#64matty

[64yrsold]

ACHES (bonus - 10.5) lassitude

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) a/n: here's the bonus first-time blurb i promised. i don't think i'll write anything else for aches but i did say that the last time lol. hope u like it!! ♥︎ aches masterlist

“You look drunk,” I giggled, pressing a thumb into his cheek. It was rough and cold, still bitten pink from the wind. 

“Mm,” he mumbled, then laughed, “Don’t look at me that hard.” One jagged edge of his tooth caught my eye, and I brushed over it with my thumb. He bit at it, leaving a shallow indent in the soft center of my thumb. I wiped his saliva on his cheek. 

“But you’re so pretty,” I whispered, trying to stumble out of my shoes. 

“Pretty?” He didn’t seem ashamed of the compliment, just probing for more. He knelt down, wrapping a hand around my ankle as he slid my foot from my boot. I shivered, his palm warm on my skin. 

“Like silk,” I twisted one of his curls between my fingers. He hummed, pulling my foot out of my other boot. I dug my fingers into his scalp, raking through his hair.

“Don’t like silk,” he noted, looking up at me from his knees. I pulled a grey hair from his head.

“Ouch,” I said for him, turning the silver thread between my fingers.

“What?” he blinked, unaware, “Did I hurt you?”

“Yes,” I teased, and shoved his shoulders, toppling him onto his back.

“Shit,” he giggled, grabbing for my wrists and tugging me down. I tumbled on top of him, elbowing his ribcage.

“Oh, shit,” I sputtered, and he groaned and whined under me, cradling his torso. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby.”

He let out a choked moan, “I’m great, I’m fine.” His scrunched nose and gritted teeth gave him away.

“Where’s it hurt?” I whispered, dragging my hands up and down his chest.

“Where you fuckin’ elbowed me, babe,” he grunted, smiling a bit. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I chanted, giggling through my slurred tongue. 

“Yeah?” he said lowly, hooking a finger into the neckline of my dress, “Really sorry?”

“Mhm,” I nodded, pouting and performing for him. I liked the way his tongue dragged against his bottom lip, remembering what I tasted like. He tugged harshly on my dress. My skin rose where the back of his finger brushed against my breast, my heart jumping and reaching for him. 

“Come here,” he whispered, tilting up his chin. He looked at me, through lashes and heavy lids, cheeks pink and lips flushed. “God, do I have to beg?”

I grinned, leaning down and laying my forearms on his chest. I touched my nose to his, smiling into the warm space between us. 

“I like your place,” I said, my lower lip brushing his. He sighed up into me, a crack coming from back of his throat.

“The hotel?” he said, reaching his mouth for mine. I turned my face, letting him kiss my cheek and jaw. He groaned, his hands balling into fists at my hips. 

“Yeah, I like the hotel,” I pushed my hands into his hair, thumbs tracing over his earlobes. His eyebrows drew together at the friction, lips parting as I dragged my nails against his scalp. 

“I like the hotel,” he repeated stupidly, and I giggled. I kissed his cheek, listening to him inhale through his nose deeply. 

“Are you tired?” I asked, nudging his cheekbone with my nose. His hair was unbelievably tangled between my fingers, knotting in my hands. I imagined twisting it into rope, binding and tethering my hands to him. 

“No, sweetheart,” he wrapped his arms around my back, sitting up. I sat above him, happy on his lap, my lips to his forehead and his mouth on my chest. 

“This hurts my knees,” I complained, the carpet digging into the bone. He kissed my collarbone, lips smacking against the skin. His lips were wet when he looked up at me.

“Should we go to bed?” He reached for a strand of hair that had fallen in front of my eye, pulling it behind my ear. It popped out as soon as his hand fell to my back. I nodded. 

The bed was soft when he threw me on it, and he laughed as I pulled the hem of my dress down. 

“What?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“You’re pretty,” he smiled, “Like silk.”

“And?”

He tutted, “Greedy.”

I nodded, “And?”

“Drunk.”

“I’m not!” I kicked at his thigh, which he dodged expertly. He pulled at his tie, tossing it on the bed beside me. I grabbed it, twisting it around my arm tightly. I liked the pressure building in my fingertips, the red blooming up my wrist. He laid down beside me, on top of the blankets. He kissed my palm, unwrapping the tie. 

“You could,” I swallowed, looking at the fabric in his hands, “tie me up.”

He chuckled, “Yeah?”

My heart tripped, “Yeah.”

“Guess I could,” he crawled on top of me, sitting between my thighs. My chest cracked open, my heart spilling out in front of him. My pulse drilled in my ears as I watched him pull the tie between his fingers, wrapping it around his fist. He dragged the fabric against my cheek, sweet and slow, watching my eyelashes flutter and chest rise for him. It was pathetic, how I was pooling and desperate for him, how my cheeks flushed and my fingertips went cold. It wasn’t fair, how his tie smelled like smoke as he brought it down my neck, over my shoulder, and down my arm. He raised my wrist, wrapping the tie around it gently. I watched his hands work, eyes wide and unblinking. My ears were ringing, the room suddenly quiet. He took his hands away, a pretty bow tied around my wrist.

“I–” I began to protest, quieting as he kissed at my wrist, around the bow. 

“What?” He asked, looking at me with his lips on my skin. 

I sighed, “That’s not what I wanted.”

“I know what you want,” he licked his lips. 

“Then why can’t I have it?” I pressed, and he leaned low, kissing me softly. 

“You can,” he said, and it was a promise. It was etched into my skin, engraved into the front of my skull. It looped in my ears, echoed down my spine. 

“Today?” I whispered, and he kissed me again. It was gentle, just to feel me. 

“I don’t know,” he murmured, his nose knocking against mine as he moved to lay beside me. He pulled a pillow under my head, pushing his leg between my thighs and his arms around my back. He kissed me, lazy and drunk, letting heat wash over my face and seep throughout my body. My dress was hitched up to my waist, his clothed thigh against the lace of my underwear. But he just kissed me, letting a haze fall over us, letting a hum sing between us as our hearts synced. He laughed softly when I gasped, his hand crawling up my spine. He kissed and licked my mouth, indulging in my every whimper. I was begging for more, for friction or pain, but he gave me feather touches and teardrop kisses. He held me like the ocean, he felt like a current in my blood. I was deeply, deeply in love with him.

“Do you like me?” I murmured into the dark, his lips catching my question. He brushed my hair back slowly, looking at me carefully. His eyes answered me before his mouth. 

“I like you,” he said anyway, dragging a thumb over my eyebrow. “I like you forever.”

I giggled, “I like you forever.”

“I think you’re the only one,” he pressed a finger into the lines on my forehead, “I think you’re the only one.”

“I’m not drunk anymore,” I mumbled, holding his wrist. My lips were buzzing from his, but all I felt was calm. 

“I could touch you,” he whispered, unsteady. My mouth went dry with lust, and I pressed my lips together. “No?”

“Yes,” I said quickly, kissing his palm, “Of course, yes.” 

His hands found my back again, pulling me impossibly closer as his lips pressed to mine once more. He sighed when I kissed him back, mumbling baby baby as I took his lower lip between my teeth. I pulled open his shirt, button by button, his chest warm and heaving. I pressed my hands over his chest, palms pushing into his skin, running up and down his stomach and gripping his collarbones. I touched his throat, flattening my palm against it to feel him swallow. I moved to feel his heart in his carotid, bursting against my fingertips. His body was an entheogen, and I prayed to the desires he elicited in me. 

“Have you thought about this?” I asked, and he took a deep breath when our lips came apart. 

His hand met my thigh, squeezing as he replied, “Thought about what?” He was being playful, wanting to tease dirty words from me.

I kissed him, “Having me in bed.” He grinned at my blunt reply.

“What should I say?” He asked, trailing his hand up my leg, meeting the thin lace at the top of my thigh. 

“Say you do,” I said, gasping as his fingers traced the frilly edge of my underwear. “Say you think of me all the time.”

“I do think of you all the time,” he rasped, and I believed him, “and I’ve been desperate to have you to myself.” He took the lace at my hip in his fist now, pulling it down my legs. He left it at my ankles, watching me closely as he pressed his thumb into the soft skin above my hip. 

“Do you,” I started, my voice sounding weaker than I hoped, “touch yourself to me?”

He nodded, nose nudging my cheek. I smiled at that.

“What else?” I breathed, wanting to hear everything. Every dirty thought he had about me, everything he fantasized about me. 

“You don’t want to know,” he said, joking. I huffed, and he smiled. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“Say–” I groaned, shuddering as his fingernails ghosted over my lower stomach, “Say you want to fuck me.”

He kissed me, deep and heavy, tongue between my teeth, pulling all the air from my lungs. He dragged two fingers between my thighs, groaning thickly into my mouth. He caught every choked gasp, every tiny moan and aching whimper I passed to him, licking for more eagerly. He let his fingers trace around my entrance, bored or just savoring me, guided by my quickened cries. I was fixated on the way his mouth mimicked his hand, pushing and pressing, gentle and circling, his tongue and fingers filling me. I held his hair in fistfuls, twisting my legs around his waist as he teased and coaxed. 

“Love you,” he murmured, as if he had said it a thousand times, “love you, love you.” I kissed him harder, hands behind his neck, hoping to weld our bones together. I stuttered, thighs tensing as his thumb edged against my clit. 

“You feel—” I managed, then buried my face in his neck as he found a pretty rhythm, my eyes squeezing shut. I was gasping heavily now, my chest meeting his quickly, my dress feeling tight and restrictive over me. The bow on my wrist was untying, draping over his back. It twisted under his arm as I brought my hand to his jaw, stealing a few kisses and panting into his mouth. He seemed to like my nails in his jawbone, his throat reverberating against my skin. Each swipe of his fingers left me hungrier, left my mind circling and wondering about what he would feel like.

I let go of him, finding the hem of my dress instead, trying to wrestle it over my head. He smiled against my cheek, withdrawing his hand to help me with my dress. He pushed it up to my ribs, then pulled me to sit up. I sat in front of him, legs crossed, looking up at him. His eyes were bright, lips red and swollen. Looking at him seemed to soften time, blurring the minutes together. He kissed my shoulder as he pulled my dress over my head, the weight of it all lifting off of me. I felt vulnerable, but noticed his eyes didn’t fall or wander. He just watched my eyes, watched them wonder and beg. 

“You’re so pretty,” he finally said, lip between his teeth. I twisted a smile off my mouth, undoing his belt carefully. “I have to be so careful.”

I shook my head, “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he whispered, shouldering off his unbuttoned shirt. “I want to.”

If I thought about it too hard, I would cry. 

“Can you take these off?” I murmured instead, tugging at his waistband. He bit his cheek, unzipping his pants. 

“These?” He teased, discarding his pants to the floor. I rolled my eyes weakly, laying on my back. He spread my legs with his thighs, tucking a hand behind my head. My legs were already shaking, caused by the cruel mixture of cold air and my desperation. 

“I really need you,” I confessed, and he pressed a paper kiss to my cheek. His head fell to the crook of my shoulder, a sigh falling from his mouth as he stroked himself. I reveled in the way his breath fell over my breasts, a delicate warmth I craved as soon it was gone. 

“I’m gonna be slow,” he said, grainy and shaking. I didn’t care, but I nodded quickly, my hands soft and brushing his back. I whined as he dragged his tip against my core, reaching a hand down to feel him. He was slow when he pushed into me, my hand still at his base. I whimpered, hand trailing up his chest to let him sink into me. 

“Fuck,” I mumbled, brain spinning in my skull at the fullness of him. 

“Fuck,” he returned, rocking into me gently. He pushed through my cracked groans, his punishingly slow pace leaving me restless and wanting to scream. He soothed me with his hands, palming at my breasts and pressing into my neck, always gentle but heavy enough to placate me. 

“Please, I–” I begged, sounding wrecked and breathless. He seemed desperate to fuck harder into me, his hips stuttering with each stroke. “Let me on top.”

“You feel so good,” he groaned, but pulled out of me with a sigh, lying on his back. He was gorgeous, eyes fluttering and mouth gently open. I kissed the pink on his cheeks when I threw my leg over him, feeling weak but too frantic to care. I knelt over his thighs, feeling watched as I took his length in my hand. My body throbbed just looking at him, stiff in my fist, his stomach tightening with each breath. I dipped my head down, looking up at him as I flattened my tongue against his cock, licking up the underside of it. His mouth opened softly, a quiet groan escaping his throat. I circled my tongue around his tip, watching his brows pull together. I took him into my mouth, his jaw flexing, and let him hit the back of my throat.

“Fuck, fuck—“ he moaned, his hands reaching up to grip the headboard. Warmth pooled in my stomach at the sight, and I hollowed my cheeks, trying my best to please him as I bobbed on his cock. He hissed each time I pushed him into my throat, mumbling incoherently when I maintained a steady rhythm. 

“I’m gonna— fuck—“ he groaned, and I let him out of my mouth with a pop. I straddled his hips, his eyes wide. 

“You okay?” I asked, and he nodded, swallowing quickly. 

“Fucking perfect, sweetheart,” he said, grasping my waist as I ground against his length. He let out a slow sigh through tight lips, flittering between squeezing his eyes shut and staring up at me, lust hazy in his eyes. I unclasped my bra, his eyes flicking downwards, then back to me.

“You can look,” I giggled, leaning forward with my palms on his chest. 

“Shit,” he grunted, “I can’t believe how fucking perfect you are.” He pushed a hand between the valley of my breasts, gripping the side of my neck firmly. I watched him as I reached for his cock, lining him up with my center slowly. His chest quickened, and I leaned into his hand on my neck as I sunk onto him. 

“Fu-uck,” he cried, fingers digging into my hip as I let him fill me, my head feeling light. I moaned into the space between us, circling my hips for my pleasure only. He didn’t mind, grabbing both of my thighs when I started to rock against him. He felt fucking delicious, and I couldn’t help but ride him faster, breath catching in my throat each time my hips met his. His hands crawled over me, whispering pretty praises as I senselessly bottomed out, again and again until my vision blurred. He groaned, fucking up into me as my pace slowed from exhaustion, his hands guiding my hips. 

“I can’t,” I gasped, “much longer.”

He nodded, and flipped us over swiftly, maintaining the reckless pace I set. I grasped for his bicep, then trailed a finger down his chest, awe-stricken and spoiled. His curls stuck to his forehead as he thrust against me, kissing my cheek every chance he could. He was overwhelming, but kept finding my gaze to make sure I was still there. I anchored myself to his sound, his quiet groans, the sound of our skin. He pressed two fingers into my clit, rubbing until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I reached to claw at the sheets, then his back. 

“I’m—“ I mumbled, and he listened, fucking me steadily until I choked through a scream, burying it in his neck. My orgasm cracked through my body, catching me by surprise. I wanted to last longer, to last forever, but the pleasure splitting through my veins dulled this desire. 

“Can I—“ he breathed, jaw slack above me. He was gorgeous, fucked-out and begging for me.

“Inside, inside,” I whispered, still hazy and burning with bliss. All I could hear were his strained breaths, melodic to my ear. His hips stuttered once, twice, then he pulled out, spilling warmth on my stomach. 

“Shit,” he growled, forehead stuck to my collarbone. He nipped at the skin there as he rolled beside me, his sticky chest pressed against my arm. I turned my head to kiss him, and he was tender against my sore lips. He kissed it all better, his hands soothed and stroked the pulse in my neck, taming me and bringing me back to him. I could feel it between us, some eternal thing, glowing against the back of him and onto me. 

He hummed, knuckles soft on my cheek, “So pretty.” He kissed my forehead, ducking into the washroom and returning with a damp cloth. It was cold when he pressed it over my stomach, and he laughed under his breath at my dissatisfied cooes. He had the blankets over me, sliding in behind me before I could mouth another complaint. 

“You want a bath?” he asked, lips in my hair. 

“I want you again,” I said, feeling his chest shake with a laugh. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing my shoulder. I slept in his arms, having cotton-like, frothy dreams, waking to a new one each time he tossed in his sleep. I’d wake him up with kisses on his wrist, or he’d wake me, a thumb circling my stomach, then dipping into me, wet and waiting for him always. He’d be slow and languid, both of us in a comfortable state of lassitude, coaxing me to finish with compliments and breathy moans. 

“You’re so pretty when you sleep,” he would murmur, fingers curling inside of me. “I can see you dreaming.” I could only whimper, cheeks flushing as he pushed me over, waiting for me at the bottom. I curled into his chest, kissing the sweat off his sternum until we slept again. 

“Love you,” I would whisper, only when I was sure he was asleep.

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #aches #matty healy oneshot #matty healy smut

[64yrsold]

ACHES matty healy x reader/oc

“You’re pretty,” his fingertips found my jawline, “When you cry.” “Only then?” I smirked, lip quivering. My skin warmed where he touched me. He licked his lower lip, shaking his head. He palpated for my jawbone, tracing it up to my ear.  “Your eyes get all glassy and bright,” his other hand brushed over my lower lashes. My breath froze in my lungs as I tried to stay still for him. “Your lips blush up, all flowery and springtime.” My lips parted for his thumb, which pulled and pushed my bottom lip.  I was burning from his attentive gaze, his wide-open pupils and concentrated brow. I was convinced he could see the heat coming off me.  “And your skin,” he kissed the center of my cheek, open-mouthed and wet. “You taste like the sea.” “I–” Any words I tried to form caught in my tongue as he tasted my skin, inhaling as he moved down my jaw. He exhaled, a sweet breeze, cooling my flushed cheek.  “You’re moonlight on water,” he kissed my neck. “You’re distant rain, clouds falling into the horizon.” I laughed, pulling back to look at him, “What are you, then?”  He shrugged, blinking, “I’m watching.”

cw: 18+, sexual content, self-harm, blood, emetophobia, too much drinking, too much smoking, use of his name (wtf), angst (WTF).

wc: 26k

1. january

2. resonant

3. bitten

4. cold

5. sunshower

6. roses

7. blur

8. weak

9. sore

10. try

11. mine

12. innocent

13. thunder

14. distance

15. salt

16. miserable

17. sweetheart

18. november

19. festive

20. year

21. bury

22. concave

23. hurt / like

24. alright

25. spilled

26. insane

27. nicotine

28. honeymoon

✦ bonus: lassitude

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #aches #matty healy smut #matty healy x you

[64yrsold]

TOOTIME !

“Wake up,” I swatted his shoulder in the dark, gasping, “Wake up, wake up!”

“Wh—“ he groaned, the outline of him turning towards me.

“I’m gonna puke, I’m—“ I clasped a hand over my mouth, my stomach turning to stone. He shot out of bed, furiously rustling through the bathroom. He returned with the garbage bin, thrusting it into my hands. I clutched it, hands trembling, mouth watering, eyes squeezed shut. But nothing.

“I’m alright,” I groaned, throwing the bin aside and laying back down in bed. He sighed, sitting beside me and flicking on the lamp.

“Fuck!” We both screeched, assaulting the lamp as we tried to turn it off. He managed to find the switch, both of us sighing in relief.

“Do you feel…” I started.

“Like Death himself?” He nodded, clearing his throat. The bed seemed to be throwing my body in circles, my mind stuck in the spin cycle of this hangover. He scrubbed the back of his hand against his eye, yawning.

“I only had,” I paused, counting drinks on my fingers. I gasped quietly when I ran out of fingers.

“You were obliterated,” he laughed, closing his hands around mine.

“So were you!” I muttered defensively, letting him kiss my forehead as he crawled into bed beside me.

“Yeah,” he stroked my cheek sweetly, “but I didn’t try to take my clothes off in the taxi home.”

I looked at him, jaw open, “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did,” he giggled, writhing and pulling at the hem of his t-shirt. Mocking me.

I squinted, “You’re still wearing your dress pants!”

“Oh, shit,” he said between laughs, unbuckling his belt.

“Jesus Christ,” I groaned, “Did I embarrass myself?”

“You, darling?” He threw his pants across the room, “You could never make a fool of yourself.”

“Oh, you liar,” I hit his shoulder, “What did I do?”

“I’m serious! You were a perfect lady last night.”

“Fuck off,” I whined, grabbing his shirt in my fist, “Tell me what I did!”

He licked his lips, his face becoming clearer as the sun gently rose behind him. I hoped the morning light would cure the nausea.

“Should we re-enact it?”

“God,” I squeezed my eyes shut, cheeks already bright red.

“Oh, baby,” he squeaked, imitating my voice, “Take me home, baby.”

“Ew, ew!” I giggled as he moved to straddle my waist, putting his hands on my collarbones, “I didn’t say that.”

He kissed my cheek, “Oh, you look so handsome, let’s fuck right here in front of everyone, let’s fuck in the alley, let’s fuck in the car—“

“I didn’t say that!”

He smirked, “God, I need you so bad!” He riddled my neck with kisses, his stubble stinging my skin.

“What happened when we got out of the car?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t kiss and tell,” he shrugged, biting at my earlobe. His breath was hot at my jaw, stuttering my heart.

“You can tell if I was the one you kissed!” I laughed, exasperated.

He grinned down at me, pulling his shirt off slowly.

“Oh, baby,” he mocked me again, “I’m gonna fuck you all night.” He tossed his shirt at my face, and I flung it across the room with a laugh.

He brought his lips on mine— likely more carefully than I had been last night— gently pressing into me until my head was syrupy and sluggish. I felt my heart slow into a heavy, pretty rhythm, matching with his as he licked at my bottom lip.

He shifted, letting me wrap my legs around his hips. I swallowed the quiet moans from his mouth, feeling the sun pry at our twisted skin. I held his jaw, feeling it move and flex; taut, muscle and bone. I could feel the words at the tip of my tongue, I need you so bad. I let my hands slip over his chest, thumbs skimming his waistband, sucking his bottom lip harshly.

His mouth went limp.

I blinked.

A tiny snore fell from his lips, still pressed to mine. I smiled against him, stifling a giggle.

“That’s what happened?” I pushed him back, his smile wider than mine.

He nodded, curls bouncing on his forehead, “Fell asleep right on top of me.”

“God,” I laughed, winding my fingers in his hair, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t apologize,” he popped a kiss on my cheek, laying down beside me, “Best sleep I’ve ever had.”

“Shut up,” I kissed him, then tucked my head under his chin. He wrapped his arms over my shoulders, pulling me tight to his chest. We slept, the sun streaming in around us.

//

#a silly one! #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #Spotify

[64yrsold]

me

“Do you like it?” I smirked, fingers finding the hem of my dress. I twisted the silky fabric until it wrinkled, watching his eyes roll over me.

“What do you think?” He grinned, dragging a thumb over his bottom lip. I blushed, waiting for his greedy eyes to meet mine. They stayed downcast, travelling along the edge of my thigh.

I fixed the thin strap over my shoulder, “Is it too much?”

“What’s too much?” His brows pulled together, a thoughtful crease adorning his forehead.

I sighed, gesturing vaguely.

He shook his head, confused.

“Like,” I groaned, covering my cleavage with my palm. He smirked, shadowing my hand with his. His touch felt new, his warmth brighter, the smell of smoke on his fingertips louder.

“Should I tell you to change?” He kissed my cheek, stilling my breath. “Is that what you want, baby?”

I just laughed quietly, feeling my heart throw itself against my ribs.

“You look pretty,” he murmured, finding a novel spot below my ear to kiss, “You look hot, very hot.” His voice was sultry smoke on my skin. Breathing it in made me feel numb, drunk and euphoric.

“Mhm,” I whispered, the sound catching in my throat and slipping into a moan.

“Should we stay home?” He smiled, letting his hand drag to the small of my back. He followed my spine, pressing my body to his. “I’d rather stay home.”

“I wanted to make you wait,” I settled my hands on his chest, pulling off his tie, “Watch you squirm through dinner.”

He gasped, “You’d do that to me?” He hummed, nosing my jawbone. He tutted against my neck.

“Maybe,” I squeaked, my confidence evaporating against his lips.

“You wouldn’t,” he murmured, biting sweetly at my jaw. “You’re less patient than me, darling.”

“That’s—“ I sighed as he pressed his lips to my neck, struggling to swallow with my heart in my throat. “That’s a lie.”

“Really?” He pulled away, grinning down at me. My heart ached at the curls collapsing down his forehead, which now brushed against his eyebrows. Maybe half an inch longer since the last time I’d seen him.

“I’m an expert at waiting,” I mumbled, feeling a bit too earnest. He picked up on the thickness of my voice, splaying his hand against the middle of my back and hooking his chin over my shoulder. He held me tightly, and I swayed with each wash of his breath. “I’m alright.”

“Sure,” he whispered, fingertips tracing the outlines of my shoulder blades.

“I just missed you,” I said, voice muffled with my face buried against his chest. “And I don’t want to go out.”

“Perfect,” he laughed, squeezing his arms around me before pulling back. “Because I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you?” I smiled, watching his eyes come alight at my excitement. He nodded, pursing his lips to hide a grin. I imagined I could wait a thousand winters to see the sun against that smile.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and threw me over his shoulder, his hand gripping my thigh. I shrieked as he carried me to the bedroom, keeping my eyes squeezed shut. “I’m putting you down, darling, don’t fall.”

My feet hit the hardwood floor, and I giggled stupidly as he steadied me.

“One second,” he shouted as I listened to his frantic footsteps. I was tempted to peek as I heard the sound of his lighter, but stayed still, my arms crossed in front of me. “Okay, open them.”

I opened my eyes to find our bedroom aglow, candles lining the room. I blinked, finding him outstretched on the bed, surrounded by rose petals. I covered my face with my hands, shaking as I muffled my laughter.

“You don’t like it?” He laughed, both of us spiralling into fits, spurred on by the other’s giggles.

“I love it, love it,” I gasped between laughs, “So, so, sexy.”

He hopped off the bed, wrapping his arms around my waist, “Just trying to remind you of all the good times we’ve had in here.”

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” I grinned, smothering my smile with my palm.

“Come on, baby. Take that dress off.”

“All it takes is a couple rose petals, you think?” I tilted my head to the side, watching him nod enthusiastically. He caught my wrist, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled me onto his lap, letting me push him flat against the sheets.

“Rose petals and me,” he tugged on the strap of my dress, “The thought of me inside you.”

Heat crawled up my neck, “Bold of you.”

“I just wanted to see you blush,” his face softened, “Beautiful, every inch of you. Let me see you, please.”

I rolled my eyes, blowing out the candles beside the bed. I reached for the zipper of my dress as he frowned.

“Not fair, baby. It’s too dark now,” he pouted, grabbing my hips.

“Too bad,” I shrugged, and unzipped the dress, pulling it over my head, “Should I put it back on?”

He grinned, flipping us over. His hand pressed into the mattress beside my head, and I dotted his wrist with kisses.

“No, thank you,” he whispered, pressing our lips together and finally bringing me home.

//

#yes i’m doing fine regarding yesterday’s setlist thank you #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #matty healy oneshot

[64yrsold]

please be naked

“What’re you doing?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Oh,” I gasped, flinching when his hand brushed over my wrist, “Sorry, I thought you were sleeping.”

“Your neck hurting?” he asked, stroking my wrist slowly. The breeze from the window and his soft, circling thumb made my skin prickle.

“What?” I frowned, and his fingers met mine at my throat.

“You’re holding your neck,” he said, tracing the periphery of my hand with a careful finger, “You alright, darling?”

“Oh, right,” I nodded, flustered at his touch and sudden attention, “Sorry, I’m okay.”

“What is it?” he urged, flicking on the lamp. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at me with a crease between his dark eyebrows. His stubble crawled up his neck to shadow his chin, matching the circles under his eyes. He pushed a hand through his hair, pretending to be completely awake.

“It’s nothing,” I gave him a smile, and a kiss on the cheek, “Nothing hurts.”

He sighed, clearing his throat quietly, “Listen, darling,” he scratched at the back of his head, then dropped his hand to my collarbone, “I see you do that all the time. I just… Well, I didn’t want to intrude. But I’m just curious, I guess.”

“Really?” I winced, inhaling as his hand absently rubbed against the space between my collarbones, “Didn’t realize you were paying so much attention.” 

He smirked, “I’m always paying attention.” He brushed a strand of hair off my forehead, raking a few fingers behind my ear, "Go on."

“Alright,” I grumbled, “I’m… I’m checking my pulse.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, curious and careful. He twisted a strand of my hair between his fingers, watching me closely as I searched for my next sentence.

“It’s just something I do,” I shrugged, pulling his hand to cup my cheek, “My heart always races before bed. And then I start counting, and then it gets worse, and then I fall asleep.” I laughed, to fill the quiet and ease the discomfort, “I don’t know why.”

“You thinking of me?” he teased, thumb tapping my cheek. 

“Always,” I rolled my eyes, and he grinned.

“Can I count with you?” he whispered, placing two fingers on the side of my throat. I swallowed.

“Okay,” I said, and he lowered his ear to my chest, his hand on my neck flattening to my shoulder.

“I’ll let you count on your neck. I’ll listen.” he said, fingers fiddling with the strap of my tank top, “I’ve got a good ear.”

“Alright,” I breathed a laugh, “I usually start, um, when the clock changes.” I pointed to his glowing clock in the corner of the room.

“Then you count for a minute?” his head rose and fell with my breaths. 

“Yeah, a minute.” I brought my hand to my neck, my heartbeat pounding against my fingertips, “Okay, you can start.” 

We sat in silence, except for when a fricative fell from his lips as he counted. His thumb moved back and forth over the dip in my shoulder. “Okay, done.”

“I got to ninety-seven,” he lifted his head, smiling proudly as he met my eyes. He reached for my hand, wrapping his fingers in mine. He pulled my fist to his mouth, kissing the valleys of my knuckles one-by-one.

“Yeah, ninety-six.”

“Is that normal?” he asked, caressing his face with my hand.

“Not really,” I looked at our hands, and he chuckled.

“Because of me?” he smothered a grin with my knuckles.

“Yeah,” I admitted, and he kissed my cheek softly.

“Thought so,” he said into my ear, lips delicately trailing down my neck, “You always breathe a little faster when I touch you here,” his mouth paused at my collarbone, warm and open. I shivered through a sigh, letting him hum against my skin.

“Maybe you’re paying too much attention,” I mumbled, and he looked up, frowning.

“Never,” he shook his head, “Not with you.” He hooked an arm around my waist, bringing my back to his chest, holding me closely. “You feel better?”

“Yeah,” I smiled, comforted by his racing heart against my back.

“You think you can sleep now?” he turned off the lamp, pulling the blanket higher to warm my shoulders.

“Yeah, thank you,” I sighed, “That really helped, you know.”

His arm hugged my waist tighter, “Love you, darling. Get some rest.”

//

#Spotify #matty x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy oneshot #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #64matty

[64yrsold]

playing on my mind

“Where did you want this one, darling?” He called from the living room, and I rushed over to him, the floors creaking under me.

“Um,” I hummed, finger to my lip. He carried a heavy, black storage container, large enough to fit all my books and journals. “Maybe…”

He nodded, eyebrows pulled together. He adjusted the box, grunting as he tightened his grip.

“What’s in that box?” I asked, stepping closer to peek at the label.

“Bricks, maybe,” he shrugged weakly, the weight of the box tugging his arms down.

I smiled, “Too heavy for you?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Oh,” I spotted the label, “Just set it next to the couch, here.”

“Sure,” he inhaled, groaning as he lowered the box.

“Actually,” I interrupted, stopping him just before the box hit the ground, “Should I bring it to the bedroom, you think?”

“Should I?” He huffed, walking past me to get to the bedroom. I followed behind him, watching his fingers whiten as he adjusted his grip. “Where in here?”

“God, not much space left,” I bit my lip.

“Are you doing it on purpose?” He spun around, catching me mid-grin. “You are!”

He dropped the box with an exaggerated thud, grabbing me by the waist instead.

“Doing what?” I smirked, letting him press his forehead to mine. I pulled my head back, frowning, “Ew!”

“What?” He laughed, squeezing my hip.

“You’re all fucking sweaty,” I grimaced, pushing against his chest weakly.

“Oh, am I?” He kissed my cheek, pressing his damp chest into me.

“Stop, stop, it’s gross,” I giggled, letting him push me into the corner of the room.

He pinned me to the wall with his hips, peeling his shirt off his back. He grabbed my wrists, dragging my hands over his soaked chest.

“Gross,” I muttered, and he pressed a sweet kiss to my forehead.

“Yeah?” His tongue swept over his lower lip, smothering a smirk. “Can I have a kiss?”

“Go wash your face first,” I laughed, and he rolled his eyes.

“Come here,” he grinned, hovering his lips just before mine. I could feel the sunlight of his smile.

“Fine,” I sighed, bringing my lips against his. He kissed me carefully, covering every inch of my lips. “You’re salty.”

“And you’re sweet, aren’t you?” He pulled back, proud of himself.

“I haven’t unpacked yet, have I?” I whispered. “Is my name on the lease yet?”

“Don’t tease about that,” he muttered, popping kisses down my jaw.

“Sorry,” I giggled. “Also…”

“What?” he mumbled into my neck.

“I think there’s another box in the car—“

“Oh, fucking Christ,” he laughed, exasperated. He leaned into me limply.

“I’m sorry!” I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“You’re never moving out, alright? I won’t survive it.” His cheek pressed into my collarbone.

“Alright,” I agreed, and sighed into his weight on my chest.

//

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #saccharine #Spotify

[64yrsold]

WINTERING 1. secret santa

twelve days of christmas writing prompts by @abiiors wintering masterlist just having a little fun... i'm in the middle of exams but i really wanted to participate!! here's my silly little christmas romance

“Would she like this?” I groaned, inspecting the snow globe from all angles. The glitter swirled around a badly painted snowman, his carrot nose more red than orange.

“For your mum?” Matty took the snow globe from my hands, turning up his nose, “We could find a better one, I think.”

“But this one is ten dollars,” I noted, earning a scoff from him. “I think I ought to quit celebrating Christmas, I can’t afford it anymore.”

“As if you ever could,” he shrugged, putting the snowglobe back on the shelf. I smacked him in the arm, the wool of his coat scratching the back of my hand.

“Please help me,” I sighed, “I hate finding secret Santa gifts.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he smiled, the fluorescent lights of the store darkening the shadows under his eyes. He wandered off, heavy boots scuffing against the floor. I trailed behind him, following his warmth.

“Was it a long trip back home?” I asked, and he turned an ear towards me to listen. He stopped, picking up a candle and smelling it.

“Not really,” he set the candle down, “I slept the whole way back.”

“And when do you go back?”

“I leave on New Year’s.”

“On New Year’s Day?” I huffed, “So you’ll miss my party?”

“Party is a bit gracious, isn’t it?” Matty looked back at me, tongue between his teeth.

“What do you want me to call it?” I giggled, trying to pout.

“Just a… handful of friends in a room. Eating crisps and staring at the wall.” 

“Don’t be mean,” I frowned, “It’s always better when you’re there.”

“Not this year,” he said, with a bit of a wince, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” I gave him a weak smile, one he was used to. 

“She’d like this, wouldn’t she?” He held a white cardigan at arm’s length.

“Very much so,” I nodded, reaching for the price tag, “Oh, no.”

He laughed, “Come on. It’s your mother!”

“My mother also wants me to be able to afford groceries,” I raised an eyebrow, taking the cardigan and putting it back on the rack. “Let’s go somewhere else. The dollar store, maybe.”

“God,” he sighed, following behind me. I stopped at the exit when I noticed he wasn’t behind me, finding him at the register with the cardigan. I stood with my arms crossed, watching his eyes crinkle when they met mine.

“Matty,” I scolded, and he chucked, putting an arm over my shoulders.

“I just wanted to go home,” he rubbed my shoulder, letting go. “Come on, it’s cold.”

-> next (2)

#christmas75 #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #12 days of christmas #wintering

[64yrsold]

saccharine matty healy x reader

18+ oneshots from a sweet domestic life together. a bit of everything links are in the order i originally posted them ❤︎ (you can also find my favourites from this series here!)

inside your mind

the birthday party

nice sweater

i’m in love with you

medicine

tonight (i wish i was your boy)

sincerity is scary

mine

heart out

when we are together

milk

an encounter

me & you together song

about you

so far (it’s alright)

facedown (pt.1)

facedown (pt.2)

you

i couldn’t be more in love

happiness

chocolate

is there somebody who can watch you

girls

fallingforyou

all i need to hear

12

the 1975 (the 1975)

roadkill

love me

yeah i know

paris

streaming

she’s american

frail state of mind

the sound

be my mistake

settle down

menswear

sex

looking for somebody (to love)

a change of heart

she way out

if you're too shy (let me know)

it’s not living (if it’s not with you)

nothing revealed / everything denied

don't worry

human too

ugh

this must be my dream

m.o.n.e.y.

lostmyhead

oh caroline

undo

hnscc

somebody else

give yourself a try

intro / set3

pressure

then because she goes

anobrain

the city

please be naked

haunt // bed

if i believe you

the 1975 (notes)

shiny collarbone

antichrist

i like it when you sleep

by your side

playing on my mind

TOOTIME !

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #saccharine

[64yrsold]

ACHES 28. honeymoon

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (27)

a/n: hi it's me :-) this is the final part of aches. thank you for letting me write this. thank you for being here to read it. i started writing this back in february, and spent all summer thinking about it. it's been so much fun, and so much work to think about all of these feelings all the time. hard to read too i'm sure lmfao. if you have questions about aches send me an ask :-) i will answer them all honestly now lmao. i love love writing for you, and i hope you'll be here for the next one! (it's gonna be sweet i'm sure.) thank you again.

“Who was it?” I asked, finding him slumped over his guitar in the living room. My face was still wet, salt drying on my cheekbones. 

He shrugged, “Nobody.”

“Do I know her?” I felt as if I was standing before the sea, my ankles submerged in sand and the pulsing waves. He was far, far away. He could have been a siren, or a beam of light. It would be exhausting to swim to him either way.

He shook his head, staring at the floor. His eyelids fluttered, his cheeks looked warm. 

I let out a thin breath, “Who was it, Matty?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he glowered at the hardwood. “I don’t give a fuck about her. I never wanted anything to happen.”

“Alright,” I mumbled. I didn’t have the energy to pry the information from him. I didn’t want to know, anyways.

“I wasn’t interested in her. I was just,” he clasped his hands together, “I was just missing you.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t believe him, or trust him, or understand what he was saying. I opened a bottle of wine, filling a glass. He wandered into the kitchen, sitting at the island. He watched me from the corner of his eye, eyes flitting to his hands when I looked in his direction.

I couldn't slow my heart.

I sat beside him, tilting my glass until it was empty. I filled it again. He picked up the bottle suddenly, throwing his head back and guzzling. I blinked, watching him empty the bottle down his throat. 

“Half a bottle each is fair, don’t you think?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I stifled a smile, my chest still feeling empty. My heart echoed weakly in the hollow of it. 

He reached his hand across the counter, covering mine. 

“Let’s go for a walk, sweetheart.” 

I followed him quietly, the summer evening quickly slipping into a heavy night. It was humid, and the air stuck to my skin. 

“You know where we’re going, don’t you?” He murmured. His heels scratched into the pavement. I nodded, the orange street lamps passing over us. He turned into the park, our hands twisted together. He sat on our bench, pulling me onto his lap. I leaned into him.

“I trusted you from the moment I met you,” I whispered. “You were a little shy at first.”

He smiled, brushing his thumb over my cheek. 

“I needed you,” I sighed. “I still need you.”

“I know,” he kissed my cheek gently. 

“You can’t leave me,” I said, realizing I was begging. “I can’t do it alone.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he shook his head, bringing his forehead to mine. “Never.”

“I don’t mean just physically,” I held his wrist. His palm was pressed to my thready pulse in my neck. “You can’t check out on me.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I won’t.”

I swallowed, “It was Jenna, right?”

He pulled back, and I saw the guilt swimming in his eyes. 

“She kissed you?” A hot tear fell from my cheek, sliding down my neck. He nodded. I dropped my head to his shoulder. 

“It was after I…” he trailed off, voice thick and rocky. I knew what he meant. “I just wanted you back. She’s your only friend, I–” He choked, taking a breath. “I didn’t know who else to ask.”

“Ask what?”

“If you were okay,” he mumbled. “To ask how long you had been this sad.”

“What did she say?”

“She said she hadn't seen you,” he picked at his cuticle. He shook his head, “She’s a shit friend, sweetheart.”

“So you kissed her?” I tried not to scream it. “I don’t get it.”

“I was drunk, and I asked her if she thought I deserved you,” he looked at me, heart spilling out of his wrists. “She said she didn’t know.”

I nodded. He frowned and sighed, agitated. 

“And why the fuck would she know?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I know you. I know us. It’s my fault, I neglected you, I assumed you would be alright, I asked you to marry me and then fucked off overseas for months. It’s my fault. I let you forget how love feels.”

I kissed him. Because I missed him. Because it was worth it, being with him. Because when he was home, he eclipsed the emptiness in my chest. He was everything good. 

He kissed me because he loved me, and that was always enough.

“Let’s get married tomorrow,” he cupped my face. “Let’s sign the papers at the courthouse, I don’t care. Just you and me, like it’s always been.”

I could only nod, listening to the crickets cry. The stars crackled above us, far, far, far above us. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Here,” he handed me a ripped page, folded into a tattered square.

“What’s this?” I asked, thumbs pressed into the familiar, soft paper. From his notebook, I was certain. 

“Honeymoon gift,” he winked. Then bit his thumbnail, eyelids fluttering.

“Is this my song?” I gasped, unfolding the note. 

“It could be,” he sat back on the couch against the armrest, my feet on his lap. “It’s just ideas for now.”

“Couldn’t pick a melody?” I laughed, skimming over the page.

“Couldn’t get it to fucking rhyme.”

I giggled, “Should I read it out loud?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, eyes wide. I waved him off, reading his desperate handwriting. He had written my name, Sweetheart, in careful letters at the top of the page.

When I can’t sleep

I think of you,

Always sleeping

Pulled so quickly to peace

While I seem to

Thrash against the line

I think of you with your eyes closed and jaw slack

With your hair in every direction

With your dreams pulsing through your veins

I remember

Your hand on my back

My mouth, then your mouth

Doubled joys and halved heartaches

Your hand on my back

To remind me that, really, there is nothing behind me

And that – really –

I am completely sane

And I am so glad

That love is nothing at all what I expected

And that I dream of everyone but you.

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #aches

[64yrsold]

ACHES 23. hurt / like

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (22)

“I missed you,” he murmured, breathing heavily. 

“I missed you,” I returned, letting him overwhelm my mouth with desperate kisses. He was pulling off his coat, tossing everything from his pockets onto the floor. I laughed into his mouth as he pressed my body to his, his hands firm on my back. 

“You’re more beautiful each time I see you,” his chest was heaving, meeting mine with his inhales. “What are you doing when I’m gone?”

“You’re just forgetting,” I smirked, and he chuckled. He picked me up, letting me wrap my legs around his waist. 

“How could I do that?” He kissed my cheek softly, but quickly buried his face in my neck, groaning. “Fuck, I need you.”

I swallowed, my ribcage stuttering as he carried me to the bedroom. I was flustered, unaccustomed to his directness. Usually he enjoyed stretching time, painfully toying with me until I was drowning in need. Now, he had already stripped to his briefs, pinning me to the mattress with splayed hands. 

“What are you wearing for me?” He asked, hooking a finger into the neckline of my t-shirt. He pulled it to the side, pressing another finger against my bra strap. “It’s pink?”

I nodded, biting back a smile. His tongue flicked over his lip, smiling down curiously at me. He pushed me higher onto the bed, the top of my head brushing against the pillows.

“Let me see, then,” he leaned over me, his hands pressed into the sheets on either side of my head. I felt shy with him staring, always unaccustomed to his blown-out pupils when he had been away for a while.

His lips parted, his eyebrows drawing together with impatience. He grabbed the hem of my shirt in a fist, pulling it over my head himself. He groaned, eyes sweeping over the delicate pink lace of my bra.

I could feel my face turn hot as he wet his lower lip, squeezing his eyes shut to break his trance. He was silent as he unbuttoned my jeans, tossing them to the floor. He took a moment to admire my matching lingerie, then brought his lips down on mine.

He was rough, letting his stubble scratch into my chin, digging his thumb into my ribcage. He ground into me, and I gasped into his mouth, head spinning at his desperation.

“Feel that?” He muttered, hard against my core. It was a demand, hidden as a question. I ached against him, reaching for his neck. “Feel how long I’ve fucking waited for you?”

I nodded quickly, sucking air in through my teeth as he pushed my panties to the side, dipping two fingers into my soaked cunt. 

“Fuck,” he kissed my cheek, pulling his length from his underwear. I watched his hair fall over his forehead, his gaze focused downwards as he teased the tip of his cock into me. I was dizzy, his whirlwind of attention and recklessness leaving me feeling as if my blood had stalled in my veins. I moaned, fingernails digging into his shoulder as he bottomed out suddenly. I wanted to thank him; finally, finally, finally.

“You can do it,” he mumbled, noticing how I reached for the sheets, his arms, anything to ease the sharp ache he caused within me. The edges of my vision grew dark as I panted, letting him rock into me at his own pace. He brought a hand to the base of my neck, restricting the blood flow. I gazed up at him, his mouth open as he gasped with each of his movements. His eyes were heavy, his jaw slack. Shadows cut down his face, his features obscured. He was barely there.

“So good,” he breathed, tightening his grip around my neck. “You’re doing so good.” I whined as he pulled one of my knees to my chest, pleasure twisting inside of me as he moved more carefully, trying to reach the spot I needed him most. My hands were numb, his breath on my skin fading as I slipped further from reality. My chest barely moved, my breathing shallow and erratic. He let go of my knee, grabbing a fistful of my hair instead. His hips stuttered, a moan slipping from his throat as he stumbled closer to his edge. I watched his eyes roll in his skull.

“Where do you want it?” He said, breathless. My mouth opened, but I couldn’t speak, no air available to support my words. I was drowning in him, choking on his touch, completely surrounded by his presence. It was perfect. 

I closed my eyes, stretching my arms above my head. I barely noticed him come, drunk on pleasure and hazy from the lack of oxygen. My eyes fluttered open to find him above me, sweat slipping down his collarbone. He had finished on my stomach, and was wiping me clean with a towel. I watched him lazily, his lips still slightly parted. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, laying beside me. “Are you alright?” A wet curl stuck to his forehead.

I nodded, filling my lungs until they burned. I let out the air slowly, my heartbeat racing ahead of me. He turned to face me, propping himself up on his elbow. 

He placed two fingers between my collarbones, tracing them up my neck slowly. A stutter caught in the back of his throat, his fingers pausing.

“What?” I asked, so quietly I could barely hear myself.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, sitting up quickly. 

“No,” I shook my head, frowning.

“Yes, I fucking have,” he muttered, leaning down to look at the base of my neck closely. His eyes were white and skipping over me, the back of his hand pressed against his lips as he stared at me. “Fuck, shit, shit.”

“I’m alright,” I shrugged, trying to push him away. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to the bathroom. I stumbled behind him, my legs shaking as he placed me in front of the mirror. He turned on the light, standing behind me. I blinked, tracing the splotchy red skin at the base of my neck, purple stains forming where his fingertips had dug in. My pink bra strap slipped down my shoulder.

“Look what I’ve done to you,” he covered his mouth with his hand, looking away. 

“It’s okay,” I turned away from the mirror. “I just bruise easily.”

“No, you don’t,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m okay,” I laughed. “Really. I liked it.”

“You shouldn’t like that,” he frowned. “You’re supposed to tell me if I hurt you.”

“But you didn’t hurt me,” I shrugged. His eyes were wet, rimming with tears. I flicked off the light. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” I pulled him into a hug, smoothing my hands up and down his back. He held me loosely, barely touching me. Afraid to touch me. “Let’s go to bed, okay?”

He nodded, following me to bed. He hid me under the covers, tucking my hair behind my ear and arranging it carefully over my pillow. He lay beside me, facing me, staring at the bruise forming on my neck. I pulled the blanket higher. 

“I love you,” I whispered, reaching for his hand. He placed his palm against mine.

“Love you.” 

I closed my eyes, and pretended to sleep when he started to cry.

-> next (24)

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #aches #matty healy smut

[64yrsold]

WINTERING 3. under the mistletoe

twelve days of christmas writing prompts by @abiiors wintering masterlist previous (2)

“Alright, Matty?” I nodded, watching him shoulder through a few aunts, uncles, and friends to find my quiet corner of the room.

“I need something to drink,” he huffed, glancing at my glass longingly, “Your Aunt Mary is trying to convince me the Earth is flat.”

“Ah,” I shrugged with a wince, “She’s just bored.”

He choked on a laugh, “Wonder if Aristotle was bored, too.” The low light of the room slipped through the threads of his hair, a few tinsel greys at his temple. 

“Probably,” I raised an eyebrow, “There was no TV back then.”

“Maybe no Christmas gatherings either,” he noted, popping his mouth open in an excited gasp. 

I giggled, “And who forced you to be here?”

He smirked, “That bottle right over there.” His head tipped towards the wine on the counter. He shuffled to the kitchen, vaguely following the rhythm of the twinkling Christmas music in the background. I bit my cheek at the way his body moved, always dancing as if nobody was around.

“Oh, you need a bit more, don’t you?” He took my glass, pouring generously.

“Alright, alright!” I laughed, pushing his hand as my glass nearly overfilled, “Matty.” His name fell from my mouth like a curse. His tongue poked into his cheek, filling his glass the same.

“Haven’t heard that in a while,” he looked at me from under the shadow of his brow, twisting the cap on the bottle.

“What?” I asked, sipping from my heavy glass. 

“Matty,” he imitated the snap of my voice, “You always scolded me like a child.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I probably deserved it,” he muttered into his glass, searching my face with his honey-sweet eyes. 

I pressed my lips together, pushing down the slippery memories of our fights. The guilt seemed to creep over my skin, needle-like and slithering.

“Don’t feel bad,” he frowned, his chest heaving from a sigh, “Really.”

“I do feel bad,” I said to my feet.

“I’m just glad we can be friends,” his voice choked through the word, “It’s nice.”

“Always nice,” I smiled.

“Now I’ve ruined the mood,” he pushed a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head. His nose was a pretty, soft pink, seeping into the tops of his cheeks as he gulped from his glass. 

“Always do,” I quipped, and he set his glass down with narrowed eyes. 

His face lit up, “Hear that?”

I blinked.

“Hear those jingling bells, darling?” He giggled, reaching for my wrist. The music seemed to grow louder as his head swung to the rhythm. I stepped out of reach, a bit of wine spilling onto my hand. “Oh, come on!”

“I’m not dancing with you,” I pointed at his chest, taking another few quick steps backwards.

“God,” he groaned, “I see why you’re still single.”

My face flushed, “Fuck you.”

“I’m joking, I’m–” he called after me, scrabbling behind me as I stormed out of the room. I grabbed my coat off the wall, pushing my way out the door.

“Don’t follow me,” I spat, hearing him slam the door closed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he sighed, “You know I was joking.”

I turned to him, “I don’t like your jokes.” The wind bit at my cheeks. His breath billowed into the air in front of him as he huffed.

“I know,” he rubbed his forehead. 

“You’re mean,” I said, swallowing roughly. I had to look down, at my feet in the snow. I knew his face would be cracking, splitting open in front of me from my words. The seam down his forehead unzipping, showing me how he was sweet and innocent, the honey spilling down his face. 

“Sometimes,” he whispered. I could see his hands, twisting into each other as he held his tongue.

“I’m just going to go home, okay?” I muttered, “I don’t have to fight with you anymore.”

“No,” he said quietly, “you don’t.”

I took a step back, trying not to catch his eyes.

“But I’m sorry,” he said, catching the sleeve of my coat. “I could at least be someone you can trust. If you don’t want to be friends.”

I pulled my sleeve from his grasp, “I never wanted to be friends.”

He bit his lip, “Alright.” He put his hands in his pockets, and turned back to the house. He opened the door, mistletoe peeking from the door frame above him. I walked home with wet cheeks, listening for his footsteps.

-> next (4)

#matty healy #christmas75 #12 days of christmas #wintering #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty

[64yrsold]

ACHES 13. thunder

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (12)

“Working hard, baby?” I asked, serious but giggly. I loitered in the doorway to the bedroom, where he had temporarily crammed a desk, laptop, and a few loose instruments. His office. 

“Listen to this, darling,” he murmured, playing a recording of acoustic strumming, washed away by reverb and noise. I listened, quietly, watching his hands illustrate the music. I liked watching the soundwaves scroll on the screen. “Fucking gorgeous, that is.”

I nodded, “I like it.”

“That’s all me, by the way,” he pointed to the screen, raising his eyebrows. “Little solo project. Don’t tell anyone.”

I smiled, “Who would I tell?”

“I’m on a roll today, sweetheart.” He leaned far back in the chair, reaching his hands above his head. He yawned and groaned, revealing his inky hips as he stretched. “You having a nice day?”

I was grinning at his question, “Very nice.”

“Mm,” he hummed, glad. He relaxed, his hands slapping into his thighs. “I have noticed the time, if that’s why you’re lurking.”

“I’m not lurking,” I rolled my eyes, “This is my apartment.”

“My office,” he sat forward in his chair, knees touching the edge of my bed. 

“Pretty small office,” I shrugged, “For such a big-time-hit-song writer.”

“I try to keep my ego in check.”

“It’s pretty big, isn’t it?” I bit my cheek, half-hiding behind the door frame.

“Are you about to make a dick joke?” His mouth was open in a smile, laughter catching in his throat. He got up from his chair, clambering around the bed, resting his hands on my hips. 

“Well, now you’ll never know,” I tucked my head into his chest, eagerly listening for his heartbeat. I found it, ear pressed to the familiar percussive sound. I found comfort in imagining his heart, wet and beating, constant and working, touching all his blood and breathing oxygen into it. I wished I could project the visceral image of his beating heart onto a screen, and watch it slop and work. It could put me to sleep, I thought. “You ruined the moment.”

“I could never ruin the moment, darling.” He spread his hand over the small of my back, pressing my body against his. He kissed my cheek, my neck, my forehead.

“Since your workday is done,” I looked up, “Right?” I whispered for approval. He gave me a quick nod, eyes closed. “Since your workday is done, can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything,” he said into my hair, kissing at my temple. “I’d even give you three wishes, if you rub–“

“Not very original,” I critiqued, earning an understanding shrug. 

“What do you need?” Serious again, his thumbs turning little circles against my skin.

“It’s just my back, I–” I was quiet, nervous to ask. 

“Say no more, my dear,” he stepped away, dramatically ripping the covers off the bed. Trying to get me to laugh. “Lay here a minute, and just close your eyes. Let me get a few things ready.”

“It doesn’t have to be–”

“Lay down, will you?”

I didn’t feel the urge to argue. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him stumble around the bedroom, hopping over clutter and stepping around the edges of my furniture.

“You lie down weird,” he quipped, lighting a few candles around the room. I sighed, laying flat on my back as he shut the blinds. The room flickered gently.

“Darling, you want a glass of water?” he asked from the kitchen.

“I’m alright,” I replied, closing my eyes. The room was quiet, the sound of the small fan in the corner rustling his notebook pages the only noticeable noise. 

He set a glass of water on the nightstand beside me. “Take off your clothes.”

I laughed, a puff of air. 

“Or… What do they say? Undress to your comfort?” He sat on the edge of the bed beside me, a hand resting on my stomach.

“Too tired,” I mumbled. 

“Miss, I’m just trying to do my job,” he tickled the skin above my hip, causing me to jolt upright, giggling. I squirmed, pushing at his solid forearms. “I’ll help you, if you want.”

I laid back down, letting him hover over me, kissing my lips briefly before pulling my shirt over my head.

“Comfortable?” he teased, flinging the shirt into the laundry basket. His hands were warm at my sides, indulging in the softness of my skin. 

I shook my head, smiling. He nodded, a quick flip of his chin, and bent his head to meet my chest. He kissed at the valley of my breasts, along the lace of my bra, and down to my bellybutton. He slipped his fingers into my belt loops, and I raised my hips to help him drag my jeans down my legs.

He planted a thick, wet kiss on the inside of my soft thigh. “Pretty thing.” 

“Not very professional.”

He looked up at me with black pupils overflowing his irises, pink lips blushing. He didn’t say anything, biting his lip as he pulled my underwear down my legs slowly. The cold air of the room bit at my skin, leaving me sensitive and shuddering.

“Is this to your comfort level?” he asked again, smooth and low. 

“Not quite,” I shivered, and he unclasped my bra in an instant. I watched his eyes linger at my peaked nipples, lips parted and sighing silently. 

“You can roll over for me,” he murmured, “Please.”

I liked his politeness. I rolled onto my stomach, and he sat on his heels just below my waist, hands poised at the middle of my back.

“This will be a bit cold, darling.” He quickly rubbed a creamy, dense lotion into my back, trying to use the warmth of his hands to dull the cold chill of it. He pushed into the muscles alongside my spine in big, heavy circles. His overwhelming touch was enough to pull the breath out of my lungs. I was warming slowly.

“Harder?” he asked, and I blushed, nodding. He pressed deeper into the muscle beside my shoulder blade, an uncontrolled groan escaping me. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I mumbled, mindlessly ringing with bliss. 

“You have to say if I hurt you.” He lightened his touch, focusing on spreading his hands wide over my back. But I didn’t want him to be careful. I wanted to feel the full force of him, to panic as my joints dug into the mattress. I wanted to grit my teeth, to set my jaw, to stay silent as his body overwhelmed my own. To see blood. To see if I could handle all of him, all at once. Then, pretty kisses over lavender bruises, soft accolades from his lips. 

“You don’t hurt me.” My eyes were fluttering closed, my entire body focused on his circling hands. 

“You’re so soft,” he was mumbling, and I could feel his breath hitting my back. His hands were weakening, fingertips twitching with exertion. “I have to be so careful.”

I was breathing deep and wide, picturing my diaphragm pulling down my lungs to my hips. I listened to the hiss of air leaving my nose.

He reached up to the back of my head, pulling my hair off my neck and to the side. He pressed two fingers to the base of my skull, dragging them down the ridged ladder of my vertebrae. It was ecstasy to be touched like this, to capture his complete attention. I was losing my grip, waiting for his fingers to climb the hills of my spine. He trailed a finger stepwise to my tailbone, pressing his palm there gently. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he sighed, and I could hear the need in the strained whisper of his voice. “Made just for me.” His arm wrapped around my lower belly, guiding my body to his, pressed close and tight. He was hard against my thigh, and gasped quietly into my skin. He was starved, kissing my back with his wet and open mouth. He moaned into each kiss, shaking me down my spine. His curls brushed against my back, butterfly kisses over my sensitive skin. I felt a stitch down my side, twisting between my thighs and screaming there for relief. I stretched my arms above my head to clutch the sheets, parting my knees for him. 

“Need you,” I whined, naked and frustrated against his clothed body.

“I just want to touch you,” he nipped at the skin above my hip, crossing over my back to the other hip. His teeth and tongue were delicious, a punctuated mixture of sting and release. “Let me take you in.”

“Something,” I begged, “Give me something.”

He laughed, cheek against the middle of my back. “Okay.”

His arm left me, and I sank into the mattress without his restraint. I was motionless and splayed facedown as he tugged down his jeans, placing his thigh between my legs. He pulled me against him, wet and hot against his leg. It was enough pressure to ease the ache, and I smiled into the sheets, satisfied.

“Now will you be patient?” he asked gently, meaning to tease me. It was sweet and earnest. He was hoping to keep me occupied while he took his time. I nodded, lazy and stupid. His palm opened over my bellybutton, guiding me to sit upright. I whimpered, happy and drowsy, letting his hand slide up between my breasts as my head laid back on his shoulder. I was sitting on his thigh, back arched to accommodate the angle I needed to kiss at his pulsing neck. I ground my hips into him instinctively, but he wrapped his other arm around me tightly.

“Keep still,” he brushed his lips against my ear, “I need more time with you.”

I nodded, wanting to be good. I held my breath carefully, the bottom of my lungs aching, keeping still and controlled. He curiously wandered around my neck with his fingertips, searching for something. I had nothing to hide, and let my hair spill over his shoulder as my head relaxed into him. I was barely there, only a heavy fog of lust. He captured the cartilage of my throat, finding the edges of it. I felt off-balance, realizing he was keeping a tactile diary of my body. His breaths were shallow, mouth gently agape, focused and quiet. Remembering.

His finger moved to the side of my throat, tracing the carotid. He dripped his way down my neck, following the artery, chasing it to my collarbone. His hands smelled like coconut, from the lotion. 

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he whispered into my hair, mouth buried in my temple. The warmth of his hand covered the top of my breast, his palm pressed carefully to the skin. 

“Breathe, just a little deeper,” he murmured, noticing my unnatural stillness. He matched his breaths to mine, encouraging me to fill my lungs until they stung. The intimacy of our synchronized breaths had me circling my hips over his thigh. He didn’t stop me, “That’s better.” His voice was honey-thick and exhausted. He cupped my heartbeat as it slowed.

Rain splattered against the windows. The sound left me feeling foggy, and I pictured us outside, the rain soaking through our clothes. Kissing raindrops from his cheek. Watching lightning spark against the sky, cracking across his pupils.

His hand trailed down my stomach, an agonizing pace. He placated me with the flick of his tongue against my neck, humming sweet words into my heated skin.

This must be love. 

This must be intimacy.

I whimpered, high and ugly, when the rough edges of his fingertips met with the wetness between my legs. Now I felt completely exposed; blunt, stripped ends manipulated by his hands. He circled his fingers in the slick of my core, bringing it to the apex and pressing into my clit. 

“All for me?” he was prideful, the question rimming with satisfaction. Just what he wanted, me draped over him, pooling with need. Just what I wanted.

“Fuck me,” I moaned, at a pitch I didn’t usually reach. I wasn’t still at all anymore, reaching my hands above my head to fall into his hair, tugging at the soft strands. I ground my hips into him, forcing the friction he was trying desperately to withhold. He withdrew his fingers, biting at my earlobe.

“Be good,” he stated, simple. As if it were easy. I was already near the dizzying edge of an orgasm, the feeling spreading open in my lower belly. A bloom, a sunrise, an awakening. And yet, emptiness, a painful lack of his presence. 

I took in a shaky breath, realizing my thighs were trembling as I attempted to keep myself motionless. I tried to focus on the wall of warmth that was him against my back, on the surrounding force of his gravity. I was too wired to think straight.

“Help me,” I asked, and his breath caught, stopping the steady waves of his chest. He helped lay me down, my back to the mattress, my legs spread open for him to kneel between. My hair tickled my neck as it splayed over the pillows.

“Better?” He smiled, and I closed my eyes, the sight of him making it hard to keep my hands to myself. I listened to him pull off his shirt, “Open your eyes, darling.”

“I’ll touch you,” I whispered, and he laughed quietly.

“Keep them closed, then,” he kissed my cheek, “It’s fun to surprise you anyways.”

And, a shock, as he pushed two fingers inside of me, stretching and rolling into me. I whined, unprepared but desperate, holding his flexed forearm gently. He kept an even pace until I was moaning rhythmically, lulled and hazy. He held down my thigh with his free hand, gentle but firm. Keeping me right where he wanted me.

He removed his fingers, finding my clit and leaving me whining. I opened my eyes, his form blurry before me. Thunder shook the room, boasting and deep. I couldn’t bear it, the stinging, all-consuming bliss his fingers elicited. I grabbed his hair in fistfulls, listening to his breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he murmured, lazily rubbing into me. He was too gone to care about my desperate behavior, “Is this what you wanted?”

I nodded quickly, but couldn’t help myself from swirling my hips, gasping at the ecstasy he drew from me.

“Pretty thing,” he moaned, his hand leaving my thigh to palm his cock. I couldn’t look away, his eyes half-closed and dark, his hand moving over himself slowly, matching the relaxed pace he used on me. His mouth opened prettily, his lower lip glistening wet and needy. It was too much, him looking at me with round, full, desperate eyes, the sparks he sent down my legs, the twist somewhere deep within me. I was up high, on the very edge, leaning over the railing and judging the distance below. 

“Come, and I’ll fuck you,” he promised, voice strained and panting. “You want that, baby?”

I took a handful of his hair, his fingers still slow and restrained on my clit. A steady, faithful promise. My fingers were numb, my pulse an afterthought as I watched him observe me. He watched me moan and squirm, listlessly grabbing at him, his shoulders, his elbows, whatever was near. He understood, pressing his palm to my cheek, and slipping his thumb over my tongue. I moaned around his finger, sucking at the saltiness of his skin. He gasped quietly, losing focus on my clit, and pressing harder than he meant. I cried out, muffled by his thumb, a rocky, well-deserved climax rumbling throughout my patient body. I trembled, letting the euphoria ripple through me, seeing bright shades of blue as I squeezed my eyes shut. Then, desperate for him, I opened my eyes, losing myself in his endless pupils. I whimpered again, my body still tensing and relaxing deliciously. He noticed, slipping his fingers back inside of me, letting me finish around him with a final, thick moan. When I was limp and nothing but raw nerves, he withdrew all his fingers, laying beside me. He pulled my back to his chest, tightly holding me against him. I shuddered into him, reeling.

“Go to sleep, darling,” he said, holding me with steady pressure. I protested, parting my thighs and moaning. He ignored me, “Wake me up when you need me.”

I hummed in agreement.

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#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #aches #matty healy smut

[64yrsold]

ACHES 26. insane

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (25)

I woke up, throat tight. I was still slumped on the couch, in my clothes from the day before. I saw the faint remnants of the wine stain, blotchy but subtle. I traced the edges of it, hating the bumpy texture of the couch on my fingertips. I was nauseous, disoriented, and aching. I could feel how swollen my eyes were. I must have cried longer than I remembered.

I made my way to our bathroom, brushing my teeth and rinsing my face. I didn’t look in the mirror. I went to our bedroom, finding him folding clothes into a suitcase.

“Good morning,” I mumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed. My voice was gravel, scratching its way out of my throat.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he zipped the suitcase closed, pulling it off the bed. He set it onto the floor.

“Are you leaving?” I murmured. 

“Just for the weekend, remember?” He put his hands into his pockets, blinking at me slowly.

“I thought you were going tomorrow.”

“Nope,” he shrugged, moving to leave.

“Wait,” I said, standing from the bed. He stopped, head tilted to listen. “You didn’t bring me to bed.”

He laughed, “You have two good legs, don’t you?”

“You didn’t yell at me, either.”

“I never yell at you,” he frowned, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Sometimes you should yell at me.”

This made him rub a hand into his forehead, “Please, let’s not start anything. I’m about to leave.” He walked to me, cradling my head in his hands. He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

“Take me with you.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You don’t do planes, though.”

I swallowed, “I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t,” he sighed, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You don’t want me to come?” I was being childish. 

“Stop it,” he pulled me to his chest, hugging me tightly. “You don’t even believe that.”

“You don’t want me around, lately.” This I believed. I was shuddering, containing sobs in my constricted throat. “You didn’t take me to bed.”

He huffed, “You were completely passed out on the couch. What did you want me to do? I thought you should sleep.”

“I don’t like sleeping without you.”

“Don’t get so drunk, then.” He let go of me, stepping back.

“You don’t spend any time with me. You don’t even want to fuck me.”

He rolled his eyes, “That’s not fucking true.”

“Explain last night, then,” I pressed my lips together, letting a tear slip down my cheek. 

“I already apologized, I had to work. When I came by to check on you, you had spilled wine all over my fucking couch.” He pulled his hand through his hair. He waved a hand at me, “I’m not mad about the wine. It’s all fine. I told you, I don’t want to fight. Let’s just leave it, okay?”

“It’s our couch.” I whispered.

“What?”

“You said my couch. My fucking couch. It’s our couch.”

“Yes, our couch, I’m sorry.”

“I’m moving out.”

He stared at me, eyes wide. Mouth opening and closing.

“I’ll be gone when you get back,” I sobbed, and walked past him. He followed me into the kitchen, keeping quiet. I started collecting the dirty dishes, stacking them on the counter. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“Stop,” he urged, grabbing my wrist, “Stop.”

“What?” I spat, face burning. I pulled my wrist from his hand, and watched pain flash across his eyes for a moment, like lightning.

“I’m sorry I’ve been busy,” he said, soft and careful. “I’m sorry I haven’t spent enough time with you.”

I nodded.

“But you have to trust me. You know I love you. Enough of this,” he spun a hand, pursing his lips. “Don’t pick fights with me.”

I leaned against the counter, breathing slowly. “I’m not picking fights. I’m trying to tell you that I’m lonely.”

“I can’t do anything about that.”

I scoffed, “Of course you can.”

“I’m not the reason you’re lonely.”

“Shut up,” I frowned.

“You’re always lonely. No matter what I do.”

“You’re uninterested. You only touch me to calm me down. I’m lonely because only your body is here. Your mind is… It’s somewhere else.” I was scrambling to get the words out, in between gasps and sobs.

He thought about this for a moment.

“I don’t feel that way.”

“Are you sleeping with someone else?” I asked, the words ringing through the house. The question pulled the warmth from the room.

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

He looked down, “No.”

“I fucking knew it,” I covered my mouth with my palm.

“I don’t want to sleep with anyone else,” he insisted, confused. 

“I know you’re lying.”

“I’m not fucking lying!” He yelled. He yelled.

“Go ahead, then,” I said, taking a steady breath. I wasn’t crying anymore. It was a numb, thin sense of bliss, controlling the anger tightening my chest. “Sleep with her. Get it out of your system.”

“God, you’re fucking insane,” he laughed, “I would never sleep with anyone but you. Never.”

“Fuck her, then come home to me. I’m sick of this.”

“I don’t want to!”

My lips parted, mind emptying. “Who is it?” I was far away, I wasn’t here, I was somewhere else. I was below the earth, scratching for the surface. I was nestled deep in a dripping cave, wet and mossy. I was untouched and buried.

“What are you talking about?” he sighed, but I saw the pink on his cheeks. 

“Who is it?”

He turned, grabbing his suitcase from the bedroom. “I”m not talking to you like this,” he called, pacing to the front door. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

He slammed the door closed behind him. 

I sat on the kitchen floor.

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#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #aches

[64yrsold]

WINTERING 5. naughty vs. nice

twelve days of christmas writing prompts by @abiiors wintering masterlist previous (4)

“Hello?” I mumbled, answering my phone in the dark. The curtains were drawn, all the lights in the house were off, and I was on my third cold-medicine induced nap of the day.

“Hey, are you sick?” Matty asked, huffing into the phone.

“Do not come here,” I said sternly, voice hoarse and tired.

“I’m just asking!” He laughed, the sound of traffic in the background of the call.

“Who told you?” I accused, rubbing my swollen eyes.

“Nobody told me anything,” he said. 

I sniffled.

“Alright, your mum, but—“

“Why are you talking to my mum,” I groaned, burying my head into my pillow. “We are not together!”

“She phoned me!” He defended, and I could see his hands high in the air. “She said you weren’t picking up your phone.”

“I’m sleeping,” I sighed, “Really, I’m fine. It’s just a cold.”

“Right,” he said, “Christ, you forgot to lock your door again.”

“Fuck, Matty—“

“It’s fine,” he cooed, and hung up the phone. I heard his clunky footsteps in the entrance, and pulled the covers over my head. It was embarrassing to have him see me like this, red-nosed and surrounded by half-finished bottles of Nyquil. 

“How are we feeling?” He asked sheepishly, stepping into my dark cave of a room.

“I’m sick,” I reminded him, muffled from under the blankets, “And you’re not allowed to look at me.”

I could hear his smile, “Alright, I won’t look.”

“You should really go,” I insisted, “I’ll make you ill. You’ll miss your plane.”

“That’s not for a while,” he replied, setting something down on my nightstand. I felt his weight on the edge of the bed. I felt like a marble circling the drain, pulled in by him.

“I might puke,” I said, and he laughed again.

“As if I’ve never seen that before.”

I peeked out from the covers, “You need to go.”

He smiled at me, a pretty shape I could barely distinguish in the dark. It seemed more like a memory.

“I brought your soup,” he pointed at a takeout bag on the nightstand.

“I don’t like soup,” I murmured. 

“You'll like this one,” he said, and grabbed the corner of my blanket, pulling it down below my chin. “Promise.”

“I should really go back to sleep,” I complained, “The cold medicine makes me all loopy.”

“Just sit up, darling,” he grumbled, then picked me up so I sat upright, my back against the headboard.

“I’m fine,” I blinked, surprised that he had grabbed me and moved me. 

He opened the container of soup, stirring it slowly, “You need to be feeling better for tomorrow, you know.”

“I know, I’m trying,” I sighed, a throb pulsing near the back of my head. I wished I could pull him into me, to sleep with my head on his chest, to let him take care of me. His thumb massaging the back of my skull.

“Are you going to your mum’s tomorrow?” He placed the soup in my hands, the steam coming off it making me feverish.

“I want to, since it’s Christmas,” I shrugged, “But it would be horrible of me to get her sick.”

“Ah, she won’t care,” he nudged the spoon into my hand.

“Right,” I rolled my eyes, “If I’m not feeling better, I’ll just stay home.”

“Home alone?” He asked, frowning, “On Christmas Day?”

“Well, hopefully I’ll just be feeling better.”

He took a deep breath, “Can you eat the fucking soup already?”

I giggled, a splitting pain cracking up my face from my laughter. I winced. I watched him pick at his cuticles, trying not to look at me. I took a few spoonfuls of the soup, looking up at him timidly.

“You don’t like it?” He hid a smile, shaking his head as he put the soup back on the nightstand.

“I’m just so nauseous,” I whined, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he shrugged, “More for me.” He picked up the spoon, stirring the soup again.

My mouth opened, “You’re not gonna eat that, right?”

“Hm?” He grunted, then downed a spoonful.

“Matty!” I shrieked, smacking his arm. 

“What, what?” He laughed, shying away from me. 

“You’re so fucking stupid,” I covered my face with my hands, “You’re going to have this stupid cold tomorrow, and you’re going to be a baby about it, and I’m not taking care of you!”

He didn't seem bothered by the violence in my words.

“Couldn’t let you spend Christmas alone,” he mumbled, looking back to smile at me between bites.

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#wintering #christmas75 #12 days of christmas #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty

[64yrsold]

ACHES 10. try

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (9)

“I’m sorry,” I choked, covering my mouth with my hand. “I can’t believe I was that drunk.”

“I promise, I didn’t mind,” he soothed, sitting me down on the bed. He sat beside me, leaning forward against his thighs. “You remember everything?”

“Most of it, I think.”

He nodded, staring at his hands. I watched the back of his neck, ashen from the moonlight.

“You were crying, most of the time.” He picked at the skin on the side of his thumb. 

I laughed, thick and empty, “Why did you ask me out to dinner, then?”

“I was intrigued by your honesty.”

“Intrigued?” I let hot, embarrassed tears wash over my cheeks. 

“You were very sweet,” he looked back at me, frowning with concern. He swiped away a tear from my face. “You were vulnerable with a stranger.”

“God,” I muttered, “I wish I knew when to shut the fuck up.”

“Don’t say that,” he was firm, “Don’t say that.” It sounded like an apology.

“Thanks for giving me a second chance, at least,” I shook my head, palming at my face to dry it. “I know I’m crying again, but–”

“You’re pretty,” his fingertips found my jawline, “When you cry.”

“Only then?” I smirked, lip quivering. My skin warmed where he touched me. He licked his lower lip, shaking his head. He palpated for my jawbone, tracing it up to my ear. 

“Your eyes get all glassy and bright,” his other hand brushed over my lower lashes. My breath froze in my lungs as I tried to stay still for him. “Your lips blush up, all flowery and springtime.” My lips parted for his thumb, which pulled and pushed my bottom lip. 

I was burning from his attentive gaze, his wide-open pupils and concentrated brow. I was convinced he could see the heat coming off me. 

“And your skin,” he kissed the center of my cheek, open-mouthed and wet. “You taste like the sea.”

“I–” Any words I tried to form caught in my tongue as he tasted my skin, inhaling as he moved down my jaw. He exhaled, a sweet breeze, cooling my flushed cheek. 

“You’re moonlight on water,” he kissed my neck. “You’re distant rain, clouds falling into the horizon.”

I laughed, pulling back to look at him, “What are you, then?” 

He shrugged, blinking, “I’m watching.”

I bit my lip, trying to find something funny to say, distracted by the warmth spilling inside of me. Uncapped love, sweetness, appreciation. 

“You’re the sun,” I decided. “Putting the clouds back together.”

“How many times have you used that line?” he teased, rolling his eyes sarcastically. 

“And how many girls have you brought back to this hotel?”

“Just one,” he placed a hand on my thigh. “Spent the whole night singing her to sleep, though.”

“Want to do something else this time?” I asked, reaching for his neck. I felt his pulse in his neck, heavy and erratic. It matched mine, ringing in my fingertips.

He nodded, “But I’m not going to fuck you.”

I was flustered at his direct statement, feeling as if he had skipped over paragraphs of conversation.

“Not that—“ he looked at me closely, “Not that I don’t want to.”

“Do you want permission?” I pulled a curl over his forehead, watching it flick over his eyebrow. 

“Well, of course, but–”

“Fuck me, then.”

He laughed, short and breathy, “I just thought you might want to take it slow.”

“We can do it slow,” I replied, all sultry and smoke. I watched his eyelashes, drooping over his honey eyes, beat like wasp wings. He exhaled, restrained.

“I need a cigarette.”

I giggled, getting up and standing at the balcony door. I watched his silhouette heave, inhaling and exhaling in giant waves. He shook his hair over his forehead, and got up to follow me. He sat against the brick of the hotel, lighting his cigarette in the dark. I remembered how I used to be afraid of lighters, afraid of any sort of fire. It seemed silly now, watching him fiddle with his black lighter, starting the flame and cutting it off, controlling it. He raised an eyebrow, noticing me staring.

“You have nice hands,” I pointed to the fingers wrapped around his cigarette. 

He exhaled the smoke from his lungs, “Thanks.” 

“Perfect size, nice knuckles.”

He squinted, “What are you thinking about?”

I laughed. He just stared at me through the haze. I was lightheaded and electrified by the freezing winter air, trying to relax and keep from shivering. I was drawn in by the red ember between his fingers.

I sat in front of him, our knees nearly touching, running my fingers over the outer line of my lips. I listened to his breathing shift as I pulled down my lower lip, sliding two fingers into my mouth. I let him watch my fingers move along my tongue, his own hand twitching on his thigh.

I closed my lips around my knuckles, hollowing my cheeks. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I can’t do it, baby.”

I pulled my fingers from my mouth with a pop, “How many times do I have to convince you it’s okay?”

“I just… No matter what you say, I’m just not going to believe you.”

“Why not?” I tried not to feel rejected, reaching for the last remains of his cigarette. I inhaled, shaky and uneven. I coughed, flicking the cig off the balcony.

“I don’t know.” He stood to go back inside. I was happy to follow him back into the warmth of the room. He sat in the armchair, where I had awoken with him such a short time ago, his fist curled under his chin. 

“You know,” I sat on the bed. “Come on, tell me.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead, “I just realized that– I want to see you again. Okay?”

“That’s stupid,” I said. “Having sex won’t make me unreachable.”

“I don’t know.”

“We can wait for another time,” I shrugged. “Any time you want.”

“You told me you liked to use sex to replace intimacy.” The words spilled out like a confession.

“That doesn't even make sense,” I frowned. “Sex is intimacy.”

“It’s what you told me,” he stretched out his legs. “And I’ve been thinking about it since you said it.”

“I don’t even understand it, okay?” I laughed. “I was just drunk.”

“But,” he brushed a hand through his hair, “I want to find that line, the one delineating sex and intimacy.”

I watched him run his fingers over the armrest.

“What if we replaced sex with intimacy? What if we reached the very edge of intimacy, if we strained it and found its base elements?” He sighed. “What if we’re all craving intimacy, and letting sex distract us?”

“I’d try,” I whispered. “If it means I’ll see you again.”

“Let’s try, then,” he patted his leg. “Come here.”

-> next (11)

#matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty the 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #64matty #aches

[64yrsold]

WINTERING 4. nightmare before christmas

twelve days of christmas writing prompts by @abiiors wintering masterlist previous (3)

“Hey,” Matty grunted, sitting across from me, all splayed out on the couch. The evening was heavy and he was stoned, trying to pull himself through another get-together with friends. I glanced at him, his lips stained wine-pink. He raised his eyebrows when he caught my attention, gesturing for me to sit beside him. I tucked my feet underneath me, curling deeper into the couch. I tried to listen, or eavesdrop, to friends around me, ignoring the side of my face burning from his stare.

“Hey,” he said again, under his breath. My head snapped to him when something hit my shoulder – a peanut he had thrown.

“What?” I spat, crossing my arms around myself tightly.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, opening his arms. I rolled my eyes. He patted his lap.

“Fuck off,” I whispered, “I don’t want to talk.”

“I want to talk,” he shrugged, buttoning and unbuttoning his sleeve. I sighed, rubbing at my forehead. When I looked up, he was plopping himself on the couch beside me. 

“You reek,” I frowned, and he turned to me, a sleepy smile on his face.

“You think?” he grinned, resting his chin on his palm. 

“Jessica is gonna be pissed,” I noted, “She’s trying to keep the home pure during her pregnancy.”

“Pure,” he slurred, “Pure shit party.”

“Don’t,” I said, steeling my face. I tried not to think of him, younger and with fewer greys, waltzing over to me, tipsy and blushing. Shit party, he had said, interlacing his fingers with mine. I sighed.

“What?” he giggled, “That line worked the first time.”

“Well,” I groaned, “I was very young when that line worked.”

“God,” he sighed, “It wasn’t that long ago.” He cracked a peanut between his fingers, making a mess on his black dress pants.

“Right,” I picked at my nail polish. Anything to avoid his soupy brown eyes, and how soft his hair looked. 

“Wanna go outside?” he smiled, poking at my knee with his knuckle. It felt like a knife.

“No, thank you.”

“C’mon,” he grumbled, dropping his voice low, “I saved you a joint.”

“Matty,” I scolded, then flushed pink. He grinned. “I don’t smoke.”

He coughed through a fit of laughter, “Just a cig, then?”

“Alright!” Jessica interrupted, “Everyone with something for the gift exchange, head into the living room!”

I blinked.

“You don’t have a gift,” Matty smiled.

“Maybe I need a bit of fresh air,” I grumbled, and got up, Matty following me like a puppy. The backyard was dark, deep, and crowded with evergreens. The air was sticky with fog, kissing my cheeks.

“You cold?” He asked, pushing the snow off a bench in a secluded area of the backyard.

“No,” I said, sitting on the bench. He sat beside me, warm shoulder against mine.

“You look cold,” he insisted, taking off his coat and putting it over my shoulders. My throat tightened as his scent covered me, and I banished the thought of sleeping with his tobacco and mint on my skin. 

“I’ll probably head home soon,” I managed, the cold air and wine making my head turn.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, careful not to touch me, “Sure.”

“I have,” I shrugged, gesturing vaguely, “work.”

“On a Saturday?”

I sniffled as he lit the joint between his lips. He smiled from the corner of his mouth.

“Did you roll that?” I asked, frowning.

“Yeah,” he nodded, voice deep from his throat full of smoke. 

I bit my cheek, “I can fucking tell.”

“Oh, Christ,” he groaned, throwing his head back, “Are you still on this?”

“It’s just,” I smirked, looking up at him, “I can do it so much better.”

He took another drag, “Yes, love.”

“Are you agreeing so we don’t fight,” I reached for the joint, which he put between my lips instead, “Or because I’m right?” He watched me intently as I inhaled, blowing smoke behind his back. I coughed when I breathed in again, making him laugh.

“You alright?” He covered his mouth with his hand, watching me splutter and gasp.

“This is why,” I wheezed, “I quit fucking smoking.”

He moved to rub my back, patting it gently as I calmed down. The joint went out in the corner of his mouth, his attention surrounding me as his hand stilled on my back.

“Better?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Mhm,” he smiled, “You still mad at me?”

“Of course I’m still mad at you,” I shifted, his closeness making my heart beat out of rhythm.

“I hate it,” he murmured, “when you’re mad at me.”

“Then do something,” I whispered. “Do something to fix it, for once.”

“Like what?” He prodded.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Make it up to me. Show up.”

He hummed, “You mean I shouldn’t get on a plane and wait for you to forgive me?”

“No,” I rolled my eyes.

“I shouldn’t get drunk,” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, “And call you, and beg you to take me back?”

“No.” 

“Should I,” he smirked, “Storm out when you imply I can’t verbalize my feelings?”

“No,” I grumbled, “Obviously not.”

“Just checking,” he brushed his thumb over my cheek, “Hoping to get it right this time.”

“Oh, this time?” I raised my eyebrows. 

He nodded slowly. 

“You must be drunk,” I shook my head, “And high. And delusional.”

“I’m always drunk, high, and delusional,” he grinned, kissing my cheek. 

“I know,” I whispered, “So I’m going home.”

“Oh, please,” he pouted, “We were just getting somewhere.”

“Goodnight, Matty,” I stood, taking off his coat and tossing it onto his lap. I felt giddy walking home, my cheekbone warm where he had touched me. The sheets smelled like mint as I drifted to sleep.

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