#matty healy one shots | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justlikemebutsixfootthree · 1 year

Text

the birthday party -

pairing: matty healy x f!reader

content: friends to lovers, explicit consent, george is a good friend, matty eats pussy, safe sex, denise, p in v sex

wordcount: 6787

this blog is 18+. minors, do not interact. this blog is a safe space. no hate or disrespect of any kind will be tolerated. all work is my own. do not reupload my work on any other site without my consent.

a/n: matty healy, you will always be famous <3

maybe it shouldn't bother him as much as it does. after all, it's just another day.

but it's his birthday. it's his fucking birthday, and there are no messages from you lighting up his phone.

at first, matty tried to convince himself that it was nothing. he had woken up and expected an all-caps message, only to be met with the god-awful time of 5:00 am. but it was okay - it was early, so you probably just want to wait - to ensure that he's awake to see your message.

so he waited.

he waited through bleary eyes - surrounded by his concrete walls and his white comforter - until his alarm sounded and jerked him awake.

a rush of disappointment shattered his bones when there was no message from you. no ‘happy birthday,’ no ‘good morning,’ not even a ‘hey.’

but still, it's okay. matty went about his morning, taking phone call after phone call from family members he hadn’t heard from since last year, pretending there wasn’t a hole in his heart where you left a dent. his mom texted him once; something about going over for a party and celebrating his birthday there with his family and bandmates, and that was it.

he spends the rest of the day picking at the pancakes george made him and tries desperately to ignore your silence.

so yeah, it hurts that you didn't text him, and he's starting to think that maybe it's not okay. because you're his best friend, and you didn't even have the decency to wish him a happy birthday.

there's always been something between the two of you; dotted lines that make it hard to walk or see straight whenever you're together, usually bickering about god knows what.

george says you love him. matty flicks his forehead until he drops it.

because how could someone who loves him forget his birthday?

he feels selfish - feels like shit wishing for something other than the health and clarity he was brought up to be thankful for on his birthday.

and you still don't text him.

it's only a couple of hours later when george's air conditioning hits his face with full power, eyes watering slightly with the artificial wind blowing right into his cornea. they’re on the way to his mother’s house, and matty is bracing himself for the onslaught of aunts with their strong perfume and uncles with their disapproving looks. beside him, george hums from the driver’s seat, a clear indication he can sense matty's heedlessness.

"alright, that's it," george says, turning down the music dial until barely audible guitar strums resonate in the car. “you’ve been moping all day. what gives?”

matty shrugs. "nothing, mate."

"bullshit."

george’s eyes are switching between watching the road and glaring daggers into matty's.

“it’s your birthday, and you’re acting as if someone just killed your snake. so i ask again,” george mutters as he flicks on his turn signal, pulling off the freeway to evacuate the sanctum of subdued car horns and merge into the exit lane. “what gives, matty?”

"it’s not a big deal,” he starts, interrupted by the forced chuckle that resounds beside him. he continues when the light turns green, george slowly letting off the breaks as they near his mom's house.

“i mean, i guess it's just, like, i dunno. i thought that—” he cuts himself off, lost in his head. matty stumbles over his words, a mess of broken syllables as he runs a nervous hand through his hair, messing up the mop of curls.

“she hasn’t texted me today.”

it’s rushed, a lick of shame and embarrassment crawling up his spine as the frigidity of the air conditioning meets his neck. the car is cold, chilling matty's bones with gentle fragility until they freeze and shatter like glass. he bleeds shame, every ounce of blood in his body tainted with the reminder that you forgot.

george's breath hitches, and he clears his throat with a fist over his hand as the other one turns them into a familiar street.

his mother’s house appears in his peripheral vision, the front porch light emitting a timbre, yellow glow, and he can see shadows through the large kitchen window.

matty picks at his nails, messing with his fingers as george parks the car. he can feel watchful eyes on him when he stares down at his lap.

george turns in his seat so they’re forced to face each other. “she didn’t text you at all?”

“not since last night.”

he unbuckles his seatbelt and places a hand on the door handle. he's stopped, a tug to his arm keeping him in place and not permitting him to leave the car—leave the conversation.

“hey,” george starts, voice low and with a lilt of concern tracing the lone syllable. “i’m sure she’s got a good reason. she wouldn’t just forget your birthday.”

matty scoffs, shaking his head until strands of dark hair fall in his face, blowing upwards so he can see again. “what reason?”

“i don't know,” he says, all one breath and fidgety when he unbuckles his seat belt. “but whatever it is, i’m sure she has a good excuse.”

there’s a squeeze to his shoulder, warm fingers emitting heat where they touch his skin through smooth cotton.

“you’re too young to be going through a midlife crisis over the girl you love not texting you for twenty-four hours.”

matty doesn’t have the energy to argue, not when he knows that his friend is right.

so instead of arguing, he smiles and punches george in the arm for good measure before they head down the paved walkway to his childhood home.

his mother greets him first, halfway through his third knock because she expected them over earlier. despite the squint in her eyes, she pulls her son into a tight hug, rubbing comforting circles into his back.

“happy birthday, dear,” she sings, muffled by his chest as she stands nearly half a foot shorter than him.

“thanks, mum.” he smiles, moving aside so george can get engulfed in a hug.

he’s missed it here, the warmth that bubbles in his stomach when he’s around his family, a house full of love and people that he grew up with. it’s almost enough to make him forget about a certain someone who still lingers in the back of his mind like day-old leftovers.

almost.

“so!” his mother beams, stepping back and allowing the boys to remove their shoes and step deeper into the house. “everyone is already here, and they can’t wait to sing you 'happy birthday'.”

matty’s led down the hallway, following his mom into the kitchen. a rumble of deep-set voices and squeals call his name, and his head turns to watch distant relatives scramble to pull him into tight hugs.

he kisses his grandparents on the cheeks, hugs his aunt and uncles and tells his cousins that he missed them. they pass him presents like he’s five again, smaller gifts to unwrap now that he’s an adult and no longer asks for life-sized action figures. george joins him, staying close with a timid smile on his face as he mingles with matty’s family. the whole scene coaxes a content sigh to escape his lips, and he relaxes when his mom gives him another hug.

“i got you something too,” she whispers when they pull apart, leading them into the living room and passing him a glass of wine. they sit, lively music wafting through the speakers, and he smiles as he watches george twirl his cousins around. “it’s not here yet though, i’m afraid. you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

“you didn’t have to get me anything, mum,” he says through the bitter taste of merlot.

she waves her hand dismissively. “oh stop it. you’ll love it, i promise.”

he tries to enjoy the party—really, he does. but thoughts of how much better it could be if you were here to enjoy it with him linger in the back of his mind. it’s tough to decide whether he should miss you or be mad at you. maybe he should forget you all together right now but he can’t. not when his brain is growing fuzzy and his cheeks feel warm, patches of crimson surely paint his face, thanks to the glass he downed in one go.

“matty, come do a shot with me!”

with a huff, matty makes his way toward his friend who holds a shot glass nearly overfilled with clear liquid.

george’s grin melts away when he sees him, eyes filled with concern as he hesitantly passes the shot to matty.

“you okay, mate?”

matty clears his throat and mumbles something about allergies and how it’s stuffy in here as cool liquor spills over his fingers. george doesn’t seem to buy it, but he shrugs anyways.

he shakes off the mist clouding his brain and smirks, self-indulgence taking over his dark eyes. he clinks the glass to his friend’s, liquid sloshing off the sides before he tips it back. it burns when it runs down his throat, leaves his tongue dry in a desert of twisted intoxication he knows he’ll regret in the morning.

“shit,” george hisses through his teeth. “‘ forgot that i fuckin’ hate vodka.”

matty laughs, and there’s silence between them for a moment, then, “mate, are you sure you’re okay? ‘cause, not to be an arse, but you look fuckin’ horrible.”

exasperated, matty runs his hands through his already mussed hair.

“i’m gonna go get another drink.”

a calloused hand wraps around his wrist and stops him from pulling away. “maybe you should ease up on the booze,” george says.

“aren’t you the one that was just begging me to do shots with you?”

“that was before you turned into a sad drunk. here,” he shuffles around for a water bottle, “drink this and go get some air—maybe a smoke, too, while you’re at it.”

grinning, matty takes the water from george’ hand with a simple “thanks.”

he sneaks away to the back porch where crickets chirp quietly in the grass—a change from the loud commotion of music and chatter.

lithe fingers bring a cigarette to chapped lips, thumb slipping on the lighter to invoke a small flicker of flames that burn the end of the bud.

with an inhale, matty wonders if his room looks the same as it did that last time he was here; if his brother had claimed any of his clothes or knick-knacks he’d left when he moved out. he wonders if you would find his room childish.

with an exhale, he wonders how his thoughts always seem to trace back to you.

“what have i told you about smoking, matthew?”

“i have a good reason.”

his mom wanders her way next to matty, leaning against the fencepost next to him. “and what might that reason be, love?”

“her,” matty breathes, the smoke from his lungs floating into the distant air. “fuck, mum. it’s always her.” he pauses to take another drag. “she hasn’t texted me all day, and i’m worried about her getting hurt or somethin’.”

denise smiles, and from the corner of his eye, he sees her turn back to the door of the house. he doesn’t follow her motions.

“i’m sure she’s fine, sweetheart,” she says, turning back. “you’ll hear from her soon.”

“but—”

she elbows matty’s side. “no ‘buts’. now, i think you should put that out and come back inside, okay? that stuff is bad for you.”

“soon,” he says, completely ignoring her request, and she sighs, giving her son a final nudge before stepping back inside. matty doesn’t spare her a glance, opting to keep his eyes trained on a black, starless sky.

the familiar buzz of red wine floats through his bloodstream, and he draws another hit into his lungs, filling the void of sadness with grey smoke. he almost thinks he’s hearing things when someone speaks from behind him.

“she’s right, y’know.”

the exhale of smoke comes out in a choked gasp, and his heart stutters, chest tightening.

matty’s scared to turn around. scared to face the cause of his well-being, because there’s no way this can be real. his lip is worried between his teeth, hair falling into his face as he stares at the cigarette laced between his thumb and index finger.

the open wound you left in his heart this morning is sealed by the resound of your voice that echoes through the air.

he doesn’t turn around. you do it for him.

matty’s forced to face you with a pull on his arm, skin tingling where your hand rests. the cigarette is plucked from his fingers seconds after, the stub dropping to the ground where you step on it to put it out.

“hi,” you say, completely and utterly exhausted. “happy birthday.”

the closeness is suffocating.

you’re standing too close but somehow too far away, and matty would pull you into him if it weren’t for the frozen state of his bones.

“hi,” matty breathes, eyes glossy with unshed tears as he stares down at you.

it’s surreal—standing here with the lingering taste of tobacco and merlot heavy on his tongue—the gentle breeze blowing tufts of your hair.

“what are you—w-when did—” matty stutters, mind running a mile a minute, intoxicated brain took over with perplexion. he stops, takes a deep breath, and collects his thoughts. “how are you here?”

“well,” you drawl, shuffling closer to the stunned man in front of you. “your parents bought me a ticket to fly out for your birthday—per george’s request. after that, all i had to do was keep it a secret, hop on a plane, and here i am.”

“here you are?” he repeats. “you had me worried sick. you didn’t text or call—hell, you didn’t even wish me a happy birthday! you can’t—you can’t just waltz in here and pretend that everything is fine when you put me through—”

“matty,” you interrupt, grabbing his hands. “calm down for me, yeah? breathe.”

“no—what? don’t just-”

he pulls away and leans back against the fence. his hands run through his hair, fingers desperately wishing they were holding a cigarette.

“breathe, matty.” you sigh patiently. “how about you give me a tour?”

“can we just … stay here for a while?” he asks, and if there’s tension in the air, it’s ignored. “i just want to make sure i’m not dreaming, or something.”

“you dream about me?’ you tease, crossing your arms to try and shield yourself from the breeze.

dark eyes slowly meet yours.

“all the time.”

he pushes himself off the fence and steps closer to you. the boots he’s wearing give him some height, so he’s looking down at you as his hands move to push your hair back.

“tell me,” you whisper. “tell me what you dream about.”

it’s the urgent tone of your hushed voice that has matty caving—hesitancy swept away with the wind as he gives in, letting his hands trace the sides of your face.

“everything,” he admits, voice quiet and shy. “fuck, love, i dream about doing everything with you. anything and everything you’d want me to.”

you’re silent.

you’re silent, and matty is losing his mind, brain pounding against his skull. he can feel bitter bile rise up his throat, nauseous when he looks back at you—just standing there—lips parted and leaving matty to lie in the grandeur of his own self-destruction.

there’s already an apology forming on his tongue, the fingers that were wound through your hair curling away.

but you step closer and grab his hands, stopping their retreat.

“i dream about it too.”

the words take matty by surprise, the tenderness that coats the revelation alleviating the shake in his hands. he looks at you—really looks at you—and scrutinizes the expression on your face.

he finds no hint of a lie; no hint of cruel duplicity, or fraud. the truth of your words really sinks in when you drop his hands in favour of running the pad of your thumbs under charcoal eyes, ridding him of the hint of tears that start to seep from puffy eyelids.

“c’mon, matty. you can’t possibly be surprised. i mean really, i dropped everything just to see you.” your tone is gentle, but a laugh sneaks its way out of your mouth and curls around matty’s head, leaving him feeling warm.

he rolls his eyes; courage slowly washes over his bones and makes his hands move to pull you in by the waist.

“shut up and kiss me.”

you surge forward, capturing his lips on your own as your hands move from his cheeks to his hair; threading them through unruly curls.

matty drinks in every noise you make, welcoming them as they leave him desperate. the taste of stale alcohol still lingers on his lips, but underneath the bitterness is you; sweet and human.

he would like to pretend that he hears fireworks when your lips part, a mess of bright, colourful explosions littering the sky as he softly licks into your mouth—but that doesn’t happen.

and it’s alright. it’s completely okay because instead of the headache-inducing light and noise, there’s the muffled laughter of his friends and family, the gentle chirp of crickets, and you.

you; gasping into the kiss.

you; your hands tugging gently at his hair.

you; flush against his chest. so close that matty can feel your heartbeat melding with his.

you; jerking away so abruptly his eyes shoot open, flickering over your—now beet-red—face.

the creak of the back door had pulled you away from him, and the sight of george standing atop the welcome mat made you flush.

“um,” he says, shuffling awkwardly. “i just wanted to say ‘hi’, but i think you welcomed her home enough for the both of us.”

matty clears his throat and grins sheepishly at a very shocked george. his cheeks burn red at being caught, but he can’t really bring himself to care—not when you’re finally next to him.

george scoffs, exasperated by his love-sick friends.

“come inside,” he urges, nodding in the direction of the house. “everyone’s excited to see her.”

matty watches as you turn back to him and give a little shrug, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth—and it’s then that he decides that he’s not done kissing you yet.

“yeah. we’ll uh—we’ll follow you.”

he leads you into the house with a hand on the small of your back, and shuts the door behind him, blocking out the sounds of lingering traffic. cheerful voices seep through the walls, and the irony of how he walked in here just a couple hours ago, saddened and heavy because of the girl who’s now looking up at him with only adoration in her eyes is not lost on matty.

“okay, denise is in there laughing about how we all tricked you into thinking the worst, so prepare to be humiliated.”

matty hums in response, staring only at the back of your head as you follow george toward the kitchen. he reaches a hand out, grabs your arm and gently tugs you back with a finger over his lips and a wink.

“mhm,” he sings, leading you slowly towards the stairs. “sounds like fun.”

he doesn’t get the chance to watch as george turns around, already halfway up the stairs with you latched onto his arm.

“you’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.” george’s exasperated voice is the last thing he hears before he’s crowding you against the wall at the top of the stairs.

his lips are on yours before you get a second to breathe, a bruising hold on your waist as he pushes you into solid plaster. he keeps one hand on you while the other presses the wall beside your head, arm shaky as he leans his weight onto you.

there’s a light push to his chest, and you gasp under him as you pull back. matty has to refrain from groaning at the loss of pressure on his lips.

“my bags,” you pant, “i forgot them outside.”

a breath of laughter ghosts over your lips. “we can get them after.”

“but my clothes are gonna get wet—matty, the grass was wet.”

your words render useless as he leans down to plant open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

“then you can borrow some of mine,” matty mumbles, trailing his way up to your jaw to suck purple bruises into tender flesh.

at the thought of drowning in his clothes, you go lax against matty’s lips; giving in to his desperate mouth.

“okay,” you agree, and that’s all it takes for matty to recapture your mouth and let his hands wander.

calloused, gentle hands trace the curve of your body as lithe hips press into yours. he manages to tear a hand away from you to feel for the cool metal of the familiar doorknob, twisting until the door falls open.

he tugs you in with sweet urgency, his old bedroom cast in soft light, the only luminosity coming from the moon where it seeps through the blinds.

maybe it��s just the heat of the moment, or maybe you don’t care—but matty’s grateful you don’t comment on the bowie posters that grace his walls as he pushes you into the middle of his bed.

you land with a light bounce and prop yourself up onto your elbows, a cocky grin making its way onto your face. “i’ve been here for barely twenty minutes,” you breathe, gasping when matty situates himself between your legs and pushes you higher onto the mattress. “and you already wanna tear my clothes off.”

the brunet dips his fingers under the hem of your shirt, hiking it up just a sliver to catch a glimpse of soft, smooth skin. “wanted to for a while now.”

he brings the hem of the shirt up to your lips. “bite,” he whispers, voice husky.

with the new expanse of skin exposed, matty's practically left breathless. he takes tender flesh between his teeth, laps his tongue at bare and unmarred skin, and sucks until he feels you arch your back and lean into his mouth. his hands trail the expanse of your ribs, feeling the delicate bones under his touch.

marks upon marks are added to your lower stomach, matty desperately trying to leave reminders on your abdomen. his lips work on their own accord, sucking bite after bite up your torso until he lands at the base of your bra. he looks up at you, eyes questioning. laughing softly, you sit up, gently pushing him back onto his knees. dark eyes trace your body, watching as you undo your bra, slipping it off and letting it fall to the floor, along with your shirt.

the man in front of you sits in awe, and lets out a long sigh. “fuckin’ gorgeous.”

you’re not sure if the words were meant for you to hear, but you blush anyways, leaning back and letting your elbows hold your weight.

“do your worst, birthday boy.”

matty laughs, the happy—and somewhat shocked—noise echoes through the small bedroom and causes you to grin. he doesn’t hesitate to drop his head; lips meeting your warm skin, teeth leaving trails of bruises.

you gasp out breathy pleas when matty flicks his tongue over the peak of your breast. “y-your—shit,” you whine, hands landing in the man’s hair, tugging at the curls harshly. “your family is downstairs, matty. what if they—ah!—hear us?"

“don’t care,” he responds, biting softly at the pink bud and rolling the other between his index and his thumb. “want this. want you.”

”fuck. i—okay, okay. you have me, matty,” you moan, pleasure dripping from your lips. “you have me.”

he surges up to kiss you again, newfound fervour in the brush of your lips as he tilts his head to lick into your mouth. you still taste sweet, everything matty could ever ask for.

“you’re gonna have to be quiet,” he whispers, leaning back on his knees and tracing patterns over your stomach, dipping his fingers into the bruised marks just to hear the masochistic whines you let out at the pain. “as pretty as you sound, i don’t want anyone hearing us.”

hearing his words over, matty backtracks, his hand stuttering over your torso.

“i mean, not that we need to like, do anything—i’m not—i don’t wanna force you into—”

your fingers wrap around his wrist, halting his ministrations to give a comforting squeeze to his skin.

“i want to,” you breathe, using your grip around his wrist to drag his hand down your stomach to rest on your belt. “i want this.”

at your words, matty rushes to tug at the buckle, effortlessly removing your belt and tossing it to the side.

your jeans are off your hips in a second’s time, but he takes his time sliding them over your ankles, bending down to leave firm kisses on your inner thighs.

you preen under his touch, and your chest heaves as you breathe, a glistening trail of spit drying on your nipples. when the jeans are discarded and messily thrown in a pile somewhere across the tiny room, matty notices the soaked bottom of your underwear.

tracing a finger up the fabric just to watch you writhe, matty tuts. “and you thought i was eager.”

your hips jerk up in response, surprised by the soft touch. your hands fly to his hair, gripping the curls so tight that he grunts against your neck.

“jesus.”

“sorry! ‘m sorry,” you sob. you manage to relax your fingers, but matty shakes his head.

“don’t stop on my account.”

you feel his fingers slide across your damp underwear, moving to mindlessly palm your thighs as he leaves burning kisses up to where you need him most. your hips rut up, chasing his hand desperately, but matty’s not having it.

“matty, please,” you huff, tugging at his hair to try and get him where you want him.

“stop whining,” he hushes. “‘wanna take my time.”

your soft gasps and whimpers start to get to him though, and he pushes his knuckles against your pussy, forcing a shocked moan out of you.

matty shushes you because while he is completely enamoured by each noise that escapes your lips, he isn’t too keen on one of his family members walking in to see him take you apart.

you relent, and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, while matty returns to the task at hand.

“pretty,” he mumbles, slipping calloused fingers beneath the elastic band of your underwear.

he pulls to gradually reveal your soaked folds and his breath catches in his throat. at the sight, he speeds up his movements and practically rips the cloth off your legs. the material joins the jeans on the floor, and finally, he gets to see you in all your splendour.

“can i taste you?” he whispers, voice shaking. you nod, already out of it as you take the liberty of collecting all of his hair away from his face, holding it back as he works his mouth against you.

“matty, you—” you start, a hand flying from his hair to his sheets. they smell like him, but you’re trying not to think about that—trying not to think about how loopy it’s making you feel—because matty’s holding your hips up, nose bumping against your swollen clit as he tongues at your hole.

“you—” you start again, but the thought gets lost somewhere. disappears as matty does something with his tongue that makes you gasp. “jesus christ—” you huff, chest rising and falling quickly.

you get your words out before you can forget.

“fuck,” you sigh, arching your hips into his face and tightening your fist in his hair, “you look good like this.”

the praise goes straight to his head, and he’s groaning. nodding his head into you, hitting a sweet spot and almost immediately, the hand in his hair pulls him up.

“i don’t wanna cum yet,” you say, quiet because you have to be—taking account of the people downstairs. “so just, go easy on me, okay? you’re surprisingly good at this.”

“surprisingly?” matty retorts, raising an eyebrow.

you don’t have time to respond before he runs his teeth against your clit, and chides, “brat,” before tightening the grip his fingers have on your thighs, pushing the digits into your skin before shaking his head from side to side. you see black, your eyes clenched closed as you try and pull your thighs together, but matty pushes them open, desperately lapping at you.

his jaw aches as his mouth moves, but your pleasure is all he knows. even though you asked so nicely for matty to not yet make you cum—the question is nothing but a distant memory in the back of his mind.

he flattens his tongue and guides it up, sliding across your slit before enveloping your clit in his mouth and sucking—forcing a strong, white current to wash over you. your hands shoot up to cover your mouth as you arch into his mouth, breathlessly stuttering his name as you come.

can’t talk, can’t speak.

the feeling is too overwhelming, too all-consuming before the come down eventually starts and words are coming out, your body shaking with the effort to stay quiet; muffled whimpers sounding behind tight fingers.

you hitch your hips up, and matty’s moving with them, basically getting onto his knees to keep you close. “holy fuck,” you breathe, looking down between your tits to where he’s kissing away your slick, only letting go when you shove your hands down between your thighs, nerves shot and sensitive.

“mmh,” you whimper, clamping your thighs together, trying to calm yourself down.

“you with me?” he asks, tucking his damp curls behind his ears. you have to laugh. have to laugh all of this pent-up emotion out as you brush stray hairs from your face.

“yeah,” you nod breathlessly. matty kisses you with a smile and you taste yourself on him. his features go goofy when he raises a brow and asks, “good?”

“fucking amazing.”

“good,” he says again, then rolls onto his back beside you. he’s unbuttoning his shirt, saying, “i aim to please,” when you’re crawling your body up his chest and kissing the shock away from his face.

“oh fuck,” he curses, fumbling to grab a hold of you. you slide your fingers onto the side of his head and taste yourself, mixed with the feel of his swollen, curving lips as he smiles against you. desperation sweeps over you, and you cup a hand over the bulge in his pants, grinding your palm down, and matty has to focus really hard to not give into your touch.

regrettably, he pries your hand away, bringing it to his mouth and kissing each one of your fingers with sentimental ease. “wanna fuck you,” he mutters, playfully biting at your ring finger until you laugh and pull your hand away.

“come on,” you drawl, moving to sit directly on his bulge. “it’s your birthday. don’t you want me to blow you?”

you have a point, matty supposes. his birthday is supposed to be the one day of the year when he gets to be selfish, and what kind of person would he be if he passed up the opportunity to feel your lips around him?

but you’re his gift. tasting you and making you cum from his mouth alone is a better present than he could have ever asked for, and matty thinks he can afford to be greedy tonight.

but to him, being greedy isn’t fucking your throat until pretty tears fall down your cheeks—he can do that another time. greedy, to matty, is taking another orgasm from you, just so he can hear the way his name sounds when curled around your tongue.

he makes quick work of slipping off the mattress and taking off the white button-up and trousers, leaving him in only his boxers.

“i’m not lettin’ you suck me off.” he smirks.

“what? why not?” you move to the edge of the bed, a look of confusion dancing on your features as you run a finger up matty’s exposed thigh. “don’t you want me to?”

it’s hard not to give in when you tease the waistband of his boxers, the light chatter rumbling from downstairs a distant memory as he loses himself in the feeling of cold fingers slipping under the elastic band. leaning forward, you press leisurely kisses against the brunet’s torso.

he allows you to mouth at his abdomen, welcomes the gentle bite when you pull skin between your teeth; a swirl of possessiveness ravishing deep in his bones when he realizes that you’re is trying to match the heart-shaped hickeys that taint your own body.

matty breaks out of his trance when you roll his boxers down until the cloth lies in a pile around his ankles. goosebumps rise to his skin and he can feel his legs begin to tremble.

before you have the chance to take his cock into your mouth, matty takes hold of your hair, and gently pulls you back.

“i said you’re not blowin’ me,” he mutters, leaning over your body until you’re forced to lay flat on the mattress, legs dangling off the edge and chest heaving at the proximity. “i know what i want for my birthday, and it’s not that.”

with a fluid movement, he flips your positions and settles against the headboard, letting you settle on his lap. his hands explore your body, nails occasionally scratching you—making you shiver.

“i want you. i want you as mine, and i want you to ride me, right here.”

matty laughs at your wide eyes, brushes sweaty hair out of your face, and relishes in the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. he’s painfully hard, and every time you shift just a fraction of an inch, it tugs a shaky breath from his throat.

“alright,” you say, pressing a chaste kiss to matty’s lips. “do you have any condoms then?”

his hand reaches out to his bedside table. “in the drawer.”

you lean to grab it for him, and matty’s kissing you the entire time. over your chest, collarbones, shoulders, and neck as you push around his drawer, saying “you have so much shit in here.”

he turns to look. turns back to your neck. “in the back,” and he’s kissing you again, palming your ass. he slides his hands lower and bumps them against your sensitive clit, making you gasp, clutching onto the wood.

matty fucking laughs.

you shake your head. “you’re an arse.”

“you’re very distracting,” he admits.

you finally find the box, and with a packet in hand, you look down to where matty’s cock lays on his stomach, a bead of precum leaking onto his abdomen. “shit, you’re big.”

matty smirks, cocky. “think you can take it?”

huffing, you slide the condom down onto him slower than necessary. his cocky smirk dies immediately when you suck your cheeks together and allow a pool of spit to spill from your lips.

“gonna try,” you say, slicking up matty’s cock with a thick coat of saliva still partially strung to your lips, the friction slow enough for him to buck his hips and try to fuck your fist to get needed stimulation.

“tease,” he manages to choke out before you sink down onto him, hips flexing back so he slides all the way in. as soon as you bottom out, matty groans long and hard, and his head falls into the crook of your shoulder.

you don’t let him know when you’re ready, only lifting yourself up so matty can feel the drag of his cock along your insides, gasping as pleasure clouds your mind. shaky limbs help you in slamming back down, the legs of the bed creaking with the force of your bodies colliding.

”fuck,” matty moans, hands scrambling to find purchase on your waist. you sound fucked out already, blissful sighs breathed into matty’s hair. “you okay?”

you sit up again, the tip of matty’s cock catching on your folds before you lower yourself again, stuttered curses leaving your mouth.

“mhm, m’fine. y-you’re just,” you sob, trailing off and rolling your hips forward, letting matty’s cock grind against your sensitive bundle of nerves. you swallow, the sound resonating in matty’s ears as he aids your movements with a firm grip on your waist. “big.”

matty’s ego swells and he pulls you down hard on his dick, making you feel just how big he can be. it causes you to shake your head quickly.

“fuck! n-not so fast, please.”

“oh baby,” he soothes, palms sliding to grip your ass, and he uses his hold on you to fuck up into you, keeping a simple rhythm—cock hitting a part of you that makes you sob. makes you collapse against his chest, and you stuff your head into his neck and just take it.

“there?” matty asks with a twinge of something sadistic. “want me to fuck you there?”

“yeah, yeah, please—close, matty, ‘m so close.”

to try and lessen the noise, matty grabs your face and pulls you down into a bruising kiss. he swallows every sound, loving the way you struggle to kiss him back as your legs tremble.

“close already, huh?” he whispers against your lips, drinking in every soft moan that escapes your throat.

and it’s meant to be playful, something that he can tease you about later—but with the way his name is repeated in a fucked out voice, he’s sure he’ll forget to do that later.

so he relents, fucking into you with calculated thrusts, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

your thighs ache, and the edge is so close all you can do is take what he’s giving you and whine his name pathetically.

it hits you all at once.

a white-hot heat reaches up and grabs you and you clench so fucking tight around his cock that matty falters.

he’s losing his goddamn mind. head tilted back against the headboard, he’s trying to hold back pathetic whimpers, but when your eyes roll to the back of your head and your lashes flutter shut, matty lets out a sob as he comes, rutting his hips into you as your body shakes.

your body shakes with overstimulation as matty moves you against him, milking his orgasm and running sharp nails down your sweat-ridden back.

after the comedown, you breathe out a sigh. matty’s kissing your neck. gently pecking at the hot skin, before spreading his kisses over your jaw, towards your mouth.

“how was that?” he asks, tracing a calloused finger over the marks that litter your body. they turn a deeper shade of purple when his touch lingers for too long, and he grins as you squirm in his grasp.

“i think you already know,” you quip, frowning.

“maybe. but i wanna hear you say it.”

you don’t dignify him with a response, instead shaking your head and lifting yourself off his cock, wincing at the sudden emptiness.

“cold?” matty asks. you nod and curl into yourself as he gets up to rummage through his old closet.

once you’re fully dressed, in clothes albeit a bit big on you, matty helps you stand from the bed and pulls you into a hug—your first proper embrace since you’ve been here—and rests his chin atop your knotted hair.

you hum into his chest, wrapping your fingers behind his back and trace swirls over his bare skin.

“i’m glad you’re here,” he says, pressing a kiss to your crown and pulling back to find his pants. “i don’t know if i actually told you that, yet.”

“i kinda figured you were—what with how fast you stopped crying when you saw me.”

“hey,” matty points an accusatory finger at you, but there’s no malice behind it. “you can’t blame me for bein’ upset, i thought you forgot my birthday.”

together, you fix the pillows and smooth over crumpled sheets, returning the room to the way it was before the kisses, the sex, and you.

“matty, when have i ever forgotten your birthday?”

before leaving the room, you try to smooth out your hair, carding a hand through matty’s as well so it isn’t too obvious what you’ve been doing for the last hour—though you’re sure george has a hunch.

the minute you step into the kitchen, with matty close behind, you see george down the rest of his beer and make his way over to you.

“so,” he drawls, a shit-eating grin spread across his face as he eyes you two up and down. “what have you guys been doin’?”

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haveyouseenherlately · 23 days

Text

pov: matty finally comes back from tour

just some fluffy and smutty times after he arrives at your place.

this one is longer than usual as it’s one i had in my drafts from a while ago.

warning: 18+, smut. grammatical errors, typos.

word count: ~2,900

masterlist here.

———

it was 17:48 and you stood facing your dirty floor length mirror. you kept messing with your hair, doing your best to tame it but nothing seemed to be working as little bits just kept sticking out at the sides. sigh.

today was the day. after many, many weeks (a lifetime, really) matty was finally coming back to london. you'd been counting down the hours for this night since you last hugged him right outside the uber. "don't miss me too much, darling," he whispered before he kissed your lips one more time, hopped inside the car, and left you standing there, alone.

to say you missed him was an understatement. you tried to keep occupied by picking up extra shifts at the cafe, frequenting the cinema by yourself, rearranging your room several times, anything to keep your mind from that messy curly hair and pretty brown eyes. but nothing worked which made you feel sick to your stomach with longing.

every other minute he made his way back into your thoughts whether you wanted him there or not. you missed his stupid, silly grin. you missed his baggy clothes. you missed his hands tangled in yours. you missed seeing him walk through your door.

it was now 18:12 and you finally finished picking out your outfit. some sheer black tights, a short denim skirt and one of his shirts, the flowery one which he accidentally left at your flat years ago. the buttoned top was too large for your frame, but you didn’t care as it very faintly smelled of coffee, cigarettes and matty.

you were choosing a ring next when a knock at the door made your heart jump. the jewellery didn’t matter anymore as you swiftly ran across your hallway, thankful that your flatmate agreed to spend the night elsewhere because she knew what would end up happening. you smirked because you knew she wasn't wrong...

you swung the door open (a bit harder than you meant to) and there he was, holding one single white flower.

“i’m searching for my girlfriend. do you know where she might be?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help and laugh at his stupid pickup line. "is that really the best you could come up with during the last few months, healy?"

you stepped forward to wrap your arms around him, nestling your face in the crook of his neck and pulling yourself in as close as humanly possible. his arms found your waist and the both of you stood there while you felt the warm blood rush through your body.

“i missed you, matty” is all you managed to say before you pulled away just far enough to kiss him on the lips which he eagerly welcomed. he tasted of honey and everything was okay again. “i missed you, too, love.” you kissed once more.

you stepped aside to welcome him in, closed the door in front of you, taking a long, deep breath before turning around. he held out the small flower which you gladly took to place in a small bottle half-filled with water. you enjoyed that he was one for cheesy, romantic gestures because deep down you loved them even if you didn't admit to it.

matty sat down on the floor to take off his beat up sneakers. "huh, so i guess that's where my shirt went," he looked up and pointed at the top you wore. you decided to leave the upper three buttons undone which you hoped he would notice. "but it looks much better on you." he definitely noticed.

———

it was now 20:36. you'd both spent a few hours catching up, matty sharing his stories from tour while you made him a very simple but tasty dinner. "you have no idea how much i missed having food that doesn't come in a greasy paper bag." he ate up every single bit of the meal while you just watched from your spot on top of the kitchen counter, glass wine between your hands.

while you missed him when he was gone, you didn't envy the lifestyle of a touring band. it sounded lonely. even though there were many people around you, it appeared they only wanted to get in your bed. matty didn't seem to mind so it made you wonder if anything might’ve happened between him and others...

you continued to sip your wine, taking mental notes of his current appearance. his eyes were tired yet his greenish cardigan made them sparkle. his hair was slightly shorter than you remembered, yet defined curls still framing his face. he wore his usual necklace but there were some new ones added to the mix. you liked them (he knew you would).

when he finished his food, he got up to wash the dirty dishes and store them away. dear matty wasn't one to keep his own home clean but you appreciated his efforts to be better at your place. thank you.

he walked over to you (still on the countertop), snaked his arms around your waist and placed his head on your chest. you set your wine glass aside to play with his hair, soft and fluffy between your fingers. you definitely missed this.

it wasn't long before the both of you sat on the sofa messily kissing as if to make up for the time he was gone. you'd be lying if this wasn't what you’d been looking forward to the most, yet it still caught you by surprise when you found yourself straddling his lap. you realized what happened and it made your face turn red, which matty instantly noticed.

"are you okay, love?" he kissed the corner of your mouth, "we can always stop if you want." he gently ran his hands up and down your thighs to provide some comfort, eyebrows knitted together wondering if he had done something to upset you.

he had done nothing wrong. you hesitated because for once, you wanted to be in control. and knowing that you had mindlessly crawled on top of him made you realize you were about to make that happen. or at least attempt to.

you grabbed his hands in yours, placing them over his head and behind the sofa as his look of concern turned to that of hunger. you bent down to eagerly kiss him, making your way to his neck and leaving small red love bites all over. you could tell he wanted more as his hips started to shift up and down, but you didn't give him the satisfaction just yet. instead you bit down on his neck one last time before placing your forehead against his. "i want to be the one riding you tonight."

you saw as his pupils dilated at your request, his goofy grin starting to appear before your lips found his again to stop him from talking. (this wasn’t the time for cocky remarks, sorry matthew.) you could feel him melt underneath you as his fingers went soft in your grasp. "do you understand?" all he could do was nod before you bit his bottom lip, finally eliciting a moan from him. this was all the confirmation needed to boost your confidence.

matty gazed at you, slowly panting through parted lips as you brought his arms back over his head and placed his palms on your chest. he understood what you needed from him, as he started touching your breasts making you close your eyes and smile. “fuck, i want you.” he began to unbutton your shirt but you quickly swatted his hands away. “not time for that yet, i’m afraid.” the sounds that came from his lips were just heavenly, want dripping from every groan.

now you were the one who started to remove his cardigan, pulling at the fabric of his white shirt underneath until his upper half was bare. “you’re a thing of beauty.” you couldn’t help but kiss him again, holding on to his shoulders hard enough for your nails to dig into his skin, leaving more marks on his body.

you began to slowly grind your hips against him, feeling his excitement through his jeans. his fingers found your hips as he tried to get you to move faster. you stopped.

right away he knew he made a mistake, causing him to groan in frustration and cover his face with his hands. “this is not fair.” seeing him want you this bad was exactly what you had craved when you daydreamed of this scenario.

you removed his hands from his face and pressed a peck on his nose. “just taking my time to see what you do, baby. clearly it’s not your thing.” this made him chuckle but you could feel the tension building on his body as you slid down his lap, placing yourself on your knees right in front of him.

you pressed your cheek against his thigh, innocently looking up at him, batting your eyelashes at a sexually frustrated matty. you didn’t feel too bad for him.

now that you had started to undo his belt, he gazed down at you, bottom lip quivering between his teeth pleading for you to go faster. you managed to unzip his trousers, right away noticing a wet spot on his boxers which you touched with your thumb, swears leaving his mouth the second he felt you finally pay attention to his cock.

you pulled down his jeans which fell to pool at his ankles. you kissed his tip through the thin fabric, hands moving up to hook on the waistband and tugging it down. the dumb expression on his face was priceless. you had him were you wanted and there was nothing he could do about it.

all of his clothing was finally set aside. a naked matty sat right in front of you and you were pretty sure you could do anything. you still didn't feel bad for him.

———

you quickly glanced at your watch, the hands telling you it was 21:42. still on your knees, you decided it was maybe time to give poor matty some relief. he had tried his best after all.

when you started to stroke his cock, his head fell back and the sounds pouring out of his mouth were otherworldly. his hands were to his sides, grabbing at the fabric of the couch as you continued to move your own fingers up and down at a slow but steady pace.

once again you placed your cheek on his leg and looked up at him, taking a mental picture of wet parted lips, unruly brown hair, and slightly closed eyes.

he finally looked back at you, lifting his right hand to run it through your hair. even though you were giving him a hard time, he was gentle with you, knowing that hurried actions weren't going to get him anywhere tonight. you were glad he now understood. even though you wanted to be in control and make him come undone, you still yearned for softness and care, something which you've always wanted from a relationship but were never lucky to receive. this was the closest you've ever been.

you continued to stroke him while you brought your lips to his tip, taking him in your mouth. "fuck, fuck..." you knew it took all of matty's strength to not thrust his hips into you. good boy, you thought.

after a few minutes of licking and sucking, you stopped (sorry matthew), stood up and grabbed his hands in yours to lead him into your room. when the two of you reached your bed, you kissed him for the millionth time that night before gently pushing him into your bed. you both laughed, matty getting settled on your covers, head on your pillow, all while you took off your skirt and tights.

he stared at you getting undressed, doe eyed and sweet, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. ugh, he was perfect you had to admit.

in only your (well, his) shirt and underwear, you crawled on top of him, carefully sitting on his legs. this is how you had pictured this evening, you above him studying his every action.

you started to undo the remaining buttons of the flowered shirt one by one, taking your time getting to the last one. an excited matty lifted himself on his forearms, sucking at his bottom lip when the shirt fell off your arms and realized you had nothing underneath. "god, you're going to be the death of me."

he grabbed a hold of your thigh, drawing slow circles with his thumb wondering what your next move would be. what he wasn't expecting was to see you slide your hand down your panties and to start rubbing your clit. to be honest, neither did you.

but it felt good. you knew how to please yourself better than anyone and it was made infinitely better by having a horny boy gazing in your direction, lusting after you. his hand had stopped caressing your leg and instead he was holding on to it like his life depended on it. you continued to touch yourself, slowly moving your hips along and never breaking eye contact with him.

it wasn't long after that you inserted a finger, making sure he knew exactly what you were doing. you didn't confess that you did this same thing many times while he was gone, thinking of fucking him senseless. that's what you now wanted, too.

you pulled your hand out of your underwear and swiftly took them off in the process, finding yourself naked on top of a patient matty. you didn't waste any more time as you moved forwards, gently touching his lips as he opened his mouth to hungrily suck on your fingers. you wanted him to taste you, his moans reassuring you he was enjoying every second of it.

once your fingers were wet enough, you went straight for his cock again, but moved at a much faster pace than before. the poor boy couldn't keep a hold himself anymore, loud whimpers echoing off the walls and his whole body twitching underneath you. "please, fuck me." that's all you needed to hear before you kneeled forward to place him at your entrance and finally start riding him.

the sensation of him filling you up felt unlike anything else, making you arch your back in hopes of getting even closer to him. you couldn't go slow any longer, but your movements were still calculated, wanting to savour every single moment.

"you feel so good, sweetheart," he managed to mumble out between moans. his head was on the pillow, a lewd expression on his face as you continued to grind your hips against him, his hands firmly holding on to ensure you didn't stop.

your hair started to stick to your body as sweat appeared on your skin. you leaned back a little to keep yourself upright, while also giving him a better view. you knew exactly what you were doing and he took notice. a string of swears stumbled out of him, a look of nothing but hunger across his face as you kept thrusting yourself against him. "matty, please touch me."

you didn't need to ask him twice before he propped himself up to a sitting position and started to grab your breasts while you continued to fuck him. there was no harshness to his touch, which you greatly appreciated, a deep contrast to your hips frantically bucking back and forth on his hard cock.

his mouth went to your neck, placing small kisses wherever he could while moaning your name against your skin. it was all too much and not enough. he cupped your face, resting his forehead against yours, both breathing heavily and quietly laughing at the same time. just as the flower he gave you earlier that day, these cheesy, small gestures were what you craved the most. "matty."

it was at that moment that you hit your high, unable to control your movements any longer and giving yourself permission to let go as he held your body close. your head fell back as he carefully grabbed the side of your neck to ensure you didn't go far. a few seconds later you felt warmth as he came inside you, crying your name once again.

you kept your arms wrapped around each other for a while, him kissing the top of your head asking if you were okay. you nodded against his neck, unable to move much as most of your energy had all been spent.

eventually he fell down on his back and looked at you, “fuckin' hell, that was amazing.” he was still catching his breath, you both were. “maybe i should go on tour more if this is the welcome i get.” that earned him a pillow smack on the side of the head. “don’t get any ideas, healy. you got lucky this time.”

#matty #matty healy #matty healy x reader #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fic #matty healy smut #the 1975 #smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy fanfic #matty healy one shot #matty healy fic #bf matty #bf matty blurb

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lovefoolholland · 4 months

Text

santa doesn’t know you like i do

summary: in which matty tells you you are everything he wants.

warnings: angst, but honestly not much.

a/n: felt inspired by sabrina’s fruitcake. hopefully a first of many christmas’ short one shots.

English is not my first language !

The moment Matty had started growing facial hair, everyone knew. They just knew, it was obvious, that you finally had him entranced and with no sign of turning back.

“You would look really good with a beard” and just a man in love would follow through and through to show you how much he listens to you.

But how come— when he looks at you from afar all lovey-dovey, takes you by the waist when talking to other people, and tells everyone he wrote songs about you mid-concert— the two of you hadn’t made it official?

And here you stand, in the middle of a Christmas Eve party at Charli’s and George’s, taking a sip of eggnog while Matty is lively talking to his bandmates, and you’re just there. Alone.

Maybe it’s your boring white Rory Gilmore sweater. Maybe it’s your blurred lipstick from earlier, after you kissed Matty’s tears away from his cheeks right after he told you about Pitchfork naming him Villain of the Year. Or maybe it’s the eggnog that’s making you a little dizzy.

You put the glass down and take a glass of water from the kitchen. That is when you feel a pair of familiar hands around your waist, making you put the glass on the counter and whip your head to the side with a smile.

“Hey gorgeous” Matty says with his usual raspy, (goddamn) sexy voice tone.

“Hi,” you say in response “what’s up?”

“Just wanted to see how my girl was doing,” he tells you, kissing your cheek and making your face grow hot “let’s go talk to the guys, okay?”

“Okay” you answer softly.

He guides you back to his circle and this time around things go more swiftly than before. You have always gotten along with Matty’s friends, but it was just that situationship factor that didn’t make you feel good around them. Like, why was Matty keeping you there if you weren’t, at least officially, his girlfriend? He’d never asked you the question, he’d never hinted at it at least, he just introduced you to new people as ‘Y/N, my friend.’

“Can I go home with you after the party?”

Matty scrunched up his nose at your question.

“Of course. Why are you asking? You always stay at mine, right?”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded.

“Yeah… Just needed to get sure.”

Matty immediately noted the way you weren’t comfortable at all, you saw it in the way his eyes shifted from confused to harshness.

“Come on, let’s just go now.”

“What? No, you’re having a great time now.”

“But clearly you’re not,” Matty says a little louder than expected, and you lift your head from his to look around with a small frown “why do you care if someone hears us?”

“I don’t– Just, come on, let’s go talk somewhere more private.”

Taking his hand on yours, you drag him to one of the empty bedrooms, closing the door behind you with a sigh.

“I’d be making a joke about you wanting to get me alone and shit, but honestly you’re scaring me a bit” Matty commented, furrowing his brow as he took your other hand in his.

“I’m okay just…” you sighed “Matty, what are we?”

There it was, the question that would probably scare him away. For good or for bad, it had to be asked.

“What do you mean?” Matty asked, even more confused.

“I mean… Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Friends with benefits? Friends that sometimes hook up?”

Matty put his lips in a thin line before answering.

“Y/N, we started this because you wanted just to fuck.”

That makes your heart drop, and you have to fight the urge to sigh in defeat.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s been almost a year, and… I mean… I like being with you.” you explain to him, biting your lip slightly before continuing talking “We go on dates and we have clothes at each other’s apartments. We’re close. We’re not just a couple of people that want to fuck anymore!”

Matty was startled by the way your voice had risen and your cheeks were starting to get red from frustration. And so were you, but you didn’t care, this needed to be finally solved.

“Babe, breathe.”

“Breathe? How do you want me to breathe?!” you asked him, slipping your hands off his to put them in your head “I think I have the right to say that out of the people in that room, I know you better than anyone. We’ve been through each other’s good and bad Matty, why… Can’t I be the one to give you everything you want?”

Matty immediately steps up to you and takes your hands off your head, placing them on his chest so you can feel just how warm he is. His eyes pierce into yours and then you feel it. His heartbeat, going a hundred times a minute. It makes you flustered that just like that, he can calm you down, but once more, it perfectly shows how good he knows you.

One or two curls fall onto his forehead as he looks straight into you and starts talking. You curse in your head that even in this time and place he looks freaking gorgeous.

“Y/N, I didn’t make anything official because you never told me you wanted to make it official,” you open your mouth to argue but he doesn’t let you speak “no, don’t argue against that. Communication is the key if we want something formal between the two of us, and God knows I’ve been craving to be with you and brag about you ever since you asked me to be your fuckfriend, but I didn’t do it because I thought you didn’t want to.”

You gulp and frown. It is true, the two of you didn’t communicate clearly with one another.

“Yeah, you are… Right,” you say with a sigh, squeezing his hands in yours for reassurance. He does the same in response and that makes you blush in a soft manner “why didn’t you say anything though?”

Matty raises an eyebrow.

“Did you just see yourself? You were almost breaking this off.”

“What?! No I wasn’t!”

“Yes you were,” Matty said, a small smile on his lips “you’re neurotic sometimes babe.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Make me.”

In a swift and quick move, you land a kiss on his lips, and when you pull back with a smirk, he puts a hand on your neck and pulls you in to devour your lips fervently, but quickly, leaving you dizzy as he pulls back.

“There,” he says, smiling widely now as he watches your eyes blurry with love and happiness “happy?”

“Very much.”

Matty smiles and grabs you in a hug, squeezing your body against his as you huff out a ‘I hate you’ and he murmurs a ‘And I love you’. After pulling back you hook your arms on his neck and he puts his hands on your waist.

“Oh and Y/N?” he asks in a whisper.

“What?”

Matty leans in, kisses your cheek and says to your ear:

“You are the one that can give me everything I want.”

#matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy x reader #ross macdonald #matty healy fluff #matty healy oneshot #matty healy imagine #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy one shot #matty healy drabble #matty healy fic #the 1975 angst #the 1975 x reader #the 1975 fic #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 fanfic #matty the 1975

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alovesreading · 6 months

Text

Nice Kind Of Messy

Summary: Your friends set you up on a blind date, one that you aren't really looking forward to at all but when you find George Daniel there waiting outside the restaurant, there is no doubt it'll be a date to remember.

Word Count: 16.7k

Warnings: smut.

A/N: So I wrote this as part of my Alex series but I figured I should turn it into a one shot so my George girlies could read it without having to commit to a long Alex Turner fic lol It took me a while to get it ready on one shot form but I hope you enjoy now that it's here hehehe xx

Masterlist

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You wake up that morning quite nervous. Your excitement makes you shiver in anticipation but the feeling brushes the line of anxiety and it’s rather overwhelming.

You’ve not been really looking to date lately, there hasn’t been any type of enthusiasm when hinted about putting yourself out there again since you got cheated on by your ex boyfriend. You couldn’t be arsed about it—the whole process of actively trying to look for a person that you felt was right and suited what you at least felt was the bare minimum was exhausting just to think about.

Going out with your friends was almost always a failed mission. They tried to get you out on the pull with them but you ended up straying back to the table and waving them goodbye when they came back with someone hanging from their arm, winking at them as if to wish them a good night.

They had only been lucky to send you off with someone a handful of times, but despite their best efforts to push you to pursue those who you had spent a night with, you had left them as that: a one night stand.

So they had used a new method this time, which entailed the fact that they had apparently been scheming about behind your back for a few weeks. You had only found out when you were having a wine night with them over at your flat, your jaw dropping and brows furrowing when they let you know they had made a reservation at a certain restaurant in Covent Garden so that you could meet up with someone they swore was the perfect match for you.

“It’s a blind date, we can’t tell you,” said one of your friends with a wicked grin on her face, sipping on her wine as you took the time to glare at your other two friends sitting on your settee.

They only offered you gallic shrugs and giggles, bubbly and high pitched which unfortunately managed to tug at the corners of your lips until they formed a smile.

A happy, “You’re excited then?” made you realize what you were doing, so you took a gulp of your wine and shook your head in disagreement as you swallowed.

“No, I’m just confused.” You really were, it was worse you didn’t have a clue who it could be because there wasn’t really anyone you think had shown interest towards you that you all knew. “Am I allowed to back out?”

You hoped you could, even if a meal at a restaurant you had been dying to go to for ages paid by one of them was on the cards here, but you were truly wary about throwing yourself into a situation where you actually had to put yourself in the dating mindset.

As you cursed your stupid cheating scum of an ex for ruining the prospect of dating for you, your friends shook their heads and said, “No.” in unison.

And they unfortunately went on to explain how your date knew about it already and had cleared their schedule for it to happen, and since you were an awful people pleaser, you sighed in defeat and agreed to go.

So there you are, slowly making your way to your kitchen to make yourself breakfast, despite the nerves making your stomach flip constantly and making you nauseous. Slowly you eat, slowly you wash your dishes and put them away.

You do everything slowly that day, taking a long shower and lounging in bed, still in your robe and letting your hair air dry. The date wasn’t until four so you still had time, and you figured if you went about it at a steady pace, then by the time you were fully ready you would have to leave and there wouldn’t really be a long space of time for you to bail out at the last minute.

By the time it hits noon, you’re doing your hair. Straightening it and curling the ends leisurely, humming along the music you’re playing on your speakers which is interrupted by a call.

“Good afternoon Miss Y/L/N, are you ready for today?” One of your friends greets you with a chipper tone in her voice, you could practically see the beaming smile on her face just from her voice.

Biting on your bottom lip, you let the phone rest on your lap as you continue with the next section of hair and shyly admit, “I’m actually nervous…”

The way she coos at you makes you roll your eyes but there’s a wave of consolation that comes over you when she says, “Good but also don’t be. He’s an absolute dream.”

The tiny piece of information actually makes you more curious about who he is, so you try your chances again as you ask, “Are you finally gonna tell me who it is?”

You had been trying all week to get anything out of your friends but they had been surprisingly good at keeping this one secret under a lock. And this time wouldn’t be different since you only get a vague, “All you have to know is that he’s fit and I know you’ll get on with him perfectly well.”

At least the reassurance that you and him would get on well eases your nerves a little. Not as much as you would like though, but that’s because you know yourself and when you first meet anyone, you get shy and a bit awkward, so you’re praying that you'll be able to get a bit of courage not to make a fool out of yourself.

Thankfully your friend stays on the phone with you as you finish doing your hair and you actually facetime her when you’re doing your makeup. She keeps making you laugh throughout it all and somehow makes you forget about how tense you had been for a bit.

Her boyfriend, Matty, comes back to her flat from a meeting right as you’re showing your friend the dress you’re wearing for the date and, to her dismay, he almost slips and tells you who it is that you’re seeing in merely an hour from now.

“Matthew!” She exclaims loudly before the name can fall from his lips and he quickly throws his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

His honest, “I’m so sorry.” sounds muffled behind his hand and it only gets an eye roll from your friend which makes you laugh.

But you are gutted that your only chance to find out is gone that way. You whine as you complain, “Why do you react so quickly?”

Your friend takes her boyfriend’s close mishap as a sign to let you go though, completely ignoring your complaint to remind you, “You’re gonna have to get faster Miss, it’s quarter past three and it’s a twenty five minute walk over there.”

“Shit, right.” You curse under your breath, realizing you need to get dressed already and leave as soon as you can so you aren't late.

“You look fucking stunning, babe.” She states with confidence, reassuring you since you seem to start growing panicky, “I’m gonna leave you now so you can change but you have the best time Y/N/N, alright?”

You purse your lips at the camera and clutch your chest, “Thanks hun, love you.”

She grins sweetly at you and reciprocates, “Love you too. And let me know how it goes, alright?”

“Will do, but I don’t promise anything too interesting.” You make sure to make that point clear, you don’t have much expectations for the date just so you don’t end up feeling defeated for it not meeting whatever you could imagine it to be if you allowed yourself to.

But your friend is in heavy doubt of it not being interesting considering she knows who you are meeting with. So she shrugs as she smirks, “Yeah, well… We shall see about that.”

It’s the way that she looks like she’s trying not to laugh that has you narrowing your eyes at her, “What?”

Question that isn’t answered because she plays dumb and simply says, “Okay byeee! Love you!” loudly, blowing you a kiss before hanging up the phone.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You walk the best you can in your high heeled boots which were not a great pick when mixed with how nervous you are and how far you had to walk. You had debated getting a taxi when you were locking up your flat but decided against it when you realized that if you did, you’d get there quicker and you wanted to stall as much as you could.

You aren’t even late yet, ten minutes left for the clocks to strike four in the afternoon and you are merely five minutes away. The whole walk, you had been practicing in your head whatever you could say to the guy you were meeting with, just to prevent embarrassing yourself. If anything went wrong though, you had brought your camera with you and a few rolls were stuffed in your pocket so that you could at least take the opportunity to take pictures.

In your head, you had gone from any topics you could come up with about yourself, deciding against being the one to mention your tragic love life and picking a few questions that could be interesting to ask your date.

But all the inquiries and words you had been rehearsing die in your throat when you round the corner at the end of the restaurant’s street and you see the tall dirty blonde smoking a cigarette, leaning on a lamppost right by the entrance of the establishment.

You think of making a run back to your building, hesitating which way would be easiest to go and how it would work with your long dress but his eyes fall on you before you can make up your mind and when he smiles sweetly at you, cigarette perched between his lips, you know it’s too late.

On your face a shy smile breaks and you give him a little wave before approaching him, faking confidence as you get closer until he’s only a few feet away so you say, “Oh hi, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Your face is burning up and you know he can see your flustered demeanor because he smirks down at you, and cheekily asks, “Were you hoping for someone else?”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you smile harder at his playfulness and in a rush of bravery you choose to play along, “Do you really want to know the answer?”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke out steadily as he shakes his head, “I’m just hoping you remember my name.”

And how could you forget, “Of course I remember you, George.”

George hums, taking one last drag of his smoke as he takes in your appearance and he’s grinning mischievously when seeing the dark satin and lace of your dress contrasting on your skin, your leather jacket making you look even more stunning and coincidentally matching the one he’s wearing.

“Glad you haven’t, Y/N.” The drummer replies with a wink, dropping the bud on the ground and stepping on it before taking something out of the pocket of his dark jeans, “Y/F/N sent this for you.”

An involuntary “Oh.” falls from your lips, entirely intrigued by what it can be that your friend had wanted to tell you that couldn’t be said on the phone because George hands you a folded piece of paper that only says Y/N/N x on the front.

You carefully open it, trying your best to avoid George seeing it—which is a bit of an issue since he’s so tall he can easily read if he looks down—and you instantly blush harder when you read Get the nice kind of messy ;) x

A flashback of the moment at Glastonbury when you had been gawking at George and you had let slip how fit you found him comes to the forefront of your mind and you can’t help yourself getting a little flustered at the mere thought of it.

“He’s fit as fuck.” Your eyes are unable to move from his figure, the way his muscles contract and define with every hit of the drums and the facial expressions he makes as he plays.

Your friend snorts in laughter and leans in to ask further, “Oh, so you fancy George then?”

You stutter as you try to come up with a response, “I mean… Look at him!” You’re entirely entranced by it all and it doesn’t help that he’s covered in a thin coat of sweat already, only three songs into their set, so his white top is slowly becoming translucent and sticking to his body.

It’s like your brain is shutting down and all that it can register is the look of the drummer because it takes you a few long seconds to realize your friend has teasingly said, “I’ll make sure to relay that message.”

“Oh, no, don’t.” The panic of that happening is the one thing that helps you snap out of your trance.

You watch as your friend’s face contorts in confusion and she fights your answer, “Why?! You need to get back out there and who better than George?”

But you shake your head, “No, that’d be so messy!” You can’t think of anything worse than trying to get with your friend’s boyfriend’s best friend—you cringe just imagining how that going wrong would cause a horrendous change in the group’s dynamic.

All of your worries come to a halt and you choke on your own spit when your friend smirks as her eyes fall on George, “That’d be messy, alright. The nice kind of messy.”

In an attempt to try and play it cool, you fold the note and shove it in one of the pockets of your leather jacket, clearing your throat, adjusting the strap of your camera on your shoulder and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like it’s all fine and normal.

But George can see the way you’re pursing your lips and how you hid the note so hastily so your behavior completely betrays your attempts to be secretive about it. “What did you say?” He kept his promise that he wouldn’t open the note when Matty gave it to him earlier that day, even though he’s been really tempted too, especially when he realized Matty knew what it said because he was giggling when his girlfriend handed it to him.

You don’t give him an answer though, only a little cough that acts as a coverup of you avoiding his gaze and a subtle shrug, “Just a little joke.”

“Can you share?” He tries further, his hand coming to nudge you softly in the arm.

Not even that helps your answer change. You shake your head and say a shy, “Not really.”

“I see how it is.” George narrows his eyes at you and adds, “S’alright, I’ll remember that.” which is a promise that has you biting your tongue.

“Shall we go inside?” The drummer says then, watching you struggling to come up with a response to his previous statement.

The new question is much easier to reply to, a soft “Yes.” falling from your lips, breathlessly.

And he takes your breath even more when he lets you walk ahead, only to rest his hand on your lower back delicately and casually comment, “You look beautiful by the way. Really like that we’re matching with the leather jackets.”

The opportunity to not acknowledge the compliment is perfect because you feel like you’re going to explode under George’s attention. You giggle and nod, “What a great coincidence huh?”

His answer being, “Hot coincidence.” accompanied by a wink doesn’t make it easy for you though and you find out then that being on a date with George Daniel means blushing every five minutes even if the chat is about mundane topics.

You talk about your hometowns and the differences between your upbringings, how different it was that you’d stayed in the same city for your entire life while he lived moving around for a good part of his childhood until his family settled in Manchester. You tell each other how you had ended up doing what you were doing currently and you end up cooing constantly when George tells you how the guys became friends and how the band had come together. You exchange stories about your jobs, finally having the opportunity to ask all that came to your mind about producing music which you had always found fascinating ever since you’d gotten closer to the band. George being fascinated about your knowledge on films and everything to do with photography and cinematography, which really comes with your job as a photographer and videographer.

Then he asks about your hand tattoo—the ‘Pure Desire’ written on the back of your hand is rather enticing—smirking when he rubs his thumb over it and asks if you have any more which ends up in you both sharing the amount of ink you have on your bodies which George beat you to by an incredible amount. You end up taking your jackets off and showing each other each piece you have on your skin.

Eventually, the chat comes back to the band and you ask him whereabouts The 1975 has toured so far. Your jaw drops the more his list continues and you genuinely have a hard time wrapping your head around them being relatively new to the mainstream scene when they are already going to all those places.

“I don’t even remember the last time I went on holiday, fucking hell.” You chuckle out in awe at the information he’s just given you.

And George turns your innocent amusement into a mess of heated cheeks, pressed lips and eye rolls when he suggests how that could be easily fixed, “We just have to take you on tour with us next time, don’t we?”

“Think it’ll be crowded enough now that Matty is taking Y/F/N with him.” Your eyebrows are raised to accentuate how serious you are trying to be about it, it’s so hard to conceal how flustered you are at his insinuation.

But he makes it difficult for you to play it cool when he shrugs, “We can share a bunk then.”

“You’re such a flirt. Bet you say that to all the girls.” It almost sounds like you’re scolding him and he likes seeing the reactions he can get out of you, but there’s one thing that has been constant in the back of his mind and he decides to bring it up.

Taking his glass up to his lips, he takes a sip and gulps softly to start saying, “Surprised me when Y/F/N called me and asked if I wanted to go on a date with you.”

“God, that’s embarrassing.” You wince at the information, hating the way it looks for your friends to be asking people around if they want to go out with you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin and die in a ditch.

George smirks playfully, “Going on a date with me?”

You laugh in response to that, shaking your head before clearing up, “Y/F/N asking if you wanted to go out with me. You know you could’ve said no.”

He frowns at you, like you’ve just said the most outrageous thing and he wholeheartedly asks, “But why would I?”

“Oh George, stop it.” You warn him, pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes at him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” George reaches his hand out to touch yours and you almost shiver under it.

You let your fork down beside your plate and fan yourself with your hand as you admit, “You’re making me blush.”

But that’s not something that will keep him quiet, because he confesses, “Yeah and I quite enjoy doing it.”

The rest of the date is spent between good food, good wine, laughter, a picture you take of George when he asks about your camera, and chatter that has been really entertaining and entirely not awkward like you’d been expecting. Getting to know George in a deeper way is like a breath of fresh air and that’s why, when you leave the restaurant and the drummer offers to walk you back home, you don’t even hesitate to accept.

He takes a few detours on the way, taking you around places where he had hilarious and very wholesome stories of his childhood and teenage years when he would come around to London with the lads and other friends just to mess about. You’re so grateful for the anecdotes because you’re making sure to capture each place in its unique beauty and you know now that behind each shot you’d have the memory of what George had shared with you.

George watches you closely every time you take a picture, taking in every little thing you do before and after you press the shutter. You’re so adorable to him, the way your face lights up when you press the shutter and look at him excitedly when you roll the film.

You guide the both of you back to the way to your flat and as you walk, you’re smoking cigarettes and chatting. It’s so easy to carry a conversation with George, he exudes such an energy that just makes you feel free talking about whatever comes to your mind without having to think for a split second about what you should say or shouldn’t.

And just as easy comes laughter, because not only is his laugh hilariously contagious, he is funny himself and he has you struggling to catch your breath multiple times at his quips and comments.

There is something about this evening that you just feel the need to remember as best as you can so he catches you sneakily trying to take candids of him, every time he’s called you out on it and you shamelessly lie about the frame being focused on just what was behind him—every time something mundane and boring—but by the fifth time, instead of calling you out and have you grumpily change the focus of your lenses, he allows you to take a picture of him and even smiles for you; he doesn’t miss how your eyes twinkle after you’ve pressed the shutter.

The way you smile to yourself and proudly state, “I’m really gonna like that one.” makes George’s chest swell and in a lack of any more self control, he stops dead in his tracks and turns to you, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you into him, your chest hitting his chest eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips.

“Oh hi.” You giggle at the sudden action, your hands subconsciously resting on his chest after that, but any other words die in your throat when he dips his head and traps your lips with his.

You hum into the kiss, which is a dizzying combination between sweet and determined. His left arm stays wrapped around your waist, pulling your flush into his chest but the other one comes up to cup your jaw and he keeps you at the perfect angle for him to kiss you just how he wants.

Your arms slowly move up until they are wrapped around the back of his neck and you let your fingers tangle in his hair. It’s soft and long on the top of his head which you really like. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, his fingers clutching your tighter and you let your mouth open so you can taste each other.

You completely forget where you are until someone walks past you and whistles at the two of you, startling you out of the kiss. You really enjoyed that kiss, and it shows in the way you look up at George with burning cheeks and something written on your face.

“I liked that.” George cheekily states, getting ahold of your hand and resuming your walk.

You hum, trying not to giggle when he intertwines your fingers and a feeling you can easily recognize starts bubbling inside you. “Yeah, I liked that too.”

You felt like a teenager. Blushing to yourself while you walked hand in hand with the person you had a crush on, and it’s so ridiculous but so relieving at the same time to feel this kind of pathetic elation instead of despair and heartache for once.

Your conversation resumed from whichever point you last remember it being left at but after that kiss it only gets more and more flirty, and you like where it is going but soon enough you reach your building and you have to slowly come to a stop with a pout.

“This is me.” You mumble, squeezing his hand in yours but he doesn’t let go.

He hums as if hesitant of believing what you’ve just said and instead he suggests, “Don’t you wanna take another walk around the block?”

“George, my feet hurt.” They had been hurting for a while but you hadn’t said anything just to not ruin things, and because you were enjoying his company so much that you were willing to endure the pain for a while longer.

The drummer comes to a quick solution, “I’ll carry you.”

Which makes you chuckle, “Sure you would.” You genuinely don’t want the date to end so in a bit of a rushed decision, you bargain, “Don’t you… Do you wanna come upstairs?”

He gets a kick of excitement inside him but he wants to play it cool, so he jokes, “What, are you gonna take my picture?”

You hold back a snort of laughter, and shrug as if it was fine by you that he only wanted that. “If that’s what you want.” There’s a little voice in your head that tells you not to but there is another one that purely encourages you to have fun.

“Yeah, that works.” George casually says, like he isn’t praying that he gets lucky to even get another kiss out of you.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Where’d you want me?” George turns to look at you as you drop your camera on your bedside tables and take your jacket off to perch on the back of a loveseat you have in the corner of your room.

You take one of the new rolls out of your pocket and change it for the one you’d almost fully used earlier that day. “Wherever you’re comfortable.” you tell him, focusing on perfectly lining the roll before you can turn to him.

“Bed’s quite comfy.'' You hear George say from behind you and when you look up to see him, you find him lying on his side, head perched on his hand and a smirk on his face. “Paint me like one of your french girls.” He teases, resting his other hand dramatically on his forehead.

All you do is giggle at his antics, “You’re such an idiot.” Shaking your head, you come up to the bed and try looking at the scene through your lenses but you aren't quite convinced by the shot.

George watches you struggle, stepping backwards and forwards, to the sides before sighing. He reminds you with a soft smile, “I’m not used to being the one to pose for the camera. You’re gonna have to guide me.”

“Okay.” Silently, you think about it as you bite on your thumb and once a vision comes to your mind, you start instructing him, “Lean into your forearms, sideways so you fit in the bed.” But you find what’s bothering you and it’s that his legs are half hanging off the bed.

“Why are you so tall? Oh my god.” You go over to the drummer and prompt him to go further into the bed, perching one of his sock-clad feet up on the bed and the other leg staying stretched on the bed. “There, now look at me.”

George looks at you with a blank face first to which you complain about but when he actually shows you a smile he starts giggling, and if there had been something you had learned about George quite early into your date was that his laugh was incredibly contagious, so you find yourself shaking with laughter as you try to take his pictures and you end up having to call him out for it.

“Don’t laugh! You’re making me laugh!” You scorn him, struggling to sound serious between your giggles.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes halfheartedly, swallowing his laughter until he goes back to a stoic face and he gives you the perfect soft smolder.

You hum in satisfaction at the result of that frame and then you move onto instructing him to do the next pose, “Throw your head back a bit and close your eyes.” He silently listens and does as you say which earns him a sweet, “Just like that.” from you.

Of course, your words make George give you a look, one that had you lightly blushing and since you know he can recognize the way you get flustered, you hide behind your camera.

“What?” You say behind the device, inquiry thrown out into the air, and warn him, “Don’t look at me like that.”

George chuckles to himself, wondering if you are this naive or if you are playing dumb. So when you take another picture of him, he purposely complains, “My leg’s cramping.” to then throw himself back on the bed, ending up completely splayed over the duvet and breaking the pose.

“George!” You scold him yet again, a bit of amusement sneaking through your words.

He groans in response and without moving, tells you to “Just take a picture like this.”

You kiss your teeth to exaggerate your disapproval and shake your head, “I can’t even see your face.”

“Come here so you can see it.” He resolves easily for you, waving you over to come close to the side of the bed instead of taking pictures by the end of it. You roll your eyes at him in amusement, not moving at first but since he actually doesn’t plan on moving, you have to do as he says.

But attempting to get a picture from above while standing beside the bed is an actual failure, “That’s an awkward angle, look at me.” You try to get him to turn to his side again but he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Need you on your side.” You say explicitly this time but he doesn’t let up either.

Instead he suggests, “Why don’t you just get up here?” He pats the bed, right next to his hip and you blush just thinking about it. At your silence, he opens his eyes and turns his head to the side to encourage you with a “C’mon.”

He offers his hand so you can use it as leverage to kneel on the bed on each side of his hips and hover above him. You struggle as you do so because you’re growing nervous and therefore clumsy.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse under your breath, seeing him from above is an angle that you don’t really know if you can handle.

“What?” George bites his bottom lip to not let a smirk break on his face.

Yet, not even that keeps you from knowing that he knows just what he was doing but you won’t say anything, because you’re enjoying this a lot more than you are supposed to. So you stick to just replying, “Nothing.” as you take yet another picture of him.

Remembering his tattoos, you bit your bottom lip for a few seconds before hesitatingly asking, “Why don’t you take your jacket off?”

George lets his hands rest right above your knees and squeezes your legs as he teases, “Is that code for something?”

You hoped your flustered state wasn’t obvious so you can play off your nonchalant, “For ‘I want to see your tattoos’, yes.”

It goes right over his head though, because he keeps smirking as he sarcastically replies, “Right, right.”

You move so he can take the piece of clothing off without you hovering over him but when he’s done and laying on the bed again, he pats his right side so you can move your left leg there and have you hover over him properly again.

“How’s that look?” He asks cheekily as his hands go to touch your legs again, the skin up to your mid thighs showing because your dress slit allows it to open and rise up in the position you’re in.

“Amazing.” You breathlessly compliment, making him raise an eyebrow at you.

The shutter goes off again and, as you roll the film, he tests the waters, “Do you want to see them all?”

“Sure.” The word comes out so soft it could’ve gone with the wind, his hands leave your thighs for a second to grab the bottom of his shirt.

“Top’s coming off next then, is that alright?” He asks for confirmation first and you nod eagerly, your pupils dilating in anticipation.

He sheds himself off his shirt in the constricted space he had, you’re so spaced out that you don’t move but it isn’t a problem for George. If anything, his smirk grows at your inability to act and it gets bigger when he throws his shirt somewhere across the room and you’re left shamelessly gawking at his naked top half.

After a minute of your eyes wandering everywhere, George brings your back to reality by letting his hands come over your thighs again. You tremble at the same time as the drummer says, “Y/N/N?”

“Yeah?” You ask, slowly coming back to reality. Your brain has been completely taken over by the view of the taut muscles of his arms littered by colorful ink, a pair of symmetric ‘broken’ tattoos on both sides of his collarbones and his torso beautifully chiseled with a defined six pack.

“When are you taking the picture?” He reminds you, trying not to smirk too hard as to not put you off.

“Shit, sorry.” You say under your breath and, after quickly focusing the shot, finally take a picture of him like that.

There was a heavy silence that hung over you two, the trail of his fingers making your skin grow hot and your throat going dry at the growing need for anything at all. So you find yourself surprised when he breaks the silence to ask you, “Can I take your picture?”

“Mine?” You repeated like you’d heard wrong.

George nods and lets you know, “You look really pretty from here.”

In a feeble attempt not to have him do that, you remind him, “You don’t know how to.”

“Matty had a film camera a few years ago, I know how to.” George surprises you even further when he explains and just to try a bit harder, he pouts at you and says, almost begging, “Please?”

“Okay.” You let yourself accept, your mind too distracted by the view beneath you to even fight.

Once you hand him the camera, he lifts it up to his eyes and lets out a chipper, “Smile.” as an instruction, which you follow only just a bit shyly.

You’re about to get the device back from him when he pulls it away from your grasp and pleads, “Another one please?”

You sigh at the drummer’s exaggerated pout until it turns into a giggle and that’s when the shutter goes off. Your cheeks burn again when he compliments as he rolls the film, “Stunning.”

Letting the camera rest beside him, George tries his luck and lets his hands rub on the skin of your thighs a bit further up. You don’t refuse it, he can clearly see the growing hunger in your eyes as you look down at him so he continues, letting his gaze trail down your body to drink in all of your but when he reaches down to your legs is when he catches a slight glimpse of red ink on your left thigh that makes him ask, “Do you have more tattoos?”

He doesn’t remember your mentioning any other tattoos than the ones you’d shown him at the restaurant. So when you nod, he can’t help but ask, “Where?”

“One, right here.” You grab his right hand so he can touch over the fabric of your dress where the one on your rib is. Your eyes looking right into his and his lips opening further when you continue, “And this one here.” lifting the fabric up to show the ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

George lets his right hand fall until it reaches the one on your thigh, you’re still clutching the satin in your first so he can fully see it. He rubs on the red ink on your skin as he stares at it, eliciting goosebumps to break on your entire body.

He looks up and asks with a low voice about the only one he hasn’t seen yet but you had just let him touch over your dress, “What’s the other one?”

“A word.” You vaguely say, as if encouraging him to continue asking about it.

“Which word?” His fingers trail further up, making your knees go completely weak. They had been hurting from hovering over him for so long but his touch is the thing to finally have you finally sit on his lap.

And that’s when you feel him growing hard in his jeans.

His fingers had already been making your every thought go straight down to your core so you’re entirely driven by lust when you fully lift the satin up and shed the dress off your body, leaving you only in your underwear and in full show for George.

It’s involuntary, his hips jerking forward and pressing on your center, his mouth agape at the sight and he grows even more breathless when you roll your center against his hardening cock.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, taking one quick look at the strange word on your rib before perching himself up on his left forearm to wrap his right hand around your neck and pull you in for a hungry kiss.

You lean further into him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and digging into his hair to pull on it as your lips move with each other. Your fingers tugging on his hair made him groan into your mouth and, as payback, he tightens his fingers around your neck, earning a loud moan out of you.

George pushes himself up with his left hand until he’s sitting on the bed, his right arm wrapping around your waist to keep you flush against him. Your tongues taste each other and your breaths grow heavy when you start rolling your hips in sync, meeting in the middle and creating a delicious friction that soon enough forces you to break the kiss only to gasp in pleasure into each other's mouths.

His fingers come to graze the ink on your left rib, your desperate side having you sink your hips down to roll against him and turn his, “What does it mean?” into a gorgeous moan.

Your lips brush as he moans and you respond to his sound with a mewl of your own and when that reaches his ears, George forgets ever asking anything for he can’t wait any longer to feel your lips on his again.

The kiss grows needy then. His hand goes from your ribs down to knead the flesh of your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and encouraging you to move against him. Your clit was getting so stimulated from only being covered by the thin material of your lace thong against his jeans which means you can’t kiss him any longer.

A string of moans falls from you as you quicken your pace, getting louder as you go but your actions are interrupted when George clutches you tightly by your middle and swiftly flips the two of you around so it you’re resting on your back on the bed with him hovering right over you.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden change of positions, your hand flying to cup his face and bring his lips back on yours and wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his hips into your core in a desperate attempt to have the friction back.

The feeling of his hard on coming down to rub harshly against you every time he bucks his hips forward makes your head spin. He starts off by teasing you with the friction and leaving you hanging for a few seconds before going back in but when you start gasping into his mouth, he keeps himself close to you and relentlessly rolls his hips on yours, hard cock pressing deliciously against your throbbing clit.

The pace grows faster, making it impossible for you to continue moving your lips with his so he takes it as a sign to continue on with what he wants to do first. Unfortunately, that means his hips stop moving and leave you throbbing and clenching around nothing but he makes it up to you with his lips all over your skin.

Wet kisses trail down your neck, his lips taking their time to give every bit of your skin attention on the way down. Kissing, sucking, licking. His fingers run down your sides until they clutch tightly on your hips, fingers pressing hard on the skin there and making your cry out in pleasure even louder.

Your breath is heavy by the time he stops sucking bruises all over your chest and abdomen, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on it so he can come back up but instead his tongue runs flat from just above your belly button agonizingly slowly up until his nose bumps against the hem of your bra.

George looks up at you through his lashes, teeth coming to bite on the fabric and tugging them the slightest bit down so you know what he wants to do and you desperately nod.

Without much of a proper attempt to take the piece of clothing off, he just tugs down the lace cups on it and lets your tits spill out freely for him. He groans from the pits of his chest at the sight, hips bucking forwards into the mattress harshly in search of some relief for himself.

But not letting any more seconds go by, George dives to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. Groaning around it, the vibrations of the noise causing white heat to run straight down to your throbbing wet cunt.

He switches the sucking for flicking it with his tongue, blowing cold air and smirking as your nipple hardens at his actions, ending with a soft bite and tug that have you loudly saying his name in call for mercy.

You needed something, anything. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing and it’s almost torturous. But your cries fall on deaf ears for he moves onto your other nipple and repeats his process. You’re only ruining your underwear further, so wet you feel uncomfortably sticky with your thong still on.

“George, baby, please–” You plead in anguish when he starts sucking bruises on your tits, biting them until you whimper loudly under him.

“What do you need Y/N/N?” He asks sweetly, a stark contrast to his vicious attack on your chest.

“Anything. Just–” You try to say, your words catching up in your throat as your desperation for release clouds your logic and makes you sound stupid.

So you rely on grabbing one of his hands from your hips and guiding it down to where you’re aching. The simple graze of one of his fingertips on your swollen clit eliciting a pathetic mewl out of you.

“Oh sweetheart,” George tuts “Made quite a mess, haven’t you?” His pointer finger runs up and down your clothed core slowly and so faintly you don’t even know if you are imagining it.

Applying a bit more pressure assures him to hear every one of your needy sounds and feeling like you had waited enough, he leaves a light feather kiss over your center.

“Need help cleaning up this mess, yeah?” His words are sweet, like he’s finally taking pity on you. The thought of him doing absolutely anything at that moment sounds so fucking good your hum in agreement sounds more like a whine, barely able to make eye contact with him in your hazy mind.

His long tongue runs flat over your underwear, wetting even more than it already is and he moans at the taste of your slick soaking through it. His fingers tug the fabric down your legs and throw it somewhere behind him in record time. He finds himself almost drooling at the sight of you completely exposed to him.

If you had any hint of inhibitions left in you, you would’ve tried to close your legs under his attentive gaze but he’s entranced and you’d had it with waiting any longer so you prop your legs wide open and squirm in your place.

“George, please.”

Your pleading is so sweet, so desperate, he can’t deny you any longer. So he dips his head in between your legs and starts lapping at you like a starved man. At the first proper taste he has of you, he moans loudly, tongue running up and down your slit to gather as much of you as he can and enjoying every drop of your arousal on his tongue.

“Are you not gonna continue taking my picture?” George interrupts his task to tauntingly ask, going back to using his tongue on you, this time flicking it up and down quickly on your clit and making you shiver.

Your words are caught in your throat when he doesn’t relent his actions but still looks at you expectantly through his lashes, “Right– F-fuck! Right now?”

He only allows himself to stop for the amount of seconds it takes him to nod and say, “Yes baby, be a good girl and take my picture.”

That ‘good girl’ makes you roll your eyes in utter pleasure, and all you can think of is doing as he’s telling you to earn his praise; because you want more, you need more.

Your head turns quickly to see where he’s left the camera, and you bring it to your eyes to take a picture as fast as you can. Your thoughts are already becoming clouded by the tightening coil in your lower belly.

His disheveled dirty blonde hair in between your legs, his arms underneath your legs and hands clutching your thighs in place is all that you captured in that frame. The shutter goes off letting George know you have done as he’d said and he congratulates you by praising you with a proud, “Such a good fucking girl.” and a few kisses to your clit which make you jolt.

He goes back down, trying to clean up the mess of slick and saliva that’s dripping down your inner thighs and onto the duvet, but you’re so desperate so you start rocking your hips against his face, trying to steer him back to where you wanted him to be and, to your satisfaction, he follows the silent instruction by going back to your center and this time pointing his tongue and dipping it inside your sopping hole.

Your legs instinctively close around his head, eliciting a breathy laugh from him that hits your core as he continues tongue fucking you. His hands come to spread your legs open again, holding your limbs down on the bed strongly, not allowing you to move any longer.

The feeling of his wet tongue dipping in and out of you has you growing increasingly louder, begging and pleading with him not to stop, your orgasm so close you can feel it.

But despite your words, he stops.

At that very moment, you swear you can cry, knowing you had just been about to come undone on his tongue. But just before you can pathetically let your frustrated tears roll down your cheeks, his lips wrap around your throbbing clit and he sucks on it. The perfect amount of pressure for you to thrash around beneath him as your pleasure resumes and hits you with an incredible force, making you let out a string of moans of his name and then a bunch of “Yes! Fuck yes!”, hands flying down to tangle your fingers in his hair and keep him in his place.

“I’m gonna cum!” You yell out loud, eyes shutting tightly since the pleasure impedes you from keeping them open, and when George starts humming as he sucks your clit, you are done for.

Your legs tremble under his hold, toes curling and your fingers tugging his hair tighter than you had been before. You black out as your orgasm hits you hard, the oxygen in your lungs leaving you entirely as your back arches off the bed and you only come back from your high when his incessant sucking becomes too much for your oversensitive self so you pull him away from you.

He giggles, completely entranced by your fucked out state. Watching you cum had been an experience but god don’t you look beautiful with your chest heaving, bruises looming on your skin, a flush to your face and chest, a thin coat of sweat making your body and face shine.

But before he can give you any more attention, his gaze falls back to your cunt and it’s glistening with arousal. You taste so fucking good to him that he wastes no more time to lick you clean. Your legs tremble at the resumed contact of his tongue on your sensitive core, whimpers stubbornly leaving you as he goes.

Your fingers leave his hair alone but your left hand cradles his head as he laps up at everything you have given him, and after a whole minute of him meticulously licking clean every inch of skin that had been wet with your arousal, he starts a trail of kisses from your mound until he reaches your belly button.

Flashing a smile up at you, George rests his chin on your lower stomach and you can’t hold yourself back from brushing his messy hair back almost adoringly, post orgasm haze making you extra appreciative of him and his skilled tongue work.

His fingers rub circles on the top of your thighs, “Feel good?” He asks before leaving more soft kisses on your lower stomach.

“Very.” You answered with a smile, fingers brushing through his hair.

He hums at the feeling of your touch, “Good to know, gorgeous.”

Turning to see where you’d left it, you reach out to grab your discarded camera. Melting into the duvet under George’s gentle touch and his lips pressing on your skin leisurely, you really make an effort as you lean on your forearms so that you can get a better look at him to take a picture. He looks up at you with a dizzying smirk that you manage to capture, and you know that you’ll adore that picture no matter the outcome of this day.

His lips tickle the skin of your lower stomach when he points out, “Didn’t even have to tell you this time.”

Putting the device back down on the bed, you shrug with a grin sneaking onto your lips, “You look good.”

“Do I, now?” He teases, dropping his hands from your thighs and pressing them on the mattress so he can slowly push himself up and crawl his way up to hover over you again.

“You always do.” Your words come laced with lust, his eyes darkening as he gets closer and you just can’t wait any longer to have him in more ways. “Come here.” You instruct by wrapping a hand around his neck, fingers pressing on the sides of it until he groans loudly in pleasure and when he lets the sound leave his lips, you smirk and warn, “My turn.”

Pulling him in by his neck means that your tongues meet instantly when you start the kiss, and when you taste yourself on his tongue, you moan so loudly George growls just as loud in response.

The kiss is all teeth clashing, spit dribbling down to your chins, noses bumping, deep exhales sounding loudly and trying to overpower the sounds of your swollen lips moving together.

It’s George the one to grow louder when your hand drops from his neck, down his naked torso to the button of his jeans, which you undo with quick fingers and pull the zip down before you can palm him over the fabric of his boxers.

“F-fuck…” He lets out when your nimble fingers squeeze him and stroke him up and down. He’s so hard that your touch makes him shiver.

You can feel him so swollen and heavy under your hand, your mind already spinning about how big he is but you want to have him unravel under you so badly, you push any worries about his size to the back of your head.

His hips move slowly, helping with your movements, clearly wanting to reach his high but you want to taste him and you want it now. So you leave his cock alone to instruct him, “Lay down, baby.”

You switch positions, George laying on his back and you’re kneeling between his legs. He pants as he watches you shamelessly gawk at him, your mouth going dry at the clear outline of his cock.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse as you tug on the top of his jeans so he can lift his hips up for you to take them off him.

He does as instructed and you’re just too impatient to wait any more, you want to feel him heavy on your tongue already. His boxers come off quickly after his jeans, his hard cock springing up to touch right by his navel.

You gulp. He’s thick, angry red tip already leaking from how aroused he is. Intimidating but so inviting.

Dipping your head down, you start kissing his hips. Leaving kisses that go from sweet to wet and messy the more he squirmed under you.

“You…” George pleads, hand coming down to cradle your head. Not to push it towards where he wanted you but to have you look up at him and see just how fucking desperate he is for you.

You feel that look go down straight to your core, clenching your legs together at the feeling. “I know baby, I know.” You say in a coo.

Your fingers wrap around him, the pressure of them making George huff in pleasure with his lips pressed together. He feels so heavy in your hand, veins popping for you to see how pained he is.

“You’re so big.” You trail off, a bit of wander in your voice. You have no idea how he’s going to fit in your mouth, he’s by far the biggest cock you have ever come across but you like a challenge.

Your tongue licks a bold strip from base to tip, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you taste the salty arousal that has already been leaking from him. He curses under his breath at the feeling of your wet tongue on his cock, but the breathy words turn into a loud moan when you wrap your lips around him and sink your mouth down onto him.

Barely able to fit half of him in your mouth until he hits the back of your throat, you pull back to catch a breath, your hand taking over for a few seconds as you inhale deeply and go back in. You gag around him when you manage to get him deeper, George moans loudly as you do so, trying his hardest not to buck his hips upwards into your tight throat.

His hand goes back to hold your head but this time, his fingers tangle in your hair, only to pull you up so you can breathe. But you don’t want to have it easy, you want to see how much of him you can take and hear every one of his pretty moans.

So you go against his hold, sinking your mouth further down and gagging around him again. Your hand stays at the base of his cock, stroking the rest you can’t get to, as you continue bobbing your head up and down on him.

George is a mess of groans and moans, whimpering whenever you gag and moan around him, your throat tightening around him driving him insane.

He lifts his head up slightly to look down at you, pulling on your hair so you come off him and meet his eyes. George is met with you panting, pink wet swollen lips, saliva dripping down your chin and neck, tears falling out of the corner of your eyes, hair disheveled but pupils dilated and a satisfied smirk at it all.

Your hand keep stroking him up and down, fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure and he moans at the combination of your touch and the glorious view of you like this, “Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.”

The praise only encourages you more, so you lean back down and lick a strip up his cock again, this time looking up at him through your lashes. An innocent look in your eyes as you lap at the tip of his cock eagerly.

He exhales in awe, “Look at you– Shit!” He curses loudly when you sink slowly back down until again he reaches your throat, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily and making you gag loudly.

You gasp out for air for a mere second before you do it again, until you manage to control your gagging a bit better and encourage George to fuck your mouth with a simple squeeze to his hip.

“Oh fuck– Such a pretty filthy girl.” He praises as he obeys the silent instructions and rocks his hips forwards slowly and ever so slightly. “You like it when I fuck your throat?” His question is thrown out into the air in between groans.

You answer with a hum that vibrates around him and that’s when George starts feeling like he’s losing control. His hips grow erratic and you notice so you hum and moan around him even more, causing him to get closer to his high.

“Y/N/N m’gonna cum!” He warns you loudly, the wet squelching sounds of him going in and out of your mouth and your moans bouncing off the walls in a pornographic symphony that makes the scene even better.

And when your hand drops from around the base of his cock to play with his balls, he’s sent over the edge. He pushes his hips forwards and stills then as he comes, cock twitching in your mouth and his cum coating the walls of your throat with a warmth you appreciated with another low moan.

His hips fall back on the bed but you don’t relent just yet, sucking him off for a little longer to take everything you can. But he has to pull you off him by your hair when he can't take it anymore, cursing and calling out your name like he was scolding you.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbles, still dizzy from his orgasm but completely entranced by the way you come off him with a whimper and a satisfied smirk.

You wipe the drool off your chin with the back of your hand and slowly crawl up until you are laying on your side right beside him, staring right into his eyes with hunger still darkening yours.

“Feel good?” You ask, just what he’d asked you after he made you cum but in a mocking manner.

It gets you a chuckle in response before one of his big hands comes to cup your jaw and crashes your lips together.

Kissing George has you dazed. His lips are soft but firm when moving along with yours, they’re wet and swollen, warm exhales leaving his parted lips for your to swallow, tongue peeking through them to meet yours. He whimpers so loud when he tastes himself on your tongue, fingers digging into your cheek and making you mewl in response.

Your skin grows hot the more you kiss. He doesn’t even let you get a proper breath whenever he pulls back for a brief second, because he’s back on your mouth with desperation—lips smacking and tongues licking at each other.

Your hands go on a path from his face to his head, the back of his neck, his shoulders, and eventually to his back, nails digging into it when he starts nipping at your bottom lip, at the same time as his right hand drops from your jaw down to pinch your nipples, eliciting gasps out of you.

“George…” You let out in a gasp when he has your nipple pinched and twisted between his thumb and index finger.

He’s smirking right over your parted lips, amused at the way you shiver every time he goes from one nipple to the other. Your nails claw at his back when you feel the electric shocks that his touch gives you travel all the way down to your center, feeling yourself growing wetter and that familiar knot in your lower stomach forming.

His lips slot between yours again, distracting you from his touch going from your tits down to tease your cunt.

With his thumb, George starts rubbing circles on your clit, making you pull back from the kiss with a loud gasp that turns into a cry of pleasure. You could feel yourself throbbing already, and it gets worse when he picks up his pace.

He isn’t going too fast but not slow either, the speed in which his thumb rubs at your clit has you writhing your hips in response, subconsciously trying your best to get closer and closer to your high.

“George! Fuck!” You yell when he slides a finger inside you. It’s thick and long, curling inside you and making you see stars already, half lidded eyes catching him smirking at you and his breaths growing shallow when taking in your reactions.

“You like that?” He asks you teasingly, pecking your lips as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

You manage to hum in response, but he finds that not good enough, so he adds another finger, stretching you out easily and making your back arch as you moan loudly. “Yes! Yes!” You encourage, and when he curls his fingers again, knuckle deep inside your cunt, you felt yourself be completely overcome by pleasure and your words slip past your lips without even thinking of them first, “Oh my– Fuck! George, your fingers feel so fucking good.”

His fingers are slipping in and out of you with ease from how wet you are, your hips erratically moving as he thrusts them inside you to meet him in the middle. “That’s it, cum on them baby.”

The dirty talk has you completely fucked over, “George, I’m so– Fuckkkk!” You can’t help but scream out when he pushes a third finger inside you, feeling completely stuffed with him.

It feels so good how much he’s opening you up, and he’s loving the way whenever he pulls his fingers back your walls push him off so he has to slowly sink his fingers deep inside your cunt again. “I know, I can feel you clenching hard around them.” You’re squeezing his fingers so tight, his throat goes dry just thinking about how good you’re gonna feel milking his cock, “Can’t wait to fill you up and feel how tight you’re around my cock baby.”

You agree, so drunk in pleasure you just want to feel even more of him, “I need you. George, I need–”

But he tuts before you can complete your mumbled sentence, “You’re cumming on my fingers first.” You’re about to cry out like a brat, about to beg for him to stuff you up with his big cock but his words beat yours, “Come on baby, give it to me like the good girl you are.”

His voice is low in your ear, so sultry and inviting you feel it deep in your core and you just can’t say no. Not when you’re gonna earn his praise, those words he says that have you wrapped around his little finger.

So you let go. Your toes curl as his fingers keep pumping in and out of you, hitting that spot perfectly for your to see stars as you come, white heat enveloping you and taking ahold of your entire body as you cum, “Fuck, fuck! Oh– George!”

“That’s it, baby. So fucking stunning.” He encourages, watching his fingers continue to disappear inside your tightening cunt, your legs shaking and your hips moving clumsily to meet his hand. He gets impossibly hard at the sight of it all, biting his bottom lip as he moans.

You gush all over him, slick drenching his hand and dripping down your cunt onto the duvet. He can’t let it go to waste, so he pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean, moaning around them when he tastes you again.

So fucking sweet. He needed more.

You feel his fingers gathering your mess and you manage to peel your eyes open to watch as he sucks it all off his fingers again.

Shamelessly, you just watch as he dips down time and time again until he deems his work of cleaning you up done, the last one being offered out to you and you obey enthusiastically, wrapping your lips around his fingers and sinking your mouth on them to suck them clean the best you can. Your eyes stay on his as you do so, moaning loudly around them while you batted your lashes at him, just fully putting a show on for him.

The view makes George’s cock twitch, a bead of precum leaking from his head. He reaches out behind you for the forgotten camera and when you’re trying to catch your breath, eyes closed in bliss, he takes a picture of you.

Your eyes snap open at the sound of the shutter going off and you look at him all startled like you need an explanation.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” He quickly justifies, lifting the device back up to his eyes and adjusting the focus to take another one as he adds, “All fucked out. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Stop.” You whine when the shutter goes off again, hand coming up to grab at the lenses and forcing him to put it down, “I must look a mess.”

His head shakes in disagreement, tongue swiping at his bottom lip with his eyes drinking you in all over again, “You don’t. You look hot.” Skin glowing due to the thin layer of sweat your activities have caused, lips swollen and wet, your chest heaving and flushed, the gorgeous pattern of every bruise he’s sucked on your skin which are darkening more and more, hair disheveled and splayed over the pillows.

“I’m confiscating this.” It’s the brief ultimatum you give him, grabbing the camera and turning the action on him instead.

You take just one picture of him and he allows it, only to then complain by saying, “You have enough of me.” and taking the camera back.

Rolling your eyes, you fake being annoyed and kiss him quickly before pushing yourself up and off the bed, telling him, “Gonna go to the bathroom.” making a beeline for your wardrobe and getting yourself a new pair of underwear first, adjusting the cups of your bra so they hold your breasts again.

It isn’t longer than five minutes that you take, coming back to him wearing his boxers again and laying over the bedsheets—he’s discarded the duvet and left it a big crumpled knot on the floor by the foot of the bed—, a hand behind his head whilst the other is scrolling on his phone.

His position looks inviting, so you crawl on the bed and sit on his lap with a mischievous smile on your face. You reach out to get the camera he has placed on the bedside table at the same time as he drops his phone there and his hands go up to hold your hips.

“Put your hands behind your head again.” You instruct him softly, almost a mutter that sounds so shy, the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

You take a picture of him like that and another when he runs a hand through his hair but you stop when his hands come back to grab at your skin, going from your waist until they softly come down to rest at your hips.

With a soft squeeze on your sides, he tilts his head to ask, “Am I allowed to smoke?” to which you nod and get off him to open the windows and get him a cigarette and a lighter.

Getting back on top of him, you place the cigarette between his lips but before you can give him the lighter, you grab the camera again just so you can capture the moment he ignites it alive.

George looks so fucking hot lighting it up: cheeks hollowing ever so slightly, brows furrowing, long fingers that make the lighter look minuscule in his hand, lips pursed around the stick.

You snap away and capture the moment he blows out the smoke upwards, before taking another drag and then blowing it in your direction.

The familiar scent of the tobacco and just how arousing you’re finding it all, impulses you to start moving your hips slowly on him. The sudden movement makes his breath hitch in his throat, causing him to erupt in coughs when the smoke goes up the wrong hole. He had been half hard beneath you when you sat on his lap, so you can’t really hold back from wanting to have him in a new way now.

That’s when you guide his hand to your mouth so he can place the cigarette in between your lips for you to take a drag. His mouth opens agape as you do so, the rolling of your hips only growing more intent and he starts twitching and getting harder in his boxers.

He can feel your heat, the way you’re wetting your underwear and starting to wet his own, the pulsing of your swollen clit. He can see how your nipples grow hard through the lace of your bra, and the way goosebumps rise in your skin as you go. Soft gasps that turn into hush whimpers that he wants so badly to turn into those loud moans of yours that he’s quite enjoying getting drunk on.

“Have you brought a condom?” You ask breathlessly, camera being once again forgotten somewhere on the bed for you to be able to rest your hands on his chest as leverage.

A flip switches inside George, the simple hint of him finally being able to sink himself deep inside you making his blood rush down to his cock.

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and it’s a relief when you quickly get off him so he can rush to get it, not without going up to your dresser so he can put out the cigarette on the ashtray that’s laid there by your jewelry.

He had thought it was foolish of him to pocket a couple condoms before he left his flat earlier today, fully scorning himself for being so ridiculous as to assume you would want to shag after your date but oh was he glad he had still done it right then.

Condom in hand, George goes back to the bed but not without shedding himself off his boxers first. You bite your bottom lip as you get your bra off to throw it on the floor behind you, seeing him wrap his hand around his length and pump it slowly as he watches you almost naked figure. Your hands go down to your hips so you can quickly tug down your underwear, eagerly taking it off and throwing it on the same spot on the floor you had dropped your bra.

Crawling up to the edge of the bed, you hum as you watch him stroke himself up and down, your mouth watering for another taste of him. So when you get right in front of him, you dip your head down until your mouth is right before his hardening cock and sticking your tongue out, you lick at his head slowly.

He grows heavier on your tongue as you go, twitching in your mouth when you wrap your lips around him again, his head thrown back at the feeling of your wet mouth enclosed around him and sucking him off patiently.

But he has to use an incredible amount of self restraint to pull you off him, a hand delicately coming around your neck to have you let go off his cock with a pop and pull you up to face him.

“I’m fucking you now.”

George isn’t asking, he’s simply informing you and that makes you squirm under his gaze in anticipation. Thighs pressing together and eyes drinking in the way lust makes his behavior change. But you want a bit of control, even if it’s just for him to ruin you.

“Can I ride you?” You ask innocently, puppy eyes that you pray will get your a yes.

You take the way he pulls you in for a messy kiss as one.

In no time he’s laying on his back with his head resting on the pillows, teeth ripping the condom wrapper open while your hand wraps around him, waiting for him to put the latex on. The anticipation grows and hangs in the air like a heavy cloud as George rolls it down his length, sighing at the feeling of it around him.

You catch a glimpse of your camera through the corner of your eye and you can’t help but think there won’t be a better thing than capturing his pure ecstasy in a picture so you grab it before you straddle him again.

You lift the camera up to your eyes with one hand while the other gets ahold of his cock to line him up, rubbing his head on your clit and making yourself gasp at the feeling. You clench around nothing as you do so, and you can already feel yourself drenched.

Even after he’s stretched you out with his fingers, it’s slightly challenging for you to take him when you start sinking onto him.

Your jaw drops in a silent gasp when every inch of him starts stretching you out, eyes watering at the initial sting. Your eyes want to flutter closed at the feeling but you do your best to not let them close entirely so you can capture the way he groans loudly with his head thrown back as you let your cunt swallow him whole.

Breath hitching in your throat, you sink down completely until you can feel him so deep a pathetic cry of pleasure slips past your lips.

You draw your hips up and back down on him slowly, testing the waters on his size and what angle is good for you to feel the best. You’re both a mess of loud moans at the feeling. He’s so big, he’s filling you up in a way you’ve never felt before so your walls are clenching hard around him which has his head spinning.

“You–” George breathes out, hands flying to your hips and clutching them so tightly just to show how bad he’s holding himself back from just thrusting up into you, or better yet just flipping you around and fucking you into the mattress.

“Fuck–, I know. I know.” You say in a high pitch tone. One of your hands falls to rest flat on his chest and use as support, “I– oh, fuck…” You curse as you roll your hips forwards and then backwards this time, making you completely still at the insane sensory overdrive you’re getting from it.

George knows you need a second or two but you stay frozen for longer than he can hold so he pleads, “Baby– Fuck, baby, I need you to move, you’re so tight.”

“Just–” You try to say, rolling your hips again and mewling loudly. George moans back in response, his hands sliding down to your thighs as your head hangs in pleasure.

You establish a slow place, George’s fingers digging into the flesh of your upper thighs grounding you into the moment and allowing you to take another picture. A picture that captures your legs on each sides of his toned chest, his fingers digging into your skin, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps back a moan, the box tattoo on his thumb right next to the red ink of your ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

But after you press the shutter on that one, barely being able to clumsily roll the film, you just toss the camera to the side mindlessly and use your new free hand to rest on his chest as well, and the second hand of support helps you start moving your hips faster.

It’s fucking delicious the way he keeps hitting your g-spot from that angle, and when he starts bucking his hips upwards, meeting your in the middle, you can’t hold back the noises you let out. “George, fuck baby! Oh fuckkkk.” You cry out, clit feeling a bit of pressure every time you roll down and hit your pelvis, so you’re fully drunk on pleasure.

His hands run up from your thighs to mercilessly grab your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and stinging just in the best way. “Just like that baby. You feel so fucking good.” He praises you with a groan, helping you actually lift your hips up and down on him.

“You’re so– Oh fuck–” You’re so cock drunk, your thoughts are all stupid and leaving you without even being able to finish a sentence.

“Tight little cunt, can barely fit inside you.” George can feel himself meeting the hilt inside you every time, your cries growing in volume the faster the pace gets. “You love it huh, being filled to the brim?”

“Yes, fuck! Yes, I love it, love your cock!” You’re dripping all over him, the noise of the wetness and your skin slapping every time you meet bouncing off the walls and, combined with your moans, makes for a pornographic scene you wish you were recording.

“I know you can go faster. Can you do that for me, baby?” George genuinely can feel himself not lasting any longer with how tight you’re squeezing him.

“I can, I can.” You promise desperately, wanting to be good for him. So you pick up your pace, your hands moving ever so slightly so you can straighten up a bit and when you do so you curse out loud at the new angle, “Ah fuck!”

Your hips grow erratic, your knees helping now when you bounce up and down his cock ever so more intently, enough for you to incessantly gasp in a high pitch every time he hits that spot.

“Such a good girl for me.” His hands stop groping your ass to spank you, making you jolt forward with a loud gasp that turns into a mewl and a whine that tries to pass as a ‘yes’. His cock twitches inside you at that reaction so he does it again and again, feeling your walls flutter around him with every hit, “You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby. Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Yeah, yes…” You gasp, and if you hadn’t been so adamant on chasing your high, you would’ve noticed George quickly getting the camera and snapping a picture of you riding him. Hair a mess covering up your face but your mouth wide open in a moan, tits bouncing as you ride him, hands on his chest as support.

He’s just about managed to put the camera back down when he feels you squeezing him the tightest and that’s when you finally cum. “George! George! Ge–” You cry out his name like a prayer until it breaks down into a loud moan that tips him over the edge along with your cunt milking him dry into the condom as you sloppily continue to ride him.

“Fuck! Y/N!” George moans loudly, his hands going to your ass again to help you continue as he cums, his cock twitching the more he spurts into the condom, sweet relief making him see stars.

Unable to uphold yourself any longer, you collapse over him, chests heaving in sync as you both come down from your highs. It’s hard catching your breaths when your skin burns from the heat and sticks from the sweat. And George knows you’re rather uncomfortable from the way you groan into him, your fingers lazily trying to brush the hair out of your face but huffing as it sticks to your sweaty forehead.

He brushes your hair back, fingers delicately grazing your face and earning a soft smile and a sigh from you. But then his hold goes down to your hips so he can lift you up and off himself to set you beside him. You whine and pout at the loss of him, feeling so empty after he’s stuffed you to the brim.

You don’t even try to open your eyes, completely spent from your activities and snuggling into the pillows to find some comfort in your post orgasm haze.

George sits up on the edge of your bed and sheds himself off the condom, tying it so he can throw it away, and groaning as he pushes himself off the bed to make his way to the bathroom.

He takes about five minutes there and when he comes back into the room, he smiles, finding a sleepy you struggling to keep your eyes open and smirking at him. He giggles as he walks up to bed and after taking your camera and placing it on one of the bedside tables, he carries your bridal style to take you to the bathroom.

Yes you’re still on cloud nine after that orgasm but you still have a bit of sense in you then so, after thanking him with a kiss, you tell George you’re alright from there and he can wait for you in bed.

You only realize what you’d said as you wash your hands after peeing and you’re cringing just thinking about him being gone once you go back into the room. But you find that he hasn’t left and instead, he’s gone under the bedsheets and is waiting for you to cuddle up to him so you can get some rest.

You giggle like a fool when you get under the sheets and he hooks his arm around your waist to push you flush against him, your back pressed to his chest and he nuzzles into your neck from behind. Your legs tangle together and your breaths sync and slow down as the minutes go by until you succumb to their slumber.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It’s bright outside when you wake up with the horrendous need to go to the bathroom, one that you’d been sleepily ignoring for a while but that had become too unbearable to endure anymore.

George has his hand around your waist and his leg thrown over yours, effectively keeping you trapped in his hold in bed, so you try to very slowly peel yourself away from him to escape to the toilet.

You’re careful so that you don’t wake him up just yet, but when you manage to get your legs untangled from his, he stirs and grumbles, “Where are you trying to go?” throwing his leg over yours again, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist making you chuckle.

“Bathroom.” You mumble as you try to get away again but he’s stubbornly holding you even tighter to him.

You feel him shake his head as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, a soft “No.” falling in your ears that makes you sigh.

“George.” You say softly to not disrupt the silence in the room, but he doesn’t reply so you try again a little louder this time, “George.” Once again, no response, so you end up whining, “Babyyyy.”

To the nickname he does listen, but his response is just a muttered, “Mhm?”

You turn around in his arms with a bit of struggle, cupping his face and pecking his lips a handful of times so he takes it as enough bribery to listen to you, “Please let me go. I’ll just be a minute.”

George steals one last long peck from you before smiling loopily and nodding, “Okay.”

He lazily retracts his limbs to let you get up freely from the bed, and though he’s fighting his sleep, he manages to peel his eyes open for long enough to watch your naked figure walk away from the bed and into your ensuite.

Keeping track of time is impossible to him when his eyes close again after you leave his line of sight, and he only opens his eyes again when he hears you giggle softly at the sight of him in your bed as you walk back to bed.

“You took longer than a minute.” He points out with his eyes still closed.

You snort and half heartedly apologize, “Sorry, I’m sore.”

His hand comes up to rub at his eyes, and when he does so, he sees the state in which you’ve come back so he frowns and tells you to, “Stop right there.” He sounds so serious, an amused smirk shows on your face because you have no idea what he’s about to say. An accusing finger waves in the air in your direction and he calls you out, “Why are you wearing a robe?”

“Shut up.” You say instantly when hearing that’s what is making him frown, your eyes rolling playfully at him.

“Get that off now.” He instructs but you take another step towards the bed with no intention of taking it off and he grumbles, “Y/N/N…” with a more stern tone that makes you too flustered for this time of day.

“You’re annoying.” You complain with a roll of your eyes, still listening to him and slowly undoing the knot that kept your robe closed, making it a little show as you open it up and let it fall off your body and pool at your feet on the floor.

Of course, George smirks at the sight and he has no shame in looking you up and down with hunger now shining on his sleepy eyes, his cock twitches just by seeing you naked in front of him again. Fuck, you’re stunning.

“Come here gorgeous.” The drummer invites you back into his arms and you don't have to be told twice for you to go back to bed and be the little spoon for him. You’d had such good sleep being completely enveloped in him, heavy limbs acting like a weighted blanket on you and it was utter bliss.

But after seeing you naked again, skin littered with love bites he had left all over your, hair messy and tits perky and bouncing as you walked, George feels the need to show you a bit more of the appreciation he had shown you the day before.

His hand brushes your hair to the side so he can have access to the skin on the back of your neck. Goosebumps breaking on the skin there when he starts pressing open mouthed kisses on it, fingers ghostly running down your back and stopping right on your lower back that had your back arching into him. Your ass grazed his cock every time, making it twitch and start to harden.

In search of friction, he pushes his hips forward and you reciprocate by pressing your ass against him. He keeps his actions going and sets a pace that the two of you keep up, mewling out loud when his hardening cock comes in contact with your cunt, “Hmm, George.”

“Yes, baby?” His lips brush against your skin, a shiver running down your spine and making you shudder, “You’re so fucking beautiful, please let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah…” You nod quickly, it’s a no-brainer. Your breath gets caught in your throat when he pushes his hips forwards again at the same time as you do and the tip of his cock presses on your clit.

“Yes?” He moans in your ear, hand coming around your front to play with your tits, “Can I make you cum again, sweetheart?”

You eagerly nod, swallowing a moan as he pinches your nipple and when he cup your whole tit with one hand, kneading it harshly, your “Please.” came out in the form of a whine.

“Good girl. M’gonna make you feel so good baby, I promise.” His hand continues playing with your tits as you keep grinding on each other. When his cock is hard enough, you feel it come up to rest heavily between his lower stomach and your lower back, and it’s then that he lets his fingers trail down until they hover over your mound and he breathlessly asks, “D’you trust me?”

“Yeah, George…” You’re basically pleading with him to continue, hand coming to clutch his and guide his fingers down to your soaked cunt and when he feels just how wet you are, he groans and pulls away.

“Wait.” George instructs you, leaving you alone on the bed to get a condom. You hear the wrapper rip and him moaning as he puts the condom on, stroking himself up and down a few times before he tugs the sheets off you and turns you from your side to your front so you’re face down and he can hover over you from behind.

His knees are on either side of your hips, forearms pressed on the mattress next to your shoulders and he kisses and sucks all over your back as he praises you for how gorgeous you are over and over.

He keeps bruising you up until you push your ass up and beg him to do something, the ache in your cunt too unbearable.

So George lets go of the patch of skin he’s bruising and does as you ask for, spreading your legs open as he kneels in between them and rubs his tip up and down your slit.

“Don’t tease, please.” You cry into the mattress, your cunt fluttering around nothing and it’s painful knowing just how good he felt inside you but he isn’t allowing you to feel it yet.

But then he just let himself slowly slip inside you and his jaw falls at your tightness in that angle, “Oh Y/N/N… Fuck me.” He feels like he can barely fit in, but you’re dripping with slick so it makes it a bit easier for him to slowly bottom out.

“George–” You choke out, head turning to the side to catch a glimpse of him. Your fingers clawing at the sheets beside your head for dear life.

“I know. You’re so tight.” He whimpers in pleasure, barely able to move an inch out of you because you’re so snug it feels like you’re pushing him out.

“Move baby, please.” You beg again and he starts going then, a slow pace at first that grows in speed rather quickly and has your cursing out loud, “Fuckkkkk!”

He gasps into your ear with every thrust, and it’s soon that the sound of your skin slapping drowns the room along with your moans. “Gonna miss this tight little cunt so much.” He says into your neck, sucking a bruise on the back of it before asking, “Gonna miss me too?”

“Ye– Yes! Oh shit baby!” You gasp when he hooks his left arm under your leg, pulling it upwards slowly and allowing you to stretch a bit more so you feel him even deeper, “Gonna miss you so much!”

He chuckles smugly, “I know you will.”

“Oh fuck!” You curse as he hits your g-spot perfectly from that angle, his hips hitting your ass and reminding you of how sore the skin there is from the spanking he gave you the night before. “Yes, yes! Don’t stop, please!”

“If you could only see yourself right now!” He curses under his breath when he looks down to see himself disappear into your cunt, over and over. If he keeps looking at how he keeps sliding in and out of you so easily, he will burst right then so he looks back up to your face and praises you once more, “Taking me so well, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

“Harder, please.” You ask in a whine, and he stills for just a second to get a better standing on his knees before giving it to you like you were begging to, making you instantly get even louder when he hits that sweet spot with more intensity, “Oh my– Fuck! Right there, yes!”

“Just like that, yeah?” His smirk grows on his face, feeling how it keeps getting easier to slide inside you which means you’re fucking drenched and dripping all over him, your walls fluttering around him already making him see stars.

“Yes! Yes!” You chant like a broken record, the coil in your lower stomach tightening by the second and threatening to snap at any moment, “I’m so close!”

His left arm lifts your leg even higher and then leaves it there to be able to bring his fingers down to rub at your clit and send you over the edge, “C’mon baby, cum for me sweetheart!” He encourages you as he rubs fast circles on your throbbing clit, which earns him choked out moans that turn into a throat ripping moan of, “F-fuckkkk! George!”

George feels you squeeze him so tightly as you cum, making it so much harder for him to continue thrusting in and out without losing the rhythm he’s set, he can’t hold it any longer, his hips stuttering as he cums and stilling as he spills his seed in the condom, “Ah shit! Y/N!”

His thrusts become sloppy and messy as he tries to ride out your highs while you spasm around him, whimpering as the aftershocks of your orgasm have your legs trembling under him and your white knuckle grip on the sheets falters.

Letting his weight fall over you almost entirely, George sighs in complete bliss and he kisses the back of your head and your cheek multiple times to say, “Did so good for me, sweetheart.” He drops a kiss on your lips and praises you once more, “My good pretty girl.”

The way he speaks to you makes your stomach flutter, and he feels it when you clench around him. “You like that huh?” He teases with a smirk, his nose brushing up your neck until he comes up to your ear and bites your earlobe to which you mewl in response.

He pulls out, hearing you whine when you feel upsettingly empty again but he rubs circles on your hips soothingly and asks, “Shall we go take a shower? Do you want me to help you up?”

You barely manage to reply with a quiet, “Mhm…” when a loud ringing snaps the two of you out of your wonderful post orgasm bubble.

You don’t really recognize the ringing so you figure it’s George’s phone. Yet, the drummer doesn’t make an attempt to go and get it, as he flops beside you in bed for a second before pushing himself off the bed and sheds himself off the condom you just used.

He gets up to discard it in the bathroom and just as he crosses the threshold of the ensuite, he hears his phone start ringing again. He fully ignores it again, taking his time in the bathroom until he hears you call out for him to pick up the unrelenting calls.

A grunt leaves his lips when he comes back to the room and picks up the phone only to read his sister’s name on the screen so he answers with a meek, “Y’alright?” to let her know he isn’t in the mood for the constant ringing.

You hear pure silence surrounding you for a good half minute before George sighs out an annoyed, “Fucks sake.” Opening your eyes to see him, you move onto your side to watch him as he speaks. “Right now? Really?” He asks, entirely unamused. “Yeah, really busy actually.” He says sternly, looking at you naked in front of him with wide eyes. That makes you purse your lips not to laugh but what gets the giggles out of you is when he sighs loudly and mutters, “I hate you.” to whoever it is on the phone.

It’s barely another half minute that he listens to whoever is on the other side, before he ends the call with an impatient, “Yeah, yeah. Sure. See ya’.”

“What’s wrong?” You ask curiously, your fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

George rolls his eyes at the situation, “My sister needs me for something. She says it’s urgent but I doubt it.” He shrugs then, ignoring the importance of whatever it was his sister needed him for, he had only been half listening really. “I can stay though, it wouldn’t be the first time I ignore her.”

That has you snorting in laughter, “Go, you idiot.”

“But–” He tries to argue as he comes to hover over you, head dipping to steal a kiss out of you which you break after a few seconds by pushing his shoulders softly so you can reassure him it’s fine. After all, you had really enjoyed yourself so you’re genuinely considering another date with him.

“It’s okay. I had the best time with you, and that’s all I wanted.” Your hands come to the back of his head, fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck and scratching his scalp softly.

George clicks his tongue and he pouts to joke, “Knew you only wanted me for my body.”

You cackle at his antics and tell him to “Shut up.” only to do it yourself by pulling him into you so you can share one last kiss. It’s sweet but it isn’t soft, your lips moving together with intent as if to prove you need to do it again because it’s just too good.

But you have to stop it before it can turn into something more. You pull on his hair so your lips separate with a smack and, with the sweetest smile and looking at him with doe eyes, you say, “Thank you, George.”

“I had the best time Y/N/N.” He replies wholeheartedly then, agreeing with your previous point.

“Me too.” You nod softly to reiterate, your hands coming back down to cup his jaw, thumbs rubbing circles on his skin.

One last short kiss is all you get in that bed before you both stand up and get dressed. Well, George does, in the same getup as the day before, while you put your robe back on and tie it around yourself slowly as he finishes getting his shoes on.

“I’ll see you soon for a second date, yeah?” He says when you walk him to the door, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You definitely will.” You assure, knowing you’d be texting him very soon about a second date if he doesn’t text you first about it.

He winks right as he opens the door, stealing one last peck from your lips before walking away. Leaving you with a stupid smile on your face that only gets bigger when you close the door behind you and go back to your room, seeing the mess you had left the bed looking like.

Yes, you were definitely going on a second date with him.

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A/N: What did you think? Hope you lot enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, I'm so excited to see your reactions! xx

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @kennedy-brooke @drinkurkombucha @vinylandcoffeecollection @butyou-callmewhenyourebored

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lottiecrabie · 1 year

Text

pray for my soul. part three – matty healy

even after all your prayers, you feel matty's presence linger in all parts of your life. in church, in class, in the knock on your window...

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, choking, roleplay, religious imagery, blasphemy, pfms typical desecration

part three of five

13683 words

You’ve been clenching your fingers too much, hands clutched together as you pray or smother a wave of smoldering emotions. Your heart ring digs into your middle finger; the blood cuts off, pain spreading up your knuckles. You’d find it divine if it didn’t leave some ugly, red rash.

It makes your mother crazy at the sight, gasping as she spots the scarlet. She grabs your wrist, tugging you across the house. “Mom,” you whine, stumbling along. “It’s nothing.” Of course, she scoffs, pinching the bitten raw fingers and the chipped white nails to prove her point.

Opening the bathroom door, she shoves your hand under the sink. Scalding hot water pours out. You flinch at the sensation. She’s unbothered, squeezing hyssop soap, scrubbing your hands under the burning heat.

“You have to keep your hands clean,” your mother says, squirting some more soap.

If she really knew how soiled they’d been… Dipping in impure places, reaching for sinful desires, memorizing the feel of scattered scars… White soap on reddened, raw skin, but still you know she’ll never make them clean.

“Dirty girl,” she continues, shaking her head, scratching at the stubborn nail polish. “Don’t you know how to take care of your skin?”

Your eyes water, but you don’t make a peep. Lingering in the doorframe, the somber presence of your father towers across the bathroom. “I think it’s fine, honey,” he says, but she doesn’t hear, scraping away.

“I don’t know where this side of her comes from,” your mother mumbles to herself. Water pours and pours, drowning out your pained moans. “Certainly not me.”

Your father frowns, scoffing. “Well, not me either.” You throw him a pleading look, but he seems just as overrun.

“I’ve raised a clean girl.” Your mother scrubs your palm, muttering more than anything coherent. “Not this, not this…”

But she did. She can scrub all she wants, but she can’t wash away the stain of him. You’ve been touched, rotting under the skin. She can cut it off and you’d still remember the feel of Matty Healy.

Scorching flames lick up your arms. Your hands burn, barely bones anymore. You clench them, frowning at the sight of them. How funny that water doesn’t cool. That soap doesn’t clean. That your mother tries to control you, and all she does is teach you that fire doesn’t kill.

—

Your youth leader, Betty, offers you the bag of gummy bears, shimmying it in front of your face in appeal. You blush, more from the special attention than shyness, and dig for a red one. You bite the head off first, letting the colored sugar melt on your tongue for a few seconds. Still, as you swallow it, you can’t help but feel that pit of guilt grow inside your belly. You know your mother doesn’t want you eating candy.

Betty smiles benevolently at you, like she could read the thoughts on your forehead. You hate that. If people are capable of digging inside your brain— Gosh, the filthy things they could see.

Do you have that same guilty, hungry look when looking at Matty Healy? Can everyone see?

Betty winks, popping a gummy bear inside her mouth. “I won’t tell,” she says.

She’s a good person, capable of teetering that line between devotion and relatability. She looks out for you in Youth Group, asking questions when you grow quiet and fade into the background. She calls you little mouse and you pretend to find it funny.

“Thanks,” you whisper. Your mouth is coated in sugar. The taste won’t leave your tongue; it nevers does.

Later, with everyone high off fruit punch and chocolate, when the younger kids are playing with an old PlayStation in the basement, Betty looks at the five teenagers left and says with a trickster smile, “Today, I want to talk about sex.”

A chortle reverberates through the group. Your stomach drops, some unquenchable void spreading through your muscles. Oh, shit.

Betty grins, laughing too. She even encourages some more chuckle, drawing them out with her hands. Glancing to the sides, you manage to fake some small, nervous giggle. “I know, I know,” she says playfully. “It’s hard not to laugh. It’s this big, taboo thing no one can mention, right?” Betty doesn’t wait for an answer, but the group settles down nonetheless, paying attention.

You look around. Are they intrigued? How much do they think about sex? Do they know the burning feel of pleasure, waving through tense muscles with relieving fingers? Have they— Have they seen someone’s face break into ecstasy, rough hand passing on a hard, leaking cock, swollen lips whispering the filthiest promises, cum spilling—

You shake your head to chase the thoughts away. You can’t seem to escape it these days, passing that fateful day at the confessional to the fine comb. Heavy breaths, tingling hands, throbbing cunt; it takes everything in you not to tease a finger over your growing need, starting small like he taught you.

“But it’s important to talk about it. At your age, the world gets confusing,” Betty starts, suddenly serious. “There’s all these temptations, and these hormones, and it’s normal to think about it. To want.”

Your heart smashes against your ribs. You’re afraid everyone can hear. Yes, you practically want to scream. I want. I want.

“But,” Betty continues, and once again she offers this warm grin, spreading over her face like she is trying to coax people into this sense of safety, “It’s important not to act on them. Peter 2:11. Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. The war is human, but abstaining is the godly thing to do. As tempting as it might be, there will never be anything as satisfying as following God’s path.”

But has Betty felt the burning lips of Matty Healy stealing secrets from her mouth, coaxing an insatiable appetite out of her tongue? Has she felt his callused fingers on her breast, pinching a sensitive nipple? Did he ask her to get on her knees, panting in the hot air? See if she manages to say no.

Betty doesn't know how much temptation can satisfy. You cross your arms, falling back on your chair. It’s clear now that no one here has grazed the fingertips of damnation.

“Timothy 2:22. Flee also youthful lusts; but pursue righteousness, faith, love, peace with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart. The Lord tries us all in different ways, but listening to his preachings and surrounding yourself with fellow followers is the only way to go. I promise that whatever desire you think you want will never make you feel anything other than dirty and guilty, whereas abstinence, although maybe harder and less tempting, will leave you proud and realized.”

Dirty. Guilty. Forsaken. Disgusting. Stained. Rotten. It spins in your head. You’re merely the idea of a girl; inside, you’re nothing but darkness, coursing fire smothered under the ashes.

Maybe she’s right.

Of course, Betty is right. But there’s this constant ache between your thighs, begging, pleading. Would the depths of hell at least take you out of your misery? You’d drown in its murky waters, surely, lost to the voice of God and His merciful hand.

But at least you wouldn’t burn anymore.

“Does someone have a question? This is a safe place: feel free to be honest.”

Samantha, a detestable try-hard with pursed lips and a haughty nose, raises her hand. Betty nods towards her. “I don’t have a question, but I would just remind everyone of Corinthians 6:19. You surely know that your body is a temple where the Holy Spirit lives. The Spirit is in you and is a gift from God. You are no longer your own. It’s important not only to abstain from impure relations with other people, but also yourself.”

You hold back a roll of your eyes.

“Great point, Samantha,” Betty says, and of course Samantha practically beams from her corner of the sofa. “You must treat yourself and your God with respect.”

Your nails dig into your upper arms, faintly scowling. No one here has ever touched themselves. They don’t know.

They just don’t fucking know.

—

Matty is in your history class. He scribbles in black sharpie on his desk — three spots to the left and two back from you. You feel his presence, some sort of magnetic pull you can’t explain.

Indulgently, you wander a guilty eye over to him. He’s beautiful, face pulled down, slight frown as he concentrates on some desecrating piece of art. One single curl falls on his forehead. You wonder if it tickles him. You remember the feel of the loose, dark mess between your hungry fingers. Your stomach clenches; you’re starved.

You look at him and he doesn’t look back. His lack of heavy stares feel purposeful, thick in the tense space between you. You’re a ghost to him, a stranger. Sometimes, you daydream of standing up and doing something outlandish. Dance, flip off a teacher, slap his desk, get completely naked. Just to get his attention. Just to make him acknowledge that you’re there.

It’s silly. It’s wrong, even. You’ve sworn to stay away from Matty Healy in all your evening prayers since that fateful day in church. You mean it—echoes of needy groans and wet skin and she’s coming, she’s right there—most of the time.

You’ve been touched by the mark of Satan. You fester from the inside, rotting around your bones. You can feel it.

You turn back to the teacher, penning down the new dates on the blackboard in your pink notebook. You bite the end of your stylo when you’re done, crossing your legs, kicking one just to feel that faint, tantalizing rippling up your thighs.

It’s part of you. You can’t unroot it without killing everything else.

—

A pink, fluffy towel wraps around your body. You sit at your vanity, brushing your wet hair, staring in the mirror. The girl stares back at you.

You frown a little, arm dropping down. Cocking your head, you pass a hand over your right cheek, watching it grow red under your fingers. You press at your collarbone next; handprints of bright white on your skin, then nothing at all.

You stand from the bench; not a chair, your mother says it ruins a posture. Facing your mirror, you drop the towel.

There’s a naked body in front of you. Inches of silky skin. Red-toed feet wiggling in the carpet. Legs licking up to hips. A stomach, clenching and unclenching. Peaked breasts. You take your hand— and it is your hand— and spread it over your belly.

You climb up to your breasts, cupping them. You descend them back down your ribs, dancing on the bone. Your waist expands to your hips. You press into them, into the curve of your ass.

Finally, you cover the apex of your thighs. The hair tickles your palm; the heel of your hand presses into your clit. You try to ignore the strike of pleasure, although you can’t stop yourself from biting your lip.

With a single finger, you dip into your pussy. Not even to be impure with yourself. Just to feel the warm entrance, growing faintly wet under your grazing touch.

It’s my body, you tell yourself. You take your finger out, sucking on it. It’s my body.

—

You find Matty Healy smoking behind the bleachers. There’s a football practice faintly happening beyond it, balls being kicked around on the fluorescent green grass. You ignore the coach’s metric whistle and the resounding cheers from lovestruck girls. You approach him carefully, hands shyly tucked behind your back.

You forget what to say. You forget the mere existence of bisyllabic words standing in front of him, a lazy cigarette between his ringed fingers. “Hi,” is the only thing you manage. Matty jumps in surprise, raising his eyes from his dirty sneakers and settling them on you for the very first time in weeks.

Dark brown, nearly black things. They don’t warm at the sight of you. You didn’t even know they could be so frigid, meant to cut apart— or at the very least bleed. All your nerve endings are aware of him. You gulp, blinking away his knifing glare.

Finally, he blows a cloud of smoke out of his mouth. “Hey.” Monosyllabic too. At least you feel a little less silly. “What are you doing here?”

What are you doing here? You don’t even know, spotting his dirty frame in the corner of your eyes and feeling your feet moving before you could think anything else. You’re there now, with barely your wits about you, and you can’t help that sinking feeling that you’re about to be eaten alive.

Why would you ever think you’d be anything but prey to Matty’s biting teeth?

“I wanted to talk,” you say, because that feels the most safe.

Still, Matty scoffs, taking a new drag of his cigarette. You wonder if your meat catches between his teeth. If he picks your flesh out of the gaps when he’s done tearing through you.

“Don’t talk for too long. I could bring you down to hell with me, isn’t that right? Ruin you?” Bitter words spat in your face. Your eyebrows rise.

For the first time, you’re hit with the fact that Matty Healy might actually be hurt. By you. That he’s a boy, a confused teenager kissing a girl, and not some horned serpent luring you to your doom. It demystifies him. Drenches him in normalcy.

You clutch your cross, softening your stare. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “Big bad atheist is forsaking you. Bo-ring.” It’s mean. Cruel and careless. Still, it’s easy to see through him.

You take the lashing out, smirking at the hit. It’s obvious to you now how open he is, how clear the emotions read across his forehead. How could you have ever wondered what he was thinking? It’s right there, to pick and cherish, to hold between your palms.

It would mix with the stain of you. Your dirty hands would be indistinguishable from his dirty thoughts. Two spirits catching at the edges, blending into some messy art, wrong and off-putting and yet undeniably beautiful.

You want to hold him.

You’re afraid he’d pass through the crack of your fingers like water. Gone before you could bend and sip an indulgent mouthful. Gone before you could let the taste linger in your mouth. Gone before you could swallow him and stick him in your throat.

Would he leave? You cock your head, considering him. Where would he go?

You feel the ground shift beneath your very feet. The Earth must spin dusty seconds slower. Oxygen must be lighter, dangling your head just slightly over your neck. That’s right, you must be entirely headless.

“Matty,” you sing with your own saccharine smile, taking a slithering step towards him.

His jaw ticks, watching you carefully. You stop barely a few breaths away from him, staring him straight in the eyes, unflappable. How good to look at him without shame, without manually blinking between the seconds.

“You’re not ruining me.” You smile some more, teasing and playful and perhaps just a little bit seductive, if you can manage that at all. Leaning into him some more, you whisper conspiratorially, “I can do that myself.”

Matty looks away, shaking his head. You spot some faint blush spreading across his cheeks. You bite back a giggle, something overjoyed and overpowered striking through you at the very sight.

Your hand, ring-free but still sporting that splash of damning scarlet, reaches out for his. You trail two fingers over his, grazing the metal of his index. His eyes snap to the spectacle, engrossed by just the tips of you. You smile victoriously, kidnapping his cigarette.

With a vague gesture of your hand, you say in a botched raspy tone, “You know, we're all really alone in life, and religion can't save you, and God is a huge dick.” You end your grandiose declaration with a drag of cigarette, blowing the smoke out in his face. You smile proudly as he laughs at your antics.

The gray disperses around you, finally revealing him. He’s grinning warmly down at you. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Nah. Just generally a big bad atheist.” You make sure to coat his words with cheeky taunting which he rolls his eyes at.

“You’re not funny.”

“You laughed.”

Stuck, Matty quickly changes subject, leaning back on the metal structure to peer at you from above. He crosses his arms. “I’m surprised you didn’t cough.”

You shrug, staring down at the burning cigarette between your fingers. “Maybe it’s not my first cig.”

When you look back at him, his eyes have grown dark, burning again with that fire that’s become indistinguishable from him. How good to see it again. You feel it seeping under your white sweater, tickling your ribs. You want him there, tearing the bones from you.

Matty cocks his head. “Is it?” Again, you just raise your shoulders with an air of mystery. He smirks, something dangerous to the edges. Here’s not the boy, but the animal, flashing his teeth like he could sink them in your throat. “What would your God say about that?”

You hum, refusing to look away from his tense stare. There’s much less teasing when you say, “Probably something disapproving. But then, we all have our vices.” It’s not your fault. Your breath’s caught in your throat. Your head spins, warning bells you delightfully ignore in a back corner of your brain.

To distract the slight tremble in your hand, you bring the cigarette back to your pouty lips. You take a drag, but it goes badly down your throat, and you cough in the elbow of your other arm. Your cheeks blaze. You peer at him tentatively to find him smirking at you, condescending and smug, clearly having found the answer you so craftily avoided before.

You scowl, mostly in warning, but that does not stop him from opening his mouth. “Gotta suck it like a straw,” he taunts. His smirk grows wider, more like a grin, “Or a c—”

“Okay,” you blush further. Images of his— and you on your knees, finally obeying his request, praying real real hard for— You twirl the cigarette in your fingers, feeling the red spread across your face. You mumble, “Don’t be crass.”

“I thought you liked that.” Must he be so cocky, so detestable. Must he make every cell of yours aware of him, every inch begging for his skin, must he raise your temperature to a feverish degree? Matty seems to read right through you. Perhaps he, too, sees the emotion written across your forehead. “Yes, if I recall correctly, you really, really love when I’m crass. Almost made you com—”

Your eyes snap to his, daggering him with a glare you don’t mean. You have to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, chase that sinfully good reverb to your wet pussy. Triumphant, Matty leans into your ear, breath grazing the sensitive skin as he whispers, “I didn’t even scratch a tenth of the things I want to do to you.” His hand lingers over yours.

In an instant, he’s snapping away from you, stolen cigarette between his fingers. Matty takes an easy drag, pouring the gray cloud over your face in retaliation. A shit-eating grin reigns over his lips.

He’s beautiful. Your insides melt like syrup. He’d try to grab your hips and he’d soak through, sugar sticking on his palms.

“Save it,” you say finally, taking one step away. You smile. “I like a surprise.”

He snorts. “I thought I was disgusting.”

“No,” you shake your head, rolling your eyes like he was very silly, “I said I was.” Giving him a purposeful onceover, you smirk. “Or at least I could be.”

—

You rub the ringless knuckle with two fingers, still feeling the memory of a ghost on your skin. Kneeling at the end of your bed, you pick at your nails. You think of what to say, of prayers to mouth in the evening. You’ve been sinning, you know this. Forming an hubris, leaning into desires, smoking— smoking with a boy who smirks and pours gray clouds out of his lips and looks you up and down like he could swallow you whole. A boy who’s Matty Healy, a proud sinner, a reckless atheist.

Still, you kneel at your bed and you find most of your head empty. Your bedroom door is cracked, letting a shine of light pass through. Your father walks; you hear the monotonous steps, loud and heavy and regular. Instinctively, you close your eyes, muttering nothing to yourself.

“Goodnight, sweetie,” your father says, peeking his head through. You open your eyes in false surprise.

“Oh, goodnight, Dad.”

“Sleep well,” he says, and you nod curtly. You’ll dream of filthy things. Scandalous mirages. You’ll imagine skin and hips and breasts; fingers and lips and cock. Licking and biting and devouring. He can’t stop you.

You grin, bright and wide. “Thanks. You too.”

Your father keeps the door ajar as he leaves. The hallway light is still on. Your mother is downstairs, busying herself with the dishes. You hear the soothing sound of the running water, a faint hum of a song.

Beside you, someone knocks at your window. You frown, twisting around, coming face to face with Matty Healy’s scrunched body as he peers through the glass, a smirk on his lips. Your eyes widen. You jump to your feet, heart beating in your chest, looking around like your father would pop through the door at any moment.

Grabbing the handles, you slam the window up. Matty grins lazily at you, unworried in the face of your clear stress. “What are you doing here?” You whisper-yell to him.

“Wanted to say hey,” he shrugs easily.

You blink at him. “At ten PM?”

“You know, it’s still pretty early for us deviants.” He pointedly peers past the window frame, coming back to you with an arched eyebrow. “Can I come in?”

You bite your lip, flipping back to your half-opened door, to the floating sound of your mother’s song. You should say no. Nothing good can come out of seeing Matty Healy, especially at this hour.

But a low hum of thrill rings in your belly. Your heart slams in your chest, singing, alive for the first time in too long. You’re electrified, hyperaware. You’re never catching sleep now.

Fuck it, you think, because you can swear in the sanctity of your own mind. You tiptoe to the door, slowly shutting it. You’re diligent, twisting the doorknob to make sure not a single sound travels back to the kitchen. When your mission is done, you turn back to Matty, a proud, victorious smile on your lips. He grins back easily, already standing in your room, dirty sneakers on your carpet.

“Hey,” Matty says.

“Hi,” you answer, hands twisting behind your back. It is impossibly teenage-like. You almost feel like a caricature of yourself.

“So this is your room?” He continues, speaking softly as to not alert your parents. You half-believe your mother really could magically sense the presence of a teenage atheist boy in her house. Some sharpened instinct for sin.

“It would appear so.”

Matty walks in your room, faintly tentative in his steps. He looks around, taking in your vanity holding scattered bottles of perfume and lotion, your gold full-length mirror, the glued flowers to your walls, the fluffy carpet dirtied by his sneakers. The twin bed with pink sheets. The bible on the nightstand. The crucifix watching over you. You flush, looking away embarrassed.

“Cute,” Matty says. It feels almost derogatory. Cute, like a little girl, someone you coo at and pat the head of fondly. Someone that’s empty brained, not smart enough to follow his wild wordvomit, the boundless theories haunting his mind. You scowl. He seems to see through you, chuckling easily. “I like it,” he insists.

“No, you don’t.”

“Well,” he grins. “It’s a little pink for me.”

“Shut up.” You shake your head, huffing a laugh.

Matty takes off his shoes, sitting down on your bed. He scoops himself up, resting his back against the wall. A spike of nerves strikes your stomach, but it spreads nicely through your limbs. Between your thighs most of all, clenching around nothing.

A boy in your bed. How strange.

“What were you doing?”

“Praying,” you answer in habit.

He arches an eyebrow, grabbing your bible. He flips through the pages, half-curious and half-sneering. A small defensive thing beats in your heart. You frown at him. “What were you praying about?”

“Just—” Now you’re caught off-guard. There’s much valid answers spinning in your head. Peace, health, family. But there’s an insatiable need in you to knock him off his pretentious pedestal. Shake him to his core, just so he knows the ripples passing through your soul whenever he decides to smash into your world. “Sex.”

This definitely shakes him. His hands freeze around the bible, eyes snapping back to you. There’s no shock, per say, but something darker. It calls to you, climbing up your spine. “Oh?”

You smile. You barely register the step you take towards the bed. “Yes. I’ve been really bad, getting all mixed-up in my impure thoughts. I just had to pray the lust away.”

Matty inhales slowly, watching you like he could eat through your flesh. You see his chest rise in quick successions. A devilish smirk teases at your lips. “Does it work?” His voice is surprisingly even.

You sigh. “Does it ever work?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. God, he’s so easy. “Why don’t you show me?”

A playful look through your eyelashes. “Yes, Father.” His breath hitches in his throat. Matty grips the bible like a lifebuoy, and, oh, isn’t that just deliciously ironic?

You fall to your knees under his mesmerized stare, elbows resting at the end of your bed, fingers interlocking together. Spine comically straight, eyes innocently closed, you’re a caricature of a devotee.

You hum, licking your lips. “Lord, I’m sorry I thought about that boy again.” You relish in the breath of air choking from his lips, half a gasp and half a groan. Your eyelids tingle, begging to take a peek at his reaction, but you know your little act requires your eyes closed.

With a fake frown of guilt, you continue, “I shouldn’t have thought of him bending me over my desk in the middle of history class. I shouldn’t have thought of everyone watching us as he flipped my skirt up.” Definitely a groan, low and gravelly from his sinful lips. “Should definitely not have thought of him fucking me in front of all these students— and the teacher, of course— until I’m cockdrunk and drooling on my desk.” Another muffled sound. Rustling of jeans and sheets. You smirk, incapable of keeping the innocent schoolgirl act, devious as you say, “Lord, I’m so sorry I considered touching myself in class thinking of—”

Matty caresses your hair, following the curve of your jaw, gripping your chin between his fingers. You snap your eyes open, breath stolen from your throat. He towers over you, godly, knees siding your elbows. It’s suddenly not funny at all.

“I forgive you.”

And then, all of a sudden, you know what it’s like to be clean. Your soul frees of the soil; of the dirt and grime and mud tacking your bones. Your fingertips buzz, carpet-burnt knees forgetting the pain.

Your head nuzzles in his hand, grinning. Matty’s thumb grazes your lower lip. Instinctively, your mouth slips open, practically inviting him in.

His thumb dips inside, pressing meanly on your tongue. You suck on his finger, staring up at him through your eyelashes. His ring tastes like metal in your mouth. Something in you loves it; craves the aftertaste of blood.

Matty breathes heavily, lips parting. Dark eyes discombobulating you. Your head feels slack on your neck. He slips away from your mouth. Drool coats his skin. It dries on your cheek, thumb rubbing it tenderly, hand spreading on your jaw.

Your eyes are locked with his, almost mesmerized by the dark pupils. You want to drown in the murky waters. That must be where hell lies, alive and rustling.

Where you want to dive, lose yourself in the intangible.

Matty smirks down at you. Like he knows. Like he reads the thoughts on your forehead. Little mouse practically screaming your filthy thoughts.

“You’re quiet,” he says almost matter-of-factly, like an observation he just realized. The smirk betrays him, broadcasting the gleeful cruelty in the words. I’ve shut you up is unsaid, but much felt.

You resent it. You want to scream, to be heard, to crash into his ribs and burst the bone. Of course, it’s when your thoughts roar the loudest that your tongue curdles, useless in your mouth. Words escape from you, mind spinning with wantwantwantwantwant without needed direction. You’re a mess of a girl, more a tactless binding of contradictions than anything real— yarn and clusters and knots tying staggering opposites under skin.

But you want, and isn’t it just great to allow yourself to? To desire, to hunger.

Words loose in your throat, you push yourself up from the ground with two hands spreading over his knees. He follows your biblical rise like an avid follower until you loom over him. He has to tip his chin to look you in the eyes. There is something inexplicably thrilling about it. Power surges up your spine.

Your hands settle on his shoulders. Slowly; time is yours. Matty skips a breath. His fingers find the back of your thighs, a second nature, more a thoughtless impulse than any type of decision. His digging stare is still locked with yours. You wonder if he’s even realized he’s grazing your legs, dancing fingertips on the skin.

Your eyes trail to his lips. Parted, gasping an irregular pattern, waiting for you. Red like he’s licked the blood off, trying to catch the last trace of you as he tears through your heart.

“I don’t want to be good,” you whisper, because he has to know. Because it has to be said. Because you don’t, and more importantly, you don’t have to.

Matty smiles. His fingers hook behind your knees— whiplash from how present he suddenly is spreading from the still hot handprints. He tugs you into him, making you land squarely on his lap. You gasp as you settle, gripping his shoulders, digging in the cotton of his washed-out shirt.

“I don’t want you to be good either,” he says, bending his head towards you conspiratorially, like telling you a secret. Your heart slams against your ribs, calling for him, for his lingering touch, burning even when he’s gone. I want you, I want you.

You try to catch your breath, to grab onto your heart with two hands and tell it to settle down, but it’s not enough. He’s seeped under the cracks, loosened the knots. You’re embarrassingly wet, dripping for him even if he’s barely given you more than a brush.

“It’s settled then,” you say with much bravado, traveling your begging hands to his nape, scooping your hips to sit closer to him. You smile playfully, leaning into him. “I’ll be very disgusting.”

Matty cringes, letting go of your scraped knees. Fear grips you— you act on instinct, taking his wrist and puppeteering him to your waist, wrapping him around you, interlacing him before he can slip away from your fingers. “I want you,” you say, crystal clear.

Matty considers you, perfectly controlled if it wasn’t for the betraying blush pinking his cheeks. Two fingers dip under the hem of your pajamas, thumb rubbing at your rib, pinky resting on your hip annoyingly still. It ripples in your body, toes curling like some prophetic foreteller. You throb around nothing, biting your lip.

His other hand ghosts over your collarbone. The non-touch is still enough to race your poor heart, drunk on the presence of him. He watches your breath quicken, chest rising and falling, then flips to your eyes. “Do you really mean that?” He asks, unsettlingly serious. You nod, once again lost for words. His fingers skislope down the bone.

He lands on the cross dangling from your neck, sitting perfectly straight on your chest, the crowning ornament of a paper girl. Your breath catches; the world stops. He arches an eyebrow at you, hooking into the gold chain. “Do you really mean that?”

Turning points, life forking in two like the tongue of a snake. Possibilities on the tip of your teeth, so close you can taste it.

“I want you—” Catching the chain, he tugs you to his lips, siren to your sailor. Your mouths lock, frenzied delight spinning around your neck, scrambling any remaining wit. Yes, you think, parting your lips, finally.

You sigh into his mouth, from relief or pleasure or perhaps the vertiginous feeling of standing on the cliff of the unknown, unstable ground rippling under your feet. But Matty is solid under you— your hands rack through his curls, softer than you remember them, gripping the tangible, the steady.

His hand at your side digs into your hip, drawing you square on his hard cock. You gasp, rolling your head, lingering in the first electroshocks of bliss biting into your limbs. Like jumping into cold waters on the hottest day of summer— shocked from the contrast, giddy from the refreshing cool. You grind into him again, a happy laugh spilling from you.

Matty doesn’t waste opportunities. He finds your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your pulse. He climbs up to your jaw, biting then licking away the ache. You shiver, trapped between his arms.

The cross rests in the center of his palm still, pretty and cool. He could tear it apart if he wished. Tear you straight to the bone. Instead, he runs a thumb over the metal, over the bloody edges of you. You drip on him, wax candle melting from his flame, but you can trust he’ll lick it clean.

You take him by the cheeks, drawing him back to your lips. You’re already panting. The room blurs around you; your hip exists because he touches it, because it’s him that does it. You roll them against his, reveling in the choked groans from deep in his throat.

Matty lets go of the cross, finding your breast instead. He pushes down your camisole, revealing your peaked nipples. The back of your mind half-thinks of being self-conscious, but he pinches one, rubbing it, making you moan, and suddenly there’s no thoughts at all but his name. His mouth rips from yours. He bends down, licking a nipple with an expert tongue. A strike of pure ecstasy waves through you. Your fingers twist into his mane, encouraging him, furiously humping his lap.

Matty can’t make his mind up— he vacillates between wanting to devour your tits, biting the underboob meanly, kissing it better; between watching your face as you whimper, frown digging in your eyebrows as you concentrate on not making much sound; between kissing you, tongue slipping through your lips; between wrinkling his face close, letting himself get washed in the euphoria.

In the end, he twists you, laying you down on the bed, him over you. It’s a practiced maneuver— you want to scowl, but he settles deliciously between your thighs and now you’re too busy rolling your eyes into your skull.

“Beautiful,” he says, short-winded, flicking between your face and your untidy body, pajamas barely covering any flushed skin. You redden, chin dipping shyly.

Matty burrows underneath your tank top, uncovering your skin inch by inch as he slowly climbs up your waist. His calluses dance on your ribs, branding iron to your vestal body, something to linger when he’s gone. You breathe harshly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to stay very still.

He passes the shirt beyond your head, hair falling through the neck. He throws it over the bed carelessly, like it didn’t exist now that you weren’t wearing it.

It’s not like it was occupying its function as a shirt before, more a bunched belt around your waist than anything. Still, you feel self-conscious, uncovered like this in front of him. Topless. Naked. You have the impulse to cover your breasts, hide away from his baring stare. It tickles at the back of your mind.

“I wanna hear you,” Matty whispers, ghosting up your stomach, eyes following his hand religiously. “You had so much to say before.”

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. It’s all impossibly real. You don’t know how to do any of this.

Matty smiles reassuringly. “What do you want?” He spurs you on, thumb finding your nipple and circling it. You moan, arching into his palm.

You don’t know what you want, you just do. Everything. Anything. As long as it’s sinful; as long as it’s worth the damnation.

“Angel, what do you want?” He whispers in your ear, biting your lobe, unwilling to let it go. You try to contain a shiver, but your legs still part instinctively for him. He smiles at that, something crooked to it, something raw.

“I’m not an angel,” you say petulantly.

He’s hard between your sticky thighs. An atheist is kissing your neck where the chain meets the skin. You’re— You’re in your goddamn childhood bed, on the fluffy pink sheets you got for your ninth birthday for Christ’s sake. Nothing about you is innocent, or pure, or angelic.

You’re poisonous, and dirty, and hungry.

Of course, Matty doesn’t seem to agree. He pouts condescendingly at you, trailing the tip of his fingers—callused and hard worked and meant to burn, but oh so gentle on your belly — lower, near the waist of your pajama shorts.

“Is that so?” He says, overly cocky and teasing, practically mocking the very words out of your mouth. Still, you nod. At that, he smiles wider, shadows catching his teeth. “Well, prove it.”

His hand meets the band of your underwear. You stop your eyes from rolling inside your skull, from scrunching your face in pure delight. You want to see him. See him as he watches you, licking his lips, following every rising chest and huffing lips and trembling thighs. See him as he takes you in, as he stares like he wishes to memorize the very edges of you, like he wants to swallow you whole.

God, you want to be consumed.

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You push. “I’ve done my evening prayers,” you say with a moan. “Your turn.” Matty laughs, but he’s going down your body obligingly.

His lips graze your skin with head-swooning attention. He kisses down your neck, pressing a demure peck on your cross, like handshaking the Lord. A blush reddens your cheeks.

Your chest heaves, trying to quiet down your screaming heart, the overwhelming anticipation spreading through your body. Every particle of you is aware of him, of what’s coming, and you sense an incriminating flutter invading you. Your thighs close around his waist, softly grinding onto him, biting your lower lip.

Matty kisses the top of your breasts, gently biting your nipples. He’s diligent on this part of your body, lingering there happily. You can’t seem to swallow down the striking pleasure, quietly whining as he sucks and licks and twists.

Your mother must be downstairs still. Your father is only a few rooms over. They could hear, or worse walk in, find you half naked with a boy between your thighs. What would they think? What would they say? What would they do? Scrub your skin off under the burning shower, scrape and scrape until you’re raw, as though you could ever forget the memory of his lips on you? A furrow dents your eyebrows harshly. You bite your lip, relishing in the pain spreading down your chin.

You can be depraved as long as you’re punished for it. A taste of sin if it slashes down your throat.

You’ve barely grown accustomed to him that he’s gone already, moving down your waist, ribs a xylophone to his tongue. A small line of hair scatters over your belly. He follows the path, lips floating over your skin. You flex under him, excited and nervous and impossibly hot.

Matty kisses just above the hem of your pajamas, hand digging into your hip. He looks up at you and inexplicable pleasure grips you. He’s— He’s majestic. Better than some God; prettier, too.

Dark eyes, red lips, frenzied hair. You rack through the mess of curls, tugging as encouragement. He’ll make doom worth something. A dust of a moment traded for eternity feels awfully fair when he’s looking at you like this.

Matty’s fingers hook into the shorts. He pulls them down your legs, scratching the silky skin as he goes. Once again, the scrap of fabric is thoughtlessly discarded as soon as it slips out of your feet.

You’re in your underwear. In front of Matty Healy. You take a few seconds to attempt to wrap your head around the fact, but it’s nearly impossible with his tough fingers climbing back up your shaking legs, approaching your thighs.

Need throbs inside of you. You crave him.

“Is this what you wanted?” He says, approaching the apex of your thighs.

You moan, face clenching, toes curling in the idea of what is coming. Your body holds its breath, anticipation running down its veins. Something about this moment is inherent; your mind barely understands the implications, but your legs retain the memory of a pleasure you’ve never had. Remaining sins from Eve herself. This is millions of years in the making.

“Love, is this what you want?”

You huff, resting on your elbows to look at him. “No,” you bite. “I want more.”

Matty laughs, kissing your hip bone just above your underwear. You choke on a breath, shiver dancing up your spine. “Like this?” He whispers, cheeky and teasing because he knows it’s not.

Your hips rise towards him, falling back uselessly. “No.”

He hums, finding the twin bone, giving it a sweet mirror kiss. You whine, head rolling in frustration. “How about this?” He’s so proud.

“I want—” You sigh, words fleeing down your throat in a cruel game of hide and seek. The chasm of the unknown reels under your toes. You frown. “I want—”

“Yes?” Matty bites your hip, smiling knowingly at you as he licks it clean.

You stare at his dancing eyes, at that damn curl of his falling across his forehead like lightning, at his tongue, pink and soft and— “I want you to lick me.” You’re too proud to be embarrassed at the dirty words. The idea already calls to you, spinning deliciously in your head. Matty grins at you. You push his head, hand still firmly tucked in his hair, lining him up to your center. “Just—” You moan as his chin bumps your ignored clit, “ruin me.”

Matty doesn’t need to be told twice— thank God. He slips your underwear off your legs. You have no time to grow shy at being completely, entirely exposed because he’s pushing your thighs open the next second, licking your clit.

Your hips jump. A cry slips your lips. You slap a hand over your mouth, heart racing. Again, you can barely finish wondering if your mother heard that Matty is sucking on your bud. Thankfully your palm catches the moans freefalling thoughtlessly from your mouth. You can’t seem to hold them back— it’s beyond reason, beyond you. It listens to the heated bliss soaring through your limbs and nothing else.

You’re the apple and the snake and the first woman. You’re multitudes stretching under your skin. You’ve got a man between your thighs, eating you. The thought doesn’t seem real, although his tongue proves otherwise, languid and sure and flicking.

You can tell he’s following the same rhythm he ordered in the dark box of the confessional, ironically close to a priest prescribing penance for mortal sins. Slow and gentle and teasing; meant to boil your blood, get you begging.

As though you’re not dripping on the sheets for him. As though you’re not dizzy with want. As though you’re not holding back screams.

Still, he licks and sucks at your clit, swiping and circling on the nerves. He cruelly ignores your entrance clenching around nothing, practically weeping for him. His nails dig into the meat of your thigh like he wants to, though. Like he has to stop himself from doing so.

You’ve never had more than a lick of sacramental wine, but you feel drunk already. The bed is your island, spreading across the world. Sweat sticks your hair to your forehead. You grind into him desperately, chasing that syrupy ecstasy coaxing through your veins. What is the point of blood? You’d rather live off the sweetness.

You rack your fingers through Matty’s mane, brushing it back from his forehead as though he needed to see to best work. “Matty,” you say, high-pitched and desperate, “please.”

“You just had to say, pet,” he whispers, coming out of your thighs out of breath, slick coating his chin. You flush, thinking of why. Devoted, he throws one of your legs over your shoulder, diving back for more.

Thumb rubbing at your clit, he runs his tongue over your folds. “Fuck, Matty—” You bite into your lip, face scrunching to keep in the visceral words screaming in your mind.

This is what people have been hiding, keeping firmly locked behind rings and hushed whispers, spelling it out so you wouldn’t put the letters together. Endless euphoria waving, razing, ravaging. You get it now.

It’s too much power to give to a girl. Because that’s what you are, in the end. Just a girl.

Matty laps at you, burning tongue finding the apex of all your desires and rubbing a frantic rhythm against it. He moves purposefully, knowingly, as though he already learnt all the secrets even you haven’t discovered.

Your head rolls back. You bite your hand, tearing through the palm lines, crushing under your teeth whatever future a fortune teller would’ve read in the fated dents. The path bursts; you’re soaring through the sky— or perhaps freefalling. The two feel awfully the same, heaven and hell intertwined until you can’t distinguish which cardinal point you’re following.

Pornographic, sopping sounds ring through the room. He groans against you, reverberating in your cunt. You clench around his tongue, hips flapping wildly. Pressure builds in your belly. Your limbs tense, electricity coursing through the lines. “Matty, I—”

Who are you to wreck God’s perfectly curated plan? Still, you tug at Matty’s curls, grinding into his face, heel digging into his back. Ecstasy wipes your mind clean.

“I know, angel,” Matty moans. He ducks back single-minded, licking into you with a frenzied passion. Quick and strong, thumb pressing on your clit meanly; he devours you. You feel feverish. You feel sick.

You’re on fire.

Let you burn down. Catch the sheets, the fuzzy carpet, the whole goddamn house. You’re tired of smothering fire, like a fickle flicker of flame wouldn’t bring it back in an instant. You want to blaze. You want to melt.

Infinity smears your tongue. You are but a body, and it breaks apart.

You bite your palm raw holding back a scream. Euphoria erupts under your skin. The yarn rips; you fall apart on his tongue, scattered sins bursting around the room. You tug at his hair cruelly, the last remaining hold on reality as your vision blurs.

How good. That is all you think for a blink of a moment. How good.

The debris settles around you. You lay in ruins, catching your breath, laughing softly. This is a fucking orgasm.

All those talks of sin, of flesh, of ashes. Of apples and girls and flames. All those prayers you’ve done, fingers intertwined as you mouthed false promises. All the guilt you’ve carried with you. For existing, for wanting, for being a girl with a body.

You should feel dirty. Matty Healy has just eaten you out until your brain leaked out of your ears. You should be disgusting.

Instead, you feel oddly free.

Matty peeks out of your legs, face wet and dripping with you. He wipes at it. You finally let go of your tyrannical hold on his hair, brushing away the strands as an apology. He frowns, asking worriedly, “Are you crying?”

You pat at your cheeks, finding the telltale tears. “Oh,” you say, somehow surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” You wipe at them furiously, flushing under his baring stare. How embarrassing.

He settles beside you, tucking your side onto him with a lazy hand on your waist. The contact is reassuring, somehow. You nestle into him closer. “Why?” He says, trailing a finger on your skin.

“Just—” You blush harder, looking away abashed. “I don’t know.”

“Did I…” His eyebrows furrow further. Your heart jumps.

“No,” you say, wide-eyed. “You were great. It was—” You wrinkle your nose, suddenly ashamed to be talking about all this. Like he wasn’t buried between your thighs just a few seconds ago. “It was really good.” God, you just don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” you add, unsure.

Matty laughs. “You’re welcome, love.” He runs a hand through your hair, tucking a strand behind your flushed ear. “What is it, then?”

“I guess—” You bite your lip, trying to find words for something instinctive, thoughtless. “I was just really happy. And free. Like I’d broken through something.” You shake your head. “I don’t know. It was my first time, obviously. It’s… new.”

“Good new?”

You smile at his tentative words clearly searching for validation. It makes you a little glad. That it’s not just another day for him, certain and cool and all knowing. That there’s doubts just like you, some pubescent anxiety.

You nod. “Good new.”

Although you mean it, something in you still spins with nervosity. It’s new; freeing and hot and fresh. But it’s also new; strange and different and unknown. Now your thoughts are filled with questions. If he liked it too. If you were too loud. If you weren’t enough. If you tasted bad. If you looked good. If you should have done more. If he expects more. If he likes you.

If it’s it, then. If you’re forsaken. If there’s no going back now. If you should feel guiltier. If you should care less.

There’s no wrong way to feel, yet it seems you can’t find the right one either. Your brain goes through gymnastics, finding a new worry to latch onto, volleying between contradictions.

You are free. You are guilty. You don’t know how to reckon with either.

Matty seems to sense the overthinking smoking out of your ears. His fingers graze down to your naked hip, drawing a slow pattern on the skin. “What?” He breathes in your ear.

“Nothing,” you shake your head.

That’s what you want to feel. Nothing. His calluses press on your skin. You feel your walls flutter, already awoken by his ghosting touch.

You know a way to get there: mind wiped blissfully clean. With a purpose, you hook a hand behind his neck, tugging him back to your mouth. Matty sees you coming, lips parted in readiness, tongue slipping in hotly.

You moan against him, already feeling yourself boiling under your skin. It’s an instinctive reaction. He’s barely licking into your mouth that you’re already in a frenzy, heart slamming against your ribs for more.

You comb a hand through his unruly curls, scratching at his scalp. He shivers against you, letting go to breathe a relieved groan before finding your lips with renewed fervor. You like the power it gives you. You repeat the movement over and over, relishing in the smallest reactions you can coax out of him. Not a marble man; he crinkles just like you.

He spreads his hand under your back, drawing you to your side, titling his head to kiss you better. His fingers dance on your spine, unshy and learning. You feel awfully naked, all of sudden. Laying in your childhood bed, bare other than the cross still dangling from your neck, now tangled somewhere in your hair far from sight. With a boy who’s very much dressed.

Attempting to rectify the situation instead of having another spout of anxiety, you sneak your fingers under the hem of his shirt. He’s warm and familiar. You’ve somehow learnt the shape of him in the one time you indulgently held him— or perhaps it’s been all those dreams you’ve replayed over and over.

Still, you’re excited to stop touching blindly and see. Climbing up his chest, you raise the band tee, feeble and immaterial in your greedy hands. Matty leaves your lips, shortwinded as he reaches behind him and tugs the shirt off. It falls in the sea rumbling beneath your bed, lulling you softly.

He tries to bend back to kiss you again, but you halt him with a hand on his shoulder. Your stare rakes across his chest; skinny and lanky; faint, forgotten scars you know the feel of by heart; a delicious trail of hair feathering down his stomach; a tattoo kissing his skin. Your heart squeezes in your chest. He’s magnificent. Your lips burn, needing to touch him, to lick down his belly and feel him tense and flex for you.

Your eyes snap back to his. He’s grown almost self-conscious, blushing under your gluttonous peer. You relish in the sight, licking your bloody teeth. You want him, through the flesh and bones.

“You’re pretty,” you say finally.

Matty shakes his head, chuckling. “You can’t call a man that.”

You pout meanly at him. “Big bad atheist can’t be pretty?”

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Matty bends to your neck, kissing just under the jaw. His hair tickles your temple. You giggle cheerfully, letting him push you back into the bed. “Will you ever let me live it down?” He whispers, hot breath blowing on your electrified skin. You shiver, growing wetter just at that low tone of his. He knows this, smirking as he leaves a burning path down the curve.

You hum, trying to gather some sort of wit. “Depends,” you say, but it already falls short, considering how out of breath you sound, practically purring. “Are you gonna start believing in God?”

Matty snaps away from your neck, propping himself on his elbow as he watches you with affront. You can’t help laughing, wrinkling your nose as the sheer offense on his face. “I’ve got some great quotes underlined if you want,” you add playfully, pointedly looking at the bible resting on the bedside table. Quite precariously too, half of it hanging in mid-air from Matty’s careless throw.

Matty gets on his knees, staring down at you unflinchingly. Like this, towering over your still laying body, he almost looks godly. “Yeah?” He says, grabbing the bible, cracking it open. “Should we read some right now?”

You would usually love a chance to rip apart Matty’s skull. Find the unhealed wounds. Teach him words to plaster over. But he’s shirtless, and pretty— to hell what you can call a man, and you’re naked and wet.

This is not the time for bible reading. You want his mouth busy with something else.

Of course, Matty is already squinting at the pages. “Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.” His voice was made for music; it comes melodic out of his mouth, like a tempo, like a harmony, like a poem. He looks up from the pages, staring down at you with an arched eyebrow.

You blush, suddenly hyperaware of your peaked breasts lying openly for him. “Of course you would fall on Song of Solomon on your first try,” you mutter. It’s like sin calls to him, some singing on his fingertips when he runs through the pages.

He snorts. One hand leaves the weathered hardcover, instead grazing up your thigh. You can’t stop a shiver, feeling the hair rise where he touches. Instinctively, you spread them— just slightly, an unconscious reaction reverberating to your legs. Still, Matty smirks, proud and knowing.

“You know, you might be onto something. This sounds like my kind of book.” And then, to prove his point, he recites, “Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread abroad. Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” How dirty pious words sound from his profane mouth. How he twists the shape of them, warps their meaning. Matty, again, looks up to your reaction, shit-eating grin cracking his face. “I think we just got done with that.”

You flush even harder. Your head spins with memories— not daydreams, not fantasies, not vestiges from your slumber, but memories, real and undeniable. His head between your thighs, licking into your cunt, starved and gluttonous. You throb uselessly, dripping on the sheets. “It’s not—”

Matty’s climbing fingers find your cunt, and suddenly you have no words to say. You gnaw on your lip, whining through the shocking wave of bliss hitting you. He gathers your telltale wetness, as though to prove some sick knowledge that you’re enjoying this. That he’s tearing through your beliefs with nails and teeth.

That you won’t ever look at those pages the same again, just like you can’t catch a peripheral peek of the confessional without straightening in your seat.

An opportunist, Matty spreads the slick to your clit, rubbing the tender thing slowly. You moan, throwing your head back, dropping your thighs completely open for him. His calluses, rough and mean, are heavenly on your bundle of nerves.

“Do you want more?”

You’re not sure he means fingers or passages, but still, you open your eyes, whining, “Yes.” You raise your hips to his palm, falling back on the sheets with a pout. “Please.”

Matty stops. You clench around nothing, unsatisfied. He flips through the pages, slick fingers drying on the bible’s hardcover. You want to look away— it’s filthy. But they’re so long, spindly and wide-knuckled, and you can’t stop staring.

Matty finds a page, balancing the bible on his forearm as he finds your upper thighs again. “Now the serpent was more crafty than any other animal that the Lord God had made.”

You almost want to roll your eyes. How cliche. But Matty is teasing a finger against your wet entrance, and you’re rolling your eyes for a much different reason.

Matty lingers in this moment, circling your clit with his thumb. He watches the spectacle, following his hands, your cunt, your breasts, your face religiously.

Swallowing harshly, he continues, “He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?’”

You nod, encouraging him on. For further argument, you wrap your own hand around his wrist, grinding softly into his fingers. Matty licks his lips, distracted again.

One finger enters you. Slow, to make sure you get used to the feel. Your face scrunches close to hold the cries in. Your cunt flutters with pleasure, begging for him, for more. He’s much longer than your own, but there’s barely any resistance. It’s still not enough to completely splinter you, unravel you to sweet nonexistence.

Slithering around his wrist in a vice-like grip, you feel the need to tell him, “I want more. Please, Matty.”

He thrusts in and out of you languidly, sopping sounds resonating in the quiet room. Your neck goes slack. He doesn’t seem to get the crux of the request, however, because he bends back to the book, “The woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said ‘you shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.’”

You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not— But it’s too late for you, isn’t it?

You’re famished.

You press his hand into you, locking with his dark eyes. “More.”

Finally understanding, Matty dips a second finger into you. This time, the stretch is uncomfortable, wider than you’ve ever known. You frown at the new feel, trying to clench and unclench to get used to him. He’s patient, waiting, rubbing a delicious pattern on your bundle of nerves to loosen you up.

“You’re so good for me,” he whispers, and your lips grow slack with a proud smile.

When you finally feel ready, you grind into his palm. Matty thrusts his fingers, curling them just so. You’re losing your mind, organs pushing against your skin to make place for the invading ecstasy. It’s poisonous, eating through your veins, but you must bottle it up. Being quiet is the most sadistic torture you’ve ever know.

“But the serpent said to the woman,” Matty’s rhythm falters as he focuses on the words again, “‘You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’”

Your legs kick wildly on the sheets. Matty is unwavering, steady and consistent, fingers fucking into you. Your free hand, not knowing whether to grip the sheets or rack through your sweaty hair, finds his knee instead. Your nails dig into the jeans, like he deserved punishment for making you feel like this. Good and evil.

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food,” Matty’s breathing is hitched, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. Words come out rough from his lips, yet still just as poetic, just as holy, “and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise.” He smirks at his emphasized words.

Like you don’t agree with a full heart and a full mind. Like you don’t crave to take a bite of him.

Like you don’t want to consume him and be consumed by him.

Like you’re not letting him defile you with the Lord’s words coating his tongue. Like you’re not needing that very tongue.

Licking his teeth, Matty stares at you. Can he see the thoughts spinning through your mind? Can he see you? “She took all of its fruit and ate.” And you did.

God, you did.

You can’t take it anymore. You reach for him, dragging him back to your pleading lips. Again, Matty throws the bible beyond the bed, uncaring for even holy texts. How easy for him. To make religion stop existing— something for the rest of the world, but not these sheets, not you.

He lets go of your mouth, panting above you. Faster, not to chase some quicker end but to watch your face break apart for him, he thrusts in and out of you. It’s sinfully good. You claw at his bare shoulders, glad to have some skin to sink your nails in.

You want to leave him permanently changed. Scarred. Because you will be. God, you will be.

Moaning against his lips, heart beating to the rhythm he fingers into you, brain surely melting out of your ears, you hear a knock at your door.

You gasp. Eyes comically wide, you freeze in the bed. Matty goes still inside of you.

“Honey?” Your mother calls, sounding worried.

Your eyes flip to Matty, sending him an alarm call. He looks pointedly to the door, nudging his chin towards you. You miraculously understand. Racking your throat, you say, “Yes?” It comes choked out of you, clearly out of breath, and you cringe at the fact. At least it’s an answer.

“Are you okay?” She continues. “I heard a thud.”

Your face wrinkles in annoyance. Matty sighs above you. That fucking bible. How comical that it’s this and not Matty’s literal tongue between your thighs that will bring your downfall.

“I’m fine,” you say. “I just— knocked something over.”

After a torturous moment of silence, time and destiny hanging in the air waiting for the final blow, your mother finally answers, “Okay.”

God is real. Some higher above is watching over you if, for the first time in your life, your nosy mother chose to drop a line of questioning instead of following it to its fatal end. Your eyes find Matty, grinning in surprise. You have to stop yourself from giggling giddily. He smiles back, nosing your neck.

He moves between your legs again, a slower rhythm, building back to what once was. Pleasant tingles spread up your belly. You frown, biting down a wait or a moan. Your mother can’t be gone yet. She pesters incessantly. Although, if you were to make a noise, she would definitely burst into the room, nose sniffing sin.

You’re right. “Well, go to sleep soon. It’s late.” You dagger Matty with a stare, trying to send him a telepathic message. She’s there. She’s right there.

But Matty just smirks against your jaw, curling his fingers perfectly. You arch your back, slapping a hand over your mouth. Fire courses through you, pleasant and all-consuming.

“Uh-huh,” you manage, spit out between two smothered groans.

“You need your beauty sleep,” she continues on, always one to martel a point home. “Remember those dreadful eyebags you had a week ago? We don’t want a repeat of that.”

You were studying for a test, but that reply is too lengthy to come out of your trembling lips. Matty is now shamelessly thrusting into you. He’s risen to his elbow to properly see you struggle through monosyllabic words, like watching you tortured was a personal pleasure.

Stress and pleasure coaxes through your body with this twisted excitement. Something sick in you likes the idea that your mother is right there, one door away. That if she found you in bed, getting fingered by a filthy boy who laughs in church, she’d faint on the spot. That you’re spitting in her face and she doesn’t even know it.

You won’t have a wink of sleep. You’ll sport the eyebags proudly.

Smiling, your legs close around Matty’s hand, trapping him there. He’s so fucking smug and proud, bending down to suck at your nipples. You want to scream. You need to. He’s so— so perfect. If God is real, he made him for you. Built him out of your rib.

“Yes,” you manage out difficultly, sticky and ill-fitting out of your mouth.

“I put some spoons in the freezer to help with the puffiness. Of course, nothing is better than prevention.” You can practically hear your mother nod to herself, snobbish and all-knowing. “Good night’s sleep is the best makeup, that’s what I’ve always said.”

Matty smiles up at you as he bites on your nipple. You roll your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Yes.” Your eyes dig into his dark stare. Yes, yes, yes, yes! is what you mean.

“Well, I will leave you to it then.” Your mother finally declares. “Goodnight, sweetie. Sweet dreams.”

Matty’s thumb swipes at your clit in a frenzy. “Night!” High-pitched, transforming into a cry you cruelly kill behind your palm.

When you hear the steps diminishing in the hallway, you slap Matty’s shoulders. “Asshole,” you bite, but the insult loses all meaning when you’re laughing, rolling your hips into his hand.

“D’you reckon she knows the ‘sweet dreams’ will be of me?”

You up your nose. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

Matty laughs, rolling the both of you. He lays on his back as you straddle him, fingers still firmly buried to the knuckles inside of you, hand practically sprouting from his jeans. It’s— It’s phallic, sort of. You blush at the new position, at the feel of his actual hard cock pressing into you, too.

To get you going, Matty’s free hands dig into your ass, puppeteering you to grind into his fingers. You roll your shoulders, shiver dancing down your spine. White heat coils in your belly.

“Am I wrong?”

And he’s not, of course. But you don’t want to just let him win.

Hips rolling on his palm, clit deliciously hitting his wrist, you hold yourself up with two hands on his chest. “There’s a lot of profane men out there.”

A displeased groan leaves his lips. He wipes his face clean of telltale emotions, cocking his head at your far too proud grin. “Is there?” He whispers dangerously, eyes twinkling. Your belly flexes, some sick thrill at the sight of him, of what he could do.

To egg him on, you nod eagerly. “Tons. Enough to make my head spin.”

Matty reaches up, hooking his fingers into the cross tangled in your messy hair. He frees it, letting it dangle between your collarbones, dancing to the sinful rhythm of your hips. He watches the show for a second, enthralled by the necklace, breasts bouncing as you— you ride him.

Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking yourself into his fingers, chasing some new mind-wiping orgasm. Peering down at him through your eyelashes, with his swollen lips and his unruly halo and his dark eyes; some fallen angel orchestrating your dive.

“D’you think about them a lot?” You can feel him set the trap, dropping pomegranate seeds for you to follow between each word.

“Oh, all the time,” you lie, smile loose and languid on your flushed face.

Matty’s smirk cuts through his face. “And do they make you wet like this?” He lingers in a quiet moment to prove his point, the sopping sounds of your cunt ringing through the room, heavy breaths harmonizing. You have some leftover decency to blush. “Do they have you purring and dripping on their hands? Moaning so sweetly for them?” Your throat closes on itself, attacked by waves of dirty pleasure. You clench around him, shamelessly scorching for him. Robbed of words, you manage a nod. “Yes?” Matty repeats. Smaller, distracted by the resonating bliss throbbing inside of you, you nod again.

His voice goes low, rough but implacable. Meant to be listened to, to be obeyed. “Well, that’s not very pious of you, is it?”

A rush of euphoria. You shake your head fervently, still thrusting into him. “No, Father,” you whimper.

He cocks his head. “What shall I do with an impure girl like you?” Your eyes close, letting a wave of rapture swim through you. How good he makes the words sound— not mean, not real.

You hit your hand beside his face, bending over him. It hits a new spot inside of you, sweet moans falling through shamelessly. You grab his free hand, spreading it across your bare throat.

Matty groans at that. His fingertips dance on your skin, repositioning correctly over your arteries. “You sure?” He pants.

Again, you nod eagerly. “I want you to.” To unexist. To unmake. To unravel. To unlearn.

Matty digs his fingers into your neck, pressing meanly. Headrush, pure and saccharine. Your lips part in bliss, eyes rolling in your skull, hips rolling into him. The world swims around you, soupy, lazy. The tips of you burn. You want his handprints on your collar like some branding iron. Want to be his, want to be known.

Matty lets go of you. The world snaps back to reality all at once. You've never been high either, but this must be awfully close to it. Everything is frenzied, electrified and crazed. Exhilaration strikes through you. You laugh at the contrast. You flutter around his fingers; he curls them into you, like an unsaid good girl, some physical sort of praise.

“How many guys could do this to you?” His hand still ghosts around your neck.

“Only you,” you say, revering. “It’s only ever you.”

A flash of elated grin splashes across his face, but it’s wiped clean for a cruel pout. “Oh, poor little girl,” he tsks. “You lied to me?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, taking his hand and trailing it up your lips. Staring down at him, unflinching, unwilling to blink, you suck him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his fingers. He groans, head falling back tortured.

“What shall I do with you?” He says roughly. It seems like a genuine question, like he doesn’t quite know. You giggle, laugh choked by his digits. You revel in the fact. To overwhelm Matty Healy himself. To be too much girl, too much hands and skin and hips. To wrap around him.

Freeing him with a ‘pop’ sound, spit sticking between your tongue and his fingers, you bring them between your thighs, joining its hardworking twins. Wet and crowded, he rubs at your clit instinctively.

“That’s not quite a punishment now, is it?” He smiles at that. Your free hand presses against his shoulder again, straightening your spine. He’s at a very focused spot between your legs, but you still feel him everywhere. On your stomach, your breasts, your neck. Under your very skin. Everywhere he’s touched, everywhere he’s merely grazed— hell, sometimes you almost believe he’s lodged himself under your lungs, breathing with you.

You shake your head. Feverish elation spreads through you. “Don’t want to be punished.”

Matty softens at that, toffee eyes growing warm. You could sink into them. “No?”

You don’t. And, better, you don’t even know why you should be. Why be punished for wanting? You might be a poor collection of sins stretching under a girl, but the names of them fade from your mind as quickly as his thumb swipes at you. Faceless monsters. Unfanged. Uncovered.

You can have everything you want. You deserve to.

Staring at him, you grin shamelessly. “Can you eat me again?”

Matty has never seemed happier than to do anything. For a profoundly rebellious person, he smiles at your demand, boyish and eager to please. You expect him to roll you over, but he takes you by the thighs instead, pulling you over his face.

You kneel above him, hovering awkwardly, unsure of where to rest. What if you break him?

You tell him as much, to which he answers, “Well, what a way to die.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious.”

“Don’t worry, love,” Matty smirks, although you can’t really see it when your cunt is blocking the vision. “I’ll haunt you afterwards. Let you know which one of us is right.” Something in you secretly likes that. That he’d linger for you, seep into your routine.

It hits you almost in surprise. That some part of you might actually like him. Beyond what he makes you feel, beyond the taboo, beyond the serpent smile.

You don’t have time to meditate on that. He distracts you instantly, peering at you as he whispers, “My choice fruits.” He turns his head at that, kissing your thigh.

You laugh, a small shiver grazing your spine at his tender lips. “Shut up,” you say, amused, still chuckling.

Soft and chaste turn into open-mouthed kisses, wet from his tongue, which turn into a bite, sucking at your skin, licking it better afterwards. Your breathing quickens. Excitement drips down your ribs. (Although that might be your heart. You barely can feel it anymore, a small miracle considering how fast it’s racing.)

Your eyes roll back. Something catches your stare— it snaps to the crucifix hanging above your bed. Jesus Christ himself, nailed to his cross, nailed to the wall. Your savior, all-knowing, all-loving. He died for your sins, and this is how you thank him. You swallow thickly. “He’s watching us,” you whisper.

Matty’s eyes rise to the cross. “Good,” he answers, careless, impossibly nonchalant. You’re glad for him. For ease. “Give him a show.”

Matty’s hands pull you down to him. You fall on his mouth, moan ripped out of you as you collide with his burning tongue. It’s already working at you, singleminded, passionate. You’ve been teased for long enough— you know it’s a short matter of time before your end, especially with the fervor Matty licks into you.

Legs spread around his face, he’s swallowing you whole. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, blunt claws leaving crescent moons on your skin as a starved groan graces his hungry lips. Your head rolls back, stomach flexing with need.

Your hands rack through his hair, grabbing a fistful just to tug on it. Your hold is fierce; you soothe the burn away with a thumb, rubbing at his forehead as your fingers wreck ravage on his curls.

Breathless, scattered moans fall from your lips. The strangled cries, stifled to the best of your abilities, make him buck against nothing. You would feel guilty at that, at taking and taking and giving him nothing in return. Unfortunately, your brain is working overdrive just to remember your own name.

You rock carelessly against his face. You’re unafraid of breaking his neck, chasing your promised release with acute precision. Your clit rolls against the tip of his nose, strikes of euphoria licking up your spine every time you find just the right angle. His tongue laps at your entrance, thrusting inside.

This is heaven. You do not rest on some material cloud, do not grow feathered wings and shiny halo. You sit on a man’s face and you whine oh, my God. You make it sound sacred.

God cannot blame you for your blasphemy; if he made this tongue, he understands.

Your eyes flick to the crucifix. You could say sorry. You should say sorry.

Instead, they fall back on Matty. Locked with his dark gaze, you rub against him, chanting his name. “I’m— I’m right there—”

Gently, he bites on your clit. Slash of ecstasy tears through your stomach. It ripples down your limbs, biting through the flesh, leaving you bloody and scarred and, oh, fuck, you’re coming.

Gripping his curls vengefully, slapping a hand over your mouth, you scream. Your head loosens from your neck, parts of you discombobulating and reattaching in under a second. You break on his tongue. The proverbs were right— it’s a poet’s greatest weapon.

Once again, you float a moment into the sheer idea that you can. That you did.

Breathing heavily, you unmount him, laughing to yourself. He takes a gasp of air, but he’s just as languidly satisfied as you. Sticky chin shines with the moonlight.

“That was—” You shake your head, lost for words, falling on the bed beside him.

“You’re welcome,” he says smugly. You push his shoulder, shaking your head.

Suddenly, you realize you haven’t— he hasn’t— It cuts through the daze. You blush, a little embarrassed, a little unsure, a little nervous. You rack your throat, frowning. “Do you want me to…” Your eyebrows rise meaningfully.

“Oh,” Matty exhales. He blushes, too. “Um, no. I’m… taken care of.”

You can’t control your eyes dipping to his jeans curiously. There it is— wet patch on the front, no trace of his hard cock. Your cheeks redden further, but something in you is unbelievably proud.

You’ve made Matty Healy come in his pants. Can you add that to your list of accomplishments?

You roll to your back, trying to hide the self-satisfied grin. You rest your head against his shoulder. “You know, in second grade, they told us the white marks on our fingernails were signs we had committed mortal sins.” You don’t know why you say it. It bubbles out of you, beyond your usual tyrannical filter.

Matty sighs, racking a hand through the sweaty locks. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, it was he.” He snorts at that.

His shoulder pushes your head up. “Well, let’s see them, then. How many sins have you got?”

You flaunt your nails, raising your arms over your heads. Matty narrows his eyes, inspecting the handful of white marks dusting your fingertips. He takes one hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, bringing it down for a closer analysis. The flutter spreading through your stomach is different than usual.

You watch his side profile, suddenly desperate to memorize all angles of him. He throws you a playful glance, teasing, “How many of those are about me?”

You scoff, ripping your hand away as he laughs. “You’re a child.”

“No, no. I’m truly impressed.” He grins. “You got more than me.” He shows off his hands in turn. Blunt nails, cut too short, roughened by guitar strings, but practically spotless.

“Well, maybe I’ll be the one corrupting you.”

Matty rolls over you, pressing a kiss on your lips. “I’ll take it with open arms,” he whispers, then leaves another one, just a little longer, a bit more wistful. Against your mouth, he says, “Forsake me, angel.”

You shake your head, nose wrinkling. “That’s an oxymoron.”

Matty rolls his eyes, nearing your lips again. “Stop talking.”

You gasp, cheerfully crying, “The roles really have reversed!”

But he seemed to mean it when he said stop talking, because he doesn’t bother with an answer. His mouth finds yours, hand holding onto your jaw as he draws secrets out of your wanton lips. It’s slow, devoid of the frenzied rush you’ve spent the night in. It leaves you floating, dazing, thoughts incoherently blurring away.

“I should go,” Matty declares, breaking away from you. Your heart pinches.

“Yeah,” you nod along, more to convince yourself than him. “I should get some sleep or my mom will freak about eyebags.”

Matty laughs, then surprises you with a kiss on your forehead. Of all the places his mouth has been, this is where you feel him burning the most. “Goodnight, angel.”

He rolls out of bed, catching his discarded shirt and pulling it back on, slipping into his sneakers next. You're sad to see him like this; put-together, balanced. Throwing the window open, he sneaks out, leaving you with only one last heated look.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, you think once he’s gone and the room still smells like him. Your thighs are sticky with your drying juices and sport— you look down at them to make sure and, yes— a purple hickey with the shape of his lips. You're naked, ravaged, undone. And he's walking the streets right now with the taste of you still on his tongue.

Your eyes fall on the crucifix still towering over your bed. There’s really no going back, is there?

#this is.... yeah.#take a shot everytime 'you want him' shows up #religious traumatized girlies will have a field trip with this one!#matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #smut #writing #imagine #pray for my soul

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tonguepiercedanyway75 · 3 days

Text

Wedding guest // Ross Macdonald x Reader

summary: the whole band is a guest at a wedding (you’re part of it) and then you get closer and closer to Ross

warnings: 18+ mdni

masterlist

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The evening is aglow with the soft light of lanterns strung overhead, casting a magical ambiance over the outdoor wedding venue. As a member of The 1975, you are part of the band invited to perform at this special occasion. The air is filled with music, laughter, and the chatter of guests, but amidst it all, your attention keeps drifting to Ross.

The last months your feelings have changed. He was always your best friend and you spend the most time together but it’s different. He makes you want him all the time. You miss him when he’s gone for 5 minutes but you can’t breathe when he’s there. The longer you look at him, the more you want to tell him that you want to be with him.

But you can’t. Because it’ll ruin everything.

That’s why you’re sitting in front of him, avoiding to look him in the face, even though he looks as beautiful as ever today. In a black suit, matching his beard, eyes and smile.

“Bollocks! C’mon Ross you agree with me right?” John laughs and sips his drink. Honestly you don’t even know what you’ve been talking about and Ross doesn’t either.

“Sure,” he laughs. His hand drops down under the table and seconds later he’s pulling out a cigarette. He holds up the pack.

“Would you like one?” He asks and you decline. You don’t want your own. You only want to share. Ross nods.

You take the last sip of your drunk and stand up, “I’m gonna get a refill,” you mumble as you walk away.

“Mate, she’s weird today don’t you think?” Ross nudges John and nods his head your way. John just smiles because he knows about your feelings and he knows about how Ross feels about you.

“You haven’t said one word to her, maybe a compliment wouldn’t have been bad.” That’s true. When Ross gives you compliment they mean so much more. You want to be beautiful just to hear him say you are. It’s stupid.

“She’s not even looking at me longer than a minute let alone speaking to me in a full sentence.” His head drops and he starts rubbing his forehead, trying to understand why you’re acting that way.

John’s hand finds his shoulder, “just tell her already mate.” A voice interrupts the two.

“Tell her you are whipped for her?, mate it’s getting timeeee,” Matty says hugging him ironically from behind.

“Fuck off,” Ross says, pushing his head away, “you’re plastered already.” Matty huffs at the obviously true statement.

“I’m telling you, don’t be an arse and tell her you wanna shag her.” John breaks out in laughter and puts an arm around his shoulder. “Fucking drink some water,” he says and leaves with him.

Ross is sitting there, hoping you’ll return any second and you do. With a new cocktail. You lost count of how many drinks you had but it doesn’t even matter. The second you sit down the groom is speaking through the microphone.

“Okayyy, it’s getting time for some dances, you’re all welcome to join on the dance floor.” It’s a funky song and you’re definitely not drunk enough to show some dance moves.

“Where’s John?” You ask, breaking the silence. You look around because John promised to tell you the newest tea from his family.

“Looking after Matty, he’s had a tad much of alcohol.” You giggle. The sound makes Ross smile and warm his heart.

“Knew it,” you said “Adam owes me 20 quid.” Adam was so sure that Charli is going to be the drunkest but she’s dancing with George, too busy to drink.

You look around and there are not many people sitting down. At your table there’s only you and Ross and at the one next to you there’s Polly and Gabi.

Ross doesn’t stop looking at you, it drives you crazy. You tug at your dress slightly, trying to shake off the nervousness. But it’s hard when the guy you’ve had a crush on for a while now is smiling at you.

The song changes to a slow one. ‘Kiss me’ from Ed Sheeran is now playing through the speakers. Your gaze drops to the dance floor, looking at the couples and some friends paring up to dance.

Ross stands up as he extends a hand towards you.

“Care to dance?” he asks, his British accent adding an extra layer of charm to the invitation.

You look up at him, surprised by his request. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. The twinkle in his eyes is infectious, and without any more hesitation, you place your hand in his.

“I’d love to,” you reply, rising from your seat.

He leads you through the cluster of tables and guests towards the dance floor.

Once you reach the dance floor, Ross turns to face you, his hand firmly on your waist as he holds your other hand in his. His touch sends a thrill through you, igniting a cascade of emotions that you struggle to contain.

You sway together in perfect rhythm until he spins you one time, and when your face finds his, his hand isn’t on your waist, but your back. His touch sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the heat of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest as you move together, lost in the enchantment of the moment.

It feels too real, him looking down at you through his perfect brown eyes. It’s something you could do for hours, gazing into his eyes, observing every breath he takes.

“Finally G,” Charli says as they both watch you.

Lost in the magic of the moment, you lean into him, the distance between you evaporating with each passing second. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek, the warmth of his embrace—it all feels like a dream you never want to wake from.

You think about what his lips would feel like on yours. But this is wrong. You’re friends. Ross wouldn’t think about you like that. You abruptly pull away, completely out of breath even though you were resting your face next to his, not on his.

“Sorry, I just-“ you stutter, “I have to-“ you look around, people still dancing, but the man in front of you looking at you baffled.

You pull your lips together and walk away, walking away from the venue to a little viewing platform. Far way from the people so they can’t see you, but you can hear them.

“Mate what happened?” George approaches Ross but he doesn’t give him an answer, he goes after you, taking his drink with him.

The air is cool and refreshing against your flushed cheeks. Overwhelmed by the intensity of emotions stirred up during the dance with Ross, you need a moment alone to collect your thoughts.

That moment is interrupted by footsteps behind you, you know that it’s Ross.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks his voice gentle yet earnest.

You nod, offering him a faint smile, “yeah, just needed to cool down.”

Ross steps closer, seeing the goosebumps on your arms, your red nose and your slight shaking from the cold. He shruggs his jacket off and puts it around your shoulders.

You wrap it around yourself, feeling the familiar scent of his cologne envelop you. It is an intimate gesture, one that stirrs a up a swirl of emotions within you.

You thank him but he’s quick to say “anytime.”

The two of you stand there, enveloped in a moment of quiet understanding. With Ross by your side, the weight of your emotions seem to lighten, the warm feeling in your stomach relaxing you.

“I haven’t told you today, but you look absolutely stunning,” you blush and you’re sure he sees. The wind blowing your hair into your face, covering your eyes.

Ross carefully tucks them behind your ear, smiling, “there you are,” he jokes. You’re still baffled from his compliment and now the small gesture. he’s driving you insane.

Somehow you gained some confidence and because you are friends you’re not unfamiliar with body contact.

You grab his hands so lightly that he doesn’t feel it until your hands are resting in each other. “You don’t look bad yourself McDonald.” He chuckles and enjoys the moment, not letting his eyes look away.

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to find out what’s got you confused. You exhale shakily.

“It’s just,” he looks at you expectant but he’s still reassuring you it’s fine to tell him, “I was nervous.”

“Why’s that?” You remove your hands from his and take his glass into your hands to take a sip. You pause, because you can’t tell him the reason you’re nervous. You can’t tell him that he makes your heart flutter like a teenage girl.

“Hm?” Your name rolls off his lips and he takes a step further. “You can tell me.” He whispers.

“You make me nervous.” It slips. You look away but his hands cradle your face. He suppresses a smile.

His hands are on your face, warming your cold cheeks. You’re forced to look him in the eyes, scared that he will break your heart.

“I make you nervous?” He repeats, “why?” You close your eyes for a second, thinking about what to say. “I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

“I do!” You say quickly, “I really do, I mean we’re friends and shit.” You sigh.

Now it’s unavoidable. You have to tell him. You will ruin everything. Your eyes wander from his eyes to the lights in the background until they’re back at Ross.

“I just really like you.” You say but what you want to say is that you really really really really like him.

“I like you too,” he says but you shake your head which makes him raise his eye brows.

“No Ross, I mean like I like you. And I didn’t want to say anything because we’re best friends and we’re on tour and I don’t want it to be weird. But then you’re always so nice and want to know if something’s wrong and I didn’t know-.” You’re rambling is stopped by your body being pulled flush against his, his hands grabbing your waist.

“Tell me when you’re done,” he says, smiling. Why is he smiling. Why is your body on his, feeling everything and why is your mouth suddenly so dry you can’t speak.

His gaze flicks down to your lips before his hand is on your neck, pulling you close. Now it’s a good thing you’re pulled against him because your knees buckle and you feel as if you’re gonna faint. His lips on yours feel better than you imagined.

“Wait,” you say as you pull away, “does this mean?” He’s on you again. His lips soft against yours, as he gives you only one long kiss.

“I really like you too,” he says. You want so scream, jump, cry, laugh but you stand there in shock. This is the best day of your life.

This time it’s you who pulls him in, Ross having to bend down to kiss you. His hand finds your lower back, pressing you against him, earning a shaky breath from you. An excuse to let his tongue brush against yours.

You can’t stand the heat, you want to rip his clothes off right there. “Do you think we can leave?” You ask, making him laugh.

“Patient much?” He teases, then he looks back at the venue. The people are still dancing and singing. When he looks back at you he knows he can’t wait as well.

“You absolutely sure?” He asks, “not too tipsy?” You shake your head and your eyes tell him you want him more than anything.

“I’m sure Ross, please,” His eyes are on you again, but this time, there wasn’t any questioning to them, as if he was searching for any sign that your words were less than sincere.

His hand goes through his face, “Jesus,” He’s having a hard time, not knowing what to do. He really wants to take it slow, give you a proper date. But you’re in front of him, saying ‘please’ so nicely.

He grabs your hand and leads you down the stairs, “okay,” he says, “let’s go to my hotel.”

You’re giddy, excited and you can’t believe that you have Ross, leading you to his room. You both move in a hurry, almost running. You’re lucky the hotel isn’t far away and you don’t need a car to get there.

When you reach his room, you lay his jacket on a stool. His bed isn’t made and his suitcase is still unpacked, but open. The door to the bathroom is open and you are amazed at the beautiful decorations.

Your thoughts get pulled back to reality as his arms wrap around your body and his mouth trails kisses down your neck. You smile and let your head fall against his shoulder. “Gorgeous,” he mumbles.

He spins you around and leans down to kiss you, more hungrily this time. He stumbles to the bed with you and lays on top of you, his mouth never leaving yours.

God, the way he kisses you should be illegal. Because it isn’t only his tongue, it’s the shameless groans he gradually let out the more the kiss intensifies -the way he bucks his hips upwards so you can feel how hard each kiss makes him. You are having a hard time breathing steadily.

You pull him closer by his tie, your mouth brushing against his ear before you speak just so you could feel the way your warm breath makes him shiver. “You make me crazy.”

“Yeah?” He reattaches his lips to yours, kissing you like his life depends on it.

Your hands finds his tie but you never fucking touched a tie so you just pull until he breaks out in laughter. “Let me.” He removes the tie in one move and now your hands are on his buttons. 4 open and you can’t wait so you just yank it over his head. He wastes no time getting back to kissing you, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck.

Your hands caress every inch of his skin you could reach from your position, the softness of your touch eliciting sweet sounds from his lips.

He rutts his hips against yours and you gasp at the feeling of his very hard member pressing into you.

“Ross,” you whisper softly, losing yourself at his hands and mouth touching your body. “I need you,” you continue.

“I’m here,” he says, keeping his slow grinding motions going. “What do you need?” He asks, his face coming up close to yours.

His gorgeous brown eyes waiting for an answer. “Touch me.” You say.

“I want to take my time with you, let me?” You nod and he grins. His hands find your back and the zipper of your dress. In one smooth movement he pulls the dress off of you.

You’re exposed now and it’s not helping you ease your nerves, when he’s staring at you. Your hands find your face.

“Don’t,” he moves your hands away, “you’re fucking beautiful.” Maybe it’s the black lace set you decided to wear. But for Ross it’s more. He waited for this since he’s known you.

He kisses the nervous feeling away from your lips and meanwhile his fingers find its way under your panties. When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good.

You gasp into his mouth, rolling your head back, closing your eyes at the new sensation. “Keep your eyes on me love,” he whispers against your neck, “need you to look at me.” You obey and open your eyes again.

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of Ross’ hand between your legs. “Fuck-“ you moan and Ross groans against your neck.

“Feel good?” Stupid question, you think. He’s fucking amazing and hotter than you’ve ever imagined. You nod and whimper at the steady rhythm, rubbing your clit and his fingers hitting the perfect spot inside you.

He talks to you, asks you stuff and you can barely listen let alone answer him. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“You,” you moan. It’s always him and it’s always gonna be him. Ross is your endgame.

He groans, “good answer.”

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. The sensation is getting too much and your back arches off the back, pressing your chest against him.

Ross is still in his suit trousers but he’s very uncomfortable because of his raging boner pressing against the fabric. Every once in a while he grinds himself against your thigh, letting out groans deep from his chest.

“There you go darling,” you can feel your orgasm crash over you. Eyes squeezing themselves shut as the pleasure rocked through you. Ross continues to curl his fingers inside you through the euphoria, until he gently removes his fingers from you, licking his fingers clean.

“Taste like heaven, shit,” he comes up to give you a deep kiss, “you ok?” He asks and you nod, cradling his face and pulling his body completely on yours, so he’s not half on you and half on the bed. His bulge finds your core, and he can’t control his thrusting anymore.

Your hands find his belt fumbling around trying to shove them off, “Off Ross, please,” you whine and he laughs pushing the pants down. But before throwing them behind him, he pulls out a condom out of his pocket.

“Patient girl, aren’t you?” He grins. That fucking smirk. You love that smile, his dimples. You love him.

After he puts the condom on, he gives his cock a few strokes but then his hand is replaced by yours. You look down but immediately look into his face, his eyes rolling back and filthy words falling out of his mouth. “Love, shit-“ he groans and thrusts up into your hand, his stomach tightens already but then he swats your hand away.

You know that he needs you and you’re burning for him as well. “Been patient enough, just fuck me.” He laughs and then he’s lining himself up with your entrance, his lips never leaving yours.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he half whispers, half groans into your ear.

You both gasp when he’s pushing himself inside of you completely. It stings a bit, “fuck- wait a sec.” He does as you say and he doesn’t move, keeping his hips still.

“You’re doing okay love?- Shit,” he breathes out, trying to study your face and then you open your eyes again, kissing him and putting your thighs on his sides, your legs pushing him even deeper.

He moans and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. “Move Ross,” He closes his eyes, taking a steadying breath as he starts thrusting into you. Your walls squeezing him tight, producing the most resounding groan you'd ever heard.

Ross keeps one hand on your hip, then placing his other on the headboard, knuckles turning white from his fierce and unrelenting grip. He tries so hard not cum right there.

You moan his name multiple times following after some “fucks,” or “Jesus’” and he just keeps going. Not slowing down but not going faster. He enjoys it and takes his time with you. Devouring every spot you’re giving him.

“Wanted this forever,” he says, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, “you’re so gorgeous shit-“ you clench around him again.

“Please Ross, god-“ Your continuous whimpers and pleas are sending chills down his spine, spurring him on.

“You’re Perfect,” He breathes, his hand running up your back affectionately as his hips repeatedly slam into yours. You start to instinctively push back against him, pushing him further.

You feel your orgasm approaching again and Ross notices too. “Go ahead love,” his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles again while his cock hits your spot. You clench around him again, letting your orgasm wash over you.

It triggers his own, his hips stuttering before he collapses on top of you. You’re practically useless, your body feeling like jello, you close your eyes, relishing in the contact of his warm skin to yours.

You think about how your life will go on. Are you going to be together, was it a one time thing? You certainly don’t want it to be.

“You with me?” He laughs, making you giggle and hide in his chest. “Soooo with you,” you mumble.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” it’s a great gesture and you’re grateful but you need him. You grab his arm and pull him down again.

“Later,” you hum, “stay with me Ross.” He nods and furrows his brows, kissing every little spot on your head.

Your mind goes blank as you whisper into the air. “I’m so in love with you.” You close your eyes, trying to avoid his gaze but he lifts your chin with his thumb and pointing finger, taping your temple softly.

He says your name and when you open your eyes he’s already looking at you. He kisses you softy before confessing as well. “I’m so in love with you, you have no idea.”

One tear slips from your eyes which is quickly wiped away by Ross’ thumb. He rolls you on top of him, hugging your body so tight you both can’t breath.

“You think they noticed we’re gone?” You ask even though you’re sure they know and you’re not ready to listen to the banter in the morning.

“Now you worry?” His laugh is your favorite sound, it makes you smile again, nuzzling closer into his chest, which is moving up and down still a little faster then usual.

At some point his breathing steadies and so does yours and you fall asleep with him. Your dream has come true

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #ross macdonald fluff #the 1975 fic #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross macdonald smut #ross macdonald one shot

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tillthelandslide · 2 months

Text

Same For You (14) : Can't Get Enough

Series Masterlist

(13) Take Me Higher

A/n: a huge thank you to my love @achangeofheartx ilysm, thank you for reading this for me, i miss you. Heads up everyone, its a long one and im not entirely sure when the next part will be out so enjoy this for a while hehe. Love you all - Lou

The Uber drops her off at Matty's house 15 minutes later. She had texted him a few times and tried to call him but didn't get a reply. She thinks maybe he's fallen asleep but her worry had truly started to set in so she had to at least try to see if he was okay. It was unlike Matty to leave through a session, sure they were nearly done but he was usually the last to leave and if he did he never left without saying goodbye and a hug or two. She politely knocks on the door twice, waiting for some kind of sound from inside. She can hear a low mumbling sound so she knocks again, hoping he’d be close enough to hear her now. The house falls silent for a few moments before she hears shuffling again. Her hand finds the door and she knocks once more, deciding if he didn't answer this time she'd give in and head home.

She hears someone swear inside and a few moments later someone is fumbling with the door handle. Inch by inch she sees him and her throat dries. Her eyes rake slowly down his form but to him it’s quicker than a blink of an eye, he still notices though, and if he was in his usual ‘Matty state of mind’: the Matty that fancies her like mad and whose heart would pick up with so much as a single look from her; he’d smirk. He stands before her, his hair a mess on top of his head, trousers undone and hardly on, a clear sign he had just put them on. He is shirtless and he looks a mess. But not an 'im sick and you've just woke me up" kind of a look, but a "you've just caught me after I've been fucking" kind of look.

One tell-tell sign is the red lipstick stains covering his neck. She immediately takes a step back, distancing herself from him. Her chest constricts, her throat dries, she swallows but that doesn’t help, she looks him up and down again, attempting to see this from a new angle, one in which doesn’t make her feel this way. She hates this, she hates that she stands there with a mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water, she hates that it's him standing there, topless and looking like that. More than anything she hates how she finds herself feeling jealous, all whilst she can still feel the ghost of another man’s lips on her skin - on her lips. Her eyes fall to his lips and they move, he speaks. His voice is sudden and it has her stepping back more.

Walls back up but they’re weak but at least they’re there, whether they protect her at all is yet to be seen. She tries to push down the sicky feeling that makes its way into her stomach and the sudden nausea she feels is off putting.

"Y/n…" his voice trails off and he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. She hears a noise coming from further in the house and her eyes flick towards it, hearing a woman speak before she sees her. A high pitch and entirely fake "babe, come back to bed" before she sees a blond girl wearing his shirt and a pair of panties standing at the middle of his stairs. She steps back again, another step back, more distance, it doesn’t stop the pain in her chest and it definitely does not stop her feeling sick.

"Y/n wait!!!" He says, she turns and starts walking down the street. She doesn't look back but he follows. He watches her chest as she walks, rising and falling rapidly, he hates it.

"Wait, I can explain!" Matty shouts, despite jogging alongside her now.

"Matty it's fine you don't have to explain… it's pretty obvious what's going on" she says her voice is slightly snappy and she scolds herself for sounding like that. He stops her with a hand to her shoulder.

"You can't seriously be annoyed?" He asks and she sighs. She closes her eyes for a second or two before they’re opening. Glazed and glistening orbs finding his.

"I'm not annoyed Matty" she doesn’t sound like her and Matty really doesn’t like that. It feels odd, like he’s talking to a version of her that he doesn’t know, it feels formal and way too unfamiliar.

"Tell that to your face" his eyes flick around her features, despising the way his heart picks up as he looks at her.

“Go home Matty, you’ll freeze out here” she says, stepping back again until his hand falls from her shoulder.

“Y/n talk to me please”

"Sorry, George told us you weren't feeling well so I thought I'd come check on you but it's fine… I see you're preoccupied" her eyes flick back down the street to where his door can just about be seen.

"You're so annoyed" he says with a smirk, taking a step back, running a hand through his hair cockily. He can’t deny that he enjoys the fact he’s gotten under her skin and how she's trying to hide it but failing miserably.

"I was worried about you Matty! I thought you were sick! So I come to check on you only to find out you're not sick at all" she laughs "actually you're so ‘unsick’ that you're fucking some girl' she says, she looks away from him but he turns her face back to look at him. She cringes at how jealous she sounds.

"Y/n you were with Ross…." He says and she freezes. Shit… he heard. She's silent.

"You were with Ross… you are with Ross" he raises his hands in the air before they fall to his sides. His chest matches hers now, rising and falling harshly but in tandem with one another.

"Me and Ross… we're not… with each other" Matty rolls his eyes. He takes a step towards her and she takes one back, needing the distance.

"But you want to be and so does he"

"Matty we can't… we work together" she lies again and she hates that she does. She hates that she can't seem to tell him the truth.

"I wish you wouldn't lie to me… and stop! Stop saying that! Just be an adult and admit you want to be with him… it would save a lot of trouble"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asks, raising her voice slightly.

"It means… maybe if you'd grow up a little and admit you like him that it would save us all a lot of time" he says, venom laced in his words. Their age gap was something that both of them agreed was something trivial, a fact that didn't really matter. But now he's bringing it up and using it to spite her. And it's horrible.

"Fuck you Matty' she spits back, turning and walking away from him again. He catches her quickly, pushing against her until her back is against the wall of a building. One hand rests against the brick next to her hand whilst the other anchors her to him with a firm grip on her hip. She’s breathless.

"Tell me you don't want Ross… tell me and I'll go tell that girl to fuck off…" he says, his hand moves to her waist and it feels electric - it feels like fire and ice combined. It burns against her skin and she has to close her eyes to push the feeling away. She can’t keep them closed for too long though, not wanting to miss a single moment.

"Matty…" she opens her eyes, she can feel him against her, really feel him. His chest against hers, soft but toned, so close that she can feel his erratic heartbeat against her chest. She can feel their breath combining, beginning to move in tandem, riding and falling together, against each other.

"I know you feel something here" one gentle hand presses against her chest between them, right over her heart.

"Matty stop" she clamps her eyes shut again, making him disappear. But the feelings she's been trying so hard to push away don't disappear either. And she hates that.

"Say it" he leans in closer, so much closer. She can feel his lips graze hers. She wants to move away from him, but that would make her seem bothered by his movements.

“Tell me you don't want me too” she feels his words against her lips. It's a featherlight touch, a graze, a barely-there connection but she feels it in her soul.

She breathes a heavy breath before her eyes flutter open, they cover his face, landing on his lips and one of her hands comes to rest against his cheek, soothing over the stubble covered skin. He watches as her eyes gloss over slightly, before she's whispering the two words that he has to pretend don't completely derail his world.

"I can't"

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want to” he says, begging her one last time, to change her mind, to tell him what he wants to hear, what he so desperately wants her to say.

“I can't” she repeats.

"Exactly" he pulls away and starts walking back to his house again.

"Matty! Wait" she says, halting him, he turns again. She wants to say that she does want Ross but she wants him too. But she can't.

"Whether you admit it or not.. Ross likes you and you were with him. I heard you… so as long as you keep denying how you feel… I'm going to go back up to my house" he says, pointing behind him "and I'm going to be with someone who can actually admit they want me" he walks two steps before he turns again.

"And preferably someone who doesn't also like my best friend" he leaves her standing there breathless and speechless.

She walks home in an attempt to clear her head, but Matty's words keep ringing around her mind. It makes her heartbeat quicken and she finds herself walking twice as quickly.

She showers - a long, hot shower and another attempt to rid the thoughts from her mind. It fails. She tries to sleep but she can't. She tosses and turns, getting more tired by the minute but still failing to sleep. She hates that he was right. She hates that once again he saw straight through her. She hates herself even more for the whole ordeal… for falling for someone so quickly and even more so for the feelings she bore towards Matty.

She almost wishes she never met them, it would make things easier, she wouldn't have come in and fucked up both their lives.

But selfishly (or not so, knowing they'd feel the same) she knows this, complicated and kind of fucked up situation is a thousand times better than not having them in her life.

She hates that she can’t stop thinking about his words, about that girl standing at the top of his stairs. She was nothing like that girl… is that why he picked her? To distract himself with something different, someone different. Someone who wasn't her. She feels her eyes flutter and she thinks she might, finally, fall asleep. But then her phone is blaring on her nightstand and she reaches far too quickly to retrieve it.

“Hi” she says sadly, knowing who was calling.

“Hi…” he says, his voice is quiet and unsure.

“I was trying to sleep… trying so goddamn hard to not call you… but I made a promise” he explains and she sighs.

“Maybe you should've broken it” her voice sounds bitter and she hates it. She hates that she's mad at him, because she doesn't really have the right. She brought this all in herself.

“Y/n/n…” his voice trails off, she hears the flick of his lighter and the soft exhale. She imagines the smoke piling out between his lips and once again she has to close her eyes to get the image out of her mind.

She feels her breath quicken, her eyes water and her lip shakes.

“Matty” his name slips out, the word wavering. He immediately knows she's crying and his heart twists in chest, as if someone's thrust a hand through the skin, grabbed hold and squeezed with all their strength.

“Do you not understand how hard this is for me?” She asks, each word is so quiet he nearly misses them.

Matty doesn't reply for a few moments, listening to the way she was breathing on the other side of the line. Bated and harsh, occasionally she'd inhale and it would be shaky. He made her cry. He swore he wouldn't do that again.

“It's hard for me too y/n/n…” she nods although she knows he can't see her.

“Do you wish you never met me? It would be easier that way”

“No y/n. No. Never” he says.

“Why do you not hate me Matty?” her voice shakes and he hears the sob that tears through her at the end of her words.

“I could never hate you”

“But why? I deserve it…” she wants to continue, to say, "I'm stringing you along, I'm falling for your best friend faster than I should be, I'm allowing myself to be with him but denying you and you should hate me for it” But she doesn't say that.

“No matter what you did… no matter what you will do… I don't think I could ever hate you”

“I don't think that's how it should be Matty” she rolls onto her back, looking up at the pictures hanging across her room. She both loves and hates how many there are of both men now. They’re there, always there, demanding that her heart belongs to them and she doesn’t have the power to say no, to either of them and that’s the problem.

“Who says?” She shrugs. They're silent for a second before she lets her intrusive side ask the question that's been on her lips from the moment he called.

“How was she?” He chuckles and it makes her smile. Why was she smiling?

“She wasn't you”

The date is perfect, exactly like a dream, every detail is etched in her brain and she's sure it will stay there forever, marked as the best date she had ever been on.

He arrived with a huge bouquet of lilies and tulips, so big that she couldn't see his face when she opened the door. He lowered them slowly, making her giggle and reach for his collar, tugging him inside her flat. She felt freer this morning, hellbent on just focusing on the man in front of her. The man who, with one more tug from her, is lowering the flowers to the little table she has by the door and taking her waist into his large hands.

He lowers his mouth to hers gently, they both sigh in tandem. Bliss. This was bliss.

“I missed you” he murmurs against her mouth. She doesn't say it's been less than a day, she doesn't say that despite barely having a minute to think about anything but Matty and his words, and the phone call, she missed him too. She didn't even have to think about Ross to miss him, she didn't have to think at all. Her body and the way it longed for his touch, longed to see those dimples appear at his cheeks and the way his eyes glistened as he looked down at her. Her body and her mind missed him without even having to try.

“I missed you too” she says, slowly pulling away, she reaches for the flowers behind him, smiling widely down at them.

“Thank you, they're beautiful”

“Just like you” his words make her giggle and blush.

“Let me go put these in some water and then we can go” he nods, and follows her into her kitchen. She retrieves a vase from one of her cupboards, filling it with tap water before unwrapping the flowers and putting them in.

She turns to him and smiles, watching the way his fingers traced over a new photo attached to her fridge - One she took of Ross and June at the studio. His smile is so big and it makes her heart swell every time she looks at it, only worsened by the way her nephew is looking up at the bassist.

“What’s the plan Macdonald”? She asks, loving the way he blushes slightly and the way he smirks down at her and especially the way he nibbles his bottom lip slightly.

“Well…” he says, turning to her and opening his arms, she steps into them freely, loving the way his large arms wrapped around her frame. She instantly felt safe. She felt at home.

“There's this record shop I wanted to show you” she smiles and nods excitedly “and then I booked a table at this restaurant” he says and her eyebrows raise.

“Aren't I a bit underdressed for that?” She asks, eyes flicking down to her clothes.

“Love you could turn up in a bin bag and still look better than everyone in there” it makes her giggle again which makes him smile widely, pecking her lips briefly.

“Besides…” his hand that's around her waist slips slightly, resting against her hip and squeezing.

“You could be…” his hand slips further, rounding the side of her hip, taking a handful of her arse and squeezing until she's gasping.

“More, underdressed” his words make her cheeks coat a deep red but she doesn't hide from him. Darker eyes boring into hers as he smirks an evil smirk.

“I like these jeans” he says, squeezing her arse again. She wore them on purpose, loving the way they accentuated her bottom. She was glad he liked them too.

“You're going to make it really difficult to leave this house, you know that?” She asks, her hands drifting up to his jumper cladded chest, eyes wandering south from his eyes until they land on his lips.

He leans forward until his lips are barely touching hers as he mumbles a “mhmm”. He's tortuously slow as he presses his lips to hers. Giving her a firm kiss, his tongue only slightly peaking out, grazing her lip before he's suddenly pulling back.

“We should go” he delivers a quick smack to her bum which makes her gasp and then he's gone. Walking to the door and turning to her at the last moment, smirking at her playfully.

“You're mean Macdonald”

“Now you know how I've felt every single day since meeting you”

They walk hand in hand as they walk the streets, searching for the store Ross mentioned. They talk and laugh as they walk and sometimes Ross can't resist the urge to pull her close with an arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to the side of her head, even leaning down and capturing her lips with his occasionally.

They eventually stumble into the record store, Ross shushing Y/n with his lips as she giggles at something he says. It's quaint and quiet, an oldish man rounding the corner with a huge smile on his face when he sees them.

“Ross” the man says, making the bassist step forward to greet the man with his hand still on her waist. Ross extends his hand and they shake hands before the man's eyes are on her.

“You must be Y/n” he says and she smiles and nods.

“I am” she says, looking up at Ross who smiles at her before looking at the man again.

“Ross here talks a lot about you” he says before he slips round the back of the counter. He disappears for a moment.

“Is that so?” she asks the bassist who smirks down at her, rolling his eyes and pinching her hip lightly making her yelp.

“Don’t get cocky” he warns and she almost has to stop herself from falling to her knees.

The man appears again with several records in his hands all of which she recognises immediately. She slips from Ross’ grasp and meets the man at the counter as he places the records in front of her.

“Now these are really special and not for sale unfortunately but Ross here told me you were a big fan so I pulled them out especially for you” he says making her smile. Her eyes flick back to Ross who is already watching her intently, watching the way her face lights up. She turns away from him but her hand reaches out behind her - reaching for him. He comes to stand next to her, his right arm resting around her waist, holding her hip against him.

The man shows her his Fleetwood Mac collection, many of them limited edition vinyl's and even a few test pressings. She's overwhelmed with gratitude, not just for the records, but for the effort Ross put into making this day so special for her. As they browse through the collection, his fingers gently trace patterns on her hip, and she can't help but steal glances at him, realising how lucky she is to have him by her side.

They finish exploring the record store, revelling in their shared joy of music, they leave hand in hand, her bag a few records heavier, their laughter echoing through the quiet streets and Ross can’t help but want to hear nothing but the beautiful symphony he draws from her, forever more. The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm glow of orange and pink over the city. As they approach the restaurant y/n looks up at Ross excitedly. Inside Ross takes over her coat, his fingers grazing her bare shoulders, setting her skin ablaze.

“Trying to undress me already, Macdonald?” she asks, her voice low, purposefully trying to get him hot under the collar. He coughs lightly, pushing away the lump in his throat and the way his stomach flips. He hands his coats to a waiter who instantly recognises him, leading them to a secluded corner table with flickering candles.

“Do you know everyone?” she asks as he holds out the chair for her, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek as he tucks her in.

“I’ve got my links” he says into her ear, making her giggle. She takes in the bouquet of pink roses at the centre of the table, the scent of the flowers mingling with the cuisine, creating an intoxicating atmosphere, although they both knew even without them it would be intoxicating. The low thrum of conversation and gentle melodies from the live pianist create a tender atmosphere.

They each pursue the menu, Ross suggesting they share a variety of dishes, talking with the waiter and taking suggestions for the best dishes. She watches as he interacts with the man, confident and sure. She looks at him with her chin placed in the palm of her hand, eyes flicking around all of his features, practically drinking him in. They begin to share stories about their childhood and their love for music and their friends and everything they can think of, wanting to know every single detail about each other.

The waiter arrives with a bottle of red wine and they clink their glasses together, Ross watching intently as she brings the glass to her lips, obsessed with the way her lipstick leaves a mark on the rim. They savour their meal in contented silence but Ross can't help but gaze at Y/n, truly captivated by her beauty. Between bites, their fingers brush against each other, sparks striking and electricity flowing freely between them. Each graze feels charged with so much more, with longing and desire and love : a magnetic pull which makes it impossible to break away from each other.

The soft glow of candlelight accentuates Ross’ soft browns and she feels the way he gazes at her, in every part of her body, feeling like she’s the only person in the room, the only person on earth.

The night deepens, the sky outside turning dark and stars beginning to show - a rare feat for London. They share a dessert, the sweetness coating their tongues. Ross leans in, his lips grazing her ear as he whispers words that make her heart (and core) flutter.

“Nothing is as sweet as you love” his words are laced with lust and desire, a deep crimson coating her cheeks as she smirks. She brings her spoon up to his mouth, coating his lips with chocolate, closing her mouth around his before he can lick it off.

Everything fades into the background when his tongue grazes hers, they become engrossed in each other, no one and nothing else mattered in that moment. He begins to pull away but her finger hooks underneath his chain, halting his movements as she places one more firm kiss to his lips.

They pull back, Y/n giddily smiling at him, he can't help but tuck his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone to capture a snap of her. She plucks a rose from the vase in the centre of the table, carefully threading in-between her teeth, smiling. It makes Ross swoon, his stomach dipping and then soaring, she looked completely ethereal. He gently pulls the rose from her teeth, smearing his lips against hers with a hand cradling her jaw, controlling their movements until she's sighing blissfully into his mouth again.

As they leave the restaurant, the night sky twinkles, mimicking the sparkle in their eyes. Ross pulls her close, wrapping her up in his warmth and they stroll through the streets. They make their way back to her apartment, the bassist halting at her bottom step, making her turn to face him with a frown.

“I’m not going to come up tonight love” he says, making her frown deeper, her hands finding the lapels of his jacket, smoothing over the fabric of his chest.

“Okay…” she says, doubt setting in her mind, did he not want her? He silences the doubt in her mind with his next words.

“Trust me I want to…” his hand finds her waist, tugging her until she’s in his arms, lips finding hers in a passionate kiss, his tongue moving against hers and she loves the way he kisses now, sure and determined, moving against hers the way he’s worked out she likes. The way that has her breath accelerating and her hands gripping him tightly.

“You’re making it hard for me” she says against his lips. She smiles when he groans, throwing his head back, forcing their lips apart.

“I want do this properly, take you on another date, be a gentleman” he says, squeezing her waist as he groans again, eyes falling to her lips that are just too tempting “but you make it so hard” his lips are on hers again, hands practically clamping around her waist, lifting her up the steps until he’s pressing her against the door.

“Impressive” she chuckles against his lips, hands threading through his hair. He indulges the both of them for a few minutes before he’s pulling away again, placing his head against her chest as he breathes in and out heavily.

“Okay you should go before I beg you to stay” she says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He pulls back to look at her, his right hand resting against her cheek, swiping across the soft flesh gently.

“Now that’s something I’m willing to wait for” there’s a softness to his words, it makes her smile and lean forward for one more, gentle kiss. It’s a brief one, a thank you for a perfect date, a thank you for being so amazing.

“Today was perfect Ross, truly” she says, playing with the chain resting around his neck.

“Good enough to warrant another date?” he asks and she nods as she smiles.

“Definitely”.

He pulls her into a brief hug before he’s pulling away to walk down the steps. She hates the way she instantly feels his absence. He tries so hard not to glance back and he immediately regrets it when he does.

She watches as his eyes darken, the way his eyes fall back to her lips. She doesn’t realise she does it, but when her teeth close around her bottom lip he’s there again, he lunges up the step and he’s pressing his lips back to hers, hands greedily grabbing her waist.

She leans into him, sighing into his mouth as he greedily takes what he wants from her. He pulls away but instantly finds the skin at her neck, tongue gliding across the flesh, teeth biting and grazing and god does it feel good. His lips graze her ear and his movements stop.

“You are the subject of all my deepest desires. I want you, your mind, your soul and body so badly Y/n” his words are hushed and she can’t quite believe they’re coming from him. It was too surreal. She can feel her heartbeat grow erratic just like her breath.

“I’d take you up to that room of yours and make you forget every other man you’ve ever been with… every man you’ve ever wanted… I’d put them to shame I swear Y/n'' she's speechless, back arching into him as pleasure courses through her body. He’s not even doing anything now but his words have her flying. She knows they’re true, if the time he was buried in between her thighs was any indication, he’d be everything.

“I’d make you scream my name so loud until it's the only word you can comprehend” his lips graze her neck again, moving round until they’re back against her lips.

“Ross” she sighs, he pauses his attack against her lips, tongue grazing her lips one last time before he pulls away fully. His hands let go of her waist, grip loosening until they fully disappear.

“I’m not going to do anything to you until I’ve spoken to Matty” the mention of the other man has her mouth flying open, even more speechless before.

He gently closes her mouth with two fingers and he places one more peck to her mouth.

“I want this Y/n, believe me I want this, don’t think I don’t, I know what you’re like, you get in that pretty head of yours and I can’t have you thinking i don't want you in every way possible okay?” he asks and she nods slowly.

“You’re everything I have ever wanted and more” he says smiling down at her, hands smoothing out her hair softly “but I can’t do anything until I speak to Matty, I’ll never forgive myself” it's the first time he’s spoken about Matty as if he wanted her. Of course he did, but Ross usually tiptoed around the subject of his best friend.

“I’m going to go now okay? Don’t get into that pretty head of yours okay?” she doesn't speak but nods, leaning up to kiss him once more before he leaves. She opens her door silently, her back finding the other side before she slides down the wood.

“Jesus christ” she says, running a hand through her hair. That was so hot she couldn't help but think. But also what the fuck? She asks herself.

She draws out her phone from her jacket, opening Matty’s number and typing out a message.

“Fuck you” she types. She can't help but think if Matty wasn’t an issue, she would’ve had Ross in the way she wanted. She quickly deletes the message. Pulling up Ross’ contact instead.

“Thank you for today, it was perfect. Perfect”

The bar is empty, the lights that are usually low are bright and her eyes flick around the room as they practise, noticing things she usually wouldn’t have. The space looks huge without all the people, the stools resting upside down against the tables, the absence of glasses, the smell of smoke and the noise of the people makes it calm. The bar manager was kind enough to let them use the space for free, they usually would’ve met at the studio but Jamie wanted to see them in a live setting (that and she was trying to ignore a certain lead singer).

Jamie is set at the back of the bar, glasses perched at the bridge of his nose as he drinks a dark liquid - likely whisky. He sits with papers covering the table and his phone is flat against the wood, he occasionally picks it up to answer an email or text but his focus is usually on them.

They’ve practised a few songs now and he smiles and nods at her before requesting another one. He had given them free reign of choosing their setlist, the show they had planned an important one. He only makes a few suggestions here and there, mostly here to hear their full repertoire.

“Hey Jamie” she says, she watches as his eyes flick up to her and the way he smiles as he nods. Lots of people didn’t like Jamie, she knew this from being in the fandom for years. But she didn’t receive that side of him, he was always kind to her and treated her with respect - valuing her opinion above all else.

“Can we try something new?” she asks, and he nods again.

“Of course… original or cover?” he asks, his pen resting against his lips.

“Cover” she asks, wondering if that would be a problem, she knew he eventually wanted them to just do originals but for now she thinks he might be fine with it.

“Okay… go for it” he says. Her eyes flick around to the band and they all nod.

They begin playing a familiar tune and it's not long before her voice rings out across the room. He hears the door open slightly and his eyes flick to the noise.

The rain is pouring down outside, hitting the pavement harshly. Matty stands there, wet curls clinging to his forehead and small droplets fall, landing on his cheek and slowly trailing down his face. He looks out at the stage, watching as her eyes flutter shut the minute she begins to sing.

He feels his heart tighten in his chest. He feels a pit at his stomach, recognising the song and wondering who she was singing it for.

“If you, if you could return, Don't let it burn, Don't let it fade, I'm sure I'm not being rude, But it's just your attitude, It's tearing me apart, It's ruining every day” she sings. Jamie beckons him over with a finger to his lips, not wanting to disturb her or the band.

She sounded beautiful, she always did. Jamie was impressed again, wondering if there would ever be a time where he wasn’t. Matty feels his breath getting rapid, she sung this song with such pain, it was hauntingly beautiful. But where was it coming from? Who was it about?

“I swore, I swore I would be true, And honey so did you, So why were you holding her hand?, Is that the way we stand?, Were you lying all the time?, Was it just a game to you?” her eyes open and find him and he half expects her to stop singing and storm off the stage, he expects her to look anywhere but at him. And he hates that she doesn’t.

They hadn’t spoke since he called her that night, but he knew, he knew looking at her now, those eyes that he could stare into for eternity, the way they bore into his soul, they way they look broken but hopeful… he knows he needs her and he knows she needs him just as much.

“But I'm in so deep, You know I'm such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?” her voice is beautiful, she’s beautiful. Her eyes soften looking at him and he sees the twitch of her lips, she almost smiles, almost.

Matty can't do this, he can't sit here and pretend anymore. But he can't move now, entranced, enthralled, captivated. Always captivated by her.

“Oh, I thought the world of you, I thought nothing could go wrong, But I was wrong, I was wrong, If you, if you could get by, Trying not to lie, Things wouldn't be so confused, And I wouldn't feel so used, But you always really knew I just want to be with you” her eyes flutter shut again. Who was she thinking of? Was it him? Was it Ross?

“And I'm in so deep, You know I'm such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?” she sings the words again. She pictures him in her mind, she feels horrible, convinced she’s the worst person to ever walk this earth.

The date with Ross was perfect and she knew… she knew she was falling for him, hard and fast the exact way she was terrified off. But he made it so easy. So why was she having these feelings towards his best friend? Why did she want them both so much? And why was she so terrified of losing both of them?

The singer. Why did she know that if she opened her eyes again, he’d be there, so close to slipping from her life?

“And I'm in so deep, You know I'm such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?” her eyes open again and find his own immediately.

She looks across his features and she knows. He’s here, but he won't be for long. She knows the furrow of his eyebrows, she knows the lines in between his brows, she knows the way his lip quivers slightly… he couldn't do this anymore. She was losing him.

“You know I'm such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?”

He watches as the tear falls down her cheek, she quickly wipes it before her fingers are back at her guitar, finishing the song.

He stands abruptly, walking out the venue. The rain soaks him but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about anything but her. It's not long before she’s standing with him, drenched, tears falling just as quickly as the rain. He’s facing away from her when she finds him but he quickly turns to face her when he hears his name.

He steps towards her quickly and she throws her arms over his shoulders as his wrap around her waist pulls her towards him.

“I'm sorry” he murmurs against the top of her head. He shakes as he speaks and she wonders if he’s crying. She knows what his words mean. They mean, I'm sorry I'm leaving, they mean I'm sorry you’ve broken me, they’re sorry I love you, they’re sorry you love him more.

She shakes her head against his chest, placing her head there, silently saying “no, don’t leave, don’t give in”. Neither of them speak. The silence is suddenly broken but she doesn't like it when the words that break it are his.

"You said we couldn't because we're working together... You said it wasn't because of Ross, but then I heard you and-" he lets go of her, stepping back and turning around briefly. His hand covers his face, and he sighs heavily against his hand before he’s facing her again. She sees the heartbreak and it hurts her more than anything else ever had. His eyes are red and she sees tears she wishes she never would see.

"Matty I'm so-"

"Don't say you're sorry" he interrupts her and her tears fall faster.

"I thought you'd never lie to me" his words are sad.

"I didn't mean to Matty... I swear... I wanted to tell you…. But" he stops her again, a sharp turn towards her, she takes one look at the angry look on his face and her voice fails her.

"But you what? What's the poor excuse you're going to come up with!" He's shouting now.

"I didn't want to hurt you Matty!" She shouts back, not because she wanted to but because she was afraid he wouldn't listen if she didn't.

"Don't do that! Don't pity me..." Neither of them say it. Neither of them mention that the fact she didn't tell him about Ross was because it was obvious he liked her too.

"You knew I liked you... You knew it.. and you still got with my best mate" it's the first time he's admitting it out loud, and it shakes her to the core.

"Matty please... As soon as I had the slight inclination that you liked me, I tried to put an end to it .. I really did. But Ross..." Her tears fall faster now and she tries to grip onto him, to pull him so he's looking at her, listening to her.

"Ross what? Ross made you?"

"No... I really like him, Matty... I tried to stop it I did but I-"

"you just couldn't" he's facing her now, grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer to him. It's a weird move but she allows him. His fingertips graze her cheek, catching the tears.

"And here I was thinking... Hoping... That you'd like me just a little bit... That you'd choose me over him... But who am I? Who am I compared to Ross? He's my best friend... He deserves you" his words are sad and she frowns up at him, shaking her head.

"Don't say that... You're everything Matty" she truly believes it's why the situation has been so god damn difficult for her.

"Don't say that just to be nice to me..."

"I'm not Matty... You have to know, this hasn't been easy for me. In fact it's been really fucking difficult" she chuckles at herself before her hand clasps his face gently.

"How?" He can't see how it would've been difficult for her.

"Because... I like you too" the confession knocks the breath from him, and her too. It was the first time she had admitted it out loud.

"But you like him more right?" She shakes her head.

"It's not like that...It's- it's both. You're both so different..." She tries her best to explain. She doesn't mention that Ross was real, whilst Matty represented a fantasy, someone who reflected parts of her soul. Whilst Ross was her soul. Ross had her heart, she knew that, and secretly so did he.

“Ross told me you went on a date…” he doesn’t look into her eyes and she doesn’t look into his actively avoiding each other, not wanting to see her reaction, hoping she’d speak and hide her true emotions. His thumb runs along the side of her face, hooking under her chin and raising it until she’s looking into his eyes. She nods.

“How was it?” he asks, eyes silently begging her not to lie. She breathes deeply, she wouldn’t lie, not this time, she couldn’t.

“It was almost perfect” the ‘almost’ accidentally slips and she’s quick to squeeze her eyes shut, wanting to avoid the question she knew he’d ask now.

“Almost?” he says. She nods but doesn’t open her eyes.

“Open your eyes Y/n” he pleads, “please” he knew she wouldn’t tell him what the singular word meant, but they both knew, one look into his eyes and he’d be able to read her like a book. She opens them slowly, finding his glistening brown orbs.

They tell him everything he needs to know. Her eyes don’t hide the secret like she’s trying to. His mind flicks back to the conversation with Ross, he knew what Ross said, that he wouldn’t do anything without Matty’s permission, that he didn’t want to hurt his best friend but that he wanted her more than anything in the world: he wanted her soul and her body and wanted her to be his. Matty didn’t quite believe him when he said it, wondering how well his friend actually managed to resist her. But looking into her eyes now, he knows it's true.

And what hurts more than anything, what completely destroys him, is the fact he can tell she wants Ross just as badly.

"I can't do this," he steps away from her.

"Matty please..."

"no I can't do this y/n... I can't watch you fall in love with my best friend... Who I know is falling just as hard... And he deserves you he truly does... But I can't do that, it will break me"

"Matty please" she begs "I can't lose you..."

"It's not enough... I can't do this" he gestures between them "I just can't, it's too hard"

Right then and there, looking into his sad eyes which are coated with tears, she knows, if she didn't do something, she'd lose him.

"Matty" her voice is the clearest it's been all night and it makes him turn to her again. "I want you to kiss me" she says and his mouth falls open, despite what his brain tells him, that he can't, that it was obvious she was Ross', he steps towards her.

"we can't..." His hand holds her waist as hers fall to his shoulders.

"Please Matty... Kiss me" his eyes search hers, seeing no lie or uncertainty. She wanted this, and so did he. So he slowly lowers his mouth to hers, the initial graze sets her soul ablaze. This one graze redefined everything she ever thought. It was fireworks. It touched part of her soul which she thought was dead. But only part.

It didn't light up all of her, it didn't completely overwhelm her, they didn't merge into one being as they kissed. It was beautiful and loving and it was spectacular... But it wasn't Ross. It could never be Ross. Matty felt it too. He pulls away with a silent sob.

"You're never going to love me like you love him" he murmurs into her mouth. Her tears fall again, sad ones, ones in which tell her and him that he's right.

"I want to .. I can't lose you Matty"

"you won't, losing you would destroy me completely" he presses their lips together again. They move against each other but not easily, it’s the hardest kiss either of them have shared with anyone. Even now, it's full of we-can't, it’s full of we-shouldn’t, it's full of hurt and heartbreak. Her hands grasp his shirt harshly, not wanting him to leave just yet. They needed this, if not only for a moment.

“Matty” she sighs against his mouth. His tongue peaks through his lips and through hers, finding hers and intertwining. He feels a wet tear fall to his cheek but it's not his and he pulls back.

"I'm truly a shitty friend" he thinks. He didn't deserve her and he most certainly didn't deserve a friend like Ross.

Fuck... Ross they both think they had well truly messed this whole thing up. She pulls away, gasping as the realisation settles in.

"I just kissed Ross' best friend .... Twice" she’s gone before he can stop her. She runs faster than her feet allow, but she still runs.

"Shit. shit!" He shouts.

She doesn’t know where she’s running. But she runs and she doesn’t stop.

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @promocodesorry75 @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk @you-muppet @moodyyyychickx @k4tie75 @insidemymind19 @zzzhealy @maybeiwouldlikeyou @at-her-very-foreign @not-alien-girl-v @sinarainbows @friedlandblog @momentum2023 @youlooklikeshitandyousmellabit @inhalerbea @sugerkane1001 (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊, those with a line through are the ones i couldn’t tag)

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automaticllamacycle · 10 months

Text

the taste of your lips (is my idea of luxury)

Summary: You had never smoked weed before. A few puffs with your friend Matty couldn’t hurt, right?

Content: 18+, smoking, shotgunning, face sitting, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, spitting, slight dom/sub undertones if you squint, friends to lover but make it super speed

Word count: 5,451

You sit in his room watching one of his favorite documentaries, a typical Friday night for the two of you. Matty’s at his desk, leaning over it while he starts to roll a joint. He insists the weed helps him think more deeply about the documentary, no matter how many times you tell him that’s bullshit. You can’t help but linger on his fingers as he packs the joint, carefully working with the paper.

You and Matty have been friends for a few years now. Nothing had ever gone further than that, even though you’d like for it to. Painfully, in the friend-zone. So, you sit on his bed and watch his hands, wondering what they would feel like on you. On your body, squeezing your hips just right…

His curly brown locks are a mess, hanging in his face. You hope he can’t feel your eyes barring into him. Part of you wonders if he does know, by the way he grazes his tongue along the edge of the paper, slow and calculated in his movements. He lingers his tongue longer than usual. As soon as he finishes the task, your eyes jump back to the television, acting like you weren’t just staring at him.

“Matty, can I change this to something else? What even is this?”

“What? Don’t like my taste in documentaries?” he jokes with the joint hanging loosely from his lips. He stands up in the middle of his sentence, looking for a lighter in his bedside drawer.

“You know I don’t. This isn’t even true crime. Can I put it on Friends or something? Please?” The remote is already in your hand, ready to go. A wide grin spreads across your face as you try to convince him to comply with your request.

“Anything for you. I’ll be high anyway. Don’t really care what we watch.” He replies, now clutching the lighter in his hand. The words anything for you repeat in your head as he sits down next to you, making himself comfortable against the headboard. His shoulders press against you, not a space between the side of his body and yours.

“You know it’s a great show. A true classic.” you say as you put the show on. You turn your head to him and watch as he strikes the lighter and holds the flame to the joint. When he finally lights it, he responds.

“It’s a funny show, I’ll give you that much sweetheart.”

You turn your head back to the TV screen, attempting to ignore how close his body is to you. His every movement distracts you from the TV. Only a couple minutes into the episode, you look to him again, watching as he takes a drag. More specifically, watching as his lips wrap around the joint.

You haven’t smoked before. Not like you’re against it or anything, just never found a reason to, yet. Still though, you’re curious about it. “So…” you begin, “What does being high actually feel like?”

“Why, you finally interested after all these years?” he replies with his eyebrows raised. A small smirk lights up his face.

“Maybe.”

“Well, it feels… nice. You feel happy and relaxed, not a care in the world.”

“That does sound appealing.” Your eyes flicker between the joint in his hand and his eyes, trying to steer clear from staring at his lips. Maybe the high will distract you from your feelings. Distract you from how much you want him, right now.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” He straightens up from his position against the headboard and extends the joint out to your hand. You hesitantly take it from his fingers, before looking back at his face. Unsure of even how to hold the joint properly, you decide to hold it like a cigarette as you’ve seen him do so many times, between your pointer finger and middle finger. Your eyes meet his again, looking for some kind of guidance. His eyes are a bit red from the weed. It doesn’t look like there are too many thoughts going on in his head.

“Matty, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette.”

“I can tell,” he chuckles. “You just breathe it in I don’t know how else to instruct you. You’ve seen me do it enough times by now.” Before continuing his sentence, he plucks the joint from your fingers and places it between your thumb and index finger, signaling for you to pinch your fingers around it. “It’s between these fingers. Easier to pass back and forth this way. Go ahead and take a hit.”

“Alright, fine.” You feel your confidence leave your body as you bring the joint up to your lips. You attempt to properly inhale, but you fall into a raging coughing fit when the smoke hits your lungs.

“Well shit, you weren’t joking,” he said, laughing as his hand goes to rub your back gently while you cough.

“Yeah, I don’t think smoking weed like this is going to work out for me.”

There’s a slight pause. A lull in conversation before he talks again.

“Wait. I think I have an idea.” His eyes light up alongside his smile. You could tell by the look on his face this isn’t going to be a regular, normal idea.

“I feel like I should be worried.”

“Come here and sit on my lap.” He holds his arms out, waiting. You stare at him for a moment, confusion on your face.

“I think you’re a little too high right now, Matty.” He’s not serious, right?

“I’ve only smoked like half of this, now come here. Don’t you trust me?”

Begrudgingly, you straddle his hips, and his hands steady you at your waist. You have never been this close to him. The look in his eye is one you haven’t seen before, and you aren’t sure you can blame the weed for it. His breath starts getting heavier with you on his lap. You’re just glad he has a shirt on. You find a voice to speak.

“Okay, what is your bright idea before I chicken out?”

“It’s called shot gunning. Basically, I’m going to take a big hit, then breathe it into your mouth while you breathe in. Simple as that.” His voice is confident as he explains his bright idea.

“That seems sexually charged,” you say. You feel the blush flaming on your cheeks, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Oh, shut up, our mouths don’t actually touch.” Bummer, you wish they would. Matty doesn’t need to know that, though. He continues, trying to defend his idea. “I just think it’ll be easier for you to get a full hit this way, since I don’t have a bong with me. Those are less harsh on the lungs.”

“Matty, you seem more nervous than I am.” That is a lie, straight through your teeth. The nervous energy is practically surging through your bones at the idea of his mouth almost touching your lips.

“I just haven’t done this with a girl I wasn’t currently dating at the time,” he says, biting his tongue afterwards. That is a bit of information he should have left out. Matty’s hands move up and down on your waist as he waits for your response. The heat of his hands burns through your shorts.

“Okay, it’s time for you to be quiet and get on with it. So, what exactly do I need to do?”

“You need to lean in a bit and get closer. I’ll handle the rest, just remember to breathe in when I breathe out, okay?”

“Alright.”

The hand that rests on your waist makes its way slowly up your back, cupping the back of your head and your neck. Out of reflex, you grip his arm, steadying yourself. His eye contact is magnetic as he lifts the joint up to his lips. Your breath isn’t coming as easy to you now, the air becoming thick around the both of you while you watch his lips wrap around the paper.

He breathes in deep, filling his mouth and lungs with smoke, but not blowing it out. He lowers your face down to meet his. Lips a fraction away from touching. Your lips part, waiting for him. Matty opens his mouth, nearly grazing your lips and blows the smoke out while you inhale. His actions are slow, like he’s savoring the moment. Like he won’t get the chance to be this close to you again. You take in the smoke without coughing up a lung this time, feeling the high start to hit, just a little bit.

You turn your head away from him to blow out the smoke, so it isn’t directly in his face. When you face back towards him, the intensity of his eyes almost melt you into a puddle. His eyes stare straight through you, like he can read your every thought.

“How was that?” he asks, breathless. He can’t stop looking at your mouth.

“It was better that time. Easier on the lungs, like you said.” Yeah sure, easier on the lungs, but not easier on your nerves.

“Do you want to try again?” He tries to maintain eye contact, but his gaze falls right back down to your lips. You impulsively lick them.

“Yeah, sure.” You maintain your composure, but as the minutes go on it becomes harder. The way you sit in his lap makes you nervous about moving your hips at all. Every inch of your body pressed into him.

He repeats the same actions, this time however, more intense. His hand on the back of your neck holds you close, keeping you millimeters away from his mouth. Your grip on his arm tightens in response. Oh, how badly you want to lean in. To taste his lips and feel his mouth on you. His eyes never leave your face as he takes another hit. This time, his hand at the back of your head moves to grasp your jaw instead. The hold spans to your neck. Surely, he can feel the rapid pace of your pulse underneath your skin, but you push that thought away.

He pulls your face to his and breathes the smoke into your mouth. Once he was finished, you blow it back out. However, this time, you brought your face back to the same closeness. Maybe the high is giving you a newfound confidence.

“That was nice,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” he questions with his hand still on your face. “Think you want to try to smoke it on your own again?” His facial expression disagrees with the words he says. He doesn’t want you to move at all.

You nod your head at his question, but you also have a different idea in mind. “Can I shot gun you instead?” you asked, timidly. You want to stay on his lap for as long as possible, savoring the impression of his hips against yours. His eyebrows raise, surprised at your question.

“Sure, love. If you think you’re that advanced.” He teases. He hands you back the joint while you attempt to conceal your shaky hands. He notices, though, despite your best efforts. “Start whenever you’re ready, or you can stop if you want. No pressure.” His hands return to your hips as his thumbs begin to rub in a circular motion on the bone, reassuring you.

You are in too deep, there’s no stopping now. You take a hit of the joint, and this time, you managed to fight off the cough. With a shaky hand, you cup his jaw as you lean in. His lips part, ready for you.

Your lips, ever so slightly, graze his before you blow the smoke into his mouth. Electricity runs through you at the brief contact. He exhales away from your face before turning back to you. One of his hands holds your cheek while the other remains on your waist.

“How was that?” you ask, hesitantly. For once, you found yourself not able to read the expression on his face.

“That was perfect. You did a good job.” His brown eyes are blown wide. They flicker to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your mouth.

“Oh, fuck it,” he exclaims.

In a split second, his lips meet yours, drawing a gasp from your throat. There is desperation in his actions, in the way his hands grip your face and waist like he never wants to let go. He moves against your mouth with fervor, slipping his tongue past your lips. Your free hand combs through his curls, pulling tight as you roll your hips against his lap. Fire runs across your skin as he kisses you deeper before breaking the kiss. He’s quick to say the first word.

“Shit. I’ve complicated things haven’t I? We can act like that never happened if you want to stay just friends.” He talks as though he is not already hard against you, aching for more contact.

“I don’t think I can just forget about this, Matty,” you reply, grinding against him. A groan leaves his lips as his fingers dig into your hips in a bruising grip. “Besides…” You lean down to his ear, breath hot as you speak. “I want you. I want you as more than a friend. Have for a while now.” He reacts to your word fast, grabbing the joint from your hand and putting it out on the ashtray laying on his nightstand. Before he continues, his eyes meet yours, still hesitant to continue.

“You sure?” He needs to make sure this is okay one last time before there is no going back to just friends.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” His lips are on you again as soon as the words leave your mouth. The kiss is hot, passionate, needy. Both of your hands tangle through his brown curls, tugging to hear another groan leave his throat. Your tongue licks into his open mouth, wanting more from him.

Matty’s hands are ambitious, traveling under your shirt he grabs the shirt hem. Goosebumps erupted across your skin as he lifts the shirt off of you. For a moment, he stops to take in your body. The heat in your cheeks tints your face pink as he stares, completely awestruck. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

His lips attach to the newly exposed skin of your chest, nipping and sucking at the skin not covered by your bra. You draw in a sharp breath at the sensation of his teeth and tongue on your skin. Red marks are left behind by his mouth. You feel one of his hands drift up your spine to undo your bra clasp, leaving your chest bare to him.

Matty’s mouth moves onto your exposed breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples before his teeth barely graze them. You can’t keep the moans back from your lips. “Shit, Matty—”

Before he can leave even more marks on your skin, you push him back against the headboard. A dazed look is in his eyes as your hands find their way under his shirt, fingernails delicately grazing his lower stomach. “It’s not fair for only my shirt to be off,” you say as you lift the fabric over his head. You look over him, eyes trailing over his muscles and tattoos. He has more muscle than you remember, firmer underneath your touch, like he could break you if he wanted to.

You move before he does, beginning to mouth at his neck. Groans leave his lips when you suck on his pulse point, sure to leave a bruise. His hands at your waist frantically press your hips into his erection. Your mouth travels down his neck to his chest, and you about to get off of his lap and on your knees before he stops you.

“Can I taste you?” He licks his lips as he watches your face, gauging your reaction. It wasn’t typical for a guy to want to go down on you first. It was the other way around, usually.

“If you want to…” you trail off, feeling flustered at the idea of him knowing you so intimately so quickly.

“I want to make you feel good,” he insists, fingers finding their way under your waist band to remove your underwear and shorts in one go. You start to get up, to move to the place beside him for better access before he stops you. “No. I want you to sit on my face.”

Your eyes go wide. Unsure of what even say. “You want me to… what?”

“Sit on my face.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Besides, it would be a good way to go out.”

“Matty!” you exclaim, lightly hitting his shoulder.

“I’m just being honest,” he pauses in between sentences to lay down flat on the bed. You now found yourself sitting on his lower stomach with no separation. The arousal between your thighs was obvious to him now, hands digging into your hips. “Now, C’mere.”

He drags you by your hips to hover over his face before he pulls you down roughly. Waves of pleasure flow through your body as his mouth makes contact. “Shit— Matty,” you choke out, darting one hand to the headboard to hold yourself up, knees buckling from the sensation. The other hand drops down to his hair, trying to keep yourself grounded. He licks at your cunt like a starved man. He takes his time to run his tongue along you in a broad stroke before he narrows in on your clit, wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking. Hard. You jolt in his grip as a whine leaves your throat.

Feeling overwhelmed at the sensation, you nearly lift yourself off his face, but his grip is unyielding. Fingers hold onto your thighs tight. Your hand tugs at his hair in response, and his eyes look up at you as a deep groan leaves his throat. His pupils are wide as he watches you on his tongue. Instead of sucking, he begins to lap at your folds, indulging at the taste of you. A mix of saliva and your arousal begin to run down his chin as he works his mouth against you.

“Fuck, if I’d known you tasted this sweet, I would have done this years ago,” he says after lifting your body off of his face for a moment before bringing you back down.

“Make up for lost time then. Show me what you can do with that mouth,” you challenge. Oh, he delivers. At your words, the speed of his tongue increases, switching between sucking and circling at your clit. One of his hands leaves your thighs, lining up to your center to collect your wetness before pushing two fingers in. Your hips roll against his face. For a moment, you worry you could hurt his neck, but that thought leaves when his strong arms firmly pull you to his mouth. Matty moans against you, the vibrations increasing your ecstasy. His name leaves your lips over and over, not knowing what else to say. All you can think is Matty. All you can feel is Matty. His fingers curl just so, hitting that spot inside you. Hips rut against his face haphazardly now, chasing your orgasm. The heat is growing in your stomach. You’re on fire and his tongue is fanning the flame. “Matty— Matty, fuck, I’m close. Please, I’m close.” You sound unlike yourself, desperate and needy. He obliges at your request, his fingers rubbing over that spot inside of you at a rapid pace while his tongue attaches to your clit. With the harsh suck of his lips on your clit, you come undone.

You feel like you’re floating, and the only thing keeping you grounded is your hand in his hair. The world is hazy around you as you become enveloped in the pleasure his mouth brings you. He doesn’t stop, either. His tongue works you through your high, and his hand encourages your hips to move against his face. Matty loves having you like this. He loves making you lose your senses on his tongue. He loves to watch your face fall apart in pleasure all because of him. He knows his only job right now is to make you feel good, to make you feel better than anyone ever has.

When you finally come down from the high, Matty is still going at it. His tongue is overwhelming, like jolts of electricity through your body. With both hands at his hair you start to push off of him. “Too sensitive,” you reason with him, before moving down to straddle his hips again.

His looks at you with a hunger on his face. Eyes dilated as stare back into yours. A sheen covers his chin and swollen lips. He takes one of his fingers to gather the wetness on his chin before sticking the finger in his mouth, licking it clean. Matty’s lips curl into a smirk when he speaks again.

“Well, did I make up for lost time? Seemed like you liked it from the way you were pulling my hair, darling.”

Pink flushes across your cheeks. “I don’t know that once is going to be enough to make up for it.” You lean in, connecting your lips briefly. The taste of you is prominent on his lips and tongue. “I want more than that right now though,” you add, grinding your hips down on him during your sentence.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. ‘You’re going to be the death of me if you keep doing that.”

“Get on with it then.” He quickly flips you over on the bed so you’re pinned beneath his body. His lips attach to your neck, teeth biting at the skin. He sucks hard, leaving red marks in the wake of his mouth. Every nip of his teeth sends shocks to your stomach. “Shit, Matty, stop teasing me.”

“Just wanted to mark you up a little bit. You’d look good with some purple on your neck.” He stands up to go through his bedside drawer again, grabbing a condom.

You interrupt his actions before he opens it. “You don’t have to use one if don’t want to. I have an IUD.” You try not to sound desperate, but you want to feel him. All of him.

“It seems like you’re the one who doesn’t want me to use it. I didn’t peg you as the type to be that dirty. But if you wanna feel me that much, don’t expect me to argue.” he chuckles, before taking off his boxers. His cock is hard and leaking as he pumps himself a few times. Bigger than you expected. He gets back on the bed, kneeling over you. He kisses you quickly. “You ready?” His hand teases the tip of his cock between your folds, intentionally bumping into your clit.

You nod eagerly. “Please.” He enters you slowly, stretching and filling you as a gasp leaves your throat. “Fuck,” you cry out. Your hands grip his back, nails digging into his skin as he continues to fill you up. Your entire body is in bliss as he bottoms out, adjusting to his size. His mouth falls open as small groans escape his throat. His eyes close shut as he feels you surround him.

He stills, deep inside of you as he kisses you deeply, tongue licking into your mouth. His hands are on your hips, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. “Shit, you feel so good. So good for me.” You clench around him at the praise, feeling flush spread all over you. He notices the affect his words have on your body. “You like that too, huh? Want me to call you a good girl next?” he taunts. You draw in a shaky breath at his words, but you bounce back fast.

“Just start moving.” The words leave your mouth more as a whine than a demand. Your hips arch against him, seeking friction.

“A bit demanding. I’ll give you what you want for now.”

He draws almost completely out of you, before thrusting back in. You shudder at the quick pace he sets. “Matty— shit,” you whine. He straightens his body back up to admire you underneath him, still snapping his hips at a rhythmic pace. His eyes examine every part of you. He watches the way your face falls open in pleasure as you moan. How your hips follow the movement of his thrusts, and how your muscles tense underneath him.

With his new position, you take your time to admire his body as well. Your hands move to trace the tattoo on his lower stomach, feeling the strength of the muscles there as he rolls his hips into you. His arms grab your attention, too. As his hands grip your waist, his biceps flex. His arms are huge, like he could hold you down and keep you there for hours, using you however he wants.

“Hey.” He interrupts your staring. One of his hands slides up your body to grip your jaw, making your eyes meet his. “Keep looking at me, yeah? Want to see your eyes. Want to see how good I’m making you feel. Got it?” You nod at his request without a second though, wanting to please him.

“Atta girl,” he responds. He takes one of your legs and places it over his shoulder, letting him hit deeper inside you.

“God,” you cry out at the new depth of his cock, pleasure tingling through your skin every time he bottoms out. The feeling is overwhelming, melting you down into a puddle. You can’t stop your eyes from shutting closed at the sensation, slipping into euphoria. Instantly, he stops moving. Your eyes fly open, not sure what’s wrong, why he stopped.

“What did I just tell you?” he asks, voice firm. His hand is back on your jaw again, holding on tight. Your mind was hazy, both from the weed and the pleasure. You pulse around him, unsure what he wants you to say. There’s a short pause before he speaks again. “I told you to keep looking at me. I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you come.” His eyes are dark and lustful while he talks. “You understand?” You nod your head frantically, desperate for him to start moving again.

“I want words this time,” he adds, your head nodding not enough.

“Yes, Matty.” Your voice barely sounds like you. Broken and whiney.

“There we go, that’s what I wanted,” he murmurs. His thumb goes to brush over your lips. “Now, open your mouth.” You listen to his instructions, opening your mouth wide while he holds your chin. Without warning, he leans over you and spits in your mouth. Your eyes widen at his actions, shocked at the way it makes you feel inside. Butterflies forming in your stomach at his next words. “Swallow it.”

Gulping it down quickly, you open back up your mouth, showing him you obeyed. “That’s a good girl, listening to me so well,” he praises. “I think you deserve a reward; would you like that?”

“Please,” you beg, nails raking down his lower stomach lightly. He obliges, placing one hand beside your head to hover over you as he sets a relentless pace again. His hips rock into you roughly, hitting every spot inside of you to fill you with pleasure. You refuse to close your eyes, staring back deep into his own. His other hand urges you to wrap your legs around his hips, grasping tight around your hipbone. This time, he gasps at the feeling of being so deep inside of you. Your cunt squeezes around his cock, making him curse. “Fuck, love. God, you’re so good for me. So fucking good for me, shit.” He was losing himself fast, getting lost in you.

“Matty, please—” you cry out, not quite sure what you’re asking for. The heat was growing inside your stomach rapidly. Every thrust inside of you bringing you closer and closer to release. Only holding on by a thread as he speeds up his hips, hitting you deep and hard. His thumb moves from where it holds into your hip, circling your clit. “Oh, God,” you sob. It was all too much. His cock ruthlessly fucks into you. The feeling of his rough, calloused thumb rubbing your clit without ceasing. His eyes staring into you, overtaken with pleasure as groan after groan leaves his throat. The world blurs around you, and only the feeling of Matty remains. Your orgasm sneaks up on you fast.

“Matty, shit. I- I’m right there.” You hold on just a little bit longer, wanting his permission before you let go. No, needing his permission before you let go.

His thumb speeds up, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Go on, love. Come around my cock for me,” he encourages. That’s all it takes for the tension building inside your stomach to snap. You come apart for him, waves of euphoria washing over your skin. Heats spreads through your veins as your back arches against the bed. Matty is the only word leaving your lips as he continues his thrusts through your high. His hands hold you together, keeping you from falling apart at the seams. You listen to his instructions, keeping your eyes locked with his throughout your climax, watching his face fall in awe of you. The look in his eyes is the only thing keeping you from drifting off completely.

Matty groans at the sight of you falling apart underneath him. The way you fluttered and pulsed around him only brings him closer to his high. His hips become sloppy against you, losing precision as he starts to reach his own climax. With a series of deep, hard thrusts, he moans out your name as he spills inside of you, hips stuttering. His breathe is labored as he rests his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you. You stay there in his embrace while you catch your breath, holding him close before he opens his eyes to look at you.

“Shit,” he chuckles. “That was better than I could have ever imagined.” He has a genuine smile on his face, but you take the opportunity to tease him.

“Oh, so you’ve thought about me like this before?”

“Only about a million times,” he replies. Matty slowly pulls out of you, wincing at the sensitivity. As he gets up and walks to the bathroom, dread fills you, thinking that was it. That he was done and expecting you to leave. You sit up on the bed, feeling his cum drip down your thighs as you try find the nerve to stand up and collect your clothes. He comes back in the middle of your attempt to stand with a rag in his hand, wearing a new pair of boxers.

“Hey, hey. Where do you think you’re going?” he stops you. Voice soft.

“Oh. I was just going to get my clothes…” you trail off, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already are. A look of hurt marks his face at your words.

“You know me well enough to know I’m not a complete dickhead,” he sighs. “Now, lean back, let me clean you up.” His hand is gentle as it goes to your knee, signaling you to part your thighs for him. The warm rag in his hands wipes off your thighs before trailing up to your center, taking extra care around the sensitive skin. “I’ll be right back,” he says this time, reassuring you before taking the rag to the bathroom. When he returns, he walks over to his dresser, grabbing a t-shirt and another pair of boxers before returning to the side of the bed. “Arms up.”

“Matty, I can get dressed myself.”

“Sweetheart, let me take care of you. Please?” You lift your arms, complying with his request as he puts the shirt on you. The smell of him immediately engulfs you. He also insists to help you put the boxers on. Finally, he crawls up in the bed next to you, pulling you to rest your head on his chest. You’re safe in his arms. It’s warm and comfortable. The previous feeling of anxiety leaving you.

“I really like you. You know that, right?” he speaks, sounding unsure of himself.

“I really like you, too.”

“Then, let’s just leave it at that for now, yeah? Figure out the rest later.” He briefly kisses your forehead. All that mattered right now is that you’re here in his grasp.

#matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #my writing #smut #writing #shotgunning one shot finished who cheered #cross posted to ao3 go give it a kudos ily

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trumanbluee · 4 days

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if its not with you (part two) - matty healy

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!!

this is part two of this fic!! i recommend reading that before this one, but it's not necessary!!

word count: 2735

content/warnings: afab main character, established relationship, unprotected sex (no mention of protection). please lmk if i missed anything, thanks! <3

a/n: enjoy!! i've missed posting on here!

She sat on her couch in anticipation, leg bobbing rhythmically as she scrolled through her phone, expecting a call from Matty any minute.

At 9am on the dot, his name flashed across her phone, interrupting the TikTok she was watching. She clicks the ‘accept’ button as if it’s muscle memory, which it is by now, they’d called so many times in the last few months, and presses her phone to her ear.

“Matty?”

“Hey baby! Just got off the plane. Wanted to let you know I’ll be home in about an hour and a half, ‘kay?” She could hear his smile through his words, and her chest bubbled with excitement at the thought of their reunion.

“Are you sure you don’t want me t’come get you? I’ve got the car, I can just-”

She’s cut off when he tuts over the phone, and she can practically see him shaking his head.

“Nah, honey. Thank you. Just wanna come home to you, yeah? Don’t want the first time I see my girl in months to be in some grimy airport, baby. I love you, I’ll see ya’ in a bit.”

And just like that the call was over, though she wasn’t offended by the abrupt end. Matty’s brain moved extremely quickly, and he often got distracted from the task at hand. She didn’t take it personally, she just couldn’t wait to see him.

She spent the hour she had before he got home tidying up, not wanting Matty to come home to a messy house. Now, she stood in front of the mirror, attempting to tidy herself up to look somewhat presentable for her boyfriend, though she knew he wouldn’t care how she looked. She still donned his oversized - on her at least - dress shirt, buttoned up to just above her cleavage, but had brushed her hair and applied a light amount of makeup, not wanting to seem too messy.

She sat, anxiously, on the couch facing the front door, ears perking at every sound that came from the hallway leading to their shared apartment.

Then, she heard the rattling of the door, as well as a huff of slight frustration as Matty struggled to walk through the door, dragging his suitcase and carry-ons with him.

She sprung up, rushing over to him in record time. Fiddling with his bags, he finally notices her there in front of him, and dropped everything he was holding on the hardwood floor, instead opening his arms for her to fall into.

Slamming herself into his chest, she wrapped her arms around him, squashing her cheek against his chest.

He stumbled at the impact, chuckling slightly at her eagerness.

“Hi baby,” he leaned down to whisper in her ear, one hand wrapped tightly around her as the other caressed the back of her head, carding through her soft hair. “Missed me, huh?”

She nodded against his firm chest, chin planting against it as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, eyes bleary with tears. He had no idea.

He cooed, “Oh darlin’, I missed you too. So much.” With this, he picked her up, with her instinctually wrapping her legs around him. He shoved his head into her shoulders, breathing in her scent that he’d missed so much, a mixture of her strawberry shampoo and floral perfume, though she hadn’t even put any on today.

He sighed, keeping one hand on her back, rubbing slow, comforting circles as he hugged her tight, placing his other hand on her bum to keep her stable.

Sniffling slightly, she rubbed the wetness around her eyes away with her fist, placing her head back onto Matty’s shoulder.

“Missed you so much, baby,” He whispered in her ear, planting a soft kiss just behind it as he said it, sending a shiver down her spine. He continued, placing kisses across the side of her neck and along her chin, lifting her head slightly to grant him more access.

She sighed airily at the feeling of his soft lips against the sensitive skin of her throat, bringing her hand up to twirl the curls at the nape of neck.

“Need you, Matty,” She whined in his ear.

“I know, honey. Wanna take my time with you though, yeah? Haven’t seen you in so long, baby.” He spoke softly into her ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek sweetly before gripping her tightly, her legs still wrapped around his waist.

She reached her head up, placing her lips on his in a desperate kiss, almost as though she was trying to show him how much she’d missed him.

Matty sighed into the kiss, like it was a relief to him to feel her lips on his, and continued the kiss, deepening it slightly as he made the short walk from the hallway to their bedroom and over to their bed, his knees hitting the soft bedding that laid over the end.

He kissed her once more, still holding her in his arms, before he gently laid her back on the bed, the lower half of her body hanging off slightly. She watched him, smiling down at him as he knelt between her legs, pushing her feet softly so they’d bend at the knees, opening her up to him.

She whined as he pushed up the bottom of his dress-shirt so it bunched up just above her belly button, Matty planting a soft kiss just above the hem of her underwear.

He hummed, “Missed this, honey. Missed you being such a good girl for me.” He slipped a thumb into her underwear, using his other hand to gently lift her hips up in order to pull them down her legs.

He kissed the side of her right knee, trailing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all the way up until he reached her cunt, now sopping wet, before doing the same thing to the other leg.

“M-matty,” she whined, drawn out in complaint at his teasing, “Puh- please.”

He smirked up at her through hooded eyes to see her looking down at him the best she could, eyes furrowed, cheeks red, and biting her lip.

“What’s wrong baby? Please what?” He pressed a kiss to her throbbing clit, spreading her open with his hand as he did so, before blowing cool air over her aching pussy.

“W-want you,” she managed to stutter out, already almost completely fucked out from his teasing kisses.

“Yeah, baby? Want me where, darlin’? Here?” He placed an open mouthed kiss on her lower thigh, “Or here?” He placed another kiss on her soft stomach, hearing a loud whine above him.

He faked surprise, “No? Not there, darlin’? What about here, then?” And with that, he finally placed his hot mouth against her, swirling his tongue lightly around her puffy clit. She keened above him, lifting her hips to meet his mouth, only for them to be softly pushed back down on to the bed, Mattys arm coming up to lay across her stomach, holding her hips down with the weight.

“Fuck, honey. Y’taste even better than I remember.” He praised, licking a strip from her hole up, earning a loud moan.

She reaches her hand down, twirling her hand into Matty’s thick, dark-chocolate curls, and presses his face into her pussy. He obeys her silent command, licking and sucking her clit as he brings his hand - the one not occupied with holding her impatient hips down - up to her dripping hole, teasing a single digit at the entrance slowly.

She whines, hand tightening in Matty’s hair, and grinds her hips to meet Matty’s kitten licks. Taking pity on her, Matty pushes two fingers inside her, curling them up to hit the spot he knows oh so well. She keens, back arching slightly off the bed, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden, though not unwelcome, intrusion.

He pushes his fingers in and out, in and out, in a steady rhythm, while continuing his attack on her pudgy clit, wanton moans sounding in the air around him, though he can barely hear them as her thighs tighten around his head, muffling any and all sound. Though he doesn’t mind at all, she could suffocate him in her pussy, right here, right now, and he would die a happy death.

He groans against her pussy, sending vibrations throughout her entire body, as he begins to buck his hips against the edge of the bed in the same rhythm his fingers are fucking her. He’s rock hard, and can’t help but attempt to relieve the uncomfortable pressure building in the tent of his pants.

Moaning against her clit, he speeds up the movement of his fingers, curling them upwards as he does so. She groans, a slightly guttural sound from the back of her throat, and begins moving her hips back and further against Matty’s face rapidly.

“G-gonna cum f’me, honey?” Matty asks, hips stuttering against the bedcover as he quickly approaches his own orgasm, the sound of her pleasure being enough to get him off.

She whined, nodding rapidly as her eyebrows furrow and thighs close around Mattys head. He felt his stomach tighten as her moans got louder, less contained, and he let out a final moan against her clit, sending her over the edge as he came against the grey sweatpants he’d worn on the plane. Her chest rose rapidly, breathes short and high-pitched as she came down from her high, Matty’s fingers still inside her, guiding her through it softly.

Catching her breath, Matty crawls up the bed, holding himself above her, and begins kissing up her neck, his knees pressed against her sensitive cunt.

“God, darlin’ y’taste so good you made me cum in my pants.” He admits, laughing slightly as he kisses along her jaw sweetly.

She giggles, lidded eyes looking up at him as he holds himself up over her, “Really? God that’s so hot.”

They both laughed softly, basking in each other's presence, but she could still feel the heat of need in the pit of her stomach, oozing down between her legs. She reaches her hand up, curling it around the back of Matty’s neck to pull his head down to reach her, smashing her lips against his.

“Still need you, baby,” She whispered against his lips, lifting her hips off the bed to grind up against his hardening cock.

“Fuck, honey, y’killin’ me, wearin’ my shirt. Y’look so gorgeous, sweetheart,” He placed kisses down her neck, stopping to suck on the sweet spot just above her collarbone, before bringing his hands up to tug at the buttons of his shirt, pulling it off to expose her boobs, nipples perking up at the exposure to the cold air in the room.

He takes one into his mouth, sucking and biting softly as he caresses the other in his hand, thumb brushing over her sensitive nipple harshly, causing her to jolt and let out a loud, drawn-out moan.

“Missed you so much, sweetheart,” He whispers against her skin, eyes looking up at her adoringly before he turns his attention to her other nipple, performing the same actions again.

She reaches down, tugging at the top of his sweatpants, silently telling him she wants them off, and he obeys, sitting up to pull his shirt off too, before he returns back up to her face, pressing a soft kiss against her lips, eyes fluttering closed. He reaches his hand down, gripping his hard length, pumping it softly, dragging it teasingly up and down her sticky slit, tapping it on her puffy, red, clit twice, before pressing his thick head into her hole slowly.

He leans forward, shoving his head into the crook of her shoulder as he slowly pushes into her, feeling her soaking cunt tighten around him as she welcomes him in, welcomes him home. A broken, high pitched whimper sounds below her ear as he finally bottoms out, hips stilling as he feels her tight pussy contract around his cock, her breathy moans in his ear making it difficult to control himself as he slowly drags his cock out, before slowly pushing back in again.

He lets out a low groan as she cries out, wrapping her legs around his waist, interlocking her heels to keep him inside her.

“Such a good girl, darlin’. So gorgeous… Fuck, I love you so much, baby,” he mumbled out, hips stuttering as he continues his slow rocks into her, her hands reaching his back, dragging her nails up and down.

She cries out, tight cunt clamping around him as he leans further over her, grabbing one of her hands and intertwining them, placing it on the pillow above her head.

“L-love you so much Matty, fuck… feels so good.” she stutters out, tears sprouting in the corner of her eyes as he fucks into her slowly, hitting that sweet spot inside her over and over again. She’s completely overwhelmed. That, mixed with how he squeezed her hand almost reassuringly, and peppered kisses over her face and neck, was fogging her brain, and all she could think was, ‘Matty, Matty, Matty’, over and over.

She said his name like a prayer, breathily calling out to him as she felt herself get tighter and tighter around him, gripping on to his hand in an attempt to ground herself as he brought her closer and closer to coming.

His brows furrowed, eyes lidded in pleasure as he felt her contract around him. He knew her like the back of his hand, and he could tell from the way her brows screwed up, her mouth lolled open, and how her cheeks grew a bright pink, that she was on the brink of her orgasm. He kept his rhythm, slipping his head back into the crook of her neck and placing kisses across her shoulder as he fucked his cock in and out of her.

“C’mon, honey,” He whispered in her ear, planting a kiss on her earlobe softly, “Can feel you tightening around me, baby. Gonna cum with me? Yeah?”. He pulled back from her neck to see her nodding, eyes rolled back in her head as her mouth opened in a silent scream.

He felt her gush around him, and, as if on cue, he felt that familiar tightness in the pit of his stomach, continuing to work his hips, slowly fucking his cock in to her, guiding her through her orgasm, he felt himself spill into her, eyes closed tight as he let out a low groan before stilling inside her.

Their heavy breathes filled the room, both of their chests rising rapidly as Matty pulled out as carefully as he could, rubbing soft shapes on her upper thigh with his thumb as he did so. She whined at the sensitivity as Matty pulled out, feeling the mixture of both of their orgasms seep out onto the white sheets of their shared bed.

She allowed her eyes to fall closed, sleep beginning to overtake her when she was brought to reality by the warmth of a wet towel being swiped over her skin, with Matty beside her, shushing and comforting her softly as he cleaned her up.

“Come on, honey. Ran you a nice warm bath, okay?” He took her hand, placing a hand on her back to guide her up, before leading her into their ensuite, thumb rubbing smooth lines across her knuckles. He helped her step into the bath, arms holding her elbows as he helped her to sit down, before going to walk out of the bathroom.

He was quickly stopped, however, when he heard her sweet voice from behind him call, “Matty? Aren’t you gonna sit with me?”

His heart stopped at her soft tone of voice, spinning on his heel to face her.

“Of course, honey. I was just ‘gonna get you some water, yeah?”

She shook her head, no, pouting down at the water, she spoke softly, “Just want you in here, please.”

He nodded, already beginning to strip the clean sweatpants he’d thrown on mere minutes ago.

“Of course, sweet girl,” he cooed, settling himself in the bubble bath he’d run for her, “C’mere.” He ushered her over and she placed herself between his legs, head rested on his chest lazily as she drew circles on his open palm whilst he told her all about the tour, and what the band had been up to while they were away.

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adore-healy · 2 months

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Talk!

Introducing my next piece — my biggest ever baby — just short of 18K of pure angst so buckle up! Please read the warnings below very carefully — I think I have everything covered but if there's anything else triggering which I've overlooked, please let me know!

Please be kind! Your lovely comments always mean the world to me! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings? Please read at your own risk! Brief mentions of body confidence (insecure reader); alcohol (mentions of vomit); drugs (mentions of rehab); very descriptive illegal drug use and overdose (injecting/needles, vomit, seizures, and mentions of death), sexual scenes and references; and bad language.

Talk!

Swaying ever so slightly, thanks to the glass of wine you’d downed upon your arrival at the party for some liquid confidence, you cross your legs and pray that whoever is taking so long in the bathroom will speed things along because you’re not sure how much longer your bladder can hold out for.

Leaning against the wall for support, you find yourself immersed in people watching as a form of distraction. It seems as though the landing area of the house was the most ideal make out spot for couples tonight — and you assume that the bedrooms are already taken; so you dare not risk using any of the en suites attached in fear of disturbing someone’s mid-fuck.

A group of lads are sat in a circle on the other side of the landing, engrossed in a card game which heavily involves alcohol as you hear them egg each other on with chants galore. One girl sits on the carpeted stairs, only two down from where you’re standing, and she drunkenly sobs into her phone, desperately apologising to whoever is on the other end — presumably an ex partner — as she begs them to take her back.

Your eyes wander observantly over to a group of girls huddled in a corner and despite your innocence in the drug scene at parties, you know that they are abusing a substance as they take turns to dramatically snort white powder off a car key. You’re instantly drawn to them; each of them dressed in clothing that accentuates their stunning figures, paired with high heels that you’d surely break an ankle in.

Self-consciousness suddenly becomes your most prominent feeling as you look down at the loose-fitting floral playsuit you’d chosen to wear this evening, along with your white low top converse. Wrapping your arms protectively around yourself, you wait as patiently as you possibly can.

As though your silent prayers had been answered, the lock of the door clicks, indicating that somebody is finally exiting the bathroom — although you’re hardly surprised when a girl stumbles out of the doorway and balances herself against the doorframe, a slight giggle escaping her lips.

“Steady, love,” a voice sounds from behind her.

Even in your tipsy haze, you’d know that northern accent anywhere — and as his hand comes to rest on the girls’ hip to support her in her drunken state, there’s no mistaking the recognisable box tattoo inked on the inside of his forearm.

Tears pool in your eyes and cloud your vision as you drink in the girls demeanour. Despite having full awareness that it’s not her fault, you can’t help but feel incredibly bitter towards her.

She’s hot.

Her brunette hair frames her face and the luscious curls fall to halfway down her back; fake tan and make up seemed to have been applied in excess but she was able to pull it off with ease; her lips — clearly injected with filler — were ruby red (although the smeared lipstick across her face doesn’t go unnoticed by you); and her waist is adorned by a matching black leather co-ord, her knee high boots giving prominence to her stature.

She’s really hot. Something that you’re not.

And …

… Matty.

The amount of times you’d spoken his name aloud; shouted it during an argument; whispered it in your sleep; whined it each time he would bring you close to the edge with his fingers, or tongue, or sometimes both, only to deny you of the orgasm you desperately craved; moaned it when he did finally let you come around him.

You wonder if his name would roll off your tongue so easily now.

He looks, dare you jinx it, healthy; adorned in a simplistic but dressy pair of black slacks paired with a plain white shirt (because he thinks it makes him appear ethereal — note: it does) and the outfit is completed with black patent shoes. He looks every inch the award winning successful pop star — and you liked it — until you remembered the girl he was keeping company with.

You hadn’t expected this situation to arise tonight; hadn’t prepared yourself for an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend; let alone seeing him clinging to a girl — a girl who isn’t you.

Upon handing out her birthday party invites this summer, Charli had confidently assured you that Matty wouldn’t be attending. You’re now realising it had perhaps been a ploy to get you here in the first place. Charli knew you wouldn’t miss her birthday, you’d promised her that yourself; but you would have preferred to have done something different between the two of you — or your group of shared girlfriends — to celebrate; a spa day; a bottomless brunch; a trip to the theatre; anything that didn’t require much social interaction (such as the disorderly house party currently taking place).

Dazed and slightly unsteady, you’re at a loss for words as you look up at Matty and the brunette — but your heart need not race with anxiety, your body need not shake with trepidation, your mind need not be perplexed — as the pair wade past you, not bothering to acknowledge your existence.

Narrowing your eyes, you watch the couple shuffle down the stairs and dodge past the sea of people loitering. Matty keeps the girl close to him, her back pressed against his chest, as his fingertips dance on her skin, his nails biting into her flesh as though he fears letting her go.

The urge to vomit overwhelms you — and you don’t think it’s tonight’s consumption of alcohol. Stumbling into the bathroom, you’re sure to lock the door behind you, before grabbing the porcelain basin for stability. Steadying your breaths and grounding yourself with a few ‘you’re okay’s,’you’re able to calm yourself down enough to remember why you’re in here in the first place; your bladder is about to explode.

Seating yourself on the toilet, your body slightly swaying in your intoxicated state, you close your eyes to ground yourself, drifting off in a daydream where times were different.

You were never Matty’s type — not typically. Fans often reminded you of that across various social media platforms, although not all comments were nasty. Some simply stated that you were far too innocent to be dragged into Matty’s world of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll; whilst other opinions were cruel, leaving you to question your existence in Matty’s life altogether.

Their bitterness was laughable — until it wasn’t. Your rockstar boyfriend would often come home to you - a shell of your former self - locked away in the bathroom; tearfully obsessing over your looks (although not narcissistically); picking yourself apart; and somehow managing to find non-existent faults.

But ever the charming boyfriend, Matty loved on you every day of your relationship. You were continually reminded of his affection towards you with lavish bouquets of flowers, luxurious gifts, romantic picnics, candlelit dinners, and general expressive gestures — often intimate.

However, in spite of Matty’s adoration of you, it was his weakness that had come between you and ultimately resulted in the end of your relationship.

Although grateful for Matty overcoming his heroin addiction, his reliance on drugs had acted as a permanent barrier to a potential future together. You wanted forever with Matty; yearned for him to get down on one knee during an idyllic getaway to pop the question; desired to raise a family with him and experience the highs and lows of parenthood; and eventually grow old together (the only argument being who would be the first to go, because neither of you could live without the other).

It was an unrealistic scenario; you were unable to bring a child; Matty’s child; into a world where his substance abuse was coming first again; and before you. You didn’t condone it but you had accepted his use of recreational drugs — your boyfriend was in a band, after all, and smoking marijuana, snorting lines and popping pills was normalised in his world where creativity was key.

But Matty getting high once a month had soon turned into once a week, and coming home from a writing session in the studio with red eyes which rolled into the back of his head soon became once a day; and spending your evenings alone in your shared apartment whilst you awaited his arrival was proving difficult as you succumbed to the loneliness. Along with the lack of intimacy and the diminished romance, it felt as though you were living separate lives, passing ships in the night.

Late nights, drug dependencies and an obvious lack of appreciation often resulted in slanging matches between the two of you; harsh words thrown around and reverberating off the walls, both viciously biting back and mocking insecurities just to one up each other and instantly regretting it but both too stubborn to apologise. Arguments between you would conclude with slamming doors and estranged sleeping arrangements.

You’d remain in the apartment, clutching the teddy bear he’d won you at a Christmas fair one year — one that held a photo frame which housed a nostalgic photograph of the two of you together after the band had performed their self-titled album in full ten years after it’s release. You’d eventually sob yourself to sleep.

Matty would be cursing to himself and running a frustrated hand through his hair as he’d roam the streets, angrily kicking the ground and scuffing his shoes all whilst contemplating who to call at ungodly hours — before ultimately heading off to find his next fix to alleviate the pain he was causing to himself and everyone around him.

You were both hurting.

“Please y/n, let me come in,” a female voice begs.

You frown, adjusting your eyes as you rewire your drunken brain to return to Planet Earth. You wonder how long you had disassociated for; how long someone was calling your name from outside the bathroom before you finally noticed their presence.

It takes a minute to sort yourself out before you open the door to reveal Charli on the other side. She gives you a solemn but albeit reassuring smile before pulling you in for a hug.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” you whisper into her neck as you rest your head on her shoulder.

Charli sighs sadly as she draws back from you to close the door behind her, locking it securely and leaving you both with some privacy.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that y/n, please believe me,” she urges. “George …” she trails off, before explaining how the misunderstanding had occurred.

She doesn’t mean to throw her own boyfriend under the bus and shift the blame. It had been an accidental slip of the tongue during a recording session between the two band members, which resulted in Matty assuming he was already invited — and George didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

“’s fine, ’s not your fault,” you mumble in an attempt to reassure your friend. “Just wasn’t expecting to see him,” you add with a shrug as you sit yourself on the edge of bath.

Charli kneels in front of you, taking your hands in her own. It’s a silent comfort, a gesture to say that she’s here for you, one that you’re grateful for.

“Is he —” you begin, sighing heavily as your eyes find the ceiling, struggling to vocalise the words. Charli understands and gives you time to figure out what it is that you want to express. A tear rolls down your cheek and you finally whimper, “Is he clean?”

Charli sighs heavily, the pads of her thumbs gently rubbing reassuring circles on your knuckles.

“He’ll always have a problem with drugs, y/n,” integrity is laced in her voice. “But it’s mostly weed nowadays. He hasn’t touched heroin since rehab, you know that,” she reminds you. “He occasionally does coke, but it’s for creativity, and he’s never alone.”

You nod in understanding. You’re fully aware of the demands of his rockstar lifestyle and how the use of substances heavily influence his song writing and record producing; and using it in the company of the other band members wasn’t really the issue; it was when Matty used it alone and vowed to himself to keep it a secret that it became a problem, lying becoming a huge factor in the breakdown of your relationship.

“He realised,” she pauses, taking an in-breath before revealing, “after losing you, he needed to get his act together. He knew he couldn’t build a life with someone if he was always off his face.”

“Looks like he’s building a life with someone else just fine,” you sigh sadly, your eyes averting towards the bathroom door.

The thought of Matty’s arms around another girl especially in front of you makes you feel incredibly uneasy; your heart physically hurting as though somebody was continuously puncturing it and putting you through consistent pain; your stomach turning at the idea of their hands roaming each other’s bodies.

“Oh babe,” she whispers sadly.

“It’s ok,” you tell her with a small nod. Wiping the tears away from your face, you take a deep breath and compose yourself. “I’m ok,” you say, a little more convincingly paired with a smile. “I’ll be fine; it was just a bit of a shock, you know.”

Charli nods in understanding. “You were together for a long time, babe. You’re bound to be upset at seeing him move on with someone else … although,” her speech becomes slurred slightly due to her alcohol consumption and she’s suddenly whispering as though she’s about to reveal a sacred secret, “between you and me, I think he’s just looking for a quick shag.”

Her words, surprisingly, don’t cut deep, and you realise it’s perhaps because she’s drunk and she doesn’t really know she’s saying; or maybe it’s because you know it’s true. There had been no sign of another girl after you; no dating rumours maliciously spread online or in the media, no mention of a female name whenever you met with the rest of the band members and their other halves. Perhaps Matty was in need a good shag — and this girl was the first person willing to provide it for him.

“C’mon,” Charli gives you an encouraging nudge, breaking you out of your own drunken trance. “There’s more vodka and tequila and wine downstairs,” she lists the various alcohol options begging to be consumed. “Let’s get wrecked,” she finishes with a smirk.

It’s a mystery to you how both yourself and Charli have made it to the bottom of the stairs in one piece; not once stumbling or losing your balance despite your intoxicated state. Although, you weren’t complaining. Nobody needed to end up in hospital with a sprained ankle or broken leg, especially on Charli’s birthday.

“There’s my girl,” a male voice can barely be heard over the deafening beat of music that pulsates throughout the house. Emerging through the sea of people and heading towards you both is George, his arms outstretched as he makes a beeline for his girlfriend.

“Baby!” Charli yells dramatically as she stumbles into his open arms, nuzzling into his broad chest. She takes a few moments to regain her composure, inhaling his scent; the strong cologne smothering his plain white t-shirt.

“Someone’s having fun!” George exclaims over the music that reverberates around the house. He glances down and presses a kiss to Charli’s head, running a hand comfortingly across her back as they look ever the disgustingly in love couple.

“We are!” she slurs, smirking up at her fiancé, before loudly declaring, “I’m going … that way!” She points theatrically towards the kitchen as she suddenly steps out from George’s embrace to meet his gaze.

“And why’s that, baby?” he asks, pressing his hands gently to her cheeks, cupping her face.

“Because … that’s where the vodka is, silly!” she giggles, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend, as she feels as though she’s stating the most obvious thing in the world before she starts swaying on the spot.

“Whoa,” George murmurs softly, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. “‘m not sure you need anymore vodka, babe,” he sniggers at his girlfriend’s drunkenness, although already dreading the raging hangover she’ll experience in the morning. “I best get this one some water,” he tells you, when Charli once again drunkenly collapses against his chest. “Will you be alright?” he asks, peering over her head to meet your gaze, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah … go on, you look after her. I’ll be fine,” you nod in reply, waving him off.

Taking a step down the corridor, Charli flings her arms around George’s neck, causing them both to stumble down the hallway and out of sight into the kitchen, leaving you alone. You watch them for a while, noting the interaction between them — physical touch clearly their love language as they can’t keep they hands off of each other — and despite your happiness for them in their relationship, you can’t help but feel immensely jealous of the love they have for each other.

Taking in your surroundings, you’re indecisiveness would normally kick in around now, unsure of where to go and who to spend your time with, but thanks to the many shots you’d manage to knock back this evening, your anxiety is currently kept at bay as you head into the lounge.

Drunken revellers are scattered all around the room — some making out with each other on the sofas, hips grinding against each other and moans of pleasure filling the air; others are in large gatherings and engaged in booming conversations about anything and everything; party goers sit on the floor playing drinking games; whilst a couple of guests are sprawled, uncomfortably looking, across the sofa clearly sleeping off the early hangover that’s already kicked in.

Panic threatens to rear it’s ugly head as you suddenly become hyperaware of the scenario you now find yourself in currently playing out — and you mentally scold yourself for ever thinking that the alcohol you'd consumed this evening could ever give you enough liquid confidence to mingle at such a social event.

You’re in a room full of people; yet you’re alone. None of these people are your friends, and you’re not looking for a quick fuck, either. You don’t have anyone to talk to; anyone to interact with. Desperately seeking a solution, your eyes dart around the room, yet in only a matter of seconds they seem to find a problem in a darkened corner, and you’re forced to watch an intense interaction unfold.

How was it possible to feel everything and nothing at the same time?

Your heart stops beating within your chest, whilst simultaneously shattering into a million pieces. Dizziness consumes your entire body as though you could collapse at any given moment, but your feet are planted firmly to the ground. Your palms start to sweat and your cheeks glow red, your body’s way of telling you you’re overheating, yet your blood runs cold within your veins.

The scene in front of you burns into your eyes, as though it’s a movie that you must involuntarily watch repeatedly; experiencing the trauma over and over again; because you’re adamant that even when you close your eyes, the image will be etched in your brain, one that you’ll see in your nightmares every night from now on.

Matty’s hands are snaked around the brunette’s waist, his fingertips digging into the fleshiest part of her as his larger, overpowering frame keeps her in place against the magnolia wall. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned three from the top, his inked skin exposed as the woman’s palms rest atop his chest, her digits occasionally finding themselves dancing upon the artwork that adorns his body.

You can’t help your eyes wandering below as it becomes increasingly apparent that Matty’s erection is straining within his trousers, his well-endowed manhood threatening to break free of the material. As he becomes progressively turned on, he thrusts his hips towards her body, and one of his hands comes to rest on her inner thigh.

Based on your previous experiences in make out sessions with Matty, you know his fingers will soon find their way up the leather skirt that clings to the girl’s body, before they seek out her sweet spot and have her coming all over them.

You watch his tongue battle against hers for dominance; and you’re surprised at how easily you play into your own imagination as you’re plagued with thoughts about his mouth; because you know you would have submitted by now, granting Matty permission to take full control of the situation.

The affectionate act would be reassuring, your comfort absolutely paramount to him. With your arms around his neck and your bodies desperately pressing together as though intertwining, Matty would trail sloppy wet kisses along your jawline. One hand resting upon your hip and the other placed on the wall of the darkened corner behind you, you would be trapped, pleasantly, in his company.

As his head lowers towards your neck, he’d pull the strap of your playsuit down, exposing your clavicle. He would greedily eye up your collarbone, before allowing his lips to linger for longer than necessary as he gently sucked at your skin, surely leaving a bruise as a reminder. Expressing your pleasure through a small moan would have his lips crashing against yours instantly, the taste of cigarette smoke still on his breath, his lungs full of tar as you inhaled the tobacco second hand.

However, it wouldn’t be long before your insecurities during intimate acts would rear their ugly heads, getting the better of you, and a small whimper against Matty’s plump lips, as you desperately seek solace, has his hands cupping your face, his confidence blooming as he guides you throughout.

“Doin’ so well for me, love,” he would murmur against your lips. The conviction in his voice soothed you, the passionate kisses made you feel secure, and the tenderness of his touches made you feel safe; as though you have a place, with him, in this world.

“Matty,” is all you’d manage to whimper against him, your body quivering at the slightest touch, his words of praise turning you on.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he’d encourage more moans to escape you, desperate to hear how good he makes you feel. “Gonna let me touch you?” he always had the gentlemanly habit of asking for your consent, despite you both already knowing the answer.

With his hot breath fanning over your blush cheeks, you’d nod against him, responding with a mumbled, “mmhmm,” and granting him permission to do so, unable to form a coherent response.

Wasting no time, his fingers would brush past you intimately, and he’d be so grateful that the playsuit you chose to wear tonight was loose fitting around your thighs, giving him the easiest access to the ever growing wet patch on your underwear.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, darling,” he would express his approval at the dampness between your legs. “Good girl,” came the praise as he’d edge you, his digits rubbing hard against you.

You would flinch as his thumb circles your sensitivity in repetitive motions. His kisses become wetter and sloppier as you moan into his mouth, his lips smirking at the hushed moans leaving your lips.

Bucking his hips towards you and pushing you further into the corner, ensuring to maintain your dignity and leaving no space between you, would have him breathless against your body.

“Can you feel that, darling? That’s what you do to me.” He’d be hard; only for you.

His thumb and forefinger work in tandem against your bundle of nerves, and with the increased pressure to the circular motion he inflicts upon you, you would be so responsive for him, whimpering and quivering against him, desperate for release.

“Come on darling, you gonna come for me?” he’d ask, rhetorically, because he knows you will. “That’s it, love, give me a good one,” he talks you through it, and you don’t take much more coaxing before you come undone around him, soaking his fingers and coming over the cotton material.

He’d gaze intently, the sight of you post-orgasm incredibly mesmerising to him. He’d allow you a few moments to regain your composure; you regulate your breathing simultaneously with his whispers of encouragement, words of praise, and affectionate touches guaranteed to soothe you.

“That’s it, darlin’. Come back to me,” he would press a kiss to your cheek, bringing you down from your high and back to reality, his admiration for you soaring. Despite being surrounded by hundreds of people at the house party, Matty somehow had the ability to make you feel as though you were the only person in the room.

He anchored you.

But you drowned anyway.

“Come on, darling,” a soft voice from behind you whispers.

A tentative pair of hands come to rest on your hips, fearful of startling you. Normally, despite your timid personality, you would react to unwanted male attention, uninvited hands touching your body, but it’s Ross, and you know you’re safe with him.

“Come on,” he repeats. “You don’t need to see this.”

He manages to guide you out of the lounge and into the hallway; although you’re not quite sure how your brain and limbs are working in tandem. It’s as though your feet won’t move; stuck to the spot and unable to drag yourself away from the torment unfolding before your eyes; yet you can’t move quick enough, your body urging you to leave the horror behind.

Alcohol courses through your veins and you wish the depressant had acted as a sedative but instead it’s dramatically heightened your feelings. Your stomach is turning at the sight of Matty passionately making out with the brunette as though they were a couple of horny teenagers, desperate to get their end away.

Music thumps around you, drum and bass bouncing off the walls and reverberating around the room and you’re pretty sure that your pounding heart is simultaneous with the fast breakbeats, both working in unison.

Your knees begin to buckle beneath you, unable to support yourself as adrenaline pulses through your body. Desperately trying to swallow air into your lungs, your breath hitches around the tears that flow freely down your blush cheeks.

The oxymoron of your emotions is terrifying and there’s too much to contend with; it’s as though you’re in a dream like state — a nightmare — and a passing thought of, “Is this the equivalent to being high?” crosses your mind.

“Breathe, y/n,” Ross gently encourages as he steadies your body against his own. “Just breathe.”

You can feel people staring, eyes watching intently as they nosily observe your demeanour. They probably assume you're drunk or high; you don’t really care; you’re unable to concentrate on anything other than Matty at the moment.

“’s loud,” you whimper.

Cigarette smoke and marijuana fills the air, hustle and bustle continuing around you as Ross comes to stand in front of you, blocking your view of the party guests loitering in the hallway, as he attempts to protect you, maintaining your dignity in your vulnerable state.

“What was that, love?” he asks, lowering his ear to your mouth in an attempt to hear you around the electronic dance music that blares through the speakers.

“It’s loud!” you cry out again, shaking your head vigorously as though to rid the noise around you; the chatter amongst friends, the laughter between guests; the deafening music; your own thoughts. At the risk of looking as if having a breakdown, your place your hands over your ears, covering them.

Your eyes dart towards two figures fast approaching and even through your tears you instantly recognise them to be Carly and Adam.

“What’s happened?” Carly asks, obvious concern lacing her voice.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fiercely shake your head once more. “It’s too loud!” you sob this time because why does nobody understand?! Why is everybody talking so loud?

“Hey, it’s ok, I’ve got you,” Carly reassures you, gently placing a supportive hand on the small of your back.

You’re too in your own head to realise that the other two men in your presence exchange a glance, Ross pulling Adam aside to fill him in on Matty’s antics tonight.

Pulling you close, Carly attempts to protect you from the continuous stares of the other party goers, and upon overhearing the conversation taking place behind you between her husband and his friend, simultaneous with her reassuring words of, “It’s ok, darling, just breathe,” she makes an efficient decision to take you into the kitchen.

Carly understands, completely, and takes control of the situation. Leading you towards the corner counter, she encourages you to rest your swaying body against the unit for some sort of stability. The kitchen, filled with pop-stars, is almost like a safe haven for you — these people were important, and you weren’t, so they had no time to focus on you and your breakdown. They didn’t care.

“Here,” a voice murmurs softly, a glass of water offered to you in an outstretched hand. It takes you a few seconds for your blurry eyes to focus, your body swaying slightly, before you realise that it’s Adam.

You reach forward, tentatively taking the glass of liquid between both of your hands, attempting to steady your hold on the object which proves to be difficult with your shaking frame. You bring the water to your lips and start to sip it, before increasing the pace in which you drink and taking larger gulps.

��Slowly,” Carly whispers, placing her hand over yours on the glass and encouraging you to take your time. “That’s it, y/n. Nice and slowly,” she praises you as you take smaller sips once again.

You finally regain yourself, tears no longer freely flowing — but your cheeks are stained with track marks where you’d previously been crying. The reverberating music doesn’t seem quite as harsh against the walls in the kitchen; and it’s perhaps the most peaceful room in the house, despite there being plenty of celebrities surrounded by cigarette smoke and noisy chatter amongst friends.

Placing the glass down on the kitchen counter, you turn to Carly and Adam. “He … there was …” you attempt to explain yourself but you’re unable to vocalise the horror that you had witnessed — Matty making out with another girl.

“’s ok,” Carly intervenes, recognising your struggle.

Your bottom lip trembles again and it shatters Carly’s heart that you feel this way, your emotions heightened and running away with you — upset; angry; distressed; inferior; betrayed. She gives Adam a knowing look, and he too is burning with rage.

“Just … wait here,” Carly tells you softly, her hands coming to brush your hair out of your face. “I’ll be right back, ok?” she assures you, softly cupping your face in her hands as she wipes away the remnants of salty tears.

You don’t really comprehend what she’s saying to you; everything is a surreal blur — but you nod anyway. As you stare into space, you hear Adam whisper hiss, “I’ll kill him,” under his breath, as he and Carly head off, presumably back to the lounge.

And just like that, you’re alone, again.

With alcohol increasing your sensitivity to everything, the lingering taste of tequila is still prominent on your lips and the smell of cigarette smoke — once a comforting scent when it came to Matty — and marijuana fills the air, making you feel lightheaded, and you know it will take at least three hair wash routines before you get the smell out.

Your eyes avert around the room as though you’re in a dream-like state. In body, you’re here, but your mind is elsewhere. You observe the other pop-stars who are loitering and talking, not giving a fuck about you — and you also note the amount of bottles that clutter the countertops; some beverages opened and half drank, the sides inundated with empty ones, and a few completely untouched.

“You need to lighten up, sweetheart.”

In your dazed state, you’re not sure who is talking to who right now. You lazily turn your head in the direction of where the voice had come from, to see a young man sitting on the kitchen island opposite you. It takes you a few seconds to realise that he’d aimed his comment at you.

He was alone, too.

He’s cute, you note. Dressed in a moth-bitten black knitted jumper and a pair of black skinny jeans, he mirrors Matty’s iconic grunge look and it’s enough to make you want to fuck him on the kitchen counter in front of everyone; and vomit at the sight of him; at exactly the same time.

His dangling legs are swinging beneath him as he fidgets atop of the counter to get comfortable, his fingers drumming against the granite surface.

Ignoring your initial liking to him looking every inch the boyfriend, you reach forward, opting for the bottle of wine sat next to the him, shrugging off his comment and not once acknowledging his existence. You didn’t have the time of day for any man right now.

Taking a swig from the half-full bottle of Pinot Grigio in your hand, you close your eyes, still trying to rid yourself of the image of Matty embracing another girl.

“Seriously, babe,” he tries again, “You look upset … and wine definitely won’t help you,” he tries again.

You lower the bottle, although it’s still close enough to your lips that it’s practically dancing against them, as you get ready to down another mouthful of the alcohol once this conversation concludes.

“And what will?” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him.

“Something stronger … if you get my drift,” he raises an eyebrow.

You know what he’s implying, but you choose to ignore him. You raise the bottle back to your lips, but something stops you — the guy before you wraps his hand around your wrist, preventing you from drowning your sorrows further.

“Drugs?” you ask rhetorically, mirroring his raised eyebrow at his obviousness.

He shrugs at you although you can tell he becomes slightly shifty, his eyes wandering to make sure nobody had heard you. Delving into his pocket, he pulls out a small packet containing a white powdery substance and throws it down onto the island in front of you.

“’s your call,” he murmurs with a nod. “You can have this one on the house,” his eyes flit between the package and you.

Anxiousness is your forefront emotion as you gaze down at the illegal substance. You weren’t naive to the reality of drug-dealing. The first batch this guy had just offered to you for free was a ploy to get you hooked; to keep you coming back for more as a regular client.

But in turn, it meant addiction; an illness. Being with Matty had shown you an ugly side of drugs that you could have only ever imagined. At the time of being your boyfriend, Matty had fallen into a world of lies and deceit, ultimately resulting in a failed relationship.

You shake your head, “No, thank you though.”

The man opposite you furrows his brows.

“Are you sure? I have plenty and … well, it’s just you seem pretty upset and it will make you feel better. I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s boy trouble?” he asks, almost knowingly.

You don’t respond; you didn’t want this man — a complete stranger who you'd known less than five minutes — psychoanalysing you.

“You know, everyone here is doing drugs,” he informs you in a whisper, stating it matter of factly. “These people; they might seem like they’re put together and better than everyone else, but the truth is, they need to take their pain away, too. Trust me, I can help you.”

Registering his words, your eyes avert back to the package.

“What … what is it?” you ask him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Smack,” he answers without hesitation. “Looks like you need it to work pretty quick as well,” he adds, before taking another object out of his pocket and placing it on the counter beside the drug. “The quickest way to get your high is by cooking it, and then injecting it, preferably into a vein,” he tells you as you look down at the syringe now on the kitchen side.

It would be plain to anyone watching this interaction that you’re unknowledgeable; possessed by innocence in this life. Sure, you’d experimented with the socially accepted substances; alcohol (many of nights had ended with you retching into a toilet bowl and nursing a hangover into the next day), and smoking tobacco cigarettes; but otherwise, you’d lead a pretty sheltered life, for which you were grateful for.

“How?” you ask, before clarifying, “How do I cook it?”

The attractive guy smirks back at you. Perhaps he thought you were cute? Or maybe he was lonely and wanted the company? Then again, it could be because he was grooming a young, vulnerable girl into taking an illegal substance which would hopefully have her hooked and coming back for more.

You shake your head at the intrusive thoughts that begin to plague your mind, your anxiety levels peaking as you realise just how unsure you are of this; and how alone you are at the moment.

Matty was too busy trying to get fucked by a pretty model; Ross, Adam and Carly had all left you to go God knows where; and knowing them, George and Charli were probably shagging in the flowerbed at the end of the garden.

But ultimately, you were alone.

“’s easy,” he mumbles, jumping down from the side and walking over to the kitchen counter where you were stood, cornering you between the units.

He’s confident, but not cocky or threatening, and right now you feel seen; heard; and maybe even safe in this man’s presence right now. He reaches towards the cutlery drawer next to you, pulling out a silver spoon.

“Firstly, we need a cooker and a heat source,” he shows you the cutlery in his hand, although you already know it’s a slightly amateur move when he hasn’t provided his own equipment in his drug sharing ritual — but you’ll let him off since you’re no expert either.

With his back turned towards everyone else in the kitchen, he’s left to secretly pour the contents of the plastic bag onto the spoon. He steadies his hand, before delving into his pocket with the other and reaching for a lighter. Placing it underneath the spoon, he begins to melt the heroin, and you watch on, fascinated as the powder gradually turns into a liquid.

“Take it for me,” he gestures towards the spoon.

You do as he says, trying your best to steady your grip on the handle of the cutlery.

The man turns to discretely observe the other party goers in the kitchen and he’s satisfied when some of the guests had filtered out of the room — a few of them having decided to go into the garden — and those who were remaining were still just as uninterested in you both.

“We can put it in this now,” he tells you, and he draws the liquidated substance into the syringe, filling it with the drug. “I need your shoe lace,” he nods down to your fresh white converse.

“Why?” you ask.

He smirks — although you’re not sure if it’s his way of flirting or if he’s amused by your lack of knowledge and obvious inexperience. It’s probably the latter, you think.

“Because …” he begins, placing the needle on the kitchen counter top before kneeling down in front of you and continuing, “We need a tie off.”

His words don’t make much sense to you as he makes light work of untying your shoe, removing the lace through the eyelets with ease. It seems almost affectionate; but then again, you were able to romanticise most things in your life. Perhaps it’s fate that you and the guy who’s teaching you to inject heroin had met this evening. Everything happens for a reason.

He stands up again, towering over your frame, the shoe lace held loose within his hand.

“I need to tie this around your arm,” he tells you, brushing the material across your skin.

Tying the shoe lace tightly around your arm, he then uses his two forefingers to tap against your skin a few times, encouraging the blood flow to make a vein become more prominent.

“If you inject into a vein, you’ll feel the effects quicker,” he whispers to you, as he runs his fingers across a protruding blue blood vessel. “You’ll get high before you even realise it.” Taking the needle from the kitchen counter, he holds it towards you.

“Are you ready?” he asks gently, an eyebrow slightly raised as he observes your nervous features.

Were you ready?

You think back to the series of events that had occurred throughout the course of the night. Seeing Matty with another girl — a hot brunette that was totally his type — had destroyed you. It made your heart physically ache; shattering into millions of tiny pieces; and he just didn’t seem to care. He hadn’t even noticed you all evening.

Despite his friends rallying around you, you knew it was perhaps out of guilt and pity. Did they really love you, or did they see you as a weak and vulnerable ex-girlfriend who needs babysitting because she can’t control her emotions?

Heroin had been a welcomed escape for Matty throughout his time of using — it distracted his brain from everything bad that was happening around him — the drug was there, begging for him to use it to ease his pain and make life more bearable.

What had only ever meant to start off as experimenting, part and parcel of being a rockstar, soon turned into a severe dependence on the drug; an addiction; resulting in constantly lying to those he loved, relationship breakdowns, arguments between family and friends and ultimately, losing you.

But heroin relieved Matty of his emotional pain and torment, even if only temporary and perhaps you needed a distraction tonight, something to take away your pain — even if only temporary.

One time wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m ready.”

Matty’s moans are soft and delicate as his back arches into the fabric sofa, the hot woman’s lips nipping at his neck as she straddles his thighs, clearly turning him on. She grinds her hips against him and he bucks himself towards her, cursing the clothing that gets in the way of his ever growing erection.

“Fuck,” he groans softly.

He doesn’t care who hears him, other drunken revellers finding themselves in similar positions around the house, and for those who aren’t looking for a quick fuck tonight are too drunk or high to get laid anyway. He seems to be the least important pop star in the room — and for once, he thinks he likes it.

“Fuck,” he moans again, when she sucks at his neck. “Fuck, yeah,” he bucks his hips towards her again as her tequila tasting lips no doubt leave a harsh love bite on his pale skin, a bruise already forming with the intensity of her actions.

“Can’t,” she suddenly groans against him.

Matty understands, immediately.

“Upstairs?” he questions.

He’s sure — so certain — that she wants to take this further but can’t because they’re in the living room — able to be gawked at by others; which is odd, he thinks, because she hasn’t been shy about where their make out sessions have been taking place so far. She hasn’t cared who has been watching.

“Stop,” she whisper hisses, before making her voice more firm. “Stop, Matty. Need … need t’ … stop,” she tells him, before pulling herself away. She can barely look him in the eye as she runs a hand through her tangled hair.

“‘s wrong?” he asks.

She shrugs before removing herself from his lap. There’s not much dignity for Matty as his erection strains against the black tailored trousers he’d chosen for this evening — and there’s no cushion or throw to cover his embarrassing situation.

“You ok?” he asks, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“I … I need to get home … to … my …” she stutters, almost embarrassed as reality hits hard.

“To your what?” he asks breathlessly, giving a deathly stare as his patience is beginning to wear thin and his nostrils flare because he has a horrible feeling where this conversation is heading.

“To my … partner,” she adds, finally allowing the words to leave her lips. She smooths the black leather skirt down her legs properly, the material having ridden up her thighs to expose her hips during the steamy session.

“You … you have … have a boyfriend?” Matty splutters, as they make eye contact with each other; the first time since the woman had pulled away from his embrace.

“Husband,” the younger girl corrects him, the disco lights suddenly reflecting off the wedding band that adorned her ring finger — a harsh reminder to him that he was being used. Biting her lip mischievously, she cruelly tells him, “Just because you’re a rockstar, doesn’t mean I was going to let you take me home. It was just a few kisses here and a few touches there. ’s no big deal. I … we had an argument and I did … things … this … in the heat of the moment.”

“No big deal?” he repeats her words, shaking his head and furrowing his brows in disbelief.

“You’ll get over it,” she shrugs unapologetically, pulling her bra strap back over her shoulder before standing up from her position on the sofa and heading towards the doorway of the lounge. She doesn’t even turn back as she leaves and Matty emits a breathy laugh, almost shocked that he, Matty Healy, would be leaving the party tonight without a girl to fuck.

It’s humiliating for him — and his dick is still relatively hard, the tip surely leaking with his salty pre-come. He sighs heavily, throwing an arm over his face as he tries to ignore the twitching in his pants.

He takes a few deep breaths, composing himself, before reaching towards his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighter. Taking a drag, he leans back against the sofa again, finally satisfied as his erection eventually begins to soften.

“No less than you deserve,” George suddenly mutters as he pushes himself away from the wall where he had watched the scene unfold. He draws in a deep breath from his own cigarette as he approaches Matty.

“Fuck sake,” Matty groans, embarrassed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair before taking another drag. It had been degrading enough for Matty to experience being mugged off by the younger girl, let alone one of his best friends having watched the interaction.

“Dick,” George murmurs under his breath, shaking his head, before flicking some ash from the cigarette still held loosely between his first and middle fingers.

Raising an eyebrow, Matty looks puzzled at his friend.

“What did you call me?” he asks breathily, in disbelief.

“I said,” George inhales, stepping closer, standing over his friend, and giving him a sarcastic smile, “You’re a dick.”

“Oh fuck off,” Matty quickly brushes it off as banter.

“’s a dick move,” George repeats once again with a shrug, although his tone is serious and filled with sincerity. He backs away slightly, standing upright once again as he drinks in Matty’s pathetic demeanour, shaking his head once again.

With the attitude and lack of humour, Matty realises that George is being serious. He’s upset about something, clearly pissed off — and now he’s worried.

“You knew she’d be here,” George tells him, pointing his forefinger towards Matty. “You fucking knew!” he grits his teeth, angrily, before turning around and running a hand over his face.

Matty stands up, prepared to square up to his best friend. Despite the fact that the boys never really argued much — and nothing was ever too serious between them — alcohol consumption and the fact that Matty’s really pissed off would be motive enough for them to have a few harsh words between each other.

“She saw you, Matty!” George yells, turning to face the other man again before grabbing at the collar of his white shirt. There’s no opportunity for Matty to react or defend himself as George shouts at him once again, pushing him against the wall and backing him into the corner.

The feeble one sided brawl earns a few concerned looks from the other party-goers as some guests slyly watch the commotion between the two men unfold, whilst others are more obvious, eager in their observations as they gossip amongst each other.

“She fucking saw you with another girl and it’s breaking her heart! Everything she ever did for you … she stood by you when everyone else fucked off and left you!” George shouts into Matty’s face, harshly reminding him who was there for him during his time of need.

“Who?” Matty asks, aghast. “Who saw me?”

George shakes his head in disbelief, loosening the grip on the collar of Matty’s shirt.

Inhaling another drag from his cigarette, George looks Matty up and down, regaining his composure.

“Who, George?” Matty repeats his question. “Who saw me?”

“She saw everything; y/n saw everything,” George closes his eyes as he speaks, almost pained on your behalf.

“She … she saw …” Matty stutters, releasing an in-breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The mere mention of your name has his heart pounding within his chest, his palms sweating from anxiousness, his knees almost buckling beneath him.

So many questions were whizzing around his head right now.

He didn’t even know you’d be here; was none the wiser that you’d been invited.

Were you here alone or did you have company?

Why hadn’t you made it clear to him that you were here?

He hadn’t already seen you — had he?

Matty knew you — he fucking knew you. A party like this — this wasn’t your scene. Or had he just lacked so much attention this evening that you were able to bypass him at any given opportunity?

Because if he had have seen you, he would have made it his priority to have had you straddling his hips; your mouth suckling his prominent collarbones and leaving a permanent reminder, your cunt he’d be edging with his fingers, before your pretty lips would be begging to be wrapped around his cock.

Not the woman he can’t even remember the name of.

Guilt is his forefront emotion; a horrific feeling of shame overcoming him as he can only sympathise with how you must be feeling — you’d seen him in the company of another girl — a girl that wasn't you. Granted; it was a terrible context but it was still one that he could not excuse or condone — but the only reason he’d had a sleazy make out session was to distract himself from you. He had to find you and tell you.

Arriving at the party tonight, Matty had felt lonely — all of his friends were coupled up.

Ross and Chloe.

George and Charli.

Adam and Carly.

Matty and … nobody.

“She … she’s … here?” Matty finally chokes out.

George nods slowly, finally having calmed himself down as he seeks out the ash tray that stands on the coffee table behind him.

“Where … where is she?” Matty asks urgently, mirroring George’s actions and following suit as he too, stubs out his own cigarette.

“I don’t think she’ll want to see you, mate,” George tells him regrettably.

“I need to talk to her! I need to …” he shouts desperately, making a beeline for the door of the lounge, but George’s broad frame comes to stand in front of him and is able to stop him from going any further.

“You need to calm down first, yeah,” he begins, placing a hand on his chest, but Matty quickly interrupts.

“I am calm!” his tone contradicts him — although George knows his raised voice isn’t from a place of anger at you — but more so frustration towards himself.

“You’re angry,” George clarifies; it’s a statement, not a question.

Matty nods in agreement, knowing there’s no denying his emotions, before reassuring his friend, “Not at her, though.”

“I know,” George sighs, his eyes finding the ceiling as he contemplates allowing Matty to find you — but he’s really not sure that’s a good idea right now considering you had been having a breakdown no less than fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m not … don’t want t’ churn out any drama,” Matty runs his hand frustratedly through his hair, clearly at a loss. His eyes wander intensely around the room, unsure of how to approach the situation. “I just … want to make it right, ’s all,” he adds, desperation evident in his voice.

Matty knows — he fucking knows — he has to make this right. He doesn’t want to be finding a meaningless fuck at a party. It’s you — and only you — that he wants — and despite the breakdown of your relationship that was his fault, the history between you, the chemistry; it’s always you.

“Ok,” George sighs, defeated. He steps aside, allowing Matty the freedom he desires to find you, but he’s stopped instantly when Carly appears at the door frame, her cheeks blush and her features panicked as she catches her breath.

“Carly?” George questions, mirroring the concern etched on her face.

“What?” Matty’s husky voice asks. “What’s happened?” he repeats, urgency evident in his tone when he drinks in Carly’s solemn expression.

Time stands still for a few moments — George’s expression is full of confusion, his brows furrowed, and Matty’s stomach drops, his palms beginning to sweat and he’s worried — because he knows whatever she’s about to reveal isn’t good news.

Carly sighs heavily, her tongue running across her bottom lip before she finally utters the words, “It’s y/n.”

“Get out the fuckin’ way!” Matty’s voice can be heard as he forces his way through the sea of onlookers before he’s eventually pushed himself to stand at the forefront of the crowd, George and Carly hot on his heels as they both come to stand behind him.

The sight that greets Matty is one that he never, ever, thought he would see; and he wishes, so desperately, that this is a nightmare and he’s about to wake up any second now; but not all things were possible.

He’s certain, one hundred percent, that his heart stops beating once he claps eyes on you; fear and anxiety consuming his entire being as he suddenly feels nauseous, his mouth as dry as sandpaper and his legs wobbling like jelly.

Your body is passed out on the kitchen floor; limp and lifeless.

“No,” a strangled cry leaves Matty’s lips, as George’s hand comes to firmly rest on his shoulder.

It takes a moment before his brain can signal for his legs to move, shock taking over him as he looks down towards your unconscious body placed in the recovery position against the cold tiles.

“No, no, no, no,” he continues breathlessly as he lowers himself beside you. “She … is she …” he chokes on a sob, grabbing for your wrist. Placing two fingers on your pulse point, he sobs frantically once again, “I can’t … she hasn’t …”

“She has a pulse,” a voice sounds from the other side of your body.

Ross.

“She …” Matty stutters.

“It’s faint but that ambulance needs to hurry up,” Ross speaks more to himself — but it’s a hint to Adam as well — who Matty now realises is on the phone to a call handler. Adam rests a palm on the kitchen countertop, remaining calm as he passes on the crucial information to whoever is on the other end of his mobile, to ensure help arrives as soon as possible for you.

“What’s happened?” Matty cries out, not even attempting to compose himself in front of the onlookers as his eyes scan your features for any sign of visible injury.

There’s nothing upon his initial inspection; his eyes wandering briefly over your body — no bruises or bleeding; nothing that would indicate any valid reason as to why you’re passed out on the kitchen floor and unresponsive to everything going on around you.

“She’s …” Ross begins, “She collapsed. She’s taken …” he gulps nervously, unable to continue.

“What? What has she …” Matty begins, but he’s unable to vocalise the rest of his question as his eyes avert around the room, looking for any clues as to what substance you had abused.

Much to his horror, he notices the needle, spoon and empty packet that lays only a meter away from your unconscious body. The last straw for Matty is seeing the tie-off around your arm, and quickly recognising it as a shoe lace, he confirms his suspicions as his gaze wanders over your converse with the missing lace.

He shakes his head, attempting to rid himself of the thought of you injecting an illegal substance to numb the pain that he caused tonight. George was right; this was his fault.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, running an agitated hand through his hair.

It’s Ross who takes the lead on trying to stir you as he gently rolls you onto your back and applies a harsh stimulus, rubbing his knuckles along your sternum. “Come on, y/n,” he encourages. Adrenaline coursing through his own veins, he increasingly adds more pressure, no doubt leaving bruises along your chest.

“Come on, darling,” Matty whimpers, focusing his attention entirely on you as he instead runs a hand through your hair. It’s a reassuring gesture, one to let you know that you’re not alone, despite Matty knowing you’re completely unaware of your surroundings and the situation you’re currently in.

“Do you have any Naloxone?” Ross is confident he already knows the answer now that Matty himself is clean of heroin, but he clutches at straws anyway in any attempt to revive you, not once stopping applying the stimulus to your chest.

Matty shakes his head.

“No,” he swallows, his hand still stroking your hair affectionately.

If only it had been that simple. For once, he curses himself for no longer possessing the cruel and life changing heroin addiction he’d once been a victim to; maybe then he could provide an antidote that would reverse the opioid overdose.

“Alright everyone, out!” a voice suddenly yells.

Carly.

Despite her smaller frame and her sobriety, she’s forceful in her words.

“Come on, we don’t need an audience!” she speaks again, encouraging the guests to leave — although not giving them much of a choice as Charli and George come to her aid to create a barrier, ushering them away from the kitchen.

“We’ll keep them away and … entertained,” George murmurs, considering a choice of words, although he’s not sure either Matty or Ross are taking on board what he’s saying, understandably preoccupied with helping you. Together, the three of them ensure they maintain your dignity as much as possible.

There’s a few groans, some of the party goers wishing to be nosy at the scene unfolding. If Matty wasn’t so consumed by your unconscious state, terrified of your fate, he thinks he would have been physically violent towards some of these people, prepared to start a brawl with anyone who was revelling at your position and the drama unfolding.

“s ok, love,” Matty whispers softly, although he’s not sure if he’s attempting to reassure you or himself when there’s still no inkling of you coming round just yet.

“Fuck sake,” Ross mutters, as he observes the equipment sprawled across the floor nearby. His eyes averting to the shoe lace around your arm, he shakes his head, before saying, “Someone’s helped her to do this. She wouldn’t know where to start.” He gestures towards the equipment before returning to rubbing your sternum once again.

Matty whimpers, knowingly.

It was true; respectfully, you had no idea how to administer any form of illegal drug or how to even get hold of any such substance. Even when Matty himself was actively using, he made sure you were nowhere near heroin — or any other drug for that matter. The fact that the equipment littered around your unconscious body had indicated that you’d cooked a drug before injecting it made both Matty and Ross feel uneasy — another person had played a part in this.

“C’mon y/n,” Ross repeats.

It feels as though it takes a lifetime before any success comes of the stimulus Ross applies but a sudden choked splutter indicates your regain of consciousness.

However, there’s no time to waste as the two men kneeling at your frame quickly realise they need to roll you into the recovery position again. You emit a small whinge at the action, taking a dislike to being moved so suddenly before you vomit violently on the cold tiles beneath you.

“’s it darling, there we go,” Matty comforts you, reaching for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He shuffles himself as close to you as he can possibly be, as though his presence alone could make you better, and not once fazed by the sick that you eject.

“That’s it baby, let it all out,” he encourages, brushing your hair away from your face as Ross rests his hand gently atop of your back as you uncontrollably empty the contents of your stomach.

“Ambulance will be another twenty minutes or so,” Adam murmurs softly as he comes to kneel beside you as well.

Keeping the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, he looks between Ross and Matty as they try to deal with the copious amount of vomit. Adam shakes his head, knowing just how touch and go this situation could be for you now, and swooping in with one hand full of kitchen roll, he wordlessly begins cleaning up around you.

Your bout of sickness seems never ending and it’s obvious that the alcohol you’d consumed in high volume has also played a huge part in why your reaction to the heroin you’d injected was so severe, your body rejecting the liquids you’d downed that night.

“That’s it, good girl,” Matty praises you softly, once you finally stop being sick, gently resting his palm on your face, skimming your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sweetheart, how much have you taken?” Ross speaks next, hoping for some sort of response from you, although as he’d expected; nothing.

Instead, you let out a whimper, softly beginning to cry.

“’s alright darlin’,” Matty assures you, continuing to stroke your hair. “I’m here, we’re all here.”

“Did you take all of it, y/n?” Ross tries a different approach, reaching out for the empty syringe that had previously contained the contents of the illegal drug. There was no knowing just how much you had taken but Ross realised he had to consider the worst case scenario — that the syringe had been full.

There’s no answer once again. Unbeknown to what is happening to you at the moment, all you can do is express your dislike at the situation you’re in through a cry and an agitated moan; but at least you’re conscious. You’re alive.

“Hey, ’s ok,” Ross attempts to calm you down. “We’re gonna help you.”

The relief that both the men had felt over you being awake — although not alert — is short lived, however, when your cold and pale body goes limp once more, your breathing shallow as you fade back into unconsciousness against the tiles.

“No,” Matty raises his voice slightly in an attempt to keep you awake. “No, no. Stay with me y/n,” he encourages, gently shaking your frame.

Adam stands from his kneeling position on the floor, talking to the call handler with urgency to make them aware you’d once again slipped into a state of unconsciousness, leaving only the other two men towering over you.

Your lifeless body suddenly goes stiff before your limbs starting jerking and your eyes begin rolling into the back of your head and it takes Matty a few seconds to realise you’re having a seizure. Understanding completely, both Matty and Ross allow your body to move freely, not once restricting your uncontrollable movements.

‘Hann!” Matty shouts.

With Adam acutely aware of the severity of the situation, he passes on the vital information to the call handler once more, explaining that you’re experiencing a seizure. Ross’s eyes flit between everyone in the room; panic being the forefront emotion as your body continues to shake; compassion for Matty as he watches this nightmare unfold; all whilst wishing he could intercept the phone call mid-air to hear what is being said.

“That’s it darling, ride it out,” Matty reassures you. “‘m here, sweetheart, ‘m right here.”

“Fuck,” Ross mutters underneath his breath.

He removes the jacket he had been wearing throughout the course of the evening and places it carefully beneath your head, supporting you against the cold, hard tiles.

“Where’s that bloody ambulance?!” he shouts to Adam, as he checks his watch.

“ETA of ten minutes,” Adam responds without a beat.

“Ten minutes?” Ross questions rhetorically, shaking his head in disbelief, as he notes the time of your continuing seizure by tapping away aggressively on his phone.

“She needs them now!” Matty yells, a sob escaping his lips.

After three minutes, your body begins to regulate itself, your flailing limbs slowing as your previously tense body begins to relax, indicating your seizure had finally come to an end.

“That’s it darling, good girl,” Matty encourages once again. He tentatively reaches out his hand to comb through your hair once again, soothing you as you shiver and whimper against the cold tiles. “‘m right here, darling, ‘m not going anywhere.”

It feels like a lifetime, but after another seven minutes and true to their word, the distant sound of sirens can be heard — but Matty still can’t bring himself to breathe a sigh of relief just yet.

Since arriving at the hospital, you’d been cruelly snatched away from Matty, wheeled to your own private room where you received the treatment needed for a heroin overdose, leaving Matty, Ross and Adam in the family waiting area, none of them able to seek solace amongst the lacklustre slate walls, or the strong smell of disinfectant in the air.

The scene continues to play in Matty’s mind, all too easy to remember. When the paramedics had arrived, they quickly tended to your lifeless body, as the other three men watched on.

The hushed begs of, “Please help her,” and whispered prayers of, “Please please please,” had escaped Matty’s lips as the older female paramedic placed an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose to help your breathing.

She was a seemingly maternal lady, no judgement passed despite it being quickly obvious that you’d taken an illegal substance tonight, and she kindly told Matty, “We’re going to do everything we can to help your girlfriend.”

He didn’t correct her — although if it were different circumstances, he would have taken pride in people assuming you were a couple; as though it was obvious to the outside world that you both have an unbreakable connection to each other.

The younger male paramedic calmly asked questions — some unanswerable — as he began injecting your body with a substance — which Matty assumes is Naloxone; to reverse the effects of the opioid overdose.

What was your name? Which drug had you taken? How much of the drug had you taken? How much alcohol had you had to drink over the course of the evening? Did you have any allergies? How long did your seizure last? How much had you vomited?

Matty could barely think straight as he was being quizzed by the ambulance crew, although it almost felt as though it was an interrogation. The finger of suspicion would probably be pointed at him as to where you’d acquired an illegal drug, but he didn’t care about that right now; his priority was you.

When the paramedics were able to move you to the ambulance, they did, and Matty accompanied you all the way to the the nearest Accident and Emergency Department who would be more equipped to help you, whilst Adam drove himself and Ross to the hospital, following closely behind.

It had been agreed that Charli, George and Carly would stay at home on the understanding that they would be contacted if there was any change to your condition — and having ushered the guests away from the party, sending them elsewhere to continue their celebrations, the three of them were on hand if they were needed at short notice.

“Matty, just … just calm down, yeah?” Ross murmurs.

Matty emits a sarcastic, breathy laugh, continuing to pace aimlessly around the room, having done so since arriving. Running a hand through his curls, something that signals his distress, he repeats the words in a murmur.

“Calm down?” he scoffs, scuffing his shoes against the light grey flooring. “Calm down?!” he raises his voice, turning on his heel to see the other two men sat on the blue cushioned chairs.

“She’s strong, mate,” Adam reassures him, his knee bouncing and indicating his own nervousness at the situation. “She’ll be ok,” he adds, although even he’s having difficulty at being optimistic at this given moment.

“She overdosed,” Matty’s voice cracks, the image of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor, vomit surrounding you, your body seizing, cruelly plaguing his mind. “She … I thought she was …” he can’t vocalise the word, unable to finish his sentence in fear of it ringing true. “Fuck!” he swears angrily, his bawled fist making contact with the wall.

“Come ‘ere!” Ross yells, using all of his strength to pull Matty away, preventing him from punching the wall a second time. Despite Matty’s pathetic attempt to fight against his friend, fists hammering into his chest, Ross’s large hands come to rest on his face, forcing eye contact between them. “Listen … listen to me!” he encourages in a raised tone. “You need to be strong for her, Matty, y’hear me?” Ross’s own voice is thick with emotion.

Ross embraces Matty as another sob escapes his lips, and not once does he attempt to hide the intense emotions he was battling tonight — fear, worry, and anxiety all at the forefront.

“I shouldn’t …” he breaks off. “She shouldn’t … shouldn’t even … be here,” he chokes out, his obvious distress preventing him from forming a coherent sentence. “’s my fault, ’s all my fault,” he cries into Ross’s shoulder. “All the times I’ve used and I’m still here and she …” but he’s stopped when Ross pulls away from him, resting his hands on Matty’s shoulders.

“Don’t!” he warns, unwilling to comprehend the turn in conversation. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is not your fault! She was … unlucky,” he sighs, closing his eyes briefly, trying to shake the thought. “She went to the wrong person … people …” he furrows his brows, realisation suddenly dawning on him that someone at Charli’s party had taken full advantage of you — your distressed state having seen Matty’s make out session; praying on you and your vulnerability, providing you with an illegal substance you’d never even seen before, let alone experimented with.

It makes him — all of them — feel uneasy that someone had targeted you.

“s not your fault, Matty,” Adam softly pipes up with his reassurances. “Come on, mate. There’s no point in blaming yourself or getting angry, it’s not going to help anyone,” he speaks matter of factly, the voice of reason amongst them, as he anxiously drums his fingertips against his thigh.

“Come on,” Ross encourages him, nodding towards the cushioned chairs and coaxing him to take a seat. Matty does so before Ross offers, “Do you want a coffee?” as he sits beside him.

Matty shakes his head and whisper breathes a quiet, “No.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees before placing his head in his hands. His quiet sobs begin to subside as he finally regains his composure and regulates his breathing. “Fucking hate hospital coffee,” he murmurs in addition, and it’s the first lighthearted comment he’s made all evening.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Ross tells him again, placing a supportive arm around him.

“Thank you,” Matty breathes softly as he looks up and averts his gaze towards Ross next to him, sincerity laced in his tone. “To both of you,” he clarifies, looking between both Ross and Adam.

“What for?” Ross frowns.

“You were there … already helping her,” Matty shrugs, placing his palms against his thighs. “What happened?” he dares to ask, against his better judgement.

Licking his lips, Ross begins, “I’d gone to check on her. She’d been upset and … well, I know George told you,” he tells him, nervously shuffling in his chair. Ross knew better than anyone that Matty would be feeling incredibly guilty right now and to soften the blow, he’d decided to choose his words wisely.

“She saw me,” Matty confirms.

Ross nods his reply.

“She’d seen you in the lounge with … well, whoever it was,” he acknowledges the existence of the brunette woman. “I managed to get y/n out of there. Carly and Adam took her to the kitchen to calm her down. I caught up with George and Charli. The next thing I knew, I went to kitchen to find her again but she was alone.”

Ross shakes his head, and runs an agitated hand over his face, a feeble attempt at ridding himself of the horrific memory that vividly replays in his mind.

“She was stumbling around, trying to steady her balance against the kitchen side. She was muttering away, talking to herself … she didn’t make any sense,” Ross takes an in-breath before continuing. “I asked her if she was alright. I thought maybe she’d been drinking more, you know? She kept saying your name, said she needed to find you. That’s when she collapsed,” he clarifies. “I couldn’t wake her. At first I thought it was the alcohol that had affected her; made her paralytic. Everyone was looking so I wanted to move her to somewhere more comfortable. That’s when you came in,” he nods towards Adam.

“I saw it straight away,” Adam sighs regrettably, before clarifying his statement and briefly describing the events that had occurred. “The needle was on the kitchen side, the bag was empty, and there was a spoon and lighter next to it. We realised then what she’d done, so I phoned the ambulance. They said it was safer to keep her on the ground where she was, put her in the recovery position and not to move her. We made her as comfortable as we could … and that’s when Carly came and got you.”

Matty’s eyes begin to pool with tears again, his vision clouded as he can only imagine all too easily how the scene had played out. He feels sick with worry over you; guilty and ashamed at his own actions which had acted as a catalyst; and intense rage at whoever dealt the drug to you tonight.

“If she’d injected, it meant she’d cooked it …” Adam speaks aloud.

“I’ve never shown her how …” Matty trails off as he defends himself. “I never had that stuff around her.”

“We know, mate,” Ross reassures him. “You would never do anything to put her in harms way.”

“What if she gets addicted now?” Matty asks in a whisper, fear evident in his voice.

“She won’t,” Ross replies confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” he asks.

“You know her, mate. Just this once would have terrified her enough to never touch it again. She never used anything before and tonight would have been a one off. She probably met the wrong bastard tonight who took advantage. She probably thought that one time wouldn’t hurt her; that she’d be lucky,” he bases his assumption on how well he knows you.

Leaning back in his chair and resting his head against the wall, Matty closes his eyes. Bouncing his knee nervously, he draws a deep in-breath before murmuring, “I don’t want her going through the same thing as me. All I ever wanted to do was protect her from it. It was … different for me, I guess. It’s like I fell down a rabbit hole — the first time I took it and could disassociate from life — it was like a release. And I know it put a lot of pressure on us as a band, but …”

“Mate, you had an addiction. You were ill,” Adam intervenes, comforting his friend as whole new can of worms is about to be exposed about one of the worst times they’d experienced in their career as a band; but first and foremost, within their friendship.

“Didn’t mean I had to push her away, though,” Matty whispers. “I was so lucky when I went to rehab. Some people in that place had nothing; they’d lost their family and friends, their homes, their jobs, their money. I had everything; my family, you guys, I had her. But I still left rehab and scored other drugs and fucked everything up anyway,” he sighs deeply, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mate,” Ross pipes up, resting a hand on Matty’s knee.

“She was always there for me,” Matty continues. “I just couldn’t be the boyfriend she needed me to be, but if I could go back and do it all again, I would do things so differently,” he whispers. “I should never have let her go.”

“Sounds like we’re not the ones you should be saying this to,” Adam half smiles.

Matty bites his lip, his thoughts running away with him as a comfortable silence fills the room.

He notes that his white dress shirt is still unbuttoned three from the top and the memory of the sordid make out session he had encountered earlier that night makes him feel queasy, a harsh reminder of the tragedy.

“How … how did you know what to do anyway?” Matty stutters as he clears his throat, breaking the quietness that had temporarily engulfed them.

Ross shrugs, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair before replying.

“I guess … well … we all kind of wanted to learn how to respond in that … situation … incase it was ever … you,” he’s careful with his words. Whilst Matty’s addiction had never been an attempt on his own life, the idea of an accidental overdose had spurred the rest of the band on recognising the signs, as well as the basics in how to respond to any such situation.

Although honesty was a crucial part of their friendship, talking about Matty’s heroin addiction had always been a difficult subject to approach. The illness had taken a toll on his physical and mental health, had destructed his relationships, and had negatively impacted his song writing. Rehab helped him get back to the person he once was before the addiction.

“I fucking love you guys,” Matty manages to choke out around the lump that formed in his throat at the turn in conversation, and for the first time this evening, he smiles a genuine smile.

With the small distance between the two of them sitting opposite each other, Adam, with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, gently taps his foot against Matty’s — and it’s a minor physical touch that would usually result in a game of footsies between the pair — only this time, it’s a reassuring nudge that would normally be a wordless indication of their feelings; but Adam finds it within him to vocalise an emotional, “We love you too, mate.”

As quickly as the three men succumb to another comfortable silence, it’s broken once again, with Ross not wanting to give Matty the opportunity to get too into his head with the lack of conversation between them, understanding his friend well enough to know he’d be imagining all sorts of scenarios — none of which likely to be positive.

“Do you need to go for a cig?” Ross asks.

“No,” Matty shakes his head — and it’s a shock to both the other men in the room. Someone who seemingly can’t go five minutes without a cigarette during a live performance actively turning down the vice he uses each day. “Don’t want t’ leave her,” he adds.

Almost as if on cue, a doctor donning a white coat and firmly gripping a clipboard with important documents attached in his large hands, enters the family room and introduces himself to all three men.

He shakes hands with Matty, who is the first to approach him.

Matty quickly fires questions at the medical professional, not once missing a beat as he barely catches his breath in between the queries about your health.

“How is she? Is she ok? Can I see her?”

Ross comes to stand behind him and rests a supportive hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, to remind him of his friends’ presence — and that he’s not alone.

The doctor gives a reassuring smile, the first giveaway that your outcome is a positive one.

“I am sorry to tell you that y/n did in fact overdose on heroin; we’re yet to determine if that was intentional or accidental. The paramedics on scene administered Naloxone to reverse the effect of the opioid but another dose was required since fentanyl was also present. That combined with the level of alcohol in her system caused the severe reaction tonight, making it much easier to overdose, which is why it took her longer to respond to treatment.”

Matty groans at the information. The thought of you having mixed three substances together, although likely unknowingly, has him feeling physically sick at your vulnerability; and someone else’s cruelty.

“Fuck,” he shakily mutters under his breath, knowing just how severe this is. Shaking his head, he murmurs a quiet, “Sorry,” before allowing the doctor to continue with his medical findings.

“Since there’s no medical history of y/n experiencing seizures, it’s more than likely that it was brought on by the drug itself. Taking that into account, there doesn’t seem to be any reason as to why y/n won’t make a full recovery so overall I’d say she’s very lucky,” he pauses, before looking between the three men. “She’s awake, but is still a little drowsy, which is to be expected. I’d still like to keep her in for observation overnight, just as a precaution,” he says.

Whilst Matty understands the importance and necessity of this monologue, it seems to take forever for the doctor to spiel medical jargon, before he finally speaks aloud the words that Matty longs to hear.

“You can go and see her.”

It takes a few minutes for Matty to pluck up the courage to enter your hospital room to see you, his palms beginning to sweat out of anxiousness and his heart occasionally skipping a beat. He’d been desperate to remain by your side since arriving at the hospital, a strong desire to interfere with the doctors and nurses that had tended to your lifeless body, almost as though he could be the one to cure you.

Questions plague his mind as he runs through several scenarios.

Would you even want to see him after the events that had built up to your accidental overdose tonight? After all, if he hadn’t been so concerned with getting his end away with a random, then you wouldn’t have felt the need to find a vice to cope with your feelings. He was the reason you were here — and he’s probably the last person you want to see.

What would he say to you? No words in the English language could be vocalised to condone his behaviour this evening. Sadly, your latest memory of him was a sordid, dirty, not-so-secret make out session in the corner of a room — not very classy, and not in the least bit romantic. Sorry seemed false; even though he was undeniably apologetic, but no amount of regret could rewind the clock, no matter how much he wished for it.

Running a hand over his face, he rids himself of any negative thoughts, composing himself. He had to stop being selfish; to remove any egotistical notion of himself. This wasn't about him anymore. This was about you.

He takes a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorknob. He pushes it gently so that the door is fractionally ajar, so as not to startle you, and then, almost impatiently, he extends his arm, opening the door fully to reveal you to him.

His eyes find you immediately. Your fragile figure lays still in the hospital bed, looking almost helpless and it saddens Matty to see because he knows how much you would hate that. He avoids reacting to your demeanour, not wishing to alarm you.

Still, you were conscious.

“Hey,” he whisper breathes a sigh of relief, giving you a small smile. “You look better than when I last saw you,” Matty tells you softly, as he comes to stand at the end of your hospital bed, his patent shoes clicking against the tiles when he halts.

Hands in his pockets, he looks rough; you note; as though he hasn’t slept in weeks. The stubble around his jawline denotes he hasn't shaved in the last couple of weeks at least, most likely due to tour commitments. His dishevelled hair is a solid indicator that he’s run his hand through it many times — or someone else has — and perhaps it's because you haven’t seen him in a while — or maybe it’s because he’s mid-thirties — but the grey strands are becoming more prominent atop of his head.

He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, anxiously, although attentively, observing your surroundings. Monitors bleep around you, screens recording your vitals — numbers that mean absolutely nothing to him — but the consistency that the machines offer indicates that you must be within healthy ranges. Bags of liquid are hanging on a drip stand and IV’s are inserted into your veins pumping unknown substances into your body.

Removing a hand from his pocket, he nervously clears his throat as he slowly makes his way around the bed and towards you, before finally stopping beside you. Tentatively, he lowers himself and perches on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight.

Even in your drowsy state, lethargy consuming your entire body, you roll your eyes at his comment and Matty’s never been happier to hear a breathy laugh escape your lips. Reaching for the oxygen mask, you attempt to remove it, but Matty’s hand is quickly placed over yours, stopping you from doing so.

“No, no, keep it on darling,” he whispers delicately.

Your lack of energy, consumed by tiredness, as well as the the throbbing pain across your forehead ensures you don’t fight him on this one, instantly giving up, your hand going slack underneath his. Satisfied that you won’t oppose his actions any further, he rests his hand against his thigh.

Matty’s eyes avert to your other hand which rests atop of the hospital blanket. He’s somewhat hesitant before deciding to reach towards you, his fingertips brushing against your skin, careful not to dislodge the drip inserted into a prominent vein. When you don’t flinch at the physical contact, he encloses your hand within his own.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, as though his admission will be more bearable to speak aloud if he can’t see your reaction.

“I was so scared,” he whispers.

He opens his eyes again, drinking in your exhausted demeanour.

“I was so fucking scared,” he repeats, with equally as much conviction as the first time.

“Matty,” you whisper tearfully at his words, your tone apologetic.

“Never wan’ to see you like that ever again, you hear me? You … you don’t get to do that,” his words are a firm warning but he lacks any threat with a soft tone, an oxymoron of emotions engulfing him as his voice wavers, his thumb skimming the upside of your hand. “You don’t get to do that to me. Can’t lose you darling.”

He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat. Metaphorically, he’d already lost you in the midst of a relationship breakdown — but the mere thought of you losing your life to the same substance he had battled an addiction with for several years would literally break him.

You reach for your oxygen mask once again, and when Matty attempts to prevent you from doing so a second time, you swat his hand away — albeit pathetically — removing it from your face.

“I didn’t mean to,” you desperately try to convince him. “It was an accident,” you tell him, tears pooling in your eyes.

One of the machines begins to beep harshly, the numbers displayed on the screen increasing rapidly, and Matty immediately realises that your heart rate has spiked.

Determined to soothe you, Matty reassuringly squeezes your hand.

“I know, darling. I know. Just calm down for me, yeah?” he encourages, leaning forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You offer a small nod in response although his words seem to have no positive effect as the bleeping continues with the same level of consistency, numbers incessantly and hastily increasing.

“Listen to me, y/n,” his tone is firmer this time, obvious desperation laced in his words. “I need you to calm down for me. Take a deep breath,” he models it himself, inhaling air deeply into his lungs through his nose and exhaling through his parted lips.

You copy him, mirroring his actions a few times.

“If you need this again,” he gestures towards the oxygen mask but you shake your head as your breathing begins to regulate a little and the numbers on the heart rate monitor gradually decrease once more.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him.

He nods, understanding, but encourages you to continue, “Deep breaths, love.”

You compose yourself relatively quickly, almost surprised at your own resilience as you inhale and exhale a few more times, steadying your breaths and repeating the action until you’re fully calm.

“That’s it,” he praises, stroking your hand with his own, whilst his other hand finds its fingers twirling through your hair, stroking loose strands out of your face.

He takes a few moments, allowing you to succumb to the peace that surrounds you both — but he has questions and he yearns for answers.

“Do you think you can tell me what happened tonight?” he practically dares to ask.

You shift uncomfortably beneath the thin blanket that covers you, barely keeping you warm. Taking a deep breath, you nod, nervousness consuming you as you brace yourself, preparing to inform Matty about the events that had occurred earlier that evening.

“I saw you,” you state matter of factly, although it’s not news to him. “You were with someone … another girl,” you clarify.

Your gaze subconsciously averts away from Matty’s but out of the corner of your eye, you’re hyperaware that he also follows suit, unable to make eye contact with each other at the harsh admission. Your cheeks redden slightly in embarrassment, whilst his features are full of guilt.

“I saw you coming out of the bathroom together at first. I didn’t realise it was serious, not until … well, I came down to the lounge and you were … the two of you were …” you trail off, fiddling with the hospital admission band around your wrist that suddenly becomes interesting.

The pads of Matty’s thumbs gently massage your skin, encouraging you to continue. Raising his head and meeting your gaze, you’re able to find the strength to carry on.

“I was upset and didn’t want to feel anything. I’d had a lot to drink but that wasn’t numbing the pain. So when I was offered heroin,” you shrug. “It never affected you that way so I thought … I thought I’d be ok,” you whimper, your bottom lip trembling.

“Darling,” Matty whispers, his thumb gently soothing your skin as your hand remains enveloped in his. “It affects everyone differently. There’s so many factors that affect someone’s reaction to drugs — the amount you’ve taken, it’s purity, what it’s cut with, the method of using …” he begins to list.

“I know, I know,” you shake your head, cutting him off.

You already felt foolish enough for ever trusting the guy you’d met tonight in the kitchen — felt embarrassed that many people had seen you unconscious against the cold tiles, vomiting and experiencing a seizure. Whilst you know it’s not Matty’s intention, the last thing you want — or need — is a lecture.

Instantly understanding, Matty drops the topic as quick as he'd raised it, and instead, decides to pass on the good news.

“The doctor says you’re lucky; reckons you’ll make a full recovery. You just need to rest,” he breathes a sigh of relief himself as his sentence rolls effortlessly off of his tongue.

Your ears prick up at his words and you give him a hopeful smile.

“Does that mean I can go home?” you ask, suddenly sitting yourself upright, ignoring the pounding in your head accompanied by the dizziness, in turn making you feel a little nauseous.

Home.

Matty wonders where home is for you now.

In an ideal world, Matty would want you living with him again — reliving your favourite memories that you experienced as the couple you once were when you were unconditionally in love with each other, as well as making new ones together.

You’d be waking up in his bed each morning; sometimes to sex, always to coffee, with mundane household chores threatening to be completed as adulthood entailed cooking, cleaning, tag teaming washing the dishes, and starting petty arguments over whose turn it was to dispose of the rubbish on bin day (it was his turn every week).

He would give the world and more to have you telling him that you don’t mind what film you watched together — even though you did — only for you to fall asleep within minutes of putting it on. He would ensure that you have warm, fluffy towels for after your bubble bath, and you’d be welcomed into the kitchen with the inviting aromas of your favourite dishes that he’d cook for you.

Matty would keep you safe — always — keeping a watchful eye over you so as something like this could never occur again, giving not one single soul the opportunity to hurt his girl — and the realisation dawns on him that perhaps one of his downfalls was that no matter how hard he tried in this lifetime, he couldn’t protect you from everything.

“They want to keep you in overnight,” he breaks the bad news to you, regrettably.

“No,” you whine, emitting a groan as you roll your eyes to the ceiling.

“‘m sorry, love,” his tone is apologetic, “But they want to monitor you.”

“Please, Matty. I’m fine! Please see if they will discharge me tonight,” you beg, your doe-eyes pleading with him.

“Darling,” he murmurs softly, stroking your hand reassuringly once again. “You overdosed on heroin, which was cut with fentanyl, by the way,” he informs you, before continuing matter of factly, “Your alcohol levels were through the roof, you had a seizure and you were sick. You’re in the best place right now.”

There was truth behind Matty’s words and you know it. Admitting defeat, you know there’s no arguing against the doctor’s decision to monitor you overnight.

Instead, you ask, “Stay?” your tone nervous, as you softly plead with Matty. “Will you stay with me?”

Matty exhales a shaky breath, offering a small smile as relief washes over him that you want him; need him.

“Of course I’ll stay, ‘m not going anywhere.”

There’s not much time to succumb to the silence that threatens to engulf the two of you as a hesitant knock, accompanied by a throat-clearing cough, can be heard against the grey door to your hospital room. Straining your neck and peering towards the entrance, you notice two figures lingering in the doorway, one of which is leaning against the doorframe.

Matty whips his head around to see who the disruption is, before turning back to meet your gaze and announcing with a small smile, “I think someone want to say hello.”

As if on cue, Ross and Adam enter your hospital bay and approach you. Coming to stand beside you, Ross acknowledges you with a small kiss to your temple and Adam rests a hand atop of your hospital blanket, reassuringly squeezing your leg.

“How’re doing?” Adam is the first to ask, as they each take a seat in the grey plastic chairs beside your bed.

You give a small nod and shrug in tandem.

“I’m ok,” you tell them — although even you know that they know that you’re not being entirely truthful so you decide to elaborate on your answer further, providing them with some honesty at least. “I’m tired and have a headache, but other than that I’m alright.”

“You scared us back there,” Ross pipes up, worry evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” your eyes avert to your hand enveloped in Matty’s.

“Don’t be,” Ross softly murmurs, shaking his head and resting a hand atop of your arm.

You shake your head in protest.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” you tell them apologetically, sincerely adding, “I’m sorry that you had to deal with me like that.” You shake your head slightly, closing your eyes for a brief second as embarrassment consumes you.

“’s not your fault,” Ross tells you. “We’re just glad you’re ok.”

“Thank you,” your eyes flit between the three of them this time, acutely aware of the vital role they had all played tonight in getting you the help you needed from the emergency services. You can only imagine how terrifying and surreal the ordeal must have been for them as well.

“Don’t need to thank us,” Matty furrows his brows.

“If you hadn’t …” you begin. “I’d be dead,” you state it so matter of factly, that Matty feels physically ill.

“Don’t, y/n,” he gently warns, unable to fathom any other outcome.

Silence fills the room, further accentuating the bleeping sounds of the machines that whir around you. For the first time, it’s an awkward quietness, seemingly uncomfortable between the four of you once the discussion had taken a darker turn.

However, there’s still one more topic of conversation dancing on the lips of the three men amongst you but nobody has seemed willing to take the lead in voicing their thoughts just yet — that is until Ross clears his throat, less confident than he actually appears as he delivers his question.

“Who gave it to you?” he asks, a strong desire to know who dealt you the drug.

“I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Please, y/n,” Matty begs breathlessly, his eyes finding the ceiling. “Please don’t protect anyone,” he pleads, the pad of his thumb continuously circling itself against your hand.

“I don’t know,” you repeat. “Honestly. It was a random guy who got talking to me. I didn’t even ask his name.”

Your earnest tone is all that’s needed for them to know you’re telling the truth; you’d just been unfortunate enough for your vulnerable self to fall victim to the dealer this evening, him cruelly having taken full advantage of your distressed state.

"If I ever find out who it was," Matty begins, using his free hand to clench his fist out of anger.

“Don’t,” you practically beg, shaking your head. “Please don’t. It was my own fault. I should never have listened to him or trusted him in the first place. It was a bad idea and I knew it. I just went against my own judgement in the heat of the moment and acted on impulse.”

Whilst you knew how it appeared, you really weren’t defending the dealer who had provided you with the substance and tools that could have resulted in you ending your life tonight — but the last thing you wanted was violence. Neither Matty, Ross or Adam had fighting tendencies and that wasn’t about to change because of you and your one mistake.

Ross sniggers slightly, before raising an eyebrow as he looks between you and Matty.

“Impulse? You two really are perfect for each other,” he laughs.

You roll your eyes at the humour implied in his light hearted comment. It was public knowledge that Matty would often find himself in hot water due to acting on impulse, often through the portrayal of an online persona, or through expressing controversies during live performance and interviews.

You had often scolded him during your relationship, heavily reminded him of his role model status to many young and impressionable fans, because his words had consequences, often resulting in him being ‘cancelled.’

Before you can respond, another small knock at the door indicates an interruption for the second time — saddened when the nurse on call entered the room and informed you that only one person could be at your bedside for the remainder of the night.

Adam emits a groan, admitting defeat once the nurse bids you farewell for the night, although not before reminding both you and Matty that she’s on duty throughout the course of the early hours and until sunrise, so if you needed anything, she was your go-to.

“Suppose we best be off then,” Adam rolls his eyes.

“You take care,” Ross offers you a smile and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “See you soon, mate,” he reaches forwards and offers Matty a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You look after her,” he finishes his goodbyes.

Once the hustle and bustle of them leaving your hospital room subsides, you and Matty are left only in each other's company, surrounded by a comfortable silence once more.

Your eyes avert to the window of your hospital room as you observe the outside world, nothing but darkness consuming everything at this ungodly hour, with the exception of the few street lamps that light up the hospital car park that your room overlooks.

With your hand still enveloped within Matty’s, you can feel his eyes focussing on you — and you alone.

“I’m ok,” you whisper softly, turning to Matty, distracting him from his own thoughts.

“Hmm?” he hums, indicating that he had been out of touch with reality. Your statement had grounded him, bringing him mentally back into the room with you as he looks up to meet your gaze.

“I said I’m ok,” you repeat, and it’s your turn to massage the palm of his hand with your thumb, reassuring him you are physically well — and alive.

He nods in acknowledgement but it’s clear he has a lot plaguing his mind. You decide not to push him just yet, knowing him well enough that he’ll communicate his thoughts and feelings on his terms, although you're surprised when his response comes almost immediately.

“I thought …,” Matty exhales a shaky breath, tears pooling in his eyes, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, your bottom lip trembles, the heightened emotions you’re both feeling needing to be addressed with each other properly. There was still so much to say, so many things you had to discuss, questions that had to be asked, answers that needed clarifying.

Matty shakes his head vigorously, stopping you from continuing your apology.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” his tone is full of sincerity. “I just need you to know that … if I’d lost you … I don’t know what I’d do.”

He chokes on a sob, the memory of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor still haunting him — and he fears that your lifeless frame will appear in his nightmares every time he closes his eyes. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he presses a soft and tender kiss against your skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“Matty,” you breathe, comprehending his words immediately.

“I love you so much, darling,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” you reply, barely missing a beat.

He knew it were true; you didn’t say things you didn’t mean.

“I’m sorry if I ever … that I let you down,” he adds — and it’s not a comment out of guilt or pity for himself. It’s an apology to you — an earnest admission, honest and sincere, as he recalls the times when he hadn’t been the boyfriend he should have been for you.

“You haven’t,” you whimper, choking on a sob, emotion overcoming you at the sudden change in dynamic of the conversation. “Matty, you never let me down. You had an addiction! I know that you came off the heroin after rehab but you were still battling a drug addiction. You still needed something to get through life, a vice to help you cope. If anything, I’m sorry that I didn’t recognise the signs sooner and get you help.”

“Darling,” Matty gently warns.

Whilst he understands the importance of this much needed conversation between the two of you, it’s a topic he doesn’t want to explore too deeply just yet — there’s plenty of time to discuss everything that had contributed to the breakdown of your relationship but right now, you needed to focus on your own recovery from tonight.

“Not now, eh?” it’s a rhetorical comment.

Before he can stop himself, he leans forward, resting his forehead gently against your own. It’s the closest he’s been all night and you can still smell the smoke that lingers on his clothes; the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks each time he softly exhales. He feels like home. His eyes avert downwards towards his hand intertwined with your own in his lap — and it feels right.

“We have a lot to talk about,” you whisper, breaking the silence, your lips a hairs breadth from his.

Nervously gulping, as though an in love, giddy teenager, Matty agrees.

“Yeah, we do. But it can wait, darling. You need to rest.”

You shake your head, a feeble attempt at protesting against his suggestion.

“Rest, sweetheart,” he reiterates. “We can talk about everything tomorrow, yeah?”

You both know you won’t. Matty will still want to give you time to recover, waiting on you hand and foot, treating you as though you’re made of glass for at least the next month — but you don’t actually think you’d mind.

“I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere,” he reaches forwards, resting his palm gently against your cheek.

Muscle memory, instinct, and habit amalgamate and you tilt your head towards his hand, leaning into his soft touch on your face. The welcomed familiarity makes your heart swell as he cradles your cheek. Inching forwards ever so slightly, Matty presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his soft, plush lips lingering against your skin for longer than necessary — but you weren't complaining.

“‘m not going anywhere,” he repeats quietly, emotion thick in his voice as he swallows the small lump that has formed in his throat, his brain in overdrive as he contemplates the magnitude of events that had occurred tonight.

“You promise?” you question, as you raise your hand to cover his own, your fingers intertwining with his against your blush cheeks.

“I promise.”

74 notes · View notes

justlikemebutsixfootthree · 1 year

Text

direction -

pairing: matty healy x f!reader

content: fingering, unprotected sex, matty can't shut the fuck up™, overstim

wordcount: 3743

a/n: the people have spoken

your motto has always been "fake it till you make it". what started as something you'd say to yourself to get over anxieties slowly bled into other areas of your life, relationships included.

fake confidence until you have it. fake experience until you get some.

easy, right?

well, over time, you've become a pro faker. people rarely approach you cause they think you're arrogant.

and that suits you. who has time for superficial relationships anyways?

but then you met matty, who's gentle, kind, funny, smart. he never gave up on you, even if you sometimes came off as stand-offish, even if you acted like you were too good for him and men in general, even if you fought him every step of the way, surprised by his determination.

in the beginning, you played along. you let him try to woo you, let him compliment you and take you out. you responded to all of his texts, even if you are both too old to be texting like high schoolers. slowly but surely, he made you drop the façade, at least around him, which is when your relationship became more than just teasing glances and flirty texts.

everything led up to where you are now: in matty's stupidly comfortable bed, wearing his stupidly warm sweater, kissing his stupidly pretty face.

the movie he had put on was some cheesy horror flick: lots of fake blood, shitty special effects, and a naive main character. it's long forgotten though, mediocre soundtrack serving as background noise to a much more exciting activity.

you've always prided yourself on how strong you were, not being easily swayed by your sexual urges. fake it until you make it - but what then?

what if matty expects you to rock his world tonight? what if he thinks you'll take the lead, with the same (fake) confidence you do everything else?

technically, you know how it should all work, but you have no first-hand experience. your sexual endeavours end pretty fast, either with you giving up on the guy or them thinking you're too demanding for someone who isn't putting out. either way, it’s good riddance, and you’ve never had regrets about not having sex before.

once, during your intense college years, you had to present your research in front of all your peers. the stress caused you to lose sleep, and you replaced eating with frantic rewriting. by the time the due date rolled around, your brain was scrambled, and you were positive you were going to puke all over the front row of desks.

now, underneath the warm weight of your boyfriend, you’re feeling exactly the same way. what if you manage to do something so revoltingly off-putting he can never look at you again?

"hey."

matty's soft voice shocks you out of your quickly spiralling head. he's looking down at you with gentle, but confused, eyes.

"you've gone all stiff on me, love. you feelin' okay?"

you should've known he'd see through your wall of false confidence.

"y'know we don't have to do anything, right? you look like you're about to cry."

you refuse to dignify that with a response as heat floods your face and, mortifyingly, prickles in your sinuses. he sighs, rolling off of you and laying on his side, facing you.

“that was meant to make you laugh.”

you try to smile at him and feel your lips wobble instead.

“hey. i'm being serious, what’s going on in there?” he brings his hand up, stroking his fingers through your hair.

“i don’t want to repulse you,” you whisper.

he frowns. "you've got a horrific confidence problem. there is nothing, and i mean nothing, repulsive about you. and besides, i've already seen you at your grossest. remember when you got mono and your neck was all swollen?"

you glower at him. “yeah, and i caught it from you! that makes me feel so much better.”

shaking his head, his next words are insistent.

“i mean it. did you know, that every time we go out, someone tells me how lucky i am? c'mon, darling, you know i wouldn't be saying this shit if it wasn't true.”

“i know, and i want to, but fuck, matty it's going to be so bad.”

“well yeah, with that attitude it will. we’re gonna figure out what you like, but only if you want to.”

his eyes are soft, looking down at you with unguarded warmth.

clearing your throat, you fidget nervously with the edge of your (his) sweater.

“so. how - um - how do you want to...?”

he grins crookedly. “move to the middle of the bed.”

swallowing hard, you follow his instructions, legs splayed flat out in front of you as you lean back on your elbows, staring at him expectantly.

“this is about you, okay? whatever you want to do, we can do. including nothing, if it doesn’t feel right.”

your voice is barely more than a whisper. “want you to touch me.”

you could swear you hear a little hitch in his breath, and mustering all the courage you have, you meet his gaze. his mouth is slightly open, the curved bow of his upper lip revealing the edges of his white teeth, and you watch as he presses his lips closed, nodding.

"okay. you gotta talk to me, yeah? tell me if you want me to stop, if something feels good, or if you want more. deal?”

“deal,” you breathe back.

he moves, bending his head to press his mouth on the side of your neck. something splinters hot down the centre of your body, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s desire, pure and hard, crystalline. you can already feel slick warmth in your underwear, and you haven’t even started.

“oh,” you gasp, the round syllable small in your mouth, and he lowers his hand, smoothing down the bunched fabric of your (his) sweater, following the swell of your hip, moving slowly so you have time to breathe.

“good?” he murmurs, and you nod dumbly.

he inches lower, hand flat on your leg, fingers resting just a hairsbreadth from your centre. matty drags his hand lightly along the inside of your thigh, opening his mouth on your neck, tongue hot as he presses it to the softness of your skin.

“how ‘bout now?”

“mhm,” you manage.

unbearably careful, he brushes the tip of his index finger along the seam of your pants, the pressure light, but precise, right against the place you’re most sensitive. your left leg jerks as though you’ve been shocked, and he freezes his hand there, lips sealing around your neck, holding you until you stop twitching with alarm.

you can already feel a steady pooling in your underwear, and you shift uncomfortably against him, unsure if you’re doing it to relieve the ache between your legs or to increase the friction against you.

still moving with absolute restraint, he presses down, a slow, controlled line directly down the centre of your cunt. the tension in every single joint is making you shake, muscles burning with the effort of holding still, and you swear you feel something crack as he eases his touch up to rest at the waistband of your pants, before sliding his hand underneath.

“you still with me?" he murmurs and you can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

his callused fingers are resting just above your pussy, palm lightly pressed to the rise of your mound, and he lifts his lips to graze your ear.

“you gotta talk to me,” he reminds you.

you shudder, releasing your held breath, shoulders sore from the stiffness of your body.

“yes. yes, i’m - it’s good, please don’t stop.”

he opens his hand, letting his middle finger drag slowly between your folds, and you feel it at the same moment he does; you’re soaked.

so unbelievably wet it feels like something’s gone wrong and you want to shut your legs and crawl away from him. your skin is prickling with heat as you feel a slow line of sweat roll down the back of your leg, making you squirm, desperate to shuck your skin.

“oh, baby..." he breathes, the edges of his teeth scraping your earlobe. “you’re soaked.”

clenching your eyes shut, your is voice petulant as you murmur back to him.

“i can’t help it, i don’t know why, it’s not my fault. i -"

“shush. it’s so fucking hot. you’re so reactive,” he says, voice gravelly. he slides a second finger to join the first, parting them and spreading your folds. even through the fabric of your pants, you can both hear the slick sound and you want to die; burrow into a hole somewhere and never come out. as though sensing your squirming agony, he chooses that moment to ease both fingers inside you, and your heart stops in your chest at the slow stretch.

this is matty. your matty. and right now his fingers are inside you, stretching you open.

the thought alone is enough to make your entire body throb with a sudden, overpowering pulse and you feel yourself clench around him unconsciously. he groans into your ear.

“you’re so tight. shit, you feel perfect. does that feel good?”

you can’t speak, nodding helplessly against him. he withdraws a couple of centimetres, easing back inside slower but deeper than before, hooking his fingers slightly inside you. your hips flex against his touch, trying to encourage him to keep moving as he rolls his thumb over your clit, and you see stars.

matty's touch feels as confident as the way he performs; like he was born to do this; like he could do it in his sleep.

he drags his fingers inside you, and your pelvis lifts unconsciously to follow his movements, trying to chase the feeling.

“you’re doing so good, baby. you're so pretty, so fucking hot. y'gonna come for me, love?”

despite the intensity of the sensations between your legs, it’s his words that tip you over the edge. you bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying to contain the high-pitched groan as your muscles clamp around his fingers, cunt fluttering. You feel your warmth coating his fingers, and he rides you through it, his movements only easing to a stop once your body has relaxed into a melted heap draped over him.

slowly, he withdraws his fingers from your pants, sliding out from underneath you and lowering your malleable, floppy limbs onto the bed. you watch him drunkenly as he sits up in front of you on his knees, gaze snagging on his hand.

you’re mortified at the sight of the clear viscous fluid stretching between his parted fingers, and you just about die of embarrassment as he brings his hand to his lips, sliding them into his mouth and sucking them clean.

“perfect. you’re perfect,” he tells you, and you want to cover your face, but you’re pinned there, watching. his pants are tented tellingly in the front, and you’re trying not to make it obvious but you can’t tear your gaze away.

“told you. nothing wrong with you,” he informs you, grinning.

“i’m gonna take your pants off,” he says, and you lift your hips helpfully, earning a little twist from his lips at your enthusiasm. sliding your legs free, he settles on his knees. your eyes are drawn back helplessly to the bulge in his pants, and he catches you looking.

“matty, i want - want you to...”

“what, love? c'mon, talk to me.” he crawls up over you, braced on his hands and knees, leaning down.

“fuck me.”

he raises an eyebrow. “you need a break first?”

in response, you lift your hips to press against the hard outline of his straining cock. he ducks his head, leaning his weight up on one arm as he kicks his pants down and you watch the muscles in his shoulder work through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“i’m gonna fuck you so good, baby. you want that?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “yes, do it, please.”

“do what?” matty asks with a wry smile. he’s propped up on one elbow now, gazing down into your raw, open face. “c’mon, you've got to say it for me, angel.”

you let out a shaky sigh, a hand sliding down to the back of matty's neck. you pull him close, so your lips brush. “please fuck me. need you so bad.”

matty's eyes flutter closed for a moment. he breathes out hard, then leans away, and sits up. he's struggling with getting his pants all the way off, so you help the best you can, feeling fluttery and strange, in a feverish trance of pleasure, dumb with anticipation for more.

“please,” you mutter, “please, come on, i want it-”

“fuck, fuck, okay…” matty says, chuckling. “you gotta take it easy with the begging, sweetheart. i’m already putting everything i have into not coming the second i get inside you.”

flushing, you brush the stray curls from matty's face. "you said you'd make it good. so shut up, and fuck me already."

"there’s my favourite brat,” matty says with a grin, then he’s holding himself at your entrance, easing in slowly, a hand on your waist.

he’s big. you have a moment of panic at the stretch, and you gasp, hands flying up to grasp at his forearms as though you could somehow control the movement of his hips that way.

his teeth are pressed to his lip, eyes shut, and you wonder exactly how tight it is for him as he shudders through an exhalation. he forces his eyes open to look down at you, concern evident, checking up on you even as his arms shake with the effort of holding still.

“oh, sh - shit. you good?”

nodding, you release your own held breath with a shudder, your entire body trembling violently underneath him, thighs aching from how tightly wound your muscles are. he sinks down another inch and you both hiss in synchrony, your fingers tightening around his arms just as his tighten around your waist.

“you’re doing so good baby, you’re taking me so well, you feel perfect,” he’s breathing, the fullness unbearable. you arch your neck to look down at where you’re split open around him, the sight enough to make your breath hitch in your chest. he looks down in time to see your eyes widen, and he follows your gaze, his strangled intake of breath following.

“you see that? see how perfect you are? fuck, you’re so beautiful, you’re so tight, you feel incredible...”

you press your lips to his, stopping his unhinged babbling. you’re trying your hardest just to concentrate on taking his thick cock, breathing through the desperate ache as he slowly forces you open. he parts his lips against yours and you press your tongue against him, seeking more. his groaning response makes him slip, losing control for one second, just long enough to let him sink the rest of the way inside you. he’s trying to break from your lips, but you don’t want to listen to whatever it is he’s about to say, so you gently bite down on his lower lip, holding him captive. his hips flex helplessly into you as he tries to talk again, and despite your breathlessness, you could almost laugh at the fact that even now, typically; matty healy just cannot shut the fuck up.

the agonizing, all-encompassing stretch is slowly easing into something else; something bright and hard, sending skittering shockwaves up through your stomach. experimentally you flatten your feet on the bed under you, using the leverage to push your hips up and—shit, it’s too much, too full, you can’t possibly take any more of him but then right there, the angle shifts, and something snaps in your brain.

you wrench your head back, keening as you try to grind up into that spot, that fucking spot. matty's eyes are unfocused, his expression pained.

“baby, wait, wait a sec,” and you can’t help but roll yourself against him again, making him choke.

“what’s wrong?” you breathe back, unable to keep still, your legs trembling with the effort of holding yourself up against him.

“is this...not good?” you ask, suddenly small.

he doesn’t answer right away, and you watch as sweat beads on his upper lip, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“matty?” you try again and he makes a strangled sound, eyes snapping open to pin you down.

“say my name again,” and you barely shape your lips around it before he’s hissing, driving his hips down to smack hard into yours, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“d’yknow how - how many times i’ve thought about this? About being inside you like this?” he punctuates his words with short, hard thrusts. “you’re fucking perfect. your pussy's, fuck - fucking perfect.”

your face erupts with heat at his words. he catches you flinching and his eyes light, grinning even as you watch the muscles in his shoulders shake with the effort of controlling himself.

“why’s that make you shy? don’t like me talking about your pussy? you wanna know how good you feel, baby? you’re—shit,” another shallow thrust, his brows pinching together, “so tight and, fuck, taking me so well…” his rambling trails out into nonsensical murmurs.

he’s slowly working into a rhythm, flexing his hips backwards, still short and shallow but he’s angling himself so precisely, right against the place where you can’t stand, and it’s too much. you squirm back into the mattress, trying to escape, but there’s nowhere to go as the sensation swells to a crest. you tighten around him, your legs falling limp, your fingers creeping up into his hair, needing something to brace yourself against as the growing reverberations between your legs throb outwards, filling your stomach with heat.

you can almost see your orgasm rocketing up through you, your vision cutting out right as you shatter with a pathetic moan of his name. your cunt clamps down on him hard, again and again, rippling around him. he watches you fall apart, his breathing steady despite the tremor in his limbs. he barely gives you a minute to recover before he’s moving again, deepening his thrusts, expression one of absolute focus. the sheer concentration in his eyes scares the shit out of you; you know that look. it’s the one he gets whenever someone tells him no to an idea in the studio, when someone says that he shouldn't put out another black and white music video, when his bullish stubbornness completely takes over.

matty leans back, raising himself onto his knees between your spread legs. he brings a hand under each of your knees, crooking your legs up around his waist as he works in and out of you, the wet squelch of your cunt loud over the muffled sounds of the forgotten movie as he begins to fuck you in earnest. you can’t breathe, incapacitated by the shuddering of your legs, your stomach muscles clenching as your body desperately tries to keep up with your frantic gasping. your back is arched, your shoulders forced down into the bed with the force of each thrust as he reaches down between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit as easily as though your body is laid out the same as his guitars or keyboards, practised and nimble.

sweat prickles your skin anew as his fingers drag you higher and incomprehensibly higher and you wail, slapping a hand over your mouth to still the sound. he leans over you, the triangle of bare skin at his chest gleaming with sweat, fine silver chain glinting under the edge of his shirt. he grabs your wrist and moves your hand aside, pinning it to the bed beside your head.

"hey, hey. c'mon babe, let me hear you." he times a perfectly-aligned thrust with a firm stroke over your clit and, unable to stop yourself, you let out a breathless moan. he grins, chuckling breathily.

"god, you sound so good. prettiest fuckin' thing ive ever heard," he murmurs, voice ragged. he rips the sound from you again, and again, watching greedily. it’s too much, way too much and you’re already over the edge of another orgasm before you realize what’s happening, eyes rolling back in your head, mouth open in wordless pleasure.

this time he doesn’t slow down, instead increasing the pressure on your clit, fucking you deeper. his cock hits something sharp high up in your guts and you sob as another orgasm rolls up from your stomach, washing over the last climax. your hips twitch helplessly against his grip as he fucks you through each wave of pleasure, and you think you’re coming again, or still coming, you can’t tell anymore, time losing all meaning as your cunt sucks wet at his cock, bearing down on him vice-tight.

some impossible time later, you realize his breaths have shortened into gasps. his hips stutter and he leans back down over you, arms braced on either side of your head as his pace falls out of its steady rhythm. you manage to regain control of yourself long enough to reach a hand up to the back of his neck, feeling the hem of his shirt under your fingers. he looks down at you, and his mouth drops open, eyes dropping shut as he groans your name, low and rough, and as he plunges in deep you actually feel him coming before he does. his back curves over you, his forehead pressed to yours as his hips shudder, and the tightening of his stomach muscles against yours is echoed inside you as his cock throbs, filling you.

he lays heavy on your chest, both of you panting. everything is so slick underneath you, you can’t tell what’s sweat and what’s cum, your skin feverish. you shift your thighs restlessly, sticky and aching and he raises his head, looking down at you.

“was that...okay?” you breathe, self-conscious again.

his eyes shut briefly as he shakes his head.

“you’re crazy. she’s crazy,” he says to nobody in particular, lifting himself over you, hands pressing into the mattress.

gasping, you sit up on your elbows to look down at him.

“what are you doing?”

his tongue laves long stripe along your still-sensitive pussy, dipping briefly inside before he breaks the contact to look up at you, eyebrow raised.

“cleaning you up. you thought we were done?”

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