterly ruinous: pressed to Oliver’s own in an apparent quest to devour.

A FEAST OF THE SENSES

Oliver was twelve years old when he received his first proper kiss: an impromptu game of spin-the-bottle at the Freidman’s summer garden party. He never learned her name - can only recall a general sense of inadequacy and Cinnamon-flavoured Dentyne - but it’s safe to say he’s kissed plenty of others since, and thankfully with much greater finesse than his terrified, seventh grade fumblings.

Not that he’s prone to brag. 

On the contrary, he’s spent years denying his baser urges. Burying deep the conflicting passions he’s seldom dared acknowledge outright. Yet the moment he’d found himself kissing Elio Perlman in the blanketing wildflowers of Monet’s berm was nothing short of a revelation: and one that’s merely grown in intensity with every heartfelt intimacy thereafter.

He’d dreamed of their first embrace - hypothetically, of course, though in exquisitely vivid detail - but reality, he’s found, is a slow-burning splendour. Softness reigns when it’s just the two of them, and Elio’s innate curiosity is a warm and gentle fire that sets his hazel eyes alight. 

Ironic, admittedly - that he kisses like he’s in no hurry, when time is a luxury they can ill afford - yet by the same token he’ll lean into Oliver with the whole of his being.

Raking blunt fingernails along his strangled rib cage.

Anchoring knobbly knees to the curve of his waist.

Tickling those flexing toes against the sensitive soles of his grass-stained feet.

But he’s more than a temptation, is Elio: he’s the catalyst that spurred his reinvention. His complex nature changed him fundamentally - knocked him on his ass then right off his axis, too - and Oliver’s charting this brand new orbit with gusto; an eager disciple, some might say, worshipping at the altar of generous lips still laced with the savoury aftertaste of Pasta alla Norma.

They’re addictive, Elio’s lips, and visions of him pursing them at the al fresco dining table - biting them subconsciously whilst transcribing Haydn or Bach - take up an inordinate amount of his waking hours. But here and now they’re utterly ruinous: pressed to Oliver’s own in an apparent quest to devour. 

Self-restraint falls by the wayside as he slides a palm beneath Elio’s t-shirt; mapping the ridged line of his vertebrae from nape to boxers-covered ass. The other, he places at the graceful column of his throat; thumb caressing the jut of his Adam’s apple in a lazy to-and-fro. It bobs on cue when he swallows back a groan, and licking past his cupid’s bow Oliver draws forth a series of heady whimpers until Elio’s damn near panting; each blissed out sigh hot and provocative where it brushes his scratchy cheek. 

And yet he never really breaks contact, does Elio: not even when he’s struggling to catch his breath. 

Simply rests that supple pout at the corner of Oliver’s mouth; sweat-damp curls framing his face as he nestles into their chamomile-scented pillow: shamelessly seeking his touch. 

“I could do this forever,” he murmurs, achingly vulnerable in the ashen light of dawn, and something heavy lifts from Oliver's chest as he steals another kiss: the ghost of his name on the air between them almost smothered by the quicksilver blood in his veins.

“You and me both…” he allows - holding Elio close - and not for the first time compiles a mental checklist of the things he’ll need to do to make it so.    

#cmbyn fanfic #elio x oliver

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There’s the ACD we know and love 😂😍💖

#taylor zakhar perez #red white and royal blue

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Call Me By Your Name fan art.

#cmbyn fanart

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8 years of this ...